The Flatmates From Hell: Pt 6 the night it all went wrong

I don’t remember what day it was. Facebook tells me it was a weekend. At least that is when my sister uploaded her photos from her trip to Auckland.

I had not seen her in 10 months. Auckland is busy. I was trying to finish my degree. My parents can vouch for me. I barely skype them because I am so busy. So it was a special occasion.

Now I took one phycology paper in my undergraduate studies (which I failed) though there are things I remember. Like the more you tell a story the more diluted it becomes. Hence the idea that you should write down traumatic incidences down ASAP. So this story has been told many times. This is what I remember currently.

You should know that I still have nightmares about this night. That locks on doors make me feel safe. That I hardly ever sleep in the nude (though I totally would) because I am scared of what might be in my door way. It is slowly going away.

So my sister was up from Nelson for the first time in 10 months. She had arrived and stayed one night. She was asleep in our bed and Jamie and I were on the couch enjoying an evening in front of the TV. A and B were in their room and Emma was down the hall asleep. Full house one might say.

I was almost falling asleep when Emma walked into the lounge and asked if I could talk to someone on the phone for her. I got up followed her to her room where she sat down on her bed and put the phone to my ear.

“Hello Seren, this is Stacy from the crisis team are you happy to talk to me?”

I have never pulled a poker face in my life till this moment. Looking at Emma I smiled very gently. Mother Duck was here.

Stacy explained that Emma had been prescribed sleeping pills because her anxiety had been keeping her awake at night. She went on to say that due to the current environment of the house  Emma was feeling on edge, scared and unable to rest.

She had since taken a whole weeks worth of sleeping pills.

Stacy followed quickly with “it isn’t a suicide attempt, she just really wanted to sleep and rest, Emma told me that and I believe her.”

The current environment of the house was  horrible. Dirty, tension and no one would sit down to clear the air. Because it wasn’t like we were all adults or anything.

Stacy said she can not asses the situation since she is not there in person. So I asked should I take Emma to the hospital. The response was a yes and that she would call ahead for us because Emma was become very agitated.

I walked out to Jamie, grabbed a jumper from our room and paused to watch my sister blissfully sleep for a moment. Kissed Jamie on the head, he was very sleepy and walked Emma to the car. We got in and I turned the radio down low as she smoked a cigarette. She was quiet but every time she looked at me I smiled. She pulled her knees to her chest as I drove to the hospital.

It was about 10pm when we walked through A&E. Emma had her vitals taken and multiple private conversations with the doctors. She was hooked up to a couple of machines and had an IV popped into her arm.

I explained to the doctor in private that Emma would try make a run for it. She had at the end of the day escaped the psych unit multiple times. She needed a security guard. The doctor looked at me kinda like I was stupid. But Emma had taken herself to the ‘toilet’ which was really outside to have a cigarette. When she was found by security she was all smiles and jokes. Cunning bitch to say the least.

After a couple of hours the Doctor explained she would need to stay overnight for observations and that she would need to be seen by the hospital’s psychiatric unit in the morning.  So we said our goodnights and I made sure she had everything and that the doctor would call me if needed. I walked out of those hospital doors for the 3rd time that month to get back into the car.

I drove home thinking “what the fuck am I doing with my life? My boyfriend is at home, my sister is at my house and I am mothering someone else’s child.”

I pulled into the car port, walked into the house, moved my sister to the couch and moved Jamie from the couch to the bed. Put my PJs on and passed out.

Then there was a bang. A silhouette of a figure stood in the doorway and then there was the screaming. High pitched, angry and aiming directly at me in bed.

I sat up, wide eyed and stared at this person. It was A. She was holding onto the door frame screaming at me.

“move the fucking car, I told Jamie you aren’t allowed to park there. Wake up and move that pile of shit”

I leaped out of bed and immediately started to apologize. I grabbed the keys and headed for the door making sure to move quick. But she didn’t stop.

“I fucking told him, who do you think you are? This is my house, my carport, not yours. Now hurry up.”

I was grasping the door handle when she stared at me through the window and I could see that something was not adding up.

I drove down the road and to find a park in Ponsonby is near impossible as no one has off street parking. It took a 3-4 minute walk in barefeet to get back to the house. The front door was wide open and I could see the kitchen/ lounge lights on. I closed the door, saw B in his room on their bed and I walked to our bedroom. I thought I would check on my sister. She would surely be awake. I was saying to my sister that she shouldn’t worry as everything was sorted now. That she should grab some sleep her flight was at 8am. Thats when A started at me again.

“How dare you think that you can park in the car port when I told Jamie before we went out that the car was to be moved. You think you own this house don’t you?”

“No I don’t. Jamie hadn’t told me and when I got home as he was asleep.”

“Dont give me that bull shit. You knew, you wanted me to react this way.”

“Honestly, no. My sister is trying to sleep. If you want to talk about it we can do it in the morning since its now 1am.”

“No no, we are going to talk about it now because you bitch need to learn a lesson.”

My sister being my sister butted in as she often does and said:

“please don’t talk to my sister like that.”

I then saw a snap change in her. Like a switch was flicked on and that girl just went from 0-100. She turned from me to her. Walked slowly and said:

“who the fuck you think you are? this is my house, my roof, you are sleeping on my couch and you have no fucking place here, your slumming off us because you are cheap like the whole Powell-Jones family. I’m sure of that now.”

My eyebrows raised and knew if this didn’t calm down in the next 0.002 seconds all hell was going to break lose.

You know when you watch something happen in front of you and you imagine 4000 different ways it could play out in a few seconds. So I acted.

Replying with:

“A, go to bed. Clearly you are intoxicated and not thinking straight. Think what you want but we will talk about this in the morning as there are things you do not know or understand.”

The she turned to me and said:

“fuck that I want your shitty sister out now.”

Then this all happened in slow motion to me.

She launched herself at my sister.

All 5 foot 3, size 6 white girl wasted self.

I could see her claws.

I jumped like a mother fucking cat. In my head all I had running was “swiper no swiping”.

She got her hands on my sister but I was right there. Pushed that girl off. She was small and I was wound up. I watched her stumble and then pick up a bottle of wine.

#real talk – I thought she was going to bottle and stab me and my sister. Instead she swung the bottle around yelling at house angry she was and that she was calling the police. She ran down the hall to her boyfriend and slammed the door behind her.

I looked at my sister and said “go to sleep, you can’t deal with this.”

She said: “na fuck that little bitch she needs a punch in the head.”

My sister cares a lot. She loves me a lot. Punches to the head weren’t going to help.

So I took a deep breath, walked down the hall and knocked on their door. A was screaming at B to call the police and he was just like “come to bed, lets deal with this in the morning.”

She went quiet and opened the door, looked me up and down and said “I hope this is your notice”.

I smiled and said “no.”

I then took another breath and replied with:

“the reason Jamie didn’t tell me that I was to NOT park in the car port was because I was in hospital with Emma.”

Then I let that lil bitch sit on that burn for a second. I followed with:

“she overdosed on her sleeping pills and has to stay over night. she did this because she is scared of this house, the environment that we have all created. the poor girl just wanted to sleep and I for one completely understand her situation. so please let us talk about this in the morning and I will explain everything. I am sorry for parking in the car port. I did not know.”

Then I witnessed something that still makes my skin crawl. She switched.

“oh my god, is she okay, what happened? can we go see her? we need to be with her!”

She starts yelling at B to get out of bed and get ready to go to the hospital.

I said that can’t go tonight as they won’t let them in, she can take visitors in the morning and we need to create a home for her to come back to.

A looked at me up and down again:

“what sort of person leaves a helpless 19 year old in the hospital? oh thats right you are Seren Powell-Jones, clearly some scum.”

Then closed the door in my face. I stood there for about 3 minutes listening to her debate with him over if they should go or not. They decided not to go.

I dragged myself back to bed.

Jamie was sitting in bed and that when I broke.

I begun to cry. I felt like someone watch jumping up and down on my chest and thats when the anxiety crawled into my throat. I couldn’t talk. My sister sat on our bed and said how she was so sorry.

But now I couldn’t breathe. I was having a panic attack.

Then I experienced the worst cycle to date.

I would be calmed down by Jamie. I would almost have my breath and then I would have flashbacks. Oh her in the doorway. Oh her launching herself at my sister, then they begun to change. The wine bottle was broken, my arms would bleed from her cutting into me. She was so aggressive and  there was nothing I could do to stop her.

Then I got out of control. I became Emma, erratic and unpredictable. I looked at Jamie, said we have to leave, go to a hotel, move the duchess in front of the door. Lock ourselves in. I needed my sister. I thought I would hear her being murdered through the door.

I became paralyzed with flashbacks and fear. This went on till 5 am.

My sister woke me to tell me that she was leaving. Her best friend was here to take her to the airport. She left safely.

That morning Jamie and I snuck out of our own home and drove Al’s Deli where I was a complete zombie.

We ate breakfast in silence because if he brought up what had just happened. I would cry and begin to shake.

The worst part was that we had to go back. To that house, to those people.





The Flatmates From Hell: Pt 5 the little things

So we pick up where we left off. Emma, was well dealing and the rest of the house had no clue. She would be gone for three days to a week at the time. Back and forth from the unit, medication changing and life just continued on.

Jamie was struggling at work due to the lack of sleep, I was working at my new job getting home at around 1am after being on my feet for 6 hours. Creeping into the house I could always hear B playing his video games from the mouse clicking and chair re shuffling.

We had been the house now for a couple of months. Emma wasn’t home, away at the unit again. Jamie was in bed.  I went to go make something to eat, maybe toast. However there were dishes everywhere, the sink was full and I wasn’t going to clean up someone else’s mess, not for what felt like the 1 millionth time. I also then remembered that we still had no vacuum cleaning. I  had been sweeping the floors and been told that B’s step dad was going to give us one. Two months deep, two months of filth. I was falling apart at the seams. So I didn’t make toast, I thought a tasty shower would be better.

I put my phone down, jumped in the shower, washed away the day then got out and picked up my phone. I tried not to scream. Or smash my phone. Or wash my soul in bleach. I simply dealt with the situation like a boss, and sent this very aggressive message.

“Hey team sorry about the late message and the late shower. 1. I don’t care if you trim your bodily hair. 2. I do care when you use the kitchen scissors and then leave a disgusting fucking mess in the bathroom. Please clean this immediately. Thank you.”

B had trimmed his beard hair with the kitchen scissors and then just left them strewn everywhere, the floor, the bench, the sink. IT WAS TOUCHING MY TOES! My clean toes. I just wanted a shower. When I picked up my phone and it had a film of hair on it, then I am sure you can understand why my aggressive message was sent.

So I ask you now to do the math. No vacuum cleaner, a couple who didn’t care, a boyfriend who could barely sleep, a flat mate who was in and out of the psychiatric unit, I was starting to crack.

This wasn’t what I signed up for and well I am literally living in filth. So I washed my feet again, crawled into bed only to hear A and B start arguing. Again.



I didn’t have time to kill myself

On the morning of Tuesday the 31st of June. I wanted to kill myself.

I would’ve killed myself. It was earlyish. Like 7.03am. Not that I was paying attention. I checked my phone.

Rolled over in my empty double bed and cried. Like the ugly cry that takes your face and turns it into a demon.

Then I was calm. I sniffled and for the first time in months my head was clear. As if someone had wiped the inside of my mind clean.

This clarity was beautiful. I understood why I had been given all these problems. I was being tested and as crazy as I sounds I laughed as I walked to my cupboard.

I unlocked it and pulled out my medicine box. Yes I have one. Currently out of plasters. But that is another problem. Back to this.

No one was up. The house was silent and cold. Like my soul.

*seriously I have a stupid sense of humour*

I sat on my bed and my bed did that stupid thing where it doesn’t sit level to the ground. Felt bad because my fat ass had probably just woken up my flat mate. I rummage through all my stuff.

Things for inflammatory, UTI’s, headaches, stomach ulcers , some deep heat. I poured all the pills out onto my bed and looked at my options. Which wasn’t a lot. I did math for the first time that week and it was not going to be enough. It wouldn’t kill me. I would just be sick with a sore tummy. I mean I aint no pharmacist or doctor but I do have a degree which means I have some logic and these pills were not going to do it.

I am not the type of suicidal person who can cut my wrist open. I don’t like pain. Ironic right. And I sure as hell cannot tie a knot to wrap around my neck. Brownies and Guides did nothing really expect teach me that their cookies are amazing.

So I got up. Replied to emails. Sent out one SOS texts.

I would’ve killed myself but

1. I didn’t have the ‘right’ pills

2. I didn’t have time.

Dressed, I left my house. Got a coffee and did #takeovertuesday for the University of Auckland NICAI instagram page. I just go on with the morning. I took a selfie that clearly shows massive bags under my eyes with a stupid smile on my face. FAKE AS FUCK BRO.

I got on the bus, walked to university where I proceeded to just get on with it. The point of this blog post isn’t the fact that I was going to kill myself, though it seems really scary. The point is I just switched brains. I went and did my day with only one soul knowing that I wanted to kill myself.

I gave a girl directions to Queen Street as it poured with rain, I wrote 1200 words, attened 2 rehearsals, posted 6 photos, drank 3 coffees, packed 4 bags and cried a bit more. I also wrote this post but you won’t be seeing it till much later because I don’t like when people coddle me. No thank you. Please.

So reading this know that I am alive. Busy. But alive.

Monday August 1st

I break the series of #TheFlateMatesFromHell to share this wee article. I ask that you forgive me for being so slack. There is another blog post that I have written that I won’t post openly that is very close to me. I ask you read this with an open mind and heart. I ask that you trust me when I say that, I am holding on. That 2016 is truly a hard year for me but it is almost over and 2017 has to be a lot better. So please read it here. Ground yourself and go and do something for someone else today.

Mondays are usually hard. They are hard to start. Waking up after a weekend is always difficult. The urge to stay in bed and roll over and fall back to sleep is all-consuming. You barter with yourself on how long you can stay there.

Today being the 1st of August I fought the urge to stay under the covers and let the world wake up around me. Though I knew I had already missed deadlines for my honours research I got up, hustled and drank two coffees.

2016 for me has been truly testing and I reveal that in my other blog post. I have moved house 4 times this year and felt like I have been running uphill since January. This weekend I packed my things into boxes, fell sick with a cold and then this happened.

I was on my way to university when my mum called me.

She was fighting the tears. She was short but clear. Our beloved furry family member, our dog Rosie passed away at 3pm. She was very loved, lived a full life and as I write with tears leaking out of my face I quietly remember how bad Mondays can be. Rosie was very sick and we were lucky to have her for so long.

My family is in mourning. I share this with you and ask for respect at this time.

I can’t really see the keyboard (ninjas cutting onions again) so if there is any spelling mistakes. Sorry about that.

I was talking to a friend of mine when he said to me that I have this ability to put on an act where everyone thinks I am okay. I laughed as I asked how did he figure it out. He said “Seren, you are crying and smiling at the same time. Yet you are asking me if I am okay.” I like to think that what I am going through isn’t as bad as it could be. I guess I always think there could be something worse. Though I know that this is a bad thing. I mask how bad things are and conceal it to those who care. I want to be there for other people. I like making people feel good. That is why I work in hospitality, that is why I got the nickname ‘Mother Duck’, that is why I will always ask you how you are. It is easier for me to take care of someone else rather than myself. I don’t let myself be sensitive. I am too busy for that and thankfully that saved my life. I struggle to be still, I struggle to switch off.

However being told your dog is being put down kinda brought me to a halt. I kept walking  up the hill in the rain to University because I had emails to send.

My Monday is hard, yes. But I have places to be, people to attend to, I put myself well down the list of things that are important. I do that because that is how I cope. if you read the second blog post I did for one day put myself first. I didn’t like it.

I want you to know that the image I give you is sweetened, edited, adjusted and palatable. What I share with you on Facebook, Instagram even Snapchat is all that I want you to see and I highly believe you do the same. I am not trying to preach but I do not want this to come across as shocking. I am not out here asking for sympathy votes, messages or hugs. I am asking you, the  readers who have supported me for over a year now. All 5275 of you to take deep breath and look at how you are doing.

Today is Monday. It is the 1st of August 2016.

Today was hard. Tomorrow will be hard. But it will not end us.

The Flatmates From Hell: Pt 4 Emma escaped.

So we last finished knowing that Emma wasn’t okay. The truth was she seemed to be falling apart. Jamie and I sat down and talked seriously about the welfare of her. Who has last seen her eat or even buy food. We saw her smoking but nothing else. So we took it on ourselves to take care of her between us because A & B just did not realize what they were doing. When I was at work Jamie would cook and make her sit down with him and have dinner. I would make cups of tea and time to just sit with her. There were good days when she would make her own breakfast because I was in the kitchen and then there were bad days of binge drinking and drugs.

Though one day came around when she turned up at home after 3 nights out, with someone I had never met before. Standing in her door frame I watched her start to pick up her clothes. She said she was going away for a bit. I asked for how long and she replied with “when they decide its safe to let me out”. She told me she had been seeing a therapist and that part of her treatment was to go and stay in the ‘unit’ for a few days. She was honest and she looked hopeful. Her friend was taking her there and as she picked up her last pair of tights and colorful jumper she turned on her heels and thanked me.

It was about two days later when I was at home studying. B was in his room playing video games because his hand hurt and he couldn’t go to work. (5 weeks without going to work here people). I remember every single detail. Like a flash bulb memory. The Neighborhood was playing female robbery. The wind was blowing gently through our french doors and I was sitting on the bed thinking about what I will make for lunch when there was a knock at the door. I ignored it. Ponsonby gets many door knocker. They knocked again. I stuck my head out into the hall. I wasn’t wearing pants. I put pants on for important things. I saw an outline in the glass. Dark, tall and then this person knocked on the door but with much more urgency this time. This. Was. No. Door. To. Door. Salesman.

Slipping on my grey fat pants I pulled my cardigan around me and opened the door. The radio struck me first, followed by the taser. My eyes flicked over his body and I didn’t even hear his name though he introduced himself. Standing before me was a police officer. He wanted to come in. I said yes and asked how could I help. I was thinking about all the different reasons he could be here. You have no idea how fast your mind can flick through ideas till its happening.

He was looking for Emma. Why? Oh she had just escaped the unit and they were thinking she was going to turn up at home. I offered him a cup of tea and asked if I could ask him about the situation. I explained that half of her ‘home’ didn’t know what was going on. Or where she had gone. He denied my cup of tea for a glass of water. He said he didn’t know that much but asked me if he could search the house. I said yes. So through the house he went. Though not into B’s room because I warned the officer that she wouldn’t be there due to the smell and the cohabitant. He smiled and simply explained that Emma is really unwell mentally and needs to go back to the unit. He said it was extremely important that if she does turn up I was to call him. His name was Stewart and he looked into my soul to see if I was lying about anything. I was not lying, though I was sweating and not thinking about lunch.

I don’t remember when she slipped through the door. I think she might of climbed through her window though she suddenly appeared in the kitchen. She knew the police would be here soon and she asked if I had seen any. I said no.

Lying. I do not like it. She said she was calling a cab and going back to the unit. She had only left because she wanted a break. Honestly, I was freaking out. She grabbed a glass of juice, a smoke and her tooth brush. Jumped into a cab and then I ran back to my room called Stewart and told him what had just happened. He said he would call me back only if she didn’t turn back up. He never called. She came home a week later. With prescriptions and appointments every 3 days. A and B still had no idea. As far as they were concerned she was out enjoying life, maybe on a surf trip or with friends. Emma was very good at hiding things. That I learnt.

The Flatmates From Hell – PT3: The Reveal of True Colours

As we continue in a downwards spiral into this hell house things actually got a little bit better.  A & B had stopped screaming at one another and Jamie and I started to get some sleep.

But like all good things; they have to come to an end. Oh boy oh boy did they. There is one vital person we have been skimming over because only now does their story become relevant to this tale of all tales. Emma*, young but well traveled gal had been sitting on the outside and was constantly looking in. Just like Jamie and I. Though we were to find out that this girl would be dealing with it all in a very different way. First, she lost her job. 90 days came up and her contract was not renewed though she wasn’t put off by it all she soldiered on.

It was a quiet Tuesday night and Jamie, Emma and myself were home. A, had not come home after work and she texts to explain that her and B have broken up (again). We said we were here for her if she needed anything. B, though was in their room and he wasn’t very happy. (A, was rather cute if I am honest so I could understand, though I don’t think that now.) He wanted to talk with her and try win her back and took her car to her work. Picked up a bottle of vodka and told her through texts that he was going to pick her up and take her to the park to get drunk like they did when they first got together (how romantic).

The trio of us were kinda worried. She was being forced into a situation, to drink to be manipulated by a guy who she had just broken the heart of. You do the math here guys.

6 hours rolls by. We hear nothing though we said; stay in contact. Get so worried we contact her sister. Shes even more worried. She knows B was manipulative. Calling her sister was a big move, I get that. Her sister came round, worried and scared of what might be happening out in the dark.

Still we waiting hearing nothing from A. In this time Emma* was drinking. At quiet a fast pace though my hospo eyes didn’t spot that. She was rather tipsy in the corner. Quietly drunk one could say. Then A & B turned up. She stumbled through the door holding a bottle of vodka that had a significant dent in it. B, walked through the door and straight to his room. A, came into the living area to see her sister and flat mates sitting there waiting for her.

She was not impressed. She was drunk and angry. Asking why her sister was here, yelling at us because she was fine (drunk) and her and B were back together. Though I think she may have forgotten, till we told her that we knew they had broken up.

B, was still in his room and A’s sister wanted to chat with her about what had been going on. So A, poured two drinks and took her sister to Emma’s room where they chatted for a little bit till A came running out asking if Emma wanted a drink (and when you are already drunk, drinking straight vodka seems like a great idea). So for the next little while they made an even bigger dent in the cheap vodka.

So now Emma and A are really drunk. Whilst A’s sister is sober like myself and Jamie looking at this now even more fucked up situation.

The night progresses and it heads down hill. I walk into the bath room and there is Emma, passed out on the ground. She doesn’t respond to me when I try to wake her and I tell you now I thought she was dead for three seconds.

I call Jamie, tell him to get the car ready and that we are going to hospital. I get a jersey, walk back into the bathroom where Emma is now sitting up and get more clothes on her so we can leave. Then A walks into the bathroom. Freaks out at the situation (like any drunk white girl) and starts screaming at me (again). I tell her that Jamie and I are going to take her to hospital and we would keep her updated.

Well, she wanted to come didn’t she. Because she cared so deeply about this 19 year old who she had now got so intoxicated that she couldn’t tell me her own name. Jamie had the car ready, B and I carried this girl to the car where A and put herself in the back seat and now was screaming at her boyfriend B to get in the back. Jamie has a two door car. Which means 4 seats. No room for all of us.

A is already seat belted into the back seat and I managed to reason with B to stay behind and if he really wants to come in, to drive and meet us there.

So whilst Emma started to stir in the front seat she also started to reveal her current mental health. She started freaking out. Quick head movements, wide eyed and clutching at what ever she could grab. In this case it was her seat belt and the door. You can imagine Jamie is now  watching her so she doesn’t grab the hand break. This girl is having an anxiety attack thanks to the alcohol. Needless to say Jamie sped to the hospital.

As we pulled into Auckland City A&E a security guard spots us, gets a wheel chair and then spots A is the back of the car. His head tilts to the side to take a better look at her through the Toyota Levin. I am now out of the car with Jamie trying to get Emma transferred to a wheel chair. With the help of the security guard we begin the descent inside. Explaining to the nurse that she has had too much to drink and seems to be very agitated she asks Emma if she had taken any drugs. Straight up, blunt in the middle of the reception.

I didn’t even think of that. And everything starts to click. Though Emma doesn’t respond she turns looks up at me and clutches my hoodie and buries her face into my stomach. That look is burnt into my eyes. I thought drugs was the reason she was acting this way. But her toxicology results reveal a clean but drunk blood count.

The nurse tells us to go through the doors where we will be taken to a bay. Keep in mind I have just filled out the paper work for Emma and A is having a go at Jamie for a range of things. It’s 1am. I am tired and we have a long night ahead. All anyone wants is silence except for A.

Emma is just about to get onto the hospital bed with a fair amount of coaching, shes on her feet and for a brief second I feel proud of her for not losing it completely to an anxiety attack. Then A turns to the nurse who was there to put an IV line in for fluid and says the worst 7 words.

Are you going to pump her stomach? 

I have never wanted to punch someone in the throat so hard in my life. Jamie walked out of the room and Emma is now grabbing me and refusing treatment. There is a security guard in the door way watching A because she looks like shes on a damn boat with 15 meter swells. The nurse who is now quickly running out of any sort of patience  for the situation says “No, shes clearly awake. We just want to give her fluids.”

I am now staring at the ceiling, trying not to stab myself in the eyes. After what feels like forever Emma finally gets into the bed and A is now on the phone to B.

She said; “Imagine the worst thing to ever happen to you. Now times it by 10, then by 100 then by 1 million and add two. Because that is what I am dealing with. Seren and Jamie are such horrible people. Emma is okay, but I will stay with her. You should come up so we can take care of her.”

I turn to the security guard and ask if A can be removed. Shes drunk and causing more problems. He asks her to take her conversation outside as a hospital ward is no place for a phone call. What A didn’t realize was that the doors are one way. You have to be allowed back in. And she wasn’t going to be. So being ‘polite’ she wandered down the hall and out to automatic doors.

Praise the Baby Jesus it is now just me, Emma and Jamie is a darkened room. We had to calm Emma down to get her through the whole needle ordeal. But we were half an IV bag deep when she rolls over to look me in the eyes and begins to cry.

Jamie is asleep in the chair and she quietly says to me “I’m not okay”.

I simply replied with “that okay, I am here. I will be here when you wake up so close your eyes and try get some rest.” She fell asleep holding my hand.

Its now about 2.45ish. The nurse comes in to give her a new saline IV bag.

Emma wakes close to 4am and wants to go home. She wants her own bed. I wake Jamie get. Emma gets discharged and we walk in silence to the car. The radio is playing quietly in the background.

I put Emma into bed, where she tells me again “I’m not okay.”

I sit on her bed which is on the floor and tuck her in. I am pushing the blankets up around her face and remind her that Jamie and I are here for her. No judgement. No questions. Just here if she needs us.

I close the door, climb into bed with Jamie who is now passed out in bed and lay awake till his alarm goes off for work. I thought about all my action of that night. I agree with A that calling her sister was not necessary and that I should say sorry for that. I try not to get angry at her drunk comments and actions. I lay awake for hours thinking about the look Emma gave me and how she simply said that she wasn’t okay.

I fall asleep as Jamie heads to work and quietly give myself a reality check. Everything that just happened, the night that just unraveled was a Tuesday night. And all I can think to myself is that is can’t get worse than that.

When you reason with yourself that it cannot get worse is like knitting a safety web. It doesn’t exist because you are lying to yourself. A kind of sick joke waiting like a bomb to go off. This was the middle of November.

The Flatmates From Hell – Pt. 2 The Halloween​ party

So its the end of October, there is screaming fights ever single night.

Till 4 or 5am. Not the fights where you can sleep through it. And honestly I was worried. I wanted these two people to get on. To sort their lives out and work it out. They definitely care about one another. They were extremely passionate about what they had and were willing to fight for it.

Roll around the end of the month and we all thought it would be a fantastic idea if we threw a house warming party/halloween party. A great gathering where we can drink sangria and meet friends of friends. However ‘Mr.B’ was not a fan of this. At. All. In fact he didn’t want it to happen though he was told it was going to happen. 4 against 1.

I went to work. Came home to a raging party and then I got changed into my costume and went and partied like a good kid. ‘B’ was nowhere to be found.

The party was going great. Fantastic banter was flying everywhere and it was just swell. Then ‘B’ turned up at midnight and demanded that everyone leaves. For a few reasons but mostly that he had work in the morning. This would be totally valid and I would respect that except for 1 things.

  1. He hadn’t been to two in three weeks.

I was drunk and literally said “this has to be a fucking joke”.

This became the one saying I would repeat to myself for the next two months. Over and over again.

So people left the house and trickled into Ponsonby for the evening and I disappeared into town with Freya (we ran out of the house into an uber, always too much fun with that gal).

A few hours later, came home. ‘B’ was up and I think ‘A’ had gone to Ponsonby with Emma*. There was some random dude on the couch watching TV with ‘B’. I took a shower and went to bed.

The morning came around real quick and I got up to start cleaning and then I noticed that a few things we missing. I mean its a house party, if nothing was stolen you didn’t have a party.

My 21st bottle of champagne was gone (I found it empty) and some other things were gone but it wouldn’t be till much later. Once the house was clean that ‘B’ comes asking me if I knew where his phone was.

He often misplaced things (like me) but he couldn’t remember when or when he had it last. He then thought I had taken it-because I cleaned the house. Keep in mind these people keep mac books slid under the couches. This phone could of been any where.

So instead of going to work. Like he had said, he just searched for his phone and once he had decided it had been stolen proceeded to tell us all that we would be paying for the phone. Which then Emma* voiced that quite a few of her things we missing as well and my champagne though we weren’t asking for money for them.

So he went out and bought himself a new $1500 phone on a 24 month plan and was rather chuffed with it all. Though he hadn’t been to work in three weeks…but that is none of my business right?

‘A’ & ‘B’ were still screaming at each other and I began to notice that Emma* didn’t seem to be her 100% self. Off and quiet she would go from ‘tea sipping sweetheart’ to all ‘nighter, crawling home at dawn’ gal. No middle ground there friends.

On a side note you should know a couple of things.

  • Jamie and I had yet to pay our bond.
  • My old flatmates are reading these posts.
  • This was the end of October.


The Flatmates from Hell – PT 1

The end of October 2015 Jamie and I had finished our lease in Auckland City and were ready to escape to the suburbs. A couple looking for a room is no easy feat but we stumbled on a house that was beautiful. Though it had a crazy bedroom.

Faced with a flat viewing we made ourselves look normal and we had planned to go out for dinner in Ponsonby after. We walked up the steps to 46 Norfolk Street on a rainy Friday evening to be greeted by a couple who were rather friendly.

They showed us around the house. The house was a new lease and it was empty. For a villa is was stunning. Wooden floors, huge living area, great backyard and the bathroom. So big I could choreograph a show in there. It was a perfect find.

The couple (who have asked not to be named) we can call them A & B*. They had been together for a while. They both have degrees and liked cats.

Jamie and I thought they were just a great match for us. Arts to arts. Games to games. This was going to be fantastic. Smart, kind people. We moved in mid October, the week of my birthday. We were told that a girl who was 19 would be moving in next week and for this post we shall name her Emma*.

Monday rolled around and we moved in with help from our friends, taking multiple trips to get out of a tiny apartment. I was at the end of my degree and was in show week. Between the theatre, work , rehearsals and day to day life we moved in and it was going great.

My birthday dinner came about and we went out into the city, drinks and laughter ensued. The new flat mates had brought me a card and a bottle of rose even though they barely knew me. These people we so kind and this was going to be great.

Jamie returned that evening to a police car in the drive and two police officers in our house ‘A’ was crying in the living room and  ‘B’ was locked in his room. He had called the police on her. Female assaults male. A domestic violence call in New Zealand is not taken lightly.  Jamie who aspires to be a policeman knew that this was no small incident. He listened to ‘A’ give her report of events.

She had been taking a shower, come back into the room and asked ‘B’ to get off the bed so she could make it and go to sleep as she had work in the morning. He refused saying it is his bed and that he can do as he pleases. So she went to take his computer  (which is a worth close to $10,000, this guy spent all his money on it) off her desk because it is hers and she can do as she pleases with it. That included having it with no computer on it. He freaked out. Yelled at her. She resisted physically and he picked her up in her towel and tried putting her in the hallway. She punched him in the head because she was now naked and didn’t want her new flat mates seeing her naked.

She was banned from the house for 24 hours notice as protocol by the police. We had coffee with her. I said she should leave him. (Clearly, I don’t take shit from no one). She said they had fights before but he had never called the police before.

24 hours later, they wouldn’t apologize to one another and we were now witnessing World War Three.

This is week one.

*Name changed for confidentiality


Real Helpful

Today is a dark dark dark day.

Today Wednesday, I received a mark for my postgraduate studies.

My choreography paper.

I did not do well.

I know people say marks do not matter. That they are just a number. They count for nothing in the real world.

I disagree as I cry onto my laptop.

And I am going to be honest with you. I always am but I mean I keep some thing private.

This was  part of a secret list and now it isn’t.

Hell these tears are thick and I am just getting more upset the more I write about this.

Feel free to play some sort of sad music is the back ground. Level with me people.

So whats the big deal Seren?

Well Seren you got your lowest grade ever.

A solid B-

Now most of you in the tertiary realm understand that sometimes that you can recover from this. But this shit storm is just getting better and better.

This was for a choreography paper. I have never received a grade lower than A-. You know why. Because I fucking like it. I love it. And I do bloody good in it.


There are two three things you need to know.

  1. I am still crying, slipping into the angry stage.
  2. This could of been avoided.
  3. I no longer qualify for any further postgraduate studies or scholarships.

Points 2 & 3 are important.

It could of been avoided because we had a feedback session. In that feedback session I was not informed that my work. WHICH WAS FINISHED. Was not for filing the criteria.

Reading my feedback now. I get where I went wrong but this could of been avoided. As in I could of passed really FUCKING well. Yes I deserved the mark. I can admit that but I could of been guided to a better place. It really does not take much.

Teacher: Seren have you thought about having a conversation instead of just talking AT him?

Seren: Now thats an idea, but why?

T: Because you have to for the assessment.

S: Okay, I will do that.

T: Awesome.

S:  Sweet.

Yes I am now mad.

Because this did not happen.  I was told that I should explore the choreography of the table. Not the construction of the script.

So this thing people call a GPA is rather important though. You can get money for free for a high GPA. As in, money you can do the things you want with.

Not for me any more. I have always been very realistic. It makes me a very real person. I understand that it is possible to get an A+ but not for every assignment. Not for me.

Why? Life, shit happens and though you try your damn hardest things happen.

However you give your all at the time and to the best of your abilities you aim for the A+ because you can. You have the smarts.

But listen here. I just got a B- and even if I did get an A+ for the rest of the year I still would not qualify for masters. And no masters means no doctorate.

And that means I will never ever ever be Dr. Seren Powell-Jones.

Now I am crying again.


Let me wipe my tears with my assessment because that is all I can do.

You know I got an 3/4 page of feedback. And I have read it 9 times. I have written all over it and made my own notes. I even wrote that I am a failure.

As far as I know I got the lowest mark in my class.


And I got a B-.

I have come to understand this.

3/4 of a page of feedback is as good as a band aid for a dead person. Real helpful.

Dead people don’t need them.

The only reason you have given me this page is to justify the grade you gave me.




Breathe some more.

No more PHD Seren.

Just finish the year. Go off. Do some shit.

Write some stuff. Make sense of this.

Find clarity.

Be angry over your GPA for forever.




*curls into a ball and cries some more*

So I am just going to leave this on the internet and go write my methodologies chapter and well yeah.


My teeth fell out.

I closed my mouth and that is when the crunch happened. My tongue rippled through my mouth collecting all the shards of broken bone that my body had rejected and spat them out into my hands. I am 21 and these are meant to be permanent. And they are currently sitting in my hand. Then my tongue traced my mouth and found a tooth that had fallen apart and was now sitting as a sharp very tender reminder that I had done this to myself. But then on the other side of my bottom jaw I could taste metal which meant I was bleeding. I walked to the mirror, opened my mouth and gently pulled against my tooth that should be strong in my gum and it lifted. The blood pooled in its place and then trickled into the space where my tongue  sat. The shards of tooth were sitting in my hand and my lips were red with blood. I thought about how much this is going to cost me, that I am meant to have perfect teeth yet right now I am holding bits of them and I can not put them back together. A wave of anxiety rush over me.


Then I woke up. I was staring at a very grey sky and my heart was in my throat. I ran my tongue over my teeth, carefully at first then all at once because they were all there.  I grabbed my dream diary (yes I have one, there is some really strange stuff in there) immediately wrote down what had happen. I grabbed my phone and  googled “broken rotting teeth dream meaning”. Yes I think your dreams mean something and yes I look them up. Sit back down. I know you do to.

Broken teeth:

Implies that aspects of yourself need to be corrected. It may be a metaphor as others can see the problem but you cannot. It could also mean that your mouth is getting yourself in trouble.

Crumbling teeth:

Fear of getting old. Or growing old too quickly.

Spitting out teeth:

Admitting something that you may have held back on that may have or still is causing you stress. 

So I  rolled over in bed and thought about what they hell is my subconscious up to? So I need to correct something, I fear getting old and I have held back of something that is causing me stress; apparently.

I was thinking about a conversation I had yesterday with a gentleman (though he wont call himself that) about some trouble he is going through. I listened and offered some comments but when I was speaking to him I 100% understood his feelings. So I am going to offer this to you and the universe on what we should do.

Currently this lovely chap just cannot be bothered. He is on the most boring roller coaster in the world and right now the ride will not end. The roller coaster is flat. He is going through the motions while others around him seem to be having the time of their life. The question raised consistently was “how do I be happy?”. As simple as that seems you are talking to someone who is doing what he loves on a daily bases. The problem is he can’t seem to catch the ’emotions boat’.

And honestly that is the most terrifying thought. More than teeth falling out.

If you could have it all but not feel a thing.

We were sitting in his car, in the dark waiting when he quietly said to me “I am so close to falling apart and I am scared that if I do I won’t come back together”. He said to me that he was doing and saying things he never done before. Things that are just not him.

That feeling of being on the edge and looking over the drop and thinking, that  is a long way down and there is no way back up from down there. That sicking feeling of being out of control and yet you look like Buddha on the outside.

Yes, you know it. Even if it was for a short period of time or for those endless months. The worst thing for me was knowing that no one could help me. I was on my own and though I knew people would be there for me, they aren’t at 4am when you wake because you can’t help but think you are a failure because you can’t do the one human thing of  feel.

Humans are designed to feel a whole range of emotions and when you can’t do that the isolation is just overwhelming. Nothing like standing in a crowded room and feeling like you want to run away from it all and be alone because these people just piss you off but they are some of your closest friends.

I guess what I am trying to get at is that falling apart is something that must happen to all of us. That you have to be awake at 4am to understand that the city falls asleep at night and that a crowed room can be the worst thing to walk in on.

And my advice for this young man is a quote from C. Joybell C.

I think that we are like stars. Something happens to us to burst open; but when we burst open and think we are dying; we’re actually turning into a supernova. And then when we look at ourselves again, we see that we’re suddenly more beautiful than we were before.

Please believe that falling doesn’t always mean that you wont get back up.