Poem – I Miss You

Published January 25, 2014 by aimeelou96

As I lay here in silence
The walls creeping in
I find myself thinking
Of what could have been

But what’s done is done
There is no going back
I guess the only thing to do
Is to get my life back on track

There’s only so much I can take
And it pains me to see
That someone i love
Is dying right in front of me

It’s been six years now but the pain is still raw
As I still expect you to walk through the door
But you’re gone and I never had the chance to say
That I love you so much in each and every way!


7-Year-Old Pens Letter and Asks for a Dragon. She Got One.

Published January 24, 2014 by aimeelou96

this is the sweetest thing i have ever read! And the 3D dragon is amazing

News @ CSIRO

Earlier this week we posted about a letter we received from Sophie, a 7-year-old girl. All she wanted was a dragon.

“Our work has never ventured into dragons of the mythical, fire breathing variety. And for this Australia, we are sorry,” we replied.

Sophie’s letter, and our response, made an unexpected splash across the globe. It was featured on TIME, Huffington Post, The IndependentYahoo, Breakfast TV, the list goes on. People contacted us offering to help, financial institutions tweeted their support and DreamWorks Studios phoned (seriously), saying they knew how to train dragons and wanted to speak with Sophie. The dreams of one little girl went viral.

We couldn’t sit here and do nothing. After all, we promised Sophie we would look into it.

So this morning at 9:32 a.m. (AEDT), a dragon was born.

Toothless, 3D printed out of titanium, came into the world at…

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Theories Of Attachment – John Bowlby 1969

Published January 24, 2014 by aimeelou96

There are many different theories of attachment. John Bowlby (1969) suggested that our ability to form an attachment is innate. He believes that babies come into the world with the ability to make others care for them, through crying and smiling. And that mothers have an innate ability to care and protect her child until they mature and are able to reproduce. The innate nature of attachment was illustrated by Conrad Lorenz in 1952 in his imprinting study with geese. Lorenz conducted a study with goose eggs, he hatched one set of eggs in an incubator with himself, ensuring he was the first moving object that they seen when they hatched. The other set was hatched with their mother. After the geese had hatched, lorenz noticed that those he hatched with him would follow him around as if he was their mother. He later mixed the two sets of geese together in a box and set them free, the geese split into their original groups and made their way to who they believed was their mother. Lorenz called this imprinting. following their mother gave them a higher chance of survival as they were always close to their attachment figure.

Bowlby then suggested that a childs early attachments can effect the type of attachments that they will form with others in the future, he called this ‘Continuity Hypothesis’. It is also suggested that children go through a critical period in their life in which they should  form an attachment by. This critical period is said to be between the ages or 0-2.5years old, between these ages children should have developed certain behaviours, and form an attachment. If an attachment is not made by this time, then it is highly unlikely to occur at all. 

Monotropy – John Bowlby also said that children will all form a single attachment that will be more important to them than the rest. This is usually the mother, according to Bowlby, the father is of rare importance to the childs attachments.


My Thoughts On Gay Marriage:

Published January 24, 2014 by aimeelou96

I do not understand why gay marriage was ever illegal in the first place. Love is love, whether is it shown between two people of the same sex, or two people of the opposite sex. Love is love. I think that it is great how gay marriage is now legal, however I believe it should also be legal in other countries too! Why should people have to hide who they are, or be scared to reveal how they feel about another person? How is the love that they have for one another effecting any of those around them? It is not hurting anybody. It is innocent and pure, and should not be seen as wrong in anybody’s eyes. Nobody criticizes those who are straight, so why criticize anyone elses sexuality? Whether you are gay, bisexual, transgender, straight, or any other sexuality, you are normal! You are loved! And you are unique!
Personally I do not think sexuality should be categorized in anyway, you could fall in love with anyone you meet, whether they are male or female. Love is love, so don’t judge others for being different compared to you. We are all different and unique in our own way. 

My English Coursework Narrative

Published January 24, 2014 by aimeelou96

I don’t want to be here. Trapped in my own lonely mind with no place to hide. It’s loud, different sounds, voices, insults bouncing around my brain, driving me insane. But what can I do? Sit here staring at the plain brick walls and the 8 metal bars surrounding me… That’s what I do for many consecutive hours every single day.

I know why I am here, and I know I’m not the only one that knows of my past. That’s why I do not speak to other cell mates. ‘Mates’ HA! What a stupid word to use for these people. They’re not my mates and they never will be, they’re more like the demon of my uncontrollable nightmares, although they are real and inescapable. But what are even worse are the horrid flashbacks of what I did. Speaking of flashbacks, here it goes again…

I was standing with my back towards him. A glistening knife gripped tightly in my right hand, the voices in my head began to speak: ‘Kill him Mandy. Do you really think he was working on his so called business trip? Ha more fool you.’ These words changed me into someone I never dreamt of being. I snapped. ‘Aaron?’ I called him, ‘yes Mand?’ he replied casually, as if everything was okay. I took a deep breath, ‘come here.’ My tone of voice had changed, it was more demanding. He did as he was asked for a change, stood up with a sigh and strolled towards me. I could hear his footsteps behind me. I bet he wished he had stayed put. Before he could rest his dirty hands on my shoulders, I turned and plunged the knife into his abdomen. I looked down at the knife, now dripping with crimson red blood, creating a blood bath in my kitchen.

And SNAP! I’m back in this hell hole. My mind tends to drift away; sometimes somewhere happy, sometimes somewhere I have been before, and sometimes it even drifts its way into hell.

The bell is ringing, indicating that it must be dinner time. Once again I am walking down these bland, damp corridors towards the cramped room they call ‘the cafeteria’, led by a rather handsome prison guard. Well, I say handsome. I haven’t seen any male species for the duration of my time here… 6 years, 2 months and 19 days; so I would probably settle for anyone that would have me.

They’re looking at me again. Over 60 pairs of eyes fixated on me. Surely I’m not the worst person in this place; surely I am not the only murderer. It’s crowded in here. These women don’t have the ability to form a queue; they’re all just huddling around the food as if they are going to see something different on the menu. I’m pretty sure that the staff here do not know the meaning of nutrition. Nothing but stew and soggy dumplings, splattered onto grubby looking plates along with plastic cutlery. They do nothing but treat us like children in this place. According to them we are all just ‘pathetic’ and ‘worthless’. Well, come to think of it, they’re probably right.
Half an hour has passed now and we are all being let outside for 15 minutes of fresh polluted air, only in the shoebox sized prison gardens but still this is our reward for the week. I’m not even allowed a cigarette in this place! 6 years without one and I am still craving one as if I smoke 50 a day.
Time’s up, back to our cosy cells we go, I guess.
Oh no… here comes another flashback.

It’s the morning after he was murdered.  His pale, cold, white body is laying in a pool of blood on the floor. I sighed and shuffled around him to switch on the kettle, he’s always getting in the way. I glanced down at his expressionless face… and that is when it hit me. I killed him. I did this to the man that I love… but why? What happened? I panicked and dialled 999, I asked for the police and I told them that I think I murdered my husband. Before I knew it my front door was being kicked in and I was being taken away, with four strong arms holding me.

Months and months of therapy went by before I could accurately recall everything that had happened that night: the voices in my head, the knife and the blood. Everything became clear to me. I broke down at first. But then I realised what my motivation was. The trustworthy voices. They told me what he had done, what he really was. He was not loving and caring! He was nothing but a cheating scumbag.
I had known the voices in my head since I was just a little girl, I had no reason not to believe their words.

BANG! The slamming of my cell door snaps me out of it. I am sitting on my bed staring at my usual spot on the wall. The spot on the wall is what keeps me sane. You can see how the brick has been worn in this particular spot, maybe it is from the previous inmate… maybe they were schizophrenic like me. But maybe they acted out when they began to see things, things that no normal human being will ever witness. They may have kicked the wall repeatedly trying to escape, or maybe it was not a wall they seen. After 6 years you would think that they would at least give this place a lick of paint right?
It’s getting darker now. I guess I should get some sleep, after all, I did only have 30 minutes of sleep last night. Some crazy woman was having her usual ‘night terrors’ in the cell next to me, screaming and crying as loud as an atom bomb. The voices in my head where going wild… along with my hallucinating mind.  Plus tomorrow is visiting day, so I suppose I have to be awake or that; not that anyone ever visits me.

It’s morning.
Up and dressed and off to the visiting room. I don’t know why I bother, I’m only going to be disappointed. My eyes are darting around the only bright coloured room in the building, looking at all of the smiling convicts greeting family and friends around me.

‘Where is she?’ a strong male voice demands the prison warden. A voice that I know very well… my Dad. He’s walking towards me, my heart is racing. What is he doing here? What does he want? What will he say after six years of me being locked in here? Six years of me being non-existent to him.

‘Dad?’ I say as he takes a seat opposite me. ‘What are you doing here?’ I stare at him, awaiting an answer. He waits for a moment before speaking; ‘I know how to get you out of here.’ My eyes widen, and he smiles. After 6 years there might be a way out?
‘you are sick. I have your medical records Mandy. You can be moved to a hospital, receive regular help and finally say goodbye to the voices in your head.’ Wait… what! Why would I want to get rid of the voices? Why would I trust him over them? They are the ones who have been there for me throughout my life, not him.

A familiar feeling is rushing over me… four strong arms take hold of me and lead me away from him. This is my home now, and it will remain that way for a further 19 years.