Fare Thee Well, My Friend

My dear blog, we've come to a cross roads and I must now leave you. We've travelled far, we've travelled wide, we've laughed, we've cried and we've yelled, stomped and screamed in anger. You've been there when I needed someone and you've dutifully posted all that I have written without one single complaint.

There comes a time when even those who never want to change, do inevitably change and while I don't resist change like some I never thought this day would come. There may be other blogs later on or other websites or something else entirely. Right now, this minute, this blog has done what it was meant for. I've told my story and there's nothing left to write; here.

I will continue to write, it's who I am, but I won't share my writing. The rest is yet to be written and it's for my eyes only. I could be bitter and mean and say it's because no one else deserves my words, and while part of that is true it's not all there is. I shared myself and my journey so others would know what it's like to live in my world. I shared because I thought I was doing something good, maybe not always nice, but good. These posts, my life, means no more than a leaf falling from a tree in autumn. It's so small, so meaningless in comparison to the world.

My dear blog, I won't delete you; not this time. You are a part of me, whether we wanted to be linked or not. You will remain here, to teach those who wish to learn and to show those who wish to be see.

To you, the reader, there is no happy ending here. Look somewhere else for that guilty pleasure.

Goodbye my Blog. Keep safe from all those that will hurt you, abuse you and those who will say you don't mean anything. You'll always mean something to the one person you were meant for.

Fare Thee Well, My Friend.

Internal Soundtrack

The current soundtrack in my head is:

sadsadsadsadsadsadsadsadsadsadsadsadsadsad

Tired of listening to Sad on repeat I changed the CD. This is where things get a little paranormal. The CD changed back to Sad, without me touching it. 

I know, you're gasping and the shock has blown you back in your chair. 

Paranormal activities aside, the CD won't stay changed no matter how many times I change it or how much mood altering medicine I take, it's stuck on Sad. Repeating over and over and over...

Something that makes me happy is...

Knowing that I am loved and have some awesome online friends; Twitter to be precise. I'm lucky enough to have been given a few super cute presents, which due to @artistiquemeg's kindness, have lifted my spirits by a miraculous 100%! Right now I feel like the most spoilt woman on the face of the Earth!

Yes I know it's the mirror image, you'll just have to read backwards!! 

This is my favourite picture even though I'm not wearing any makeup, at all. I look really pretty and happy. 

This is to prove that what is inside this box is edible. In fact they're little milk and white chocolates! Chocolates people!! 

So it's official,  I am the most spoilt woman ever right now and I'm loving every minute of it!! I can't thank Meg enough for these wonderful gifts and her beautiful Hello Kitty card that she so carefully made. I haven't photographed it because, to me, that one is really personal and special. 

There's You and then there's Me.

So I'm sitting here on my bed, looking at pictures, reading tweets and looking at Facebook. I know this doesn't surprise you in the slightest. Especially given that I have three blogs and have accounts for twitter, Facebook and tumblr plus flickr, photobucket and deviant art.

Anyway, my stalker-slash-need-for-attention aside, I was reading my friends' status messages and debating if I should annoy them with responses when I read a comment for a friend who is going through a really nasty time. It was simply:

"you + me and a bottle of vodka. You up for it?"

I started to cry. Yes, yes, I know I don't cry and that I hate it but I'm sick and tired of being alone and so yes, I freaking cried in front of my parents and everything. That's how upset I was.

I cried because I can't offer to do that for my friends because they're either too far away, don't talk to me and mostly because I don't drink so the offer would sound more like "you get drunk while I listen to your drunken woes." It might just be me but I don't really think that's very appealing to anyone.

The main reason that I cried is because no one, no one, has ever or would ever do that for me.
While I appreciate the offers from my interstate friends, it's not really the same seeing as though I have to drive 3 plus hours, depending which friend has offered. Given that I'm generally in a pretty bad state of mind when I need someone, anyone, it's not really safe for me to drive (as discussed in many previous posts.)
There are some friends in my state territory, however they avoid me like the plague. Perhaps I am a plague seeing as though the highlight of my day is writing a blog post or going to my my psychiatrist appointments.
Sure, it's lovely to have people comment on my blogs, which always results in a few moments of sheer excitement and it's always lovely to have artificial hugs, again causing brief moments of joy. These moments are small but potent and I wouldn't diminish them for anything in the world; it's all I get.

All I can think is that I must be a terrible person, seriously awful, to have no friends. Of course there's a rational part of my brain telling me that it is my fault since I require a lot of space or sometimes I smother people when I crave human interaction. Apparently I haven't heard of moderation.
But it's more than needing space or smothering; it's my personality that hinders me the most. At least, that's what I think it might be. All in all, and without dissecting my personality that would take many years to complete, the only conclusion I continually come to that fits like a square peg in, well, a square hole, is that I'm an awful person. People don't want to be around me. Most likely due to being a leech and sucking the life out of people.

Perhaps this blog accounts for some of the trouble too. Being so honest here and talking about what annoys me, what I think and need, how I'm coping and the random waffling in between is actually putting people off. I suppose they can keep updated with my life through this and thus have no need to see me or talk to me.
Yet even without the blog I am basically forgotten. Well, forgotten is great for the dramatics, however I'm not sure it's true but "forgotten" is definitely what it feels like.

I would really like a friend. A real friend. A friend who will actually listen to me sometimes instead of always talking about themselves. Although you have to be what you want to receive and given that I have to beg on my blog for people to even notice me, I suspect this means I'm an awful friend. Okay, okay, I know I'm an awful friend. I was just trying to put it nicely so I wouldn't cry more.
And yet, there is still an element of me that feels like I should be able to be a shitty friend sometimes because I was such a good friend for 23 years of my life. It's just a pity I haven't known anyone for that long for that comment to be proven. The joys of moving around as a child sure pays to bite you in the arse later in life.

So I'll cuddle my teddy bear and participate in internal conversations as I try to piece things together and attempt to make sense of everything. I won't ask for help because I'm ignored, probably with good reason if I were to analyse it. I will write this blog and then remind myself never to speak of it again as people don't want to read things like this. I'll cry in the shower so no one can see me. I'll wonder if it's possible to get better and to live life. I'll read blogs and social networking updates about how wonderful everyone is, how their friends spoiled them by taking them out and all the lovely things they do for their children. During all this, like always, I will keep my mouth shut and keep the hurt inside. I'll let little things slip, either to see if anyone is listening or because I'm too emotional, usually the latter.

And I'll do everything on my own. Simply because that's all I have.

Easy Like Sunday Morning

I wanna be free
Just me, babe!
That's why I'm easy
I'm easy like Sunday morning
That's why I'm easy

As you may have guessed it's Sunday morning. I know, you're astounded by my perception and, to be honest, so am I! It's just another day of course, the beginning or end of the week depending on your personal preference. Either way, it's not as easy as the song suggests!

We'll forget that the song is about the guy leaving his girlfriend and how he is actually complaining about the constraints and pressure of being someone whom he is not.

For as long as I can remember Sunday's have never been easy, at least in my household. Sunday has always been a day of high anxiety with the impending Monday looming dark over head. This anxiety was at it's peak when I lived in Sale, Victoria. You see,  in 1996 Monday's meant primary school, which meant The Run and disgusting teachers who would bully me because I was (and still am) not very good at running.  My anxiety manifested in such a way that when I ran I would hold my breath! Anyone who has ever run in their life knows that breathing is one of the most important aspects of running. Having a steady breath equals a good steady run. So after a few steps while holding my breath (without realising I was doing this mind you) I would inevitably have to stop and pant and, consequently, wonder why I wasn't able to breathe. At this point more panic would set in as I realised I would have to walk and thus get in trouble, again, for not running.
My friends weren't much help as they too would tease me for being fat and lazy because I couldn't run. No one ever asked why I was having so much trouble and, as far as I recall, no one cared. I was on my own.
In 1997 at the beginning of high school the anxiety got much, much worse. Not only was I now in a completely different environment with new students but it was here that the bullying increased. My very first day I was called "steam roller Renee", which didn't really help in reducing the fear of being there. Of course, that name stuck throughout the year I was forced to attend the school, despite my best efforts to be the nicest, sweetest, quietest person. The latter failed miserably as I wasn't really able to keep my mouth shut and that became another avenue for the other kids to tease me. The part that used to really make me angry, and I mean angry, was that there was another girl in my class who was the same size as me yet no one ever teased her. She was even more pathetic than I was but somehow I was the one "chosen" for the "privilege" of being teased. What the fuck was up with that?
What ever it was about me I managed to cop it all, except being physically touched. I'm still unsure why no one tried to beat me, they managed to break me mentally so it would have made sense that they'd "finish the job". Maybe they just enjoyed breaking me from afar?

Of course now it's 2010 and we're on the verge of welcoming 2011 and these things should no longer factor into my every day life. Yet, strangely, it still does. The old panic still surfaces every few weeks and I begin to panic as if I were still the 12/13 year old I once was. Of course now I can talk myself down from the hysteria and dry wretch inducing panic and remind myself I'm now 26 and no longer the helpless, pathetic child I once was.
Well, I may still be rather pathetic.

Sunday's may be easy and I'm quite sure for a lot of people they are lovely days of cruisey relaxation or maybe housework or maybe even a day of cute cafe's while reading the paper and meeting friends. What ever the day means for others I'm quite sure it's not the anxiety ridden dread that my Sunday's are filled with.

I Am Ninja. I Am A Yo-Yo.

How many people can say they are ninja!?
I may not be the legitimate thing, but I can day dream and my day dream includes being a freaking awesome ninja.

You may be wondering why ninja is always in italics. This is simple; one must always respect the ninja. 
Next time you meet a ninja you'll be all set. I know, you'll thank me when that time comes.

Anyway, apart from being the most awesome ninja on the face of the planet, I am almost one of the most skilled emotional yo-yo's. Indeed, it's a hard job to be so skilled in emotional yo-yoism. There are pressures one must encounter that the ordinary emotionally stable person can't even comprehend.
For instance, you have to be able to keep everything under wraps so no one knows what is really going on in your life. This also becomes easier if you happen to be a ninja.


Of course there are other things that separate the emotionally stable and the emotional yo-yo's. Things like:

• being able to orchestrate insanely fast changes of mood in the shortest possible time
• finding ones self crying over something that happened 6 months ago
• laughing hysterically until one cries, for no reason
• grinning at the worst possible times (it's not appropriate when your friend is crying on your shoulder because she/he broke up with her/his boyfriend/girlfriend)
• having a short attention span, especially when people are talking about boring things
• one word: tantrums. 

You see the emotional yo-yo's are the most interesting and fun people you could possibly meet. They're also the most sensitive, intuitive and caring people. Think about the person you turn to for a shoulder to cry on. Do you turn to them because of who they are? Do you turn to them because they're there?

For most people, the person they turn for help, guidance, love and support is usually the emotional yo-yo. That's just because they are all kinds of awesome. 

So my advice to you as a ninja emotional yo-yo is to think about what your emotional yo-yo means to you and give them a hug, maybe even a kiss if you're that way inclined!

Show your appreciation for them since they're the ones most likely to need the reassurance. 

I am ninja! I am a yo-yo!

Cats, Weather and How Gorgeous I Am

Ever feel like you want to say something but aren't sure exactly what it is you want to say?
Well, that's where I'm at right now. I have this burning desire to write this blog post but no idea what I want to say.

I suppose I could talk about the weather, but since we have online weather reports you can actually see what the weather is like all over Australia.

I could ramble on about my life and how angry, sad, depressed and crazy it makes me. But it wouldn't take long to look at my previous posts to see all that.

There's always the option of dissecting a disturbing news articles, whether it's serious or just plain ludicrous. But that is so rarely interesting it even makes me yawn just contemplating it.

I could go into detail about how gorgeous I am and why everyone should love me. But you already know that and I really wouldn't like to preach.

I suppose I could find something to actually be passionate about and write all kinds of inspirational and challenging posts. But I already do that on the strangedomain.wordpress.com Here Comes Trouble blog.

I could potentially take photo's of my cat, Titan, and gush about how adorable he is. But Titan is camera shy and won't let me share how adorable he is. I suppose that's sweet in a way, almost as if he's exclusively adorable for me.

There's always the avenue of writing about food; restaurants or raving about some recipe. But seriously, could you see me writing a post like that?
No, I didn't think so.

Or maybe, I could spend an entire post running through the possibilities of things to write in a post. Actually, that sounds like a rather good idea!

The Hate Files

So there I was cruising through the twitterverse with the music so loud other peoples ears were bleeding and my twittership was bouncing in time with the beats. Quite oblivious to how ridiculous I obviously looked, but content to insert myself into other peoples lives, the parts which they share of course! I'm not a freaky stalker!

All of a sudden there was a blinding light, the horrendous sound of metal jarring against metal and a sound, which resonated with the clarity of a booming bell.
I collided with Hate.

Plummeting and spiralling out of control I was on a collision course with reality.

So many people are hate filled today. The tweets are full of angry, useless comments designed to make the biggest impact possible on the target person. To be honest, they are viciously cruel tweets and I wish I could un-read them.
The horrendous part is that it's not just one or two people filled with hate, it seems that this Saturday morning everyone is angry and hate filled.
And I'm meant to be the crazy one!!

The hate of others, especially when it's not directed at me, shouldn't have any effect on me. Right?
Wrong. It's probably a sign of my weakness to say how upset I am that there is so much hate. It may as well all be directed at me. In part, I think on a subconscious level, the hate I've seen is really directed at me. Even though I know it is not.
The negativity resonates with me on a level so deep it physically hurts.

But all this really has nothing to do with other people.

I am one of those lucky people who take the negativity of others to heart. I understand hate, anger, sadness and the myriad of negatively charged emotions. However, just because I understand them, feel them, have them, doesn't mean they don't affect me adversely.

So, in my burning wreckage of Saturday Morning I will avoid the temptation to return to the twitterverse to immerse myself in hatred. Instead I'll find something positive to attend to that won't unbalance the incredibly delicate ecosystem of my emotions.
Hopefully the hate illness will pass like a 24 hour bug. Temporary Insanity has never appeared so widespread.

Does anyone know how to fix a twittership? It's a little dented and, well, broken. *sad face*

The Fear

We all fear something. Maybe you fear spiders, heights, being alone, enclosed spaces or even clowns. Whatever it is that you fear, it's real to you. It's simply terrifying.

Some people have multiple fears that reverberate through their psyche every so often keeping them constantly on edge. Not that I would know about that kind of ruminating fear *looks around innocently*

I think fears evolve and grow as we grow. For instance my fears when I was a child are different to my fears as an adult.

As a child my fears revolved around placating my mother. I spent so much time worrying I wasn't good enough that when she inevitably came storming into my room to beat me, all I could think was "I wasn't good enough. I need to be better."
My other fear as a child were migraines. They were another affirmation of my "I'm not good enough" outlook, because I couldn't understand why someone would give me migraines. It never occurred to me that my body would conspire against me and cause a sequence of events that would ultimately lead to a migraine.

As I got older, in my teens, I feared someone finding out about what my "secret life" at home. I felt inferior because I couldn't conceive of any other families being as Wrong as mine. I knew, mainly from movies of all things, that parents beating children isn't normal. Again, this confirmed to me that I was bad and a terrible child because my mum was forced to discipline me.
I harboured this particular fear until I was 23.

More recently my fears have changed shape yet again. Now my fears revolve around my ability to "recover" from my mental illness.
As an adult my fears also dabble in my appalling management of my money; what is this "saving" thing anyway?
Between these two main fears, never underestimate how many things one can fear at any given time, I am forever going around in circles.

In my case my fear has caused me to have a rather intimate relationship with anxiety, among the other labels I'm lucky enough to have trailing after my name.

Fear can grip us at, seemingly, any time. It usually starts in the stomach where our internal butterflies are let loose resulting in our heart trying to beat in time with those wispy wings. Not to be left out, our lungs start us inhaling and exhaling faster and our skin leaks salty sweat, especially over our palms, just to make things even more "fun".
Strangely enough my body doesn't listen to me when I explain that the situation isn't really that scary and continues on it's merry, terrified way.

What are your fears? Have they changed over time?

What's In A Name Anyway

At some point I'm sure we've all wished we didn't have the name we have. As a kid I used to be subjected to a whole barrage of ridicule because Renee should apparently be pronounced "Rennie".
Yep, I went to public schools and I'm the first to admit the kids weren't really the sharpest tools in the shed.

Anyway, I was just telling a twitter friend the names of all my Mac computers and iPhone. My new laptop, which should arrive any day now, will be known as Charlotte. Coincidentally this is the name I wish I had.

You know how sometimes a name resonates with you? It might conjure nice images, a lovely memory or even a nice warm feeling in the depths of your psyche.
Personally, all of the above ring true for me with the name Charlotte. It's also a name that epitomises serenity and grace.

I was telling another twitter friend about my deepest desire to be beautifully graceful. Even as a little girl I wanted to be like Audrey Hepburn. I didn't know why her exactly, only I knew she was graceful.
I used to watch a cartoon called Lady Lovelylocks so much I broke the video stores copy! She was graceful, kind and friendly. All her friends and her subjects loved her, and not because they had to. Princess and all, they loved her.
I wanted to be just like that. Thin, beautiful, graceful, kind and caring. Yet I knew two of those would always be beyond my reach.

So I decided, at the wonderful age of 7, that I would endeavour to be graceful, kind and caring. I went about my days learning how to walk without stomping heavily on the ground. I learnt how to breathe silently because I was paranoid that I would breathe too heavily and thus sound like a fat and ugly witch.

Then one day I heard the name Charlotte and I knew it was the name that embodied all those things I wanted to be. It even rolled off my tongue like it was perfect. It was perfect.

If I could have chosen my name I would have picked Charlotte.

Mind you, I'm some what attached to Renee. My grandmother named me and since she died when I was four I have always felt a strange connection to her. It would seem inappropriate to dismiss the gift she bestowed me. Even if I do wish my name was Charlotte instead!

Do you have a name you prefer over your own?

Old School Tv and Tea

There is a delightful rumbling emanating from some deliciously black clouds outside.
The rumbling accurately reflects my current mood due to my last post not saving. Instead the blogger app decided to close and leave me staring in disbelief as an hours worth of heartfelt post simply vanished. Of course, I must admit to smiling evilly when I realised it doesn't just happen to me.

My previous post, being filled with awesome ramblings of my day and my thoughts, won't be rewritten. I find it pretty much impossible to rewrite something after spending so long on it. It never turns out any where near as good, probably because of the fantastic way I think.

Instead, I'm groping around for a new topic while trying to remain as ridiculously funny as possible. Yes, my darlings, I aspire to treat you to an amazing array of hilarity wrapped in a scrumptious sarcastic wrapper.

Of course I have absolutely no faith in my abilities to entertain you in a truly witty way.

So where were we? Oh yes, we were deciding on a theme for today's post.
Have you thought of one yet?
Don't look at me like that, I am not above "taking direction" from a valued reader and friend. By "taking direction" I mean "steal ideas" but this isn't something to dwell on. Semantics really!

*looks incredibly innocent*

I have a secret, a guilty pleasure if you will. When it's raining, just like it is now, I love curling up on the couch watching old school tv shows. Think along the lines of Magnum P.I., Miami Vice, The A Team and others.
Of course the acting is mostly terrible and I won't even dare to mention the fashions...
But there's something incredibly indulgent about succumbing to an afternoon of delightful viewing.
Add to that the sound of heavy rain on the roof and windows to drown out the ads. It's a mix of pure awesome.

So here we are, lazing on the couch, writing a blog post while the tv is currently playing the Rockford Files and thinking how much a cup of tea would be amazing right now. It's moments like this when I realise I need to train my cat, Titan, to make me food and tea.
Mind you, the cheeky shit would probably fill my cup with cat fur and salt instead of sugar.
On second thoughts I might avoid training Titan how to be a servant.
I can feel his death stare on my back even as I type this. I shall reward his diligence with cuddles.

Let the lazing continue!
And no, I'll never get bored of being lazy. I believe the pig from Spliced! said it best: "why do something when you can get someone else to do it?"
Hehe!

Luckily you don't think like that so the world swirls around in a flurry of activity to get all these important things done!
Thanks!

Unfit for Children

So I'm sitting here watching Dr Phil. There is a surrogate mother who has reclaimed the twins she handed over because the "adoptive" mother has a mental illness. According to the surrogate mother a mental illness means the adoptive mother is unfit for parenthood.

Unsurprisingly this makes my blood boil.

The surrogate mother has spent 40 minutes of the show saying how horrible, wrong and unfit someone is if they have a mental illness. In the next breath she says "it's not about the mental illness" and proceeds to claim she is tolerant and that the babies weren't safe with the adoptive mother because of her "undisclosed psychotic illness."
I'm sure it's not just me who can see the obvious contradiction.

I'll state now that the adoptive mother does not have an "undisclosed psychotic illness" and it was shown conclusively with her psychiatrists reference for the adoption.
In the 8 to 9 years prior to the adoption the adopting mother had not spent any time in an institution, regularly takes her medication, has been employed at the same company for 21 years and is so highly recommend in her job she is able to work from home.
Wow, this woman is doing better than most "normal" women!!

So, anyway, this whole story has made my blood boil so fiercely that I think I can feel steam escaping from my ears.

What this story is creating is nothing more than hysteria over mental illness by a selfish, judgemental and callous woman.
To Dr Phil's credit he spat the dummy about this hysteria and unfair, unjust and judgemental view regarding mental illness. He explained the varying degrees of psychosis and how many millions of Americans live highly functional lives even with mental illness. Yeah! Suck on that bigoted bitch!
Dr Phil also, correctly, stated that this whole issue has set back mental illness acceptance and awareness in America by 20 odd years.

Basically what this means to me is that some people would deny me the right to have children based solely on my mental state. How dare anyone, anyone, tell me what I can and can not do.
I have to state clearly I do not want children and I do not think I would be a good mother and not because of my mental illness.
My decision that I'm not the mothering type is based on my lack of ability to nurture. Some people are made to be mothers and some, like me, are not.

This story raises my hackles because I have had someone say I am not a safe person for my friends 3 year old boy to be around. This was said by someone whom I dated; a mutual friend. I realise he said this because he was hurt that I had broken up with him. However, he had no basis for this blatantly judgmental comment. All he did was hurt me (most likely intentional) and make me doubt myself. He reinforced my "bad person" image I have endured all my life. But that's another blog.

So here I am, raging because people, both on my life and in the world, are so horrible. They have absolutely no right to say who is fit and who is not fit to be a parent. As far as I am aware there are only two people who have the right to say that; yourself and your psychiatrist. (Seriously, if your shrink says it's not a good idea to do something they aren't saying it for kicks.)

So here we are, one person reading this, another person raging while writing this.
Would you ever tell someone they are not fit to be a parent based solely on their mental state?