Underneath The Butterflies

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Location: Australia

i am what you say i am...

Saturday, December 23, 2006

Merry Christmas

Merry Christmas everyone.

On and off this outlet over the past year has helped in so many ways. To the special people who visit and care, thankyou...

Wednesday, November 15, 2006

I think I'm done.

I know in my heart how I deserve to feel.

I deserve to be happy, not lingering.
I deserve to be surprised, not let down.
I deserve to be loved, and feel loved.
I deserve to feel butterflies, not a sickness in my stomach.
I deserve to feel special.
I deserve time, I deserve effort.
I deserve not to wonder, not to worry.
I deserve to cry with happiness, not with disappointment.
I deserve to feel like a princess, just sometimes.
I deserve to feel like a best friend, not a hassle.
I deserve to feel that I am still fun to be around…a goddamn pleasure to be around.
I deserve to feel wanted.
I deserve to feel like I’m worth it. Worth something at least.

I have no expectations left.

Saturday, November 11, 2006

Is it worth it?

The only four words I have coursing through my head today...
I want to talk to you, but you keep yelling at me.
I want to engage you, but you keep pushing me away.
I keep bending over backwards for you, and it’s like you don’t even notice.
I keep doing little things to put a smile on your face, and I may as well not even bother.
I keep trying to give you happy moments, and the only moments you care about are the ones away from me.
I keep trying to touch your heart, but it’s like it’s turned to stone.
I keep trying to keep us together, but I’m beginning to think you don’t care.
I feel like I’m losing me in trying to keep you.
You don’t make me feel attractive, and my self-esteem is shot.
I no longer feel like the independent, sassy and strong woman I know I am.
I’m not happy anymore, only sometimes.
I know that it should be the other way around.
I should be crazy and happy in love, and the odd times should be bad.
I feel like I’m just wading through bad to get to a sustaining moment of happiness, a flash of love.
When you thank me, or kiss me, or wink at me…the tiniest action gives me hope.
Hope that in even a week when everything is back to normal, you will come back to me somehow.
Hope that I’m not hanging on to something that’s become a pipe dream.
Hope that we will start to work again, and that you will be happy again.
Hope that you really do still love me.
I don’t deserve your aloofness.
I don’t deserve your anger.
I don’t deserve your indifference, when all I have been doing is trying to help.
I deserve so much more.
I can’t do this for much longer, and yet I just can’t walk away.
I want you to start caring.
I want you to realise what’s happening.
I want you to not want to lose me.
But you need to want it too.
EDIT: And then I go and read what I once wrote and want to kick myself.

Wednesday, November 08, 2006

It resonated...

I think I could make a book of secrets, all of my very own.

Saturday, November 04, 2006

The wrong outlet...

On the one night I didn’t want it to, and I mean REALLY didn’t want to, my bed smelt like my boy last night. And when my sister came in through the door…loud…at 4am I knew my day was off to a shitty start. Because once I was awake, I was awake and thinking. I felt too sick to sleep.

Writing can be avoidance. Maybe that’s what it always is, I don’t know. What I do know, is that when I feel stuff teetering around me, or even when it starts to bucket down, writing is what I do to escape. To vent. To sob, yell, or scream. I haven’t been writing as you all well know. I got caught up. And a realisation smacked me upside the head yesterday…that not writing has been to my detriment. The energy and cathartic nature of what writing does for me, I shifted onto other parts of my life. And I also placed enormous expectation on these other parts of my life to live up to the soothing every day stress-relief and often anti-depressive effects of what writing does for me.

That’s a whole big expectation. I have had no outlet, nowhere to wax lyrical or let the verbal diarrhea flow. Everything I think, thought, felt, imagined...everything that insanely angered me or even just remotely ticked me off…every tiny thing that I wanted to verbalise, I did. Because I am one who needs to talk. Needs to analyse. Needs to get all the shit out of my head so that is more space for the rest of the brilliance in there. (Yes, I jest.) So I’ve still been doing it, still been spewing forth about idiocies and problems and the little things that shit me in my day to day life, my work, my relationship.

But I’ve been doing it in the wrong forum. I’ve been using my partner as my outlet, which is fine for some things, but not for everything, every fucking day.

This post might not even make sense, but I gotta get it out there. I’m writing again. I not only need to, I want to.

I have to breathe again. We both need to breathe again. I’m only glad I’ve realised this before it was too late, so we can salvage each other as well as us.

Friday, November 03, 2006


Jey is the love of my life.
Being with him is the happiest I’ve been.
This morning though, my heart just cracked. Really fucking cracked.
I very nearly fucked it.
Last night we had a fight like we’ve never had before.
He was horrible. More horrible than I ever thought he could be. I didn’t know he had such evil in him.
The sexiest man I’ve ever known turned ugly.
I felt like a repulsive squashed cockroach.
I said words I’ve never said to anyone, called him names I’ve never even dreamed of calling him.
I’m damned sure my tears, my seething anger and ‘fuck you, you don’t deserve me’ were not my most attractive moments either.
I was desperate for him to feel what I was feeling. Or at least try and understand.
Because I try for him every fucking day.
He is one of those amazingly irritating beings who just internalises. Talking is too much effort, acknowledging is too much effort…until the shit hits the fan and he snaps. And walks away.
Me, I’m a talker. I hate conflict, I hate drama, I hate tension, and the silent treatment with my goddamn partner is just plain rude. I cannot swallow my pain and feelings, and he doesn’t understand why I just won’t shut up sometimes.
He’ll get over something in a flash, and I will wallow. Or the thing at least will sit in the back of my head simmering.
My head was full of words today that I just needed to get out, and now I have no idea where to start.
Wake up call, for both of us.
We are having tonight apart.
Of course that’s a healthy thing.
We are about to kill each other.
He’s gone to dinner (I mean a steak and beers at the pub) with the boys and I’m drinking wine with my visiting brother.
I’m not looking forward to bed without his warm electric-blanket body lying next to me.
I’m not looking forward to not being able to say goodnight.
I’m not looking forward to waking up and not seeing his beautiful self beside me.
Not being able to snuggle.
But I’m going to make the most of it.
I am going to sleep in the middle of the bed, legs and arms everywhere.
I’m going to pile tones of blankets of me that no-one else will kick off.
There will be NO snoring in my bedroom.
But also no frog sounds.
We spend 95% of the time at his place, and I’m kinda used to the filter in the frog tank. Tonight’s silence will be weird.
Fuck that though.
I’m gonna get drunk and pass out naked and spread eagled.
And dream of the beautiful man that is (except for moments like that) the best thing in my life.

Wednesday, October 25, 2006

The Reason.

I am alive, yes. I think by now the thin ebb of readers allows for a little unveiling. Or maybe I'm just so freaking in love that I want to show the world. This is my boy. I thought he was smiling. I didn't know he had the whole blue steel face happening...sexy...unlike moi...cheshire cat...