A quick hello

IMG_4825My name is Keeley, I am eighteen years old, and I am a new blogger from the UK.

With this blog, I hope to write about my life so far, and everything that is still to come, in order to share my memories and experiences with my readers, and to inspire not only others, but also myself.

Click that follow button if you would like to walk this road with me!

Do Not Weep for the Past

Do Not Weep For The Past, My Dear, For The Past Does Not Weep For You.

Do not weep for the past, my dear, for the past does not weep for you. 
Do not hinder your growth, my dear, for the past only wishes to see you bloom. 
Do not allow emptiness to consume you, my dear, for the past wants your world to be full. 

So fill your life with light, my dear, and fill your heart with love. 
Do not weep for the past, my dear, for the past does not weep for you. 

I’m Just Trying to be a Person

I’m just trying to be a person – but no amount of baby steps are sending me in the right direction

I’m just trying to be a person.

Some days, it’s hard to wake up.
I’m exhausted from the night before, and my mattress becomes an anchor that refuses to let me leave the comfort of my bed.
Some days, I’m awake before the sun even has a chance to rise.
I’m not quite awake, not quite alert, debating whether or not to stay or to get out of bed, to start my day early or to just go back to sleep.
Some days, I wake up late, but get out of bed with ease.
I’m not happy, nor sad, just indifferent despite my wasted morning and my now short afternoon; despite my lengthy sleep, I’m still tired.


Some nights, it’s hard to fall asleep.
I’m drained of all energy whether or not my day was busy, yet my thoughts will keep me up for hours. With weights attached to my eyelids it’s not easy to keep them open, but my thoughts will not allow any form of silence.
Some nights, I’m wide awake into the early hours of the morning.
I’m distracted by the words on the screen, or the pictures on the television, but at least when I am done, I’m tired enough to drift off without the interference of my overactive mind.
Some nights, my overactive mind brings with it an overactive imagination.
Faces appear in the darkness, hands with bony fingers and long claws reach up from beneath my bed to grab at my ankles, nightmares crawl out of the mirror and monsters enter through the window, looming over me as I squeeze my eyes shut and try desperately to just fall asleep.


Sometimes, I’m motivated enough to want everything to change all at once.
I’m excited by what the future may bring, I’m ready to change all that’s bad about my life, and I’m determined to do anything and everything my mind comes up with.
Sometimes, I am numb.
I’m unable to focus on anything around me. My day is gone before I’ve even had the chance to realise it, and when I do realise, I still can’t bring myself to do anything.
Sometimes, I am stuck at an in-between.
I am unmotivated yet somehow still productive, but no amount of productivity makes me proud. Or, I am motivated but not productive, but my lack of productivity does not make me sad.


I’m just trying to be a person – but life is often too complicated, too confusing.
I’m just trying to be a person – but no amount of baby steps are sending me in the right direction.
I’m just trying to be a person – I’m trying.

My Home is Not My Home

I would leave England behind in a heartbeat if it meant I could return home.

I have lived along the south-east coast of England for my whole life – eighteen years spent living somewhere that I cannot seem to call my home. 

One of my uncles was born in England, too. He, my dad, and their other six siblings lived in a town called Oswestry, and eventually moved to where I live now, on the coast. My uncle, though, was lucky enough to not have to stay.
At around the age of twenty-five, he moved to California after meeting a girl who is now his wife, and that’s where he’s lived ever since…twenty-five more years later. 

My family and I have visited him in Burbank, LA on many occasions, so throughout my life I have been lucky enough to fly out to California every few years, but every time we get in the rental car to drive back to LAX airport, I am overwhelmed with sadness at the realisation that I am returning ‘home’ to a place that is not my home. 

I couldn’t explain why England does not feel like my home, because I simply do not know the reasons, but what I do know, is that when I step off the plane in California, there is nothing that could take the smile off my face. 
  An indescribable feeling washes over me, and it’s as though everything falls into place. 

I would leave England behind in a heartbeat if it meant I could return home.