31 July.

I deleted my gg acount. I said I wouldn’t. I didn’t want to. I wasn’t ready. I was forced to by my friend who said that it would be best. 

The problem is that I don’t know do I regret it. 

Side note: GG is a polish chatting website on which I meet strangers and talk with them. Used it mainly for boredom fillers. That is of course until I met Him.

-We thought you weren’t going to mention this person anymore. 

Yeah I know. But you see that’s the problem. It’s impossible to forget about him. 

There are those moments when I laugh. That’s mainly in work. Or when my mind is occupied – completely with something totally different. But there is always a tiny thought in my head. Everyting reminds me of him. Me baking an apple crumble. Listening to specific songs. Turning on the TV and seeing his favourite show. Even my pet hamster ‘Latte’. Me playing the piano. Waking up in the morning and not being able to breathe. Fights with my parents.

I feel like there are just some things that no one will get the way he did. Even if he did it as part of his sick joke. 

And then there is this part – and that’s the most dominant. It is the jealousy. Because he reads my blog. And he knows exactly what’s in my brain.  He knows exactly what my thoughts look like. Exactly how I feel. Exactly what I talk about. After all this is a diary. But I don’t have that privelage. I have no way of finding out how he is. And what is in his brain. 

And one might say, “Well, why don’t you stop posting for a while?”

And there are a number of reasons for that. First of all I feel like you are my best listeners. You do not judge my thoughts and don’t give me advice on how to cope. Second of all I don’t want to stop because this helps me … Maybe in the most bizzare way but it does. Lastly there is a part of me that doesn’t want him to stop reading. Beacuse 1. Then I can tell him how I feel. And 2. I hope that he feels guilty because of it. 

Although that last bit probably never happens … Instead what happens probably is that he laughs and calls me stupid and gullible.

And the sad part is that he would have the right to say that because it’s true.

I am stupid and gullible. I know that. 

But I think there is improvement. I don’t have hope anymore. I mean I do. I always will. But its faint. Nearly see-through. The thing that occupies me now is want. 

But I don’t think that will last much longer either. I think that if I get into college. And if I start attending (that is IF because I have a strong temptation to end my life after I get the notification whether I got in or not) it would get better. I would stop wanting. 

The question is though will I last? 

Green eyes.

This is what I will never forget. 

I will forget the brown ones. The chocolate. The warmth. The familiarity. The way I felt them looking at me. The way I imagined them giving me comfort. The way I thought they would look at me. With the desire and attention that I thought I had. The way I imagined them to scan every – even the tiniest – detail of my face and body. The way I imagined they lit up when I made them smile. The way they cried when they watched “A walk to remember”. The way I imagined that they would send thrills through me when they were angry with me. The way they would tell me what’s hidden in the mind behind them.

I will forget all that.

But I will never forget the green eyes. The eyes that didn’t look at me. The lie in them. I don’t even remember the face anymore. But those eyes. They hunt me. Wherever I go. However fast I run. They seem to always show up. Pop up like the unwanted add. 




Ps. Picture not mine … Borrowed from Google.


There was a little prickling in his breath while he slept. Just a few years ago his breath used to emit the minty essence of the gum thoothpaste. Now it was more of a stench. Masked by the mandarin scent candle.

His chest became even more lazy tonight. The leftovers of his six-pack, were still intact however. Always straight back. Always at attention. It’s not the only thing left over from the army. He served well. Killed seven men. It was still too many for him.

The eyebrows which attracted his only girlfirend, now bushy. Forgoten about, compared to her. Her picture was still in his wallet and night stand, right beside the clock. Which slowly ticked. 


He was dreaming. For the first time in a few months. His mahogany eyes were engaged hustling around his dark eyelids. The wrinkles were what made it worse. But somehow it looked peaceful. He was dreaming about her. That was the only dream he ever had. Where she was there, standing by the water and he was walking towards her. Her beautiful golden red curls battling against one another in the wind. He would touch her shoulder, and look at the sunset. And once the sun was fully down she would turn around and they would embrace each other. Beacause now that the sun left them, that’s all they had. And it was exactly like that in real life. Except he wasn’t the man embracing her. He was watching from afar, hid in the bushes. 

His fists still could hold her. Still could protect her. They were clenched tight. Probably digging softly into her flesh. You could clearly see the blue vains on them. And loose freckled skin, that used to be just as rough as the sand on which they stood. Over the years however, with less work to be done they regained their melleabillity. 

His feet were now covered in the wooly material of his socks. He used to imagine what it would be like, tangling his feet around hers, touching those pedicured nails, feeling the warmth and knowing that someone is beside you. 

When they met he would have never thought that it was the woman who he would fall in love with. But just when she looked at him, borrowing those emerald green eyes deep into his, something struck him. 

He took a breath and …

It was his last. 


I want to kill her dreams.

Those tiny ideas that appear in her mind, giving her the hope she doesn’t deserve. Why would she? She is the most naive person on this planet. An idiot too. She deserves misery.

I want to kill the idea that she’s pretty. Let’s be honest she’s fat. She has large hips and calfs. She really shouldn’t eat anything for the rest of her life, maybe then she would loose some weight. She is going bald. At the age of fucking 19. That’s pathetic. She’s a misshapen. A groutesque mosnster. Just look at those lips – chopped, unsymetrical. This hideous nose. Who would want to look at that? Ha! Who would dare?

I want to kill the idea that she would have a chance in life. She is ugly, stupid, a waste of human existence. Who would want to fuck that. Be careful you might get herpes. She shouldn’t get a chance. A chance to meet someone. She doesn’t even deserve the lowest of them all. A chance to have a good job. There are definetly better suited people for it than her. She can barely breathe and that is sometimes confusing for her. A chance to make her parents proud. That ship has sailed away long time ago. 

I want to kill her desires. The impetutous sparks of want towards a certain object, human or action. These, after all, are what give her dreams. They start of in her heart, like a bad disease. Slowly spreading the virus and consuming every inch of her fragile body. Giving her hope and drawing images that should never come into existence. What’s the point of giving her a reason to live. She deserves tortures and pain.

I want to kill her happiness. There is nothing more annoying about her than that smile. Especially the full on real one. When she is forced to show off those ugly gums and disgust everyone around. This is the biggest cancer of hers. She should have her lips sawn together with a really thick thread. At least then we wouldn’t smell her odour and hear her screech.

I want to kill her. 

Because the world would be a much better place without an insect, like her.

She is me, and I am her mind. 

The trio.

Don aka the 19 year old who looks like a 25 year old, who is funny, smart and as a result annoying as hell. AKA; Teddy.

Sean aka the funny in a relationship guy who always uses me do make him food and sweap but its okay cause he’s not mean to me. AKA; Stick. 

Cathal aka the guy who is the nicest to me but still is able to be funny and smart. Ps I think he may have a potential to like me. AKA; Mr Gentleman.


Okay, this is by far my favourite trio. Now, I can ever only work with two at a time, but its always fun. 

They annoy me, I annoy them and as a result we all laugh. Customers too. 

It’s actually weird. Why would I find work with guys so umm compelling? Interesting? Fulfilling? I mean when I work during the weekeds in Shop no.2 I need to say that I barely speak to Daniel. And I work with him the longest. 

I don’t know is it the fact that I generally hear them better and thus it’s easier to communicate. (And no I’m not deff – the radio is simply a piece of frustrating electronical garbage that they always higher up in Shop 2.) Or maybe I want them to like me so I want them to think I know some things.

– 😂😂Kamila please 😂😂 you, know things 😂😂😂

Shut up you imaginary audience/brain/voices/facts.

However, whatever the reason behind it is, I need to say that it definetly made me a lot more anticipated towards every single day of work. 

So, even though sometimes – okay most of the times I feel incredibly dumb around them, their “education” is not the only positive influence on me.

The sad part is that I seldomly work with Mr Gentleman, and Teddy is leaving in a few days for another job. 

Thus, it’s just Stick … And me … The Rock. 




(For those of you that don’t know that was my childhood nickname translated to English)

9 Days.


How are you? 

I don’t know do you remember me, but my name is Kamila – I am the girl who started writing this blog. Yeyeyeye.

– No Kamila. Not YEY. 

Shhh. Anyways, do you remember why I started it ? Because it was surly not to talk about boys. Or give “wanna be inspirational posts”. Which is what I did mostly. 

– You mean boys.

SHHHHH !!! Anyways, let me remind you of the real purpose of this blog.

Okay, so the point was to talk about the gap year. And to some extent I did. I must say that I stand by the fact that it was the best decision of my life. Now at the beginning of the post I wrote that it was a totally independent decision. But that was a lie. I think I was still at the ‘denial’ stage. Because that decision was forced into my actions as you force that carrot poop into the babies mouth. And usually after that both of you get covered in orange gew. 

BUT in my scenario of things neither I, nor my “force feeder” got covered in any gew. In fact, the year off and the time to make money gave us more opportunities than ever!

First of all it gave me and my parents a calmness, which came with the fact that we will not struggle to pay for it. 

Secondly, the fact that I was able to find a job that will also do me for college is amazing. 

Thirdly, I found out who my real friends are. To not trust strangers on the internet. And to be yourself no matter what. (I’m still working on that.)

But ! 

– Why do you always have to do the but thing ?!?!? Ugh ugh ugh 

Because life my dear friends, beacuse life.*says in a very deep old mans voice*

So coming back to the topic…


I only have 9 days left. Beacuse as of today – the 12th of August – I have nine days to the day where I can get covered in gew. Why? Because the 21st of August is the offers day. This is the day when I find out whether this whole fiasco had any sense to begin with. 

And mind you my friends, I am shitting my pants.


Serioulsy ? …

The girl with a broken heart.


She didn’t even hear him. Suddenly he thrust her by the arm, his dirty nails digging deep into her flesh. When he threw her into the back of the van she hit her head against the wall. Pain diminishing her fear for just a second. The drive wasn’t long, but she didn’t remember anything from it. Few turns right. Was it even right? Or was her head spinning so much?

The screech of the breaks were like the gun firing to start the race. Her heart would’ve definitely won. All she could think about was her mommy. She wanted her so badly now. More than ever before. She wanted to smell her sweet, glorious vanilla scent. She wanted to feel her cashmere hands. She wanted to hear her delicate soothing voice. A voice that was like a lullaby every evening.

He yanked the doors open and looked at her meek, fragile body. She couldn’t see his face because the light was behind him. But she was glad. She was sure that she wasn’t going to get out of there alive.

He pulled her by the ankle, but when she tried to get away he pulled harder. And harder. Until all that was left, were the tear drops and nail scratches on the cold white painted metal.

She wanted to scream. To scream louder than a wolf at night, howling. But she wasn’t able to.

She gave up.

He carried her like a bag of potatoes up the stairs and heaved her like a bag of dirty laundry onto a broken, spring matterace.

Her beautiful blond plats were now simply a gathering of hay knotted together. Her snow white shirt became the canvas for the dirty shame marks and the grease off his forehead. The new school skirt – checkered – that used to hang just above the knee, now was half torn and sprawled all over her tummy, displaying her innocence to the world.

And as she heard the hard and loud noise of the buckle and then the zipper of his denim trousers, she stopped shaking.

She was numb.

And as he touched her, tears were all that she was able to give. Soon she was just a lifeless human vessel, unfortunately breathing.

The  image of her mother has left her in the van. Now all she was able to see were angels. Beautiful creatures that flew all around her. They were white like ghosts and drifting through the air like fathers. They called her.

“Cade. Cade.”

The soft echoing sound of her name made her want to drift away. Away with the angels. With the most beautiful creatures she has ever seen. But who would want her now? She was no longer the unopened package with jewelry. She was the garbage bin. Used, dirty and shameful.

When he stopped, the pain began flowing in. Like waves at the beach. A tsunami to be exact. But she new what she had to do now.

Slowly opened her eyes, and looked around. There it was just a few feet away. The angels did love her after all. Even when she was broken. Even when her heart was shattered.

She inched her limp body over to the stool just to her left.

Grabbed the knife and without hesitation cut both wrist as if it was butter.