One lovely blog award, and some big confessions

lollipopsandrazorblades and lifeonaxis1 have both kindly nominated me for the One Lovely Blog award; a nice surprise on a day where I’m coughing up my lungs and getting through boxes of tissues whilst suffering with the virus from hell. Seriously, I haven’t been this unwell in a long time, and I’m cursing everybody I came into contact with last week. I’ve spent the past two days in bed, wanting to curl up and die. That the virus coincided with my little slip up is a particularly frustrating coincidence; I suspect it’ll take some time to recover.

Anyway, I owe lollipopsandrazorblades a huge thank you for my nomination; check out her blog for an amazing and humbling amount of honesty. Also, massive thanks to lifeonaxis1; she’s never been nominated for an award before and shares my reservations about award posts. Visit her blog, because she has some amazing words to say about the mental health system.

The Rules of Acceptance:

Thank the person/people who nominated you and link back to them in your post.

Share seven possibly unknown things about yourself.

Nominate fifteen or so bloggers you admire.

Contact the chosen bloggers to let them know and link back to them.


Seven things

Writing seven things about myself is always difficult; when you write with the intention of being totally honest, there’s very little to confess to. What could be shocking or surprising enough? With that in mind, I’m going to aim for the mundane.

1. I realised today that I’m entirely stuck in the late 80’s/early 90’s. Not in the trendy “LOL I’m so retro” way, but in a nostalgic way I can’t bear to let go of. Despite everything which has happened, I did have a happy childhood until depression and anxiety took over. I grew up in a semi-detached house in quite a suburban area, and although my mother was possessive, I was happy with what I had. I remember long sunny days in the garden or cul-de-sac down the road, riding my sister’s yellow scooter and visiting the family next door to play on the Master Station with my friend Daniel. I have amazing memories of running across my primary school field in a blue-and-white checked dress and lace-topped ankle socks, throwing grass and laughing.

I know most have rose-tinted memories of their childhoods, but because I was so prone to curling into myself emotionally (I’ve always been shy), I found beauty and fascination in the most simple things. Primary school was an incredibly happy time for me, and I look back on it with fondness. Not only do I look back, but I spent a lot of time thinking and, most nights, dreaming of it. I watch old TV programmes from that time and listen to the music I heard as a kid, just to recreate the feeling of pure uncomplicated living. It’s been a long time since life was uncomplicated.

Contrary to popular belief, I wasn’t a boy.

2. I love Erasure. And Bronski Beat. 80’s synth-pop and New Wave have always made me happier than anything else can, and I refuse to apologise for it. None of this is a secret or unknown, but wonderfully naff nonetheless.

3. Although I smoke cannabis for pain, I also sometimes smoke so much that I pass out; just to calm my fears. I know there’s a lot of controversy surrounding mental illness and dope, and all I can say is that I’ve known people who’ve smoked it all their lives and never become mentally ill. I’ve known others who have a diagnosed disorder such as bipolar who use it to control their manic phases. On the flipside, my ex, J, got no benefit from smoking weed; he was a stereotypical pothead and didn’t seem to understand that his bipolar got much, much worse when he smoked, and calmed down significantly when he stopped.

I wholeheartedly believe that all drugs are dangerous if used incorrectly, but if you treat the majority of them with respect, perhaps they can be a good thing. I don’t see a difference between prescribed medication and illegal drugs; after all, morphine can be diagnosed for back pain, but heroin (the same thing) is illegal. Codeine kills thousands of people a year. Addiction to prescription drugs is higher than ever, if statistics are to be believed, yet these addictions are far more accepted by society than addiction to illegal drugs.

Cannabis stops me having panic attacks. Stops them dead, with just a few tokes. Meanwhile, diazepam takes time to work and is highly addictive. Can kill you. So if I choose to use a class-B drug rather than benzo’s… is that so wrong?

But yes. Sometimes I smoke for the hell of it.  Because I like it.

4. For a long time, I lived in an imaginary world. A world were everybody was nice and respected me for my invented talents and very unlikely beauty. As a child, I often spoke these fantasies out loud and the habit carried on into my teens, leading to a child psychiatrist assuming I heard voices. I didn’t; I just confined myself in a fantasy world to the point where I believed it all. I didn’t live in the real world, but in a false reality. What happened, only happened in my head. At some point, the childish fantasies became a psychosis and that’s when everything changed in my happy little world; I invented slights and insults, and became convinced that, rather than adoring me, everyone loathed the very ground I walked on. Being bullied in secondary school pushed me further into the fake reality and only confirmed (in my addled brain) my suspicions that everyone was conspiring against me.

I foresee a blog post on this subject.

5. At the height of my bulimia, I ate food from the rubbish bin in the kitchen, shovelling damp biscuits into my mouth then throwing them up in a green plastic tub I kept especially for the purpose. I threw up in plastic zip-lock bags and hid them under my bed, surrounded by empty crisp packets and chocolate bar wrappers. I ate, then drank handfuls of water from the bathroom tap so I was as close as possible to the toilet. Sometimes, I’d vomit when I’d only eaten a small handful of carrots, terrified of the calories seeping into my veins somehow.

6. Once, I had sex with a man who was in his mid-forties, because my ex-fiancé told me he wanted me to sleep with someone else. The whole situation is somewhat convoluted so I won’t go into every single detail. My ex-fiancé and I were fighting constantly, having drifted apart sexually and emotionally, and he started getting close to another woman; Ally, who he now has two children with. I took the phrase “sleep with other people” to mean “I want to sleep with other people”, and, in stupid desperation to hold onto a decaying relationship, I hung my engagement ring on a chain around my neck, swallowed what little I had of my pride, and ended up in bed with a balding man with a constant runny nose and the inability to finish without jacking off over my chest. I remember staring at a slight damp spot on his bedroom ceiling and realising I had reached the lowest moment of my life.

7. Every morning when I wake up, I want desperately to be back in my dreams. Not because they’re happy or interesting, but because they’re so familiar. Since starting on antidepressants I’ve had incredibly lucid dreams which all take place in the same fictional town. Over the years I’ve explored houses and run down streets which are more like home to me than any place in the waking world.

It’s difficult to nominate other bloggers for this award, since I’ve already nominated so many. The following links are to blogs I read for their honest content and because, in different ways, they inspire me.
The Secret World of S / ryoko861 / May I Be… / bipolarmuse / Jacqui Talbot / NZ Cate / My Ox is a Moron / whereimstaying / Resiliant Heart / Destination Girl / Displaced Housewife / lazyhippiemama / Word Flows

I’d love to say something about each blogger because each of them deserve recognition, but I’ve already written over a thousand words… perhaps the mundane confessions weren’t all mundane.

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  1. Love from the sunny coast of Maine — this award is perfect for you — nothing is more lovely than an honest woman, unafraid to spread the word, despite anything. Your 7 things are very interesting — I had the same experience with the “other people,” and now he’s married to her, they have two kids, and (though I would never condone the practice of domestic violence,) she threw him down the stairs for being his own drunk asshole self. You were a lovely child then, as you are a lovely woman now. Congratulations on this perfect award!


  2. Thank you for your nomination! You’re brutal honesty is raw but eloquent. We’ve all had that moment of “the lowest point” in our lives. The key is knowing when it happens and reversing that spiral. Mundane? No, never!
    I wish there was more I could do for you, but living 3600 miles away doesn’t help! Even if it’s just to sit and watch people on a bench, oh the fun we’d have!
    The award is well deserved! As are all the awards you’ve been granted!


  3. Number 6: That made me want to cry, because I know that torment. It took me almost five years to realize it, but my ex had sexually abused me. That instance, the sleep with other people bit, well, that’s something that’s difficult for me to talk about. Some of my friends know about it, because word used to get around pretty easily about certain topics, and I make it out to be a joke, like I was this wild child that just did it for the shock factor. The sad truth is that I did it in desperate attempts to “please my man”. I hate hearing that phrase, but it was true.

    So, I’ll share my story with you. There are four of them, but two of them are rather short. There was the accidental threesome that seemed innocent enough. I can’t say I was an entirely unwilling participant, although I wasn’t eager about it. It involved my best friend in high school and college and my ex and a case of beer. I remember it vividly, because it was a sobering experience. Threesomes never work out, not for one of the people anyway. I realized that the threesome I was participating in was really just sitting there, naked, watching my boyfriend have sex with another woman. I was upset the next day that I had been duped into doing it. But, I realized I had the personal responsibility to stand up and say no. So, I let it go, just informing him that I didn’t enjoy myself, and that I wouldn’t be doing it again.

    Yeah, right. He was the mega sociopath from hell. There was the almost threesome with another one of my best friends from high school. She became a teen mom before that (she was younger than me) and then a stripper with a substance abuse problem. The substance abuse wasn’t obvious at the time, so we were drinking our faces off. He was talking her up, and she giggled. I wasn’t offended by her giggling, because I knew she just liked the attention. I was pissed about his intentions. He would lean into me and say, “C’mon, let’s have a threesome with her.” To which I politely replied, “No, I really don’t want to.”, trying not to make a scene. Eventually, somewhere around dawn, he pushed me beyond my limit. I outright asked her, “Adrianne, Avi wants to know if you’d like to have sex with us.” She made a face and said, “Uhhhh, no thank you. But I guess thanks for asking.”

    He angrily stormed out, and I followed. And at the crack of dawn, in the middle of the summer, we walked through the neighborhood, drunkenly screaming at each other. He blamed me, telling me that I had talked her out of it or something. I knew her. She had no interest in him or me. She only liked people that didn’t want her. I told him plainly that the situation was weird, and she didn’t appreciate it. And then, he basically called me a whore, screaming out the number of partners I had been with (male and female alike), and telling me that it wasn’t fair that he had fewer partners than me. I was offended. We were actually engaged at that point in time. And he threatened to pack his stuff and go. By then, I was so finished with him that I told him to do it, and that I was going to bed. When I woke up, he was still there. It was only because he knew that I had meant it.

    Finally, there was the last straw. Our relationship had been on it’s last leg for at least six months at this point in time. I had been having this odd, pseudo relationship with a boy, recently 18, that had a crush on me for the three years prior to that. (Jailbait, lol). It wasn’t like I was in love with him or anything. He was just really nice to me. And I knew we had crossed a certain line between friends and lovers, without being sexual. I had put the line there. Although he had come on to me several times, I ignored it.

    Well, there was a night. It was New Years Eve and we were having a rather wild, but private after-party. There was Avi, Simon, and me, all drunk and high as kites. It started with a suggestion from Avi about a lap dance. I went with it, because it sounded fun. It ended with me, on my knees, with one behind and one on the sofa. Regrettably, that is how I ended up with Simon’s V-card.

    And that’s pretty much how our friendship ended. I was fine, willing to put it behind me, waiting for him to make some kind suggestion toward what the nature of our relationship was after that. I didn’t care if we were just going to remain nonsexual friends or polyamorous lovers (yes, that’s how far I fell, because before all of this, I was a good, moral girl). Well, he ended up throwing everything back in my face, and it was a mess. There was a serious division in friends, etc. Turns out, he was no better than the man I was with. Maybe worse.

    Then, there’s finally the matter of the almost threesome with my ex and, guess who? My own husband, then just friend. My ex, after the threesome with Simon, got the fantastic idea that he could have sex with men as well, but it was perfectly “not gay” as long as there was a woman involved. I didn’t want to have sex with my husband at all, actually. It wasn’t a matter of whether I was attracted to him or not. I was attracted to my first friend and to Simon, and the idea of having sex with them was something I would entertain. (But, I didn’t know the consequences of the fallout. My first friend was really cool about it. We joked about it at my wedding, she said, “You know someone is your best friend for life no matter what if you can have sex with them and it becomes this inside joke, like a bond.”

    But, I really, really didn’t want to have sex with my husband. I wasn’t even curious as to what it would be like. I was plenty attracted to him; every girl was. I just never thought he was remotely attracted to me. I never thought there was anything sexual or romantic between us. There was just this asexual intimacy we had always shared, like we were akin, one in the same.

    My ex and I were rather estranged at the time. I was spending my of my time with my husband. My ex made me miserable, but my husband, (again, then just a long time friend) made more more than just happy. He made me feel alive again, like there was some kind of hope in my life. It was giddy happiness. When I was with him, and I told him this one time, I felt more like me than I had in a long, long time.

    So, one night, we were, of course, drinking. My husband and I were having a fantastic time just throwing some back and talking on the sofa together. At some point, my ex finally tore himself away from World of Warcraft and joined us. It wasn’t unwelcome, it was whatever. So, my ex started hanging all over me, which was truthfully kind of repulsive and embarrassing at the time. I guess it was some kind of subconscious thing, where I didn’t want to be with my ex, and somehow I knew I wanted to be with my husband. But, I reluctantly accepted his “affections”, because we were supposed to be together.

    Then, there was the point where my ex got the idea that we were going to have a threesome. I guess it’s because Simon and I had been so close – I don’t know if it was a genuinely sexually deviant thing, or because he wanted to own me by making me a whore again, or demean me in front of my husband, or something. I don’t know. But, my husband was so cool and collected, and I felt cool and collected too. My slobbering ex slid it in there suggestively, and we both laughed at him, like he was making some kind of joke. (My husband knew about Simon and us. We were all friends at the time that it happened, six months before this point in time). When he pressed the issue, I flat out turned both of them down, as did my husband. “I’m not having sex with anyone tonight. It’s not in my agenda,” I said. My husband, being the suave guy he is, replied, “I realize that you seem to be attracted to both of us, but I feel as if you’re probably too confused from all of the alcohol. Sleep on it, and maybe we’ll talk next week.”

    It was pretty funny.

    But, the rest of it really wasn’t. And the sexual deviancy is something that I’m ashamed of, and I’m still trying to work through. I have to convince myself that I’m not that person. I never was, and I was abused and manipulated into performing those acts. I’ve been with my husband for nearly five years, and I haven’t even looked sideways at another man. Or woman. Especially not the women. Different story for a different time.


    • Thank you so much for sharing such a painfully honest account; I moved. I can’t begin to do your comment justice because everything just seems trite compared to what you experienced.

      My ex constantly begged me to have threesomes. Another ex told me straight that if I didn’t let him sleep with somebody else, he’d throw me out. I suppose I never really thought others out there had similar experiences because it all seemed so weird at the time. I’ve read your comment a couple of times and I wish there was something profound or wise I could say, but it all comes down to this… I get it.


  4. I am deeply honored and touched by your nominating my blog. Reading your confessions, oh wow, don’t we have them all…I can relate to so many it’s not even funny. Isn’t it remarkable what we go through when no sight of ‘normal’ or ‘healthy’ are around?

    Years ago, before my head injuries, I started a group based on a book Oprah made famous. It was “Take Time for Your Life” by Cheryl Richardson. I did not know then how that book would help me through the years of hell I was about to partake in. One thing I have taken away from that study and group is from one exercise we all did. It was daunting, scary, and overwhelming, but we did it.

    We each did a timeline of our lives, what we could remember…it wasn’t so much the events that happened that struck me. What struck me is that based on those events, I COULD TURN OUT NO OTHER way. It was a HUGE moment of self-acceptance and unconditional love…probably my first EVER!

    “Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad.” – Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

    I close by sharing this:

    THANK YOU FOR BELIEVING ME WELL – “Chicken Soup for the Soul at Work”
    by Judy Tatelbaum

    As a young social worker in a New York City psychiatric clinic, I was asked to see Roz, a 20-year-old woman who had been referred to us from another psychiatric facility. It was an unusual referral in that no information was received ahead of her first appointment. I was told to “play it by ear.” and to figure out what her problems were and what she needed.

    Without a diagnosis to go on, I saw Roz as an unhappy, misunderstood young woman who hadn’t been listened to in her earlier therapy. Her family situation was unpleasant. I didn’t see her as disturbed, but rather as lonely and misunderstood. She responded so positively to being heard. I worked with her to start a life worth living – to find a job, a satisfying place to live and new relationships. We hit it off well, and she started making important changes in her life right away.

    The records from the previous psychiatric facility arrived a month after Roz and I began our successful work together. To my complete surprise, her records were several inches thick, describing a number of psychiatric hospitalizations. Her diagnosis was “paranoid schizophrenic,” with a comment on her being “hopeless.”

    That had not been my experience with Roz at all. I decided to forget those pieces of paper. I never treated her as if she had that “hopeless” diagnosis. (It was a lesson for me in questioning the value and certainty of diagnoses.) I did find out about the horrors for Roz of those hospitalizations, of being drugged, isolated and abused. I also learned a lot from her about surviving such traumatic circumstances.

    First Roz found a job, then a place to live away from her difficult family. After several months of working together, she introduced me to her husband-to-be, a successful businessman who adored her.

    When we completed our therapy, Roz gave me the gift of a silver bookmark and a note that said, “Thank you for believing me well.”

    I have carried that note with me and I will for the rest of my life, to remind me of the stand I take for people, thanks to one brave woman’s triumph over a “hopeless” diagnosis.

    ©1996 Jack Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen, Maida Rogerson, Martin Rutte, Tim Claus


  5. I hate to say I understand what sexual abuse is like with someone you love and care about so much. Recently I experienced a moment much like your experience with the middle aged man. My oldest brother raped me about five months ago and I don’t really know who I am anymore. I don’t know what I think of the world and absolutely everything has changed.
    The man I was dating for two years (and lost my virginity to) left me about a month ago because he’s moving far away. I hit my low moment when I let myself be with another person in that way so soon after. A man I don’t love. I’m still stuck in this low point because I have no idea where I’m going with my life.
    I update my blog almost everyday so if you are truly interested, feel free to comment.
    Most of my pain is channeled through my nightmares.


    • Like Tallulah’s comment, I don’t think I can really do this justice other than to say a million thank you’s for being so honest; I really do feel amazed every time somebody opens up because of my posts.

      I know this is a ridiculous question, but have you told anybody outside of the internet about your brother? I’ve had a read of your blog and can’t see any mention. Again, I have no words… that’s a disgraceful, awful thing to happen to you and I truly wish I could give you a real hug, rather than offer online platitudes. You’re so, so brave; and I’m not just saying that because it’s a cliché. I’m slowly opening up about the more unsavoury aspects of my sexual past, but I know it’ll take me a long time to open up about certain things. That you’re speaking about it… you inspire me to maybe to do the same sooner than I planned.

      I’m so sorry your boyfriend moved away; I’ve been in a similar situation, and it sucks. I’ve slept with people only days after splitting up with somebody, and I know how that low point feels.

      I’m not surprised you have nightmares. Talk about them <3


      • I haven’t really gone into that much detail about what really happened on my blog yet because I’m still warming up to blogging. I’m sure it’ll be soon. It’s just hard and still fresh in my mind since it’s only been five months.
        I told my mom after the first three months. We don’t have the best relationship but it brought us together a little bit. She doesn’t really know how to handle the way I am now.
        Other than her I have two or three friends that know and one of them saved my life when I didn’t think I could live any longer. I love sharing my negative experiences to make something positive with other people.


        • Five months is hardly any time at all; and I understand about warming up to blogging. It’s taken me over a year to start really opening up on my blog. It takes time, but it’s a strangely good feeling when you finally hit “publish” on that one really honest, painful post. Scary, but good. It’s a release.

          I’m glad you could talk to your mum. I still can’t begin to imagine how you must feel, and the fact that you’re sitting here typing about it really amazes me. I don’t know how I’d react, but I know it’d utterly destroy me in some way. Again, kudos to you; using your negative experiences to help others will probably be the best thing you’ll ever do, and you have my utmost respect. You’re pretty awesome, you know that?

          Friends knowing is good. At the risk of maybe delving too far into something (just tell me to shut up, I don’t mind), what’s the deal with your brother? Are you living with him?


    • Yeah, I’m wary of the panic attacks creeping up. I’ve promised myself that if I have a single panic attack after smoking a joint, I’m quitting. My mental health just won’t be worth it. So far, so good though. I do wonder if it perhaps mixes with the Cipralex in a positive way (they’re both chemicals, right?) because when I first started smoking dope I didn’t like it much. It made me feel paranoid. Since the meds… I’ve been fine. Hmm. You’ve given me something to think about there!


      • I smoked for years and out of nowhere it started causing panic attacks, so I quit. Id try smoking occasionally because I missed it, and just all of a sudden I could smoke again and be ok. I didnt realize that it was the Effexor that helped until I quit taking it and the panic attacks came back. Its kind of weird though, I smoked while we were at the cottage and did ok, as long as it was just a little, and then I tried again after we got home, and full blown panic attack again :(


        • Maybe it was an environmental thing? Like, maybe you’ve not had panic attacks at the cottage (I’m purely guessing here; I did read your post earlier but got stoned since then! I have to go back and re-read it!) and you’ve had panic attacks at home, so somehow the weed triggers a sort of memory of fear? Does that make any sense at all?

          Like, I know if I go into a certain shop in town, I’ll freak. For no reason at all, it triggers the flight reflex in me and I have to get out. Maybe it’s something like that, I don’t know.


  6. 4 & 7 – I totally understand you. and am just finally Escaping my \”la-la\” land that I have been living in for way too many years. More years than I can remember, probably 20 or so. (Hence the sudden lonelieness) And I usually know I\’m in a depression when I want to sleep just for the dreams, and can. The odd thing is when i am coping and getting out of depression (i have short, situation induced ones) i cant hardly sleep at all. Oh well thats life.


    • We sound pretty similar. I’m somewhat out of the la-la land, but occasionally retreat back into it if things are getting stressful or I’m overly tired. I understand the loneliness; I do miss it in a strange way. I know it was a psychosis and none of it was real, but it was real to me and when I started ‘coming out’ of it (when I was put on medication) I hated being in real life. It was a scary place, and still is.

      It’s so strange knowing other people dream like that. Really, I know everyone has crazy dreams but mine seem so… real. More real than actual life, if that makes sense. I truly did used to believe there was some deep mystical reason for them because they were so vivid.

      I have full-time depression, but have episodes where I go into a sort of fugue state where I sleep for days on end. When I’m more upbeat (the depression never goes entirely), I can’t sleep either. Weird.


  7. Congratulations on the Award. It is very well deserved. I love your honesty and expression. Thanks too for the nomination. I think I’m getting to the overwhelmed stage but it is so nice to have some recognition that maybe what I do is ok so thank you. We really need to get together for a coffee or six. No. 4 makes so much sense to me and actually you are the first person I have heard to speak of something that has always been my breed of normal, although others have tended to think I was psychotic. You actually explain your experience so well. Thanks.


    • Six coffees sounds good to me. I’m amazed to realise that I’m not the only person who felt that way, who had that imaginary world, and over the past couple of days I’ve been thinking that perhaps I’m not so crazy after all. I call it a psychosis, because it was to me… it was total fantasy and I was so removed from the real world. I still am sometimes. I always thought I was the only one, and for years I worried something was seriously wrong with me. Now I see people like you who have experienced the same and aren’t locked away or hidden from the world for being a nutjob, and I think… maybe I’m okay.

      I know about the overwhelmed stage, so no worries about posting anything to do with the award; I’m only posting about awards I haven’t received before now. Otherwise it’d get silly.


      • That’s exactly how I felt when I read your post. My therapist always tells me there are other people like me but I have never believed it because I guess I’d never heard anyone describe what I have had. As for the psychotic bit I’ve been wondering about that. Everytime I have dared raise it with a psychiatrist they have concluded I was psychotic and twice I was told to have ECT (presumably to end the fantasy). It never worked and actually I stopped mentioning it to doctors. My therapist knows and seems to get it, which is very welcome because like you I thought I was the only one.


        • I’ve just written a post (draft, for now) about it all, inspired by your comments. Let me know if you get it… because I’m really beginning to feel quite comfortable with it all now I know others have experienced it.

          ECT to end the fantasy… the thing is, do you really want it to end? I mean, all this fake reality feels almost like home to me; it’s the life I’ve lived whether it was real or not, if that makes sense.


          • Have you posted it? Not sure where to find it otherwise. As for the fantasy ending. No, that’s the last thing I wanted and that’s why I gave up talking to doctors about it. They just wanted to remove it. Good for you for writing about it. I still kind of feel like everyone will think I have totally lost it. :-) Yes it does feel like home and actually it’s been there so long now, I hardly know anything else. Actually mu ex-husband had a real hard time with it (I guess I shouldn’t be surprised) but it was one of the reasons we split up because he just didn’t want to know. To him it was like he had competition. Which he didn’t, but that’s the way he felt.


            • I have a confession to make; I accidentally deleted the comment you made on the post! I remember what you said though, and yeah, we’re all different. I don’t know if psychosis or whatever it is could ever be anything other than individual, really. However, while I was writing it I did keep worrying that I wasn’t giving enough detail. What I ended up publishing is only scratching the surface of the fantasy world, so maybe there’s still many likenesses between us.

              I’ve never invited anybody else into my world, or really told them. Heck, I haven’t told anyone in real life EVER. I just couldn’t. Luckily I’ve leaned to hide it, so it doesn’t seem to interfere too much anymore.


              • No worries about deleting my comment. It’s okay and I know it is easy to do. I’ve been thinking more and The Velveteen Rabbit came tot mind. Do you know that story? I think it was on my mind because what is real for us is a personal experience and it really doesn’t matter what other people think. If they don’t understanfd such an experience then it is trule their loss. Actually the more I think about it the more I realise there are many likenesses between us, and it’s not necessary for either of us to do any more than scratch the surface. It’s just to know that someone else gets it. Thanks.


  8. Pingback: Enormously Flattered | Destination Girl

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