They are alive……

Its a one oclock blog again. I wonder why I do these blogs. I wonder who reads them, if anyone, and what they think. These are seconds that last for a moment and i am cautious of what i say. Then like the ticking of a clock my fingers sing on a keyboard and everything pours. I don’t like to think too much. As its never good. Not for me anyway. Relationships are funny things, you take two humans. These are from different walks of life, different values and experiences and throw them together. I always view the start of a relationship as a ……. Child playing with clay. When she has moulded her visions she then plays with them in her imaginary world of pretend. I think thats what we do, or I at least. I have a pretend world where i have made my clay man. To keep him there i have to play fair. To keep him strong and not for him to crack and crumble i have to understand the way he was made. But i don’t. I don’t understand me. So I am at a loss before i could ever conceive to win. Then in my pretend world everything is great. We can mould each other and smooth over the cracks. But in actuality it doesn’t get smoothed over. I choose my human and decided to love him and play with him in my pretend world. But i knew reality would make him crumble. I am just convincing myself i am now unloveable. Its not really the greatest ego boost that my ex cheated on me for two years and for the last year he still couldn’t be faithful. He would flirt with girls and send such pictures i would find out and feel sick. He handed me complex after complex and insecurities that made me shake.  Then i met another man, he was broken and not whole. I think i attract them you know.

I always saw a relationship of a somewhat unity. A team. If i was going to war the person i was with i would want on my platoon as i know they have my back. Yet i dated a guy a bullet, thats engraved and i wear it around my neck. It has a message inscribed but it was in the language he knew so a lie. I decided that I would wear it not because i love him, but because it was one of the many bullets in his gun that killed me and made me weak. But At least i knew he would never leave me. Then i met this other guy. No insecurities, no girls perfection could of been a good word. But then i spiralled and i fell and i descended to hell. Now my demobs are happy as they have me back. It was quiet lovely really how they welcomed me back. They stay up all night with me, and if ever i need company they are always there. I married demons so i can never marry a man.

I confided in a friend of what made me spiral. And as a friend does they show concern. It was nice to acknowledge the disease i have investigated and learnt thats eating me. Ooooooooh no this time its not my mind. This time its not my bipolar. I think if it wasn’t for my bipolar i maybe worse. I have the disease that consumes so many and that the word alone instills fear. It actually made me freeze. My blood ran so cold a splinter of ice must of pierced my heart, as i gasped for air. Cancer i dare. The womanly parts of me are being eaten alive. Im twenty nine and i have a unbalanced mind and a disease eating me alive. The insecurities rise and i feel bile thrown at the back of my throat. I could cry but i haven’t yet. Not over the thing that i just learnt. I think i’m numb or still coming to terms with this vile thing harbouring inside my womb. Like a spawn of satan i’m nurturing it and letting it feed on me. I am a beautiful host.  I actually can feel my breath unsteady as i filter through this truth. I admitted this two two people. Two which i trust and love and know would do anything to see me smile. But still i sit here in my ex boyfriends zip through hoodie, it faintly smells of him. Wearing dungarees bought for me as a sorry from the cheating ex, and the things i am wearing which look the best are fresh scars. Another chapter of my fucked up life. There was a time where my life was quiet happy and calm. Oh dear lord i wish for that again so bad. The marrow of my bone ache for it. They also ache for a warm embrace. But i know to be hugged would leave this little fighter with a tear stained face.

When it was revealed what i now have to face the cancer of a woman’s delicate place I was shocked nad scared then last night at 5 am i sat out my back garden. The stars weren’t too bright, but the warmth of the night kept me company. The sounds of cars passing on the road behind me made me smile. I wonder how their life differes from mine. I thought about writing, but couldn’t bare to hold my favourite pen. Then a thought crossed my mind, what if this is a pleasure of my life. I have contemplated suicide and attempted it a few more. What if now, ‘This’ disease is here to save and finish me. In a dignified way of course. As suicide is always a frowned upon course. Maybe i have created the work i was suppose too…. release the poems and art i should. Maybe i have changed a few lives, as i know a few have changed mine. I have done alot of good i know in my life, and been a good person to those i know and those i don’t, and those who haven’t deserved my time, but at least if I am lowered into the earth they will know they got more than they deserved and i can sleep peaceful. I tear slide down my face and the smile spread across my face. I own my thoughts and thats what i love about me, I’m not afraid to challenge those of a narrow or closed mind, not to win a argument but to enlighten their life’s. I have handed my notice into three magazines i write for and two support groups i run, one for young kids with self harm issues and one for support and counselling for parents of children who self harm and who have a mental disorder. My own mother do not even know of these jobs, or where i give my time willingly. My own mother knows nothing of my illness as i don’t see the point, she never made me feel ok or accepted for having a mental disorder. So why would she want to support me now, when she can just ignore and spend time with the ‘normal’ child she has. I am not bitter a part of me was. But i know i have done nothing wrong not to deserve what she has or has not done as the case stands. I am due now to turn down the book offer to have a book published, which i started to write. AS i don’t want to be stressed out right now. Writing books are hard. I have my university papers sat on my desk ready to submit to finish my last year. Even though when i printed them off i knew….. spending some time alone has made me think what do i want to be doing for a year? travelling,……… or photographing a series or two that will will remain should anything happen to me. As it’s not as simple as scrape and remove and then a few appointments to ensure things have been cut away. So maybe i will read, read every book i wanted to read. I will travel, travel to the places i want too. Maybe i will visit a few close friends who have been there from the start of my photography journey before i even knew it was a path i would go on to choose.


I will visit one man before the year is out. This time four and a half years ago, a man gave me the greatest tip in the world. (shadows) This man has a piece of my heart today. And i want to hold him in a embrace and thank him. For when i have doubted my work, my direction, the purpose of it all….. My darling Luca is there with his Italian charm. He has lasted longer than relationships and gave me more joy than most of them.  And even though i hate Germany, I will find him there.


Tomorrow i go and drive for a hour to a tattoo studio to be tattooed. The artist is amazing and I am dying to having this piece on me as for six years i have been in love with the concept of the piece. And i finally put it together and now i get to have a beautiful memoir of it. Then i will have my favourite poem inscribed on my thigh…. a quote or two more and when i lay on the slab or a cold mortuary cradle… I hope they read my tattoos and admire my artwork…. I will be a beautiful corpse in death as i was in life.

Now to try and sleep as seven hours of sleep in five days is something thats killing me. Stopping on lot of medication to be able to undergo treatment is a wonderful way to test my instability. But hey, it makes good pictures…. so at least my instability and insanity will never leave me….. never thought i would say i was actually grateful for that.




He fell in love with, with a…- A strange girl.

I have decided to blog, only a paragraph for now. Today i have indugled in having my front door open to cool me in the breeze that sulks in. I have subjected my hears and soul, and my neighbours to Hozier, Slipknot, Korn Sabbath, Rye and some Celin Dion. Well variety is the death of life ….

Through all of the songs i noticed the beat in my heart and the thoughts that filtered through….I am a strange girl. Oh i do not complain of this conclusion. But i do wonder what man can fall in love with a strange girl?  I wonder if his hair is long, or his fangs sharp. I wonder if his hand trembles when he concentrates. I wonder for what his accent will be and when he speaks will the words be true. I wonder if his body will be etched with scars or art or if he will keep his thoughts in his head his anger in his fists and his soul deeep inside and he will just be a blank canvas on the outside.

A man made love to my mind last night, and it was the best sex i never had. The man excited me and it was a long time since such nerves had electrified my skin. He lives a million miles away and his accent made me smile. His intelligence made me miss the man i lost some years ago when i wasn’t such a strange girl. I was conforming to him, loving him and his rules, because he made love to my mind better than to my body. His knowledge made me fantasized and it got me through some hard times. He would lay with me, my head on his lap and tell me things and stroke my hair. His accent would soothe my mood, my panic or anger. I could leak a tear for the man i left behind……Then i almost found him again.This man had accent and eyes the colour of burnt honey, and in the sunlight they were of a pond green. That mans eyes now, i fell in love with as the light revealed the depths and colours they held. He knew i was a strange girl…. his tone was calm and his stare was meek…. I never once saw a glimmer of anger. I fell in love with this mans brokeness, Its a shame to say it is what ended us. But his smell lingers in my mind and every time i see the sun setting in the sky i want to cry. I don’t want to look, i dont want to see the colour and how beautiful it can be. How it can transform and ignite my soul. I rather stay awake and watch the sunrise. And i dont even care to much, he stole my sunset. And a little part of me hates him for that.

So now i wonder if he will come back to me…. or if he will choose to  leave me this way….. I am a strange girl and i want my sunset back….. and the man that sat beside me running his fingers through my hair….. telling me of unknown wonders to me. But when i turned to look at him, all i saw was a broken man, and i knew it wouldnt be long before he couldnt stand….. A strange girl she is……


A unbalanced mind, a silent fighter only feeling peace in the humming of the night. A beautiful creature she can be, but then she can transform to a creature so free, uncaring and careless that she fly’s away free….. It will take a man who understands ecstacsy and agony and their need to exist in everything especially love. To her, love is pain. It s always been this way. Art is a release, blood letting is where she finds peace and her soul and love is inked into her skin. But to get close enough to read her tatoos and feel her scars you have to be armed. As vicious she can be because no one has ever came in peace without a excuse to eventually leave…….I will give you so many reasons to leave. But if you can stand before me and tell me one reason why you want to stay. I guess i will give in, and love you anyway.

Coffee and cigarettes …

Its a early hours in the morning kind of blog again. Bipolar kicks my arse and sometimes i let it… its nice to feel something other than medicatedly numb.

I was inspired to buy a camera because my heart got broke… I knew nothing of the damn thing, only the man who broke my heart had one. He captured images of me i was his subject and his muse. Then my heart was broke and he became my muse. Every image was haunted with him. Things i wanted to say or scream, things i wish he would see. Other things i just needed to release… find a part of me. With every self portrait i looked at the mens, like i did before when he held it. I gave the expression with my eyes. As a model you are not allowed to pull a expression with your face, no muscles must move within your face but you must pull your emotion through your eyes as if it were your soul, your heart. And you had it over to the camera. As soon as that shutter shuts, its captured a part of your soul. Anyone can pout, and anyone can smile, but to say it with your eyes… and let someone read your mind and soul is being naked.

It was through my images i met another man….. I thought my heart was broken and i had lost the love of my life. Then ‘this’ man strolled in. Well strolled is the wrong word, more like crashed. And for the first time in so long i actually ‘felt’ i felt something other than hollowness…. emptiness and anger. I felt love again. We went through so much from him leading a double life. From anger and rage, from both of us. From trust issues to lies. From prison and restraining orders and random stalking and phone calls. Theres always that pull. I think in loving him, i lost a piece of me. Every image over the last three years has some way been inspired by him. If it wasn’t through hurt, or anger, or betrayal. It was through despair it was through confusion. It was through painful aching love and worthlessness i felt. He was my inspiration. Every hurtful word he would say, would inspire me in some way. Every lovely gesture would inspire me. He is my portfolio, of my emotions, my journey. I think because of the bipolar i may feel alot deeper or react alot stronger to situations. Maybe its the writer in me? maybe its the melancholic soul i have? Maybe its because i’m a hopeless romantic? Maybe its because i don’t want to believe i fell in love with a monster and then he turned me into one. Theres alot of maybes and questions and ill probably never get them answered not really. Truth is i don’t want them answered as then i’m in a reality of the real. I have never been much fond of that. Maybe i read to many books and enjoy being tragically in love. Where is the fun in being happy? Its alien to me, it scares me, it panics me. It terrifies me. At least when things are wrong you know they can get any worse. But to be happy and then to fall…….. i know what that feels like. The happier you are the higher the height you fall from. So my advice ‘ never get to happy, enjoy it, but don’t think it will last. Trust me it never does’


Now for the worst confession of all time……. ‘Happiness writes white’ If i am happy no images appear, if I am happy no poems are written. I am inspired by heartbreak, by depression, by pain and by being hurt. I am a fucked up girl.  Theres ‘life’ and ‘death’ and then there nothing but sadness in-between, thats what i capture…. thats what I release. Everyone can look at a pretty image, only those who know the colour of the depths of depression and pain can look at ones that aren’t pretty and see the beauty. I guess thats why i wont do pretty pictures…. I don’t want fame from my images or to be ‘well known’ I refuse commissions that aren’t my style and pass them on to someone else. I wont change my style or message to cater to the masses…. or the majority. I fit in with the minority. The people who have not only been to the edge … but know whats over it. But to do that i cant be happy. I look through my stream on flickr or 500px and i can tell you the month and reason and feeling and why that photo was created. When i go back to Oxford, my happy place, my safe place, my home. I never do a shoot or take a picture. I take my camera every time but i cant take a picture i’m too happy and safe…. Im too in awe at being peaceful and calm.  I have to now torture myself with the insecurities i have, the questions and the hurt and suffer i sustained through my last relationship to still create images. For as long as i do that i’m never to move on…..


Would i prefer to be a tortured artist or a happy wife/girlfriend with mundane pictures?

Tortured artist every time.  I don’t want to see the world as it is… I want to see it and the other worlds within it. I want to show people they aren’t alone…. everyone can relate to one of my images. When that stops happening i will sell my camera. I have decided however to challenge myself like only i can do….. I am going to do short fifteen second videos too. So now i need to learn how to edit videos. Because for the things i cannot capture in one shot ……. which is rare…. but maybe if i can maybe do video editing maybe it will help me overcome some of my inspirational block. Or maybe i just need to be with the person who breaks me best as thats the only time i feel inspired or alive.


You’ll find me among the souls of tombstones

I hold my breath under water sometimes and i see how long i can stay under water and holding my breath. Not because i want to beat my own best score or I’m even timing the minutes. I do it because a self destructing streak in me wants to see how far i can push me.. when the panic kicks in, when the heart beat quickens, when my body writhes fighting for air. Then I gasp up from the water choking on freshly breathed air. I have no fear of death, some days i welcome it, other days i envy the peace i will one day find in it. I actually love to be around it. I have decided as tomorrow will be a beautiful day and i have uni work to do, that instead of a coffee shop or library …I will go with my books to my favourite place with coffee ………….A graveyard. There are the most beautiful graveyards around here. Some are very old, some beautiful and kind of new, others are unkept and sing with a whistle of decades ago. I know them all, and love them all equally. Tomorrow shall be cathays graveyard, tomorrow i will walk for a while, past Henry Williams and his Wife, Iris. I will tilt my head and sigh, to be buried with your lover in death and to spend a mortal life with them alive is really something i admire. I will walk then further down the the stone with barely etched words and wonder what was their first name. Then come the trees and they give oxygen to the living and shade to the dead. Their roots curling round corpses caskets and keeping them safe. I can’t help but think of stories and rhymes, picture who they were and what their life was. I also think of what will become of me, a casket or a pod that will turn into a tree or will i be burnt and scattered somewhere.


The graveyard will be my retreat for a few hours of soul aching peace. Their is a certain energy in a graveyard …. I think so anyway. I will place down my coffee and choose one of my favourite spots under a tree. Then i will wait for the caretaker who is always fond of me to tell me at quarter to five he’s closing up. Sometimes he lets the gate at the bottom open for me …. and to let myself out when i please. I never leave it later than eight to slip through the gate. Sometimes people just know you need that extra time. Think its the look people can see in your eyes. So many places to hid and mine is a cemetery it calms my soul and mind. And makes me appreciate life.




The most unanswered question in history…..

The most scientific and extraordinary minds of the last few decades and even of this era have neither solved or defined what ‘Love’ actually is.  We ask about gravity, its a force, we ask about prehistoric species and evolution. We question quantum theory and the universe, we  know very little about what lurks at the bottom of our oceans. Yet we still ask. Yet where are the questions of what love is? how it came about? who named it love? who discovered this was a emotion a feeling not a sense? How can we know so little about something that governs so much. Why haven’t the different types of love been subcategorised? I love coffee, but not in the same way I love my child. Love is a word that is throw around and used on a daily basis in daily conversations. Both with the people we love and with people who are colleagues.

Love governs us on a spiritual level on a emotional level on a physical level and a mental level. How can one four letter word some up something so big, so complex so mysterious so obvious.

Love the most deadly and destructive drug alongside heroin. Its addictive its yearned for, it changed people, perspectives, personalities, morals senses of who we are, the rights and wrongs of the world. It physically can change us as well as mentally and emotionally. The experiences I have had for me to compare it to one of the most horrendous drugs in the world must tell you something.


I always think of love the ‘fantasy type’ the type i want as the poem written by johnDonne ‘The rising son’ The first time i heard or read that poem, i knew i wanted someone to love me like that. I wanted to be that to someone, and i wanted to feel what it was like to be loved by someone so completely that i can almost touch their soul.  I see many poets and writers writing about love, likening it to a summers day, a butterfly or even a personification of a object. Yet when i write poetry about love, I liken it to a hunger starved frenzied fuelled wolf. The ripping of the meat the dying of they prey the oblivious wolf at his own instincts obeying his need for hunger opposed to the precious life of another, whom would not of turned on him through hunger. I suppose that doesn’t make me a hopeless romantic like i once thought i was, maybe it makes me a cynical realist.


My experience of love is that ‘ love does not conquer all’ It ‘destroys all’ confidence, self esteem it doesn’t make you feel beautiful it makes you insecure about your beauty. It does not comfort it makes you uncomfortable at the way he can so easily stray. The competition the idealism that i have to compete with with other girls, the images in magazines, and the perfection that so many girls seem to achieve so naturally.  I don’t care much for beauty. I know i am pretty and part of a genetic lottery that i won. Same with my physical appearance my body is slender with curves apple in the right places. I have no stretch marks, beautiful blue eyes, high cheekbones, a splattering of freckles and the ability to be whatever hair colour i desire and still look good. I am intelligent I am smart I am witty, I’am creative and I have my own house, car, business, child etc yet at approaching thirty I have not experienced a love that hasn’t left me scared so deeply that it is more feared than welcomed. Would you welcome a thief into your house after he has stole from you over and over again ? no… you wouldn’t it’s common sense.


So when can I ask and who do I ask what love is? why is it craved when its the most deadly thing on earth…… ?

Because simply, when its good……………. nothing else compares to it. When its good its the best drug for your senses to spring to life, for you to glow for you to be excited about. It is the one thing that makes us feel like we are truly someone.

Love is……..


It just is the most powerful thing to exist between two humans. I was told recently by a woman that had been married twice and lost her husband of 48 years to cancer three weeks ago to not give up the hope of love. I will share with you her story …..

Her first husband was a bastard and left her with two children, she gave him everything even her love, and was repaid with nothing but abuse and neglect. She met her second husband an used the cliche ‘ It was love at first sight’ As if she could read my mind, she held my arm and said ‘Its ok i didn’t believe in it either’ She then said that from that moment on she she she would marry him. I asked the most obvious question any novice would “didn’t you ever want to walk like leave?” Oh she said ‘We had our ups and down and once i did, I left for six weeks. He had been diagnosed with cancer and i told him don’t you dare die on me and leave me with four kids.” She gave a laugh at the fond memory and i think my heart cracked. I hope one day I can look back so fondly at my time with someone. So I asked why she left….

“I left because he sunk into such a deep depression, he wouldn’t leave the house, and i told him, you are coming to the shop with me, and he protested as his appearance was noticably ill. I told him i didn’t give a damn what he looked like i loved him and i was proud to be with such a fighter. He was mine and i was proud of him. But after he recovered from cancer he ended up taking a lot out on me and he wasn’t the man i married so i left. I had a breakdown and i left i found a little flat and i left. Six weeks and he realised what he had lost how much he loved me and we started dating again and we got back together. And I’m glad we did. It wasn’t easy to trust a man after my first husband, not at all. A cheat and a liar. But my second husband, well he would go out with the boys and get up to some tricks. But he knew who he loved and who made him happy, he knew i was loyal and waiting at home for him. And he respected me and my love enough never to betray me. That is what a man is, a respectable man that knows a woman worth.”

At this point I was crying, yet she was the one who lost her husband five weeks ago or there about, her ‘soul mate’ and i was crying. I had lost someone in a different way seven weeks ago and i wish i could talk as fondly as she could about her husband.

This woman was 76 years old and wore higher heels than i ever could balance in her appearance was pristine and her experience of love amazing. Even the fact on her 25th wedding anniversary they went on holiday and the couple next door were honeymooning, yet the newly wedded couple actually complained about the 25th year married couple for  the ‘noise’ they made. I laughed so hard when i found this out, as she so openly told me. So good sex is also the key to a happy marriage. So i asked her of the wisdom of her experience of love….

Her words simple ‘Don’t give up on love, it does exist the real love the soul mate type does, believe me. But don’t ever settle for anything less than someone loving you the best they can. Do not ever let a love be a sad or fearful type of love, as thats not love. And always be willing to compromise and express your feelings, as someone who loves you will never take them for granted or disrespect them. And most of all, smile, always smile my sweetheart, as its the only time the eyes to our soul opens up, and your eyes look beautiful when you smile.’

How she could see my smile or my eyes through my tears that would not stop creeping down my face i don’t know. But I can’t help but feel a bit cynical about love, as If its so good and soul mates are possible then why haven’t I got that hopeful feeling i once had. What if i had my soul mate and I walked away, how would i know? how would i know if the love of my life has been and gone or is yet to come? I love people in so many different ways and no lover i have ever loved in the same way. They have all been different apart from all hurting me so much it feels like my souls already in hell.

Love – the thing we know so little about but is still the reason we breath


Do not look back……

Do not look back ever, because that is not the direction of success, strength and development. I have looked back to many times, gone back too many times and each time I have died in another way i never knew i could. I suppose that is the best to of come from looking and going back. Lessons, the best lesson I can say i have learn’t is; what does not kill you, will surely haunt you for a eternity. Living people and their words, and actions, haunt you more than the dead.


A version of a truth…

“who are you?” he whispered.

His question lingered, hung like smoke curling in the air. Her smile was sincere, a little too sincere. The interest in his tone ignited her soul, for she could not answer. As she herself did not even know. She was  young girl of twenty three, with hair of golden sun, and eyes as reflective an emerald jewel, that was a fact she knew. When her smile reached her eyes they glowed intensely against the darkness of any night.

‘I do not know…’ she paused with uncertainty and she curled her arms around him. His heart beating, humming into her ear, like a love song only she could hear. His chest rose and he inhaled deep, but no words fell from his lips as she waited for him to speak. when her mind knew he was just as confused, she loved him that little bit more than the minute that passed by a moment before. If you could read someone by their eyes, her life would horrify. His heart sung and his mind ticked, but his body relaxed under her loving grip. She knew who she wanted to be, she knew who she was, and she knew who she had become. Each relationship she knew who they wanted her to be. She let them mould her, to love her, to own her and in-turn to control them.

‘Power is not in the person who thinks they have control, but in the person who is being controlled.’ A passage which she read once upon a time, and could release the taste of them from her mind. The sharp wind slapped her hair and it whipped her face, his hands raised and held her safe. This was the start of a beautiful mistake.