“Life is only a dream"

“My heart is warm with the friends I make,
And better friends I'll not be knowing,
Yet there isn't a train I wouldn't take,
No matter where it's going.” 
― Edna St. Vincent Millay

I have been giving my life a lot of thought recently, in between watching old episodes of Doctor Who and tweeting Q & A. I already knew that I was deeply unhappy - hence the diagnosis of depression, but certain things; social interactions and the foundation of my relationships, disturbed me. Thinking about the behaviours of my friends and family, in regards to me, uncovered a lot of problems. Most of which are entirely my own fault.

One major problem for myself and perhaps other people like me, is that the people I know always assume they have to SAY something. No, false. They don't need to say anything, they only need to be there, that's enough. I know you're there, I know how you feel about me sitting by myself, unresponsive - don't vocalise it. I know. I'm aware. I feel the same way, just stay with me.

Another problem is my dislike of being touched. I have an aversion to being touched by strangers. I can't stand being shoved in a queue or being sweated on in a mosh pit. It drives me crazy. Everyone who knows me, knows this. Unfortunately, this aversion was taken by family and friends to the extreme. Most of them believe that I don't like to be touched, at all, ever. I've even been introduced to friends of theirs with the line, 'this is Georgia, she doesn't like to be touched.' This was a joke of course, but I didn't find it amusing, I found it embarrassing. What kind of human being detests physical contact? We are tactile creatures, we like to touch and to feel things, including other people. Which is why, in the darker and most recent moments of my life, a hand to hold or another person to touch - to know I could be felt too, would have been a joy, a blessing even. It wasn't to be though, and probably never will be. 'The myth of the untouchable', it's ironic, because people touch me deeply with their words and actions. It's not me who is untouchable, it's everyone else I know, that I can't reach or feel anymore. I don't know when someone last held my hand or let me hold theirs.

If you can't physically reach out to someone, if you can't express with words how you feel, you're doomed to be alone. I mostly find myself alone, which as an introverted person, isn't all too bad. However, there is a fine line between being alone and being lonely. If you spend all day, every day, by yourself, just thinking, nothing good can come of it. Believe me. You try and find ways to entertain yourself, to fill the chasm of silence and the distinct lack of other people. Sometimes it's harmless, other times - much less so. No matter what I do, whatever distraction I try, like Twitter for example, I always end up alone with my thoughts. They're not happy ones. 

Recently, I've damned the person who said 'time heals all wounds.' That's rubbish. Maybe for those who allow a wound to scab over and then to heal, but not for those who continuously pick at it, so it eventually scars. I pick. I pick at everything until thoughts are indiscernable tiny pieces, which don't make any rational sense. Whenever I try and express those jumbled thoughts, that's when people tend to leave me. Friends have absolutely no obligation to understand my craziness, or to talk me out of a depressed state. They don't have to be there holding me hand or drying me tears, they have a life too. 

When I used to have a lot more friends than I do now, I couldn't bear to see them leave me or to be unresponsive when I thought I was telling them something important. They thought, and rightly so, that it was the ramblings of a mad woman, that I just needed to 'think more positively'. I used to think, 'it'll be okay, I'll be happier, just please God don't leave me, not now. Please not now. I can't do anything, I'm empty, I'm sad, but I still love you - just don't leave me. Please - stay with me. Just STAY with me.' I didn't understand, it used to make me cry more after they had left. To know someone knew you were beyond despair and to see them still leave - it was heartbreaking. I've never felt so unloved and insignificant in my whole life. It wasn't until a friend later told me that she couldn't bear to see me in tears and so ill, that I realised I was being selfish, that I was making her suffer too. She understood, but she couldn't take that pain away.

I stopped silently pleading for people to stay with me. I stopped trying to connect with people. For other friends who are depressed, for anyone who suffers generally, I would say that's the worst thing to do - to be isolated is death. It's maddening even. I just can't rationalise asking someone to stay, if it only causes them unnecessary pain. I'd rather bear it alone.

From past experiences, from this year alone, I know that probably means a shorter life expectancy for me. I've had so many close calls. In some cases, on the brink of life and death, I did think 'this was a mistake, let me live please and I'll try harder. I'll be better, I'll be perfect, I'll be anything people want me to be, just let me live.' Most cases weren't like that though, usually I was happy to end such a sad affair, the thought that I couldn't hurt anyone or disappoint my friends and family, eased me of all my pain and distress. Coming to again, I realised I had done the very thing I thought I was sparing people from. I caused others anguish, when I never wanted to make them unhappy. I just didn't see it as being selfish, what's one less burden in the world? One less person for them to have to deal with? But having friends like mine, who never spare me from their opinions and tirades (which I love) was a bit of a reality check, for a while.

In those moments of limbo, I thought of family and one specific friend mostly, who never leaves me. That caused my heart to swell with love and gratitude, but also with shame. I didn't have to be in such a position. I didn't have to harm and punish myself, because I'm just too sensitive to bear the pain of other's disappointment in me. I didn't have to do this - but I couldn't stand to keep on breathing without living, without love and acceptance. There's only a single person in the world who has ever said that they didn't want me to change and when they did, I cried. Probably not the typical response from others, but it was because that one statement was both touching and damning. As one of my favourite poets Edna St. Vincent Millay wrote, “What should I be, but just what I am?” This is what I am. How can anyone possibly love or even, like this?

Unfortunately for me, depression seems to have become such an intrinsic part of my personality - I can't divorce myself from it. It's as if we temporarily separate, but eventually work out our differences and make up again. We're a bitter couple. Depression is the most seductive and hurtful mistress any person could have, a selfish lover, who is entirely possessive of your mind. No matter how hard I try and stay positive, I'm always dragged back into darkness. I'm an adult now, it's not like when I was a child, running over to my Dad because I hurt myself falling over. He's not going to sweep me off my feet, kiss it better and say 'Georgia, you don't need a band-aid, you just need to air it, it won't hurt soon.' There's not really anything anyone could do, even if they wanted to. I'm not sure what I'm even supposed to be doing. This just doesn't feel like living, I don't feel alive. It's like Bill Hicks said, "we are the imagination of ourselves" and my imagination is telling me that I'm close to drowning, simply treading water - until I physically can't anymore. 

I know I felt like this before, but now I'm feeling it even more.

"Writing is a form of therapy; sometimes I wonder how all those who do not write, compose or paint can manage to escape the madness, melancholia, the panic and fear which is inherent in a human situation."
Graham Greene

Writing for me has always been more of an exercise to unscramble my thoughts, to create something composed yet raw and realistic. I have absolutely no time to read things which are unmoving or so lost in fantasy that characters or people (as they should be) are only caricatures of human beings. There's a reason I'm drawn to autobiographies or writers who tend to use biographical details for their plots and characters, it's simply because it's easier to connect with something or someone which is possible and sound. As many of my philosophy lecturers told me in my first year of University, our minds cannot fully comprehend the impossible or the infinite, so literature/blogs/text in general has to be realistic enough for me to form some kind of connection with it. Good on all those people who love the imagined worlds and people of Sci-fi novels (I've read a few) or abstract works, they're not for me. I was never very good at creative writing, probably because of my preferences, so you will never see a blog post from me which is very far from the truth of the human condition. This is extremely autobiographical, especially this post.

The reason I'm telling you all of this (whoever you are), is because I'm going to do some soul sharing with you. It's a lot easier for me to share things anonymously this way, rather than express my thoughts or feelings vocally or visually, although I haven't tried the latter. I'm sure it would go incredibly wrong, I'm not very creative. 

I have so much to share and get off my chest, but I'm not going to overindulge and send you poor people crazy with my maddening thoughts. There is one aspect of myself I will share though, only because I don't have a choice anymore, it's hounding me daily and clawing at the inner parts of my soul. I'm not quite sure how to express any of this and I have tried so many times to tell different people, but I choke and nothing rational ever passes from my lips. I'll give it a go here though and if this doesn't work, or doesn't reflect any form of rational thought, than I will just have to carry it with me and hope it doesn't drive me completely insane.

I have failed. I've said that before I believe, but this is quite different. This isn't me failing to diet and be like those girls from the magazines, it's not me failing an exam and not being as intelligent as I had hoped to be, it's me fundamentally failing myself and the people I love more than I can express here. I'm sure we all can understand the love you feel for a parent or a sibling, that familial love is what I'm talking about. The people I failed, apart from myself, are my mother and father. That's hard to admit, but this is easier than saying it aloud. Saying anything aloud or face to face with another person makes thoughts or feelings much more concrete and real, perhaps that's why I never could say any of this. 

The one goal I set for myself, that never changed with my hairstyles, moods, age or "fashion sense," was to "fix" my parents. That sounds quite harsh, they're not terrible people that need to be cured of anything, but they're broken. It's not because they separated when I was young, they're far too alike to be committed to one another and are actually far better off apart. That insight did become more apparent as I got older though. My parents are full of problems, which I won't divulge here because that's their life and not mine to discuss, but their problems naturally affect those who love them. I love them, despite any issues they have, so it has always been my goal or the job I set for myself to fix them. The only thing I ever aimed to do was to make them happy. I've done that in some small ways I think. I did okay at school, I didn't rebel like my older sister, I didn't cause any problems for them, I even went to University, all of those things made them happy. That's not the sort of happiness I aimed for though, I wanted to make them genuinely happy not just with me, but with life in general. I wanted to take their problems away and cure them of any unhappiness, but obviously I couldn't do that. I couldn't make them physically better, I couldn't make them mentally better because I can't change the past they're both so unhappy with and being an adult, I have to deal with my own life and can't face all their problems for them. I wish I could though, every part of me wishes I could make them so much happier than they are. Instead, I'm reminded of this failure every time one of them feels down and likes to express how much of a fuck up their life is, how much better things would be had they done this or that, had they not had children or met each other. That's hard to cope with, especially after 15 years of it. Listening to your mother or father, when they're at their lowest, express just how unhappy they are and how much they regret, that's hard to ignore or forget about. Surely any child who loved their parents as much as I do would want to take that sort of regret and pain away? It's hard from me to accept I can't do anything about that now, that I can only comfort them in the present, even if that doesn't seem to help at all. 

To realise that you have failed at something you made your lifelong goal is heart-breaking, crushing and has without a doubt brought me the worst despair I have ever felt in my life. Perhaps even worse is knowing (I wish I didn't) that I truly can't change a thing for either of them, that the goal I set myself is impossible and I was always bound to fail. That's probably due to my stubbornness, I always felt obliged to prove people wrong, to aim for impossible things. Unfortunately that sort of attitude has only ever brought me pain and wasn't worth the effort. Not many things are worth much effort these days.

I just needed to get that one problem out of my head, to ease the pain a tad. I know I probably won't find any answers to my problems, I've set myself up to fail at so many things. I'm sorry this has been yet another post of me rambling my way through illogical depressing thoughts and feelings. I couldn't think of any other way though and I definitely couldn't actually say any of this aloud. It was hard enough typing this, to form thoughts and feelings into written words I can see on my screen, it of course brought me to tears (not a hard feat). 

We'll settle for this being a "secret," confined to this bizarre blog world, which is only a reflection of our digital personas, not quite reality yet. Reality bites. 

2012: That's A Wrap Everyone!

Well, it has been quite a year. When I was thinking about writing this I thought, where the hell do I start?!  I can't begin at the beginning of 2012 because either can't remember much of it, or it was entirely uneventful. So I'm just going to pick some key moments and run with that and because I'm feeling particularly sentimental, I'll end with my thoughts on the closest people in my life. Sounds like a plan, alrighty then.

First things first, I became an "aunt" again, with the newest member of our family, Braxton Jordan, being born in April. He was the tiniest creature I have ever seen in my life, new to this world and so delicate to hold. I'll admit I had this insane fear that I was going to break him, he just seemed so precious to me. His birth was definitely a beautiful event this year.

Following April I suppose a big moment for me, definitely the highlight of my year, was my solo trip to England to study abroad at the University of East Anglia (UEA). I don't know what I was expecting, knowing me it wouldn't have been much, a terrible accident or injury perhaps? Whatever I had previously thought, UEA blew my mind. I met so many warm and energetic people from all around the world and I'm glad to call quite a few of them friends now. I had this once in a lifetime opportunity to live and study in Norwich and London for a little over four weeks and I had the time of my life. I was already completely in love with London, but Norwich was not what I expected at all. I'm a city girl, loud noises and cafes on every corner is what I'm used to. Norwich was not loud, it wasn't overflowing with cafes at all, but it was quaint and held so much history and beauty, I fell in love with the small town too. I got to learn a lot more than contemporary British theatre while I was there. I think I found out what it was like to be completely out of your comfort zone, surrounded by people you don't know and I love the independence it inspired. I've never regretted studying abroad, it was probably the best thing I have ever or will ever do.

Theatre kids take London. Mana, Jeff, Anna, George (me), Mackenzie and Lana.

After my incredible adventure to the Motherland, the year really went down hill very quickly. Within the space of three months I got the "opportunity" to move three times, once legitimately my own choice. It was rough on me and incredibly upsetting, but that's life for you. I have now settled in the Inner West of Sydney with my best friend and another girl I went to school with. I think this place suits me much better than the Eastern suburbs where I'm originally from, although the coffee definitely isn't as good, cheaper though. It's very hard at times, living with friends, you're bound to get at each other's throats a bit and that has happened, but overall it's not that hard. Moving out was always a plan of mine before I turned 21 anyway and I accomplished that, perhaps not on my own terms though.

So that leads us to another major (somewhat major) event, I turned the ripe old age of 21 in the same week I finished my Bachelor of Arts degree. So not only am I old now, I've also finished University with a degree in History, set to graduate in April of 2013.  My birthday week was incredible in comparison to how my life generally is, I got to spend time with friends, receive fabulous gifts and I felt very loved. My party was small but everything I wanted, it was probably one of the greatest weeks of my life. 

My eldest sister Cass, George and my second eldest sister Jessie on my 21st birthday.

Those were the main events of 2012 I suppose. Everything else is irrelevant now and not particularly interesting. I did get to see Bill Bailey and Noel Fielding with friends. I changed my hair plenty of times, changed jobs, lost (very little) weight, slow walkers pissed me off even more than usual, I tried to be more social (failed) and struggled with my depression and eating disorder again. See? Completely irrelevant daily stuff, not very interesting. 

So you're probably wondering, George, where is this going now? You've just wrapped 2012 up! Not quite, not quite darlings. My wrap up would not be complete unless I took this final opportunity to mention a few people who made this year bearable. Bear with me here, I'm an emotional being at times.

To:

Cass - My darling eldest sister, what an inspiration you are! I'm so glad I found you again.

Jessie - My constant companion always, you're even more beautiful on the inside.

Gabby - My oldest friend, my philosophical equal.

Laura - My other half.

Thea - One of the smartest and kindest souls I know.

Vick - My sister from another mother, father, country, different birth date...

Anna - A beautiful lady, one I wish I had met so much earlier.

Jenny - My feisty Russian doll and protector.

Drew - A warm-hearted beauty.

Lily - A top notch baker and an even better friend (if possible).

Timothy - Terribly bad (but funny) accents, bizarre stories and endearingly odd.

Mitchell - My favourite cousin, you deserve so much more out of this life, I hope it shapes up for you.

Nanna - Sorry I let you down, but everyone has their own dream.

Mum - Thank you for everything, but how did you forget to pick me up?!

One pissed off Kindy student.  You forgot that Mum!

Dad - No I'm just moody, I don't get my period everyday of the year, thank you very much.

That is it guys, that's a wrap for 2012 with all the highs and lows this year has brought me.

Was there a point to all of this? I'd like to think there was. If my life has taught me anything, it is that I should be thankful for the things I do have and what I'm most thankful for is the people I have, hence the messages. You should know that the one thing I wanted most in life was to make people happy, that has always been the goal. I hope I was somewhat successful in my endeavour, even if it made you happy for a second, that's good enough for me. It's also the reason that I have this persistent desire to take hundreds of photos every time I'm out with friends, to update my Facebook status, to write a blog entry, all because I want that documentation of my happiness with others. I just wanted to capture all those good moments and never forget them, I know how easy it is to forget those magic moments at times. So I apologise now for my obsessive updating of Facebook and this blog and taking large amounts of photos of every person I know. 

Now this was a happy moment for me, terrifying, but happy.

Thank you my lovelies, you have been spectacular, sincerely. GRMB.

A thought on life:

"And if I can take part in it by transforming my own consciousness, then someone else's, I'm happy to do it." 

- Bill Hicks

Regrets & mistakes, they're memories made.

Talking to people about my problems is not natural, it's not me. If you believe in personality types, which I certainly do, it definitely isn't me. I've had to take those tests for numerous reasons and I always end up with INTJ, introverted, intuitive, thinking and judging.

The introverted part is obvious, that isn't a problem for me now, although attempting to be more social is. It's the thinking and the judging. I much prefer to observe and be objective, to be in control with concrete plans that I follow through. Being emotional, talking about feelings and worries, it's just not me. Everyone knows that, so when I try and tell people about some of my problems for a change, no one takes me seriously. It is incredibly heartbreaking when you summon up the courage to talk to someone and they laugh at you, or they tell you to grow up and change your attitude.

So I have tried talking to people. I have tried seeing people. I have tried ignoring people. Nothing works. Whenever I try and speak, I just choke up. Whenever I go out with people, I'm physically there but I am not there. Ignoring people doesn't work much either, my ability to feel guilt and to worry always kills that idea. 

The past two weeks have been torture. Thursday evening and Friday were more than torture, I can't even describe it. Looking back now with a slightly clearer mind, I just keep thinking of all the things I should have done. I shouldn't have tried to make people understand because they couldn't, I shouldn't have told anyone I was unhappy and I definitely should have switched my phone off or taken the battery out. I should have stayed on the floor and not moved for anything, because maybe then I would have succeeded. Despite any consequences, any hurt feelings, all things which I already feel guilt for, it was what I wanted more than anything in the world. All I did though was reinforce my own opinion, which is that I am just a failure at everything. I've backed myself into a corner I just cannot get out of, every possibility just causes more pain and suffering.

I can't live and I can't die. I make people unhappy by being here and I make people unhappy by trying to leave here. I couldn't be perfect for my parents so that I could make them happy and because they're not happy, I can't be happy either.  I can't fix them and so I can't fix myself. My only source of happiness is the ability to make other people happy. If I can't make people happy then what good am I? That's my job, it's my place and it's where I thought I fit in the world, in my group of friends and in my family. But I just keep failing everyone and myself. I'm just hurting people by making them unhappy because I'm unhappy. On Friday I couldn't find myself. I don't remember getting up, I don't remember going downstairs or how I got from the bathroom to a park, but I do remember the devastation that the morning brought me and I do remember breaking down in a park suffocated by guilt. I got home somehow and just broke down in front of my best friend. It was a relief then, but it's a regret now. I cried my heart out to my Nanna and now all I feel is shame. I started quoting a Blake poem to her and described myself as being like a Robin in a cage and she thought I was mental. This weekend has just past and I still don't know where I actually am or how I feel. I think this is nothingness.   

So I'm not going to try and talk about my problems anymore, because it doesn't help me and it's my place to be the one listening, not talking. I'm not going to tell people I'm unhappy ever again because it just kicks my empathy into overdrive and I change my plans to make other people happy. Who would have thought empathy was a weakness? It is though. I can't do anything right now because I made promises to people and I don't break my promises, but I can't do nothing and I can't say anything because, despite this blog post, I'd rather be alone at the end and let people remain unaware for as long as possible. I would rather be sad and alone than to hurt my friends and family, which is all I seem to be able to do. 

So as Elvis sang, "a little less conversation, a little more action." I'll drink to that. 

Thoughts from the heart.

You know what I am absolutely, sick to death of? Being treated like nothing or less than nothing, by people who are SUPPOSED to care. My family and friends mean the world to me, but after much reflection and based on current events and let's face it, my entire past, I have realised that it must not be a mutual feeling.

There are two traits I admire above all others, honesty and loyalty. I'm not being arrogant when I say I am a loyal person, because I am and that's all I want to be. Family is forever, they're not just people you share a name with or genetics. You're supposed to care about each other and love each other unconditionally, which has been a main source of tension in my family. They don't seem to be able to love someone UNCONDITIONALLY. If you can't do that then surely it's not love? It would be just putting up with someone because you know you're supposed to, but that's not love. That's not even tolerance, because they still detest everything about me that makes me the person I am. From my appearance, to my beliefs and morals, to my more liberal ideas, they can't stand them. If they can't even bother to try and understand me, then I don't understand why I continue to love them. Maybe I'm just a masochist, but it is torturous to try over and over to get people to love you, when it seems to be a pointless task. You can't just love someone when you feel like it or when they do something which benefits you. That is just hurtful and the person knows that your love is conditional (trust me, they know) and I don't see the point of dragging people along in your life when you don't genuinely care for them. Just cut them off. However, if that is the action chosen, then it will be me being cut off, not them, because I do love them.

It's not just my family either. I've realised that some people I thought were friends were more like part-time friends. People that see me occasionally (when they feel like it), put up with me and then I don't hear another word from them until they apparently need help with something or want something. The most ridiculous part of this cycle is that I go along with it. I accept the fact that they only want to be my friend when they need something and I leap at the bloody chance, because I have to! What else am I going to do when my friends suddenly don't feel I'm worthwhile anymore to have around? When they can find someone better to replace me with. I'll admit, sometimes I'm overly generous with friends because I don't want them to go, I don't want them to find someone to replace me with. Maybe that sounds pitiful but it's honest. I know I'm not the easiest person to put up with, to befriend because I'm awkward or to love (obviously), but I do try to make myself into someone that people want to talk to.

All I know is that I'm so very tired of having my feelings and worth as a human being, trampled over without a second thought. I don't want people to tolerate me, I want people to genuinely want to be my friend or to love me for who I am. I can't spend the rest of my life feeling like I'm in a marathon against the rest of the world and that every person who passes me will replace me. If my family don't want to accept me that's fine, well it's not, but I'll get over it. If my friends don't actually want to be my friend then that's the same thing. I just can't be the only one trying all the time. I just can't anymore.