29 April 2017. 

I wrote this on the 29 of April on my way back home. Didn’t have time to post it and also my mood got better. But I just wanted to show you that I have feelings. And if you ever thought about self harming yourself you should give it one more day.

I don’t even know why I’m sad. 

There is so many different thoughts going through my head right now, that it seems just too easy to get lost. I feel like it’s a maze there, with no particular ending. You just go in, and go deeper and deeper into the oblivion of what if’s and rather die’s and I’m stupid’s. 

There is no way to put it all in order but I guess if if there is anywhere I can start is that the thoughts have returned. I can’t figure out why. But it’s overwhelming to say the least. Honestly, suicide wasn’t something I thought of for about a year now. Yeah, there were times – times of weakness – but they only lasted a few seconds, minutes at most.  

But since a few days ago they have returned – with a bang. And I think about it a lot. 

Maybe it’s because I’m away from home and I see how useless of a person I am a bit more clearly. Maybe it’s because I’m coming home and I will have to face who I try to be. 

Maybe I just want some attention? 

I don’t know.  

The second thing is the fact that I feel used. Like a robot. I know – I don’t have the right to feel like that. I don’t have the right to moan. To be upset because my parents are doing everything for me. But yet I can’t stop this feeling. 

I get agitated extremely easily. If you give me to many tasks, talk to me when I’m really tired or simply do the wrong thing when I’m on my tiptoes, you might as well just have set off a  nuclear bomb. 

And the sad thing is my mom knows that. 

Should know that. 

I told her so many times, that I’m afraid I’m out of words. 

And then the continuous asking. “Are you okay?” No answer. “She’s probably just tired.” No answer. “She’s overwhelmed by the book she’s reading.” My parents would talk to each other now. “She’s missing him again.” They laughed. And then back to me. “Are you thirsty?” Shook my head. “Do you still have that Fanta?” I wanted to puke. My feet hurt and I wanted nothing else then to curl up into a ball and listen to “Somewhere only we know.”. And not hear. Not feel. I wanted to be away from everyone and everything. But my mom is a smart person who, way too often pretends otherwise. She told dad to dig it out for her from my backpack. He shook not only the bag. But my, at the time totaly lifeless, body. And it ached me more than I could have handled. But I just stayed quiet wishing it was over, so that I wouldn’t hurt them again. 

I guess that in all of this you could say they were worried. But I think it was not so much as worry as caring for themselves. Because when I’m sad I act out. That’s what teenagers do. Apparently. And they just don’t want to deal with that.

And as all those thoughts, plus ones that I don’t feel like sharing, are going in a spiral around my head the devistation in my heart goes deeper. And deeper. Until it’s impossible to dig out. 

And I’m sad. 

And when I’m sad I tend to think about the good things. And find reasons to end them. So, for the past hour I have thought about this one good thing. And I decided to end it before it ends me.

Good thing is, that I didn’t end it. Because it would’ve even the stupidest thing I could have done. And just for yourself – if your feeling down and you think about ending something just give it one more day. After all if it’s what you really need and want then it should be there tomorrow as well.


It seems so pointless,     

Like breathing during your last seconds.

It’s hard.      

But to that there will be no admittence.
To touch, to sea, to hear, to smell , to taste. 

That sweet sweet essence.

His breath.

Those eyes.

That warmth.

Emptiness is what’s here. 

Not him.                

Only 22 more nights. 

Patience will be rewarded. 

By me. 

You won’t understand …

I swear to God, if my mother will try to talk to me at home I will scream. 

There is no words to describe how I feel right now. 

I want to die. But I can’t waidt till tomorrow. I want today to be over. I am dead tired. I feel more then guilty of being rude. But it wasn’t  my fault I just had too much to do. I feel embarrassed. I can’t breathe. I’m not able to cope. I am shaking inside. Every thought guests.  Every word it itches.  I want to cry but I have to be strong. I’m overexaggerating. But I don’t want room be strong.  I want someone to see what I’m feeling. But I I don’t want to show. I’m doing a crappy job at it. 

“God Kamila, it was jut a shitty day at work. Get over yourself!” – that’s what you would probably say if you knew why I feel like that. 

But it wasn’t. I mean it was.  But itt wasn’t only it. Work was tragic and that started bringing up memories which re-floated yesterday. 

I felt again like that bird in a cage. That’s how I described it to my favourite teacher when she was on a final mission to sort our my bullying situation. Always afraid to speak up because of what might happen. Never being able to say the full truth because your responsible one for the consequences. Which for just one person might be not the best. But you’ve been brought up as a good hearted person. No. You are just like that. Hurting others is what makes you go insane. Yes you do it. Sometimes our of anger. Sometimes because they don’t understand and you blow. Sometimes because your confused and the easiest thing is to lie. 

And now your sitting on a path in front of the canal and thinking how nice it would be to just jump in. How nice would it be to just drown. Maybe not yourself. But maybe… Honestly you don’t know anymore. You just don’t want to exist. But why? Nothing much happened. 

Why do you constantly want to cry? 

What’s wrong? 

Ahscdmdjdyxbejaisvzjhzbdgslayrmysnavlaudbd qludbsjd eh d uxnsuanavksudbwjajaoalagakaibdnxhxj 

that’s  what happened … now fuck off ! 

Told you … 

The kiss.

She saw him. 

Her eyes lit up like the forests burning in the summer. The tips of her fingers were beginning to itch. She needed some air. She needed to close her eyes and not see. That was the only way she would survive.  But every tiny flickering of his dark hair, slowly soothed his forehead. It brought her attantion to his eyes. Brown. Rich mahogany brown. She could stare at them for hours. There was something enchanting about them. Something that she could never figure out. Was it fear? But he was brave. So Goddam unhumanly brave. Was it kindness? Maybe, but that was more seen in his actions. Was it happiness?  But he gave all that away to her. Was it love? But nobody could love her. 

Her mind was filled with so many things. In between, all the layers of images of his beautiful face and feelings rushing through her heart which she wasn’t able to comprehend. Consumed by the fear that emitted straight form her heart onto her palms and forehead in the form of sweat, she forgot to move. She stood there shivering from the draft. 

Her vision was slowly beginning to dissappear. His face impaired by the most mesmerising shapes and colours she has ever seen. They were comforting. She slowly began to relax. And the tips of her fingers were no longer itchy. In fact she couldn’t feel them. Nor her hands. Nor her legs. Beautiful oblivion composed of obsidian consumed her.

And then she began falling. Like a feather. Floating through the galaxy of broken dreams and memories. 

She was safe. 

Suddenly, wrapped around the warmest most comfortable of materials. His skin felt like the most expensive cashmere washed in a washing machine. No longer perfect. But still something you would give up all your clothes for. His arm hair lightly tickling the back of her neck and causing the best discomfort she could ever ask for. 

When the picture of his face, of his soft large lips, of his nose, his eyebrows, his eyes, became clear, she took a breath. 

He said something to her. She couldn’t figure out what. She was too busy understanding where she was. People with suitcases, with piles of bags on trollies, and with single briefcases, were all standing around in a perfect circle. She was the centre of the attention. She hated that.  Her heart started beating again. Faster. Faster. She felt like it was going to jump out any minute. Blood rushed to her head. 

He said something again. She didn’t understand. How such a beautiful angel would apear to her. She had to touch him. Even just for a second. 

But then she was really flying. He thrust her up onto her legs. Not letting go even for a mili second. Good. She would collapse again. 

He said something again. She wanted to hear his voice so freaking badly.  She wanted to tell him how happy she was. But she was stuck. Like the cars in a Los Angeles traffic jam. Clogged. Like a sink. 

But she was safe. 


His scent was unbelievable. He was sweating. But she didn’t care. She liked it. It was this immense mixture of sweat, gasoline, deodorant and oranges. He must’ve eaten oranges for his breakfast. She loved oranges so much. 

And then her face was in his hands. He had the control. He always took control. That’s what she liked about him. 

Looked up at him. She was confused. Scared a little. No. Not scared. Anxious. What was he doing. She looked to his eyes for answers. But they were smiling. And then she couldn’t see them anymore. All she could see … feel … He took her breath away. She felt dizzy. What was happening? His lips. But … What? Her heart. Why was it beating so fast. Her eyes suddenly fell on top of her. 

His softness. His warmth. His strength. His ease. His delicacy. Him. 

She was safe. 

He wouldn’t hurt her. 

She pulled on to his jumper. She didn’t want to risk him being even an inch away from her. She didn’t have a clue what she was doing. 

All she knew, was that she needed, desperately to kiss him back. 

The ‘T’ word.

It can be hard. I know. But in the end it’s always the best thing you could have ever done.

Image result for truth

I don’t know how many times I referenced this topics in my letters to strangers. Hell, I even dedicated a whole letter for it. And now, I’m writing this post.

Because in all honestly my friends, ‘Truth’ will set you free.

Okay, Okay, you can stop laughing now.

The thing is that it’s true.

Yesterday for example, I behaved like a total dick. I cancelled on a guy, that I had a ‘date’ with, about four hours before it. And what’s worse I lied.

It was a dick move. I know. I’m sorry. I panicked. Did that never happen to you?

The thing is tho, that as my consciousness was eating me alive,  I have gathered few opinions of what should I do. Of course, in that hoard were good and bad ones, from my brother, mother and friend. Plus my self thought. Now my gut was yelling at me, “Kamila, you were an asshole and you need to apologise.” And that made so much sens. It was like the right thing to do.

But then on the other hand you have my loving, caring and not-so-intelligent-as-it-turns-out family. Who advised me to stay quiet because I will only make it worse. And their reasoning was, “Well, you will hurt him even more.”, “Besides it’s not like he’s your best friend, you only know the guy for a few weeks.”, “You should apologise but tell him that I made you stay at home.” (Which by the way would be another lie, if you didn’t get it.)

And finally you have the guy who hates dishonesty. And man, do I need him in my life. Because overcoming two of your closest people with your shaky ‘I should do the right thing’ on your own is like trying to walk through the ocean. But HIM, well without him let me just say I would be eaten by now.

So, as he advised me, and as I thought myself would be the right thing to do – I told the truth. The entire truth. Including the fact that I panicked because I was worried that he liked me. And because I told my share, he told his. And my concerns were confirmed. He did like me. And I mean fancy. Had a crush on. Blah blah blah.

So in the end if I wouldn’t have said the truth I would’ve never found out that. As well as that I found out that if potential relationship was out, he was out.

And to be honest that didn’t even bother me that much. Because, I learned, once again might I mention, that truth is the only thing you can count on in this world. And if that fails, then you need to just say it out loud – and not lie to yourself about it.


Maybe, I’m making up excuses for my actions now, but I just wanted to let you know that people – all over the world do stupid and wrong things. Doesn’t change the fact that what I have done was just pure mean. But it was a mistake. And I fixed it – whatever the outcome. But as a human being I am entitled to mistakes. Because that’s the only way we learn.

And since I managed to fix this one, I want to try to fix another. Natalka.




Picture: Not mine borrowed from google. Oh, man, did I just admit to stealing?

They don’t need to know.

This post was supposed to be … upsetting. 

I would’ve probably wrote it and half way thorough it, I would discover moisty, rosy cheeks. 

And what, ironically, stopped this from happening, was a little girl in a pink dress running around the church like a monkey. 

(For those late to the party – I am not the biggest fan of children.)

Now you might be wondering why on earth would something like this influence my decision. Well the reason is simple … God. 

You see I know that maybe for you it may seem silly. But I honestly believe that when she looked at me with her ginormous aqua blue eyes and smiled, it was God saying ‘Hey, it’s going to be okey.’ 

And as shitty as today was, I forgot that God was all the time beside me. And foolishly I have decided to close all the pain and worry inside of my heart. As a result lashing out on my parents. And this upsets me the most of all. Why? Because if I’m upset there is no way I will tell. I might show but then deny it every time asked. And then, it’s a never ending circuit of me being upset, my parents asking me, which makes me even more upset because I can’t tell them, thus I close my self more because the gulp in my stomach is even bigger. 

The thing is that I wanted to right something like, “Today was too horrible,to think about it. And them asking questions was not making it any easier. Besides if I would tell them they would only worry. And that, is the last thing I want.”. 

But after seeing that girl all happy in her innocence bubble, I became so jealous. It was as if I lost all the worries for the day and just became me again. Dancing on the most rich green grass in the middle of a birch tree forest. 

And then I thought of my suicide thoughts. I mean they became irrational. Because why would I want to leave this beautiful place. Why would I ever want to leave my parents. My brother. Why would I want to give up and show everyone what a coward I am. 

But then the bell rang. 

And the reality came back. 

The reality that indeed, I will never be able to speak about my feelings freely. And not even God will be able to help me. 

The local psychologist.

Have you ever had to listen to your brother or sister talk shit about your parents. Or maybe it was your mum who told you that she has enough of you fathers opinions. Maybe it was your dad saying something mean about your sibling. 

Well, if so how often does that happen? 

Once? Twice? A month ? 

How about every single day ? 

Well, if so then welcome to the club of local psychologists. 

I don’t know what it is about me.  Am I so dam quiet that they just have to fill the empty coversation holes, with their thoughts that seem to build up over the hours they spend with each other.  Or maybe it’s because I give good advice.  

… then again they never listen … so that one’s out. 

Maybe I’m just the one they trust. Or maybe I’m just always there. Maybe I’m invisible and while I’m listening they think they’re talking to the air. 

Well, whatever it is, I hate it. 

It’s not like I  don’t want to hear them out. Or help them. Or be there for them. But at the same time, if I would be paid for every car drive alone with my dad, or every phone call with my mum, or the random talk with my dear brother, then I would be a millionaire already. 

The thing is that I get caught in the very freaking middle of this. In between of the names, opinions and angry glares. 

Listening to how my brother doesn’t even care about our’s dad’s talk is making my stomach ache. As much as I love our dad, my brother is right. But hearing it makes me tare slightly because I have such a good connection with him. It’s like as if one of your best friends gave out about the other behind their back to you. Like what are you supposed to do with such info. 

Then you have my dad who gives out about my brother. However, he just gets so frustrated that his emotions run at 200km/h and if they could, they would make him fly away into the space. But the thing is that it is slightly his fault.  Not my brothers behaviour. By getting so cough up in it causes him to build up his nerves and then releasing them wherever he sees a living soul. 

I guess it comes down to : if my dad would care a little less and  my brother try a little more it would be so much better. But who the F listens to me? 

And then you have my mum. Who will cry(literally) about both of them. And it’s me who always has to wipe her tears. 

And it’s annoying. 

Seriously it’s like they use me as their shrink all the time. Laying their troubles on top of me like I have not enough of my own. 

Two days ago my mum asked me about college. And I tried to be gentle.  But that didn’t matter. None of what I want does. So I ended up with opening up. For the first time ever – about college. We got into a fight. And of course tears were spilled.  

Because I was the one to say what’s on my mind.

You see as much as I try to converse, or offer advice to my “clients”, they don’t listen. 

… while I do …