i had such a delightful morning. all toast with jam, and book in hand, enjoying the solitude while The Boy kept sleeping. my sister Sarah is coming over this afternoon and i was going to make cake.

then somewhere along the line i got lonely. and sad. and now i feel as grey as the weather and the top i’m wearing. i miss people. want a list?
jess
ellie
deb
karen
taghreed
jonni
alex
mitch
and especially my ‘other’ family (the in-laws)

i guess if i don’t dwell on it then maybe it will go away.

things to do:
*hair and makeup
*water the lawn
*make a cake
*watch ‘i dream of jeannie’ while folding up the laundry
*enjoy

So I’ve moved back to Noosa. I’ve gotten married. A girl should be happy, right?

I don’t mind being candid about my life, and more importantly about the struggles within. This isn’t a ‘woe is me’ type thing (though maybe it subconsciously is) but I think that if everyone was completely honest about their lives, then others would find support and healing through sharing similar experiences. Does that make sense?

I’ve struggled with depression and anxiety disorder on and off since I was 17. It stems from a number of issues, mostly (and typically) from my childhood. No, I was never abused or beaten, my childhood was great comparatively, but we all perceive things according to our personality and values and experiences and filters. So what may not have bothered a lot of people has affected me. Maybe I’m too sensitive, maybe I just see things differently.

I’ve been on anti-depressants for the last two years. I finally came off them a few weeks ago. In the last two years I hid. I lost some friends (though luckily the good ones can be found again) because I couldn’t talk to anybody, barely even my parents (Mum quickly learnt to text). I spent a night in an emergency psych unit after almost overdosing on anti-psychotic drugs that weren’t even mine, and then pretended to be ‘better’ just to get out of there. I was self harming at work. I eventually lost my job because the anti-depressants affected my memory and concentration and I could no longer do my work. It’s been a rough couple of years.

I’m glad I’m off the medication. I mean it didn’t actually solve any problems (the clinical psychologist I saw helped a lot though) but just wrapped me up in cotton wool so that I didn’t feel as bad while I ignored all my issues (financial, emotional etc). Now that I’m off it, I’m feeling worse. Anxiety is back, and depression is looming. I can feel it just behind me. But I’m hoping I can fight it off without the drugs.

The doctor referred me to a psychologist who I see on Monday, and I can’t wait. I know that sounds strange. But it is so hard, being on the brink of an emotional explosion, every minute of every day. Worrying that I’m headed for another breakdown. The constant tightness across my chest. Not sleeping, always exhausted. Needing to talk to someone who can actually help me wade through the bog that I feel I’m sinking in, but not having anybody that fits that description.

I self-medicate with books and DVDs. I know that sounds laughable, but it’s hard on the people that live with me that see me dwelling in this fantasy world, not wanting to come out for more than five minutes lest I actually have to face everything in its overwhelmingness and I completely lose it. Every minute I can avoid thinking about anything to do with my life is a step backwards from the brink of self-implosion. These other worlds are my drugs.

And hopefully, this blog is my therapy.

I may just find my happy place.

over these almost four years, you have been a source of constant support.
your shiny redness added a little glamour to my day.
i felt so comfortable with you fitted inside shirt, up against my chest.
oh-so-close to my heart.

when you started leaking i was confused.
had i spilt some strange substance on you, that was making me oily after wear?
why was your ‘wet patch’ not drying?
and when i realised, that at last, your waters (metaphorically speaking) had broken, i almost cried.

you have been a true and loyal friend, red intimo bra.
i, and your black counterpart will miss you dearly.

goodbye my bra, my love, my friend.
you are never far from my heart.

Fun.
Dancing.
Drinks ($4 Spirits and house wine).
Boys hitting on me (though I pay no attention it reminds me that I’m beautiful).
Meeting new people (lovely Una, interesting Raoul and rad Foxy in his speedy wheelchair).

The music is now a bit too loud, my feet are a bit too tired, and I need food (craving Hungry Jack’s something chronic) but I’m happy.
Satisfied.
I’ve remembered that there is more to life than books, making dinner and the x-files.
I’ve been invited to a birthday party in a couple of weeks, and to become a standing member of the monthly Hornsby Yacht Club gatherings.
I’ve discussed theology, dreams, Europe, horror movies and the Royal Bank of Scotland.

I am happy.
There is more to life.
I just need to go out and find it.

**********************************************

On a side note, I have realised that re: my last post, the reason I was wanting to be single was nothing to do with The Boy, and actually nothing to do with actually wanting to be single; I was simply freaking out about all the responsibilities I have in my life, and how they were overwhelming me, and as a subconscious automatic reaction, I felt that if I split up our relationship then I would get rid of some of the responsibilities I had in a partnership. But then I realised I needed the partnership for his amazing support.

So, case closed folks! All is not perfect, but it is better. And I’ll keep working on that.

and now i wonder if it is actually a nightmare in disguise.

forever, ’til death do us part’….. this is a really long time.
it’s scaring me. really scaring me.

i have a man that i love dearly, i am sure of that much at least.
but, i don’t know that i want a relationship. at all.

i am two different people (at least). one of me loves him so much, knows it, and can’t wait to start the ‘rest of my life’ with him, getting married, settling down, in a few years having kids…

then the other girl FREAKS OUT, feeling choked and claustrophobic, wondering what she could have ever been thinking when she said ‘yes’ to a ring on that finger. she wants to scream and run out of the house with a suitcase of clothes and her teddy bear, escaping to a life of freedom… one where she can do what she wants, be what she wants, change if she wants, not having the responsibility of a relationship and possibly so much more.

she doesn’t want a house, she wants a caravan. she doesn’t want a boyfriend, she wants to date… maybe… eventually…

she wants to travel at whim, she wants to feel free to NOT shave her legs for three weeks (and not feel bad about it), she wants inspiration to dress up and impress, she wants to flirt, to have attention, to hunker down in her bed for three days and not come out, and know that it doesn’t affect anybody but herself.

the thing is, that he knows how i feel, we’ve talked about it. he knows i love him without reservation. he also knows that i don’t feel like i can live up to this life.
but he doesn’t know what to do.
except ask me to make up my mind, and quickly so that it will cause less pain for both of us.

if only i knew what to do.
this has been on my mind for months.
if i couldn’t figure it out then, why would i know what to do about it now?

i had horrible dreams last night. i was somehow deformed and had an identical twin that had been sucking life out of me, and it got rectified through some cross between tribal magic and church prayers after a number of walks up and down these massive cliffs on the edge of the ocean. i also had two babies, again identical twins, and both had been given away at birth, but i found one of the little girls, and she’d been taken in by some bogan woman who had named her Shayna Jade, and i took her back and called her Hope, and she restored my life;

then i was in anguish for a reason i didn’t know why, mum couldn’t comfort me because i didn’t even know what was wrong. there were built in wardrobes that had doors in them leading into more rooms and wardrobes, and they were all painted pink and white. in the top shelf of my wardrobe was a dead chicken with blood all over its neck. someone wanted to start eating it but i felt so sick at the thought;

and i was transported to a bush area, where my brother and other people were gathering around, building huts or something. i heard a noise and found a baby (who could talk), and the others were all over him declaring him the enemy, but i had to protect him. eventually i got away from the group, and found the entrance to the house inside a tree where he had been living and looked after by a young greek guy, when i heard the others start to attack. i frantically tried to hide the baby and myself, but it was too late;

then i was back at the bush area, having a second chance, knowing what i didn’t know before. i snuck away, finding the baby before anybody else knew of him, and i barricaded the house-inside-the-tree from the inside, blocking the doors and windows with beds and tables, then snuck away, knowing that they would only survive if they were never found in the first place. i didn’t want to leave the baby, but it was his only chance for survival. when i went up to my parent’s house to sit with mum for a bit, the others (including my siblings) came racing up the driveway from the bush where they had discovered the house and attacked, and they brought the ‘baby’ with them. except that he was now a baby chicken, lying in my sisters hand, dead. and they started to eat him.

it was so horrible. it’s been a few hours, and i’m still feeling yuk from the dream. i don’t know what it meant, except that maybe i should have a baby and not eat chicken.

i’m so sad and pathetic and confused.

i have a counsellors appointment in 20mins, but i’m not going. i’m not answering calls. i’m going to stay in my bed until the world gets better.

i hope it gets better quickly.

her colour is brown, unknown, no sound

she dances in the rain,
well not dances

she moves in the rain because it’s the only thing she can think to do.

the rest of it all, the life is gone.

This moment is bad. Anybody who wants to give me ‘be positive advice’ can f*ck off, or get me another prescription for xanax.

Majesty has found me, once again, with or without my lover
Always with a friend

You were right to trust me, and not
For the day waits for no thing, and I am nothing

I am called from the heavens by my secret name
And He knows me
More than you ever will, I’m sorry, my love

When this is all over, I shall go to be with him
But sometime I will see you, then, walking the paddocks of heaven
And we shall wave and kiss each other on the cheek in meeting
For we know not what we do

Til then, my lover, friend, be still
Greet Dawn as she beckons you to her horizons, and travel beyond
Behind the undiscovered places that He created for no one
But you

Be still my love, be still

How do you make yourself write?
Not just blogs (which I have enough trouble making myself update as it is), but WRITING; poetry, novels, scripts, fairy stories, childrens books.
All of these I have in my head.
Yet, my hand resists putting them down on flesh-and-blood paper.

My guru and inspiration Rhys just writes.
Like Nike just does it.
He will go home, and write. For two and a half hours straight.
I’m lucky to get a good half hour once a week.

Yet, I sit at work and crave (like scones and jam and cream) to write for a living.
I want the world in my head to translate beautifully and effortlessly (or at least with very little effort) to the world of reality, linking the two for the enjoyment of children and adults with Peter Pan syndrome.

Does anybody have an idea on how to MAKE myself write (because I know that I’m good, and I have talent, and I need to do this or it will go to waste for the rest of my life)?
I tried to make Marty and Jonni chase me up about it, every time they see me, asking me if I have done any writing today.
It didn’t work however.
I haven’t been enquired after once.
*sigh*

So, any other ideas?

Also, in other news, it is only two more sleeps until The Boy and I fly to the Sunshine Coast to have a holiday, so I can go to my youngest sister’s Year 12 Formal, and so he can meet the ‘rents.

And, I dyed my hair. Red. Copper. Orange. Auburn. Chestnut. Ranga. Whatever.
I like it.
It’s kind of hippie.

Highlighted And Irreversible Ranga

I will be better in the morning.
I know I will.
Sleep solves everything.
Except maybe the war in the Middle East.

Tonight I feel unloved, though I know that I indubitably am.

I will not recount details, for they are worthless, and of no interest to anybody (or, I don’t want to tell you); but have you ever experienced the feeling when someone really wants to do something that involves you, but it would hurt you to do it? You want to do it for them, because you love them, but it will most likely kill you ’round the edges of your heart.

And the worst is that they don’t understand the ramifications.
So you explain it to them.

They immediately retract their thoughts, their wants, their needs because they love you, and even though they don’t quite understand why it would hurt you, they don’t want to do that to you.

But you know that they still really want to do it. And if they do it in their head, in their heart, isn’t that almost as bad as them doing it in reality?

Listening to: Ani DiFranco – You’re Untouchable Face
Waiting for: The Boy to get home to have chats
Wishing: I was asleep
Wondering: If there is another way to get ‘closure’