Two Years Later…

With a knife close to my neck he said, “I own you. Dare to scream. Just dare”. There I was, standing between the wall and his body. I was hardly breathing, dazed and confused. “I bet you are all wet now, I bet you’re loving this”, he whispered still holding that damn knife closer and closer to my neck.

African-American-Woman-Crying-Tears-sylvia-browderThe door was open and I could hear people in the other room. I could hear movement and a part of me kept wishing that someone would decide to get up for a cuppa, for a fag, for a break of some kind. But no one got up, no one had a break and there I was… alone with that monster who was an expert in emotional abuse. As for the other part of me? Well, it was too embarrassed to want anyone see someone who came across as such a strong and dominant woman being a victim of such abuse. I was ashamed.

Two years have gone by and I still cannot forget this. Two whole years have gone by and this memory is vivid as if it had happened yesterday. I can still remember and write about his red and white shirt, his jeans and black shoes. I can still talk about his cologne which although the name fails me, I can smell it from a distance and I do shiver whenever someone walks past me smelling like that.

For the past few days I found myself drinking and struggling to cope. But I have no one to talk to about this because no one knows this was happening. I struggle to trust anyone enough to tell them and I am exploding inside every day. I’m losing myself and I am terrified. I am losing it. This time of the year is just too hard.

Oh Sugar!

I’ve clarified my blog title in more than one occasion now, I have been sugarcoating negative life experiences since I was very young. The only reason behind “Since 91” is nothing more exciting than the year I was born. Sugarcoating is often seen as a very negative act where people can’t face their own realities or require excuses in order to accommodate embellished truths. However, sugarcoating to me is far more than that. It’s a coping mechanism that has enabled me to become the person I am now.

When I was younger, I needed to sugarcoat the lack of support around me with the aim to eventually move on. Yes, to a large extent I was weak. I was unable to face the truth but considering my life circumstances and how far I have come so far, sugarcoating probably saved my life. Those who noticed changes assumed I was going through puberty or some other sort of rebel phase. But it wasn’t just a phase. Everyone has their own struggles and I’ve had my own share of ups and downs, often using sugarcoating has an escape route. I’ve been successfully able to pinpoint many of my weaknesses and I am still working on them. Nonetheless, sugarcoating is still very much part of my life. It seems to be useful in a professional environment as well……

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “All About Me.”

Tainted By Your Touch II

I haven’t looked at any daily prompts in quite some time now. It’s 8.41pm (GMT) and I have Netflix playing on the background, I’m meant to be watching Mr. Nobody but for some reason, I felt like writing. I’ve seen this film before so I’m not really losing anything.

Hindsight: re-write your very first post…

After reading my first post, I felt very happy for two main reasons: 1. I am far from feeling similar to what I was experiencing during that time and 2. I actually liked my writing style and I have hardly edited it. So here it goes.

Tainted By Your Touch

Sugar-coating is one of my main abilities. I am easily capable of creating an illusion of what I am truly experiencing by making the worst experiences sound “not that bad”. Although most times it is just an automatic response, I often rationalise it as a result of feeling scared. Fear can be powerful; it can change behaviour and rationale…

In a lonesome manner, I exasperate myself with the continuous reminders to remove my heavy mask; the one that everyone praises and sees. But, what about me…? Me… Do I even know what that means anymore? Corrupted to a large extend, I remain afraid, seeking some enlightenment, some sort of reaction. But all fails, all fails as a result of being tainted by your touch.

The energy scarcity from within slowly poisons the real me; incapable of love, I see life passing by, as an avatar, from the outside I peek and see the mask taking over little by little, day by day. Mesmerised by the inability to react I remain incapable of loving. The unexpected impact of your presence polluted me in such a manner that it seems there is no light at the end of the tunnel. What dismay…

Conspicuous lack of qualms defines the mask. Through continuous torturous events, it seems as though as that one lethargic reaction persistently remains active. Incapable of trust, I continue seeking for enlightenment whilst slowly giving up on fighting against the mask. Perhaps it is a never-ending battle, perhaps I should give in. It does seem to have my best interests in mind. But how can one touch be this powerful? This mind-blowing?

I wonder if one day I will wake up and realise that it was all a bad dream, a product of my fertile imagination. I wonder if one day I will realise that the mask is the ‘right’ one and me? Well maybe I am the parasite, the outsider, the voyeur.

Either way, sooner or later, a reaction will emerge.

The Last Goodbye

Have you ever felt a knot on your throat so strong that you could hardly breathe? I have… and between all the sobbing I somehow still found the strength to cherish the good memories. I have lost someone I deeply cared for and I hadn’t experienced such level of loss in so long that I am struggling with the acceptance/denial dichotomy. Losing someone you care for never gets any easier. Although our coping mechanisms may become stronger, it just never gets any easier…

The last goodbyes were prolonged to the maximum. No one likes to say goodbye to someone they love and I am no different, it was heart breaking but inevitable. I wished for more time, for another chance, for different life circumstances. I wanted to share one last smile, one last hug, but unfortunately, I could not control this. I am left here feeling broken. It is part of my nature to respond to bad experiences by focusing (obsessing) with something and keep my mind busy. However, I have tried to read, to play the guitar, to practice French, to watch TV shows, to play a game and nothing seems to work apart from writing. I am numb. At this point I just want to calm down and be able to breathe. I have been listening to ‘Smile’ by Michael Jackson on repeat for a while now. I just wish I had had more time…

You will forever be in my heart.

“Smile, though your heart is aching
Smile, even though it’s breaking
When there are clouds in the sky
You’ll get by…
Light up your face with gladness
Hide every trace of sadness
Although a tear may be ever so near
That’s the time you must keep on trying
Smile, what’s the use of crying.”
Michael Jackson – Smile


Colour blind to life, I look at the world from a distance. People are no longer genuine and pure and I cannot help but refrain myself from using the term human beings; people seem to be everything but humane nowadays. I fail to see colours, smell scents and feel what I have felt in the past. Struggling to stay afloat in my own safety boat, I have roamed for so long that even ‘the devil’ seems to have drifted away. Still I refute the possibility that I could be facing any overly negative emotions again, I refuse to accept that I am letting myself down and allowing (continuously) difficult circumstances to put me down. Despite smiling almost every day and maintaining appearances that define the whole purpose of creating the sugar-coating blog, I can feel that I am digging a bigger hole which, sooner or later, will cave in.


No Sugar-coating Allowed Today…

At a certain stage in my life, I thought I was going through depression: real clinical depression and not the mundane use of feeling blue. I remember being surrounded by many friends, I even celebrated my birthday that year three different times, with three different birthday cakes all made by different people. I remember smiling and thanking my friends for such gestures. But I also remember feeling empty inside.

I used to think I was apathetic and then just depressed.

My clothing style changed. My music taste changed. My social skills were suddenly getting rusty and I started pushing away anyone close enough to be hit by a wave of nothings. That was all I had to offer… a big bunch of nothing.

I remember trying to understand what I was going through, always in my own manner without allowing anyone else in. My mother used to think it was just a phase. And my father… well, I was not in talking terms with him at all, so I have no idea what went through his mind, but I did not seem to be interested.

I remember drinking and smoking in my bedroom hoping to get caught. I’d hope that my mother would realise it was not just a teenage phase. Somehow, I wanted her to realise I did not feel ok. But she never did.  Even today, she still thinks it was just a phase. She is still incapable of understanding when I need her and I have given up trying to show her when I do. She would never understand because deep inside, she does not know me. She knows the person I want her to see. She would never be introduced to the ‘devil’. Although I must admit I do not think she would be able to tell the difference. Despite all odds, she has been in touch with the ‘devil’ but she was not able to spot the differences. Perhaps it’s actually good.

My previous post here mentioned how I realised that I was an approval seeker. I think this post clarifies any potential doubts to the underlying causes of my behaviour…

I also remember drinking every day after school. I was a sponge. I would drink pure vodka. No ice, no juice. I would mix all sorts of drinks. I even got so drunk once that my friends had to take me home… During day time… My mother saw me in such state and I still remember her reaction. She felt ashamed of my behaviour. Did she ask why I did it? Did she try and understand what could be possibly happening? No. She tried her best, but her best was not enough.

I remember writing on my white bedroom walls with a thick black permanent marker lyrics and quotes in English. My parents would not understand it, but my siblings would, whenever they visited us as they were already living abroad by then. I’d spend hours in my bedroom without locking the door and no one would even check on me. So I’d smoke. And still nothing. My grades soon started to drop. Not due to the fact that I was a dumb student at all… I simply stopped caring. I knew if I wanted to, I could have had the perfect results but I did not. And still no reaction.

I started training to go to military school. I was convinced that this would offer the perfect environment that I needed and yet, I broke my leg months before the assessments and I never looked back. I could feel myself digging a deeper and deeper whole. I was overweight, heavy drinker and often would smoke. I tried weed, I hated it. My life was going down faster than the economy. A control freak losing control…

Many years later I managed to fight it all. I’m here, I am healthier, I cannot stand smoke, I do not try to overcompensate for attention that I know simply will never fulfil the void. And I am dealing everyday with the new battles as they come. Some are harder than others but they are still battles that are worth checking.

And so I wrote this, probably poorly written… I am not editing this post. Not now anyway. If I go back and read this I will never post it. If it doesn’t make sense, then it doesn’t. If it’s not good… then it’s not good. Ah, look who is back. 🙂