Diary: February


I have decided to publish brief excerpts of the daily entries I wrote in my personal diary this year in order to share the reality of living with chronic mental illnesses.

Previously: January


I need my brain to kindly stop working
1) against me
2) so hard
3) altogether



Successfully undid all of my hard work [Dry January, 30 days sober]. Spectacular relapse into drunken revelry last night. Went to bed at 10am. Slept all day. Woke up at 8pm. Wasted day, wasted brain. What a waster. Minor self harm, cut on my left hand – minor, but self harm all the same. Can’t stand my self



I don’t know how much longer I can do this for…

Worried that if my mood stays this low + doesn’t improve this week I’ll end up in hosp. No cure for this though. Well there is but.

P.M: what is this feeling? like a persistent dissatisfaction/sense of unfulfilment – wanting more but of what, I’m not sure – more life or no life at all.



Tired anxious useless silly

There is ALWAYS work to be done.

P.M: No one encouraged me to stay sober…



Sake tastes like red wine if it were a spirit


Twisted knee + body relieved to be reacquainted w/ alcohol.



The dreams – the nightmare. Horrific. So fucked up. Rattled. Just want my brain to stop please just stop please



IMAGINE NOT CARING ? ! ? ! I can’t. I can’t imagine seeing a human being in pain / trouble / suffering + doing nothing about it, not caring at all, not feeling anything. I can’t imagine being unable to care. Imagine NOT caring! Imagine. I can’t.



Keep fucking things up with D. Wasted day, wasted brain. “You are a waste of space” – when C said that to me I looked at D incredulously and said “seriously?” He did nothing to back me, protect me, help me, just looked away in disgust, rested his arm on C’s bar stool, and in his silence he told me that he agreed with C. “You are nothing to nobody.” Thank you for your honesty.

P.M: Not good, need to stop.

“I desire the things which will destroy me in the end.” – Sylvia Plath



A’s birthday! Couldn’t travel up to see him because of Storm Ciara, flooding fucked up the trains. I spoke to him on the phone, explained that I couldn’t see him and he said “Yes because of the storm and floods” and I said “that’s right” and he said “If we lived in Scotland you’d be able to come to my party because there is no flood there” – then A said, for the first time ever, clearly, unprompted, “I love you.” When the call ended I burst into tears. I love him so much.



(dyed hair ‘586 warm mahogany’)

A comment on WP from lovely Jude got right to my heart:

just keep writing okay. xoxo, some of us need your posts on here.

He sent that comment and I received it right when I needed it the most – amazing. I am so lucky to have such kind and supportive readers on WP. Maybe I’m not a complete waste of space, like C said. But still: a waste.



2:28 A.M: Everything is wrong

Very anxious about T’s travels, and where I’m going to live. Miss the kids a lot. And Bonnie. Haven’t seen her for 3 years now.

Priorities: find somewhere safe to live, get Bonnie back, get help. Even if landlord says NO PETS ALLOWED fuck it just get Bonnie and have her with you anyway and lose your deposit/get fined FINE just get your cat back

deflated miserable ashamed annoyed at myself and fat fat fat

P.M: Sobriety is bad for me but so are drink and drugs. Both hurt. Bad bad.



I cannot unsee his body. The image will haunt me for the rest of my life, I know this for sure already. fucked up awful red blood white skin so cold on the concrete the open window empty and him alone cold broken an accidental spectacle awful awful



Dreams were bad again. Dad hiding gear from me and saying to me, “I didn’t do any of your charlie, my girl.” It was so clear and real that I thought it was an actual memory rather than a fictional conjuring by my unconscious mind. But I cannot place it because it never happened.

Thought about the dead man all day.

T off on his travels! He’s on his way to Thailand via Copenhagen. Praying for his safety. Worried that he’s going straight into the epicentre of the coronavirus. Praying. Let him be happy.

Going to meet L for dinner and drinks down TCR.

T arrived in Thailand safely! I am so excited for him to LIVE. He deserves a real life, he deserves the world. Let him be happy.

P.M: L said that T would get annoyed at her when she didn’t listen to what he said the first time he said it. Which is exactly my problem with D. I didn’t know that T is the same as me in the way that we are sick of repeating ourselves. Maybe because no one listened to us as kids when we begged for help, maybe because when we did speak we were wrong/punished, maybe because now, as adults, we are still desperate to be heard and realise that we deserve to be listened to.



I am so unhappy.

P.M: “Some people turn sad awfully young. No specific reason, it seems, but they seem almost to be born that way. They bruise easier, tire faster, cry quicker, remember longer and, as I say, get sadder younger than anyone else in the world. I know, for I’m one of them.” – Ray Bradbury, Dandelion Wine



How many times?
Nothing to no one.
Can’t do this anymore.
D doesn’t give a shit about me.
I am devastated. That is not love.

I don’t know how to feel better. Don’t think I can.

Not going to speak anymore. I have said everything so many times and nobody listened. Enough. No more. I have said it all. Pointless. Waste of space. Be quiet.



The only reason I didn’t go last night was because I didn’t want to ruin T’s travels. If he was in London, I’d be 14 hours dead.

If 1 = good and 10 = dead, I am at 9.8

Cannot ruin T’s one chance at finally living the life he deserves but don’t know why I should stay alive at all. T has suffered enough. I refuse to fuck up his freedom. I cannot fuck up his chance to live. I will not.



Everything caught up
with me, finally
as we knew it would



Whole week spent in grip of suicidal thoughts. Impossible to do anything other than obsess and decide and organise. Puffy eyes from crying + panic attack last night + self harm sliced arm open with a hot knife.

Can’t stop thinking about the dead man. He looked so cold. His bare feet.



Self harm looks bad. Infected burnt gouged flesh. Congratulations idiot idiot fucking useless



Weinstein found guilty but only of the “lesser” chargers, he got nothing for the “major” crimes. What is “3rd degree rape” anyway? Rape is rape. How can one live oneself, knowing the pain and cruelty and suffering that one has caused another? I couldn’t. I could not.



I will spend my entire life protecting everyone from badness


P.M: (you can hurt all you like, as long as you do it quietly)




– new sim card
– close accounts
– meds
– cigs
– pen
– coat
– get out
– enough
– go
– get out
– go
– stop


  1. Oh Heart💓
    You’re posts draw me oh so much,
    Not the darkness but the little rays of light you hold on to.
    I think there in lies a way out,
    I hope to increase that light a little bit more because you are so special and talented.

    1. Oh Jude, your kindness and support means more than you know – well me writing your loveliness in my diary might give you an idea how thankful I am for ‘knowing’ you!

      I hope you always keep writing your beautiful poetry, even if you don’t share it but write just for yourself. You are an extremely talented poet. It is always such a treat to receive the gift of your words. Stay safe and take good care of yourself xx

      1. I hope you take care too.
        If you ever need an ear to listen, please email me,judekirya37@gmail.com

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