All posts by Isabella

This. This. This. ❤️❤️❤️

I wish I could take credit for this beautifully written piece. I can’t and I won’t.

The next best thing I can do is share this beautiful souls words and spread the love. ❤️❤️

I’ve been blessed with two of the most beautiful, genuine and soulful men in my life. Each of them are the loves of my life, soul mates, twin flames, my other half.

They see me for me. In all my vulnerability, distance, ice cold exterior, my pain, fears and need to always run away. Yet each of them have always been my safety, my heart and despite myself I cherish them more than I can or will ever show.

Each of them “found” me when everyone said they wouldn’t. I opened my door and there they were – asking to enter my home and heart. I knew instantly they were the one – I fought it, was afraid but knew I was lost the minute I met them.

We have chapters in our lives that define us. If we are open to the Universe and our own Higher Powers they will guide the right ones to us.

My first soul love is still in my life as a beautiful cherished friend. I’m grateful and blessed. Yet we’ve worked hard to repair the pain and hurt from the past.

I thought I was done. Who gets two beautiful souls who see you for you? And loves you for all your mess? The Universe had other plans. As they do. Now – I’m facing the biggest fight of my life – to let him in, to love and cherish him as he deserves. I’m petrified I’m too damaged that I’m unable to be what he deserves. He’s thrown himself wide open from day one and I want to howl in pain. How can I be the one to give this beautiful, gentle soul the true love he deserves – more than anyone I’ve ever met?

I’m trying. I really am. But I’m so so scared I’m too toxic and scarred. And I’m scared of falling deeply in love with him – he’s the one – my soul knows it. Which means I won’t survive losing this one. Won’t survive losing his smile, his warmth, his caresses and trust. It will mean the end of me. But – that could be a good thing. If I’m not meant to have this then I can leave the world knowing I tried, gave my all and accept that I’m not meant to be loved or love. ❤️❤️❤️

————————-

ravenwolf Author – ravenwolf

I don’t care what “they” say.
I want a fairy tale.
I deserve happily ever and once upon a time.
I need the love affair that will take my breath away.
They don’t dare to dream.
I do.
They’ll tell me that love is for fools and true love doesn’t exist any more, but they’re wrong.
I’m not asking anyone to tell me I’m right or wrong, I’m still going to listen to my heart anyways.
I want the love story that redefines the fairy tale.
Kisses in the rain and embraces in the dark, but that is just the start of the magic- our deep soul touching love magic.
Soul touching, skin tingling, heart pounding passionate love that sets your spirit on fire.
Chivalry is still alive and dreams do come true.
I want out of the labels and into the arms of love, because “they” haven’t seen a dream come true.
I have.
I know the look of love and the heavenly touch of the one meant only for me.
Passionate kisses, warm hugs and the look in their eyes that melts my heart.
So, don’t tell me I can’t have an old fashioned romance that never ends..
Because I can. No, I will.
More than that, I deserve it.
The kind of love that people see and smile, because they know that what we have is different..special in a way that most will never understand.
Not just a little unique but the type of love affair that makes them smile and shake their heads at the same time.
The type of love that lights up a room when we walk in and shine brightly.
When I look at them from across the way, I know one thing: that’s the one.
Their eyes dancing in the light, the ends of their mouth curling in a delightful smile with the heart that beats only for me.
I won’t settle for anything less, and now, I don’t have to.
Happily ever after and magical love stories exist, but you have to be open and believe it’s possible and real.
I believe in true love, in soul mates, in twin flames.
I believe that fairy tales do exist and happily ever after does come true.
I believe that love comes for all of us, when we are ready and willing.
I believe that we find the one when we are meant to, chance does not exist.
So, when I tell you I want the fairy tale, and the last first kiss ever, believe it.
I’m not asking anyone but one to share my dream, because ” they” will never understand the true power of a love story like ours.
Until you catch a glimpse of heaven in the smile of true love, you don’t know how amazing that feeling really is.
Once upon a time and happily ever after, our fairy tale love story started with a kiss and ended with forever.
Never stop believing.
I didn’t…
And my wish came true in you.

———————————


|ravenwolf

@theravenwolf

ravenwolf Facebook

ravenwolf website

Lots of luv,

Isabella.

❤️❤️❤️

To come back I need to go away.

I need to go away to come back.

Yesterday I was thrust head first into the ice cold deep cruel ocean waves. Head held under by unseen hands, unable to breath, desperately searching for who was drowning me. I can’t survive underwater any longer, I’m dragged cruelly into the cold dank air. Head just above the crashing waves, barely able to gasp for air, swallowing salty water, choking, unable to breathe. I’m screaming, nose full or salty Britney water. Ears deaf filled with the cold crashes of the sea waves – echoing through my head. Pushed down again, head submerged, held down by strong unforgiving hands. Struggling to break free, I’mm held even firmer underwater. Sight starting to disappear, I’m dragged out again into the cold fresh air – it’s not relief I feel. It’s fear and desperation as I know I’ll be pushed back under to my watery death. That struggling is futile, indeed it seems to give this other being more strength and determination to drown out my ego, my desire to live, die, love, hate. I start screaming under water, knowing as I do that it will be the death of me. I start to seek the pure bliss of giving up, drowning in my sorrows as I know I should. And can.

As my life force begins to ebb, a voice comes to me. It’s hard to hear them over my screams. The waves are screaming in unison. Above the water and below. The hands never slackening their control and force.

“Give up.” It whispers. Icy cold tendrils of truth wrapping themselves around my heart. My soul. “You can’t survive this.”

“Stop struggling.”

“Surrender to the inevitable.”

I’m weak. The air I breath is scant. I stop struggling against the omnipotent and unforgiving hands. Stop seeking the truth behind the cruel fingers gripping my scalp. Hair stuck to my scalp. Nose and chest full of the cold heartless ocean.

I give in. I cease fighting. Look forward to the bliss of losing touch with reality and the warmth I will feel when I stop feeling. And fighting.

I sink further down towards the ocean bed, the hands lose their grip and I’m tossed to and fro by the ocean. Ever slowly sinking further and further down. I’m calm now. No longer screaming. No longer seeking the life saving ocean air above the waves still crashing over my head. The ocean feels like a cradle. Like home. I start to feel warmer than I’ve ever felt. More loved, at peace and one with the very thing that will be my demise. I accept the inevitable. The once unacceptable.

I’m at peace.

I’m done.
Isabella

Funeral Song

This song has resonated so deeply with me – I wish I had never heard it.

It’s beauty, depth and pain reflects my life and where I find myself day after day. Battling to keep afloat and alive. Constantly searching for a reason to live, for lost family and I keep getting the same results. Nothing. No one.

London Grammar – Strong

music.youtube.com/watch

https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=6drfp_3823I&feature=share

The Cruelty of Others

Do you want me to die? Cease to exist? Am I so toxic and putrid that you would rather see me fall deeper into the darkness – shoved in the back by you?

I don’t understand how, or why, people wish to a
inflict their own toxic, psychologically fucked up selves onto others.

Some days I feel like a butterfly – caught, trapped and pinned to the board – still breathing and alive. You have me where you want me – yet you hate me. You hate my ability to thrive with or without you. You hate that I still see the wounded child within your narcissistic, sociopathic crazy fucked up world.

You will keep trying to control me. To you it is a game. To me it could be the end of my life. Do you truly realise that the end result could be the death of me? That one day I may just shut down, stop avoiding your butterfly net.

How can people be so cruel to those they insist they care about?

I’m done playing.

It’s over.

Father – deceased 1983 & Mother – deceased 2015

I Wish

I knew I hadn’t scratched the surface of who you were. It was unspoken about. Off bounds. But your choices spoke volumes to me.

I just couldn’t reach you to hold you tight. Instead you self medicated and I yelled. Screamed. Sobbed every day thinking and knowing I’d lose you too soon.

Well too soon for me. Not soon enough for you.

I struggle – was my ego the right choice in keeping you alive? I sometimes regret it.

I know I’ll never try to control anyone ever again.

I can’t bring you back snd it kills me.

I can’t ask anyone about you because they too are dead.

I feel you around me, see you. I love you and miss you.

I cannot get off this ride of grief, loss and loneliness.

Luv,

Me.

❤️❤️❤️❤️

A Lonely Girl is a Dangerous Thing by Jessie Tu

Reading this at the moment. Am in no state to write my own.

Review by Kara Nicholson for Readings

Jessie Tu has worked as a classical violinist, teacher and journalist. This is her first work of fiction and it is an astonishing debut. The lonely girl at the heart of this novel is Jena Lin. Jena’s grandfather was a famous pianist and child prodigy in China. In Australia, Jena was also once considered a child prodigy. By the age of fourteen she had won seven international violin competitions and the chance to play a solo with the New York Philharmonic at Carnegie Hall. During the performance she had a public meltdown and retreated from the limelight. Her grandfather always said that it was the destiny of the talented to suffer and to fulfill their excessive needs at any cost. 

Now in her twenties, Jena lives in Sydney and has begun to play the violin again. She is auditioning along with her best friend for a permanent orchestral role in the Sydney Symphony Orchestra. Jena’s daily routine of practice and rehearsal is relentless, and she can be unpleasant and prickly. She also considers herself to be a sex addict. In the absence of the attention and acclaim given to a soloist musician she finds random sex with a variety of men almost as fulfilling. Her needs are excessive, but she will meet them at any cost. 

Jena gets the job but loses her best friend in the process. She then meets Mark, who is in a long-term relationship with someone else. Mark is rich, middle aged, racist and sexist, but self-sabotaging Jena is drawn to him. She is lonely. There is such a disconnect between Jena Lin the gifted Australian violinist and Jena Lin the sex addict that the decisions she makes are heartbreaking. Jena then wins an internship with the New York Philharmonic and her life seems about to change for the better. She moves to New York just as Trump is elected and the experience is not quite what she expected. 

This is a fascinating and intense debut that challenges systemic racism and misogyny, particularly in the progressive artistic world. It is confronting but it is also brilliant and original. Jessie Tu is an incredible new voice in Australian literature.

https://www.readings.com.au/review/a-lonely-girl-is-a-dangerous-thing-by-jessie-tu#

Drowning Not Waving – Elegantly Falling

Lost, alone, don’t recognise me, don’t recognise you, don’t recognise anyone.

All I can do is keep moving, organising, dodging the bullets, avoiding reality, the knowledge erupting from the deepest core of my being.

Feeling nothing, feeling everything, feeling wrong, feeling bad, feeling sad, feeling completely and utterly alone and, yes, lonely. No drugs to dull the pain, to send me into blissful numbness – scared of losing a day, an hour, a minute. Yet I continue to lose track of days, reality and facts – leaving me more vulnerable to the black crows of death.

I was the secret keeper – so good at my job that I have even hidden them from me. But they are there, making their presence known, stirring themselves awake, slowly moving and growing bigger. They are tired of being bound to silence, to coffins full of dirt, to the very darkness that was once a safe place. The secrets threaten to destroy the very essence of this body, we are hanging on by the tips of our fingernails, slowly sliding down the cliff, nails ripped off, bleeding, unable to claw our way back up or to stop the fall.

Elegantly falling.

Falling so silently – no one hears my screams, my cries of agony and loneliness. I’ve never been heard or saved – only pushed over the edge to be “caught” by the very person who pushed me to my limits.

I have nothing more to give. Nothing more to stop my world crumbling into the abyss. I yearn to curl up into a ball, screaming into my arms, crying until I have no more tears left until tomorrow. I need a safe place to fall apart – I’m not sure I’ll make it out alive.

The darkness within is unknown, yet felt deeply and painfully, with glimpses into the past horrors I cannot believe exist. The surreal feeling of being damaged, toxic goods, never good enough, easy to leave and being left constantly. My only consistent companions are the secret keepers and those that protect us – even when they hurt us.

We are screaming for help, yet requesting it quietly, with dignity, purpose and focus. As long as we continue to look like we are functioning we are ok. Yet the strength and energy required to keep up the facade has taken its toll – I am a husk, a shell of a person. Never been whole.

There is light at the end of the tunnel, a circus of merry-go-rounds that I don’t want to be on, rides I cannot get off, tunnels of pain, laughter, confusion and distorted mirrors. Is the light real? Or a kaleidoscope of images that lead nowhere except down the rabbit hole.

I may see you in the morning.

I may not.

Lots of luv,

Me.

Isabella.

xxxxxxxxx

Mazzy Starr – Into Dust (saddest song ever)

HellKat


Twins with Isabella. Attitude. Fuck you cunt. But god she’s a blast. You always know HellKat is nearby – her distinctive gravelly voice and laugh sounds more like a phone sex worker. And she knows it.

When HellKat is let loose she lashes out with intent to maim.

Angry texts.

Screaming.

Tantrums.

Yelling.

Fighting.

Stabbing.

Knives and forks in cheeks

C’mon cunt. Bring it on.

HellKat is the same age as Isabella – 15 or 17? It’s unclear – but does it matter? They are both wise beyond their years and street smart. Always have each other’s back even when they intentionally through each other under the bus.

Survival of the fittest.

One day recently HellKat had a major aggressive rant, smashing things, calling the cutter names (HellKat hates the cutter. It took three of us to calm her on the therapy pod but she still managed to kick out. Hit out. Spit and hiss. She’s been triggered. – but we can’t remember why – oh that’s tight a long text to “x” when none of us wanted to send it.

Finally settled down with pink cashmere blanket wrapped around her on the special bean bag. We are still watching and wary but we know that she’s lost her spirit and can’t be fucked anymore.

For this hour or day or week she has nothing left to do. Nothing left to fight for, to keep safe because we are safe.

She hates the littlies coz they make her too vulnerable and no ones going to see her soft side.

She’s twins with Isabella- but where is she?

We keep losing time and vision.

The past is being shoved into the light regardless I’d we are safe to deal with the memories. So to cope we shut out and down.

Isabella is not even allowed to write a lot in her diary.

So Simple It Hurt

The Beginning

I see you.

You see me.

I love you.

You love me.


The End

You see me.

I see you.

You lose me.

I lose you.

.

.

.

.

.

Happily.

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

.

.

.

.

.

So Simple It Hurt.

In the blink of an eye it was over.

Almost before it had begun.

You know this is you and it’s true.

But.

I lied when I said I loved you.

I needed you to hurt me.

If I hurt I wasn’t dead.

Wasn’t invisible.

You were my escape into numbness.

Through you I self harmed.

You thought I was charmed by you.

I was always aware of your repulsive behaviour.

You allowed me to sink lower than ever before.

Pushing my head down when I tried to reach the surface and breathe.

I nearly drowned many times.

Drowning not waving.

You’d save me at the very last minute and I hated you.

But not as much as I hated myself.


Luv,

Me.

Isabella

xxxxx

Love in Lockdown

Love in a strange place and time.
Surreal and real at the same time.
Holding on tight to the belief that I am worthy.
Worthy of your love.
Worthy of your soul.

It’s strange yet exhilarating.
I’m scared to let you in
Yet I yearn for your love
Seek out your touch and smell
I lean on you as never before
You sense my fear and stay still
Knowing me more than anyone ever before

You draw me closer
With warm tender words
Show me the real you
Trusting me with your beautiful soul
Begging me not to hurt you
I freeze.
I can’t promise that.
Please anything but that.

This cat has claws
Which swipe and scratch
When people venture too close
I hiss and scream and push away
Anyone who approaches my lair.

Yet you – Foxy – dared to enter
Into my space
My kingdom
My world
One step at a time
You showed me what could be mine
If I dared to put the claws away
And turn to you fur standing on end
Back arched, hissing, yet moving closer
Despite my fear and almost against my will.

I find myself swept into your warm strong arms
Drawing me closer to you
Heart to heart
Eye to eye
Lips to lips
We kiss slowly and gently.
We hold each other carefully
Neither smothering or possessive
We hold our own space
Inviting each other into our world
With warmth, courage and trust.

Trusting that we will do no harm to each other
Trusting ourselves with each other’s heart and soul.

Your Grey stormy eyes see me.
The real me.
Never before have I felt so safe.
Your beautiful calm soul soothing my pain.
What have you got to gain?
What have I to offer other than pain?

When you turn to me,
Bedroom eyes drawing me in,
I want to hold you close,
Smother you In love and tenderness
Release your beautiful soul to be free
Knowing that you will come back to me.

This is a once off love.
Swept through our hearts and off our feet.
A love in strange times.
We fought it,
The timing was wrong,
Vulnerable and exposed
We had no choice but to give in.

When is love ever in the right time?
We whisper to each other
As we explore this precious treasure chest
Of laughter, hope, honesty and desire
We have no choice.
We have no chance
To put on hold our love and desire
So we enter the churning sea.
Together.

Holding hands
Staring deep into each other’s eyes
We jump off the cliff together.
Trusting we will land in wonderland
Made up of two – me and you.

I love you Foxy.

I love your smile,
Your shy approach
Hiding a strength that is deceiving
Your deep still waters calm my chaos
Your pure soul deserves love and passion
All that I have to give is yours.
I promise to try to not hurt us both.
I withdraw my claws,
Silence the hissing
Turn to you with arms held wide
Drawing you closer to me and my warm cocoon of love.
I will do my best to love you deeply, without restraint.
Rose coloured glasses removed to see you clearly and always.

Foxy – I love you no matter where we end up after this crazy, surreal and fucked up time is over. You deserve the sun, the moon, the stars – my world is a better place for having you in it.

You make me want to be a better woman
A better me
For you.
But mainly and importantly – for me.

Lots of luv,
Me
Isabella

Don’t stop swaying – Sophie B Hawkins
https://youtu.be/JU1AxJvAy38

Anything for laughter in lockdown.

Good morning everyone!

Funny for the day to try to shake off the doom and gloom which is the reality for a lot of people at the moment.

Did you know that Bees sometimes sleep inside flowers, also like to sleep with other bees and hold each other’s feet.

That’s glorious love or an orgy 🧐❤️😇😂❣️❣️❣️

Story of my life – hiding away face first thinking I can’t be seen!

Are they married?

In many ways, once again, I feel fortunate and blessed during this time of world of confusion and fear. Social isolation has been my go to when I’m feeling scared, alone (not lonely), invisible, forgotten and unable to cope with life.

From a very young age, being alone, unseen and hidden has proven to be a strong safety response that I carried into adulthood. Today, to feel safe and calm, I need a quiet sanctuary of peace and security – physically yes, however emotionally more so.

As a child I used to sleep with my eyes half open – so I could watch the door or window and be prepared to run. I’ve always had an emergency exit plan, what I need to grab, which ways to run, where I could hide and what I could do to block entry to my house or room.

When I was about 8 years of age, I vividly remember having to block the wooden flimsy front door with an ironing board wedged against it and a cupboard opposite. In housing commission flats that’s as good as it got. It didn’t stop my dad from calling mum and I from the local pub – the “Collo” in the middle of the night. Waking us up, yelling that he had his kicking boots on and would be there soon. To kick the door in, then to kick mum around. The door always had a hole in it – anyone could get in.

I hate open windows to the night without blinds – you can’t see out but people can see in. I have alarms and cameras now as an adult, when I was young I had nothing. Except the time I was told to sleep with a knife under my pillow in case someone kicked in the back room windows and flimsy door right beside my isolated back of the house bedroom.

So why do I feel blessed and safe today during this virus pandemic? Because I already have the skills, knowledge and experience of being completely alone in the world.

I’ve learnt to be self sufficient, to self soothe and calm myself, to accept what I cannot change.

To love my small group of carefully curated friends even when they don’t have time for me.

To accept that, yes, I am loved as a friend, however I am no-ones priority or first, second or third thought. That I’m an afterthought even in “non-COVID19” times, that an hour catch every few months is all they can spare. Which is sometimes cancelled by me due to not feeling well enough to leave the house and be vulnerable with friends. When I do force myself to go, it’s always wonderful to see them – however some days (ok most) I deflect artfully any personal questions and focus on my friend. I have realised that this has created a barrier that stops people from feeling like that can help me. Therefore I, in my fierce determination to be independent, create a circle of distance and isolation. That’s ok – we feel safe.

Being with yourself 24/7 forces you to either live well to the best of your ability, or swan dive into depression, anxiety and thoughts of ending the desolate desert you call life.

I keep timidly choosing to live well and this gives me the skills to manage in this self isolation.

Keep strong my beautiful friends. Try to find the positive in your situation.

Gratitude may be too much to strive for some days – and that’s ok.

Take this surreal life one day at a time.

One hour if that’s what it takes to get through the day.

One minute if you feel like you can’t breathe or possibly continue in this new strange and scary time.

Call your friends and family – don’t message them. They need you more than you realise – you need them more than you have realised. Hearing your voice and laughter can change sombody’s day totally around.

Trust me – I know.

Lots of luv,

Isabella.

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

🦋🦋🦋🦋

Just Holding On

Not sure how I’m holding on – but I am.

One day, one second at a time.

Always a silver lining.

When I start to drift away I imagine I’m a balloon and hold tightly onto the ribbon – gently tugging myself back to earth.

Luv,

Isabella.

Stolen car? Invite thieves into your home for a Sunday roast.

Coz I love you all – consider this – if your car was stolen when parked away from home (or even from your home) it would be a hassle right? Of course it would be!

Now think – what items in your car do you have?

  • Garage remotes
  • Car service books – with your name, phone number, address
  • Spare car key (hello Lexus)
  • Glove box/floor/back seat/boot – items, paperwork and mail with your home address, phone number, work address, family information, bank statements – you get the idea
  • Spare set of house keys?
  • Work access fob with the name of the company
  • Sports and gym information
  • Sat nav (this is a big one) – home address, places you frequent, family addresses, work address
  • iPods for music with apps one them and personal info.

All of these items will help the lovely car thief potentially visit your home – hopefully when you are not there. They will be able to help themselves – not only your car – but your house as well.

May as well make some sandwiches for them and put out few beers for them. Because you’ve just invited them into your home and helpfully given them your details.🤦🏼‍♀️

Check your cars lovely people.

Remove everything that has your details.

Set your home address on your Sat Nav to your local police station.

Check your iPod – remove all identification – but keep find my phone coz you may b e able to track your car the way.

Keep your car service books in the who (painful I know) or remove your details.

You get the idea.

Be smart.

Keep safe.

Luv,

Isabella

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Family.

Family. I don’t want to be the spinster cat lady.

I love my cats immensely and have had many over the years – Siamese, tabbies, black cats, adopted teenage cats from rescue programs and older mature cats. I’ve also had an assortment of dogs – boxers, greyhounds and a Maltese terrier.

At the moment I have three and that’s one too many and wayyyyy too close to me being the living, breathing spinster cat lady.

The first two cats are adoption failures – I specifically went to a rescue cat program website to see if they had black kittens. Each time I was on the website swooning over 12 weeks old black kittens, arranging to meet the foster carer to view a female black kitten, I was drawn to a tabby teen (18 months plus) who seemed to be calling my name. To be choosing me – “saying take me home” which I was adamant that I wanted a black kitten.

Fours years ago, I was holding two fluffy, glorious bundles of black kittens when I was introduced to “Crystal” – she was all wrong! Her name for a start – she was not glamorous, she was 3 years old, a tabby and extremely confident and owning her space. She walked straight up to me purring and stood on her back legs demanding attention. Being the soft touch in am, I picked her up – she immediately head butted (also know as headhunting) and licked me. Yep she owned me from the start – she turned out to be a little thug who loves attention (she’s a tart) and keeps me in line. I renamed her Candy – wrong – I should have named her Queen coz she keeps us all Under her control – all loving, cuddles and head butting. Candy sleep beside me when Im distressed, will run to me to stop me crying – tough love with head butting and licking my tears until I stop (I know – gross – but she’s owns my arse).

Next failure -12 months later in 2016 – same website with black kittens – yet another tabby teen caught my attention. NO NO NO – black kitten not a tabby teen – I thought I had it sorted when I went to the foster carers house – only black kittens. Then she bought out the tabby teen and I could not resist – she was glorious. So home I go with no black kitten – again a failure. This darling little girl was 18 months and completely scared of her own shadow. Candy totally and utterly ignored her – she seemed to be saying “yo harden up you soft princess – toughen up” – yet again another female in the house was dominated by Candy. This teens miaow was so wonderful I called her “Mia” – short for Miaow.

That was it for me! I had failed and I refused to have three cats – waaaay too close to the crazy cat lady. I would not look at pet rescue sites and, anyway, black kittens are so boring……….

Christmas 2018 I had some bad, devastating news, January 2019 saw me feeding my addiction – same pet rescue website, most like yet same bloody black kittens. Coz they’re all the bloody same.

Yet again I fell for one photo and name – Phoebe – timid, shy, runt of the litter and always hiding and refusing to come out of her hidey hole or picked up. 13 weeks old, despite my continual protestations, desperate avoidance of having three cats I ended up adopting her. She was so weak that she almost didn’t survive her operation from desexing, a tiny bundle of bones and glorious black, soft fur. True to the description Phoebe hid for the first three to four weeks and I let Candy and Mia show her the ropes, encourage her to come out and basically be big sisters. I truly thought it would be Mia and Phoebe who bonded. How wrong was I??? The tiny, black, petrified kitten gravitated to the Thug life – another arse that Candy owned!

So. Mia and I are owned and controlled by Candy with her little bitch offsides Phoebe. We never stood a chance. Ha, ha, ha, ha. Jokes on me. And unfortunately little Mia – she gets thumped regularly but is starting to standup for herself which is good. Phoebe attacks Candy and they roll around on the rugs play fighting and practicing their conquer and control techniques.

They are all different personalities (very fitting) and each give me different types of love, affection and support. Weird huh? Candy is my emotional thermostat – she knows before I do when I’m upset and comforts me. Mia is my baby who calms my heart beat. Phoebe is the clown of the house – she’s slowly letting me pick her up and snuggling into her. It takes time.

Each cat has forced me to be mindful – careful and quiet as loud noises startle everyone but Candy. Each cat gives me different support and we all stand together as each other’s pillars of strength. I am often reminded that, before they died mum, nana and I used to call us the Three Warriors – Pillars of Strength.

I’m absolutely grateful for these gifts. Next I’ll tell you why it’s dangerous to be one of my pets or anywhere near my inner circle. 🤣🤣🤣🤦🏼‍♀️

Thanks for listening.

Luv, Isabella


Candy

Mia

Phoebe (Thug in training)

The Beginning of the End or The Start of Something New?

Saturday April 21st 2016 – I went back to AA a shaking, shivering mess, huddled in my thick parka and scarf, crying and ashamed. Defeated and full of remorse and fear. The Big Book says it all, the program speaks of the alcoholic who is truly defeated and ready to admit powerlessness. With that change came a loss of all of my connections as most of them were toxic, based on shared addictions and my decision to be abstinent and sober was too confronting for most friends. I lost my best friend – alcohol – and then my minimal friendships because I finally realised I couldn’t keep doing the same old behaviours and expect positive changes.

One friend – Philly – said to me “I miss the drunk Isabella” – at the time I didn’t know what to say, yet internally I was screaming and shouting abuse. I wanted to shout, punch and pummel him with reminders of drunken calls, near fatal overdoses, falls and near death experiences. I didn’t say anything.

What I did do was cease contact with Philly who had been in my life since I was 18. Philly had been my best friend for a decade in my 20’s, in my 30’s we still had drunken, drug fuelled catch ups every couple of years. Philly who professed undying love for me, who I had called whilst overdosing and would visit me in hospital when Joey saved my arse from dying. Philly who admitted he did nothing when I called him to say goodbye, that I had taken a shit load of meds and wine – because he was home alone and too drunk to so anything to save or help me.

Philly would try to tempt me with alcohol, drugs or both. Every. Single. Time I tried to get sober. Is that friendship? Is that healthy? Is that fair? Is that love? No. That’s what addiction does to people – it fights to keep its friends close and equally unwell so that the individual does not have to face their own addictions, struggles, pain and self sabotaging choices and actions.

My desperate desire to be sober held a mirror up to my friends and showed them their own sickness – which they were not ready to accept. It was not my place to force them to see their own addictions, pain and chaos created by their addictions. And that’s ok. Some friends I distanced myself from slowly and carefully as I did not want to harm them further. Others turned on me – lashing out in anger, blaming and critising me for my new lifestyle and quiet voice of change. These friends ceased contact with me and it was explosive, painful and full of anger and arguments – recriminations and judgements from both sides. I had yet to learn to avoid or cease the toxic patterns of our friendships or relationship – something I still struggle with today.

Yet here I am – still sober, with a small group of strong healthy friends who only want the best for me. I now seek healthy, balanced company. I seem to be almost “adopted” by people who see something in me that they like. I question their desire to be my friend – are they crazy? Do they pity me? What do they think I can give them in return for their amazing qualities, support and friendship? Are they nuts???

I am slowly learning to accept that others see something in me I do not yet fully see or own. I observe their healthy choices, listen to their love of excercise, healthy eating and gardening, gigs, music festivals, travel (NO girls I am never going to be into excercise like you – that’s where I draw the line!!!!) and, occasionally I ask for advice and act on it.

The only changes I should be focusing on is that of my own choices and life – other peoples lives are their own business. Until their choices and actions impact me – THEN it’s my business up to a point.

In summary –

Luv,

Me.

Isabella.

Joey – you almost killed me.

Joey – you almost killed me.

But you didn’t.

You say you saved me – yet you were the reason I needed saving.

You pushed me to the edge and tipped me over – fascinated by the chaos and tears you caused.

You saw the pain yet could not feel it – incapable of empathy – you studied it yet could not replicate it.

Trapped in your own madness you did everything you could to drag me under with you. To blame me for your cruelty, your complete and utter disrespect and duplicity from the day you moved into my apartment and life.

I willingly let go of the very essence of sanity to explore the world through your eyes. The horror was too great at times – the emptiness in your soul infected me with the desire to die. Be done with the pain.

Yet I managed to escape time after time. I would hook myself into your arms knowing that with the love came loathing and shame. Love? No. Not love. Loathing. Pure hatred of self painted in the colours of love and lust. Desire parading as friendship – cutting each other deep with every word of love.

True insanity from the start – I was finally free of you in 2016.

2017 – I came back for more – hoping you had changed as you said you had. You lied yet again and I left. Yet again. Refusing to speak to you for over a year. You did not stop trying to win me back – let’s be friends. You are so strong. The strongest woman I know Isabella- I’m here for you.

2019 – I was no longer strong. I was weakened. Something had broken inside of me before I answered that fateful call and let you back in my life. I begged you with tears in my eyes not to hurt me, told you I was broken as never before. You held me close and told me I was “the answer”, I dared to believe once again.

Yet from the start, I knew you were up to your old tricks again. Were playing me for a fool. I needed the chaos. The madness. The insanity. The vicious words and humiliation of trying to be someone I knew I would never be and didn’t want to be. I needed your pathological lying to keep me sane this year. How twisted is that? You see, I couldn’t lash out at those who had harmed me – so I allowed you to lash out at me. So I could turn my anger and pain onto you – then hate myself for the person I became around you.

What a vicious and twisted game we played. Yet with emerging horror I have realised – I have not lost my sanity but managed to become strong at times again.

But you Joey – you – have lost the strength you had – you no longer make sense when you scream at me. You have aged immeasurably in the last year – I have trouble remembering your smile. Your desperation to be the man you were when we first met is clear – you yell at me to shut up and turn away when I show you old photos of your handsome smiling face of years gone by. You can’t bear to face the past, are petrified of the future and live to avoid the day as much as you can.

Joey – this year I willingly threw myself into your madness – screaming in anger all the way. Yet knowing I had no future with you – all the while lying to you that we did. You think I am angry and hurt because YOU left me – when in truth I was using you to hurt me. Had never been invested in a future with you – I knew all along it was a charade. And each of us were playing our parts to perfection. Me the victim – you the saviour.

But Joey – I did not foresee that for you life is now intolerable – that your grip on reality has slipped. That with all pieces of yourself you shed, manipulated and lied about – you are no longer a whole person. You are a ghost of yourself – a husk of a man who knows his imperfections too well. And hates himself more than he hates me.

Joey – you nearly broke me, I nearly killed my own essence of self to be by your side. But in the end, we are shards of loneliness, each panting in pain, covered in sweat and blood. There are no winners in this a Joey – I see that now. If I get through this there is no glory – my ego has seen to that – I am as lost and hurt as you are. Yet I have always been aware of my madness – embraced it at times thankfully. Joey – this year you have started owning your souls sickness – against your will – hopefully it’s not too late for you.

Or for me.

As it stands, I worry for the other woman who has been an unwitting part in your play this year. She is a true innocent – you will annihilate her with your sickness if you don’t leave her alone. But you won’t Joey- because you are too afraid to be alone to care about someone else.

Thankfully. I know my toxic self needs to be alone and I will be alone as I have always been. To protect others.

At least I hope so.

Our anthem Vera Blue – We Used To

Isabella.

Towards the Flame – Always

If you choose to dance with the devil do you ever win?

I’ve always stepped towards the flame – not away. Been fascinated by the insanity of others, the threat of danger, taunting others to do their worst and throwing their attempts in their face. Believing I deserved the slashes of deep pain. I’m still standing. Hurt me some more – I dare you.

Speed , scotch and shots.

Speed, scotch and shots on a Sunday afternoon after party in St Kilda. Nothing new or different about the day – I was bone weary, months of sleepless nights and days blending into one. A spinning top – when I’ll stop I didn’t know – yet I wasn’t done.  Falling into bed on Monday nights, sometimes Tuesday nights only to restart the party on Thursday night and the madness starts again.

Matchboxes full of speed – my standard weekend – I was beyond grams, ounces and lines. No measurements required – how much speed does a matchbox hold? I didn’t know and didn’t care. Spilled one in the car? Doesn’t matter – here’s another box. By the way – hold my gun before I hold it to your head – again. I laughed and told you off – as I did the first time you pointed a gun at me. Your name sealed the deal – Ian’s were to always be trouble – and sugar daddies. I always knew I’d be a better friend than a lover – every man and boy I’ve said that to took it as a challenge. They thought they could capture me, that I had a heart under the cold ice exterior. I don’t. I have razors they would slash themselves on trying to prove their worth.

This weekend the Little Ray of Sunshine, her boyfriend and I were at a bar – shots not even touching the sides. We were dancing with eccys flowing through our body – feeling the love and peace. When he first ran through to the back of the club, stark naked, everyone turned to see the spectacle and laugh. Laughter soon turned to horror as the black clothed goons chased him behind the dark, black stage curtains at the back of the club. There was only darkness in the back – his skinny white body emanciated – his ribs stark against the black and red velvet drapes. His  body falling to the dirty sticky floor, the goons laying into him with their boots against his defenceless white body. His cries turned to screams. The goons started wrestling him through the club towards the light of the doorway. Everyone looking on in horror. Stepping away. Away from the naked, bleeding body of the now screaming man – in a headlock – trying to get away from the thugs. I find myself stepping forward – hands outstretched towards him – the horror on his face – the blood on his hands and in his hair. Transferred to my hands.

I’m yanked back by my friends – away from the danger – not fast enough to stop the splash of blood onto my face. The music has stopped. There is a stunned silence. Then the music flares once again and the club starts dancing, rhythms and waves willing the horror out of our minds. Yet I cannot lose myself in the music or the drugs. I must leave.

I stumble out of the club. Into the street. Stark sunshine blinding me. The goons black clothing disorientating me further – where is the way out? What is real?  I see glass shards sparkling on the pavement in the harsh hot sunshine. My gaze follows the glass trail to the gutter – there’s more glass, surrounding a rubbish bin. A street sign. Splashes of red amongst the shards. I look at my hands – the red blood mimics the red splashed on the glass. The red on the pavement. The red on the whiteness of vulnerable buttocks. I realise with horror it’s the man from the club. Tossed into the gutter by the goons. It’s clear he’s unconscious, covered in blood. The goons are looking the other way. Men – boys – hover over the inert body – arguing over whether to call the cops or an ambulance. They’re told be the goons to move on – they argue with them – they aren’t responsible for their friends behaviour – they want back in to the after party club. All the while their friend is bleeding on the footpath at their feet.

With horror I realise that half an hour had passed since the assault and no ambulance had been called. I abuse the goons, the spectators, the friends of the man until I’m dragged away by my friends – it’s not safe to lose your shit in St Kilda.

We leave the scene – never knowing what was to become of the man. That’s when we started seeing blood everywhere we went to party – the times had changed. The drunks had infiltrated the rave scene and the violence had escalated – the crazies were making lots of money. And I was hanging out with one of them – as a friend only until he realised I would never become his lover. No matter how much money, drugs or gifts he gave me – I was not ready to stop partying. He was tired of the drugs. I was sad to see the drugs go, yet knew that the time had come for me to move on.

Away from that flame that had dwindled – towards another fire. My self harming was not finished.

I was not yet ready to stop stoking the fire.

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