Here I am, this is me.

Wow it has been a while.

Since my last post I have had some pretty major life changes/events which lead to some huge soul searching and a whole lot of 'Emily disappearing off of the planet' as my friends have started to put it. I'm going to write it here, because it is the one place where I (am hoping anyway) I will not be judged or attacked in the way that I have been from the people in my life of late. I'm writing this because these pages are where I bleed out the deepest thoughts, most painful memories, and where I am the Emily who only really I know, not the false character I have created as a mask to protect myself in a place where I have learnt to tread silently through my days in away that is more of an existance than any kind of life.

Please forgive me for my honesty, or maybe don't, but this is what it is to be a 24 year old woman who lives on this planet in 2010, and I am sure my story will not come as too much of a shock to any other woman who has stepped out of her door at some stage in her life and felt like the eyes of this brotherhood we are existing in and has felt devastatingly tiny in its presence. So here it is...

About three weeks ago I lay on the kitchen floor of the tiny dark flat where I had been hiding alone for the previous four weeks in a pool of my own blood drifting toward some kind of glorious oblivion that I had created myself. I woke up in a hospital, a nun standing over me (possibly cursing my soul, there was even holy water involved, and for a second there i did think "if this is death, i want back"), feeling like I had even failed in the one aspect of my life that I had control over, my own existance. I had failed death, but worse than that, i had failed life.

Shortly after my waking i was transferred to a psychiatric hospital where I was locked in for a week, untill they could stick the nice little label on my chart that said I have Bipolar disorder. This is about the moment I realised that even though I had broken down in that week of imprisonment and bawled my eyes out to a psychiatrist about my childhood, about over 10 years of being abused by a man who continues to stalk and harm me even as an adult, and how traumatized I truely am by this, how hard and far i ran to escape this, to oppisite ends of the globe to return and walk straight back into his den of wolves once again. I felt like maybe they would understand why i chose to do the stupid thing I did that night. Why death seemed the better option. But he didn't. instead he put a neat little label next to my name and prescribed pill's that essentially knock me out all day, leaving me with this advice "You are unwell, perhaps you cant see it, but you obsess over your past, it's unhealthy, dont do that anymore, change your attitude".

Another week in a respite centre where I cried some more, and slept, a lot, and then I was out. I was not allowed to move home, or to the new place I was supposed to move to, as the word had got around in my small town that I was apparently crazy. This went as far as a sign in front of a local shop, as a cruel joke, which read "Emily if you can still read after the electric shop therapy, please now you are not welcome here". That night I sat in a cave on the beach and cried myself to sleep in a tiny ball, feeling smaller than the grains of sand which I lay upon.

Anyway, after some weeks of being an absolute zombie, of crying more than I have ever in all my years of life, and discovering who my real friends are i can say that I am on the road to really figuring out who I am. I thought I knew who I was, but all this time I was still held within the tight grip of a man whose whole existance revolves around crushing me into the ground, as many other women have been before me.

What these men dont realise is that while they are burying my face in dirt, a seed has been planted, and the longer I battle here on this earth for what I believe, a beautiful flower will bloom. And I feel as brave as hell for that. I am not going anywhere untill that flower is tall.