Where to begin when there is no beginning. Context has already been well and truly ground into this blog. Old ground old ground old ground. Stuck in a groove as they say, the gramophone playing the same ring over and over and over and over.

What was I going to say.

None of these are questions. They are confessions of ignorance that do not expect or require an answer. Rhetoric. What am I saying. Do I have anything to say.

If I said I was not doing well would you just laugh. Captain Obvious much.

The pain is phenomenal. I would say this is the worst it has ever been, but, I have lived with pain so long now I can't be sure. It is always there. Like skin. It is always there. Don't think about it much unless it is acute. That's not true. I think about it all the time. I'm thinking about it now, how all the tension in my body makes my jaw clench and pulls on my scalp and squeezes my skull and I have a perpetual headache, and it feels like there is broken glass sliding between my bones and in my joints. There is no comfort. Anywhere. Not a moment of it. My body is out of sorts, its bones don't fit, the muscles don't fit, the skin doesn't fit, I'm all wrong, everything about me is wrong.

Too much nurofen plus. Ibuprofen makes you bleed, and there is blood coming out everywhere. I see the docctor tomorrow. I will tell him this. Maybe he will give me something else. What does it matter. I was never sure, could never be certain, that the nurofen actually made a difference. Never without pain. You do not understand a chronic condition until you have one. I can say this, because now I have one, and have had one long enough to understand, and when I look back I know I knew nothing.

I had a spell on Tuesday. One of those fainting in a public place spells. Thankfully I was not too public, and not too alone. Fortunately, I didn't faint. Unfortunately, I didn't faint. It's like vomit. You feel better if you just do it, instead of fighting it off. Or maybe it's all the ibuprofen. I didn't faint. The threat of it has been dogging me since. Nothing is solid. Gravity shifts about nervously. My hands shake. I must sit down. I must rest my head in my hands, hands on the table. I must stop. And wait.

Maybe it was because I had a little relapse, and purged.

Maybe it is because insomnia loves me too much. Three, four hours of sleep a night. I'm tired. I'm resigned. I give up. For the last month I've been having accidents with my alarm clock once or twice a week. If you consider I take one day off a week for physio and to rest my arms, that's not a great track record. Got myself into severe flex time debt, because I simply can't stay and make up the hours. It hurts. I'm falling behind at work. The piles of files on my desk are growing, and they're all urgent. All of them need to be done last month. I'm given at least one more a day, and I'm not clearing one a day. They tell me not to get stressed. How. Why. I'm practically part time, I can't do anything for myself in my private life, and I can't even take refuge in the assumption I'm doing my job well. I'm not. I'm falling behind. Clients call and ask for a status report and yell at me and say they will lose their children and it will be my fault.

People ask my how my writing is going.

7wishes has been returned to me. Knocked back by every publisher in the whole world in all history.

The psychiatrists ran me back and forth between intake and outpatient. I sent them the referral over a month ago. Back and forth back and forth. Despite my repeated requests for a female doctor, they kept referring me to a man. No. No. No. Listen to me, please, I can't fight for myself any more. Finally, an appointment on Monday. Every time they called I'd hang up, go to the bathroom and lock myself in a cubicle until the shaking stopped. This is wrong, this is all wrong, I'm all wrong.

There doesn't seem to be any climbing out progressing improvement getting better. In anything. This rabbit hole has no bottom like the sea has no bottom it's just cold black and crushing forever. No walls no nothing just you sinking forever.

There was a permanent position advertised in my office. The very role I'm performing. I'm only on loan from my old department. Of course I applied. I was doing the job, why wouldn't I get it? Everyone in the office assumed it was mine, and my offsider would then pick up my contract.

Instead, they gave it to an external applicant.

Not just the usual kick in t he gut from a job rejection. Humiliation. I'm humiliated in front of the whole office. I'm not good enough. An external applicant. I can't remember how many times I've gone for this job. It is doubtful anything more will be advertised before I leave.

That day I went to a travel agent and booked and paid for all my flights. Spite and bitterness, what fine motivators. My life is propelled by all that is sour. Melbourne to Sydney to LAX to San Diego. San Diego to New York. New York to NC. FL to New York. New York to Reykjavik. Reykjavik to Copenhagen to Berlin.

What is to anticipate. What excitement. I have none. Desperate only to stop this. This. Whatever this is. But I can't leave myself behind.

Does it matter.

I just want my hands back. I want my voice back. I want to write. That is the source of all that is broken. I could navigate every unknown sea the world saw fit to put in my path if only I had my voice my hands if only.

That seemingly self-destructive binge has continued. Meeting more and more stranger. Some people become less stranger due to prolonged exposure. Still. Strangers. You forget. When your people are people who know you and you've each trained each other and you don't have to explain any more. You forget. And then you introduce new people, and at first it's fun and then over a period of time they start giving you this look, as if they realise that it wasn't a one off, you really are like this all the time, and then they start dismissing whatever you just said with "you're weird" and similar. And yuou remember all over again that you're not normal. There's not hing noraml about you. You're all wrong.

What are all these people for anyone. What do you achieve with all these people. They're just distractions. All of them. You use them to fill your minutes so they pass quickly, and fill your head with noise so you can't hear yourself. Just using them. You could be good friends with any number of them, but you'll never know, because you are all wrong and your agenda and motives are all wrong and there is no honesty left with you.

And they. Who are they. What are they using you for. I turned down sex you know. There was a very long time I could not say no, because I believed that if I did the world would take my refusal in black and white and no one would ever want me again. I had to be grateful for any attention I got, because I wasn't worth attention. I turned down sex because I was tired of this charade of whatever it is people keep doing. This social dance. This pretending to be BFF and totally understand and get each other. This. Whatever this is. Do you know what I have to offer? Big tits and a pretty face. If anyone talks to me, initiates conversation or continues contact, that is why. There was a time I wanted to be pretty. Now that I am, I hate it. Nothing but surface. Only the surface. All this depth. With no bottom. No one wants that.

Nothing is getting better. Nothin.

Nothing is relief. Respite. Nothing else. Nothing helps.

I didn't know what to do. I didn't want to bee at work. I didn't want to go ut. I wanted. I don't knoww. Everything I 'm not. I yelled on twitter because, because, attention whoring, take pity on me even though i am not physically capable of responding. oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooopathetic and asked for a hug. asked for one. didn't go and get it, no. felt so fucking ashmed for asking. humiliated again. because i was asking of someone i had no right to ask from. and i though, twho else is there?

i walked to the ferris wheel by the yarra. it wasn't moving. operating, but no one was on it so it wasn't spinning. lost my nerve. no courage. sat by the river staring at it and all the dark globes as the sun set. i couldn't ask for the engine to turn just for me. i couldn't. i'm not worth that. i didn't know what else to do with my time. it was cold. so cold by the river. i found a plastic figure in the dirt. his paint was worn off.



he'd been dropped, abandoned, forgotten, so i picked him up and put him in my pocket. now he is on my desk. where i will forget him too. what has changed. nothing changes.

i had no where to go. no where to be. this is not home. this is not home. home is a state of mind and i am home sick. this is not home. this is not my space. i have no where to be. there was nowhere to be. just sat there in the cold and dark waiting for enough time to pass, because otherwise they would ask why i was 'home' early. and i couldn't be there. but i had nowhere to be. no where to go.

i stood out the front of thet house just standing because, because that meant more time had passed, putting off opening the front door and putting on a mask. jsut stood there on the sidewalk like a creep.

that is. all.

i'm going to purge now.