It's Over

Whatever little spark has been pushing me to go to school everyday and actually FINISH high school died slowly over the week. Nothing else seems to matter much either. There IS a light at the end of the tunnel, always has been. Trouble is, I'm not getting any closer. I haven't moved forward in 6 years. I don't think I remember how.

I quit. It's over. I'm not giving up on life, don't panic. But the way I'm going about it now isn't working. I haven't seen Louise in a month. I was supposed to see a specialist she referred me too, but her office is too far away, and I really hate using Mum's phone. Louise moved to the same suburb, so I have to find the money for the train before I can go see her.

We're flat broke. No grocery shopping for 3 weeks. Not a slice of bread left in the house. I've reverted back to my old habit of drinking tea when I'm hungry. I think I'm a little dehydrated because of it.

This life is void. It was never going anywhere to start with. I always knew I was born in the wrong body, to the wrong family, in the wrong state. How did I become the person I am in these surroundings? I am the exact opposite of a chameleon. I have to much imagination to be happy with what I have, but not enough to make it into what I want it to be.

I knew this would happen. I told them I needed stability before I went back to school or it would burn me out. I can't do this anymore. It's over. Not that it ever began in the first place.

New Year's Fucking Eve

It's 9:00, and I'm in exactly the situation I promised myself I wouldn't be in on NYE. The fireworks have just started going off, and I can't see them from my house. It seems a good metaphore, as once again, I'm missing out.

Not any more.

Pretty soon my life will be in my own capable hands, and I'll be far away from here, this place, this situation, this state of mind. There are going to be some big goddamn changes in my life, or else. I'm not going to be a coward any longer.

The fireworks and the smell of jasmine in our front garden are messing with my head. At my grandparents' old house our NYE tradition was to climb onto the roof to see the fireworks at Robina Town Center, and Nana's garden always had the incredible smell of jasmine.

This year is going to be different. New decade, new life. There are so many people in my life that just drag me down, and I've put up with it because the people I asked begged for help made excuses and invalidated my fears. There are people who ignored me when they could see I needed help. There are the people that enable my Mum's drinking, even with me crying in the corner. These people will be purged, so I can  finally get on with my life.

There are good people, who want to help, who can help. There are people who have the common sense necessary to be a functional human being. There's a home out there that I haven't found, family that needs to be reminded that they cannot ignore me.

There are changes to be made, and a new era is dawning. The anger I feel has been builing for years, and I am simply incapable of bottling it up any longer. Like the release of the cork from my (imaginary) champagne bottle, everything I've been hiding will be set free.

My New Year's Resolution is this: to be honest. Totally, completely, 100% honest, to everyone. No more little white lies, no more bending the truth to keep secrets, no more making pathetic excuses.

My life up till now has been constricted and controlled so much, by my family, my own anxiety and depression, as well as my cowardice, that it barely counts as a life at all. I will not be that person any more.

I'm off to burn an effigy of my former self.

Happy New Year's, all!

Post-Louise Euphoria

I don't write in this blog nearly enough. For the last few months it seems like all the good ideas and words and phrases that might be useful for a blog entry have been sucked into the giant black hole in my bedroom floor. Today, obviously is different. I've just got back from my second session with my psychologist, Louise. Since I've been seeing her, the black hole in my floor has grown smaller, at least for temporary chunks of time.

I've been seeing counselors on and off since I was 11, but none of them ever helped that much. Jenny, from my first year at high school, and last year when I returned to that school, came close, but I was reluctant to open up to her. I didn't really have the ability to express my thoughts the way I do now. With Louise, however, this is different.

For the first time in my life I feel listened to. That's the thing I love the most about her: she doesn't just hear, and scribble notes, she listens, and thinks and processes. And her office makes me feel safe. Both times I've been to see her, I ran out of tissues, which she immediately replaced, and I still felt safe after she was gone. I also love that she said she'd take me home herself if it wasn't unethical, and that Molly was the coolest name for a cat, ever.


We talked about a lot of stuff (when I say "talked" I mean, "actual useful, intelligent dialogue that helped.") and during this and afterward I felt...I don't even know a word for how I feel. Safe? (seems to be a key word here) Optimistic? Hopeful, even?

I remember after leaving her office the first time, on my way home I was struck by the thought that with this woman's help, I could become a whole person. Silly way to phrase it, I know, but that's how it struck me. A whole person, who acknowledges and accepts all her life experiences, good and bad, and takes responsibility for the emotions attached to them, and is capable of the things that other whole people are. I could have a normal life, without gaping chasms opening up in walls and floors, without fear and anxiety 24/7, with friends I care about and a future to look forward to. To be a whole person, not just a personality.

One thing we talked about, which I have been meaning to mention somehow, but haven't, is my fear of aging. (Friend Josh pointed out to me that "gerascophobia" is the term for fear of aging. Thank you, Friend Josh) It was my birthday 3 weeks ago, and I spent the entire week leading up to it in a state of blind, frantic panic mixed up with terror. By the day before my birthday, I was literally tearing my hair out. (The hair on my head, which I almost never pull out) trying to climb the window panes to escape the now enormous black hole. I decided, for the sake of my sanity, to go on a Time strike. Or, rather, age strike. To simple not acknowledge my age, at all Period. Just stay 16 until I was ready to move on. There are plenty of 30-something-year-olds who say they're 20-something, right? I still look the part, and I don't feel any older, so why not me?

(Louise was out of town all week during this time. Ironic, I know.)

When I mentioned this to Louise, I slipped in something along the lines of, "I know it's stupid and illogical," as I always do when I'm afraid people will say something mean. She pointed out that there were no drastic changes had occurred, no growth spurts or sudden wrinkling etc. Her message came across as, "Age is only a number, and you're only as old as you feel." I still feel 16, it's true, so what does it really matter. She also said it was perfectly alright, and not stupid at all, to wait until I felt 17 to declare my age, mostly to myself, and that I'm still the same person anyway.

She also said not to think about it. Oops.

After getting all my issues out in the open, we made actual, solid plans to make things better. Rellies to talk to, things like that. Discussion was followed by action (or at least the planning of action, with the intention of following through), not just a, "See if you still feel the same way tomorrow morning." We're getting shit done, plugging up the black holes sprinkled across memories and feelings. I still feel like my emotions are all squashed and rung out and gunky, like the crap you scrape out of the plug hole after washing up a load of dishes with pasta baked on, but I also feel like there is a scratch on the surface of what has been boxed up for so long, providing a little light for me.

I do feel hopeful. Life is not only fixable, but worth fixing.
Thank you, Louise.

O Christmas Tree

So. Halloween is over. I didn't enjoy it as much as I thought I would. But whatever. That means that my birthday and Christmas are coming up. The other day, I went into another panic attack when my brother asked me if I was looking forward to our birthdays. (We 3 years apart, but our birthdays are in the same week,s o everyone always lumps us together like we're the same fucking person) I'm getting very sick of this living-in-my-head-unable-to-face-reality-and-the-insanely-fast-passage-of-time. I need to get some shit done, for my sanity. The other night I realized that I am really not immune to that often-mentioned daddy complex, and that this is tied in with my fear of aging. Long story, but I realized I need to move on with my life. I still feel 13, but I hope that acting like a 16-year-old will make me grow up. Or something. One good thing about this time of year is the Christmas tree. When I was little, my Nana and I would decorate her tree every year. We never had our own tree, so I kind of adopted hers. We haven't done that for years, not since we moved away. This is my grandparents second Christmas in their new house, and I feel like it's important to do this. I feel like I'm ready to move on and accept the new house after having their old one, my real home brutally ripped out from under them. I'm giving myself permission to do the whole Christmas thing this year. I no longer consider myself a Jehovah's Witness, and feel free to do as I please. And I really do love the holidays. I even talked to Mum about getting our own Christmas tree.

Fear Itself

"There is nothing to fear but fear itself." I really hope this is true. The plans I have been clinging to for dear life the last few years are starting to unravel due to my procrastination. I lost another 3 years. Sometimes I wonder what the hell I'm doing. I understand now that I took the wrong fork in the road, and now I'm teetering on the edge of a cliff, with the ground shaking beneath me, it threatening to crumble out from under me. Normally in such a situation I would take comfort in the fact that I could start again when I hit the bottom of the chasm, but I know there's no bottom. I will just keep falling. And falling. And falling. I know I can prevent this from happening, I can save myself if I can bring myself to ask for help. I'm afraid of that too. The only person I've ever reached out to, who promised to help, flaked on me, not once, but twice. She knew I needed her help. I begged her to help, literally. "I can't really help you, sweetheart, I don't really have the room for another person. Maybe next year." A year later, we actually made plans. But nothing happened. Nada. This is what family is supposed to be for, isn't it? What's the point? I'm not going to let it end this way. I will not end up one of those sad, soulless people on the street. Is it possible to rewrite the past? Can I pretty please have a do-over?

I'm Writing Again, Thank God!

I finally felt like I could open up to my new notebook. I've written 13 pages today, i'm beginning to feel like my self again, so i thought I'd see if i could translate all this business up in my head into a blog post. 2 more sleeps until the movers come. pretty much all my stuff is in boxes, except my furniture. i love the way my room looks right now, it's so roomy without all the boxes of books and shit lying around. (note to self: get a bookshelf, you cheapskate!) I think a cubby-style bookcase would do nicely. Mum has been stressing out so much that she broke out in hives over night. today she found out that the hacker she thought had stolen from her paypal account was really my brother giving $100 to some chick he met on WoW. that kid seems more than slightly inclined to criminal behaviour. i was reflecting on us, as a collective, earlier today, and was struck by how wonderfully fucked up my family is: alcoholic dreamer of a mother, almost-a-juvenile-delinquent geek brother, and the *ahem* tortured intellectual, possibly-a-serial-killer-in-the-making daughter with major daddy issues. I'm going to make a movie based on us one day... today i found myself, more than once, wishing for a camera. i discovered that i was shacked-up with the world's largest dust bunny today, and had nothing to take a photo with! I'm not leaving this house till i get a pic of it to post here. I'm so glad i can write again. since i filled up my old notebook, it's been difficult to find one that i feel comfortable writing in. i realized that this was just Resistance, and that I should just keep writing until i break through the wall. i did that tonight and it felt SOOOO GOOOD! i feel the relief of releasing something pent-up, like a traveller who, at the end of a long journey, FINALLY finds the restrooms. though, now i realize that i'm better off sticking to simple, plain notebooks, rather than fancy-schmancy "journals". the one I have now is the single most beautiful cover i have seen on any book. ever. it's apparently the cover for a novel by Patricia A. McKillop, a painting by Kinuko Y. Craft. Let me see if i can find a piccie, because this book is simply amaaaazing. i've been staring at it for almost 2 years now, and I'm still noticing details i didn't before..... Oooh, I just found a short review here. You can't see any of the back cover here, which is a goddamn shame, because there's so much there! if you look closely, you can see that the view from the window is the same landscape as on the redhead's fan. the strange patterned slab of wood-looking thing behind the clouds is the edge of her fan! i'm buying this book because of the cover, no ifs ands or buts. the artist's other work is pretty amazing too. "imaginary realist" I like it! and so I leave you with a book recommendation, and a lot of grammatical errors (which i've never, ever, done before in my life, and have only now understood how freeing it is. I'd never let spelling mistakes slip by, though, if i could help it) which i think are a small sign of the changes that are taking place. i'm becoming less and less tightly wound as i type, albeit by small degrees... with sleepy eyes and missing upper-case letters, xx Prettybones