Dissociative

Lately I have blank spots in my memory. Time has elapsed and I am completely unaware of it, until later when I realise there are hours unaccounted for.

If I were writing a story I would start hinting at multiple personalities and delving into the personalities. However, this isn't a story, this is my life. For the record, I don't have multiple personalities. Multiple moods which may appear as different personalities maybe, but I am always conscious of myself during these mood changes.

It's Monday, which means I've seen my shrink. It's also the 22nd of November, which is two day shy of the day I'll kill myself. Of course the year of my death is still undetermined. Technically, it should have been last year. I never wanted to live past 25 so being 26 is something strange and unnatural. But that's a whole different kettle of fish.

I've been having these blank periods for most of my life. Usually during the most harrowing times. This is apparently very natural for someone who has experienced a lot of severe trauma in their life.

Like all new developments in my diagnosis/condition/mental illness this new awareness of noticeable dissociative episodes is daunting. It's scary.
My current worry is what I am doing during these times. I don't mean driving or things like that. The dissociative periods only happen when I am at home and when my mood is low. What I do mean is when I'm sitting on the couch and an hour or two later I'm in my room and I have no memory of getting up and walking there or what I did.

In my current state of fretting about the negative forces at work in my brain that want me to kill myself in two days, I fear I might have, or do, something to help bring this about.
Short of being thrown in hospital (which in Canberra it's not possible as there are currently no beds in any of the three mental facilities) or strapped to my bed, I have no way of assuring my own safety. Especially in light of the dissociative episodes.

To "normal" people this would sound like a sci-fi story or a severely active imagination. I wish that were the case.
Instead I get to spend Wednesday drugged out of my brain. For the first time in my life I will have Valium and I will willingly sleep an entire 24 hour period away. This won't make the suicidal urge go away. All this will do is get me through the day that I am most likely to act on those urges.

It is times like this when I pinch myself and hope like hell I wake up from this nightmare.

Regina's Song by David & Leigh Eddings

How I Spent My Vacation

By Twinkie

I spent my vacation in the bughouse, listening to the other buggies screaming and laughing just to pass the time away. Normal people can't seem to understand how nice it is to be nuts sometimes, and that's very sad. People out there in the world of normal have to face reality every day, and reality is usually flat and grey and ugly, and time only runs in one direction, and doorknobs can't talk. A true nutso doesn't have to put with that. We can make our world as beautiful as we want it to be, since it has to do what we tell it to do. 

   Isn't that neat?

   In the world of nuts, nothing is real, so we can change anything we don't like. If a day is beautiful we can make it last for a thousand years; if it's ugly, we can just throw it away. If the sun is too bright, we can send it to its room, and if the stars are too dim, we can tell them to burn more brightly, and they will, just to make us happy.

  That's what makes the world of nuts so much nicer than the world or normies. Our truth wags its tail and licks our fingers; their truth snarls, and it bites. 

  Sometimes, sometimes, those of us in the world of nuts think about the world of the normies, and we've pretty much decided that it might be sort of fun to visit it once in a while, but we certainly wouldn't want to live there. It's just too desperate and ugly, and the normies never seem to get the things they want, no matter how hard they try, and that's very sad. 

  People from the world of the normies used to visit us in the bughouse now and then, but they weren't really very much fun. They always looked so serious and worried and they almost never laughed. Normies just can't seem to see the world the way we buggies see it, so they can't even begin to see how funny it is. They couldn't seem to relax, and their eyes got all wild when the nutso down the hall started to practice screaming. Don't they know that screaming is a fine art? In the Olympic games of the world of nuts, a perfect ten scream wins the gold medal every time. 

  I've moved back to the world of the normies now, and I know that I'm supposed to be serious and never laugh, but sometimes -- sometimes -- I scream a little bit, just for old times' sake. I make it a point to scream politely, though. It's not nice to wake the neighbours in the grey world of the normies. A few quiet little screams aren't really all that disturbing, though, and I always seem to sleep better after I scream.

  And when I sleep, I sometimes dream of the world of nuts, and my doorknob sings to me, and my walls hold me tight, and I drift above the sky and look down at the desperate, grubby, ugly world of the normies where everybody is serious and worried, and never, never, ever smiles. 

  And I laugh.

Renee's Note: This is the best description I have ever read of mental illness. It's the most accurate, most heartfelt and, definitely, the most intuitive piece of work I have come across since being in the "bughouse".

I felt I had to share this as it truly captures how I feel most of the time. I am one of you, yet I am nothing like you.

Slipping

My arms are tired, my palms are sweaty and my feet keep slipping off the rungs. I'm losing grip of the ladder.

Now to confuse the hell out of myself, and possibly you too, I am sad because I can feel myself being dragged back into the nasty "depressive" state. Yet, I am proud of myself for feeling it before I hit rock bottom.
I'm scared because I really don't want to slip back but it's happening before my eyes and, perhaps, more so because I'm aware of it.

I really want to ask for help but I have reservations.
In the past when I haven't been totally incoherent and "sick" and have asked for help I was ignored. I wasn't "sick enough" to be seen, heard or helped. Would it be different now?
If nothing has changed all that will happen is my complete inability to hold onto the rungs. I will fall back into the pit of ugly, horrible despair. Loneliness and alienation will then follow.

So what's the plan to hopefully slow the rate at which I fall? Maybe even stop the final horrid descent altogether?
I need to be kind to myself. I can't make others be kind to me, that's just a stupid thought as I don't deserve that. But I can be kind to myself.
I can tell myself it's okay to slip, it's okay to find it hard to cope. I can tell myself it's okay that I'm not perfect. I can remind myself that it will take a long time for me to be able to deal with all of this without help.
I can talk myself down from the ledge and remind that part of me that I can get through it. Even when I feel so powerless and pathetically weak. I can tell myself that others do not understand so their comments are not always valid; most aren't trying to deliberately hurt me.

I will see my shrink of Friday afternoon, I just have to make it until then. I can fall apart when I walk into his room. I can admit to him that my seemingly random thought about being in hospital may have been an even earlier awareness of my possible descent.
To confuse everyone more, I am sad for writing this and yet I feel that I have made a big change in my attitude. I doubt many will see it, but I do and that's all the matters.

Just remember, it's about how you treat yourself not how others treat you.

The Outing

It does not matter what I do before hand to calm my nerves the actual act of going out is horrendous. Then when I am at the shops (or wherever) the panic is so potent it's like I've been kicked in the stomach.

If that wasn't bad enough, people stare at me.
Seriously, they stare. Not everyone granted (thank fuck for that), but enough to make me really uncomfortable. Now I have no idea why they are staring at me, but I assume it's not because they think I'm"hot".
Honestly, it doesn't even matter what they think. I just wish they'd stop staring. It's completely unnerving and totally unacceptable. I don't go around staring at people. Well, not all the time. And when I do I am careful not to be too obvious about it since I know how it feels. Also if I am caught staring I at least have the decency to stop!

Today was probably worse than most since I found out a "friend" deleted me from facebook. Oh, this happens to be the same person whom I tried to contact when I was really upset. And, the same one that apparently doesn't think I am good enough to even bother responding to. The funny thing is that I never, never, did or said anything even remotely confronting to him. So, umm, what the hell?
Right, I know it's probably not about me and that it's about him, maybe someone said something to him or maybe he just didn't like something I said on facebook, but this whole thing still upsets me. I don't like it when people delete me. I don't have a thick skin like some and that's not a bad thing.
It's also really rude since this person complained bitterly to me about people randomly taking him off their friends lists. Yet, he can do the same to someone else and that's okay? Talk about double standards.

So I found out the whole facebook bullshit before I went out. Way to make yourself feel good Renee. I know right, I'm definitely the sharpest knife in the drawer.
It was awful feeling like that. The whole trying to pretend I'm fine since I was with my mum while hoping like hell I don't see anyone I know since I've actually gained weight from that crazy migraine medication I was taking ages ago. Then there's the people staring at me, the kids screaming in front of me and trying their best to trip me up when they run like crazy little fuckers in front of me. You know what pisses me off about that? If I accidentally hit the little fucker I would be the biggest bitch in the world. I mean if I was window shopping and not completely watching where I was walking and one of the little fuckers ran in front of me and I knocked into it, I would be the one copping abuse. So don't fucking tell me I have to like the little fuckers running around in front of me. *Insert evil stare here*

Then there was the shop assistant from hell.

I walked into City Chic since that's about the only place I can shop in Australia and find things in my size that don't look like an old lady's antique floral covered chair upholstery. The shop assistant starts off by over zealously yelling "Hi ladies! How are you today?" I'm pretty sure the people walking past outside the shop looked to see if she were talking to them.
My mum replied since I was kind of running around grabbing a huge pile of stuff to try on. Okay, so it was three items and I wasn't really running, more like dawdling. Anyway, the shop assistant huffs loudly because we didn't yell back(?) and stomps, yes stomps, into the back room. I resist muttering "niceties" under my breath.
She returns from the depths of hell, I mean the back room and loudly yells at us "Is there anything specifically you're looking for?", to which mum replies "no thanks, we're just looking at the moment." Even I thought what mum said was pretty decent. Apparently not so with Ms. Huffy Stompy Pants. She huffs and stomps to the front counter.
Another customer came in and Ms. Huffy Stompy Pants greets them. This time she's not yelling at all but being really lovely and nice. What. The. Fuck.
I tell myself to breathe. This shop assistant is obviously kind of nuts if she thinks we're deaf, dumb and/or blind. I couldn't help it, I shot a glance her way. She was smiling at the new customer as if she were the nicest person on the face of the planet. I really didn't like Ms. Huffy Stompy Pants.
Roughly 5 minutes later I'm scrutinising the clothes on the other side of the shop trying to decide if I really like things. I'm not just fussy in second life! Ms. Huffy Stompy Pants yells out "Do you want me to put anything in the change rooms for you?", obviously she saw the nice little pile in my arms. I reply "no thanks, I'm still looking" and smile my best smile at her. If you've ever seen this smile it's one of a kind awesome. Again she huffs and stomps off. Seriously, wtf?
Anyway, I try on the clothes and decide on two items so we proceed to the front counter to pay. Ms. Huffy Stompy Pants is waiting for us. I groan, inwardly.
She takes the clothes and begins to scan the tags. All is going well. Then she reads out the price and something wasn't right, it wasn't expensive enough. Mum points this out and Ms. Huffy Stompy Pants starts huffing and rescanning the two items, finally satisfied she says "It must be on sale" in the most acidic tone I've ever heard. And let me tell you, after working for Telstra I've heard some really nasty tones.
Mum hands over my credit card (I buy too much stuff online if I have it in my possession) and we do all that fun stuff of signing etc.
Ms. Huffy Stompy Pants folds the items and bags them, hands me the bag and scowls at me while I'm politely saying "thank you".
We leave the shop.

Now what the hell was this woman's problem? I've never seen her before in my life nor had my mum or I said anything rudely or in a tone that was rude. She was perfectly fine to the other customers in the store and yet she treated us as if we were deaf and dumb.
If we had have been rude then I could totally understand where she was coming from. If we had have made a mess, spoke down to her, ignored her or anything like that I also would have understood her coolness towards us. Yet we didn't do anything other than enter "her" store to have a look.

Have you ever had this happen to you?

Pscyhobabble

Cast:

Renee - Patient in need of therapy

Dr Red* - Psychiatrist appointment to meet Renee and determine if her mental health case file should be reopened.

Setting:

Tuggeranong Mental Health.

Time:

2:30pm (1430), 24th February 2010.

Enter Renee and Dr Red

Dr Red suggests Renee should sit down in one of the chairs he offers. Renee is clearly uncomfortable especially when Dr Red tries to shake her hand. Her confusion comes across as agression with a look of complete distaste crossing her face.

Dr Red doesn't notice this silent emotional turmoil, instead he proceeds to sit down.

Dr Red then asks Renee a few questions. Renee's face doesn't show her anger towards this person and the system, instead she liberally applies her mask of "I am okay, I'm fine, I don't know what is wrong with you people".

The questions range from why Renee should be having the appointment, how many people in her immediate family, how does she get along with family members to feelings and emotions, goals and plans for the furture. All of Dr Red's questions are met with resistance and hostility. Renee was clearly frustrated having been through all these preliminary questions before.

Dr Red is clueless and has a difficult time trying to decide how best to treat this unique (and slightly scary) patient. He would very much like to ask her to leave, however, he can't do that due to his profession and his cultural background. He knows this and he also realises that Renee also knows this. He feels trapped.

Dr Red continues asking questions, this time he asks about Renee's thoughts to do with Tuggeranong Mental Health. Renee does not hold back.

Renee: I have no faith in the system.

I was told when I first came here, I wouldn't be forgotten.

I was told no one would give up on me.

I was also told that I could contact my case manager, my shrink and/or anyone else here.

No one has returned my calls, emails or sms for four months.

The last time I saw anyone was before I went to St. John of God in Sydney.

After the disasterous turn of events in Sydney I needed to come back to support.

Instead I come back to a closed case file, no word from my psychiatrist and no support.

I do not trust this system nor the people working in it.

Dr Red is clearly taken aback by this honest, heartfelt and slightly angry explanation. He suddenly begins to realise the depth to which this patient has been neglected and tries desperately to find something that would help her. Dr Red asks Renee more questions, what would she like to see happen? who would she like to treat her? what would she like the outcomes to be?

Renee rolls her eyes and sighs. Each question has been asked to her a thousand times before by a thousand different psychologists, psychiatrists, psych ward nurses and social workers. Renee responds in a manner that make Dr Red pause. She explains that as she has no faith in the system she is looking interstate for a better support program. Renee continues to explain at length that she will move to the place with the best mental health system as Canberra's mental health system is incredibly pathetic and is doing more damage than good.

Dr Red stops writing his notes and changes the subject. He remembers that Renee's case manager wanted to also see her. Dr Red quickly explains that he needs to find Renee's case manager and then leaves the room.

Renee looks out the window, visibly shaking now as the panic takes over. She would never show this inept Dr Red her true emotions and she knows that all he will get from this visit is anger and hostility. Renee can hear other patients in the waiting room as they talk quietly with each other, her thoughts begin to drift to things she knows she's not meant to be thinking about, especially while in mental health. She begins to daydream about how she would vanish, disappear, cease to exist. Renee thinks about how fantastic it would be not to have to deal with any more centrestink people, mental health people, or having to explain to anyone why she feels the way she does.

Eventually Renee's daydream is interrupted as Dr Red returns with the news that the case manager is out. He asks Renee if she'd like to wait for her case manager to return. Renee looks at the incredibly stupid doctor and tells him that she will not wait, she is having a panic attack and would very much like to go home. He stares at her. Renee realises this psychiatrist has probably never seen someone hide their emotions so completely before. She shakes her head slightly and wonders who's brilliant idea it was to see this inept psychiatrist.

Finally, Dr Red makes the necessary motions that release Renee from the appointment. He makes one last comment about finding out what he can do to help and how someone will contact Renee at some point. Renee nods and leaves, obviously thinking that this man is an idiot.

As Renee waits for the lift to go back down to her car and finally leave the place she refers to as "hell", she realises that the last 30 minutes were a complete waste of time. Nothing was achieved. There was no goal other than for Mental Health to determine if they'd like to reopen her case file. Renee feels an intense anger and frustration for being made to go along to these silly appointments when there is no need.

Renee drives home, hoping all the way that someone would crash into her car and kill her. She is just so sick of people lying to her, she's unable to cope with all the broken promises and all the people (mental health as well as friends) who say they'll be there for her and then, when the time comes, they are scattered everywhere else ignoring her request for help.

She makes it home in one piece. Physically, not mentally.

* name has been changed to protect the psychiatrist mentioned in this blog.

Humiliated

I am dreading something that I have to do today. The thought of me dreading anything is so strange I'm sure you're all sitting there gasping for breath with the shock of it.
However, I am dreading having to deal with centrestink today. It's another appointment day where I have to "justify" myself and prove to them I am actually as crazy as I say I am. It is so humiliating.

Lately I have been pondering thoughts of cancelling all involvement with centrestink. The whole organisation treats me like a liar, they assume that I scum and am just too lazy to work. Hell, I've said before and I'll say it again, if you have a job you'd like to offer me where you don't mind that I may only turn up once a week or need to run and hide because I feel the grip of an anxiety attack.
I am sure there is a boss out there who love to have someone so unrealiable working for them. In fact, I should waste everyone's time and look for a job only to leave after three months. Yes, you're right organisation that is centrestink, I should be working no matter what.

I find this whole silly thing makes me so angry. I like to work. I like the feeling of accomplishment one gets when working. I like being "important" in some small. What I don't like; being told by centrestink that I do not like these things and that I just want money for nothing.

Today's appointment is all about the interviewer judging me. The person who I will see will look at me, take into account my appearance, how I talk and act. This person will write a report on their findings and will send that to some other department within centrestink.
I don't like acting or pretending to be something other than what I am. I lied to myself for 23 years about being sick, I will not lie about it now. I must admit, I do take some joy out of being blunt and telling the person who interviews me just what my frame of mind is. One lady actually sat at the desk with her jaw open, staring at me. All I can say is "hey Lady, you asked the question."

Having said all this, I contribute terribly to this dread as I do work myself into a lather of trepidation and anger due to their assumption I'm lying scum. I would sincerely love to say that what I have experienced is all lovely and they treat me with respect. Not one person that I have had the pleasure of dealing with at centrestink has treated me with respect or even with the decency of being professional. Instead, I am constantly met with rude employees, eye rolling, sighing, "you shouldn't be on this payment, why are you lying?" and other such horrible encounters. Is it any wonder I feel such acute anxiety when it comes to appointments with centrestink?

I have two hours before the appointment. Right now my stomach is a knot of muscles, my gallbladder is trying to leap out of my body and I'm breaking out in a cold sweat. I will stop writing now so I may administer some emergency anxiety controlling procedures. I sincerely hope it works otherwise I will definitely be labelled "loser scum of the Earth" by centrestink for not appearing at the appointment.

There's always one that got away

This is the story of a girl, a broken heart and the wrong decision.

It was a couple of years ago now. I was playing this online game, being all pretty and popular in this virtual world. I felt like I had this virtual world as my oyster, I could do with it what I wished. It was like an adult version of playing with a barbie doll.

There was this one part of the game that I liked the most, an unexpected surprise that was strange yet wonderful.

I was into the emo, neko (that's a hybrid human and cat person, post apocalyptic etc, I have pictures of my avatar on Flickr if you really want), grungy chick who loved the whole guns and weapons scene. Yes, indeed I am describing RP (role play).

Then one day there was this chick. She was running through the street, shooting someone (or thing really, she was after a lycan) with such accuracy I literally stopped what I was doing to watch this spektical. I was hooked.

Her name was CrimsonX Varriale.
She taught me how to use weapons, where to find the best things and how to have fun in this virtual world that was fast becoming the only life I had.

We spent pretty much every day together. We spoke via voice (thus I know she was a real chick!) and were never at a loss of things to do or talk about. She opened my eyes to amazing games, music and even photoshop techniques.
In a word, she was perfect.

One night at a gig I was doing (I was an online DJ, which is a lot of fun!) she requested a song. Flyleaf - All Around Me, which I still listen to and think of her.
Crim then asked me to be her partner, yes in this game you could partner people, and I accepted.
I had never been so happy in my life.

I didn't know it then but I was actually in love. I was in love with her brain, with her personality. It wouldn't have mattered what she looked like in the flesh, I was hooked. But I digress.

One day I started to think. This was pre-diagnosed-with-crazy-illness. The thinking led me to do something I regret.
I ended the partnership with Crimson and promptly decided to leave the game. I couldn't face her or even myself and chose the easiest way to leave. I regret that decision with every fibre of my being. I miss her.

I miss talking with her, laughing, joking and all that other stuff. She knew there was something "not quite right" about me, but she liked me anyway. I never had to be anyone else other than myself with her. I was in awe of her awesomeness. I was, in all honesty, in awe with her.


Now I sit here and tweet about how unhappy I am. Yet I know that I'm the reason I am unhappy and this regret eats away at me every day. A little more each day I become harder, jaded and more fractured. All because I was scared of what I felt for her and of the thought of her finding out what I'm really like and thus leaving me.


Every time I hear Flyleaf - All Around Me I stop and think about Crim and my utter stupidity.

Saturday Blues

Who would have thought that on a Saturday afternoon I would start to fall apart.
Why I am falling apart, I don't know. I am just falling apart.

I probably shouldn't have indulged in the behaviour that makes me upset. However, if I did that I would have nothing to blog about. Maybe that would be a good thing?

Anyway, I was tweeting as I always do when I am bored. I mentioned something to a friend about a game I used to play and how the people on that game hate me. This is where my crazy disorder kicks in.
On one hand I was saying everything in jest, I mean I'm not that horrible am I?
On the other hand I knew that the people I used to chat with on that game do in fact hate me, even if I don't know why.
Unfortunately, it was sort of comfortable being in my little world where I wasn't sure which one of the two it was. I believe this is called denial.

My friend told me which of the two options it was.

Result: Renee is crushed.

Rather stupid is it not? I mean it's not a big deal. So pixel people hate me. I mean I have nothing more to do with them, so why should it bother me?
Argh, it's so frustrating being a few sheep short of a paddock! Although I might actually have a few sheep too many thus all the confusion. It makes a bit more sense than not enough sheep....

So now, I'm sitting on my bed resisting the urge to scream at everyone for ignoring me and to just leave me the fuck alone, while holding back the hysterical laughter and a tempest of tears.

How can things go from awesome to broken in a few minutes?
As much as I'd like to believe the professional mind fucks about a series of events happening that cause us to be sad but not acknowledge that sadness until it's too much, I just can't seem to come to terms with their reasoning.
Wouldn't I feel something if I were upset by situations and circumstances?
Wouldn't I notice something different before the final spiral into oblivion?

Oh well, I only have a mental illness (or three), I'm not the one who knows anything about them.

HOT! HOT! HOT!

If you're in the southern hemisphere, predominantly Australia, you will understand me when I say, IT'S BLOODY HOT.

It's only November and already we're reaching temperatures of 40 degrees! And that's not just in Adelaide, SA, where they are known for some serious heat waves. Talk about global warming. I don't think the globe has warmed, I think some smart arse put it in the oven.

As you may, or may not, be able to tell I don't really cope so well in the heat. Not only that, but I'm one of the unfortunates who have to endure the super-hot-spring weather without the comforting aid of an air conditioner. Yes, you read that right. No air conditioner. None. None.

You may wonder how I survive in this insane heat. In fact I'm wondering the same thing...
Perhaps it has something to do with the fan strategically placed in front of me? Maybe the fact that sitting right next to me is my best friend, a water bottle, who helps reduce the heat?

Either way, I'm sitting here, melting. I'm breathing in hot air. Hot air people. It is not pleasant.
Did I mention that it's not even summer yet?

I envy all these summer-going-loving-the-sun-beach-bums that are outside tanning and laughing. I even go near a window in this heat and I find I have sunburn. How I long for gorgeously tanned skin, blonde hair and the summer body to match.. You know, one of those gorgeous girls in the summer commercials or ads in magazines? They are always so pretty, so composed, and never sweat or show signs of extreme discomfort because of the heat. Maybe that's because of all the airbrushing they go through.

Speaking of airbrushing, when will I ever get air brushed in real time? I would love to walk around with a permanent airbrushed look. That's right, no bad hair day or bad skin day for me!
Ah, one can dream...

So how will I spend my summer? That's easy, I plan to hide in the dark recesses of shade. I may even hide out at my local shopping centre where they have air conditioning and pretty things to looking at.
What I won't be doing is spending my time cavorting the stunning sun with all the beautiful people at the beach.

Another day, another dye

Today I decided that all those stray grey hairs I have needed to be reminded who is in control. Damn it, I am in control!! I really am. Maybe?

So now I have a sexy blue-black colour in my short hair. Yes, it's short. That doesn't mean I can be denied the joys of colour. Bite me.
The style is like that of Ruby Rose (the chick in the picture). If only I were as pretty as she!

It's remarkable how something so small, so simple, can make a person feel better. Something as simple as dying my hair has lifted my spirits to an almost soaring level. I even feel hot (the good looking hot, not the "I'm melting from the heat") sitting here in my lounge room at 9:48pm in my pj's. Sexy.

Why is it that grey hair is so hated? In fact why do we, as women, hate our hair no matter what colour it is naturally? I mean, people with straight hair wants curls, those with curly hair want straight hair. Why can't we ever just be happy with who and what we have?
Perhaps those are rhetorical questions as they will never be satisfactorily answered, at least not without going into a deep and meaningful debate about the reasons behind the female psyche. I'll leave that debate for another day.

So here I am, sitting in my lounge room in the most sexy pj's ever (hey, they have pink stiletto's on them and glitter) pretending to watch a repeat of NCIS.
My Wednesday night is one hell of a party!

Let's get this party started...

Broken pieces

It started at 7pm. The darkness surrounded me in thick black waves. It enveloped me and smothered me. I couldn't escape it. There was no hope.

The message came through at 7pm. He seems to feel compelled to speak to me. I really wish he wouldn't. He makes me feel guilty. He makes me feel like I need to justify myself and my actions, when they have nothing to do with him. I really wish he would leave me alone, at least for more than a few days.

I tried to escape the darkness, I ran away from it. However, I can't run fast enough to get away from it. No, it's still with me, being insidious and snaking it's way through every pore and cell of my body. It's tearing me apart from the inside.

The feelings are the worst part. The darkness on its own is bearable. Feelings of loss, hopelessness, uselessness, sadness and angryness are not bearable. They fight for pole position, which one will take over?

Each day passes and I feel even more fragile. My life has become one big fractured and tortured existence. What is the point of fighting when no one will help?

The person who said he wanted to help, inevitably wanted me to listen to him and listen to his problems. He wanted me to be his rock, his safety net, while he told me he wanted me to talk with him.

I hope I am not the only one to see how ridiculous this is?

I am alone in this fight. At the end of the day there is no one else.

A question of sexuality

I won't be adding this entry on my website. This is kind of private, yet not. I still want to talk about it because it's confusing me lately.

Perhaps I could spend the majority of the entry dancing around the issue and perhaps you'll understand what I'm saying. There are far too many "perhaps" in that sentence. I guess I'll just be blunt and see how that goes.

I just wonder...

Okay lately I have been struggling with a new thought. Oh. My. God. A new thought?! Me?! Never!

I'm 25. I feel old. I have grey hairs, a lot of them and no matter how many times people tell me it's because of stress it never makes me feel any better. I always thought I was "straight", at least I just went along with that. Isn't that what people do?

Now, however, I'm finding that I may not be exactly as I thought. I am still attracted to men. I just find I'm more attracted to women. I think.
For instance, I'm on so many medications, therapies etc that I don't know who, what or where I am. Does this now include my sexuality?

This isn't a big deal for lots of people. I mean some of my friends (yes on Twitter) are gay, lesbian or bi. I love them dearly, no not because of their sexual orientation, I love them because of who they are. They make me laugh and allow me to be part of their lives, if only in 140 characters or less.

So it begs the question, why is this such a big deal for me?
Perhaps it ties in with everything else in my head. I've had this idea of who people want me to be. It seems that I just do what others want. It's part of learning how to please people so they don't actually notice you. Fun stuff right there.
So now I find that having my own thoughts, my own REAL thoughts, is a little scary. Okay, so it's a lot scary. I'm terrified.

Every single day I think something new. I learn something new about me. A realisation may walk up to me and hit me so hard in the face I swear it leaves a hand print. It's very hard to accept, to process, when all these things are coming at you.

How do I cope with this as well as being nucking futs? (fucking nuts to the uninitiated.) This is not just something small. It is, indeed, an entire identity adjustment.

Who the fuck am I and why do I feel like I'm being torn in 50 different directions?

In the Middle of a Dream...

I woke up with a very bitter taste in my mind. Yes, bitterness can be tasted by our brains. How do you think we actually decipher taste?!
Anyway, I had strange dreams again. This in itself is not unusual as my night time medication is known to cause some spaced-out-vivid-dreams. The only time I really pay attentin to these dreams is when they actually seem to have some kind of meaning to a situation in my life.

Instead of my usual angry-blood-everywhere-fake-movie-style-actionesque-dream I had an experience that really hit home. It was a very clear indication that something I had chosen to do in the last week was, in fact, the right thing to do.


Perhaps it might help if I explain a little bit of the dream.


She's sitting in the car, but at the same time she's reclining in the seat, almost laying down. Her back is to the driver. The window is open and she's playing with the feeling of the air rushing through her fingers.
She won't look at the driver even though he won't shut up. He just keeps talking and talking. She doesn't even know what he's talking about anymore.
He says something that makes her tense her entire body. She's not even sure what exactly he said. Maybe it was just his tone?
She holds onto the handle on the door, gripping it so tightly her hands hurt. She wants to be anywhere but with this man. He makes her uncomfortable. He tells her things she doesn't want to know.
Finally she hears something he says "You're the reason I wake up in the morning"
She shudders. This is not right. Doesn't he know that he's making her uncomfortable? Doesn't he pay any attention at all?
She pulls herself closer to the door, ready to escape.
When will this drive be over?
She just wants to be safe away from him.


The dream was like I was watching it, yet I could feel the emotions of the girl (me). Fear.
Pure and simple, fear. Debilitating fear. It was like being trapped, a caged animal unable to do anything other than what the captor wanted.
The feelings are still with me. It still scares me, but I know that dream is indicative of what I did feel and what I would have felt had I not done what I needed to do.


As cruel as this will sound, I am glad I listened to myself and not did "what was right" for other people.
No, this was about me and where I am in my life. Right now, I don't want someone who needs me more than I need them. Sorry, that's just the way it is.


Independence.


Who would have thought I would ever become Independent?