Good judgment stems from experience. 

Which stems from bad judgment. 

Fellow Bloggers, Fellow readers, Fellow stalkers. 

In the last 2 weeks, I have written up 3 blog drafts that should have gone up, however they all did not have an ending. So here is the ending. 

Take courage

There are times in our lives where we will self doubt, and we will question the decisions we make. It is almost hard to recognise who you are anymore. 

Head over Heart, Heart over Head. 

There is a time and place for each. Pick and choose wisely which organ will lead. 

Out with old. Always. 

There is never a place for broken sweaters that hold no sentimental value. 

Everything has the potential to work, it just has to be worth it. 

Self explanatory. 

Im about to turn 25 in 2 weeks. Stay tuned then!

Take care of each other!

Sometimes I wish I never left. I love feeling like myself again. I miss my boys that know me for me. Miss feeling safe and protected with them.

I know my life is back in Melbourne right now. But you just don’t get friends like u do here. People don’t hurt me here. I don’t have to pretend to be ok with them when they piss me off. And they are the first to jump to my defence before I even realise it.

Most importantly, when life gets hard, they give me the best advice. And life is pretty tough atm.

Yeah, I’d be lying if I said this wasn’t still home.

“where is this sign ?” she asks.
” maybe it’s not coming.” the little birdy stated.

well fuck.

Here it comes again
Mesh of arms travels up my neck

Morning dawn declares itself
And mirrors stare back at my reflection

When I’m alone, I’m alone at night
I want winter to fall on me

And I’m alone, I’m alone in flight
I am free of equity

Where did I go wrong?
I’ve got a sneaking suspicion that I’m under

A kindred connivance
I’m ripped and in ruins

Here it comes again
Malady of Veda in your ears

Flood the droughts that those…
I can’t stop myself because

When I’m alone, I’m alone at night
I will set my father free

And I’m alone, I’m alone in flight
My mother holds the lock and key

Where did I go wrong?
I’ve got a sneaking suspicion it ain’t over

A kindred connivance
I’m ripped and in ruins

Long way patience to drown
With friends that you won’t save for me

Long way patience to drown
Spin through my spiral, I danced with delay

Long way patience to drown
You call me, I answer and all I can do is obey

Long way patience to drown
I can’t hold my breath for this long

When I’m alone, I’m alone at night
I wanna set my father free

And I’m alone, I’m alone in flight
My mother holds the lock and key

Where did I go wrong?
I’ve got a sneaking suspicion it ain’t over

I won’t let you, I won’t let them
Set me to repeat

As empty vessels make the loudest noise, so they that have the least wit are the greatest blabbers.

I sit here, getting distracted. On purpose. I look over there, there it sits. 

The blessing or nightmare. 

I don’t want to do this. I do want to do this. 

Go Susie go. Run Susie run. Jump Susie jump. 

Walk Susie walk. 

One foot in front of another, thats all anybody can do. 

Sometimes when I cannot write, i draw inspiration from the remaining visions from my mind. Ramblings always give me somewhere to draw something out of. 

It was all a dream.  Frankly, I think I am still a baby, possibly in my mother’s 2^nd trimester, how amazing is the human mind.

Owen Moran. The man who wouldn’t stop talking to me about his AFL days. Here I am trying to spoon feed him mush peas and teach him how to do small stretches and he just went on and on and on and on.

Sit down for a second before you go. 

Sometimes, I sit and try and imagine Dimi walking through the door, and giving me a hug. But the thought of it is not comforting to me at all. I didn’t love him enough to really love him. Whenever, I walk into Yola and Roger’s home and they hug me and kiss me, I almost feel like I’m watching a movie, and I am watching myself be an actress. I love them so much, but I could never tell them that I don’t think I really loved him. And that I feel no guilt anymore. I’m sad he is gone, because it’s a waste of a young life. But when I walk into his room and see all the memorabilia that he put up of us, it just seems like a lifetime ago.

There is something that seems to be stressing me that I can’t put my finger on. I hope it reveals itself to me soon.

I had a fight with my bf over a hypothetical situation. But it got so heated, it made me cry. That scene, where I just started crying on his bed keeps playing in my head. Catching tear drops in my hand. I haven’t felt so vulnerable in such a long time.

Kirstie is not pregnant, Matt you were wrong. And now she thinks that we all think she is fat. Great.

Stay alive and kicking people. xxx

It’s been fun, but I can’t do this anymore. I know u’re gonna stalk me, u inconsiderate son of a bitch. You are a demon. But i’m a monster. Death stick, u and I are through.

Patch on.

Someone once told me I was a gifted story teller. I guess, that is for you to decide.

At a very young age, I developed my own way of coping with certain situations. Where some vent and cry. I imagine and create. I created a whole different world, nothing different to this in terms of values and geography. A parallel universe. And in this parellel universe, I developed another person. Susie Schacter. And in my parallel universe, Susie goes through the same emotions that I so desperately find hard to express in this life.

It is not so much the emotions that are expressed, but the situations that I come up with to explain it. They started becoming more and more real, situations that Susie would be put in became the situations that might have occurred should I have taken the next step. Some situations were so warped that some people would never ever imagined them to occur. But they did. Reality is that the more “realistic” ones might not have occurred, whereas the “far fetched” ones probably had. In the end, I started to believe that I was not who I was anymore, I couldn’t believe myself what I had created.  I was really Susie Schacter and those events that were portrayed to express myself were no longer coping mechanisms. They became my life.

That is the gift. You know you are a gifted story teller when you not only fool those around you, but you also manage in the midst of it, to fool yourself.

I remember once, I borrowed money from a friend in Primary School. Something miniscule, like fifty cents or something. My parents got wind of it, well it wasn’t so much that my parents got wind of it more so my father got wind of it.  Although we weren’t well off, my father was a proud man. You would never find him in a compromising situation where he would have been in debt to another life. What shame I brought that day when my mother informed him that a teacher had called home to let him know about the situation. I will never forget that day. My father had woke me up from a nap, and asked me if I had done the shameful deed. I admitted to it hoping that it would save me the agony of sitting through a lecture. But he didn’t say another word to me. He just smacked me across my bottom.  That was the first time and the last time that my father had ever laid his hand on me. That was also the day I decided that I would never tell him the whole truth ever. Because when daddy doesn’t know, daddy doesn’t hit. 

I went to an all girls school, as if that wasn’t bad enough. It was run by nuns. The kind of nuns that said it was a mortal sin to have your hair in your face and not pinly tied back, or to have skirts that sat just slightly above the knees. The kind of nuns that made it impossible for you to feel loved by any member of society if you were slightly overweight.Because as you know, gluttony is a sin.

The girls of this school were guided by the following motto. “to be simple in virtue and steadfast in duty.” I wonder how it so happened that almost every third girl in that school engaged in promiscuous behaviour outside of school, smoked, or worse. Smoked and engaged in promiscuous behaviour with a member of the same sex.

It was in that lovely convent where I was taught to never question and to obey diligently.I broke that rule when I turned 14. It was the day where we all the juniors had to move to the senior convent and as usual, you have to go through the induction where you choose the subjects that you wanted to do (like we ever had a choice in the first place.) and also your extra curricular activities. On top of a heavy workload, the girls of this convent were obliged to participate in an extra curricular activity that ranged from girl scouts to that of gymnastics. This usually meant giving up your weekends and even staying back after school to train for those athletic activities. As I was a brownie ( mini girl scout) in primary school, it was the natural progression for me to join the girl scouts. I shocked many of my peers when I strolled past the girl scout table casually and put my name down for Judo instead. I think I shocked everyone at the Judo table when I said I had no experience whatsoever, I just wanted to fight.

And so it began, I trained twice a week and soon I was starting to notice some incredible changes in my body. I had huge calf muscles and my body had started to tone up. However the perk came when I first participated in my very first individual competition. I still remembered that day, my parents had turned up and I vividly could hear the screams of my mother yelling at me to hit my opponent as hard as I could. I brought home a silver medal.

It’s funny with friends at high school. There are always those girls that you so desperately want to be friends with even though they make you feel like your life is worth just as much as thin air. It was in religious education when the queen of my pack of wolves Joanne, decided to tell me and the entire class that the only reason why I won fights in Judo was because I was so heavy that I would literally squish my opponent before they have a chance to get up and fight me again. As if the pressures of high school weren’t enough, someone had to evoke an eating disorder into my life.

…. This is pretty much where 100 percent of the truth will stop, and fragments will break into Susie’s character. Fiction starts here. This is where I am having trouble writing….