I'm sighing at the thought of even writing half of what i want to write.

This is a vain attempt to keep it all locked up; because then i don't have to face any of it.

Sometimes i think i have it all sewn up pretty well in my mind, but then one of my well-placed bricks clatters into the abyss and i'm lost all over again.

I just feel like it's all sort of pointless.

Maybe not pointless. But like, it's hopeless?

This always happens when i get fed up of fighting.

Because that's what life feels like, a constant battle.

If it's not my friends; it's my family. If it's not money; it's my education/employment. If it's not self hate; it's hate for others.

But when it's everything at once...i just don't know how to cope.

Not on my own.

I get beyond frustrated and i start to self destruct.

Who knew there were so many ways to do that?

I want to hurt myself. Not just physically, but emotionally.

And there's no switch to turn it off.

I'll punch a wall to stay away from knives.

I'll argue to stop myself screaming.

I'll cry to let out what i can't say with words.

It's infuriating. It's even worse that I know what i'm doing. I'm not an idiot.

I just don't know how to stop.

Every little thing sets me off.

And it all comes back to the fact there's only one person i can trust with everything; but he's the one person i'd die to protect.

Whatever i did in a past life, must have been pretty awful.

I know i'm a fairly strong person, but even the strongest people need someone to lean on...just every now and then.

I remember being a little girl.

Nothing ever phased me. I was sweet and polite and i helped everyone.

I ran in and out of all the neighbour's gardens; chasing butterflys and storing ladybirds in a little plastic tub for pets.

I read books under the trees in the garden and i rode my little purple bike with its tassels.

I slept in a tent in the backgarden in summer; i picked blackberries for my Ma to make a pie.

We had bbq's in the drive and i chased the boy nextdoor when he sent the wasps after me.

I played house with barbie dolls and i always had a pollypocket in my pocket.

I held my little brother's hand when he waddled outside to join in the fun.

I made stories up, writing them down in a little notebook, and i felt loved by everyone.

It never hurt to smile and i rarely ever cried.

And this was North London. But it felt like one big peaceful family to me.

For christs sake, i was innocent. I was a sweetheart.

What did i ever do to deserve the emotional cruelty that was to come?

I just fail to understand how people can be so...so heartless.

I don't even know when i stopped being so naive; when i realised that some people in this life don't want other people to be happy.

They want to ruin them.

I don't know how long it took me to start fighting back either.

How long did it take me to refuse to be thrown across a room, bruising my pale skin on every surface?

How long did it take me to fight against being trapped against a wall by strong arms, with spittle flying at my face?

How long did it take for me to refuse to be dragged down a road, grazing my knees every time i stumbled, my little legs fighting to catch up?

When did i start to ignore the nasty spiteful words?

When did i stop looking to Ma for help?

Too long and not soon enough.

The damage was done. He hated me. She didn't care enough. He was too young to know what it was like.

Then i met my real father, with a heart full of hope that he would love me when others couldn't or wouldn't.

He let me drink alcohol, steal things and pierce any part of my body i wanted.

I was 13.

He asked me how my mum let me get so fat. He pulled me into a world full of drug dealers, theives and murderers....nasty men who called me his 'fuck thing'.

I was willing to forgive him, he was my flesh and blood.

I let the snorting cocaine on the table, the constant scary shouting at his wife and the seedy parts of London we visited, wear me thin for years.

And then i snapped.

I've not stopped fighting since. Every single person who stoops below the line i've set will meet my wrath.

I don't care what people think of me; i'll always fight my corner.

People disappoint me.

All the fuckin' time.

You'd think i'd give up having expectations.

Some twisted part of me still wants people to be there for me.

I still want to forgive people.

I want them to be better. I want them to be a part of my life.

And i hate myself for needing them.

This echos through every part of my life.

I have certain expectations for the rest of my family and my friends; they constantly fall short.

They constantly do things that confound and often disgust me.

It gets to the point when i'm not surrounded by a single genuine person.

And in fighting to be genuine myself, by recognising that i can be better than this and expressing the thought that i don't actually have to keep people as a part of my life just because they think i'm obliged to...i isolate myself.

By being myself; i set myself aside from them.

Because my open heart has the ability to close it's doors; i scare them.

They don't understand.

But i do. I understand that just because i care for someone, it doesn't give them the right to hurt me.

That if i so choose; i can walk away and never look back.

If i'm not getting what i fundamently need from them, then i don't need them in my life.

People fail to understand that.

They're there because i choose to keep them there.

Yes it would hurt to walk away; but sometimes it hurts less than sticking around.

There's only one person who i couldn't do that to.

Because he has always had what i fundamently need from a person that close to me.

He loves me, all of me, and he knows how to, without being told.

He's my baby brother. Always.

Everyone else can literally go fuck themselves right now.

If my Grandma thinks that being my elder entitles her to be constantly rude to me and hold the taunt of money i desperately need over my head in a stunt to get me to think like her; she can think again.

If my aunt thinks that she can treat my Ma like shit and i'll stand by and watch; she can think again. She's my Ma when all is said and done.

If Harry and Chris think they can call me every name under the sun because i get better grades than them and i'm not willing to hide that fact; they can think again.

There are decent people in this world. I know this. I know some.

I know i have friends and family i could turn to if i needed. At least, they think i can turn to them.

It's just not in my nature anymore. They're not close enough, i can't keep them closer than they already are.

They don't give me what i fundamently need, because they don't know how to; and i'm not willing to show them either.

This just is, the way it is.

I'll be back on my feet soon enough.

When i have that brick firmly cemented in place, i'll be fine again.

Until then...i'll take each day as it comes.