Everybody has a right to share their story with the world, the good, the bad and the damn ugly truth.

This is my life.


3 Oct 2017



When my Mother told me she had cancer, I felt nothing, empty. I had never learnt this emotion I was about to live with. The fear of the unknown mixed with the prospect of the future, combined with worry and love. How can anybody comprehend this? Nobody is programmed for this moment in their life. Nobody knows how to react, what to say, how to live a normal life, because nobody thinks they would ever be greeted with the C word.

I am unfortunate to feel this pain and see the Mother I love suffer, although I still remain fortunate than most. Trying to place my open mind on the paths they lead gives me a sense of respect. Sitting in the dark and hearing the word echoing around me leaves me feeling cold. Cold to the world. The people we love and who brings us happiness, the people we cross paths with who shine nothing other than light, the people who support you in your times of need, the people who have walked the earth and helped to shape society, the people who fought in wars to protect our rights, the children. The fucking children.

How can this world expect the smallest yet sweetest souls suffer the unexplainable pain? Watching another programmed similar to the way I live my life, yet carrying the most intrusive pain leaves me heartbroken. We are only at the beginning of my Mother’s journey. It will be tough, it will be draining, but it will be shown a true and honest fight.

Once being greeted with the C word, it becomes repetitive in your vocabulary. It drives conversations and whilst leaving others speechless, it develops a whole new chapter. Although I hope we can make this a short story.

Chapter one. Cancer.
Chapter two. Chemotherapy.
Chapter three. Cured.

The only C word I long to hear.

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3 Aug 2017


I used to love growing up. I would thrive off the idea of more responsibilities, learning the wisdoms of the world and being able to express myself when I want and how I want. But for me, somehow each year brings a new form of sadness I have to overcome. Whether that be a death of a loved one, a life changing nightmare or just another challenge with mental health. Through just these past 6 years, I have come to fear growing older.

Throughout these years, throughout my life even, I have always been told that I am strong. To put that into some form of context, I have heard the following, strong for trying to cope with my Father's death, strong for sitting besides my partner who needed both legs amputated and strong for dealing with the general shit thrown my way. Truth be told, I feel that with each year that passes, I get weaker.

I feel that as human beings, we use this feeling of weakness to generate a form of strength to blind the pain. I can only speak for myself when I say that the strength I portray to the world, is to allow myself to be hopeful in making this a reality, a reality I can then believe myself. The more I show this strength, the more likely I am to believe the words of those around me. It's a developing habit I sadly have and long to hold onto. What kind of person does this make me? Naive, or hopeful?

It's a tiring act put in place to create a fearless future. I understand how draining doing this can be, but for now, it's who I am. I am a normal girl who struggles daily, yet pushes through and counts down the hours each day, lies there at night and summaries all emotions. Will I be the same another year on? Who knows, because I certainly don't.

I know I am not the only person out there, which is what makes me non-judgemental. You never know quite know what somebody is dealing with behind closed doors. I'm undergoing a lot of stress and pain recently, but my smile is there to fool you, and most importantly, fool myself.

10 May 2017


I know this seems really mushy, but after watching 13 Reasons Why, I felt a need to share my experience on finding happiness through the love I have found. So Jacob, if you read this, here are 13 reasons why I love you.

23 Apr 2017


When meeting somebody new, I never know how to introduce myself, let's face it, sooner or later they are going to realise I am engaged to a double amputee. I can't just suffice them with 'my partner is constantly legless' because questions will be asked and my humour misunderstood. Then comes to working out if they want the long version or the short version of how this happened. But, by starting a new job and getting more questions asked, I've been able to share a lot about the good and the bad, but I haven't shared much about our future.

18 Jan 2017


Last year I started this journey of self discovery, as you typically do on a Sunday night when you can't sleep. My initial plan was to search for a purpose, reason and explanation to the person I had become. Why? Because I was basically sick beyond belief to think that my mental health issues had become a part of my personality. I wanted to completely eradicate that thought.

Throughout 2016, I suffered with severe depression, PTSD and a developing anxiety that would then trigger panic attacks and memories. I was basically stuck in a circle of self pity and a mindset I never want to look back on. As I started to write down my emotions, memories and thoughts each day, I remember writing, 'this is just who I have become'. Was it balls. This wasn't me. Yes I suffered and let's face it, I sometimes still do, but I knew I had to knock down this disbelief to the fact that I can and will change.

11 Oct 2016


I remember looking at this man and the people around him as I witnessed a love I had only once seen before, at my Father's funeral six months earlier. It's the unspoken love that comes apparent when somebody is in desperate need, a love I try and show more often to those who mean the most. I still wonder to this day what thoughts were going around the hospital bed as we gazed down at Jacob. I knew what I was thinking, but it pains me still to this very day to say it aloud.

As each person began to leave, I decided to pull up a chair and stay by Jacob's side. He was awake at this point, but the agony was developing, he was uncomfortable and all I wanted to do was to kiss him and mend his heart and body. He cannot remember most of this first night, but all he does remember is asking me to take a photograph of his face. He knew he was covered in the rash, but I refused to show him what I was seeing. I was scared this could be a breaking point for a person with so little strength. Instead, I took a photograph of his back, to show him the rash he desired to see.

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