Silent Pain

Dark skies, black clouds
Hanging over my head
Starry night, midnight fights
Screaming, crying, slamming doors
Is this what love is for?

Imprisoned by darkness,
Trapped inside myself
I keep screaming but no one can hear
Silence, deafening silence
The walls are closing in,
It is getting harder to breath
Help me, help me!

Light in darkness, darkness hides
Shadows lurk, midnight hurts
Lonely feelings, sinking deeper
Inside my mind it hurts

Cast your shadows, hide in the dark
Seek no help, no lives lost
No lives but one, but no one cares
A little line, a bit of blood
Scars tell stories of strength that lost
Handful of pills, stomach cramps
Sleep till morning, they’ll find me dead.

(so this is my first ever proper poem. Sorry it’s a bit dark, literally the first things that came to my mind…maybe I should get help)

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I’m a broken girl!

This has something that has tormented me for a while. But after watching Lisa Schwarts (Lisbug) on YouTube and viewing her Two Broken Girls videos and her Trying Girly Products videos I have realised how terrible I am at being a girl. I’m not a very skilled person, I wouldn’t even say I’m doing a good job with this blog but I do not do well at being a girl. Of course, I’d hate to be a boy so I gotta deal with what I have but Society’s perception of women has made it difficult to be a woman and women (I hate to say it) are the ones perpetuating the stereotypes that girls like me struggle with. Who’s the one writing Cosmo or Women’s Weekly? And who are the ones buying them?

My first fail at being a girl is of course how I dress. Since being with someone I’ve liked to dress up more in dresses but before now I have never been one to wear dresses and I hate the colour pink. I wouldn’t say I’m terrible at my makeup but I don’t own much and rarely use it all, if any. I’m not one for fashion magazines or reality TV shows. I much prefer horror or mystery books and the News. I don’t play with my hair much (despite changing its colour) and I wouldn’t know the first thing to do with it. I love cars and am learning more and more about engines and how they run, I don’t file my nails endlessly and I don’t spend my time painting them. I’m not saying all women do, but that’s the stereotype. I am not a girly girl.

After looking over all these facts and questioning my life, I’ve come to the conclusion that I am happy not conforming to the stereotypes put on me by women’s magazines and ultimately by women. I am happy reading my books, watching News and learning about cars. I’ll be happy in my big car (when I can drive) and I am happy in the body God gave me. I don’t need to know all the skills about make up, fashion and hair and neither do you. Just because you don’t like it or can’t figure it out doesn’t mean you’re a bad girl or not a girl at all. It just means you are exactly as God made you.

Sincerely,

A broken girl.

Paper Towel Curls (no heat method)

Hey again guys, so I’ve done something girly…no seriously, I did. I was surfing the Pinterest wave when I stumbled across a really interesting idea I had not heard of before. Now just a little background on my hair, it does not curl unless I braid it wet and then let it out in the morning but even then that’s not ringlets. I have dead straight hair which I find deathly boring, it’s either up or down…there is no in between. So when I saw this method, and realized I had a full roll of paper towels and a water squirting device I got excited. I was still skeptical about it actually working but hey, I’m desperate.

So I tried to follow the instructions on the Pinterest post I found, though they were really vague and I am only one person who cannot see the back of my head so I equipped my mums help. As I sat on the floor in front of my mum, it almost felt like my hair was being yanked from my skull as she twisted my hair over and over on itself until it formed little buds on my scalp, she then tied strips of paper towels around them to hold them in place.

I attempted to sleep on them but I couldn’t physically sleep on my back, my right or left side and was only left with my front which makes my back sore after a while. So I made the decision at about 4am, a good few hours since they had been in, to take them out. Standing in front of my mirror with sleepy eyes I unrolled the buds and unleashed ringlet after ringlet. I then ran my fingers through my hair, forming a few knots that didn’t stand a chance against the hairbrush, and ended up with curls I have NEVER had. It hurt but it was so worth it. (I will add the pictures to my Home Page 🙂 )

L’appel du Vide: Call of the Void

Have you ever experienced an overwhelming urge to jump off of a cliff? Walk into oncoming traffic or hold a knife and wonder how easy it would be to kill the person next to you? If you have, then you’ve experienced the Call of the Void, it is so common that even the french have a word for it. the French call it L’appel du Vide. I experience this urge every so often, most recently while standing next to oncoming traffic I felt the overwhelming urge to step in front of the cars. This is something that makes you question your sanity for sure, you find yourself going “what the hell brain? You’re suppose to keep me alive!”

What is interesting about the Call of the Void is that it is experienced by perfectly sane people who have described this urge as terrifying and heart stopping. It is definitely something that makes you question just why you’re thinking these but it is perfectly normal. Have you ever experienced the Call of the Void? What has it given you the urge to do?

The Case of Mrs Scott

Joanna Smitt Private Investigator, the sign on the frosted glass door read as William approached with the current Newspaper in his hands. The headlines read of a gruesome story about a young girl’s murder and the hunt for her killer. Although he held the paper in his hands he had yet to read the headlines, his only interest lay in the classifieds and that is where he found my office. When he knocked on my door I was just unpacking the last of the boxes from my move a week ago, fresh paint still hung in the air when his knock rattled the door and windows of the small box that was my office. I stepped over boxes and stacks of paper before my hand touched the doorhandle. When I swung open the door before me stood William, a young man with tired eyes and dark bags underneath his almond shaped eyes. His hair was dishevelled and his shirt was untucked.
“Are you the Private Investigator?” he asked with a strained voice.
“That is what it says on the door,” I smiled and moved boxes out of the way, allowing him to safely enter the office.
He took a seat on the black arm chair that sat on the opposite side of my large oak desk, the highlight of my dull office. After shutting the door behind me I carefully made my way back to my desk chair, light from my desk lamp lit up the desk while sunlight streamed through the venetian blinds as the stale summer air continued to circulate the room thanks to the ceiling fan.
“What is your name Sir?” I asked as I pulled my notepad out of the desk.
“William, William Scott…” he sighed and sat uncomfortably in his seat.
“What seems to be the problem Mr Scott?” I was writing his name down in the notepad when his story crossed my desk.
“I think my wife is having an affair, she’s been going out frequently over the last week.”
“This seems to be a common problem, for men and women,” I smiled as I dot pointed the information.
“I’ve not heard from her since yesterday when I left for work, she was not herself that morning…” he had not seemed to hear my snide remark but I began to become intrigued with his story.
“And have you been to the police?”
“They’re dealing with a possible murder, I am just looking for my wife who has been cheating on me,” he admitted, the sound of defeat drenched his voice as he finally looked me in the eye.
“I’ll look into it for you,” I agreed and handed him a form to sign after disclosing the potential and upfront costs. He happily paid and signed his name before thanking me, tipping his hat and leaving my office. He left behind his Newspaper and I was drawn to the headline, of course I had already known about the potential murder case as did everyone in the city but it was a new turn of events, as I read the news story I felt a shiver run up my spine as I read the words “body found in river, evidence links to a serial killer”. I added that to my notepad, at that moment I was not sure why I had written it.

That night, after clearing up my office I started on my first lead towards the Mrs Scott case. I went to Williams’s house where he told me he had last seen her, William lived outside of the city in one of the quiet inner suburbs, it was a humble house with a white picket fence and a path leading from the driveway up to the front porch. I went through the door and was invited inside by William. Everything inside the house screamed of signs of a happy family, there were family portraits strung up everywhere, embroidered blankets and cushions as well as scented candles strewn about on every spare bench space. Oriental rugs from their travels as a couple of twelve years were laid out on the floor in the living room and in the dining room under the table. There was a small TV set in the living room just opposite the couch where Mr Scott sat as I walked through the house. In the kitchen things started to get interesting, everything in the fridge was labelled, even milk. The outside of the fridge looked very much like the rest of the house, it was decorated with magnets from all over the country and To Do Lists and well as photos and important documents including a wedding invitation that was at least a month old. The dishes were still piled in the sink and to my surprise the oven was still on, quickly using a tea-towel I turned off the oven, careful not to distort any evidence. I then ventured upstairs where I would continue my search, so far there was no sign of foul play, just a happy family with a few idiosyncrasies, though I did note to ask Mr Scott about the excessive labelling. When I came to the master bedroom I realised there was only one bed, a single bed shoved up against the wall near the window. An Oriental rug lay on the floor and photos and candles sat on the dresser. Feminine clothing was found in the draws and her perfumes were scattered on the dresser along with her makeup and a hair brush with fresh blonde hair tangled up with the bristles. The rest of the room looked fine, it was the single bed that caused me to write in my notepad. Another point I would question William on. Now, there was only one other room besides the bathroom and William assured me it was empty and no one had been in it since they moved in five years ago. But still I had interest in that room, after finding nothing out of the ordinary in their bathroom I embarked on my search into the supposedly empty room. This is where I found the queen sized bed, more rugs were in this room too only they weren’t on the floor, they were rolled up and kept in the corner. Paintings and photos sat on the floor facing the wall and the light switch wouldn’t work. If anything, in this light it looked like a junk room, I reached for my torch and flicked on the light. As I swept the room with my torch light I noticed a few other interesting things, there were suitcases filled with male clothing stacked three high just beside the door, in the shadows. I made a final note before walking back down stairs to find William still sitting in front of the TV set.

“Can I talk with you a moment Mr Scott?” I asked as I looked over my notes again, high lighting the ones I wanted answers for immediately.
When I told him about my findings he simply hung his head, for a moment I feared that I was standing in front of a wife killer, until he opened his mouth. He admitted that he was not the smartest man and so his wife took it upon herself early on, to unnecessarily label everything in the fridge as his mother had done for him growing up. When I asked about the bedrooms he seemed embarrassed again but told me that it was once again his wife’s request for him to sleep in a separate bed. She no longer wished to share a bed with her husband and so made sure that by having the single bed made it impossible for William to enter her bed while she slept. From what Williams told me of his wife I gathered that she was a very vain woman, she kept up a façade to anyone who was visiting and hid her lies behind the bedroom doors. I felt sorry for the man that stood in front of me as he hung his head, I could tell that he loved his wife by the way he spoke of her. He never blamed her, he merely quoted direction that she had already given him. I reached across the air between us and gently stroked his arm to comfort him.
“I will find your wife William,” I promised and he offered a half-hearted smile.