Dear Daisy

I think that i owe you an apology.

Because for the past 22 years i have resented you. My own sister.

Every time somebody mentioned your name the blood would boil inside my veins and i would close my ears because i didn’t want to hear it.

I felt as though i was living in your shadow, your replacement and i would never live up to the expectations our parents had of you.

I often think about you and i wonder, would you have put our parents through the same amount of pain that i have? Would you have made our mother cry like i do? & I bet that they wonder this too.

When i was younger i would try to imagine what life would be like if you had lived.

Would we have shared a bedroom? Borrowed each others clothes? Would we even have got along with each other? Would you have looked like me? I wonder if people would have still picked on me, knowing that i have an older sister to defend me and fight my battles. Would you have helped me with my homework and given me make overs and advice about boys? Because growing up i really needed some guidance like that.

But then id remember how stupid i was for even wondering such things, because Daisy, if you hadn’t died then i wouldn’t be alive.

There’s no way we could have ever painted each others nails or bickered in the back of Dads car on the way to one of our famous Cornwall holidays.. because we were never supposed to even meet each other.

Heaven knows i have prayed to god that you and i could switch places many of times. I have felt guilt deeper than the ocean for living such a pitiful life when you didn’t get the chance.

Every time i would turn down an invitation to a party or an outing with friends or family, i would feel a sharp stabbing pain in my throat remembering that you can never do these things, you will never have friends, you will never fall in love, you will never meet our nephew. I feel guilt on top of guilt for all of this too because im not the only one that has to live without you and although our mother would tell me how much it hurts to loose a child, i will never truly understand the way she feels about you.

All my life, my thoughts have been as so – I am the replacement child that is reminded everyday of how badly they wanted me. But they didn’t want me really, they wanted you but settled for me.

But recently i have had a revelation that, rather than continue to feel guilty for letting you down, instead of living in your shadow.. im going to live in your light.

Because although part of me is buried with you, there’s also part of you beating in my heart and i dont want to let you down anymore.

Im going to live my life to the fullest for you. Im not going to cancel on plans last minute and i wont let people push me around anymore. Im going to stand up for us and im going to embrace life and take every opportunity to have a good time and im going to work hard to achieve something and make an impact on the world.

I will never know what your hopes and dreams were, and i will never know what you were destined to do.. so i will do everything i can and i will never close my ears again.



The poison you breathe onto us lingers in the air long after you leave

The ice you stand on is cracking all around you

Soon you’ll plummet down into the bitter cold darkness

The water stabbing at your hollow body like knives 

And I

Will smile 

As I watch 

you drown 

– Lydia Joy


Earlier this month i was feeling extremely low for no reason that i was aware of. I just wanted to stay in bed and hide from everybody. My mum, the keeper of my medication, suggested i upped my dosage of sertraline a little to see if it helps. So she sat with me and we took a packet of pills and cut each one in half.

It was pretty nostalgic, popping each little tablet out of its packaging until they were in a pile on my bed. I remembered the fear and the excitement of the times i had purposely taken overdoses, attempting suicide.

My mum went to her “secret” box where she hides all of my medication, she brought back a packet of 100mg pills –  so we cut them in half with a pair of scissors. (yet another household item that plays a part in triggering my suicidal temperament).

Within just a week of upping my dosage by 50mg, i felt like i was floating through life on a fluffy white cloud, the sun was always shining for me and getting out of bed in the morning was no problem at all. I was enjoying work, staying up late and saying “yes” alot more. I was starting to look forward to living and i was kind of happy – for me any way.

At first i found it amazing that just by swallowing an extra half of a tiny pill each morning could change my mood and my attitude so drastically, the fact that i could go from sitting alone in a dark room slicing my wrists open with a box cutter one week to squealing with laughter, begging my best friend to come over so that we could do face masks together the next.

When i started writing this post, i was happy, on top of the world and ready to share with all of you how fantastic i think medication is and how wonderful such a small amount can help..  But now im thinking that its pretty fucked up that in order for me to enjoy my life, i have to take medication.. i have to drug up my feelings and silence the voices inside my head, when the people around me dont have to do that. They dont have to pop pills each morning so that they can function properly, they just wake up and they are who they are.

Why should i have to take medication to stop my mind from thinking such awful things?

To stop my mouth from saying things that are just down right terrible?

To stop my body from wanting to do things that it shouldn’t?

If i am feeling and behaving this way then clearly its what is meant to be, Right?

Should i really be taking medication that stops me from being myself? Medication that turns me into a new person?

I desperately just want to be myself but i really dont know who she is.

I cant remember what living felt like before my mental illness, has it always been there? Am i really better now im taking medication? Is the medication making me a better person or is it making me a different person?

I want to know, am i more Lydia before, or after i take my pills each morning?


You say that sometimes my words hurt you

That you don’t want to hear about my past because you are my future

You don’t like it when I get drunk and snippets of truth fall out of my mouth

You say that kinda stuff I should keep to myself

But baby there are so many more words to tell

I know they’d hurt you

So I hold them inside of me like a wasp on my tongue

Letting them sting me instead

-Lydia Joy

Friday Smiles

Every morning i have to walk along a main road on a narrow footpath to get to my work place. Its often windy and cars are rushing by noisly – most likely on route to their work place.

This morning i was walking along with my heavy weekend bag weighing down my shoulder, wearing black jeans, a baby pink t shirt and black silky bomber jacket – nothing special, just my regular “Dress Down Friday” attire. When i was startled by an oncoming silver car (im no good with car names, but it was silver 3 door) beeped and slowed down to pass me, i watched as a young man blew me a slow kiss then carried on driving past.

Not to sound narcissistic but similar instances happen quite often, men beeping or shouting something vulgar out of the window of their moving vehicle at me. Usually i just ignore this behaviour, sometimes shake my head in disgust. I dismiss these instances and forget about them almost immediately. 

But this young man wasn’t in a works van squashed next to other males, on their way to a construction job, winding down the window to shout at me or beeping to get a reaction out of his mates.

He was alone, driving to work.. or perhaps driving home from working the night shift,  he took the time out of his day to show me some appreciation – for no benefit of his own. I mean its not like he was complimenting me in hopes he would receive dirty pictures or even sex. I don’t know him, he doesn’t know me and the likelihood of us ever seeing each other again is incredibly slim. He did this, purely to let me know he thinks im cute. That makes me think that he himself is cute. I was not dressed provocatively, i was simply struggling with a heavy bag, sweat dripping down the back of my neck on my commute to work.  

Isnt it a beautiful thing that somebody can compliment you without using any words. Somebody can make your day without you even being able to clearly see their face.