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*
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?
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?
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!
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?
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?
Valium tales
Well, for those of you who read my last post you'd know that I was meant to skip a day by taking Valium to sleep through it. (If you want to know why you'll need to read Dissociative, the previous post.)
So, Tuesday night (23rd november) I took my usual sleeping medication (seroquel) and I took a small amount of Valium. *insert skepticism about the Valium working here*
I must say that I did have a headache so I also took two ibuprofen. Then, all mighty and powerful, I went to bed.
I noticed two things. Firstly, my headache got worse from the Valium and secondly, it didn't put me to sleep nor keep me asleep. I woke up at 9:30am which is about standard for me lately.
There are two arguments about what I should have done next. The first is that I should have taken double the amount of Valium to sleep through the day and possibly even the night.
The second argument is that I shouldn't have to take something that will give me headaches. In fact I shouldn't have to take anything at all because I should just "grow a pair" and"get over it".
Both arguments are flawed.
I chose not to take any more drugs and therefore I was conscious through one of the four hardest days of the year. Out of the four November the 24th is by far the worst.
So yes, I did survive the day and that in itself is very little comfort to me. There is nothing remarkable, strong or even remotely good about surviving another day. I'm even starting to believe that's true of all people and not just me.
I have no sympathy anymore. I still empathise with certain people and situations but even that is less than what it used to be.
It really boils down to this: no one cares about me so why should I care about them?*
And thus ends the Valium tales.
I completely realise "tales" implies more than one story but in this instance I have decided to use it as artistic flair.
*while people may care my current perception dictates otherwise and as such I am very much alone in a cruel, heartless and careless world.
So, Tuesday night (23rd november) I took my usual sleeping medication (seroquel) and I took a small amount of Valium. *insert skepticism about the Valium working here*
I must say that I did have a headache so I also took two ibuprofen. Then, all mighty and powerful, I went to bed.
I noticed two things. Firstly, my headache got worse from the Valium and secondly, it didn't put me to sleep nor keep me asleep. I woke up at 9:30am which is about standard for me lately.
There are two arguments about what I should have done next. The first is that I should have taken double the amount of Valium to sleep through the day and possibly even the night.
The second argument is that I shouldn't have to take something that will give me headaches. In fact I shouldn't have to take anything at all because I should just "grow a pair" and"get over it".
Both arguments are flawed.
I chose not to take any more drugs and therefore I was conscious through one of the four hardest days of the year. Out of the four November the 24th is by far the worst.
So yes, I did survive the day and that in itself is very little comfort to me. There is nothing remarkable, strong or even remotely good about surviving another day. I'm even starting to believe that's true of all people and not just me.
I have no sympathy anymore. I still empathise with certain people and situations but even that is less than what it used to be.
It really boils down to this: no one cares about me so why should I care about them?*
And thus ends the Valium tales.
I completely realise "tales" implies more than one story but in this instance I have decided to use it as artistic flair.
*while people may care my current perception dictates otherwise and as such I am very much alone in a cruel, heartless and careless world.