I failed.
There I said it. The two words that have chased me throughout my life have, again, caught up with me.
I failed.
For the sake of coherence I'll go back a little bit and explain. I applied to write some online articles for a website. It was a rather harrowing two hours as I had to write two example articles. Upon finishing the articles I clicked on send. Then the waiting game began.
I got an email not even two hours later telling me, clinically, that my application was declined.
A few tears were shed.
Then, perhaps miraculously or perhaps not, I realised that I'd been had. Those nice comments about my writing, suggestions to do more, write more, were really just people being polite. Isn't that what you say when someone does something in the way of an achievement? We utter polite phrases and niceties because that's what we're conditioned to do.
These niceties aren't really a problem unless someone as gullible as me comes along and starts to believe them.
It was at that moment, that very moment when I started to believe it might be possible, I began to set myself up for failure. I actually began to believe the niceties. The sweet, kind niceties that are like candy for the soul. Truly, I have no one to blame but myself for blindly munching on those soul-sweets.
That brings me back to where I began. I failed. Of course I was going to fail. I'm a small followed blog writer who started to believe she was better than she was. Molotov cocktail anyone?
Perhaps my biggest mistake was mentioning it on twitter. As always my words were misunderstood, as I know these will be too, and I was questioned as to why I would give up after only one knock back.
My hackles raised I wanted to scream "don't you know anything about me?" then abruptly realised that no one "knows" me. That's the security of twitter. Being "unknown" was my favourite part of it. Now, when I need to be known, that part of twitter isn't quite so much fun.
I know my place now. I am fully aware now that niceties are lovely and soft and cosy when you need to inflate an ego. But they're definitely not the basis of true strength of character.
Watch this space. This heartbreaking turn of events will lead to my return to hospital and, more importantly, a return to the mind fogging medication I felt sure I was rid of.
I failed.
P.S. I'd strongly advise a lot of thought before replying to this post. I'm extremely sensitive right now and while I try to joke and undermine the severity of the situation, the reality is quite serious. Yes, I agree there's a certain amount of self pity in this blog. I'll come to roll my eyes at it one day. For now though be aware that it was a positively MONSTROUS effort for me to apply to this website.
Keep that in mind when you're shredding what's left of my self esteem, ego and myself in general.
Taking control of my own mental health
After two years of letting psychiatrists, mental health nurses and psychologists tell me what's best for me I have decided it's time to take control.
No longer am I just sitting by idly letting them prod and poke me, stuff me full of medications in the hope one of them may work.
It has been about two weeks since I made that decision. It has been about a week and a half since I actioned those decisions. However, let me clearly state that the path I've chosen is not for other people to follow. It is MY path, MY decision and I will walk it MY way.
The decision was one which involved the pharmacy of drugs I was required to take. At the peak of my medicinal intake I was taking anything up to 15 tablets a day, more on bad days. Now, if all these tablets were helping me to some degree (even a small degree) I would gladly have continued taking them. However, the only effect these tablets had were to make my physical health plummet into almost constant distress.
Let's now look at this logically. Part of getting better is feeling better. This feeling encompasses not only mental but physical health. Now, the medications I was taking deprived me of my sort-of-okay-physical-health and replaced it with ill-health. This, in turn, assisted the decline of my mental health to new lows.
All in all this is not a healthy way to feel. I'm sure even the most stubborn person can agree there.
So, with mental and physical health on the decline I weighed up my options. I could either continue getting more medication to hopefully suppress the myriad of side effects or I could slowly stop all the medications and deal with the nasty withdrawals.
A month went by before I was ready to make a decision. In that time my psychiatrist had stopped one medication and replaced it with yet another. I was also admitted to hospital, the psych ward, in part to kickstart the new medication.
During this time my health continued to deteriorate.
Finally, I came to a decision. I would stop taking the medications. I would only take one for the apparent "reflux" (that's a whole other blogs worth of disdain) and one for sleeping. After all a good nights sleep is extremely important.
After careful consideration I begrudgingly decided to take a migraine preventative that my GP had prescribed for me. All up three medications, which is a vast improvement from the ten plus.
I would also like to note, in passing, that I have since stopped rattling.
After only one week, and a half, my physical health has improved rather profoundly. I am still finding some lingering side effects, the dizziness mainly, but even they are becoming less frequent. It should also be noted that the dense ruminating fog that was clouding my brain, and causing me such distress when trying to write, is nothing more than an annoying wisp of fluff that occasionally gets stuck on a jagged thought.
Indeed, both my mental and physical health have been improving and while I'm still crazy (in the nice way) I am finding many situations where I am quite capable at handling them.
Now, in no way am I suggesting that the medical professionals who prescribed all the medications to me were wrong. I strongly believe they helped, at least part of me. In a very real sense they could have given me placebo's which would have had much the same effect (minus the side effects of course). The fact that I knew I was taking them comforted a need for something to be done. It was largely irrelevant that those medications didn't work.
I've come to a point in my journey where I have decided to take control and, as such, it is my decision to monitor just what is being poured into my body. Until such time as I am truly in need of medication I simply won't take them.
Being a realistic person, at least one of my personalities is, I am quite aware that I may have need for medication during darker moments of my life. For now, however, I'm rather enjoying a sense of freedom and a sense of being whole again.
No longer am I just sitting by idly letting them prod and poke me, stuff me full of medications in the hope one of them may work.
It has been about two weeks since I made that decision. It has been about a week and a half since I actioned those decisions. However, let me clearly state that the path I've chosen is not for other people to follow. It is MY path, MY decision and I will walk it MY way.
The decision was one which involved the pharmacy of drugs I was required to take. At the peak of my medicinal intake I was taking anything up to 15 tablets a day, more on bad days. Now, if all these tablets were helping me to some degree (even a small degree) I would gladly have continued taking them. However, the only effect these tablets had were to make my physical health plummet into almost constant distress.
Let's now look at this logically. Part of getting better is feeling better. This feeling encompasses not only mental but physical health. Now, the medications I was taking deprived me of my sort-of-okay-physical-health and replaced it with ill-health. This, in turn, assisted the decline of my mental health to new lows.
All in all this is not a healthy way to feel. I'm sure even the most stubborn person can agree there.
So, with mental and physical health on the decline I weighed up my options. I could either continue getting more medication to hopefully suppress the myriad of side effects or I could slowly stop all the medications and deal with the nasty withdrawals.
A month went by before I was ready to make a decision. In that time my psychiatrist had stopped one medication and replaced it with yet another. I was also admitted to hospital, the psych ward, in part to kickstart the new medication.
During this time my health continued to deteriorate.
Finally, I came to a decision. I would stop taking the medications. I would only take one for the apparent "reflux" (that's a whole other blogs worth of disdain) and one for sleeping. After all a good nights sleep is extremely important.
After careful consideration I begrudgingly decided to take a migraine preventative that my GP had prescribed for me. All up three medications, which is a vast improvement from the ten plus.
I would also like to note, in passing, that I have since stopped rattling.
After only one week, and a half, my physical health has improved rather profoundly. I am still finding some lingering side effects, the dizziness mainly, but even they are becoming less frequent. It should also be noted that the dense ruminating fog that was clouding my brain, and causing me such distress when trying to write, is nothing more than an annoying wisp of fluff that occasionally gets stuck on a jagged thought.
Indeed, both my mental and physical health have been improving and while I'm still crazy (in the nice way) I am finding many situations where I am quite capable at handling them.
Now, in no way am I suggesting that the medical professionals who prescribed all the medications to me were wrong. I strongly believe they helped, at least part of me. In a very real sense they could have given me placebo's which would have had much the same effect (minus the side effects of course). The fact that I knew I was taking them comforted a need for something to be done. It was largely irrelevant that those medications didn't work.
I've come to a point in my journey where I have decided to take control and, as such, it is my decision to monitor just what is being poured into my body. Until such time as I am truly in need of medication I simply won't take them.
Being a realistic person, at least one of my personalities is, I am quite aware that I may have need for medication during darker moments of my life. For now, however, I'm rather enjoying a sense of freedom and a sense of being whole again.
The Dream Reel
Dreams are those funny images, sights, smells and stories that our subconscious shares with us while we're sleeping.
My dreams, however, are short films of almost unspeakably vivid events.
Let's take a look at last night's dream.......
I'm in the basement of what appears to be a school. I think it's a university, purely because I feel that I'm still 26.
There are some people down there with me, music is playing but I can't make out the genre. I walked further into the basement, towards the back of it. There's boilers and plumbing tubes on the roof. It's dark, mainly because of all the equipment.
I walked down an improvised corridor to the large dead end room. There are people there. I couldn't make out what they were doing so I walked into the room. There seemed to be three or four couples. I couldn't tear my eyes off the couple in the middle of the room. Their bodies were glistening, vicious moans escaped from the woman's snarling mouth. That's when I noticed she was naked, laying belly down on the cold, and presumably dirty, floor. She lifted herself up onto her hands and knees, that's when I noticed the man behind her. He was equally snarly but there was a kind of insanity in his eyes. He too was naked and sweaty. He roughly grabbed hold of the woman's hips and thrust violently into her. I turned away at that point and, almost running, returned to the vacant front area of the basement. I looked behind me, calming down when I realised they didn't notice me.
At this point I knew there was some transference into a movie. I knew how things would happen when I climbed the stairs. I went up anyway.
I reached the door at the top of the stairs. It was yellow with a huge window in the middle. I guessed it was for safety reasons. As I got closer to the door I could hear the screams of panic from the people on the other side. I looked through the window and saw the face of anarchy and chaos.
People were running for their lives, screaming hysterically, sliding and crashing into each other as they slipped on the blood streaks on the floor. One girl came running up to the door, banged on it ferociously to be let in before her panicked brain made her run away again.
I just stood there, knowing I would go out into the chaos. I opened the door, uncertain I wanted to go through with this. I walked through the open doorway.
I found myself in a quiet hallway in what appeared to be a metal shop. There were about four middle aged men just ahead of me. They were mumbling about a serial, psycho, madman trying to kill everyone at the school.
Instinctively I knew I had to hide so I gathered the men together and we all hid behind some crude crates filled with metal work parts. I was able to see through a gap in one of the crates and saw a metal frame that would perfectly hide us. The crates would look like no one was near them if the metal frame was in front of them.
I decided we had to be hidden so I dashed out and dragged the frame in position. I surveyed my handiwork before hearing slow, measured footsteps. I immediately hid behind my crate.
One of the rounded up men panicked and ran out of his hiding place, just as the measured-pace man rounded the corner. The panicked man was cut in half by the blade in the psycho's hand. I watched the psycho's face the whole time, a calm kind of taking over my body. The psycho was smiling and looking right at my crate. I knew he could see me so I did the only thing I could think of; I closed my eyes.
The psycho rounded up the three remaining men and myself. He used the frame to keep us all locked in place. Then, for some reason, he started humming, looked at me and said "I'll come back for you my precious" and proceeded to skewer the men with a long metal pipe. I just stared at the dark haired, quite handsome yet scary, man.
He went down to the basement after winking at me.
I was stunned into stupidity before my senses returned. I had to get out of this place and get to safety. Squirming with all my ability I managed to wriggle out of the mini jail. I ran. I kept running even as I saw that everyone was now dead. Blood was everywhere.
The damn building seemed like a maze as I kept trying to find my way out. After periods of running then hiding and more running I finally found the entrance.
I stopped. Stunned. There was a small group of students at the large ornate entrance. I stood on the top of the stairs looking down at the milling students while I gasped for breath. The entrance was paved with marble and was a fan shape. The front of the building completely covered with glass. The entrance was grand for a uni building. I remembered why I was running and I jolted into action. I knew by this stage the man wouldn't be far behind me. I deliberately went out of my way to make sure I didn't hit any of the students as I rushed passed. I had to get out those front doors. I just knew I would be safe then.
I reached the doors and panting heavily I strolled through them and walked right into someone. I looked up and saw that evil, smiling face looking down at me.
His hair was dark and slightly wavy, short but long enough for the waves to show. His blue eyes sparkled with insanity and hunger. His face was handsome with a long straight nose, perfectly proportioned cheekbones and the kind of mouth romance novels spend 100 pages explaining. Part of me was struck dumb as this handsome, okay GORGEOUS, man stood in front of me. The other part of me kept screaming at my legs and feet to move. The latter won. I ran, again.
From a fair distance behind me I could hear the radiant, if slightly crazy, sound of his laughter. I knew then that I wasn't going to survive.
I ran to the bike shed, on the far left hand side of the grounds, a good kilometre from the grand entrance. I stopped to catch my breath and tried to rest my aching muscles. I was leaning against the brick wall of the shed when I realised he was already there. I didn't run, not any more.
He walked right up to me, completely ignoring my personal space (which I guess psycho's get to do) and he smiled. This smile was without all the crazy inferences. This smile actually made my traitorous heart flutter.
I realised that he smelled rather intoxicatingly good, overpowering the smell of blood and gore that was inevitably on his clothes.
I somehow managed to peel myself off the wall, pushed past him and sat down on the low wooden fence opposite the shed. He was surprised that I had the audacity to push past him, but it was only a flicker of annoyance across his gorgeous face.
About ten minutes passed while I sat and he just stood there staring at me. It was me who broke the silence.
"I know you're going to kill me. So just get it over with. You've made your point already."
He stepped closer to me and stood just to my left, still seeming composed and without insanity.
I could feel him look down at me and I could feel his excitement, sadness and even pity. The pity made me angry and I stood up to face him. That's when I glimpsed the vast silver thing. He was carrying a broadsword. I shuddered involuntarily but stood my ground.
This time he spoke "All those people died because of you. I only came for you." He actually touched my face with his free left hand. I continued to hold my ground.
"Fine, they died because of me. Just get it over with. I'm sick of playing your stupid game." I almost spat those last words at him. Anger consumed his beautiful face and he raised his right arm above his head while I lowered my head to bare my neck. With quick, seemingly inhuman speed he sliced. I felt the iron bite into my neck, I heard the crunch of steel cutting through bone and I felt my body lurch forward onto my knees. My hands out in front of me, I fell into them while my head finally detached and actually rolled off somewhere to my right. Somehow I was still conscious.
Disappointment and an incredible anger consumed me as I realised I was forever stuck in my body, even after mortal injuries. Somewhere in my now severed psyche I realised I had to play dead, so I did.
He picked me up, chuckling, and fetched my head, carried me to his ute and gently placed me on the tray. We drove off. I think I fell asleep or passed out.
The next thing I knew I was lying in an empty bathtub, naked. There were a whole heap of psycho's around me now and I was actually upset that I couldn't see him. The group of psycho's were commenting on the "fine specimen" he brought back and how much my meat would get at market. It was at this point I realised my head was reattached and, to make everything more fun, I could move.
After an hour of crooning and complimenting my killer the group filed out the bathroom door, conveniently leaving him behind. Instead of a sword in his hands he now had a kind of grater, a flesh from bone separator. He was talking to me as if I were still alive, he didn't realise of course, as he started to de-flesh my left leg. Luckily I didn't feel any pain although I knew what he was doing would cause excruciating agony.
He stopped after getting a strip of flesh from my ankle to my knee. Examining the strip he put down the grater-thing and went to show the other psycho's. I was alone so I lifted my head to see what he'd done to me. I didn't bleed for some reason and my leg was already healing. After a few moments all that remained was an indent that looked remarkably like I'd leaned against a table leg for too long. It was about this time I started to wonder what the hell was going on.
Smooth measured footsteps sounded outside the door and I laid back down. He entered the bathroom and took up his grater-thing again, this time de-fleshing my right lower leg. I instinctively held my breath expecting him to notice that I'd healed, but he never saw a thing. I was totally confused. How could he not realise I was healing?
The bathroom door opened and a young woman came in. She spouted all kinds of nasty things in relation to me being fat. I bit my tongue, which did actually bleed. For some reason the blonde girl looked at my face and saw my eyes move. She shrieked and told him that I was still alive. He looked at me, smiling that beautiful smile, and told the blonde girl to shut up as I couldn't possibly be alive.
Because I'm a drama queen I had to blink at that point making him jump back swearing his head off. I smiled at him and sat up, stretched and asked "what's wrong?" Both of them quickly left the room and slammed the door shut behind them. Moving quickly, and sliding on the strangely polished bath, I managed to stand up and climb out onto the wooden floor. I looked around and saw a robe hanging on a hook behind the head of the bath so I grabbed it and wrapped it around me. I caught a glimpse of a door to my far left and ran towards it, fumbled with the door handle then fell through the now open doorway. I ran barefoot over grass then gravel and more grass. I reached a grove in the middle of a forest and collapsed in the centre.
I woke up in my bed. Slightly panicked I threw off my blankets and found myself wearing nothing but a mud and grass strained robe. My feet were sore and had a green tinge to them. Suddenly I remembered what happened and looked at my legs. I had scars that resembled dents. Then I reached up and felt the back of my neck only to find cuts as if someone hacked at my body. It was then that an overwhelming sense of safety enveloped me and I knew I'd be okay.
I didn't wake up at this point. Instead I went on to dream about more vivid and crazy things! This dream that I just described happens to be one of the more tame ones and one of the more coherent. Feel free to dissect it, but I already know what it means. Hopefully I didn't scare you too much!
My dreams, however, are short films of almost unspeakably vivid events.
Let's take a look at last night's dream.......
I'm in the basement of what appears to be a school. I think it's a university, purely because I feel that I'm still 26.
There are some people down there with me, music is playing but I can't make out the genre. I walked further into the basement, towards the back of it. There's boilers and plumbing tubes on the roof. It's dark, mainly because of all the equipment.
I walked down an improvised corridor to the large dead end room. There are people there. I couldn't make out what they were doing so I walked into the room. There seemed to be three or four couples. I couldn't tear my eyes off the couple in the middle of the room. Their bodies were glistening, vicious moans escaped from the woman's snarling mouth. That's when I noticed she was naked, laying belly down on the cold, and presumably dirty, floor. She lifted herself up onto her hands and knees, that's when I noticed the man behind her. He was equally snarly but there was a kind of insanity in his eyes. He too was naked and sweaty. He roughly grabbed hold of the woman's hips and thrust violently into her. I turned away at that point and, almost running, returned to the vacant front area of the basement. I looked behind me, calming down when I realised they didn't notice me.
At this point I knew there was some transference into a movie. I knew how things would happen when I climbed the stairs. I went up anyway.
I reached the door at the top of the stairs. It was yellow with a huge window in the middle. I guessed it was for safety reasons. As I got closer to the door I could hear the screams of panic from the people on the other side. I looked through the window and saw the face of anarchy and chaos.
People were running for their lives, screaming hysterically, sliding and crashing into each other as they slipped on the blood streaks on the floor. One girl came running up to the door, banged on it ferociously to be let in before her panicked brain made her run away again.
I just stood there, knowing I would go out into the chaos. I opened the door, uncertain I wanted to go through with this. I walked through the open doorway.
I found myself in a quiet hallway in what appeared to be a metal shop. There were about four middle aged men just ahead of me. They were mumbling about a serial, psycho, madman trying to kill everyone at the school.
Instinctively I knew I had to hide so I gathered the men together and we all hid behind some crude crates filled with metal work parts. I was able to see through a gap in one of the crates and saw a metal frame that would perfectly hide us. The crates would look like no one was near them if the metal frame was in front of them.
I decided we had to be hidden so I dashed out and dragged the frame in position. I surveyed my handiwork before hearing slow, measured footsteps. I immediately hid behind my crate.
One of the rounded up men panicked and ran out of his hiding place, just as the measured-pace man rounded the corner. The panicked man was cut in half by the blade in the psycho's hand. I watched the psycho's face the whole time, a calm kind of taking over my body. The psycho was smiling and looking right at my crate. I knew he could see me so I did the only thing I could think of; I closed my eyes.
The psycho rounded up the three remaining men and myself. He used the frame to keep us all locked in place. Then, for some reason, he started humming, looked at me and said "I'll come back for you my precious" and proceeded to skewer the men with a long metal pipe. I just stared at the dark haired, quite handsome yet scary, man.
He went down to the basement after winking at me.
I was stunned into stupidity before my senses returned. I had to get out of this place and get to safety. Squirming with all my ability I managed to wriggle out of the mini jail. I ran. I kept running even as I saw that everyone was now dead. Blood was everywhere.
The damn building seemed like a maze as I kept trying to find my way out. After periods of running then hiding and more running I finally found the entrance.
I stopped. Stunned. There was a small group of students at the large ornate entrance. I stood on the top of the stairs looking down at the milling students while I gasped for breath. The entrance was paved with marble and was a fan shape. The front of the building completely covered with glass. The entrance was grand for a uni building. I remembered why I was running and I jolted into action. I knew by this stage the man wouldn't be far behind me. I deliberately went out of my way to make sure I didn't hit any of the students as I rushed passed. I had to get out those front doors. I just knew I would be safe then.
I reached the doors and panting heavily I strolled through them and walked right into someone. I looked up and saw that evil, smiling face looking down at me.
His hair was dark and slightly wavy, short but long enough for the waves to show. His blue eyes sparkled with insanity and hunger. His face was handsome with a long straight nose, perfectly proportioned cheekbones and the kind of mouth romance novels spend 100 pages explaining. Part of me was struck dumb as this handsome, okay GORGEOUS, man stood in front of me. The other part of me kept screaming at my legs and feet to move. The latter won. I ran, again.
From a fair distance behind me I could hear the radiant, if slightly crazy, sound of his laughter. I knew then that I wasn't going to survive.
I ran to the bike shed, on the far left hand side of the grounds, a good kilometre from the grand entrance. I stopped to catch my breath and tried to rest my aching muscles. I was leaning against the brick wall of the shed when I realised he was already there. I didn't run, not any more.
He walked right up to me, completely ignoring my personal space (which I guess psycho's get to do) and he smiled. This smile was without all the crazy inferences. This smile actually made my traitorous heart flutter.
I realised that he smelled rather intoxicatingly good, overpowering the smell of blood and gore that was inevitably on his clothes.
I somehow managed to peel myself off the wall, pushed past him and sat down on the low wooden fence opposite the shed. He was surprised that I had the audacity to push past him, but it was only a flicker of annoyance across his gorgeous face.
About ten minutes passed while I sat and he just stood there staring at me. It was me who broke the silence.
"I know you're going to kill me. So just get it over with. You've made your point already."
He stepped closer to me and stood just to my left, still seeming composed and without insanity.
I could feel him look down at me and I could feel his excitement, sadness and even pity. The pity made me angry and I stood up to face him. That's when I glimpsed the vast silver thing. He was carrying a broadsword. I shuddered involuntarily but stood my ground.
This time he spoke "All those people died because of you. I only came for you." He actually touched my face with his free left hand. I continued to hold my ground.
"Fine, they died because of me. Just get it over with. I'm sick of playing your stupid game." I almost spat those last words at him. Anger consumed his beautiful face and he raised his right arm above his head while I lowered my head to bare my neck. With quick, seemingly inhuman speed he sliced. I felt the iron bite into my neck, I heard the crunch of steel cutting through bone and I felt my body lurch forward onto my knees. My hands out in front of me, I fell into them while my head finally detached and actually rolled off somewhere to my right. Somehow I was still conscious.
Disappointment and an incredible anger consumed me as I realised I was forever stuck in my body, even after mortal injuries. Somewhere in my now severed psyche I realised I had to play dead, so I did.
He picked me up, chuckling, and fetched my head, carried me to his ute and gently placed me on the tray. We drove off. I think I fell asleep or passed out.
The next thing I knew I was lying in an empty bathtub, naked. There were a whole heap of psycho's around me now and I was actually upset that I couldn't see him. The group of psycho's were commenting on the "fine specimen" he brought back and how much my meat would get at market. It was at this point I realised my head was reattached and, to make everything more fun, I could move.
After an hour of crooning and complimenting my killer the group filed out the bathroom door, conveniently leaving him behind. Instead of a sword in his hands he now had a kind of grater, a flesh from bone separator. He was talking to me as if I were still alive, he didn't realise of course, as he started to de-flesh my left leg. Luckily I didn't feel any pain although I knew what he was doing would cause excruciating agony.
He stopped after getting a strip of flesh from my ankle to my knee. Examining the strip he put down the grater-thing and went to show the other psycho's. I was alone so I lifted my head to see what he'd done to me. I didn't bleed for some reason and my leg was already healing. After a few moments all that remained was an indent that looked remarkably like I'd leaned against a table leg for too long. It was about this time I started to wonder what the hell was going on.
Smooth measured footsteps sounded outside the door and I laid back down. He entered the bathroom and took up his grater-thing again, this time de-fleshing my right lower leg. I instinctively held my breath expecting him to notice that I'd healed, but he never saw a thing. I was totally confused. How could he not realise I was healing?
The bathroom door opened and a young woman came in. She spouted all kinds of nasty things in relation to me being fat. I bit my tongue, which did actually bleed. For some reason the blonde girl looked at my face and saw my eyes move. She shrieked and told him that I was still alive. He looked at me, smiling that beautiful smile, and told the blonde girl to shut up as I couldn't possibly be alive.
Because I'm a drama queen I had to blink at that point making him jump back swearing his head off. I smiled at him and sat up, stretched and asked "what's wrong?" Both of them quickly left the room and slammed the door shut behind them. Moving quickly, and sliding on the strangely polished bath, I managed to stand up and climb out onto the wooden floor. I looked around and saw a robe hanging on a hook behind the head of the bath so I grabbed it and wrapped it around me. I caught a glimpse of a door to my far left and ran towards it, fumbled with the door handle then fell through the now open doorway. I ran barefoot over grass then gravel and more grass. I reached a grove in the middle of a forest and collapsed in the centre.
I woke up in my bed. Slightly panicked I threw off my blankets and found myself wearing nothing but a mud and grass strained robe. My feet were sore and had a green tinge to them. Suddenly I remembered what happened and looked at my legs. I had scars that resembled dents. Then I reached up and felt the back of my neck only to find cuts as if someone hacked at my body. It was then that an overwhelming sense of safety enveloped me and I knew I'd be okay.
I didn't wake up at this point. Instead I went on to dream about more vivid and crazy things! This dream that I just described happens to be one of the more tame ones and one of the more coherent. Feel free to dissect it, but I already know what it means. Hopefully I didn't scare you too much!
Naming poll
I'm writing a story. This isn't anything new, for those of you who do follow my blogs! The difference with this one is that I dreamt it last night.
The story came back to me while I was on the loo. Yes, I feel it fitting that I add the part about me being on the loo because it seems I come up with my best ideas while I'm there.
I'll write a blog about it one day.
Anyway, this story is sure to be quite amazing, if I can get all my ideas on paper quick enough.
I'm asking for help from my lovelies.
The main character is a psycho. She is immaculate, beautiful, brilliant and has this slight problem of killing people if they don't do what she wants.
She looks something like Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany's or any of the beauties of that era.
She's a strong, smart determined woman. Efficient and practical.
So what's the problem? I don't know her name. Help me name her!!
The story is futuristic but the fashions and style are distinctly 1940's. I'm thinking I want her to have a very elegant old world name.
I came up with "Christique" but I have this ridiculous penchant for adding "ique" to a name!
Please help my darlings! I need the perfect name!!
The story came back to me while I was on the loo. Yes, I feel it fitting that I add the part about me being on the loo because it seems I come up with my best ideas while I'm there.
I'll write a blog about it one day.
Anyway, this story is sure to be quite amazing, if I can get all my ideas on paper quick enough.
I'm asking for help from my lovelies.
The main character is a psycho. She is immaculate, beautiful, brilliant and has this slight problem of killing people if they don't do what she wants.
She looks something like Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany's or any of the beauties of that era.
She's a strong, smart determined woman. Efficient and practical.
So what's the problem? I don't know her name. Help me name her!!
The story is futuristic but the fashions and style are distinctly 1940's. I'm thinking I want her to have a very elegant old world name.
I came up with "Christique" but I have this ridiculous penchant for adding "ique" to a name!
Please help my darlings! I need the perfect name!!
The Secret Life of Tweeter
Anyone who reads my blog knows that I am a bit of a twitter fiend. I spend far too much time on the social media application on my phone. In fact I would have a chip inserted in my brain to use twitter all the time if I could.
Hurry up technology! You're moving too slowly!
Anyway, I've been in a really good frame of mind the last couple of days! I know, I know, this is an amazing accomplishment for me!
I was happily surfing the twitter wave (see what I did there!?) when I noticed someone retweeted something said by someone I really can not stand.
You see in the last few months I have distinctly moved away from certain people because of their unhealthy affiliation with this horrible, manipulative and cruel person. I haven't deleted and blocked these people, yet, because they were some of my first twitter favourite people.
However, they don't talk to me anymore and that has caused a rather large, gaping hole in my heart.
I guess that's life though isn't it? I mean Twitter and other social networks are like a fast paced version of real life aren't they? I mean friendships are formed and lost in a matter of weeks or months instead of years. Perhaps I'm just sentimental about the loss of these friends because I actually thought they might be around for the "long haul".
That just goes to show how poor my judgement really is.
So, some of the shine has faded off my shiny outlook but it's not all gone yet! I'm still surrounded with a good core group of tweethearts who make me laugh, call me "fluffy" and who regale my timeline with hilarity, sincerity and stories of their amazing lives.
In many ways I am very lucky to have such wonderful people in my tweet-life. I shall continue to revel in the gloriousness that I have rather than dwell on the few nasty people who think it's okay to treat others with lashings of rude comments and underhanded lie-filled sentiments.
Now this fluffy shall giggle delightedly at the numerous fun antics of my twitter friends, hug those tweethearts who are having a rough day and make up stories with those other tweeps who have too much time, like me.
Hurry up technology! You're moving too slowly!
Anyway, I've been in a really good frame of mind the last couple of days! I know, I know, this is an amazing accomplishment for me!
I was happily surfing the twitter wave (see what I did there!?) when I noticed someone retweeted something said by someone I really can not stand.
You see in the last few months I have distinctly moved away from certain people because of their unhealthy affiliation with this horrible, manipulative and cruel person. I haven't deleted and blocked these people, yet, because they were some of my first twitter favourite people.
However, they don't talk to me anymore and that has caused a rather large, gaping hole in my heart.
I guess that's life though isn't it? I mean Twitter and other social networks are like a fast paced version of real life aren't they? I mean friendships are formed and lost in a matter of weeks or months instead of years. Perhaps I'm just sentimental about the loss of these friends because I actually thought they might be around for the "long haul".
That just goes to show how poor my judgement really is.
So, some of the shine has faded off my shiny outlook but it's not all gone yet! I'm still surrounded with a good core group of tweethearts who make me laugh, call me "fluffy" and who regale my timeline with hilarity, sincerity and stories of their amazing lives.
In many ways I am very lucky to have such wonderful people in my tweet-life. I shall continue to revel in the gloriousness that I have rather than dwell on the few nasty people who think it's okay to treat others with lashings of rude comments and underhanded lie-filled sentiments.
Now this fluffy shall giggle delightedly at the numerous fun antics of my twitter friends, hug those tweethearts who are having a rough day and make up stories with those other tweeps who have too much time, like me.
I want out
Strange images. Thoughts of death. A burning desire to cut myself just to see if I bleed.
It's all very macabre for others. For me, however, it is what I think about every day. I even dream about it.
I'm told these thoughts are not normal. Who determines what is and what isn't normal?
Perhaps some people are just not meant to be alive and they, like myself, feel the lingering pull of silence. Of death.
Sure, I get told that I just need to find a purpose in life. What if my purpose is to die? Why is it so unacceptable that I don't want to feel the burden of being alive? Is it not my choice? Is it not my life and therefore I can do with it as I please?
I'm tired of talking. I talk to my psychiatrist twice a week and still nothing is resolved. Nothing is even slightly better. In fact, if I'm honest, things are actually worse now. I hurt more than ever because I know more now than I ever did. I remember more than I've ever wanted to remember.
I've begun cutting ties. Deleted people from my life. One by one. I want so much for this pathetic life to be over. I mean so many people can see I'm a horrible person, they tell me so more often than I care to admit. So why should I endure the torment just for the sake of "life"?
Humans really are a cruel race. Liars, cheaters, abusers, murderers, rapists and worse fill this bleak world. I seem to have come in contact with all of them at one time or another. Except the murderer.
People swear there is love to be thankful for. God's love, the love of another or the love a parent has for their child. What I don't understand is if there's so much love out there, why is it so unattainable for some people?
Like a dog chasing its tail, the love is always beyond their grasp.
I don't want to live in this world of hatred, of cruelty any longer. I want to be free from the constraints of the farce that is life.
Make it all go away.
It's all very macabre for others. For me, however, it is what I think about every day. I even dream about it.
I'm told these thoughts are not normal. Who determines what is and what isn't normal?
Perhaps some people are just not meant to be alive and they, like myself, feel the lingering pull of silence. Of death.
Sure, I get told that I just need to find a purpose in life. What if my purpose is to die? Why is it so unacceptable that I don't want to feel the burden of being alive? Is it not my choice? Is it not my life and therefore I can do with it as I please?
I'm tired of talking. I talk to my psychiatrist twice a week and still nothing is resolved. Nothing is even slightly better. In fact, if I'm honest, things are actually worse now. I hurt more than ever because I know more now than I ever did. I remember more than I've ever wanted to remember.
I've begun cutting ties. Deleted people from my life. One by one. I want so much for this pathetic life to be over. I mean so many people can see I'm a horrible person, they tell me so more often than I care to admit. So why should I endure the torment just for the sake of "life"?
Humans really are a cruel race. Liars, cheaters, abusers, murderers, rapists and worse fill this bleak world. I seem to have come in contact with all of them at one time or another. Except the murderer.
People swear there is love to be thankful for. God's love, the love of another or the love a parent has for their child. What I don't understand is if there's so much love out there, why is it so unattainable for some people?
Like a dog chasing its tail, the love is always beyond their grasp.
I don't want to live in this world of hatred, of cruelty any longer. I want to be free from the constraints of the farce that is life.
Make it all go away.
The Freak Files... Continued
I got to thinking about all the freaks that have been in my life. Some for a long time and some for only short periods.
One freak I remembered was a "friend" during high school. She spent two years copying me. Me, of all people. It didn't matter what I did, she would copy me.
At one point she even copied the way I spoke.
Some deluded people used to tell me that copying is the highest form of flattery.
That might be the way for self assured people. People who know who they are, what they are.
I was a teenager back then, hardly more than a child. I knew something was wrong with me, even back then.
So having someone copying me was as confusing as hell. It was infuriating.
She even went so far as to date my exes. Sometimes while I was still with them. She so desperately wanted my life. If I dyed my hair, she'd dye hers the next day, the same colour.
She'd even try to copy my school work.
Things got so bad I used to panic so much I'd end up with a migraine.
I've never spoken of how I felt when she tried to steal my life. It was a shit life but it was mine. As horrendous, as hurtful as it is... It was still mine.
I wonder just how much she'd like my life, if she knew what it was I had endured?
One freak I remembered was a "friend" during high school. She spent two years copying me. Me, of all people. It didn't matter what I did, she would copy me.
At one point she even copied the way I spoke.
Some deluded people used to tell me that copying is the highest form of flattery.
That might be the way for self assured people. People who know who they are, what they are.
I was a teenager back then, hardly more than a child. I knew something was wrong with me, even back then.
So having someone copying me was as confusing as hell. It was infuriating.
She even went so far as to date my exes. Sometimes while I was still with them. She so desperately wanted my life. If I dyed my hair, she'd dye hers the next day, the same colour.
She'd even try to copy my school work.
Things got so bad I used to panic so much I'd end up with a migraine.
I've never spoken of how I felt when she tried to steal my life. It was a shit life but it was mine. As horrendous, as hurtful as it is... It was still mine.
I wonder just how much she'd like my life, if she knew what it was I had endured?