The most certain fact of life is that people break promises, as I am sort of doing now. I try not to, I don't like false hope or false promises, but I needed to gather thoughts, express something and try to make something of the little energy I've been gifted with today.

I have eaten today (hence the energy), after a week and a half, purely to be awake long enough to communicate in a somewhat coherent manner - always the rambler though. I don't spend much time awake these days (insomnia mostly cured). This is mostly, to be honest, more of a written conversation to myself. I probably needed to do this a while ago, because mental conversations get a bit bothersome and ineffective after such a long time. Although, it is rather amusing in many ways (the only perk of being defective), to have different conversations with yourself. Not aloud, just mentally. It's like having many different people arguing for and against everything you do and say, having completely different ideas about every little thing. I'm not entirely sure which one is me, although they're all me in a way, but it's probably the one who seems exasperated by the situations I find myself in, bored even. Flailing hands, loud sighs and eye rolling - sounds like the old, typical me. That one is usually drowned out though.

I had a rather shocking day yesterday. There I was, waking up (for no real reason), getting out of bed (again, no reason), when I became truly upset and frantic. Why? My reflection in the mirror, which I did not think was me at first glance.

I could show you what it looks like when your rib cage, hip bones and collarbones all jut out and threaten to break through your delicate skin, but I won't (not an exhibitionist). But I can't show you or properly express the shock and disbelief when you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and don't recognise any part of you. I swear even fundamental things, like eye colour, seem different - darker somehow. Everything screamed misery to me.

And that voice, the one that seems to be constantly fed up, irritated and mentally slapping me, was really fucking sad and filled with rage. 'Look! Look at what you've done! You've fucking destroyed us!' I can't say I disagreed then. That momentary glimpse in the mirror completely ruined my day and definitely annihilated the cruel thoughts I'm used to. It's devastating to know that, although you despised so many aspects of yourself physically and mentally, you managed to destroy the very few things that you accepted, or liked, even. But you see, that was yesterday.

Now I just consider it a pity. An acceptable side effect, that's okay. There's just another reason to avoid mirrors and if I have a knack for anything, it's avoidance. If only I had a faulty memory though, that would be welcomed.

I've gotten on the acceptance train now. It's why it's much easier for me today, why I'm quite calm and filled with nothing. I don't believe I'm depressed anymore. I'm simply too drained to express sadness. Mostly though, I've figured out that instead of constantly resisting the black dog, or dark, macabre thoughts, it's far easier to accept those thoughts and that mood as a part of yourself. It keeps me calm some of the time, and every other time is to be ignored. Like yesterday. Why be so angry with yourself, when you can just accept what's done is done and be tranquil? Why bother separating an illness that affects mood and every aspect of your life, when you can just absorb it, make it be you? Maybe that sounds mad to some, but this is easier, trust me. Perhaps it's been too long for me, I wouldn't know what was 'me' and what was 'it'. We're just one entity now - I'm okay with that. Like I said, calmness is born from a lack of resistance.

However, I'm not going to recommend any of my methods to any person I know with a mental illness - definitely not. Each to their own. My own 'it' doesn't respond well to medication, therapy etc., that's why they call it, 'treatment-resistant'. I just call it 'life', that's what it is.

The bonus is, I'm even more likely to be self-deprecating to cheer friends up - always works. Who can feel bad when you have someone singing Wuthering Heights, out of tune, time and without any idea of pitch? No one can. It is a tad saddening at times to know that people perk up when they compare their problems to mine, but it's still better to know you made someone feel better - even if it is at your own expense. Besides, I'm certain people only befriend, remain friends with or speak to me, out of pity or because they're extremely kind-hearted and mostly patient people. I appreciate it. I'm a burdensome person to know. It's probably a good thing then to be mostly exhausted all the time, it's difficult to respond to anything or anyone. I believe that eases the burden that is knowing me. Reduces upsets and people's constant anger and impatience with me. Because sometimes kids, honesty really isn't the best policy. It hasn't done wonders for me or any communication I've had with other people. Acceptance, avoidance and thinking or feeling nothing - it's the way to go.

End of ramblings and nonsense I suppose. I hope that made some sense - it's as coherent as I can be.

Last Post: The Wasting Game

“Madness is not what it seems. Time stops. All my life I've been obsessed with time, its motion and velocity, the way it works you over, the way it rushes you onward, a pebble turning in a brook. I've always been obsessed with where I'd go, and what I'd do, and how I would live. I've always harbored a desperate hope that I would make something of myself. Not then. Time stopped seeming so much like the thing that would transform me into something worthwhile and began to be inseparable from death. I spent my time merely waiting.”

― Marya Hornbacher

This is my last blog post, at least that is my intention anyway. Who really knows though? Something may change, highly doubtful, but it may. People tell me it will.

There are a few reasons for this, but the prominent reason is - I don't really have anything left to say. It's that simple really. I've said/written everything, you have read it all and now I don't have anything left to give you. That carries a far greater meaning than just in regards to my blogging, but that's another story not worth telling or wasting your time with.

I've come to a few conclusions you see, after hours, days and months filled with constant thinking. I do believe I may actually have about a hundred different thoughts for every breath I take, which makes it increasingly difficult to get anything done, including typing this. But these conclusions I've reached have taken a very long time, apologies for that, thoughts are distracting and sometimes hard to connect, but I got there. I hope.

Firstly, I think it's for the best if I stop blogging, posting, tweeting, updating my status, because these things are just a reflection of my own problems - I don't need the reminders anymore. I also think it's very unkind of me to project onto other people, who have done absolutely nothing to deserve putting up with a mad person. I apologise for all those things, but needless to say you won't be bothered again. Which leads to the second conclusion.

I don't see any reason to share anymore. I have nothing to give, or to say that hasn't been said and done before - no one likes repeats. This is for myself, but mostly for other people once again. For me, sharing or putting myself out there, has put me in the vulnerable position - open for criticism, mocking and being completely misunderstood (like relationships/attachments really). I don't want to be in that position. I don't need the criticism, or the 'tough love' words, or even the emotional blackmail. But I also don't want friends to be in the position where they feel the need to repeat themselves (like I said, people hate repetition) or to worry. That's unkind of me and believe me, I feel guilty for making people do that or feel that way. It shouldn't be like that, so it won't be.

The last conclusion is an odd one, because I'm not sure of it myself. It's more of a musing or incomplete thought, but I'll try and get it across to you as best as I can. I've spent a lot of time thinking about what it is that's made me manic, erratic, 'ill' (as my family prefer), but I've also spent a lot of time thinking about the people I know. To be more precise, I've tried hard to make connections, to see how all my thoughts, words, actions and the people I know are connected - how they affect me. 

I can only conclude that some people I know have indirectly or directly offended, hurt and blamed me in certain ways and not particularly cared. I don't like saying that, I like to give people the benefit of the doubt, but that's undeniable. They have, quite often actually. I also think that perhaps I subconsciously allow people's bad days to ruin my day, through trying to empathise with them or by trying to solve their problems and failing to do so. That tends to make me feel like shit, worthless really. Again, that won't be a problem if I keep to myself and avoid such external factors.

Another idea I had was that people lie. I really loathe lying, liars tends to make me angry, they're inconsistent. Now some people lie directly to your face, some people do it because they just don't want to reveal a truth (for whatever reason) or worse, some people lie in an attempt to 'protect' you, because you apparently cannot handle the truth. The combination of these three has struck me - I don't like any of the reasons, just don't lie to me. Another reason to avoid interactions, no one can lie to you then. But there's also a different type of liar, the less intentional. Those who tell you something that they believe to be true, but the thought is actually false. 

It's hard to determine truth from fiction at times, I completely understand that, but it's messing with me. What should I believe? Who can I believe? Why are all these things I'm hearing conflicting with each other? The worst question though is 'Who is more likely to be telling me the truth?' That's hard. I feel like I'm placing someone's opinion or value above someone else's, as if they mean more to me. I don't like it, it makes me uncomfortable. But by believing everyone is equally truthful, I've only been caused pain and have become quite mistrustful/fearful of every single person. I've had to acknowledge the fact that some people's opinions are distorted (I know mine are), for various reasons, and that there a few people who I should never doubt for a second. Why? I have no reason to. Everyone else? Plenty of reasons.

Even these conclusions don't really bring me much joy. Thoughts don't really stop, but they lessen if I have limited interactions with others. I'm terrified of being asked questions I don't have the answer to. I don't want a friend having to say the same thing over again and not being able to understand them, because my mind is too jumbled and exhausted - I wouldn't be able to concentrate. But also, if someone has to constantly reassure you you're fine, you know you're a failure. It means I've failed to progress, to change anything despite efforts to do so and it seems as though I'm the deadweight. I know, I feel guilty for that too. I'm sorry.

The last physical conversation I had with a person was this weekend. It wasn't under pleasant circumstances and is another reason for me to avoid these interactions - I'm not cut out for them.

The conversation went something along these lines:

Q. "Do you think your depression has gotten worse?"

A. "No."

Q. "Why not?"

A. "Can't get any worse and I'm too tired to be depressed."

Q. "Do you think you have an eating disorder?"

A. "No."

Q. "Why not?"

A. "I'm too tired to have one."

Q. "Do you still want to die?"

A. "I'm too tired, I'll wait."

I could only think of one question to ask him, "will it always be like this?" I didn't wait for the response, I tuned out after "Yes, if…" - that wasn't the answer I was hoping for. Perhaps I should have rephrased the question to get the answer I actually needed to know - "Was I always like this?" or "What did I do to be like this?" That's what I should have asked, but given the circumstances of our meeting, I doubt he would have known. He couldn't have, he only knew the parts of me I gave to him (like I'm giving to you), nothing more, nothing less. Impossible questions really. I know me and I don't know the answers. I'm out of answers these days, it's just endless questions I have.

But to clarify, he was wrong, or rather - he asked the wrong questions. Maybe I should have been more lenient and forgiving, but unless it's direct, I'll play dumb. The eating disorder - no. It was never about eating, it was never the idea that thinness made me more attractive, it was for the exact same reason I ask questions actually. Control and avoidance. Not eating, weight - that's self-control. That's completely mine, it's not something I have to share or that can be meddled with by anyone else, despite their efforts. It's mine to manipulate and to completely control. Like questions and conversations in general. I long ago approached conversations this way - it's giving and taking. If you don't want to give yourself away, the best thing to do is to talk. Talk a lot. If you talk a lot, you're controlling what's being said, more importantly, what's not being said and you can almost predict the direction of the conversation. The more you talk, the less you say - that's it. 

I've been mistaken as being talkative for utilising this tactic, but that's wrong. I'm shy and also a person who avoids everything. Unless I'm comfortable with a person, I'm sorry, but I'll do the talking. Anything to avoid being asked tricky questions, to freeze up and be focused upon. Conversations should always be about the other person. I don't like me, let's not talk about me. Just ask questions and then wait. Which is what I do best.

It's exactly like Hornbacher wrote, I spend my time waiting now. It's all I do actually. I'm not waiting for Godot (thank God), I'm not waiting for some miraculous positive force to engulf me or for anything to change, I'm just waiting around to waste time. I call it the wasting game, that is exactly what it is. Mentally wasting, physically wasting, time wasting, wasting my life - wasting, wasting, wasting. And then it's over with. Time isn't endless, it runs out eventually. It tends to drag on when you're alone or constantly looking at the clock to see how much time you've spent waiting, but it's what I can do. It's all I can do.

I don't think apathetic or tired are the right adjectives for me anymore. Defeated is more fitting. I'm guessing anyway, I've never described myself as such before. That's changed. So have a lot of things, like these blog posts and my ridiculous complaints. I'm sorry, this is the last of them. 

2013: 5 Key Moments

“Existence is.. well.. what does it matter? I exist on the best terms I can. The past is now part of my future. The present is well out of hand.” 
― Ian Curtis

2013, what a year it has been. My excessive blogging has clued most of you into how the majority of my year went down, 'as it happened' (news programmes love to say that). As such, I don't feel the need to ramble and try to explain each and every occurrence of 2013 - I'll focus mostly on the better parts.

Number One:

Graduation.

I graduated from the University of Sydney, an amazing feat for someone as dopey as myself. I'll admit - I was a bit proud. My parents actually managed to spend time in each other's company for the first time in almost 16 years, quite astounding, and incredibly touching. It made my day, more so than actually becoming a 'graduate', no longer a 'graduand'. I was waiting three long years for that day and it was nothing like I had imagined it would be. It was better, due to my parents both being present. 

That bloody cap was a nightmare! As was the fur thingy.

Number Two:
Masters.

I began my Masters degree. Despite a pretty dreadful beginning, I ended up making two great friends and began to enjoy my classes. I will say to friends who told me a Masters is easier than a Bachelors degree, you lot are bonkers.


Number Three:
Internship.

I got to intern at Verge Gallery. It was challenging and set off my anxiety in the beginning, but it was definitely worth it once completed. I got to experience so much. I learnt new skills, overcame my intense fear of ladders (people should not be above floor level), and most importantly, got to experience art on a daily basis. I didn't have to make time to go to an exhibition, I helped create one. Very rewarding. Challenging, but rewarding nonetheless.


Number Four:
Friends Time & Birthday Surprise

I spent the majority of my year not feeling well enough to see my friends, I even lost a few as a result. Those that I lost, I realise now (took me a while), really didn't matter - not at all. Those who I cherish, more than The Beatles even, never left me. Spending any length of time with them brightened my day and brought me so much joy. At times, I swear my heart could burst with how much love and affection I feel for them (they know who they are), I'd do anything for these people. Perhaps not anything associated with murder though, I have a strict moral code, but they know I'm there for them - I love them. Adopted family, most definitely.

I even turned twenty-two during 2013, shocking, I know. Here I was thinking I'd be stuck being a lousy twenty-one year old forever. But no - I turned twenty-two and oh boy, it was much better than I expected it to be! Dread is the only word that can describe how I felt pre-birthday, but that day was lovely. Breakfast with my father, lunch with my best friend, and an evening in a bar - lots of friends, lots of vodka. The best of times, I think we can all agree, come from this combination. I was so happy that evening, I was literally jumping for joy. My favourite day this year.

One of the happiest moments of my life - never going to forget this.

Number Five:
A Marriage.

One of my older sisters got married. I now have a brother-in-law. I can't say I expected to have one so soon, but I always knew I would. My sister was so happy and that made me happy. She's also expecting my nephew next year, that deserves a mention.

I have no doubt he will be a much appreciated addition to the family, mostly because he's male - they're currently outnumbered 1 to 5 by us ladies. As they should be, but he will be so loved. He already is.

So those were the key moments (happy ones) of 2013. It has been the worst year of my life, even topping 1997, which I had previously thought to be impossible. These moments made me so happy though, and I didn't want to depress people with another mad rant about why depression is a killer, why anxiety leaves you helpless, but most of all - I'd rather focus on these moments and not resent the entire year. It wasn't all bad. Definitely mostly though. (sorry!)

My favourite Christmas gift.



Happy New Year everyone, I hope 2014 brings you love and nothing but happiness. Anyone who can read this deserves as much. I sincerely apologise for my moods changing from joy to sadness so quickly, and for making you endure that - that was unforgivable of me. I'm sorry.

I'm also sorry if I made anyone feel lousy, no one I know truly is. I'm just a stubborn idiot most of the time.

Thank you for sticking by me throughout 2013 - you made it for me. I honestly wouldn't be here without a lot of you. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.

Girl, Interrupted.

“Our life is what our thoughts make it.”

-     - Marcus Aurelius

I was watching some daft "news" programme the other day. It was very dull, but a certain segment caught my attention; it was about the 'entitled' attitude people now possess. Apparently we are living in a time where manners are considered a thing of the past. We're permanently stressed, rushed and want things NOW, NOW, NOW! We want to lose weight instantly, we want to be served in a cafe instantly, and we obviously have no time to wait. Who can be bothered with 'old-fashioned' pleasantries anymore?

While I did find myself blinking lazily at what passes for journalism nowadays, I did agree with this ‘report’ to a certain extent. However, I also believe it is a tad unfair to claim the majority of us are no longer courteous or polite. Based on my own behaviour and what I've seen from my friend's interactions with other life forms, we do still have manners and are willing to chat (not with creepy taxi drivers, for good reason) with others, but this particular social commentary caused my thoughts to stray a bit (as television usually does) to something I had been pondering for a while now.

Entitlement. What we expect from people, from life in general and what we believe we deserve. I have been very unhappy recently, for numerous reasons, some old and some new. This idea of entitlement though has given me a new perspective; it has interrupted my self-pity and loathing, and twisted those thoughts into something new.

When I am at my worst, when bad things happen (within and outside of my control), I tend to fall back on that childish question ‘why do bad things happen to good people?’ Not that I would be so arrogant as to call myself a good person, but in some cases where I cannot find a reason for the circumstances or the treatment I have received, I can be the ‘good’ person in the equation.

When bad things happen, that I do not understand, I give up on trying for some time. Trying to fit in, trying to be social (I’m an introvert, it’s a struggle), trying to be happy or to make others happy. The cynical side comes forth to protect me and asks, ‘why bother with everything and everyone, when all you get in return is pain and suffering?’ I have used that as an excuse, so many times during my life, to not interact with people and the rest of the world. During those times I believe I am merely protecting myself from everything outside. I cannot control what goes on out there, but I can certainly control my emotions and myself if there are no external forces acting upon my person.

There is of course, a great flaw in this plan of mine. Those sorts of questions and that attitude completely close you off from everything and everyone around you. Yes, you may limit pain and suffering through self-imposed isolation, but you are also blocking out all sources of happiness too. It's like closing your curtains or blinds during the nighttime to rest and not opening them in the morning, not experiencing the sunlight of a new day.

I would never simply say depression is an attitude problem (like so many do), that’s misinformed, condescending and hurtful for those who struggle with such an illness. I can say though, from my own experience, that it is very easy to be self-pitying, hating the world for causing you pain or for being unfair, but it's much harder and more rewarding, to look past that and focus on what makes you happy. The world has never truly been unkind to you; it's a neutral party in the politics of living. It is people who are unfair or unkind. It’s people, you and those you choose to surround yourself with, that are the greatest sources of unhappiness.

We all feel entitled to an extent, to receive kindness and love unconditionally, not taking into account that at times, we may not deserve such treatment. When you feel that way, that people owe you something, that life owes you something better than what you have, you can never be truly happy. Why should life reward you when you have not tried or when you have not made the effort to be happy? Don’t expect nothing though, have standards and boundaries (those are good things), but you cannot expect happiness to be given to you on a silver platter.

Happiness in my opinion, is not something that is ready-made, it’s something that is created; it’s born from many things. For me, it’s mostly my friendships with others that make me happy. Learning one of my best friends Vicky got a new job made me happy, seeing my eldest sister and hearing about her dreams for the future made me happy and talking to my friend Tim always makes me happy. All of that joy that I have received from those interactions, wasn’t because I was ‘entitled’ to it, but because I participated in life, and with people who make me truly happy.

I have no doubt that I will probably lose this perspective at some point and wallow in unhappiness again for a while, but it is my hope in writing this (while the thoughts are still fresh), that maybe, just maybe, I’ll look back on this and remember that my cure is to be alongside the people who mean the world to me. We’re not entitled to anything, we have to be living, to be a participant, to receive and experience the true beauty of life.

It’s like the Professor Jagger once said, ‘you can’t always get what you want, but if you try some times, you get what you need’.

P.S Thank you to Channel 7 for being so lousy. I had to go out into the world and be happy to escape the sheer amount of stupidity being broadcasted.

Twenty-One Revelations: The Makings of a 'Proper' Adult.

“Pictures all around, of how good a life should be, a model for the rest, that bred insecurity.” 
― Ian Curtis

Harking back to my post last year on the eve of my twenty-first birthday for a moment, I wrote a blog post entitled 'New age: Same old shit'. It was bitter, as you can surmise from the title, but also questioning of what adulthood was, what 21 (the age of majority) actually meant or changed. 

I reflected on Stephen Fry's autobiography Moab Is My Washpot, the way he described his teenage belief that adulthood meant the dismissal of certain ideas - with ageing comes a banality of sorts, where the mundane aspects of every day life take hold - there is no room for that 'youthful', idealistic spirit.

I was not in the least bit excited to turn twenty-one, nor am I in a rush to age another year, but it'll happen regardless - as most things you don't want to occur, do.

I turned twenty-one thinking that I'd be thrust into the world and suddenly regarded as an adult, a 'proper' adult. When you become eighteen people still pity you a bit, they're more forgiving of your mistakes, you're learning what the real world is all about. By twenty-one, that's gone to some extent. However, I found once I began my Masters degree, people still called me a 'baby' in comparison to themselves, they still allowed for my mistakes and awkwardness when having to speak publicly.

Maybe last year I was so worried because I assumed people expected everything to fall into line for me. I'd have to finish my degree, choose a career path, get a job, find a partner, have a social life and still contribute time to social events, family and friends. Some of that was expected of me, to an extent, but most of it I expected for myself. I placed so much emphasise on age and how I imagined it, I just assumed that was what everyone else thought as well. Twenty-one hasn't really been great, but it wasn't the expectations that come with age that made the year so rubbish, it was myself and my own expectations.

I have finished my (first) degree, that made my Mum and Dad so proud. It was one of the best days of 2013, despite having to wear a ridiculous cape, fur shrug-thing and winking at the Vice-Chancellor out of nervousness. I have some sort of a social life and I've always made time for family and friends, who are my family. Perhaps I don't give them as much time as I would like to, but I've always thought it's far better for them to miss me, than to deal with me while I'm being hounded by the Black Dog.

The Black Dog, that will be the icon of my twenty-first year. I've been depressed for a life time it seems, but this year it was almost constant. Every. Single. Day. I'd wake up, be happy and then I'd be so down by nightfall. All it took was a harsh word, a criticism, any sort of failure and I'd plummet. It's very hard to pick yourself up again when you're so down, particularly if you have filled your life with mostly lovely people - they were always concerned. It always concerns me when my mood concerns them.

But I also lost a friend this year. Well no, I lost many friends who couldn't cope with me suddenly staying in bed for days or weeks at a time. A person who suddenly wasn't there, mentally or physically. I understand that, it hurt for a long time, it still does - but I understand. It's forgivable. However, I lost a friend for life, she died.

My friend Sarah hounded me for weeks on end, constantly bombarded me with the worst sorts of words and encouraged suicidal thoughts and tendencies - she arguably wasn't a great friend. But she was there. She was alive and real. Despite causing me so much pain, physically and mentally, she was there when I was alone, until suddenly she wasn't.

The one night I didn't respond to her, the one night I separated myself from her mania, she died. I woke up and she was gone. Gone in a way that was particularly painful for me, because it was my method, not hers. My lasting impact on her life, noted by the way she died. I'll never forget feeling as though my heart had exploded, being engulfed by guilt, the horror and feeling responsible for her death. Sarah was special. Sarah will always be special to me and for that reason, I won't wander down this path any longer. It's still raw, I still miss her. When a person passes, it should be realised and remembered, no one should just cease to exist without leaving a trace. I can't say her name yet without being crushed my sorrow, but I will again - with time.

Whenever I think of Sarah now, it's during times when I feel as though my darkness and sadness is a pathogen. That I'm a sick person and look, look at what I did to someone indirectly! What if I do that to everyone? Why don't I stop this now? I'll never be at ease or completely reassured that I'm not bringing people 'down', that I'm not going to drive someone insane with my darkened presence. It will always be a reason to disengage from everybody else.

Having a storm cloud hanging over your head isn't the mark of turning twenty-one, it's the sign of an illness, regardless of age. I think what I have learnt from becoming a 'proper' adult is that there is no such thing as a 'proper' adult. Most people do the best they can, while behaving childishly at times. That's it. Any expectation you have or had for becoming an adult is almost entirely your own. Sure, society says 'get a job you punk kid'. Whether or not you actually become employed is still entirely your own decision. Even if you do, I'm not sure that qualifies you for adulthood.

The only thing I believe marks adulthood is responsibility, or rather, taking responsibility for yourself and your actions. That qualifies you for the role. It's not a question of age, it's a question of behaviour really. Some fit the bill, some don't.

Everything I do, everything I plan to do, I know is entirely my own choice and the consequences of those choices are my own doing. There's no getting around that at 21 (about to be 22). I accept that. If I cause happiness, that's fantastic. If I cause pain or suffering to another human being, that's my own fault. I have to accept that too. Despite having a Government and Prime Minister who are apparently all adults, (even though they don't adhere to my definition of adulthood) and can't even muster up an apology - responsibility is key. Don't let Abbott fool you. He's just a child in a man's suit.

I do hope, turning 22, the rest of these 'proper' adults will allow me to join their club. I'm far too jaded to be a teenager and I'd rather not deal with horrible skin again thanks.

…Twenty-two though! I mean really!

“Oh sorry, I was taking life seriously.” 
― Bill Hicks

“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. 

"Truly great friends are hard to find, difficult to leave, and impossible to forget."

It has been a while since I last blogged, and for many reasons.  Two and a half months is a long time to cover though, I shall keep this short and topical.

There has been such a lead up to my first day back at University, but this time as a Masters student! That fact did not make me anymore confident or willing to attend my first day however, but I still went, dragging my feet at times. I always tend to opt for stomping or dragging my feet, while pondering the possibilities of going and not going. 

Funky, hip Professors greeted me with Doctor Who references (that only I understood), a "token" singular male in my classes who was shopping for a boyfriend (disappointed boy) and a shared enthusiasm for museums as wondrous entities. I was pleasantly surprised the first two days went smoothly, apart from travelling and late finishes and my epic battles with the traffic on Parramatta Road.  I was quite happy.

However, I decided to take a chance this semester and study units which were challenging, which made me uncomfortable. The first two, like I said, went smoothly. The last one though, was a bloody nightmare. It could have been the fact I got a bit too comfortable with University life; I wore a hat, bright lipstick, my techno-colour dream coat, boots and perhaps tried a little too hard to talk to my peers. Well, whatever it was, they were having none of it. In fact, I left that class with quite a heavy heart and zapped of any comfort or sense of belonging to that group of individuals. I was mocked for my age (something I can't really help), questioned about my "accent" and where I was from and worst of all, blatantly ignored after numerous attempts at trying to connect. There was also a sense of what I call "intellectual snobbery," people who believe age, qualifications or how many facts they have memorised have more weighting than curiosity and determination. Like I said, it was a nightmare. No one likes feeling like the odd one out, when everybody else seems to be having all the fun.

But apart from the tragedy that is my academic life, life in the "real world," has not been so great either. I won't go into detail, because I've realised I don't like sharing the intimate details of my life for your scrutiny anymore, but I have reached some conclusions I will share.

Friends - They won't always be there for you. 

Now friendship is extremely important to me, I don't take it lightly. If I call you a friend it has more than likely taken me a while to do so. I've had to talk with you extensively, find out your musical tastes (must appreciate The Beatles), what you watch, suss out what kind of a person you truly are and most importantly, become comfortable in your presence. If I'm shy, if I can't have a conversation with you, you couldn't possibly be a friend of mine. So yes, you have had to meet the criteria I have in my head and if you pass, I consider you a close confidante, a friend for life. I was never one of those idiotic girls in school who formed groups with labels. There is no point making a short-term friend in my books. 

I must sound a bit demanding, but not really. These four things apply to anyone who has friends:

1. When you say we are going to meet somewhere, at a certain time or place, you show up. That's fair isn't it? If you can't make it, you call or text (because it's 2013). You DON'T leave me sitting there for two hours (because I am an idiot) waiting for you and not responding to my attempts to reach you. That's a really low thing to do to someone. But to some, it's acceptable, because I'll always forgive you...or will I? Passive-aggression is my forte. 

2. You DON'T call me just because no one else will go out with you or because you suddenly realised your boyfriend is a bit of a moron and now you're free, I must be free too. No one likes to be the last resort. That also makes people feel really quite miserable and leaves them questioning their own self-worth. 

3. If you have a problem with me (or a friend in general), you tell me, you don't go around telling mutual friends and not expect it to get back to me, because people love to gossip. You certainly DON'T spread lies to get back at someone, e.g sleeping with your ex-boyfriend and a trollop. That is milacious and selfish and does actually hurt people, not that the person spreading lies actually gives a damn. Is that friendship?

4. You DON'T ignore people for days, weeks, months and then suddenly expect a happy reunion. How can you call yourself a friend when you miss great chunks of time in a person's life? People change, so do friendships, obviously.

Maybe that is me having high expectations. Yes, I expect we will meet when you say we will. Yes, I expect to not be the last resort friend. Yes, I expect some loyalty and yes, I expect you to actually want to talk to me.  Aren't we friends? I don't expect or want someone who can't do any of those things to believe I will always be there, as a back up, when they realise that they "miss me," as it's so often put. 

I'm honestly a selfish person when it comes to friendships. I don't make friends easy, but when I do, I consider it like a spot being permanently filled. 

I will:

1. Give you my constant loyalty (I already have if I call you a friend)

2. Always love you (even if left unsaid)

3. Cry with you or for you in times of sadness

4. Try my very best to make you smile or laugh when you're feeling sad

5. Send you ridiculously optimistic and bubbly messages throughout the week, just on a whim

6. Check in on you if I'm worried and constantly worry for you like a mother-hen

7. Believe in you, always

8. Trust you

9. Always remember your birthday and send you messages as close to 12am on that day as I can

10. Give you everything I have and everything I am, just to be your friend

As I said, I take friendships very seriously, probably because I consider my friends a part of my family. Although, I did tell my sister she was on the waiting list before she is marked as a "friend." Right now she's in the "annoying sibling," "I love you, but I hate you," limbo phase. She'll make it, eventually.

I've realised life changes, people change and sometimes, friendships don't work out. I'm resisting that though, for as long as I can. I read somewhere that women take the loss of a long friendship harder than a divorce. Well, I've never wed any person (legally, Kindergarten marriages don't count) and I think that is true. It is saddening to know something you have invested so much time, so much of yourself and love into, is over. It's a period of your life that's over really. 

I've just had a shocking week, re-evaluating my education, life, dreams, but most of all my friendships. A lot of people I know don't actually fit into my criteria any longer, they don't actually fit anywhere into the chaos that is my life. I'd like for them to fit somewhere, but friendship is a give and take union. I can't always be the one to give, to adapt, so the other person feels better and doesn't have to give so much, they only have to take. Where does that leave me? In bed, miserable, with nothing but resentment, twitter and despair to keep me company. 

I'd love to tell people to shape up or ship out, but I'm not good at letting things go, especially not people. It's always on the tip of my tongue, to just tell someone to bugger off and what an arse they are, but no, not polite. Maybe I'll just have to settle for not being as hopeful or as expecting as I have been, at least then I won't be as depressed or disappointed in people as I have been. Or maybe I just missed something? Maybe I should have watched closer, instead of constantly waiting. Maybe I've been an exceptionally bad and uncommitted friend these last few months? If that's the case, which it probably is, I'm sorry. 

But regardless of all the possibilities surrounding the "why?" of my story, life isn't a mathematical equation, you can't solve everything. I can't know everything that happens, even with my seemingly infinite curiosity. I don't think there is a solution to this problem anyway, so I'm going to go with the non-confrontational and easier approach this time. 

Note: I was always the worst Maths student in my classes. 

"Just remember...no matter how careful you are, there's going to be the sense you missed something, the collapsed feeling under your skin that you didn't experience it all. There's that fallen heart feeling that you rushed right through the moments where you should've been paying attention...none of this matters."

Chuck Palahniuk