I have moved!

To Wordpress:

http://occasionalwallflower.wordpress.com/

Everything is over there now and I will delete this soon :)

Things to Live For

1. The Boy

2. My puppy

3. Funtime with the housemates

4. Funtimes with people at work (dancing to the nutbush, paper towel togas!)

5. The Best Friend and Mumsie2 (her mum, they looked after me as a screwed up teenager, they are like family), and all the amazing memories

6. Trashy movies, up to and including romantic comedies starring Jennifer Anniston

7. Long baths with bath salts, candles, and music blaring (singing along is good too!)

8. Music to match your mood

9. Terrible TV that you can't help smiling at

10. Naps with my puppy

11. Spending copious amounts of money on footwear and shiny things

12. Walking in the rain

13. Sleeping in on a sunday

14. Amazing sex with the person you love

15. Cuddles and talks in bed

16. Inside jokes

17. Going out- drinking, laughing, singing

Note To Self:

Do not try going shopping whilst you are emotional and clearly on the verge of some sort of break down. You will get around the corner and burst into tears again.

Fuck your life.

Horrible Week

I am just so goddamn sick of feeling like this. I am sick and tired of wanting to die, of wanting to be alone, of hating being lonely. It's enough to make one's brain explode.

I am sick of my conflicting feelings, of wanting a different thing every hour. I am sick of curling up in the fetal position and balling my eyes out. My puppy gets very worried. This has been my week though- crying, anger, suicidal thoughts, being lonely but not wanting anyone around. It feels fucked up and insane and I don't know what to do. Feeling like this exacerbates the anger and I just want some relief. But how do I get it?

I have considered calling the crisis team again but going through that again makes me want to cry. They are temporary. I need permanency. A permanent solution to being crazy. The sad part is there isn't one. There isn't a permanent solution. You can break a leg and have it reset but break your mind and you're fucked. I have a long trudge up a long, muddy hill ahead of me. I have to take my meds, and talk, and attend therapy, and try not to kill myself. But for how long? How fucking long will this continue? The only answer I can think of is forever. I don't think there is a cure, just remission.

I don't want to be alone in this big empty house right now. But like everything, I have little choice and no control. Here come the waterworks again. Sigh.

I Just Want Oblivion

Last week, I ventured over the border to see the Best Friend and her wonderful Mum. I stayed from Wednesday until yesterday where I endured the 8 hour bus ride and arrived safely home into the arms of the Boy and paws of my puppy.

The mini break was a much needed holiday from work which has been stressing me out lately, to say the least. It was like going home (except better). I puttered around, napped, read, and basically just relaxed. We went to the city one night and enjoyed the anonymity and shopping, and went for dinner and drinks another. But the majority of the week was spent relaxing which is something that I really needed. It was a wonderful trip, in general.

Things sort of went bad in the last couple of days though. I started to feel.. not myself. I became someone unfamiliar- quiet, withdrawn, uncomfortable in my own skin. I became rude and frankly, I just couldn't be arsed doing anything. I wanted to be left alone, and everything was dulled, including physical sensation. It was strange.

I saw the Boy last night after I arrived and showered and he seemed slightly worried (sorry!). I am still not feeling well, honestly. I just want oblivion.

Feeling crazy

I feel trapped inside my head, and as though my life is dicatated by my moods.

I feel like a crazy bitch.

A Bad Night, Love, and an Anticipated Holiday

Things have gotten better today but last night was hell. I was restless and jittery and felt like.. crap, to be blunt. I had too much energy but not in the good way.

I wanted to break things. I wanted to punch things. I wanted to yell and scream and throw a tantrum. I wanted to be a huge, spoilt, selfish child. I wanted to be that annoying kid in the supermarket who yells and screams at his tight lipped mother, who makes everyone want to leave the shop.

I practiced restraint and kept myself safe with help from the Boy. It wasn't easy but eventually, I crashed. I slept in fits. From 1am until 3am. Then 4am to 5am. Then 5.30am until 9am. Then I woke at 10am. I hate broken sleep. It got better as the morning wore on but it was a long night. The thought of sleeping is filling me with such anxiety. I need to sleep. That weariness is filling my bones and I don't want to do anything. I lie in bed, waiting for oblivion but  nothing. Have my meds stopped working?

I was so close to calling the crisis team but I don't want to go to hospital and I am clearly capable of keeping myself safe. I. Just. Felt. Baaaad.

Enough whinging. Today was good. I was slightly low and lethargic but my Best Friend came to visit me. I haven't seen her in a year and I have known her since I was twelve. We live in different states now so the time we get is rare and therefore precious. I am crossing the border and staying with her for almost a week. A much needed holiday.

I have spent tonight with the Boy. It has been very nice and has made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Naaww. He makes me smile which has been an achievement today.

My plan for the week ahead: to keep myself safe, and relax.

Grr-faced

My housemate has a psychology book that she used when she studied psychology at Uni. I was reading about BPD in it. The thing that the author has highlighted most is how manipulative people with BPD are. I don't think I'm manipulative. It's funny how they can call me emotionally unstable, a self-harmer, someone who has chaotic relationships, and is reckless and I'm fine. But manipulative? Grr-face.

Whiny Whinge

I am sick of being sick! I know I am being a sook but my throat is killing me, I keep alternating between sweating profusely and shivering like a maniac, and my head is throbbing like a bitch. A hot bath helped while I was in there, and I am unable to sleep long enough to shake this thing once and for all.

To be honest, the worst thing is the loneliness. My house is cold and lonely. My puppy is roaming the halls, far too interested in sights and smells to pay any attention to me. Also, he has figured out that after four, five days of this, I lack energy to play.

I dunno if it's the illness or if I would be anyway, but I am depressed. Horribly, uncomfortably depressed. I don't want to get up, to go on. I don't want to go to work tomorrow, or in fact, ever again. I don't want to spend my life trudging to a job everyday, same old, same old. Yet, what's the alternative?

I am just exhausted.

/Whinge

There Was A Time..

Where I would wake up, wanting to face the world, excited for what the day would bring. This time was all cupcakes, roses, sunshine, little girls with golden blonde curls. I was not yet a teenager, but not quite a child. Even though my parents had split and I hadn't seen my biological father (R) in years, life had not touched me. We had just moved house and had made a few friends. My brother was fine then too. Here is a quick family tree for contexts sake:

Then everything went scarily wrong. I started to become a teenager which I hear is hard enough in normal circumstances. I, was about 2, K was 5, and D was 12. I was roughly 14 and school was hell. I was unable to fit in, I had few friends (save a few amazing people), and my parents were slowly losing their sanity. My step-father's closet alcoholism was brought to the forefront and our house became hostile. My parents were unable to speak to each other, or us, without raised voices and intimidation.

Then, my Mum seemed to hit rock bottom. She started sleeping around and drinking with intensity. She started working twelve hour shifts at the hotel where she worked as a cook, and she would work 5-6 days a week. This was stressing her out majorly, especially since she had to leave her children with her alcoholic spouse. While I can understand her situation and feel empathy for her, I feel worse for me. I was one of the children being left with the alcoholic spouse.

As much as I love my step-dad now, he was a horrible person back then. He would drink to excess every day. He would start upon waking and finish when he would pass out sometime in the wee hours of the morning. All the moments in between, he either spent at the pub or at home terrorising people he professed to love. Needless to say, this left little time for parenting.

This is when I stepped up, I guess. Reluctantly and not with any prior experience or skill, but I looked after my siblings. I looked after them when my step-father was at the pub, and my mother was working, or drinking, or at some random person's house. I looked after them when it so happened that both of the "adults" were home and arguing. I looked after them when my mother would leave after and argument, and my step-father would be the only one home, drunk and angry.

One day, I walked into the kitchen after another of my parents intense, furious arguments. My step-dad was in there, with his head in the cupboard where we kept our knives. I walked over to him to see what he was doing and I realised that he was sharpening knives. I also realised that he was muttering aloud, threatening to kill us all. He said it with such conviction that I thought he would do it.

He was always so inebriated that he was intimidating. He had little control over his actions, and would like to make his status known throughout the family. He hit my mum in front of us, and my brother, D, in private. He never hit me, I guess because I am a girl, but he was still intimidating. He would come home and yell for hours, pushing me around. One night he came home, drunk and stoned, and held me down with his knees on my arms to draw on my face. Apparently, he found this to be a fun game. I did not, and he wouldn't get off me until D walked into my room despite my yells that he was hurting me. Mostly, he told me a lot of stories. This wasn't so bad, I learnt a lot about my parents before they became my parents. Although through these stories, I found out how much he loved my mum and how much he resented us for taking her time and energy.

For the next year and a half while he was drunk and drugged and my mum was wherever she was, I feared for my safety and the safety of my family. I stopped sleeping, and basically went into survival mode. I took days off school because when I went to school, I would come home to 2-year-old I, and 5-year-old K, throwing things around the house. My mum was absent and my step-father was passed out. This was most frightening because we had a fire place.

During this time, my mum took in a new lover and my step-dad moved out. Across the road. Pointless, really. They fought just as much, I just had to look after my siblings more. I made dinner, bathed them, made sure K went to Kindergarten, made sure they went to bed. We were at my step-dad's during the week and my mum's on the weekends. She was rarely there on the weekends. She didn't work, it was socialising time.

This went on for about a year and half (as I said) with various specific incidents that I may elaborate on at some future date. Afterwards, I became caretaker. My step-dad slowly gave up the drink and mellowed out a bit. He sat on the computer all day, consuming to the depression that led to his drinking in the first place. My mum grieved. For her teenage years, I think, and for the time before the life that scarred her and her children.

Meanwhile, I was a mess. I was cutting, not eating, not sleeping. If I even went to school, I would sleep and hang out with the smokers behind the basketball courts. I started smoking casually (I was around 16 at this point), something that I never really found addictive. I was still cooking and doing minimal cleaning around the house. Now that K was older, I was helping her with homework, but still bathing her and I. I was getting mum to sign notes for school so that we didn't go without. So that teacher's never knew the difference.

And it has all been downhill from there.

BPD in Detail

It has been a low day today. I woke up frequently throughout the night which isn't new except this time, I continuously woke up due to clogged up nasal passges and a bark worse than my dog's. I can usually handle physical illness (complaining is a coping straegy!) but this is getting me down. I think this may be mainly mental though. I have the feeling that even if I were healthy as a horse, I'd be down.

I have been thinking more about BPD and it seems to make sense. I have been reading more about it. These are the criteria outlined in the DSM-IV:

 1. frantic efforts to avoid real or imagined abandonment. Note: Do not include suicidal or self-mutilating behavior covered in Criterion 5.
This is me. Plain and simple. Terrified of abandonment. So terrified that I will invent signs that you are about to abandon me. Then you get to see me lose my shit and cry and beg you to stay while you are sitting there wondering what is going on.

  2. a pattern of unstable and intense interpersonal relationships characterized by alternating between extremes of idealization and devaluation. 
Ahh.. now this is a talent. I will take the example of my Mother Dearest. Some days, I adore her. Somedays, she is the strongest woman alive and I can forgive the mistakes she has made in the past because she has had a hard life. But most days, she infuriates me and I wish for her to be cheerily burned at the stake. OK, that's a bit far but you get the picture.

  3. identity disturbance: markedly and persistently unstable self-image or sense of self. 
I guess this is true. My self-image seems to change with mood. When depressed, I am the scum of the earth and no one should have to endure my company. When euphoric, I am amazing and spend hours entertaining people with my witty banter.

  4. impulsivity in at least two areas that are potentially self-damaging (e.g., spending, sex, substance abuse, reckless driving, binge eating). Note: Do not include suicidal or self-mutilating behavior covered in Criterion
I lost my virginity to a total stranger. Enough said.

  5. recurrent suicidal behavior, gestures, or threats, or self-mutilating behavior 
I used to cut and I often fantasise about suicide. Sometimes I still get the urge to cut but I haven't in just over a year now. I used to cut several times a day when I was a teenager though. The trend here seems to be stress. I have always cut the most at the most stressful times of my life which says a lot, I think. For me, cutting has always been a release, a coping strategy.

  6. affective instability due to a marked reactivity of mood (e.g., intense episodic dysphoria, irritability, or anxiety usually lasting a few hours and only rarely more than a few days). 
This one I am not so sure about. I do seem to feel things more intensely than others which shows in how I react to other people and their actions. But my moods always seem to last a lot longer. Granted, they can last hours but sometimes, they can last weeks and months as well.

  7. chronic feelings of emptiness 
These have plagued me for years.

  8. inappropriate, intense anger or difficulty controlling anger (e.g., frequent displays of temper, constant anger, recurrent physical fights) 
I often feel intense anger for no or very little reason. I don't get into physical fights but I often start verbal arguments with the Boy (how does he put up with me?) when I get angry. My anger is mostly internal though. I will get mad, want to hit something and then calm down eventually. Unless you know me, you won't know that I am mad. I get very quiet and start to rant and rave in my head.

  9. transient, stress-related paranoid ideation or severe dissociative symptoms
I wasn't aware of this until I saw the psychiatrist because I was only vaguely aware of what it was, but I dissociate. I leave my body for what can seem like hours and feel.. odd. I know that I am speaking but it doesn't feel like me, and it seems like someone else is controlling me. When I feel like this, I don't feel like I have control over my body, my words, my thoughts. I also used to have a lot of flashbacks, they are less frequent now though. They always seem so real. I genuinely believe that I am in another time or place and I get so anxious, I worry that my head will explode, and then I'm back. These things scare the absolute shit out of me.

So I have come to the conclusion that the psychiatrist may have been correct in her analysis of me, and that DBT may help. Argh. I just don't want to feel like a lazy shit.

Need Some Cheering Up

I have been a bit under the weather, just cold and flu symptoms. I have been a big sook about it though and have taken a couple of days off work. The Boy came round yesterday to look after me (aww!). He is a sweet one. I have needed something to pick me up though as it does so very little for my mood.

I got a letter in the mail today about DBT (Dialectical Behaviour Therapy). They have my referral and I need an assessment. Then I will be put on their six month waiting list. From what I can tell from Wikipedia, it is a combination of individual and group therapy. It is rather an intimidating prospect but if I don't try, then I will feel like I have not done anything except crammed some Zoloft down my throat and rambled at a psychologist.

I have an appointment with Mr. Psych Man on May 3rd. I am not really looking forward to it considering how the last one went. Last time, I walked into his office rather suicidal, and told him so. Well, I told him that I "had a rough couple of weeks".
"Are you suicidal?", he asked. I said that I was and he called the crisis team. Then I had a rather lengthy chat to a man from the crisis team service.
Then Mr. Psych Man started explaining them to me, "They will contact you and ask if you can guarantee them safety. If you can't, they will probably take you to hospital". Fortunately, they didn't but this prospect terrified me. Why would he tell someone who is suicidal that they may be taken to hospital?
It has been nearly a month and it has been decided that I don't really need them anymore as they are an emergency service and I am not in any immediate danger. Which is good. No more fearing them committing me.

I need some cheering up so here are a bunch of Simpsons videos from Youtube.

And this is a game that the Boy and I were talking about yesterday. Good times.



Dirty, Dirty Thief

This is another photo from the much loved Postsecret.

Discuss.

Fuck. Shit. Grr.

I have been a tad mental lately. I am scared that my meeting with the psych has stirred up a lot of emotions and memories that I thought I had dealt with. Apparently, I have just suppressed them. This does not surprise me and probably not many people who know me.

I have been alternating between I-don't-give-a-fuck, furious-with-everyone-and-everything, hypersonic-and-hypersensitive, and I-wish-an-anvil-would-fall-from-a-tall-building-and-land-on-my-head. Couple this with working three 9 and a half hour days a week for a few weeks and we get someone who is not fun to be around.

Everyone I know is suffering. I have been incredibly mean and bitchy, and stressed. I have been alternating wildly between wanting to be alone and wanting to be with people. I have considered cutting and burning again, death, and leaving the state/ country.

I desperately want to quit my job but job hunting is stressful too. More so than staying at my current job. Also, I don't have any time. This is how they get you- make you work long hours and then you don't have time to look for a new job.

My puppy is suffering. I barely see him anymore. And it's the same with the Boy.

Currently, I feel like a horrible person.

That is all.

Hypersonic

I have returned from a visit with my Doctorb (the B is for bargain!)

I am slightly euphoric now and have had a couple of good days (where I have not wanted to top myself. Jolly good!) and so he is keeping me on 150mg of Zoloft. Which in my completely professional opinion (ha!), was the absolutely right thing to do.

I have been euphoric for the last 36 hours and I cannot think of anything more satisfying than euphoria after months of depression. I am still of the opinion that this is my reaction to happiness after being depressed but I guess this is BPD. I am supposed to be meeting with someone to discuss entering a DBT program but this seems rather daunting.

My thoughts are racing, jumping from one thing to the next. I have that Simpsons episode in my head where Marge is pregnant with Lisa and Bart is running around the house with a pot on his head yelling "Quiet! Quiet! Quiet! Quiet!". Except my brain keeps changing the word 'quiet' to 'riot'. Nothing is going fast enough, nothing can keep up with me. But at the same time, my skin is tingling. It seems to have a life of it's own but it's a pleasant feeling. I just want to be touched. And held. And.. y'know..

I feel like a crazy girl right now.

This is Love

It's funny how when you are so close to the edge, you are terrified that you are about to topple off, something small comes along to tell you that the world is not done with you yet.

When I was in year 11, I was horribly depressed. I wasn't sleeping or eating, or even working at that point. I knew that I just couldn't do it anymore. I planned to go home one night and kill myself. But then I got to school one day and this boy had bought me a book. He knew that I loved books and he said it was one of his favourites. This tiny gesture saved my life.

A year or so ago, I had another bout of the blues. I felt horrible. Horrible. Everyday for a few days, the Boy (who wasn't my boy then) sent me a message in the morning for ages. I looked forward to these messages and eventually, the depression passed and I continued living.

Tonight, the Boy knew that I was feeling horrible, and came to my house. He took me out for dinner even though I was barely audible, then took me home. He suggested things for me to do until I settled down and then he hugged me before he left. This is small, almost expected, to some people but to me, this is huge.

This is love.

Proceeding with caution

I can feel the depression lifting. The familiar tingling in my hands, the way my heart beats that little bit faster. Ahh. This is nice.

I know that my life will continue, that there will be limitless possibilities, that I will be able to get up each morning and deal with whatever is thrown my way.

But by the same token, I can just easily be back down there again. I am going to proceed with caution.

Letter to my Mum

Dear Mum,

You were supposed to protect me. You were supposed to keep me safe and keep me feeling safe in my own house. You were supposed to make our house a home and look after my siblings. You were supposed to make sure that they did their homework and showered and went to school. You were supposed to protect them as well.

But you didn't. When you weren't absent, you yelled and screamed and made everyone feel bad. You made me feel guilty for existing when I had nothing to do with that. Why have kids if you can't handle the responsibility of another life? When you were absent, he yelled and screamed and made everyone feel bad. He threatened to kill everyone. He went so far as to sharpen knives in front of me. I hid them every night after that. He once held me down while he was drunk with his legs on my arms until I yelled and screamed that he was hurting me but he still wouldn't get off.

You were supposed to be there for us. You were supposed to let us express ourselves. You weren't supposed to leave me to raise my siblings, I just couldn't do that. Then when I practically failed year 9, you weren't supposed to get mad.

You make me so angry. You can't be nice now. Not after the hundreds of times you and he fought in front of me. Not after all the times you made him bleed, and he made you bleed. Not after the weekly ambulance and police visits. Not after the visits from social services.

I just want to be mad at you. For years, you treated me as a slave, just because you couldn't be responsible enough to run a household. You are selfish and immature and when all your kids hate you, it will be your own fault. You have never given us the time of day, you only spoke to us when you needed someone to love you because you knew that we'd love you unconditionally. But your love wasn't unconditional, was it?

You never believed me when I told you what happened at school, you never cared enough. You played favourites and put me in the middle of your arguments with him. You used us as bargaining chips to manipulate him. So did he.

Fuck you, Mother.

Love,
Your Darling Daughter

Being nocturnal, I have realised..

That it's hard to eat chocolate quietly (damn foil)

That it's hard to type quietly

And that my housemate gets very angry when she is woken by my nocturnal endeavours

That is all.

I need to brush my teeth

So yesterday, I saw the psychiatrist. I woke up way too early, fed the butterflies in my stomach and left, returning to the house to take my meds. Which I keep forgetting. Brilliant. I talked with her for nearly two hours and that's when she came up with the BPD diagnosis. It seems to make sense and while I am terrified, I am a little relieved now that things are clearer and there is something I can do to manage it. She suggested DBT which terrifies me. I am not sure that I really want to admit that I am crazy yet, especially not to a room full of people, which is what DBT is- group therapy. It is something to ponder.

The Boy has been amazing. He listens to me ramble, hugs me when I'm sad, and stays with me when I'm not feeling the best. This is what I imagine love is. He thinks that the therapy will be a good idea but it is still intimidating. Hmm.

I have been restless and jumpy all day. I have too much energy, and it's negative energy. I can do things that I am unable to do when I am depressed but as the energy is negative, it makes it all too easy to act on negative thoughts. But I have plenty to live for- my puppy, my friends (and adopted family), the Boy.

I told my Mum. God. She told me not to let people label me and that she is sorry for everything. She said that we can talk if we want and that she made a lot of mistakes but thought she was doing the right thing at the time (not that that is an excuse, she said). She is being too good about this and I just want to be angry at her for everything that she put me through. For not protecting me from all the fighting and my step-dad's verbal abuse. For those years where I didn't feel safe, where I walked on eggshells, where I couldn't sleep. I don't want to talk, Mother Dearest. I just want to be mad with you.

My thoughts are far too scattered for this to be coherent. Shit. Fuck. Grrr.

My New Diagnonsense

Borderline Personality Disorder.

Huh.

How low can you go?

The Crisis Team have been checking up with me for a few days now. They call almost daily and try to engage me in conversation. Occasionally, it works and I am able to talk about my dog or my day but for the most part, there is awkward silence as they struggle for words and I hear them typing in the background. I know that it makes them uncomfortable but conversation has always been an effort for me when I get depressed. I ask the same questions and go around in circles.

My concentration is appalling. I frequently walk into rooms and forget why I'm there. I open cupboards and stare into them, forgetting what I was looking for. I walked around the supermarket today in a daze, forgetting what I wanted, getting distracted by things that I didn't need. I just wander around, not wanting to see anyone, embarrassed that they will see my depressed shuffle, scared that they will look into my eyes and see the dark thoughts plaguing me.

I am seeing a psychiatrist tomorrow. When Mr. Psych Man called the crisis team, he mentioned that they may want to hospitalise me and this is all I can think about. I hate hospitals, they terrify me. Call me crazy (haha!), call me irrational, I don't care. I do not like hospitals. So staying in one scares the shit out of me. I am also nervous because I don't know what to expect. Apart from medication, what can a psychiatrist do for me that my psychologist can't?

I saw my Doctorb the other day. He increased my meds to 150mg. Due to recent depression though, I keep forgetting to take them and have been taking them at all different times of the day. I can't see how this helps my mood. Jesus hates me, I'm sure of it.



From the much read, much loved Postecret



Happy Hour

Life is better..
.. on the other end of a 12 hour shift
.. with a frog mask
.. with someone looking out for you

Meh-ness

I saw Mr. Psych Man today. It was somewhat awkward. I have had a meh couple of weeks so I went in and started rambling about all my meh-ness and death. I have been in one of those ever so lovely throw-yourself-under-a-bus moods for a few weeks now and I decided to disclose this information. I am noty entirely sure if I did the right thing but he called ACIS (assessment and crisis intervention service) and now they are sort of.. keeping an eye on me. I think I need to have a meeting with them either today or tomorrow. This is scary stuff. Mr. Psych Man thinks that they may want to admit me to  hospital. "Just for a few days,' he said.. I can't afford a few days!

I have spent the last few weeks angry and lethargic, staying in bed only to emerge to yell at people. They Boy and I had an argument the other day which shows just how irritable I am as I hate being mad at him. This is apparently a symptom of depression. Who knew?

So I am waiting for ACIS to call me back.. 2 hours and 37 minutes to go. I just want to know what is going to happen. Until then, I am going back to bed.

Cheerlessness

I see Mr. Psych Man on Tuesday. It has been about a month and it is not something I am particularly looking forward to. But it may be helpful. I have decided to at least tell him about the irritability. Mainly because I went to work last night and was not-very-nice to a few people who annoy me in general. I am usually civil to people who annoy me but lately, I have been so angry. I am not really sure why. I feel like I can't really do anything right which causes depression. 

What a ridiculous cycle.

What happened?

I have spent a lot of time cutting deals with myself about work. You know how it is,'if they "forget" my break once more, I am quitting..', 'if basic things aren't done when I come in next, I am quitting..',  'if they call me in one more time on a day off, I am quitting'. They have driven me slightly madder and so now I am quitting. The glamorous life of fast food shall be no more. I am slightly disappointed that I will not come home smelling of a fryer but it is time for bigger and better things. Anyway, I can always roll around in fried foods if I miss that feeling too much. God, I am sick to death of not getting breaks, of staying late, of being paid the minimum of minimum wage. So, if you know of any jobs going that do not involve prostitution or chicken, give me a call.

My brother and I used to play taxi on our bunk beds. I guess it was a double decker taxi or something because one of us would sit on the top occasionally. We would fight over being the driver and write the name and number of our taxi company on the sides. Our bunk bed was wooden. Then we would pretend to pick up fares. Sometimes, we would pick each other up and sometimes we would pretend we were rival taxi companies. We would spend hours and hours playing this game, lost in our imaginary world. Mum would come into our bedroom to see what we were doing and go crazy for drawing on our beds. We had so much fun though.

We used to walk home from school everyday with our Mum. My parents had recently divorced and this was before my step-Dad had arrived on the scene. We would take it in turns to pick which way we would walk home. My brother would call every new way home a "short cut", even if it took longer. Sometimes we would take ages walking home because we were collecting leaves- big ones, small ones, green ones, yellow ones. We didn't do anything with them, just collect them, and let them sit around the house, rotting away until Mum threw them out. We would get so lost in our own worlds, just walking, and smiling. We were always so happy, even when our parents had split up, even when they were fighting, even after they would get angry at the world. We just smiled and laughed, and the whole world was so magical.

What happened?

It has been such a "meh" few days. I just want them to end.

Glamour and Irritablilty

So the fast food industry isn't as glamorous as they make out on TV. I was not paid AGAIN today. This is the second fortnight in a row and I am completely broke. Thank God I have an amazingly awesome boyfriend who is driving me into work today (insert mandatory gooey mushiness about aforementioned boyfriend).

I have been feeling quite irratible lately (and not just about said pay problems). I am not sure if that is the meds or the depression. Everything is just driving me a bit mad at the moment. Don't want to spend time with me? Grrr! DOn't want to go out Saturday night? Grr! Now, I don't know about you, but I am usually fairly laid back and easy going.. mate. But these last few weeks have driven me to distraction. Every minor thing is sending me off the rails and I am not sure why. But I have stopped answering messages and calls again, and I have been locking myself in my room at  night just so I don't acidentally yell at a stray housemate who tries to start a conversation that isn't on my terms. These are not rational reasons to be angry all the time.

I am desperately looking forward to going back to Uni. I want to fill my head with knowledge and come home to the Boy and struggle to explain new things. I went about two years ago and decided that the course I had chosen to study- Social Work- wasn't really for me. I wasn't really in the right fram of mind for study, I wasn't serious about it, and I skipped a lot of lectures due to depression. I also failed Journalism because I was too anxious to call people. But I am different now. Sure, I still get depressed and anxious but I am ready to study and excited about it, and that makes all the difference in the world.

Still on the Zoloft. I see my Doctorb (the b is for bargain!) in just under a month, and my psych in about ten days. I am not really sure whether I should tell my doctor about being so irritable lately or just leave it. I guess I will decide before I see him. Should I tell my psych man? Decisions, decisions. It's not that I want to withold anything, I am just not sure if it's all in my head.

The Boy will be here to pick me up for work soon. I best be off to do boring domestic chores before I need to leave to be glamorously greasy. Cheers.

Zoloft and other nonsense

Just in case I have to go through all this nonsense again, I want to record what I have been through. I am on 100 mg of Zoloft. I started out on 50mg (no improvement), then went to 75mg (slight improvement), and am currently on 100mg a day. This has given me more energy, and some better, more euphoric days.

I still have horrible, horrible days where all I want to do is crawl under the covers and stay there but these have been reduced significantly.

I am also seeing a psychologist (he is in his 30s and has a terrible receding hairline) who I have mixed feelings about. At first, I hated him but our last session was really good. So I am unsure as to whether I should continue seeing him or ditch his arse.. yo. I have had all of three sessions with him.

I know, I know. This is not second date material, is it? This is fifth date material after we have slept together and I have roped you in. But I am one of those crazy girls who reveals too much. I am lovably neurotic!

Today, I have learnt that anything described as a "great beach read" will not be good. On a scale of one to trash, it will be an 11. Don't do it.

An awkward hello

This feels like a first date- awkward.. and I have no idea what to say. There will most definitely be some nervous laughter and a few too many drinks followed by going back to your place and passing out on the couch. Disappointing, I know.

So! I am 20, a girl, and from Australia. Erm, g'day? I have a puppy.

He is nearly five months now. Yes, I am one of those lame people who talk to their pets in a high pitched voice and treat them like children. I have not gone as far as dressing him up.. yet.

I have a boyfriend who I also talk to in a high pitched voice and treat like a child.

He is the love of my life and has been with me for 11 months now (almost a year! *excited squeals*). I am very fortunate to have him as he puts up with my "quirks".. and by quirks, I mean madness.

I live with my housemates who are fairly amazing people.

I am fairly reclusive. I read, and internet (here comes the nervous laughter), and sometimes leave the house for supplies.

I work in retail hospitality (fast food.. ha!), and want to study to be a neuropsychologist (yes, i am intelligent, how did you know?).

Other than that, I have depression and anxiety. This is probably the thing I will write about mostly, just because I am finally undergoing proper treatment with a fantastic doctor and would like a place to be fairly introspective. So this is for me (depsite horrible introductions).

So yes, my place or yours?