I am a fraud. A fraud in tears.

Posted on November 8, 2014


I don’t get it.

I’ve been doing so well. Yet here I am wrapped in a towel, and I can’t stop crying. Not big fat chunky crying. Worse. Pathetic, wimpering, almost dry tears. It’s like my body doesn’t think I deserve actual tears, and my ducts are saying ‘FUCK YOU! Stop being such a wimp. It’s just a bad day, that’s all’.

I’m so fed up though.

I’m tired.

I don’t know what I want anymore. I thought I did, but yet here I am two weeks later after being on such a high to being at the bottom of the pit again. Depressed. And alone.

Do I want this life I am creating for myself? Can I acutally do it? Living the single life. As always.

I am such a twat. I feel like a fraud. And a huge idiot, actually.

I am someone who has been craving a life for herself, a specific type of life, the kind of life that involves at least one other person in it.

I’ve only gone and created the loneliest existence of them all.

Sat in my living room in Kenya this morning thinking about the next year of my new business, I realised – when am I actually going to be back in London? In my home?

November. 2015.

In a year.


Well done me.

I suppose I am just in panic mode right now. Chest tight. Overwhelming sadness. But I feel so alone. I am in a foreign place, with no friends, nothing to do at the weekends except work, do yoga, meditate or watch online movies that stop and start every 5 seconds, and my headspace can’t allow me the luxury of watching movies as there is so much to do. And I’ve been doing yoga and meditation almost every day. So how did this happen?

Two weeks ago, I felt so alive and so happy – I had just reconnected with someone I care deeply about, and was about to embark on a new adventure. Now i’m questionning all of it. And the worse thing? This same person I care deeply about, doesn’t seem that into about talking to me whilst I’m away and it hurts like a muther fucker. I get it. It’s tricky. And hard. But I’m annoyed with myself. For letting myself get emotionally caught up in it I suppose. And i’m being overly hard on myself, I know this too.

And really, I don’t wanna be at home – I can’t be anyway, I’ve rented my flat out till March. But I don’t wanna be here.

I don’t wanna be anywhere, and that horrible dark feeling has returned and I’m scared.

Posted in: Journal, The Truth