House of Wolves



I have never realised, until earlier. About an hour or so if we want to be exact, what a horrible word that was. I stood there wondering and recollecting that while the word wasn’t said it hovered wordlessly as I often speak to my student support worker about issues, huddles and trails. And while we both know my issues and trails can only be moved from that. I can’t help feel, lazy as it may sound that this is even more worst than when I stuck myself into that familiar pit I did before.

Because before while it was achingly miserable to walk home on many occasions the fact was it didn’t change, I was disappointed, frustrated, and scared at some time, yes… (and yes we are talking of family issues, we are talking about the “Oreo” issues, and maybe the fact that the future will demand so much of me and scared I won’t have enough)… the fact was it didn’t change, it wasn’t different. Change scares us; a break of ritual unnerves us and the word “cope” is unnerving me.

Cope means we will give you a shield and a sword and only by your will alone will you walk out from the war for another day. And I don’t even want to tell you the illustrations am thinking from that metaphor, the battle scars, the anti rose tinted glasses I will look though in its awake.

In short, while to some extent I believe I can walk away from this, am scared that it will leave many wounds I can’t escape from in awake.

Maybe that’s why I pause even more. The progress in getting away what is a pitfall of a family, the fact something great is in my grasp but am hesitating, stepping back instead of running forward and grabbing it.

I would say am tripping over rock instead of mountains, but the thing is while they can be passable, these tasks are not small. They are great.

So it seems coping and me are going to have to shake hands on a temporary truce and walk on.

It’s either go hard or go home.

Leaving Netherfield


Like many times I have an illness that I stop to bother about, I have a feeling, best described as: making my body feel like sh*t. Harsh? No it’s not, its a fact, as I sit here, nose sore from blowing from it so much.  Drinking from a cup of sorrel and Ginger tea because it gives me the illusion of me feeling better, I can’t help but feel like that.

Life is not great. I procrastinated and epically failed at my times-plan that I had got from C. So there by feel slightly more worst because I have to tell her I failed. I hate failing, am a perfectionist. A trait that my father once stated to me on the only meeting we had after my mother broke whatever dead ruins of what was and wasn’t a good a relationship for her and her children. And while I don’t have some unaddressed resentment that the man that was never really there from me, that apparently has the same trait as me…

it does annoy me however. It does bite me back. It is a flaw.

So here I am beating myself up, what I do many upon many times when something small happens, when something manageable happens.

My old pastor once said, we trip over rocks not mountains. and god, no pun intended, that stuck me that day like a slap around the face.

Not only this, funds are tight. Student finance need to grow a pair, before I turn to their base with a shotgun, patience snapped from counting pennies too long, staying inside too long, stuff I needed and need for so long. I can’t stand the thought of borrowing  pennies off my parents any more, I can’t stand the fact of my very independence being crippled because unless I have my own funds to use I can’t do much. I can’t go to a coffee shop, MacDonald or somewhere not home, and pretend I don’t have all these other (other is written with a heavy pen) worries, because I don’t even have a penny that isn’t college.

I can’t stand the fact that when that days comes when I have to say no, or am sorry, am so different from you, I need to have space I will have this fired back. That the pennies, notes, and coins weren’t from love and support so her child could learn and get somewhere, but she owes her one.

I don’t want to have the argument where she uses the words:

“Am your mother, I don’t need to ask to borrow money from you.”

Temper finally lit. 3 weeks. Am waiting not more, student finance there is a reason am applying now, not three months later.

I take a sip, I calm myself. I can breathe though my nose finally. I pause.

I should just stop staying in this pit and do something.  And distract myself.


Its Wrong to be too English




That stung. And while those words weren’t those used to a T, the meaning behind them was still bright and burned. Perhaps that was the conscious part of me that I will always be “white” to many of my race ringing in my mind, and maybe it was the secret whispers of what were my mother’s and sister’s insights why this woman at my sister’s church said that. I know am not seen as the most black of my kind, address myself to a stereotype as much as I may…

I rarely visit that church, it stands for the many flaws of religion, the ignorance it leads people into, and so on. One of my personal vendetta’s against that building is the fact a certain family member calls for praise to the Lord, preaches only words from the bible when you seek genuine advice (not that certain verses haven’t given me good sight before) long story short, my religious bubble I immersed myself popped when the one person who encouraged me to go, and follow it, I then saw them, drowning in their sorrows, via alcohol, and cigarette, taking herself to a drunk state from nights on end, instead of calling upon this almighty figure and “praying” to help her. And still to this day she insists to do the same both, the preaching and drowning her sorrows away many nights at a time.

(But that is another dark story I’ll rant about one day.)

And its a a black church, that is why that women commented.  I mostly visit the white, local church, maintained by elderly people, and church grown families.

It just highlights something. I need to get away, soon and for a long time. Am an Oreo, atheist, anti-homophobic, feminist, who couldn’t give a fuck what the women/man/beast does next to me as long as their content in life, stuck in the pit of thriving, black stereotypes. You might as well plunge a fish into a tank where the water slowly decreases, then watch it die.

I can try to ignore it, and I want to. Because despite the fact we perhaps think so differently on so many things I still love many of you. This is not a childish “family is unfair” rant, in fact I am far from even thinking it even belongs in that area. But the fact is, there are moments, there are days when it glares me in the face, I will not be your image of a white picket fence, because to you many of my thoughts, actions, and dreams would seem sinful, are sinful, and a few are seen as blasphemy of a high form.

Maybe one day, when it all comes to light, you will see how much I conflicted with myself. How I wanted to scream both: “What is wrong with me!” and “What is wrong with you!?”

Maybe one day, dark belief that if I were to tell you about me, the child I was slowly growing to be that you maybe wouldn’t cast me away. Maybe one day we could speak, I didn’t have to speak so different from what I really want to say. I don’t want to keep on having to give you subtle hints of how many things you may say in a “joking” manner are wrong.

To summarize, as I write these words, I want to ring my finger tips across my arms until they sting. One day there will be a day when many things will be addressed.

The end.


Do You Want the Truth or Something Beautiful


…”and the learning disability test will cost roughly a few hundred pounds…” And this is the part where the teen burst into tears. The lady before her, from her gaze blur, holds a hand out to comfort her as she stays in the corner, she drops it. Maybe its just awkward, the teen she was just talking to just burst into sadness and she doesn’t know what to do because she was only saying what is true.

The teen tries to apologise, as the woman eventually, hesitantly walks on. Her breathe hitches, the toilets are near. She pulls her pathetic self together and walks in,  hides in a stall, blows her nose. Comes out and looks at her red rimmed eyes, pouring those degrading words that she really should stop ringing in her head, and wondering why the actual fuck that could have happened!? Why in the good name of Christ that occurred, when everything was so great before…

Later when her other student support worker  and her talk. Its 2/3 of the page of ranting later. It all makes sense why she just burst.

She has a shit life. And she’s ware she can’t just walk away from it just yet, there isn’t a place where is free (she’s dead poor at the moment) where is safe, where is quiet, where isn’t what she’s used to…

Que Sera, Sera.



No Light, No light


I do not want to moan. I really don’t, but if each time all I yearn to type in this space is something grim, something dim, I probably won’t post for weeks. And while I have such few followers (both of which could ignore if it ever were to get to bad.) and it shouldn’t really matter to me.

I can’t help but want to post something happy, something that doesn’t hint on what am just going to call, dark teen years…

Hello everybody, I like to draw,  no in fact. I love it. I feel upset, I draw, I fell happy, I draw, am bored… I draw.

I will post my happiness, on here on day, my boredom, not just my sorrow.

This is just something I had just wanted to get off her chest. Good bye for now. :p

Advertising Space


This is a long one…

So I lied, or I just broke a promise. I told a good friend who encouraged me to continue this blogging process I would add another post when I had seen my student support worker…

That was Wednesday.

It is now Saturday. I sorry. 😦

But I guess, while it wasn’t as strong as my other voices of doubt, I had it whispered when I thought of it. And I know we all have them, lets not stay dawned on this point because we know where its going. You look upon something that is great and into which your mind has this sly little voice giving you reasons (I like to picture mine as a pitch black elf, small but harmful) why you actually shouldn’t, while at the time it may have consequences your ignoring and forgetting the reason why you need to do that deed.  No matter how responsible or helpful it may be to do this deed that small voice still whispers and somehow, without your knowledge that little voice is louder than any reason.

You don’t do anything.

And it’s step brother comes back to tell you how stupid that was not to.

Anyway, my student support worker… I have two. Why? One is busy, and the other one isn’t… you get the deal. The one I saw today was the one I don’t see often, she shall be called C. C and I talked, we brought up my organisation issues, we worked on a time-plan for week by week, one part of me nearly sh*t bricks because discipline in a work sense frightens me, yes I said it, it does… am horrifically lazy. I also told her how foreign it felt that my projects weren’t as poisonous as they used to be, and that actually I enjoyed them… then told her that made me think I was making a far greater mistake in doing this… and I shouldn’t.

C smiled and told,d me in that firm voice of hers that I just had to continue.

And now am sitting here. Am not bittersweet. For once in so long, not thinking this course is a waste upon me, I won’t make it upon the wide world and I’ll be stuck in this family world were their mistakes that am afraid of making life are right before me, passing snares they bring up and hoping I don’t fall in them. That I can do something, the next day is something to awake to, I am not… nothing.

It took four years to get to this pit. To seeing my sister from the tenderly newly teenage, I saw the person I looked up get verbally abused by the man she loved on a daily basis, seeing someone I saw so strong so weak, crying down the phone to her boyfriend as he fired stone filled bullets at her down the phone, where my life became just the kids, her downfall, the ignorance of religion (Religion can be right in some senses however) that curses this family, the startling realisation that I was different from so many others of my race, that maybe its for the best I saw… then thinking it would however make me so alone…

I won’t lie I did think dark. I never self harmed, but I kept it in and that in many cases is much worse… It was a family issue I was told so it wasn’t anyone else business. But one day when I let the church I went to hear the little whisper, little pieces of the cake of how miserable it was, suddenly becoming the only one who wanted the problem gone and saw how it effected people, hurt them, hindered them. They helped as much as they could.  They, like many other churches offered prayer and the bible for help. But that never did, prayed as I did in that religious cocoon I bound myself in. But never the less when one of the church member’s wives remarked how she wished me luck, I couldn’t help but let the façade slip slightly, I gripped her in a loose hold and cried. It felt great but I let go, I gathered up my tears and went about the same system for two more years and now we are me at this current time.

The now me realised that while this situation will not change unless others will allow it. Eg, my mother who prefers to argue with said man, spit upon the floor, scream insults. And while you can say its her daughter, its a classic example how a mother could act to the man who makes her daughter cry down the phone, but the issue is that this man was born in dysfunction. To him its a norm, we all know arguments will only bring him to a comfort spot. As well as my sister, and maybe me as well. Maybe if I had been stronger in telling her what I thought, but sometimes I look upon and find that she hides her real reason for really keeping him in contactable distance under the fact she wants her children to have their real father…

But in C using not many but firm words, the sting of these four years is finally going. Am telling myself that, that place near London isn’t just a misplaced dream, its not big but offers that retreat of the world and it’s spikes. C is one of those people you feel you have disappointed greatly when you come back with slacking results, and seeing as I have a problem of focusing on that task and completing it. I believe my meetings with her will be interesting…

Boyfriend, Control Issues, and the Other Downs of Life.


We’ll start from the beginning, the first issue of the title. My boyfriend, for confidence sake I shall call T. I met T on the way to college, we lived in the same area, went to the same college, so thereby we saw each other commonly on the bus in the mornings. what I thought was a friendship from seeing a familiar stranger on the bus turned to a mucked up version to flirting, this included bizarre, odd conversations, talking for the most oddest subjects. Soon the yearning to invade his personal space and contact, in turn finding this urge make me happy at the very thought. (which I rarely wish to do because I am a shy mofo at times…)

Not to go off into a tangent we soon admitted feelings and the rest is history. 

I worry about me and T.. a lot. And I shouldn’t. Why I worry about me and T is because as my first relationship never really counted as one am at a complete lost of what to do, communication and so on. I worry, because the romantic development between me and T should be our business and our’s alone. A few days ago I had my sister ask me bluntly about our sex life, and while she did bring up two good points that firstly she was my sister, sister should share with each other, and as well since she has of course had much more personal experience of sexual experience I should ask her for information. In to which I had said these were true points but I did not want this discussion, I would come to her about it if need be, when she stated why I was getting so defensive I remarked that she had asked twice, two separate occasions so that indicated insistence. She found the concept of not telling her was worrying to her, and that worried me. The wedge between me and my family difference wise was growing…

Its just one of the worst cases in which I have been  hesitant  in  revealing  anything about T to her, to any of my family the whole black girl dating white boy debate. A few months ago they were warning my cousins not to date white people and while I had wanted to say that yes I was dating one now, and that right now I would most likely be what I mostly date. I knew that if I were to say anything I would do nothing but place T in the wrong because I needed to be sure about me and T before I tried to prove it someone else. And I wasn’t sure then. And until then I could never face the oppression I would face if they knew. How I know they don’t know? My mother and my sister knew far before that moment. My family thrives on gossip, I know about a good number of my cousins hardships, their failed relationships, the whispers of a few of their sexual orientation, and home issues. My romantic life (as smug as it sounds) would definitely sent a few of their tongues wagging.

So I am guessing am scared in some cases to let T in fully because with hardly any privacy as it is, I won’t let myself be… vulnerable? As couples can be( T’s typical boy with emotions from what I can gather :P). I can’t let my guard down with T (because one of things about T that I adore being round with him is that I can truly be me, with many of my friends and family I feel I have to hide the me that is still growing.)

Which brings me to the other topic. Control. One could say its just a teenager, screaming about the injustice of not being allowed the many freedoms that her friends around them are given. But at the end of the day I am no longer twelve, I am hovering around the age of twenty, I cannot leave the house without being asked. Why am I going for a walk? What’s out there that isn’t here? (mother) Or which coffee shop? And which friends are you meeting? (sister) How can you not expect me to feel a bit belittled? I understand as a mother you worry for your children, but shouldn’t you always respect the fact they need to grow, and if your always there to pick the pieces I will never learn. That you as a sister closer to my age should try to take not that you were once my age? And I don’t just mean that just because you lied to mother a few times I will always do the same. Trust me. It would do a lot to help…. 

I need space from your children. I need space in general. I need privacy… 

Rant over. It has begun. 

Hello Internets


procrastination is truly my greatest foe…

Seriously, the amount of time I had before I actually just sat down, got myself together and made this thing. But to be honest that is how it goes with me in generally, I sit there telling myself it’s not going to go right, there is no point, and so on and sometimes when am even making progress to that point of doing that certain task my mind goes, in that snide little (but what feels truthful) whisper: “it will be shit anyway…”

For example I have a finished A3 illustration made from fabric, paper, and my awesome drawing skills (modest, I know…) And for the next hour or so its saturday… I could have started this thing on monday night after college.


Happiness! It has begun, she has posted on her blog. Searching for people who have a few of the same interests (because the area I live by is like a desert to a fish for me right now), sharing problems (because that seems to be a big issue with my family) and enjoying the blogging experience. 🙂

So please don’t eat me. Because I bite and bark back in reflex.


With love. Normal you speak of 🙂