Relapse

Tonight feels like the perfect night for me to make a post. Unfortunately, I have no idea what to say. I could tell you that I have been crying all afternoon and well into the evening - mainly provoked by various forms of visual entertainment - but when I sat down to do the homework set by the therapist I replaced potential words with tears. My cat is wondering what is wrong with me. I am wondering the same thing.

I am in two minds as to whether or not to give in. Hamlet was right to question the other side.

(When is my time?)

Now it all makes sense:

Facebook Fortune

Today I got a fortune cookie in the form of a friend's Facebook uoload:

A Million Little Hates

Despite my exhaustion in every way possible, I was unable to sleep last night. I picked up A Million Little Pieces, the book I am reading (when able) by James Frey and felt these words jump out at me:

I don't want to be alone. I have never wanted to be alone. I fucking hate it. I hate that I have no one to talk to, I hate that I have no one to call, I hate that I have no one to hold my hand, hug me, tell me everything is going to be all right. I hate that I have no one to share my hopes and my dreams with, I hate that I longer have any hopes or dreams, I hate that I have no one to tell me to hold on, that I can find them again. I hate that when I scream, and I scream bloody murder, that I am screaming into emptiness. I hate that there is no one to hear my scream and that there is no one to help me learn to stop screaming... I hate that what I have turned to in my loneliness is killing me, has already killed me, or will kill me soon. I hate that I will die alone. I will die alone in my horror.

Vogue

Courtesy of my friend www.tuscanygray.blogspot.com

Happy 2011?

Apart from spending the turn of the millennium on Sydney Harbour, the only NYE worthy of noting was seeing out 2007. I spent the evening with a random assortment of friends from school and embraced 2 midnight count downs by drinking in a club right on the NSW/Qld border and monopolising the time difference. We had all stumbled back to a friends house who lived walking distance but up a massive hill, and I had managed to avoid sleeping on bare tiles by stealing a damp mattress one of the other boys had brought and passed out on it before he could argue me off it.
I had to open the store that I worked at the next morning and due to the magnitude of the previous night, I responsibly left my car and walked. My friend, Yass, walked with me. She claimed it was because she wanted to cure her hangover with a dose of Subway, but I think she was just being a loyal companion.
The road was wet as we walked. Neither of us could remember it raining but I put it down to the magic of the first day of the new year. It was too early for the heat of the day to have picked up, but I could feel a hangover headache niggling away. Despite this, I remember the morning feeling fresh, like the new beginning that it was.
Today is again the first day of yet another new year. I can't say however, that I felt the same magic that I did back in that first day of 2008. Aside from the unbearable heat despite climate control air-conditioning, the absence of work commitments and the over-stimulation of hosting a party the previous night, the first day of 2011 is officially my first depressed day of the year - 100% non-success rate so far. Ha.
Some would say that I'm being melodramatic. I've had my fair share of depressed days and still trying to recover from an emotional crisis, so why should one day be such a concern, simply because it falls on a notable public holiday? Perhaps because after so long, so much hard work and all the emotional energy invested, a day feeling as rock bottom as I am, I have grounds to be concerned.
I felt that I really had come leaps and bounds from where I found myself just a few months ago. The demons that I had then fought against for so long had finally brainwashed me into believing them, and because I was stupid enough to share this, I was forced into some 'asylum time'. So I suppose I'm not unfounded in saying that the return of these thoughts lingering in the shadows of my mind is grounds for concern. I've dealt with them before so I should be able to deal with them again, right? Not when I feel so cornered that the biggest evil of them all seems the most comforting in comparison. So, what to do? Check myself back in to Hotel Northside? Be the real drama queen that my mother has always teased me to be? One day isn't grounds for anything. All I have to do is cling onto the tomorrow in my future and hope that it is a little brighter than today, and hopefully bring enough brightness to burn a hole in my new year statistic.

Attempted suicide? Another attempt at life...

Facebook Validation.

My Facebook Feed informed me today that one of my friends 'liked' the group "Depression is not a sign of weakness, it is just a sign that we have been strong for too long." Not only do I think that it is the biggest load of bullshit but it doesn't even make any sense. Thank you Facebook for your failed attempt at validating my existence (sarcasm noted?).

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.

Self-portrait.

Florence + The Machine

Don't ask me why, but this is my favourite song at the moment. I think there's something in it that brings me as close to happy as I have ever felt.

Hug me.

My last hug was a Friday morning, three and a half weeks ago. It came out of no where but was exactly what I needed without my even realising it. Since then I have left the country and returned, had a general anaesthetic, been a patient in 2 different hospitals, completed 2 courses of antibiotics, seen numerous doctors and am up to 7 sick days. So no, I haven't hugged someone today, but gosh it would be appreciated. Any takers?

Sometimes I wonder how much of what I think I am is real? The things that I think and believe, see and experience.
While cruising the Atlantic I embraced in using my sea legs because it justified the vertigo that sometimes occurs when I'm on solid ground.
When in foreign ports my eyes tried to convince my brain that I have seen people I know. I have to look twice, sometimes even three times to prove to myself that they're just another stranger.
I have been trying to drag up moments and memories from my childhood; perhaps to explain why I am who I am? I recall one from being two or three in the butchers shop and looking at the red cheerios through the glass - but I can see my miniature figure too. I can see me as if I am a fly on the wall or a skeleton in the closet. The little girl is standing on tip-toes with her hands on the cabinet with a face so close that the glass is fogging up. I know it's me because my mother reminds me of going to the shop every week and the butcher giving me a cheerio if I'd been good that day. I have vague recollections of this, but as a third party and so disconnected that it could be just a dream instead.

Opera Queensland

When I was in Year 10 I did a week long opera workshop. I loved it. It encompassed everything that I loved about the theatre and more. After our presentation performance on the last day I felt empty, almost like I had lost something or someone.
I went home and typed an email to Opera Queensland. I explained my satisfaction with the programme and documented my personal thoughts of each tutor. I'm not sure what I expected to come of doing this. Truthfully, I figured it would be read by a computer system and then appropriately discarded. Instead it was printed in the company's newsletter and sent to hundreds of theatres, schools, companys and prospective students.
They sent me some copies to show to my family and friends. I put them in a box in my room and never showed a soul.

After talking to Mrs Boss last week perhaps she convinced me that I am a little better than I was, even though I didn't really believe it. She must be right though; I have been going out more, haven't given in to myself in weeks and although I still think about dying, perhaps not in quite as longing a way as I have previously?
No. Today I feel like I've hit a wall. I couldn't get out of bed. I only showered because I felt suffocated in my own skin and hoped the running water would let it breathe again. Memories of my thoughts, desires and failures have plagued my mind and I have been re-visiting possibilities I have previously dismissed. The more I think, the clearer it all becomes. It is my truth, it is for me, and for once I don't care how it will affect anyone else. It's my life, not yours.

Happy Easter

I came home to an Easter egg on my bed with a note that read:

Happy Easter.
Sorry you are on your own.
Love you
Gma

Thanks for the thought. And reminding me.

Vent

I feel as if my insides have been painted blue, and the more time that passes the more the paint dries.

Revelation? Not really, but it's ironic that Mrs Boss healed me more than the therapy I paid for.

Postsecret Ponderings

We have already established my Postsecret addiction, so here is a one-liner from the archives:

The moment you feel like giving up, just remember why you held on for so long.

If only I knew.