Just Desserts

It suddenly dawns on me that every problem I have is because I never felt worthy. While I may have a million people that could have helped me, I was always too scared to ask because I felt that I was not their problem. That I was not their responsibility to help and unfortunately, the people who were responsible were not capable.

It is time for me now to find the people who are capable and able to help me to help myself

"Please believe that things are good with me, and even when they are not, they will be soon enough.
      And I believe the same about you." (Stephen Chbosky -The Perks of Being a Wallflower)

STEP TWO

Day three. Feeling less depleted knowing that tomorrow I will be at the doctor who will do a "mental health plan". Another step closer to feeling better.

I remember often laying awake at night in bed thinking "What have i done to deserve this?" These feelings that were eating away at my soul. The washing machine stomach that sometimes makes me vomit because I don't know how to get the turbulence out. The souless eyes that can't register the outside world because its all i can do just to walk amongst the living. I don't want these feelings anymore. I want to put them to bed.

I have ruined so many beautiful things in my life because every time I feel stable and happy, I feel uneasy. Like something isn't quite right. It has been the story of my life that as soon as I start to feel comfortable, I feel a desperate need to run. To pack up everything and just go. Or find some way to ruin all the stability i have managed to create.

I can't believe that it has taken my whole life to realise that all the pain I suffered as a kid was not my fault. It was completely out of my control. And above everything else, i did not deserve it.

Step one

I am going to chronicle my way back to mental health.

Step one is complete. I've worked out that I'm suffering more than I can deal with myself so I went to the doctor. The doctor sent me for blood tests which I went to get. Now just have to get results and the doctor will work out the plan of attack.

Feeling today, Pretty low. Trying to push through it. Trying to be upbeat but I can hardly breathe. I messed up by allowing myself to be vulnerable. I need to get my footing again.

Entree

As expected, the downward spiral. I tried to fight it but I couldn't battle alone. I am not willing to surrender to myself yet so to the doctors I go. I hope they can save me from instrumenting my own undoing.

The sleeping pills were a good bandaid for a while but with out them I realise that I still have a lot of healing to do. Time to face up and get better without the chemical helpers. I want to be alright on my own. I don't want to be on the Anti-depressants. They make me who I am not. And withdrawals are a bitch. So no matter what the doctors say, I will not go back on them.

I think I am ready. I want to be better. I don't want to run away any more.

Raw Heart

My thumping heart resonates my whole body, as i scramble for the breathes that do not contain enough oxygen. Jagged hooks are pulling the insides of my throat towards my churning stomach. I stare at my computer screen and concentrate. Breathe in. Breathe out. Its all I can do too stop myself from jumping up and running from the room. it's all I can do to stop those tears from streaming from my eyes. To you I'm strong. I'm happy. My tears they will give away my guise. Traitors.

Thoughts of always being second choice. The consolation prize. The one who will make do because that one they really wanted wasn't interested. I want to be positive. I want to hope that one day I will the one who could possibly be someone's number one. But if the past is representative of the future, I will never make first place

Light Pickings

I want to be perfect for you.

My hope sinks every time I realise that I will never even come close.

Then I realise, you are not perfect.

But I like you anyway.

Todays Special

How does today feel? Like another big mess of thoughts and self oppression. So happy yet so bored. So content but full of self loathing. That itchy voice invading my peaceful swim telling me that I will never be good enough. That I will never compare. After all, who am I really?

I sit on the outside because I'm not entirely sure where I belong. The group that stays together that I will never really be a part of. But will I ever really belong? A glimpse of being a part of it, being accepted, but not really sure whether I am.

I'm not sure that I know how to belong.

a taste tester

Life has been a never ending roller coaster of emotions and events, throughout which I have experimented with various form of chemicals to try to reign in the derailed train that is my mind.

Today is day one of a personal experiment and self observation. Fear and anxiety turns my stomach as anticipation of the following months paralyses my rationality. Torn by thoughts of losing everything and becoming lost in my self created nightmares, an empty vessel sailing crewless through the dark.

Maybe it will be different this time.........We'll see.

Seasonal fruit

Moving through a time-lapse of hidden emotions to reveal a girl standing alone. The world rushes around her and its all too much to bare as the world, for this gentle soul, is so overwhelming.

Her downcast eyes ignore the reality happening around her as she battles with the emotions playing tug-o-war with her rationality. She moves without purpose. She exists today. Nothing more. That is all she is capable of.

Everything is going too well for her. Something has got to be wrong. She wants to hurt. She craves it. Such a familiar feeling that's easy to curl up with. She's uneasy when it's gone. She doesn't feel alive without the pain so she retreats into her head and analyses everything searching for the potential downfall.

That lovely sense of emptiness seeps from her every pore and in her moment of self inflicted turmoil she is completely unveiled and absolutely beautiful.

Seared Hide

There are some people who roam this planet with out ever really understanding the other side of life. They have suffered all the usual heart aches. Cheating partners, back stabbing best friends, death of a loved one. But never have they seen the darkness that makes the down fallen so beautiful.

In saying this I don't mean that those who have not seen the darkness are not beautiful because most of them are. What I am saying is that there is a particular beauty for those who have crawled on their hands and knees through the bog. A bog that sometimes drags and consumes them so that they surrender and become nothing but a sad memory or a faded photograph with folded edges and tear stains.

Those who make it out the other side are scarred. However these scars do not disfigure them. The scars run thick through body memory and mind. The scars eat away a little at their insides every time life dishes out a plate of coal.

The down fallen are beautiful because of their strength. Because despite the fact that they feel as though they are bursting at the seams, they still get out of bed, they still offer you their smile. They still feign happiness to make sure that you are happy.

If you're really lucky, you might get a glimpse inside these stunning minds. If you're lucky. You might get to see into the soul of a person who had to pretend to be an adult way before their time and find that this person is still just a child, fabulous in all their simplicity and dying to be loved and protected. You may also see into the inner working of someone who seems so hard and worn and find, a soft person yearning to find the good in everything despite all the troubles that life has dealt them.

Unfortunately too many of the down fallen give up too soon. Unfortunately often other people don't ever offer the down fallen the patience to really get to know who they are. and perhaps see the beauty that pain can cause.

"As a torn paper might seal up its side,
Or a streak of water stitch itself to silk
And disappear, my wound has been my healing,
And I am made more beautiful by losses."


- 4 lines from a poem by Howard Moss

When somebody says "All you need to know is that you're loved", Brace Yourself. Because the next thing you hear is going to tear the bottom out of everything you thought you ever knew. After the you hear those words, every life shattering possibilty runs thorugh your head, but one of those thoughts stops running looks you in the face and says "She's done it"

With every part of yourself you hope that you're wrong. When those words  come out of her mouth, I look my aunty in the eyes and ask her for confirmation of my fears in five simple words,

"She's done it, hasn't she?"

Her eyes tell me what her lips can not.

"How did she do it?"

"Come with me," she says, "we need to go home."

The journey home is black. I push my fingers so deep into my eyes to try to stop myself from crying. Soft words are being spoken but I can't hear them. I need this all to stop. I need the world to stop so that I can have time to put my thoughts together. Why does the world have to keep spinning? I need it to stop so that i can collect myself. Get ready to face what is waiting for me at home.

The ute stops and I get out. Hands are grabbing at me. Hands I don't want touching me. Hands that need to let me go. Flashing lights and people are confusing the space where I am trying to walk. More hands.

"Just let me go!"

The walk from the ute to the front door is happening so quickly but also seems like the longest walk I have ever done. The walk is long but not long enough to prepare me for the moment I have been dreading since I heard those words -"you are loved." The moment where my Dad meets me at the door. The moment where fears become reality. There is a brief moment where time stops and I look at my Dad for comfort. His blue eyes fail me. He doesn't have enough strength for himself let alone to feign strength for me. He can't be the superhero I need him to be right now. He's having a hard enough time trying to be a human.

"Dad, I want to go in there. I want to see her."

Hands grab at my shoulders as I try to find a place to squeeze past my slowly depleting father.

"You can't go in there. You can't see her." he says as I'm pulled back away from him and the house that was once, but will never be again, my home.

Everything is melting and I'm screaming and everything aches, and  I want to lay with her. I want to hold her. But I can't. And I never will again. She's gone. And her blood and brains run down the window and my mummy has run away without saying good-bye for the very last time.

Movies-the new bed time story

One of my favourite memories of childhood was bedtime stories. My brother, father and myself would all pile into one bed with a stack of books and the fun would begin. Dad would animate the stories with an array of character voices and personal anecdotes. He was a fabulous story teller.

As we got older and deemed too old for bedtime stories, I shifted my focus to another form of story telling. I love to read books but I can never seem to recreate the colour my Dad added to his stories. A good movie on the other hand - made well - can be a story in all its technicolour glory.

A great script delivered by actors who become characters from another time and place can deliver that same satisfaction a child feels while listening to a bedtime story. This is why it is so important for a director to seriously consider the manner in which he tells his story. A story is neither bad nor good. It is the way it is told that makes the difference.

coffee and cake

Isn't it amazing how something as simple as coffee and cake can turn a bad day into one that leaves with that sense of "yes actually, it is good to be alive."

This can be said of many things. It would be cliche to say a child's laughter, a lovers embrace or a phone call from a friend. These simple acts are definitely up there in the "good to be alive" category but there are much simpler things than which can bring you joy. Which brings me to the coffee and cake.

After a crap morning of hating your job, employees, colleagues and pretty much life in general, you leave your desk and wander up to the good old faithful coffee place of your choice. You don't have to like coffee to know what these ramblings are about. It could be a hot chocolate or a cup of tea - just as rewarding. You amble up to the counter, face as long as a speech by John Howard, feet as heavy as a school kid's backpack, and place your order. While you deliberate over which cake/biscuit/slice will satisfy the craving inside, you also deliberate whether you are in the right profession, relationship, country. Then you come across that day changing moment.

Here's something critical to that moment. If the coffee is burnt or the cake is dry, the moment may not happen and you will be stuck in that foul state of being for the rest of the day. But if that hot drink is brewed just right and the cake can be enjoyed crumb by crumb, that day changing moment is only moments away.

As this is being written, i am basking in the glow of two long blacks, an afghan biscuit and creme brulee, thinking what the heck was my problem this morning. Lets get on with the happy stuff.

So to all you baristas and pastry chefs, know this! you might have just changed a persons day!

an appertif of a complex problem

Is there anyway that we can ever show someone how much they mean to us ? And if you did would they be more reluctant to leave us?

Can you ever really fully mourn someone you love? Will you ever rid yourself of the place that you reserved just for loving them?

Is suicide a final giving up of a life a person has no strength left to live? Or is just a painful slap in the face to everyone who has cared for them?

Can a person be so complex that you can only love them from afar without them ever really knowing how you feel? Can a person be loved even though they are so very difficult to understand?

I know it might seem crazy but to some of us life is a very confusing place to navigate through. Creating relationships with people is like stumbling through a maze where you constantly meet dead ends and double back on yourself. Treading lightly and cautiously hoping that the direction your travelling in will help you to get you to place you are heading.  It forces you to question yourself and what the other person is saying. To interpret anothers actions and being so dam scared that you are not heading in the right direction for their approval and acceptance.

Ultimately, as human beings, we all just want to be loved; As a friend, sibling, child, parent, lover, spouse or any other entity we take on as part of a relationship. We are often told that we can never be loved without loving ourselves first. What if, in our capacity as a human being, we can not find it within ourselves to love ourselves? Does this mean that we are completely unlovable?

The mind has so many questions that no book can ever answer.

Insomnia has that wonderful benefit of giving your "mind" a chance to solve every problem in your life. Quite often the mind in it's procrastination of sleep has come up with solutions to end world hunger, to help bridge the gap between indigenous and non-indigenous Australians, redesigned a bedroom and written the perfect article for the publication I am working for and this is all in the first hour. The mind has also come up with the ideal first line to the novel I want to write but never get around to.  But what do people want to read about. do they want a true story? do they want to read about "supernatural phenomena"?what makes a story a good story?

Even if you know where to start - when do you work out when to stop?

feasts of words

Well this is my first blog. the thing everyone says and apparantly there is no feast of words here. not even a snack actually.....hopefully time will make sure that the next one will be a bit more satisfying.