Thursday, July 28, 2011

perfect weather to fly

There are only two things in the world that can heal me, comfort clean rejuvenate revitalise remind me; mountains and music.

Much money and time has gone into taking myself to mountains - the Andes! the Himalayas! - and it is effort enough that it only happens maybe once a year if I am particularly studious. Music is much more obliging. There's just some special power these two things...these ideas have, the power to erase an identity while maintaining an awareness. The power to make you so irrelevant and insignificant that you are free.

But it must be live, and it must be loud. I couldn't breathe because the music filled my lungs and there was no room for blood with the music roaring in my veins and there was no space for me-

And I am free.

This is. You see. The medication.
The medication is a thief. Perhaps it took the edge off the hurt, but it took the altitude from the highs as well. Take me away from me and I am a roaring fireball of joy. So often I am stormy seas, I am the howling heart, I am fury - the medication does not take that. And I can howl from delight just as loudly, the earthquake is from glee, the satellites buzz my ear I am so high so exhilarated so glorious.

It takes important things. They are all important things. It has stolen what this blog post was going to be about.

Of course I cry anonymous and alone in a crowd. The music demands nothing less than to pay fealty to its majesty. But I also cried from grief, as even as I was giddy with love, I knew this couldn't last. This magnificence is like smoke; you inhale and it is everything, and then, you exhale, and it is gone.

This message is for you. by sirtessa

I wanted to say to you, that, right now I am a superhero. I love you strangers known and unknown, and could heal all your heartsores by just looking at you, because I'm radiation, you can't see feel taste touch hear the wonder and I can't contain it, it's bleeding from me and into you and loosening your fears. All I need do is hook my littler finger around your thumb and you'll be up here with me, among the satellites. Tonight is beautiful, and tomorrow will be too.

I wanted to say that, while it was true.

But I have exhaled.

And it is not.

Thursday, July 21, 2011

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.

Tuesday, July 19, 2011


So Ben Peek hightails it off to the US of A, gets pished on the 4th of July and demands my postal address. He's going to send me a postcard, he says.

There was a postcard in the package, he did not lie. There was also a t-shirt.


Immediately showed it to mother and brother, both of whom shared my reaction: astonished gleeful cackling.

Thanks, Dr Peek. You da man. <3

Monday, July 18, 2011

The Ceiling Unfelt

the sun sets

The sun struggled, it didn't want to go and so left scratches in the sky.

the sun rises

My freaky darlings, today is so fat with delight it has stretch marks, and it is all for you.

the sun sets

Act swift if you wish to pan the clouds for gold, for the gold is gone even swifter.

Sunday, July 10, 2011

there are ghosts in the wires
ghosts wired on electricity
we are all someone's ghost
we are all waiting to become ghosts
so i am haunted

everything is cold

Rain cannot fill the empty hours. by sirtessa

Wednesday, July 06, 2011

Insomnia visited me again last night. It was unexpected, I had and had not done all the things I need to during the day that would normally moderate insomnia off.

I missed my alarm.

The Dragon cannot transcribe the past few minutes of choked silence. I can think of no better way to describe the hour it took me to make a single decision this morning. Choked. Whether to get up, go and simply work late, or call in sick. There were a ridiculous number of factors that I took into consideration when weighing the pros and cons of each. Indecision was paralysing me, and I knew it, and I knew, no, I know that means that I am running too close to empty.

It feels ridiculous saying that, “willing to staytoo close to empty" (the Dragon interpreted that, truth is a slip of the Dragon?) When I have been running on empty for I don't even know any more, I think I remember what it felt like to have will end determination and strength.

The Dragon still cannot translate words thrown tears.

I lay there long enough that eventually the decision was made me, and I called in sick.

Of course, having made the decision I instantly felt better and felt that I could face work to do this. And now I am choking on the same decision a second time . In a

Did I tell you I was referred to a psychiatrist? They have not called back. I can't commit to a decision to go or not to work today this; thought of calling to make an appointment to this is a I can't work on and if five

Don't know what do. There are no safe place is in the world.