I start projects and never finish them. I'm afraid of most people. I aspire to greatness, but sabotage my success.
I like bacon and Doctor Who and post it notes. Actually, I love those things.
I write long ass posts about what's going on inside my mind and my heart. I reblog things that make me laugh or think.


Give Yourself Away

I woke up in the middle of the night crying and singing With Or Without You.

I wish I could cleanse my mind of thoughts, rid my body of feelings. The thoughts circulate my mind as I ask myself, “why am I doing this?”.

Really though, why? What do I expect will happen of this?

I want an effort, a conversation, an apology, an acknowledgement of his actions. I know that I will get none of that.

Only one of two things will happen. The friendship will be over or I will cave and apologize for being upset.

I don’t want either of those things.

But what else is there?

I miss having a best friend. I miss having someone to go on adventures with. I miss having someone to turn to. I miss being able to send the stupidest, most random things that remind me of him. I miss making him supper. I miss going for walks. I miss being allowed to be proud to have an amazing best friend like him. I miss being able to talk to him without feeling like I’m intruding.

But what does it matter? So what if I miss him? Those feelings will go away one way or another.

So I can pretend that it doesn’t preoccupy me. I can pretend I don’t think about it, or that it doesn’t hurt. Because I know that none of this matters to him. He’s already moved on.

I numb myself during waking hours fairly well. And then I wake up crying in the middle of the night because I’ve been dreaming of him. And I’m singing With Or Without You.

I need to type. I need to distract myself and keep myself from checking for messages.

No good can come of checking messages. There’s either nothing there which will hurt or there’s something there and that will probably hurt more.

I need to get through this day, if only to tell myself that I can.

If I cave, then I know that I will beg forgiveness and find some way this is all my fault. My thoughts are distorted. I’m crazy. I’m not being very fair. I’m not seeing all sides of the story.

I know that if I cave now, then nothing will be gained. He will never have to acknowledge any wrongdoing or address any required change in behavior and approach. As long as I can convince myself the fault lies with me, he can do whatever he wants.

And I’m terrified of taking this bold stance. Shouldn’t I be more willing to bend? Does it really matter that much who’s right and who’s wrong as long as we’re getting along?

And it’s not that I want him to be wrong or I’m desperate to be right, but I’d really like to at least talk about it?

I dunno. Lately I only seem to make sense to My Sister and that can’t be a good sign. Or she’s just blowing me off.

So I’m terrified of losing the friendship for my bold stance that demands we address this. I take a deep breath and tell myself that it’s a gamble I have to take. He’s counting on me to cave and beg him to forgive me for daring to be angry without even caring why.

Ugh. Anything to just get through this. I can’t believe I’m this desperate to be able to talk to him about how I feel.

I’m sick of telling my Sister and Ani and Charity and writing it here. I want to be able to tell him.

Is it really too much to ask?

"Anger Issues"

Yesterday I went to talk to at risk youth about going to school.

A teacher asked me a question. “You mentioned throwing a chair at your teacher. Would you say you had anger issues?”

"Had? I’d say I still have some anger issues. But seriously, I was taken out of my home and school and placed in lockup where I was beaten and bullied by the people who lived with me, misdiagnosed and over medicated by the people who were supposed to take care of me, taken away from the things that I loved and told to shut up about it. Did I have anger issues? Probably. But I also had a lot to be angry about."

At that point, the teacher stood there with her jaw dropped. My former teacher was almost laughing because he knew exactly how I was going to answer her question and the class sat there and stared. It was like my little rant not only hit them where they lived, but suddenly to them, I wasn’t some outsider telling them to go to school. I was one of them and I was telling them how to get out.

A hand shot up in the air. “How did you get a radio show?”

I brought it back to my time as a student and how my anger sparked me to want to make change. I got involved with volunteering and they offered me the opportunity to do this radio show.

I’m still angry. I still have issues with that anger, but I am better at reining it in than I used to be. I’m better at expressing it and better at putting it to constructive use.

That question did kind of throw me off a bit. Although I am better, I know I’m not okay. My anger masks a lot of sadness and fear that I don’t really know how to handle.

But the phrase “anger issues” almost seems condescending to me. It feels like trying to write off real emotions. And it frustrates me how much people forget that these feelings are real. They are very real. And sometimes, they are all we can see.

So I do my best to use my anger to make change and make things better. Sometimes I succeed. More often I fail. But sometimes I do make things better.

Making Up Stories

For me it hurts. Soldier will never notice or even care that I’m gone. And I don’t know why that hurts and makes me as angry as it does. He’s the one who hurt me and dicked around with me. But he will suffer no consequences, because to him, losing me doesn’t even register as something that matters. It makes me so mad. 

I don’t really know how to be mad. Like, I get super mad, and whenever I’ve tried to express my feelings of anger, I get told that I’m making up stories or being a drama queen or inventing narratives.

My so-called best friend will only chat with me online while he is at work. The last couple of times I’ve see him in public, he’s blown me off. Every time I ask to hang out with him or try to make plans, he gets a phone call or changes the subject.

And yet when I say that I don’t think he wants to hang out with me, or that he’s found better people than me to hang out with, he gets angry and tells me that I’m inventing narratives. 

But I have to say that his actions are pretty loud and clear to me. If these are the things I see and he says I’m making stuff up, what am I not seeing?

I’m sad and I’m hurt and I feel pathetic and stupid because I’m sick of begging to hang out with someone that I consider to be my best friend. Clearly he is not committed to making the same effort I am. Clearly, I’m not worth it to him.

And I get it. I’m crazy and emotional and I don’t do cool things. The second I’m less than perfect, he’s quick to tell me I’m still crazy or he thought I was actually trying to be better. 

And then he wonders where I get the idea from that he wanted me to be perfect.

But I’m sitting here typing it because I can’t even talk to him about it. I’ve been begging to talk to him about it, trying to handle this in a healthy way and he wants no part of it. I’ve sent text messages and email and snail mail, begging to be able to talk to him. He wants to be able to shame me for the way that my actions affect him. But the fault still always lies with me. Is this really how it is? He can be angry at me, but I am crazy and I make shit up, therefore any anger I have at anyone else is a symptom of my crazy?

And so out of desperation, here I am reinforcing the pattern of blogging about why I’m so upset. He’ll get angry when he reads this and tell me all of the reasons I shouldn’t be and why I should STFU. He’ll tell me that he thought I was getting better, but it turns out I’m just as crazy as ever.

And I’ll try to tell myself that he’s right. I should be grateful for the friendship because who else in their right mind would ever put up with my shit? 

Sometimes, I really think that the only way I can ever be really and truly free of my BPD is to never be around human beings.

As for my friends? I’m the one who will feel the pain. My friends will never notice that I’m gone. One day they’ll wake up and notice that their lives are easier, better and less dramatic and they’ll struggle to think about why. They’ll shrug it off and go on with their days.

And I’ll be dealing with a whole new crop of people who swear that I can always come to them with anything and they’ll be there for me. They always think they’re not full of shit when they say it too.


The guy has some of the highest security clearances I’ve ever heard of, but his authorization to be anywhere near my workplace has been revoked.

I felt sick to my stomach as my boss outlined just how severe this was. Devastated and angry with myself because of all the red flags I completely ignored. My first conversation with the guy was me telling him off because he was trying to take advantage of a vulnerable person.

And I somehow forgot that and let him be around vulnerable people? What kind of an irresponsible monster am I?

So I’m sitting there laughing because if I don’t laugh I’ll start crying. I really can’t trust my judgement in people. I’m embarrassed. I’m mortified. I feel so guilty and scared and awful that my trust in him put people I care about in harm’s way. 

I stood up for him when people talked smack. I played Devil’s advocate when they voiced their concerns. 

I feel so stupid.

Am I crazy? Is this a case of me splitting?

Every time I’m angry at a person, or trying to cut my ties to a person, I ask myself, “am I splitting?” and I just assume the answer is yes and that I’m crazy. That’s usually how it works with me.

Well, until I’ve been through the whole “this person is toxic” “no, I’m just crazy” cycle so many times that I don’t even care whether they’re as toxic as I think they are or if I’m so crazy I shouldn’t be allowed out without a worker.

I look back and see all the times he has taken advantage of my emotions. All the times he scared me. All the times he really hurt me. And sure, there were some wonderful things he did for me and I’ll always be thankful, but do those things really justify everything else?

But I can’t do this anymore. I need to get the hell out.

And considering we were already on rocky ground and I was mostly gone and trying to talk myself into sticking it out, I didn’t think this would actually be difficult. I mean, why should it be? 

Last night at some point, I realized that I was going through the stages of a breakup. The ‘you’re dead to me’ text message. Tears. Ice cream. And now, the blocking on every single social network, device and email account. Well “all” is hard to say. I usually seem to forget at least one social network or way in. And really, what is the point? His job skills include hacking shit and tracking people down. So I mean, blocking him is kind of a joke really. 

And I don’t know why I’m feeling this way. I really don’t. I’m devastated, but trying to block those feelings because I don’t feel like I “should” be feeling this upset. It doesn’t even make any sense.

But I’ve been through bargaining and I’ve been through denial with him. I’ve been trying to find the strength to end this for months. 

I can’t believe how shitty my taste in people still is. Like really. How could I have been so stupid to let him into my life in the first place?

Nobody Special

I feel used and conned, dirty and cheap. I feel so hurt and let down. I feel betrayed. I feel so foolish.

I thought I was beyond being as gullible as a teenage girl believing any guy who said she was special. But clearly I’m not.

I was actually dumb enough to believe him when he said I was pretty. I believed him when he said I was smart. I believed him when he said I was going to go on to do great things. I believed him when he said I was special.

I believed every lie a guy will tell you to get into your pants.

And he walked into the room with 3 drunk girls attached to him, kissed my date (whom he was just meeting for the first time) on the cheek and told her she was beautiful.

I stood there as he blew me off to get another girl completely wasted. She’s absolutely beautiful. Not very bright, but with looks like that, no one cares.

Last year that was me. And I really thought I was special. I felt really beautiful. He said all the right things. And I was stupid enough to believe him.

Seeing me distraught, L makes a comment that those girls are only there for the drinks.

I know she’s right, and I try to laugh it off.

But last year it was me on his arm, so drunk I could barely stand up. It was so stupid. I had been hiding a crush on him and took great care to pick out an outfit he’d find attractive. I liked him.

L continues, “think about how much their lives suck right now that they’re clinging to that guy for drinks”.

My life did suck pretty bad at this point last year. And this guy made sure that my glass was never empty, despite me telling him, I would have liked him anyways. I wasn’t there for the alcohol, I was there for him.

And it took me until last night to see, I was just a whore to him.

We never had sex. We were interrupted before it could happen. But all I was was a whore.

I wasn’t special. I wasn’t pretty. I was a means to get what he wanted. I cared about him. I considered him a friend. And I was just a puppet to him.

And while my best friend ran away from me every time I came near him, I floated around this party trying to be a good date. Trying not to cry. My heart breaking. Not even really understanding why I am this devastated.

I really would have preferred being fucked and chucked to this.

I feel so cheap. So dirty. So used. So angry. So hurt.

From: http://www.guttmacher.org/pubs/gpr/14/2/gpr140208.html
You know, it’s funny. I’ve often talked about how much I feel like an outsider and a freak of nature for not having kids by my early 20’s. Of the people I grew up with, I am the only one who does not have kids. (However, I am also one of the only ones with a job and any post secondary education.) And yet those thoughts are always dismissed by others saying I’m exaggerating and I’m still young and all that crap. 
While researching a future show today, I came across this information and suddenly that feeling of being the odd one out made a lot of sense.
It would make sense that the general population would think it’s strange that I feel like a defective freak for my feelings of being an outsider for not having kids. But it would also make sense for me as well as the others I grew up with and the people I work with to find it incredibly strange of me to be my age and childless.
Because among youth in care, I am the odd one out. By the age of 24, 77% of us have been pregnant. That is a huge majority.
Whereas for everyone else, that number is 40%.
But this also shows to me that I’m not wrong when I explain that in my surroundings, teen pregnancy was the norm.

From: http://www.guttmacher.org/pubs/gpr/14/2/gpr140208.html

You know, it’s funny. I’ve often talked about how much I feel like an outsider and a freak of nature for not having kids by my early 20’s. Of the people I grew up with, I am the only one who does not have kids. (However, I am also one of the only ones with a job and any post secondary education.) And yet those thoughts are always dismissed by others saying I’m exaggerating and I’m still young and all that crap. 

While researching a future show today, I came across this information and suddenly that feeling of being the odd one out made a lot of sense.

It would make sense that the general population would think it’s strange that I feel like a defective freak for my feelings of being an outsider for not having kids. But it would also make sense for me as well as the others I grew up with and the people I work with to find it incredibly strange of me to be my age and childless.

Because among youth in care, I am the odd one out. By the age of 24, 77% of us have been pregnant. That is a huge majority.

Whereas for everyone else, that number is 40%.

But this also shows to me that I’m not wrong when I explain that in my surroundings, teen pregnancy was the norm.


After my first date with Guy, I reported back that he was too desperate. Too desperate for a woman, too desperate to keep her, too desperate to do anything to please her.

After my first date with Glee, I reported back to my friends that I had no interest, it was not going to work out and I had serious concerns about seeing him again because he was a heavy marijuana smoker.

After my first date with Suit, I reported back to Ani that he was a rich bitch snob and very much in love with himself. I could see a controlling streak in him that kind of freaked me out.

After my first date with The Doctor, I complained that he was a wannabe poser trying too hard, desperate to shake his ugly duckling nerd complex.

Well, in reality they all came with laundry lists of the things wrong with them and the reasons why I should absolutely not get involved.

But I did get involved with all of these people, despite all of my complaints. And it’s funny. They all ended for the reasons I knew they would.

My friends would tell me that I’m not giving people enough of a chance. I need to be less picky. I need to stop talking myself out of it and allow myself the opportunity to get to know someone. 

I saw red flags and I let people talk me into ignoring them.

Relationships derail me. I fall apart. I am this awesomely wickedly cool, strong, independent woman until I get involved and then I turn into some lump of codependent, clingy crap. 

These people came at points in my life where I had finally reached some sort of equilibrium of being okay with being single. But of course, that’s how it works, isn’t it?

And then in walks Elsa. Just as I’ve got my life focused and stable again. Focusing on school and work and myself. Putting myself in a healthy place.

And I think about how I’ve always known how my relationships will end. And think about how I just can’t focus that time and energy on recovering again. My primary focus is on school. My education is my golden ticket.

So I avoid Elsa as much as I can. Avoid getting involved. While everyone I know tells me to just give her a chance because clearly, she really likes me.

And I’m sitting here screaming inside that I can’t pick up these pieces again should I fall apart. I had the luxury of being able to ignore the red flags before and deal with those consequences, but can I do that now?

"Bitch please, I’ve had to hear this shit about why you hate all your dates since I’ve met you. Remember Suit? Do you remember how you were definitely not going to date him? Well you did. And then you guys broke up. And yet I still have to deal with his ass at your birthday every year. Yeah, so you guys broke up for all the reasons you knew it would, but how bad could it have been? He’s your best friend. And most relationships don’t end that way!"

I burst out laughing and tear up a little bit. Ani’s right. I’ve had some challenging relationships and bad breakups, but can I sit here and honestly say I regret any of them? 

These relationships have derailed me because they have changed me. Always for the better. 

And to avoid getting into another relationship because my last relationships have ended? That’s just what happens. The odds of your relationship lasting are really, really bad. The majority of relationships dissolve at some point. 

But still, I’m shakey and shell shocked from my last relationships. Not what they did to me, but the things i did to them. I’m scared to be vulnerable, I’m scared to be hurt, I’m scared to be weak and I’m just learning how to be selfish, now I have to learn how to share again?

Elsa really likes me. I’m so afraid to like her. But I do really like her.

I keep myself at arm’s length, closed off, keeping my hands to myself. Because I know that the second I touch her, I’ll lose all control and this world that I have built for myself will be gone. The safe, secure routine. 

I know that there’s enough chemistry that the second I let myself make contact, I will crumble, I will fall, and the flood of emotions that I have been holding back will boil over.

My days of sanity are numbered. So I try to comfort myself by saying that it will probably be worth it.

Tastes Like Kokanee

There’s an infamous pool hall down the street, one that’s been there for years. They used to be open around the clock, but in the last couple of years, they started closing from 5-10 am. 

In my late teens and early 20’s, you could find me in that pool hall sometimes playing pool, but more often playing video games in the arcade at 6 or 7 in the morning after being out all night and ready to stop partying, but not yet ready to sleep.

The place is notorious for being rowdy during peak hours, but during the day and on Sundays it’s usually just league players, so it’s a good place to shoot some pool. They’re also really nice about giving me change for laundry.

But tonight is somewhat different. I’ve been off the grid for a few days now with no real desire to jump back on. I know that whatever’s waiting for me on the other side of the electric fence we call the internet is overwhelming, demanding and is just gonna upset me.

So I walk into the pool hall to get some change for laundry and I don’t know why, but I order a Kokanee and head towards the slots.

I lose $10 pretty quickly and decide to call it quits and just finish my beer. So I find a table and sit down and watch the people around me.

It’s Saturday night and I’m in a crowded bar. I look around and see the girls in their too tight flimsy T-Shirts from Urban Planet and Sirens, their leggings not quite able to fit over their hips. I see the people pursing their lips at each other pointing with their nose.

For a split second, I wonder if I still do that. I remember picking up that habit in Meadow Lake. I remember My Sister pointing it out when I came home to visit. But no one’s said anything in quite some time. I wonder if it’s just one of those things that comes out of me when I drink.

I take a large swig of by beer while wondering why I even ordered a beer. It tastes stale and hoppy and bland, so unlike any of the beers I drink now. Something about this beer tastes strange. It tastes distant and foreign yet familiar, yet I can’t quite place it. But for some reason it startles me when it hits my tastebuds. I don’t even really know why I quit drinking beer. I just did. I’m now more of a gin and tonic girl, something I get teased mercilessly for. I swallow and taste a strange after taste.

Cigarettes? And I notice that my fingers have been drawing in towards my mouth as though I were holding a cigarette, subconsciously. I stare at  my fingers for a second and hope that no one in the bar noticed me smoking a phantom cigarette.

While I ponder what it is that this beer is triggering all of a sudden half of the bar gets up and runs to the corner. A fight was breaking out. Yeah. That would be this pool hall for you. Haven’t even been in here 10 minutes and there’s a fight. Part of me wants to jump up and run that feels about right for me. What’s shocking is that part of me isn’t even phased. I do a quick scan of my position, where the people are, who’s most likely to be my ally, who’s potentially carrying a weapon and where all the exits are. I make a mental note of where the bar staff are and where the phones are.

As the fight gets broken up, two girls get escorted out of the building. One of them starts screaming at me “err quit looking at me” and without a second thought “err settle, I wasn’t even looking at you” comes out of my mouth.

And it’s weird because it’s so automatic, yet feels so foreign. I take another swig of my beer and as I swallow, I finally figure out what it is I’m tasting.

I’m tasting change. This beer tastes like a girl I used to be, a place I was once lost and stuck in, a long time ago. Longer ago than I realized.

And it’s weird because despite the strange muscle memories, I realize that I will never be that girl again. This bar isn’t my scene anymore. It never will be again. I don’t belong here. I’ve come too far and changed too much to ever be that person I used to be. No matter how you try, sometimes you just can’t go back.

And I guess that’s what I’m doing here, hiding off the grid. I’m hiding from a change that I can’t avoid. It’s coming. It’s happening. Right now. As I breathe. As I type. Change is inevitable.

Soldier is no longer a friend. Ocean is only a friend. I’m kinda-sorta seeing someone. I’m not crazy enough to need a therapist anymore. No matter how I feel about it, I’m almost done my first year of university. My sister’s getting married. England is having a baby.

And I guess I was afraid of being left behind, but what I didn’t see was that I was changing too. This whole time. 

I leave my half finished beer on the counter and quietly slip out of the pool hall. 

Dear past Sarah,

I promise you’re going to be okay.


Future Sarah

Attention Seeking Passive Aggressive Trying To Start A Conversation

I was in the middle of writing this post about how things are not yet okay. I was writing of my grievances when all of a sudden I stopped and asked myself

"Why the hell am I not telling him this?"

I know he’ll read it. And I know he’ll know it’s him. But if I am this upset with him, why am I not telling him directly?

Because I’m scared.

Because I don’t want to fight anymore I want to resolve this.

Because I’m scared that he won’t want to be friends anymore.

Because I can’t just say something outside of work hours. That’s his time to be away from me and my shit.

But mostly because I’m scared to be mad at him. I don’t know how to be mad at him.

And I don’t really know how to deal with this.

And that’s how I end up writing these attention seeking passive aggressive posts. Because I want him to know but I can’t find the ladyballs to say something.

So I won’t. I’ll tell myself that I will. But I won’t. I’ll convince myself that I’m crazy, I’m a bitch and I should just be thankful he puts up with me because he doesn’t have to.

But that doesn’t feel right either. Having to convince myself that I’m a terrible person and anger is biting the hands that have held mine doesn’t seem right.

But if I tell myself that I’m a valuable human being and a good friend of his, then I have the right to be angry and the responsibility to handle it in a constructive way.

Progress is uncomfortable. Maybe I’ll just talk to a picture of him instead.