As much as I hate this, it's not what I hate most.
Showing posts with label postsecret. Show all posts
Showing posts with label postsecret. Show all posts
Wednesday, June 11, 2014
Tuesday, November 01, 2011
Starlight, Star Bright.
The night sky is only a sort of carbon paper,
Blueblack, with the much-poked periods of stars
Letting in the light, peephole after peephole.
I have decided that I miss the stars. It is true that the city never sleeps; at any one point there are people loving, laughing, living, so the lights never dim enough to let the stars through.
Back home, I could sit in our backyard with my face craning upward to take in the scattered twinkles, moving satellites and the milky way. If I lay on the beach after dark, the crashing waves provided a contrasting soundtrack that my thoughts could swim in. I suppose the enormity of the night sky reminded me how small I was in contrast to the galaxy overhead.
On a night like tonight, I would love to have the stars company. Apart from distracting my awareness from the parasitic feeling inside my chest, they would allow me to feel connected to others; whether on this planet or another.
Thursday, September 22, 2011
Breakdown
Yesterday feeling stressed, Mrs Boss exasperated how she wanted "to go and have a nervous breakdown". I told her that I didn't recommend it, and was reminded of a Postsecret I saw a few years ago. I think it sums up most people's perception of a mental health crisis, as if indulging in this act is like going on a holiday. The only way to truly cure this idea is something I wouldn't wish on anyone.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Dr A. asked me yesterday if I received messages from inanimate objects; like as if the newspaper could speak specifically to me as an individual beyond the news content.
No.
I think perhaps I have changed my mind after reading today's Sunday Secrets. It's as if my subconscious has mailed in this secret warning me of what's to come:
No.
I think perhaps I have changed my mind after reading today's Sunday Secrets. It's as if my subconscious has mailed in this secret warning me of what's to come:
Sunday, June 19, 2011
Monday, April 04, 2011
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Soul Secrets
This may very well be my favourite Postsecret video by far. There were so many secrets that made my heart scream "MINE!" You can watch it here.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Review
After hours spent bearing the depths of my soul, thousands of dollars changing hands and what has become a lifetime of evaporated thoughts, I still don't think anyone really knows me. What frustrates me more is that I don't either.
Sunday, August 22, 2010
We have been trying to find one another for months a lifetime. Now we're finally getting close; I can feel it.
Death must be so beautiful. To lie in the soft brown earth, with the grasses waving above one's head, and listen to silence. To have no yesterday, and no tomorrow. To forget time, to forgive life, to be at peace.
Monday, August 16, 2010
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Le sigh...
I have known in my own mind for months that things were bad, but it's only now when my exterior is failing that others are starting to believe it too. It is frightening when you have no control over your own being; the things that you think, say and do, the way you react to others and how much your eyes can give away during periods of particular vulnerability.
I don't believe I am losing hope, rather that I have already lost it. I am coming to terms with the idea that I will be young forever in the eyes of all who know me and am almost relieved that by letting myself lose I really will win in the end.
I technically haven't given up. I have kept my appointments, taken my meds despite my dissatisfaction and have asked for help when the only way out I could see was black.
I went to see A. as soon as she returned from overseas. Having been so ill while she was away and not feeling completely confident about my state of affairs, I thought perhaps the visit would ease my anxiety as she has an uncanny ability to make light of flaws within myself without making me feel dismissed.
Perhaps it only reiterated my worst fears. She noticed the things that no-one else had; the weight loss, my tired eyes and now noticeable hand tremor. I admitted my hatred for my medication and its menagerie of uncontrollable side-effects, my inability to focus and struggle to maintain a minimum standard at work and my almost overwhelming desire to give up completely. If I had been able I would have cried, but my tears have been stolen by my heart which is turning itself a more melancholy shade of blue with every howl of sorrow that only I can hear. She placed a call to Dr Slime who was unsurprisingly unavailable so promised to call before I started work at 1pm.
I received a call from Dr S's secretary asking me if I could come at 3pm.
"No, sorry I have to work."
"Ok, we'll see you at the end of the week then as planned."
Confused, I called A. She was furious. I let her rant for a minute before she relayed the initial conversation she had with Dr S. She was reluctant to mention the possibility of hospital as I demonstrated the exact reaction she had expected. Promising to get him to call me, the conversation ended. I was stunned, before feeling worried, and anxious and ultimately terrified. I was just about to lose my last ounce of control.
I went to work. I can't say that I actually did any work, but I was physically there. My tea break was greeted with a voicemail from Dr S. Amongst a whole message of superficial concern and generalised assumptions he suggested to reduce my medication if I "feel safe". I almost laughed. I found it amusing that someone with an occupation requiring such a high level of knowledge and responsibility could still come across like the next dumb ass. By reducing the dose it left me susceptible to not having a drug concentration in my blood to stop me (fingers crossed!) from dying, but on the other hand, the current therapeutic levels weren't stopping me from wanting to anyway - go work that one out wise guy.
So I thought, whatever? That morning I had run out of capsules and in my haze had forgotten to stop for more. After getting that voicemail I decided I didn't need to worry. I was sick of spending time and money and hope and belief in everything that had previously let me down.
I pushed everything from that day out of my head and focused on being the presentable and hospitable host at my birthday cocktail party. The benefit of hosting such an event is that you are excused from conforming to acceptable party behaviour with the excuse of preparing food and drinks, welcoming guests and controlling the sound and aesthetic environment. The added benefit of a birthday is that there is no such thing as too much to drink.
Knowing full well that my imminent hangover would not appreciate the continuous mixed drinks, I keep drinking anyway. Even when the party moved from venue to venue and my standards slipped enough for me for be unfazed by the cranberry juice streaked down my white skirt, I disregarded the proposition that anything was a bad idea. The possibility of taking risks was almost thrilling, because I had convinced myself that I had nothing left within me to lose. At 3am I decided the idea of walking home from the city was much more appealing than the convenience of a cab and would have done so despite my heels if it hadn't been for a friend pulling me into a taxi and letting it speed off before letting me go.
This morning I woke up still drunk and spent the day ignoring my hangover. It wasn't until dinnertime that I wondered how much of my current state was alcohol induced or withdrawl? Not that I cared really, because when you've got nothing, you've got nothing to lose.
I don't believe I am losing hope, rather that I have already lost it. I am coming to terms with the idea that I will be young forever in the eyes of all who know me and am almost relieved that by letting myself lose I really will win in the end.
I technically haven't given up. I have kept my appointments, taken my meds despite my dissatisfaction and have asked for help when the only way out I could see was black.
I went to see A. as soon as she returned from overseas. Having been so ill while she was away and not feeling completely confident about my state of affairs, I thought perhaps the visit would ease my anxiety as she has an uncanny ability to make light of flaws within myself without making me feel dismissed.
Perhaps it only reiterated my worst fears. She noticed the things that no-one else had; the weight loss, my tired eyes and now noticeable hand tremor. I admitted my hatred for my medication and its menagerie of uncontrollable side-effects, my inability to focus and struggle to maintain a minimum standard at work and my almost overwhelming desire to give up completely. If I had been able I would have cried, but my tears have been stolen by my heart which is turning itself a more melancholy shade of blue with every howl of sorrow that only I can hear. She placed a call to Dr Slime who was unsurprisingly unavailable so promised to call before I started work at 1pm.
I received a call from Dr S's secretary asking me if I could come at 3pm.
"No, sorry I have to work."
"Ok, we'll see you at the end of the week then as planned."
Confused, I called A. She was furious. I let her rant for a minute before she relayed the initial conversation she had with Dr S. She was reluctant to mention the possibility of hospital as I demonstrated the exact reaction she had expected. Promising to get him to call me, the conversation ended. I was stunned, before feeling worried, and anxious and ultimately terrified. I was just about to lose my last ounce of control.
I went to work. I can't say that I actually did any work, but I was physically there. My tea break was greeted with a voicemail from Dr S. Amongst a whole message of superficial concern and generalised assumptions he suggested to reduce my medication if I "feel safe". I almost laughed. I found it amusing that someone with an occupation requiring such a high level of knowledge and responsibility could still come across like the next dumb ass. By reducing the dose it left me susceptible to not having a drug concentration in my blood to stop me (fingers crossed!) from dying, but on the other hand, the current therapeutic levels weren't stopping me from wanting to anyway - go work that one out wise guy.
So I thought, whatever? That morning I had run out of capsules and in my haze had forgotten to stop for more. After getting that voicemail I decided I didn't need to worry. I was sick of spending time and money and hope and belief in everything that had previously let me down.
I pushed everything from that day out of my head and focused on being the presentable and hospitable host at my birthday cocktail party. The benefit of hosting such an event is that you are excused from conforming to acceptable party behaviour with the excuse of preparing food and drinks, welcoming guests and controlling the sound and aesthetic environment. The added benefit of a birthday is that there is no such thing as too much to drink.
Knowing full well that my imminent hangover would not appreciate the continuous mixed drinks, I keep drinking anyway. Even when the party moved from venue to venue and my standards slipped enough for me for be unfazed by the cranberry juice streaked down my white skirt, I disregarded the proposition that anything was a bad idea. The possibility of taking risks was almost thrilling, because I had convinced myself that I had nothing left within me to lose. At 3am I decided the idea of walking home from the city was much more appealing than the convenience of a cab and would have done so despite my heels if it hadn't been for a friend pulling me into a taxi and letting it speed off before letting me go.
This morning I woke up still drunk and spent the day ignoring my hangover. It wasn't until dinnertime that I wondered how much of my current state was alcohol induced or withdrawl? Not that I cared really, because when you've got nothing, you've got nothing to lose.
Saturday, July 31, 2010
ill.
Sometimes, no matter how much we will things to happen (or not happen), fate takes over and steers us towards wherever it is that we're going. After being the socially unacceptable form of ill for over 6 months now, I believed that perhaps I couldn't dive any deeper. Oddly enough, my immune system followed suit and recruited every system in my body to go down with it.
While sitting in the Emergency Department in dire need of some attention - from anyone really - the bright eyed intern taking my now extensive history in the too-public-for-my-liking area of the department was surprised when I kept remembering new things to add. A previously fit and well (physically) 22 year old had somehow managed to combine every kind of illness (minus Goat Flu) in the past 2 weeks and create a network of symptoms so diverse that there is no clue as to why and where each one is occurring from.
After some IV Holy Water, a series of tests and hiding from work colleagues I was released into the care of an angel in the form of Mrs Boss, results pending. Straight to bed in 2 day old clothes, followed by a night of well overdue but broken sleep, stomach cramps and crazy dreams.
Today was spent quietly. Feeling much better after being able to pee for the first time in 3 days, I sat around agonising on what to do next should my results come back how the young intern had predicted. At 1600 I called work and asked the In-Charge to check my pathology, to which she said she would when she had time and call me back. Over 6 hours later I'm still agonising and waiting for a phone call.
I have spent so much of my life as an independent. Perhaps even a loner in my thoughts and opinions and view of the world through my sensitive eyes. I have refused help when theoretically I needed it and done things I wouldn't ever have to just to prove to myself that I could. I have refused to open myself up to people in fear of alienation or rejection, and for these same reasons, prevented myself from getting too close even when deep down I wanted, or needed to. It is these choices that only give me myself to blame for stumbling through my life with closed doors and missing out on hugs and inside jokes and wanting to feel like I belong to someone; wanting to feel loved.
I can now safely say that tonight's not my night for my results; she must have forgotten. In my head, I can't understand how that happened because clearly it's something that I can't get off my mind. The reality is that it's not important to anyone else but me. I'm the only one who has to deal with the outcome - good or bad - so I'm essentially the only one affected. I can't shrug it off and say that I don't care, because if I don't care, there's no-one else who will.
While sitting in the Emergency Department in dire need of some attention - from anyone really - the bright eyed intern taking my now extensive history in the too-public-for-my-liking area of the department was surprised when I kept remembering new things to add. A previously fit and well (physically) 22 year old had somehow managed to combine every kind of illness (minus Goat Flu) in the past 2 weeks and create a network of symptoms so diverse that there is no clue as to why and where each one is occurring from.
After some IV Holy Water, a series of tests and hiding from work colleagues I was released into the care of an angel in the form of Mrs Boss, results pending. Straight to bed in 2 day old clothes, followed by a night of well overdue but broken sleep, stomach cramps and crazy dreams.
Today was spent quietly. Feeling much better after being able to pee for the first time in 3 days, I sat around agonising on what to do next should my results come back how the young intern had predicted. At 1600 I called work and asked the In-Charge to check my pathology, to which she said she would when she had time and call me back. Over 6 hours later I'm still agonising and waiting for a phone call.
I have spent so much of my life as an independent. Perhaps even a loner in my thoughts and opinions and view of the world through my sensitive eyes. I have refused help when theoretically I needed it and done things I wouldn't ever have to just to prove to myself that I could. I have refused to open myself up to people in fear of alienation or rejection, and for these same reasons, prevented myself from getting too close even when deep down I wanted, or needed to. It is these choices that only give me myself to blame for stumbling through my life with closed doors and missing out on hugs and inside jokes and wanting to feel like I belong to someone; wanting to feel loved.
I can now safely say that tonight's not my night for my results; she must have forgotten. In my head, I can't understand how that happened because clearly it's something that I can't get off my mind. The reality is that it's not important to anyone else but me. I'm the only one who has to deal with the outcome - good or bad - so I'm essentially the only one affected. I can't shrug it off and say that I don't care, because if I don't care, there's no-one else who will.
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Sick Sunday
Just when it all seems too much, it is followed by a weekend of bed-rest, stomach cramps and not having eaten since Friday. Tomorrow's not looking much better.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Yet Another
No matter who's video I watch, I still see fragments of me within the pieces of the rest of the world.
Tuesday, May 04, 2010
Friday, March 19, 2010
Postsecret Ponderings
We have already established my Postsecret addiction, so here is a one-liner from the archives:
If only I knew.
The moment you feel like giving up, just remember why you held on for so long.
If only I knew.
Sunday, March 07, 2010
Miracle
Even on a day like today, when I think I feel as bad as one can, I can still see the beauty in this secret. It makes my heart a little less heavy, even if only for a second.www.postsecret.com
Saturday, March 06, 2010
Diversion
There are things that people say they can't like without; perfume, movies, their dog or cat, coffee. And there are people that they couldn't live a life without too; their husband, girlfriend, mother or best friend.
It makes me wonder what it is that keeps me alive? There used to be token things that made me smile and lift my heart. When I had a bad day and Mr T would leave Ferrero Rochers in my locker, it somehow made all the shit worth it. When Miss Priss and I could relieve the weight of the world by singing loudly and out of tune in the car. When performing the words of Sylvia Plath won me gold medals and made my heart proud with truth.
So what is it now; namely today, that keeps my heart beating? Gone are my days of drama eisteddfods and best friends and chocolate. With years our lives morph into only fragments of our past, but I'm not sure what I have become.
I mask myself to everyone, creating a false me for all to see. But I think I've done it for so long that I've forgotten what's really inside, because it has been buried deep within the layers of years of lies and it's too deep to ever be found.
Is that why I can't find what makes me happy? Why people tolerate my existence but never chase me for company on the weekends? Why I distract myself in any way possible to avoid the loneliness and pain in my heart and boredom that I feel when I just stop? Why I can't stop thinking about dying and letting go of all that is pinning me down, and no matter what I try it seems the only rational escape?
So I ask again; what is it that I cannot live without? Distractions? Noise? The diversions I create for myself to put off any more bloodshed? There is no-one that I couldn't live without. Not because I don't love or care for anyone, but because I won't let myself become dependent on anyone; no matter how close a friend they may become. If I did, and were to lose them I would always blame myself. And I couldn't bear to love someone more than they could ever love me.
And just because it is relevant, here is a Postsecret post-script from www.postsecret.com :
It makes me wonder what it is that keeps me alive? There used to be token things that made me smile and lift my heart. When I had a bad day and Mr T would leave Ferrero Rochers in my locker, it somehow made all the shit worth it. When Miss Priss and I could relieve the weight of the world by singing loudly and out of tune in the car. When performing the words of Sylvia Plath won me gold medals and made my heart proud with truth.
So what is it now; namely today, that keeps my heart beating? Gone are my days of drama eisteddfods and best friends and chocolate. With years our lives morph into only fragments of our past, but I'm not sure what I have become.
I mask myself to everyone, creating a false me for all to see. But I think I've done it for so long that I've forgotten what's really inside, because it has been buried deep within the layers of years of lies and it's too deep to ever be found.
Is that why I can't find what makes me happy? Why people tolerate my existence but never chase me for company on the weekends? Why I distract myself in any way possible to avoid the loneliness and pain in my heart and boredom that I feel when I just stop? Why I can't stop thinking about dying and letting go of all that is pinning me down, and no matter what I try it seems the only rational escape?
So I ask again; what is it that I cannot live without? Distractions? Noise? The diversions I create for myself to put off any more bloodshed? There is no-one that I couldn't live without. Not because I don't love or care for anyone, but because I won't let myself become dependent on anyone; no matter how close a friend they may become. If I did, and were to lose them I would always blame myself. And I couldn't bear to love someone more than they could ever love me.
And just because it is relevant, here is a Postsecret post-script from www.postsecret.com :
Sunday, February 21, 2010
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