I have been in love twice.

The first one I met online. His name is Jay. And I fell hard. I had always heard what love was in the movies, how it made you crazy, irrational and dizzily happy. But I never understood until I met him. He was the first boy I cried to my mum to after a silly little fight we had. He thought I was pretty. He was nice to me. He tried to understand me. And he loved me too. At the time we dated, I was only 17 and naïve as fuck, I thought that our relationship was the be-all and end-all of everything.

At that time, I was Mormon and he was Christian, and we almost broke up over the difference in religion and distance between Queensland and Ohio separating us. The end, however, came later. I was finally starting to feel comfortable enough to show my true feelings around him, and one night, on the verge of a panic attack, I told him to quit lying and say he’d rather play his video games than talk to me because I was worthless. He took offence, I think it was me calling him a liar. He came back the next day and told me he’d rather not pursue a relationship with me because of how messed up we both are. He said both, but I know he just meant me.

I have been in love twice.

The second one I also met online, that same website in fact, why I went back for more after the pain of Jay I will never wrap my head around. This guy, his name is Dallin. If you only get one big love, my big love so far would be Dallin. He was everything I had ever dreamed of, both for all my life and at that specific point in time. He taught me the true meanings of so many things throughout our relationship; kindness, forgiveness, hard work towards a goal, faith, repentance, acceptance and so much more.

I loved him so incredibly deeply. I was going to marry him. I was going to buy a plane ticket to Utah as soon as I could afford it and drag him to the nearest temple. I wanted to be his for time and eternity, and I was planning my whole future around it. Screw moving out of home, screw using my holiday leave for anything else, screw it all, he is mine and I am his.

Then he started rethinking his future, and suddenly, I couldn’t be a part of it anymore. The end was painfully long drawn out, but the moment I realised it was over, when he had blocked me on our only form of communication, it was one of the worst moments of my life. I cried harder than I thought possible; I couldn’t talk, couldn’t stand, couldn’t breathe. I know what heartbreak is. I will never wish it on anybody.

I have been in love twice, and despite the pain it has inflicted, I am ready for a third. I even know who I want in an ideal world (boiiii), but the thing is, who would love me?? The only two people I have loved and been loved by have only seen me through a screen.

Who would love me, as I am, in real life, warts and all?

The answer is no one. Because I am unworthy, I am not good enough.

I am fat and pimply. I am rude, obtuse and overtly sexual. I am sometimes smelly, always sweaty. I rely too much on others for my own happiness. I have hurt people. I am a bad person. And I will never be good enough.

One of the last things Dallin said to me is that I was perfect, that I was exactly the woman he wanted to marry. It just couldn’t be me. Do you know how much that fucks a person up?? To be told you’re perfect but still not good enough??

Most of all, that is why I believe I will never find love again.

They only loved me because they saw only what I wanted them to see. And that was not good enough.

The Narrative

You are fat.

You binge-eat more than your stomach can bear. Your stomach bulges out so much with fat that it makes you look 8-9 months pregnant – just without the unique definition that comes with a baby bump. Sometimes you wish you were pregnant, as that results in a gorgeous child, rather than the early death you’re headed towards.

You blame your eating habits on compulsions from your OCD. Those compulsions tell you to consume lunch/dinner, cola, chocolate, in that order daily. Just like your other OCD routines, you think it is as necessary as breathing, so you spend all of what little money you have to sustain the habit.

Your ritualistic eating is no excuse for the sheer volume of food and drink you consume on the daily. You suspect it is because you feel you need to be constantly full, as when you are slightly hungry, your large stomach growls loudly. When that happens, you think you become the caricature of the fat girl starving herself trying to lose weight. You can’t stand the embarrassment of what people will think so you avoid an empty stomach like the plague.

You will fail university.

You only decided to go to university as your job prospects are blown to hell and you needed something to get you out of the house. You chose business as that is where most jobs are going. You chose business because you have already tried your passion of working with children and failed miserably, so you figured why not try something safe and “boring”?

You are so preoccupied with all of the other change currently in your life that university is the very last thing you think about. You prioritise everything about going to lectures and tutorials because you honestly don’t think it will be worth the thousands of dollars in HECS. You honestly think your mental health won’t improve so you won’t be able to get/hold down a job in your chosen fields from your double-major.

Just like in high school, you are procrastinating. Your poisons of choice are binge-watching Grey’s Anatomy or sleeping. You are so behind on study that you won’t catch up until too late.

You will never hold down a job.

You have landed your dream job multiple times, but you always screw it up. First in admin, but you had to quit for your mental health. Then in childcare, but then when you started to fall in love with it, you were canned because you looked stressed in the workplace. Finally, in Sales building up a client base, but you never even landed one client before you have had to take a step back to focus on uni.

You have a longer list of jobs on your resume than Santa has children on his list. You have tried a mix of all industries that are out there, but you always mess it up no matter how hard you work, how hard you try.

You have no money.

Although you have had many jobs, you have been unemployed for the majority of the time that has passed since you graduated high school. Most people your age have savings, travel and goals they are working towards with the money they earn. Even your own brother, 18 months younger than you, has bought and maintains his own car.

What little money you have earned you have wasted on the temporary happiness of food, contributing to your disgusting obesity. You have nothing to support yourself with, not even enough money to buy a Maccas dinner out with friends. Due to this, you are forced to become dependent on your parents again who are already burdened enough with your presence in their lives.

You sleep too much.

You think sleep is your only escape in the world you cannot bear to face. You sneak in a nap whenever you get a chance, much to the disapproval and dismay of your parents. You prefer sleep to anything and everything, and each day you sleep more and more, wasting away your silly excuse for a life. Sleep is the only thing you have found that will ever give you peace.

You picked the wrong church.

You became a Mormon because you were lonely. You never thought of the implications of the decision you made to be baptised into an exclusive, discriminatory, brainwashing excuse of a “church”. You didn’t know its true nature at the time, no matter how much your parents warned you that you were in too deep.

You became so entrenched in their beliefs that you became one of them. You volunteered to fill roles that you couldn’t handle and felt obligated to accept. You took on the responsibility of teaching others a story that you didn’t really believe in order to get them baptised and saved. You rebelled and saw the light of freedom, but then you returned out of fear of being happy for once in your life.

You have started at a new church and re-met someone who has shown you how wrong you were. You are ashamed at yourself for representing a false, polytheistic religion. You research more and more, read the Bible more and more every day, no matter how much it hurts. You don’t know if this makes you sadistic, masochistic or the most painful mix of both.

You have no friends.

You were a tragic mess of mental illness in high school. People tried, they really did, but you shut them out. You watch on through social media, wondering what could have been; if you made it into the cool group, if you dated the guy you had a crush on. It is nice to think about, but it never would have happened anyway. You were an ugly mess then, and you still are now, just twice the size.

You have one friend from high school who you stay in contact with whenever you are in the same city on uni holidays. In the meantime, you had no one except for your Mum. That is when church came along. You made plenty of friends there, but now you have burnt all those bridges with the flaming inferno that only you could create with your lack of tact and wit. You love those friends with all of your heart, but you are scared to talk to them at all for fear of being sucked back in to Mormon-land. You opt for radio-silence as that is what you think will be a clean break. You are so forgettable, they won’t remember you soon enough.

You have started going to a new church. Yet again, you are nothing compared to them. They have jobs, friends, clear skin and are happy. You aren’t. You are afraid of opening yourself up again, for fear of being taken advantage of and sucked into dodgy religion again. You trust them, because people that nice and beautiful have to be decent, right? They don’t hurt you, you trust them. But you are going to hurt them eventually, and that thought stabs your heart.

You have ruined your family.

Your constant breakdowns have worn each of your family members down and shaped them into different people. Your parents are so cynical that they aren’t happy when you get a new job, they only point out the flaws. They are right. You have been scammed before, its probably happening again. Your parents are unmoved when you are sobbing, begging to be taken to hospital to be sedated. They calmly tell you that the hospital won’t accept you. No one else will accept you in any area of your life, so this is no change.

Your brother hates you. With a burning passion. You want him to be a brother, to have normal sibling fights, but you never will. Your parents tell you to give it time, but you have given it 3 years and every conflict-resolution tactic in the book. He doesn’t want you, so you guess you don’t have a brother. One more person you have hurt, one more person you have lost.

You will never be loved.

The only people to ever have truly loved you never met you in real life. In your memory, they are words on a screen. One was borderline abusive and controlling, the other used your last conversation to make you promise to remain Mormon although he wouldn’t.

You are too fat, ugly, self-deprecating, narcissistic, dirty-minded, sarcastic, plain old selfish, and more, to be considered a decent person, let alone someone worthy of love. Those boys who love you never saw the real you, the reason why every guy you meet in real life is completely uninterested. You are repulsive.

You will never be a mother.

Since no one will ever love you, you will never get married. Therefore, you will never become a mother. Your most desperate desired is to have children and raise them to be considerate and kind, traits that you don’t seem to have yourself.

You want children, but you never thought about the painful, uncomfortable parts of pregnancy, the red-tape of adoption, and the part of child-rearing that comes after the cute baby stage. You can barely hold yourself together, how the hell would you be able to raise one child, let alone the 5 children you dream of having. But that’s it, it is only a dream.

You are judged for your self-harm scars.

Your mother bought you oil to get rid of them, which you refuse to use because you like having them as your battle scars. But then you meet new people whilst wearing short-sleeves and become self-conscious. You feel their eyes wander, and their assumptions made. Those assumptions are right though. You did it because you felt worthless, because it was your only way out at the time.

You are lazy.

You choose not to do things because you don’t want to, because you can’t be bothered. If your actions seem particularly unjustified in certain situations, you blame illness or car troubles to take the blame off you.

You haven’t made a further appointment with your psychologist because it is hard to find a time that fits in around uni classes. You don’t show up to uni anyway because you prefer a sleep in, and it is all online anyway. You revile the effort that it takes to participate in social events and exercise, God forbid if those two were to ever combine.

You let your mental illness define you.

In your eyes, no one else suffers from mental illness, you are the only one, suffering alone. You are a rock, you are an island. You think that it is your story, how wrong you are.

Your OCD rules you. In the times you aren’t doing OCD rituals, you are asleep or staring blankly into space wishing you would fall asleep already. Your Depression makes you numb, figuratively and literally. Your Anxiety is minute compared to the others, but rears its ugly head when you think about going to uni lectures where they will all stare at you.

You feel like you are developing more. The voices in your head occasionally surface and scream, you fear you’re going Schizophrenic. Your mood bounces to the highest of highs to the lowest of lows in anywhere between minutes/hours and weeks, so you fear you’re going Bipolar. You realise that this is stereotyping and demeaning to these illnesses, so you stop.

Your arms ache, feeling the empty void another person should fill if you were worthy of love. Then they ache in the other way, desperate for your nails to dig in. But you have moved past it, no matter how much you want it again.


Your psychologist told you in your last session to name particular thought patterns in order to categorise and diminish their impact. Well, all the things you have written seem unrelated, but are one big thought pattern. You will call it what it is.

It is the “Kill Yourself” Narrative.

This Narrative will fight, and scream thousands of voices in your head, anything to get you to listen. But you will fight. You will win….. you hope.


Okay so I know this is an inundation of posts, this being the third in a week after a hiatus, but my life as I knew it is crumbling around me and I need a sounding board.

I do have people/person to talk to who has been through the exact thought processes of walking away from Mormonism, but I have already hassled him too much today with my ramblings (not confirmed, assumed by self-conscious mentally ill Hannah who is making a return).

Here’s an honest truth; today is the first day in a long time that I have wanted to self-harm again. It is due to these deceptions I have been under so long, learning the truth, shame. These truths about the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints are;

  • It is a polytheistic religion; in worshipping God, Jesus, the Holy Ghost and a (conveniently unnamed) Heavenly Mother as separate deities. This ignores all of the references in the Bible about “one God” (See here)
  • It teaches that we are “Gods/Goddesses in embryo”, that we the meek and lowly children can become like Him through works and deeds.
  • It teaches that we gain exaltation through obeying commandments, through works and deeds, whilst it has been given in Ephesians 2:8-9 that we are saved by His grace alone, and not by ourselves or our actions.
  • The church presidency actually sent this out and which has been used for decades until being phased out. It should just speak for itself.
  • The fact that Joseph Smith has been criminally charged multiple times for things such as fraud and con-artistry (see here to begin with)
  • Everything about what goes on in temples, which out of respect for their sacredness I won’t publicly share
  • The 100% exclusivity of the church; an elite club for which the only entryway is Baptism by immersion by the authority of the Melchizedek Priesthood.
  • The exclusion within church walls between the sexes, women are seen as the lesser upholders of the priesthood
  • The whole notion of the church “needing” to be restored in the first place, that those with faith had fallen away. Christ’s love has remained on Earth since his birth.
  • And much much more, so I’ll end it here.

I am ashamed, appalled and sick to my stomach over these many truths I have realised. There are no words, only action in rectifying my mistakes.

Mostly though, I suggest watching this video, it explains it much better than I can.

Praised be. Blessed be.

Giggling like a schoolgirl

Thought of the moment: In the last few days, it has increasingly become more obvious to me the amount of danger I (and everyone else) am in whilst driving. Now, everyone else would just you know, try to avoid the danger as much as possible, become super safe, etc. I, on the other hand, view the danger with an apathetic outlook; seeing the danger and thinking ‘meh. If I die, I die’. I wonder if that is from Depression Hannah, or if I really think that little of myself.

Until recently, I have had a very clear vision for how I would live my life, which goes like this;

  1. Be active in church life and callings, preparing for marriage with no regard of what happens next.
  2. Marry a worthy priesthood holding RM, probably the first one that comes along and treats me kind-of okay. Get sealed in the temple in a ceremony that my nearest and dearest are excluded from.
  3. Have between 3 and 5 children. Name them all by a scriptural theme or certain letter.
  4. Support my husband in upholding his priesthood duties, whilst being the perfect Miss Molly Mormon stay-at-home mother to our kids, raising them in the Gospel.
  5. Sit with my gaggle of children in the pews during Sacrament, admiring my husband sitting up front as the Bishop.
  6. Family holiday to the homeland (Utah) to see the temple.
  7. Grow old and go on a senior mission with my husband.
  8. Die, and go to an afterlife where I am considered “good” for fulfilling the requirements of works and actions. Spend time and eternity with my husband and children, with no regard to my flesh-and-blood family who raised me.

In writing it out, again, I am shocked at this but that’s beside the point.

It has only been for the last week that I have really been thinking about how my life is changing since I am leaving Mormonism forever.

There are a few things I have been thinking about quite recently

  • Spirituality – carry the TV, wave to the band. Sing loud, sing proud, words of praise.
  • Marriage – giggle like a schoolgirl. Love husband, decent in-jokes. Sex. Wit and joy and laughter.
  • Children – pop out a few, keep them alive. Raise them to be good people.
  • Money – acquire some, don’t waste it.
  • Job – love

Overall, how I really want my life to play out, in essence, has 3 steps;

  1. Live joyfully
  2. Be free
  3. Love Christ

And I think that is all that should matter anyway.


Goodbye my church, goodbye my friends

First of all, an update: In a complete flippen turn-around of events, I started both university and a new job on the same day about 2 weeks ago. Like what the fudge. Gosh I could really go for some fudge rn, but I am a broke uni student with exactly $4.34 total to my name, so nah bruh.

Uni (studying business) is just bruuuuuuuuuhhhh. I love it. I love being in a place where I’m kinda smart again, where I spend my days challenging myself and learning things that I want to know, all while working towards qualifications that help me further towards my career goals. I also love carbo-loading on the A+ level potato wedges and being fuelled by the caffeine-filled cola that I now refer to as ‘crack’ (Simply SnapLogical in-joke).

But speaking of career goals, I’m basically living it already. My job is basically what I have been trying to get since I graduated – working as a salesperson. Since it is a new up-and-coming business that doesn’t have paying clients yet, my work has been cold-calling and writing feedback reports to help perfect sales tactics. Whilst a few people have been rude, the majority have been kind and sincere, which uplifts my faith in humanity. I am loving every second in helping form this business, even the technological inconveniences that are something to learn from.

Anyhow, the thing I’m writing this blog post/life update about: church, the leaving thereof, and basically saying ‘bye Felicia’ to the things I have been trying to force myself to believe.

First and foremost, I have nothing but love all members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. They are, as a whole, lovely people. They are, individually, the most beautiful people that I have ever had the pleasure of meeting.

I have loved learning from the Supreme Overlords of Women aka Relief Society/Young Women’s. I enjoyed being the adopted sibling and subsequently, second-in-command baby holder.

Honestly, if purely the relationships I have made within the church were all that mattered here, it would be enough. But for over a year I have been living a lie, and I’ve had enough.

Now, from what I’ve been hinting to people from church and online, this sounds like the point where I come out.

SURPRISE!!!!!!! I like men. Boobs are okay too I guess, but I am certain I like men at least.

Confused? Yeah, me too, but I’m about to make my point.

I have had doubts since the very start, but about a month ago, I woke up. It was like Neo waking up from the Matrix or, soz I haven’t seen in in 5eva, the part where he realises his reality is a lie.

What I realised was this; I don’t know if I like girls, but if I do, the church would see me differently. If I have one drink like I want to, they will see me differently. If I get that tattoo that I have been dreaming of, they will see me differently. If I simply have a cup of tea, they will see me differently.

And with that realisation, it all set in. All of the commandments, the outdated stances on LGBTQIA+ issues, the social-life altering restrictions of the Word of Wisdom, the narrow-minded view of keeping the Sabbath, widely accepted church requirements for “volunteering”, judgemental modesty standards, the male-only priesthood and complete patriarchy and sexism within church walls, and don’t get me started on the temple ordinances for those who cannot consent bc deadness and the complete, 100% exclusivity of the church – to the extent that I can’t be with my own flesh-and-blood family in the Celestial Kingdom because they haven’t been baptised by the authority of the Melchizedek Priesthood.

Even in writing all of it out, I am ashamed. That is the only word for it.

There is nothing wrong with the people, it is the system. The system that tried to assimilate me into believing that all of it is true, that these things are not only the right way, but the only righteous way to live.

My grandfather and grandmother on my mother’s side were/are the most righteous people I have ever had the pleasure of meeting. They led good Christian lives, giving their all to their church, whether it was any money they had to spare after taking care of their children, or devoting their time to volunteer for charities or literally donate the very blood out of their bodies.

The fact that they, in the eyes of the LDS church, didn’t deserve a place in the Celestial Kingdom, simply due to the fact that they weren’t baptised into the “right” church, incenses me.

I haven’t been to Mormon church for about a month now, nor do I intend to again, with the exception of special events.

Yet again, I am broken. I am losing a part of me, a massive chunk of my development as a person. The only thing to do though, is to pick myself up and move on, which I have.

Last Sunday, I attended a new church, a Church of Christ, for the second time (long story, it was actually my first attendance as a worshipper), and it was a complete revolution. I worshipped like I never have before, a fervour which is engulfing my life in the best way possible. I loved it so much that I went on to attend a bible study group, and I have never seen such clarity before.

In talking to a friend who is kind of an expert about leaving Mormonism behind, I have learned the true reasons why I felt the way I did. I won’t go into detail as I don’t think I should. On their recommendation I am reading the Book of Mark, and all 4 chapters I have read so far just makes sense, calling into question the fact that the Bible is almost never referenced in Mormon-land, the Book of Mormon rules all.

However, the main piece of advice I am acting on is this; I need to cut ties wherever possible. It is something I am doing with a heavy heart.

So, to all of my church friends that I am not keeping in contact with; I love you. Thank you, and goodbye.


I want

I want a lot of things.

I want to be able to keep down a job. Alternately, I want to be able to study in order to get a job I want to make a career out of.

I want to be a midwife. I want to deliver souls into this world –  and get paid to hold babies all day.

I want to be a salesperson. I want to help meet people’s needs and provide them with quality customer service.

I want to be a HR rep. I want to be there to understand and uplift my coworkers with their issues – because I’ve been there, done that.

I want to be a manager, a leader. I want to lead the way I want – with understanding, kindness and grace.

I want to have the savings behind me to study to achieve any or eventually all of these career goals.

I want to be keep down a job long enough that I earn money that can be used to help me further myself as an adult.

I want to move out into a place of my own – no rules, just myself taking accountability for my actions or lack thereof.

I want to be a good cook. I want to cook as well as my Mum can.

I want to be diligent in cleaning. Heck, I want to not hate cleaning.

I want to be able to exercise freely and control my dietary decisions.

I want to get fit without shame and societal pressure. I want to go at my own pace, even it takes “too long”.

I want to eat healthy things and only healthy things. I want to banish my sweet tooth.

I want to lose weight without surgery, only because I can’t afford any surgery and its the “easy way out”.

I want to be able to wear “normal’ sizes (8-16/18) in name-brand clothes.

I want my body to be healthy, for me to be able to breathe normally.

I want to be a functional adult, who is never weighed down by mental illness and emotional shortcomings. I want to live normally, without constant fear of doing wrong or messing up.

I want to not have to constantly fight the desire to self-harm. I want to have normal fantasies again, ones that don’t feature sharp nails and tearing skin.

I want to have the perfect happy church life.

I want to be sealed in the temple for time and eternity, marking the beginning of an eternal family. I want to birth a small army of children, and raise them to be nothing like me.

I want to be a righteous daughter of God, blindly keeping the commandments and coming to church willingly instead out of duty.

I want to believe in the church completely, and ignore the parts that disrespect vital elements of my personality. I want to never want to drink or swear again, out of fear of spiritual persecution.

I want a great many things.

But that doesn’t mean that it’s at all possible.


Trigger warning: This post discusses mental illness and self harm.

Right off the bat, let me tell you: I am safe. I am not going to kill myself. I love my family and friends so much that I don’t want to leave them, and even if that all goes to shit, I have far too much unfinished business and regrets I need to make right.

Nevertheless, this is something I need to get off my chest. I’m writing this for me, to help me sort stuff out in my head.

I am a failure, at least that is what I have always, do and will always think of myself.

I self-harm. 6 occasions resulting in 8 scars/still-healing wounds.

And tonight, I am desperate to do it again.


When I first heard of self-harm, I was in primary school. I couldn’t believe it. Why would these people hurt themselves? On purpose? That just defied all logic.

As I grew older and developed my mental illnesses, I began to understand. I began to wish for it.

That soon became one of my triggers – to the point that whenever I was near a sharp knife unsupervised I would have forceful impulses to pick it up and cut my life away. (Mum, that’s the reason I couldn’t be home alone).

Those impulses continue to this day but I swore to myself I wouldn’t cut myself, so I haven’t. Instead, I scratch off my skin until the nerves are exposed and my entire arm stings at the slightest movement.


They have become – they are my battle stripes.

The first is unique and happened on accident. My nails were long and I was triggered while working in the garden with Dad (I walked into the rake handle and it touched my belly button very hard- I hate things touching my belly button).

I started having a panic attack and was keenly aware of foreign things touching my body – including dirt from the garden. With my nail perpendicular to the skin in a sawing motion, I scratched a bit of dirt off of the inner side of my right wrist and got into a groove.

Soon enough I felt pain, but continued, not thinking. Then I felt liquid pooling at my fingertip and looked down and saw red. I quickly realised what I had done and felt mostly shock, and a little at peace which shocked me even more.

That scar actually looks like a cut, only one of them that does though.

The second time was also an accident, but was different. I was triggered by shame and embarrassment of having an unreciprocated crush on a guy from church sitting right next to me at uni (no hard feelings – nothing but friendship there now). At that same moment my left wrist, just below my watch band, was itchy so I just kept scratching and scratching until I stopped.

That was when I got into a groove, that is the way that something deep down within me decided worked.

I can remember the third time I scratched, all I have as a reminded is a straight line across my left forearm in the exact place where I had always dreamed of getting my tattoo.

This current breakdown

The fourth time was a double-banger. Just a month ago actually. I had a fight with my Dad about my weight being out of control. He was right, I am slowly killing myself by overeating. I retreated to my room and, in anger and disappointment directed at myself, randomly placed a vertical place in the middle of my right forearm. It didn’t feel like enough so I made another smaller scratch just to the left.

The fifth time was also a double banger. A week ago late at night, between midnight and 1am. This occurrence was out of hurt, out of the utter grief and devastation of being disowned by a sibling. There’s not much to explain. I love him and have begged him for forgiveness countless times, he hates me for my involuntary actions caused by my mental illnesses.

That night, in between all the tears and hurt, I decided to scratch myself again. Two horizontal lines straight across my left forearm. One just above, the other just below the straight line I forgot about. They are still healing.

The sixth and most recent time, I was watching The Shawshank Redemption. I’d had a rough day, confessing to Mum about; a) running out of and subsequently detoxing myself off of my OCD medication b) being depressed af about everything in my life, (lack of) brother, (lack of) employment, (lack of) direction and c) subsequently losing all hope and will to live.

I got bored and all the bad feelings came back and I did it. I took it out on myself.


I want to scratch again. I feel as if I need to just as much as I feel I need to do all of my OCD routines – but it isn’t a part of my OCD. (yeah, that makes sense Hannah)


My brother is now a trigger for me in ways I have never been triggered before. I breakdown in the toilet because that is where my parents won’t see, won’t hear me. I cried in the car today. I was listening to my second-favourite new song out at the moment – “Malibu” by Miley Cyrus. To me, it is a song about hope, about dreams coming true. I cried because I know my dream will never come true.

Tonight I felt a rage, a fierce, vengeful rage that I have never felt before. A rage at my brother. And then at myself out of shame. Shame at myself for my unemployment and subsequent unemployability. Shame at myself for being a fat pig (my words). Shame for lashing out at my family. Shame for hoping and dreaming of a romantic adventure that will never happen, especially since he’s reserved for a friend. Shame for that darn-awful, depressing testimony I made before leaving church almost immediately. And, ironically, shame for self-harming, for having self-inflicted scars.

What next?

I desperately want to hurt myself. And I probably will, but not tonight.

Since Friday – Shawshank day – I have kept myself busy. Not busy by normal standards, but by mine. I have distracted myself, but now I am sick of distractions.

It’s weird, to have permanent marks on your skin caused by yourself. Mum wants to get me a jar of Bio Oil, a medicine that makes scars fade, but I’m not sure I want to. They remind me where I’ve come from, where I’ve been, just like any scar. They tell a story, my story, just like the rest of the (accidentally created) scars on my body.

It is a tapestry – just one I’m not sure if I’m going to add to tonight.

See ya xx

Anyway, just to recap: I am safe. Not suicidal, just in the mood for some non-concerning pain and then in about a week a satisfying session of scab picking (yes, its super gross but I’m one of those people). Not sure I’m even gonna do that anyway. For now, I’m gonna distract myself with Grey’s Anatomy and thinking happy, drunk thoughts (minus the alcohol and promiscuity – Mormonism has some downsides). I’ll update y’all on the Facebook page tomorrow. ❤ 


I can honestly say, without a shadow of a doubt, that my Mum is the best daughter, sister, aunt, mother, confidant and friend I have ever had the privilege of encountering in this world.

She is the best person. She is my person. I love her forever and always.

Mothers become so in a myriad of ways. Mum became mine through carrying me for 9 months – well, that is what she (accidentally) signed up for, but I ended up being about 2 weeks overdue, with her screaming at me to get out out of frustration. I think that symbolises perfectly the torment I have put her through in the last 18 and a half years.

Mum is my rock, my guiding light. She supported me, and continues to do so, through the toughest time in my life. Even though it hurt her, even though I hurt her, even though I begged her to give up on me. She refused to let me down. And that is why I love her.

I can honestly say that without this unending, unconditional, unwavering love from her and my family, I would have killed myself a long time ago.

Now that I’m better, Mum is basically dealing with a young person’s mindset, as my ill mental health has prevented me from advancing in some areas of emotional maturity. In particular, I am very clingy (always) – to the extent that one of my pastimes is clinging to Mum in a big bear hug until she yells at me to stop. Yeah, she doesn’t have personal space anymore. I make sure of that.

Mum also has an awesome sense of humour, she even finds my jokes so funny that she can’t even laugh they’re so good. Mum can always make me laugh, even if it’s at myself. Mostly if it’s at myself. Mum’s sense of humour is wicked, and I’m glad to have that and her knack for innuendo, which I make use of whenever the opportunity arises.

Most of all, I am thankful for my Mum because she is my best friend. I can go to her with any problem and she is by my side. Mum gives the best advice (even if I’m just too stubborn to listen at the time/ever), and always tells it like it is (even if it is hard to take).

I’m proud to say that I see similarities between us, even in instinctual behaviours such as our drunk and tired face.

I’m proud to say that my Mum is the woman I will always aspire to be.

I love you Mum, and Happy Mother’s Day xx

The returnening: to the thing (not that thing, the other thing)


As I write this, it is 2:22am in the morning. I am nearing the end of the return road trip.

From where? A massive church dance down in my state’s capital city.

Yeah, I’m doing the church thing again.

Why? Bc I bloody well feel like it.

So last Sunday I went to church for 2 important reasons.

1. One of the missionaries who converted me had finished his mission, and came back to visit with his family. I just had to thank his family, but I was too shy to (except for his mum who is pretty cool)

2. That Sunday happened to fall on May 7, the exact anniversary of my baptism. This got me a bit sentimental.

And, basically, I got dragged back in (save me!!!!!)

Okay, now it is 3:27am and I’m home. Well, I have been for a while but I was procrastinating writing by watching all the Youtubes. And I just gotta say, Shawn Mendes is awesome with his new song “There’s nothing holdin’ me back”. Like gosh dang have mercy on my heart boy.

Anyway, yeah I’m going back to church. For a while there, I forgot the point, why I started going in the first place, what I want for myself for time and eternity.

Yeah, alcohol, tipsyness and drunkenness is fun. Hella fun. Yeah, being able to explore my sexuality as an adult is fun. Hella fun. Yeah, doing stupid things just for the hell of it and because I want to is fun. Hella fun. Yeah, having a cup of tea that’s spine-tinglingly good is fun. Hella fun. Yeah, making your body look the way you want it to (piercings, etc.) is fun. Hella fun.

But just because its fun doesn’t mean I should do it (Except for my new helix piercing, I’m not taking it out again. Deal with it). Heavenly Father put forth these commandments for a reason. For our betterment – we just can’t see why in the short-term.

I lost sight of that, and I then lost my way. On Sunday I am meeting with my Bishop, and am fairly certain I’m in for a bollocking. What I’ve done is pretty not good in the eyes of the church, and I am gonna be completely honest with him about every detail. I’m pretty sure I will lose my recommend and right to partake of the sacrament and maybe my callings. Or maybe not, I’m just a pessimistic person when it comes to negative interactions.

Also, I am quite willingly talking openly about this, which seems to be a little taboo I think, an admittance of scandal. It shouldn’t be like this. We all struggle, some more and some less than others, and these struggles come as a matter of course in this mortal life – so why is it bad to openly talk about our struggles – particularly to do with faith and keeping the commandments???

Mum thinks I’m going back just for friends, and that if I go to another church (and I know which one she wants) that lets me drink and get tattoos and swear and everything, I will make more friends and be at peace instead of being torn in two constantly. This is partly true, but I’m going back for more.

I’m going back for my family. My eternal family. I’m going back for the pure innocence of a child who proves that there is good in this world. I am going back for the joy on a child’s face when you tell them that they are loved by all of heaven. I am going back for the hope that I can tell my child that someday. Mostly though, I’m going back for me. I am a better person because of my faith, and I need it to guide me, to shape me into the person I should be. 

Tl;dr: it is now 4:28am and I need to go sleep, annnnnnd (To the tune of that Backstreet Boys line) Hannah’s back, ALRIGHT!!! 

Who I want to be.

So I have just finished watching Season 4 of Sherlock (yes the Moffat/Gatiss one that has permanently destroyed my heart).

And at the end of 4.02, John Watson, the strongest and bravest and best man, is struggling with the death of his wife, Mary.

And he confesses;

I cheated on you, Mary. There was a woman on the bus, and I had a plastic daisy in my hair, I’d been playing with Rosie. And this girl just smiled at me. That’s all it was, it was a smile. We texted, constantly. You want to know when? Every time you left the room – that’s when. When you were feeding our daughter. When you were stopping her from crying – that’s when. And that’s all it was. Just texting. But I wanted more. And do you know something? I still do. I’m not the man you thought I was, I’m not that guy. I never could be. But that’s the point.

That’s the whole point. Who you thought I was… is the man who I want to be.

And this, this right here has broken me.

I am not the girl people think I am. I am not who people think I am. And I want to be that better, but I can’t.

Babe, as you broke my heart you made me promise to stay in the church, to lead a good life and be happy. Since then, my life has been fucking shithouse. Church has brought me nothing but pain and anger and jealousy. And now I am leaving it for freedoms I never thought I could have before.

On that note, all my church family, I have disappointed you. Yeah, me the perfect convert girl. The truth is, I am not a ‘true conversion story’. I am not some miracle. I am a girl who was lonely and found friends who she didn’t want to disappoint by saying no. So she went along with it, ignoring the glaring red flags and warning signs that went against her every moral fibre, hoping that one day she would feel the things she was meant to.

I keep typing and re-typing various ends to this, an ending, a goodbye, but I just can’t.

YSA, I’ll see ya on the anticipated day 😉 not gonna miss that for the life of me ❤