Wednesday, April 09, 2014


The other day I was driving down one of our particularly busy stretches of ribbon in this fair city and saw an old comic book store I used to frequent a lot when I was just a mere child of 20.  I remember her, that girl.  I remember her wonder at the world.  I remember her optimism that life would somehow work out, even if it wasn't working out right then.  I remember her.  She was ready for things to happen.  She really thought they would.

Today I decided to go into the store.  It had changed since I had been there last, of course.  The face was the same but the internal layout was completely different.  Gone were the little nooks I used to hide and read comics in.  Gone was the dirty, musky smell.  Things felt new and strange and unfamiliar.  Things change, I know.  I'm not that girl anymore and that store isn't that store anymore.  I looked but they didn't have the range of comics I was hoping for. I could barely find anything.  I was disoriented and lost and craving knowing how to go about things without a map like I used to be able to do.

I can never go back to her; that girl; there is no map that can take me back there and there is no compass that will help me navigate my way back into her head.  She is so long gone that I can barely even touch her with my thoughts.  My link to her is tenuous and strained with longing to go back but you can never go back.  I'd love to get in the DeLorean and work things out but I can't.  I don't have her optimism that things will somehow be okay anymore, I miss that.  I don't have her wonder at the world and that is something I crave too.  I don't have her youth and vitality nor her ability to manifest.  I know too many depressing answers about how things work for me.  Not for everyone but yes, for me.  I know that there is nothing holding me up or believe that there is any kind of safety net I can access.  There is no "there-there, it'll be okay".  None of that exists.  I know that there is no one to help navigate my path.  I don't trust that I can do it alone and in fact I know I can't.  I don't even want to navigate.  Nothing seems to have a point, especially me and I hate this clarity with every sense of myself.  I don't even know where it came from but it feels like I just woke up one morning and realised an irreparable truth.  I had a stupid, fucking a-ha moment that I wish I could give back to the ether.

I don't hate the actual truth of it though. Truth, at least gives me a compass point from which to reference myself.  At the moment I'm pointing at royally fucked, aimless, loner, weirdo but at least I know.  It's my powerlessness in the face of truth that I hate.  I've fought too many battles in my day to day existence to be powerful enough to fight any more.   I'm exhausted.  I'm over fighting for normal human everyday things and there is such truth in that, it's scary.

I tried to meet that 20 year old child today in that store but I couldn't.  I looked for her in amongst the crisp trade paperbacks and Wrestlemania figurines but she was nowhere to be seen.  She's lost.  I'm lost.  I left the store feeling like I had severed a tie forever.  Another link gone.  I'm going through them at an alarming rate.


Tuesday, April 08, 2014


The last time my heart broke I put myself in bed whenever I wasn't at work.  I cried into my pillow and hugged myself, feeling every inch of that sucker punch in every single cell.  It took me a good year of feeling like a zombie and started a spiral downwards that I never quite recovered from.  I never fully came back.  I told myself that I could never do that to myself again.

This time, before it happened I reminded myself of what it felt like.  I came to the conclusion that I was above all that now that I was older and wiser.

I'm not above it.

I didn't know that it could feel worse.  I didn't know I would be sobbing on the floor unable to get up.  I didn't know being ignored could feel so terrible.  I didn't know I could physically feel like someone was clawing at my heart and tearing it to shreds.  I didn't know that my words would never be able to encompass the depth of pain I feel.

I didn't know that just because it was unrequited that it would hurt even more.  I don't understand how.

It does.
It hurts like a motherfucker.

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Wednesday, April 02, 2014

The point is...

I'm going to level with you;  I'm not doing too well.
I feel like I'm on the precipice of a nervous breakdown though I'm too aware of how unable I am to have one to actually ever let it happen.  Who would be there to pick up the pieces exactly should that happen?  I don't have the luxury of letting myself completely break down and decompose like I want to.  I resent that too, by the way.

The past year has been excruciating.  I'm now at the stage where I don't even look forward to weekends.  I don't even look forward to the long night ahead after work finishes.  What do people do with those hours exactly?  How are they filled?  I see them all before me and just get exhausted by the daunting task of navigating their emptiness.  I drive home, late with my fingers gripping the wheel and my stomach churning with pain the closer I get to my house.  I often take the long way home - sometimes driving close to 2 hours to postpone the inevitable nothingness that follows when I am here.

"What is the point of me?" is a question I ask of myself daily.  More than daily; perhaps closer to hourly.  It's a valid question.  What is the point of me?  I can see that I get up every morning, I pay my taxes, I work in a job that is giving back to the community, I love those around me, I am kind and giving (well, mostly), I am a good friend and a human that aims not to harm others but there is nothing there that actually has a point.  There is nothing there that makes being me actually worthwhile.  I'm not saying that I'm going to disappear any time soon - remember, who would be there to pick up the pieces and all that?  No, it's just - what is the point of all this emptiness?  I'm sick of sailing these seas.  I'm sick of being me.  I'm sick of getting up and paying my taxes and being a productive member of society.  I don't have the things that basic humans need - connection, hugs and love and so what is the point of me?  I keep asking - like as if I expect a disembodied voice to boom back an answer that makes sense.

But there is no disembodied voice.  There is no answer.  There is only that emptiness, stretching out before me tauntingly.

MVOR thinks this is productive of me; to be feeling so raw.  This rawness is new.  It's the repressed me that is now surfacing, that has to surface in order for me to peel it away and expose the new, I suppose.  But maybe not.  Maybe it's just me winding down, coming to terms with my supreme insignificance and a dawning of many more years of chaos and myself spiraling in a downward direction.

I wish I could say that I was having a moment of feeling sorry for myself but I'm honestly not.  I'm grateful for every wretched breath I draw.  I'm amazed by my ability to imagine beautiful things, always.  I'm inspired by the beauty I am able to find in every chaotic moment.  I recognise my unique qualities in seeing things that others don't and in surviving what others couldn't even imagine.  There is nobody I know that could handle the daily circumstances that I do and I wouldn't wish it on anyone either.  I'm amazing and all that.  I know.

But it's not enough for me to see what the point of all that is.  What is the point of me?  It's a question I'll keep asking until my voice grows hoarse and every silent beat that follows after sends me hurtling further and further into space away from everything and everyone.

What is the fucking point of me?

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Monday, February 24, 2014

What I Saw When I Was Looking

It's not often I'm in church, but today was a special occasion and I found myself there, sitting somewhere in the back with a good vantage point to people-watch.  A woman comes in and sits in a church pew by herself.  In only a few moments she is flicking her way through the prayer book and looking around nervously.  Mass starts and a little while later a tall, distinguished looking man comes in herding his two young daughters right next to the woman.

They are sitting there together now; woman, eldest daughter, youngest daughter, man - like a row of perfect dolls all together on the shelf. Her face lights up in recognition as she greets her eldest daughter and lifts her onto her lap kissing her numerous times with enthusiasm.  Soon, the woman starts doting - she is petting her child's arm, she is fixing her hair clip, she is kissing her, she is stroking her cheek.  The woman; mother, is in love.  I can tell by her gentleness and her caring and the way she touches her daughter but the smile that comes from within says it all.  I can feel the love from three rows behind and 7 seats to the right.

I can only assume the tall, bespectacled man is her husband.  He is attentive only to the sermon and priest.  He watches the altar with seriousness and absolute absorption; occasionally scratching at his shirt or fiddling with his watch.  I continue watching the woman though as she is a much more interesting subject.  I keep noticing that every so often she will look up at her husband and smile.  It's the same smile she gives her daughter but even more powerful, if possible.  She is absolutely besotted with this man; that forwards-starer.  She looks at him sideways, then she fixes her daughter's hair, then she looks at him again and grins and then looks down and immediately back up again and beams at him.  It's a smile that lights up the room, to use a cliché.  She flutters her eyelashes but she is not trying to flirt.  She blinks at him.  She stares.  She sighs. But he stares straight ahead at the altar, oblivious to her and oblivious to everything except the priest's ramblings.

After a while I stop watching them, finding more interesting subjects elsewhere but about halfway through the mass I glance back and notice that the woman has shuffled over sideways and planted herself next to her husband.  The kids are now both to her left.  He is relaxed, I can tell by the way he sits and she is leaning slightly into him, almost draped over him; as draped as you can get in church on a Sunday anyway.  They are clearly together.  They are clearly comfortable and loving towards each other.

I wonder how long they have been together.  The eldest looks about 4 years old.  It must be years.  But for all the years they have behind them and those yet still to come he will never know just how longingly and lovingly she looks at him when he's not paying attention.  Rather, to qualify he will never know just how besotted she was with him on Sunday 23rd February 2014.  Never!  I wonder a lot about the things we never see in those around us and those we take for granted because of assumption.  I wonder about all those unsaid moments and those things we never notice because we're too enthralled with other rambling ideas.

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Tuesday, January 14, 2014

Displaced Person

When summer break began so did my spiral into delinquency.   I've become a serial graffitist; I graffiti comics on the walls of public restrooms.  I've been posting my scribblings on my IG account and by all accounts it's the first time in a long while that I've felt truly excited and inspired by something I've created.

I told MVOR about my new project after reminiscing about an old book I read as a teenager.   The book; Displaced Person by Lee Harding is the story about a boy who slowly started losing grip with reality to the point where he completely disappears from view and ceases to exist to all the people that once knew him in his life.  At first he finds it hard to get people's attention, then his parents start ignoring him and soon he slips through a crack in reality to find himself in a grey world where he can't engage at all with the life he once knew and wondering whether he was going mad or if this was some cruel joke being played on him by God.

MVOR was interested in the tale I told and immediately drew parallels between by own life of feeling invisible, undervalued and insignificant and the life of this fictional boy who was going through a displacement.

Then I told her about the graffiti.

Surprisingly, MVOR applauded me on this.  I was expecting her to question my reasons for doing so and to caution me against defacing public property but she didn't.  She laughed; of course you are doing this!  You are putting your hand up in the only way you know how.  You are making your mark.  You are asking people to see you, to notice you, to understand you.  You are reaching out and leaving a legacy.  You are validating yourself as a person worthy of being noticed.

Oh... well.  In that case...

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Wednesday, January 08, 2014

Everybody Hurts, Sometimes.

I didn't intend on the hiatus.  No, really I didn't.  All I can think of by way of explanation is that it became hard to breathe again.  Not that I need an explanation of course, except perhaps to myself.

The beginning of October saw the 19th anniversary of my father's death.  It was the hardest milestone to live through that I can remember. Some years go by with barely a thought but last year was different.  I felt his absence, almost as badly as I felt it 19 years ago. I felt it in every pore and every thought.  I felt it with a deep, intense sadness that sticks around even today. I wish I could let it go.  I feel that by hanging on to it, I'm hanging on to his ghost somehow and stopping him somehow from finding peace.  It makes me feel even worse as I try to extract myself and to loosen this grip that seems to be so strong around him.

The thing is, I don't remember much about him; I've lived more than half of my life without him and time only ever moves forwards, not backwards.  I will never know more than what I know now and what does a 16 year old know about her father anyway?  I have been thinking a lot about the things I missed out on though and the things I learnt too early but wished I hadn't.  Things like; men leave.  I know it's not a truth, but it is my truth and it's something I learnt the hard way.  That notion has shaped my adulthood.  I can't change it.  I can't take it back.  I can't bring back the lost years either.  Time is difficult to deal with and though I am conscious of the ridiculousness of some of the notions I have they are also not without basis and therefore all the more difficult to let go.

I'm not even sure why, but I've thought about my father every day for the past 3 months since the anniversary of this death.  I've thought about the funny things he would say, or his smile or his advice... none of it is real.  It's all nostalgia - memories changed and I'm sure some made up completely.  The dead take on a ripe glow; all the past mistakes forgotten.  You forget the things you hated and you revere the things you loved until they become an object of only love.  It's not real and it's unfair for those left behind but this is what happens. Meanwhile, I didn't know grief could still feel this bad but it does.  It feels awful.  I wish I could go back for one last hug.  A real one.  It feels like a long, long time since I had a real hug from someone who really loved me.

I suppose the other reason I've been absent is the perpetual elephant in the room An awakening of sorts for me.  But what an awakening - every piece of my heart sings or sinks at any given moment.  On the one hand it's lovely to wake up to it but on the other hand - tear my heart out why dontcha?  I'd forgotten about this part... I'm reminded of John Hughes' movie 16 Candles.  The dad gives a newly 16 year old Molly Ringwald some fatherly advice:

Sam: "I know, but it hurts..."
Sam's Dad: "Thats why they call them crushes, if they were easy they'd call 'em something else."

And so from someone who lost their father at 16 and who never had the chance to have a bit of fatherly advice; thanks John Hughes.  I get it.  It hurts.  Everything at the moment hurts.

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Sunday, September 29, 2013

Title Required...

There haven't been many term breaks when I feel unable to function but these school holidays have me at a loss.  I'm walking through molasses and I can't explain why.  There is seemingly no rhyme or reason... except of course there is. There is nothing without reason.  I don't and can't believe that chaos theory is a complete explanation of why things are or how they came to be.  The problem is of course, that I'm avoiding that rhyme or reason.

I'm not exactly missing the everyday slog of being at work and yet I find myself as a ship without an anchor without it.  I know I have to write that pesky resume.  I know I have to go through that pile of work.  I know there are so many things I want and need to do but I can't seem to be motivated enough to do any of them, including writing.  Though, funnily enough I've been drawing...

MVOR said that I need to go on a journey and have a holiday.  I owe it to myself to have a break and to have nice things to look forward to.  Before this term break started I was motivated to do just that but as soon as the bell rang on Friday afternoon last week something within me changed.  It was that simple.  One second I was ready to take on the world and the next, I wasn't.  Every day since then has felt like I've run a marathon before I open my eyes each morning.  And every night has felt like the longest night that I've ever lived.

This feeling of frustration and angst at my life is a new feeling.  I think before, I was resigned and numb about the status quo but now I am struggling with a sense of needing more from my life than daydreams.  I can't quite seem to get it together to make that happen though.

Anyway, the other day I found myself in a record store when this song by The Chills came over the loud speakers.  I felt an immediate sense of nostalgia for things that never were.  I stood there for a while, with Kate Bush's The Kick Inside firmly in hand and remembered a life I never lived.  It was kind of surreal to say the least and I'm sure I'm not quite explaining this out of body experience right but ... I guess you had to be there (in my head).   If I were 10 years older I think this would have been a firm favourite of mine "back in the day" however as it stands, I heard it for the first time  a few days ago and have played it every day since then.  It's a great song... a bit depressing but it suits the current mood.

Pink Frost - The Chills

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Sunday, September 15, 2013

Let's Stay Together

I gave away my wedding song to a girl I work with.  She is getting married in a week and I'm not invited to the wedding.  She's not my friend, just simply a colleague. The fact that I even *had* a wedding song is laughable but goes back to what I said about hope I guess.

I have to admit that I hesitated a little before handing it over.  There was a part of me that clutched to to the song like a symbol of every possibility that ever existed to me and even as I told her I could feel my grip tighten on it and heart clench around it, trying to hold it close.  Somehow though, it had to be done, I don't even know why.  By handing it over was I wiping my hands clean of a part of my past that I had treated like a crutch or was it about letting go of dreams and giving up? I still don't know what the answer to that is but all I do know is that before I had enough time to weigh up the pros and cons of being so forthcoming it was already out there.

There was a moment before I told her the song that I knew she would love it.  I could see her in my mind's eye, smiling up at her groom and I knew that this, and I'm thinking of my last post here, would be my little inconsequential nothing that I would impart to her that would turn into something in her world.  Everybody comes into your life for a reason folk.  I believe that.  Even in the blog world.

The only thing is, is that it's not just a little inconsequential nothing is it?  Maybe it is... I don't know.  Maybe all things are for letting go.  I have to trust that this was always hers to begin with and not mine to hold on to.  I'll get mine one day too... whatever "mine" ends up being, I truly don't know what form that will take - bag lady, crazy cat lady, authoress, teacher extraordinaire, housewife, bon vivant...another song.  I trust that it whatever it is "it" will be the right thing for me.

I have to, don't I?

Let's Stay Together - Al Green

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Sunday, September 08, 2013

Through the Darkness and the Light

Something has awakened in me this Spring, along with the blossoms.  It's an emotion, a frustration, an anger, love, a lust for life to take over and a feeling of inevitability that change will happen. 

There is a part of me that walks alongside me, behind me, above me, ahead.  My higher self I suppose.  I can see her silver rope in hand, attached through and inside me, pulling at the chord, she's running ahead, skipping forwards, pirouetting through the air, dancing a wild dervish while the physical me plods behind.  Higher self is quite a force, trust me.  She is beckoning me forwards through the wasted nights, wasted years, wasted life and showing me a future without despair.

I have waited for the epiphany.  I have searched for the synchronicity and explored all connections.  I've been misguided and walked down the wrong path many times but I've come to the realisation that sometimes people come into your life for one reason only.  You may share a joke.  Feel a connection.  See a spark.  Light a candle.  Carry a flame.  Are best friends.  But maybe that friendship of love or lust isn't why they are important.  That connection whatever it is isn't the important one at all. The important bit is the sentence they utter offhandedly one day.  The song you hear on their ipod when you borrow it.  The t-shirt they wear with that slogan.  The tweet you read by accident.  Whatever.  That little chaotic accident ..or twist of fate pushes you forwards and before you know it you're tumbling off the edge and into your future.  They will never know and never need to know that that their inconsequential little nothing turned into something marvelous inside you.

You came into my life to lead me here.

Despair - Yeah Yeah Yeahs

Seasons change, emotions change, the government changes, the waves roll in and out.
Good and bad, it's all change.
Everything has its day... and so will I.

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Monday, September 02, 2013


Sometimes my conversations with MVOR are inconsequential, they float away into the atmosphere as soon as I leave the comfort of that cosy little room.  Other times the conversation has stayed with me dancing on my shoulder and poking me with a pitchfork like a little devil so I never forget.

The Archetypes conversation we had last week has lingered around me and refusing to leave.

Like all our conversations, this started somewhere rather remote and eventually meandered in that same way it usually does, past the inadequacies of my upbringing and taking a right through my lack of self esteem and stumbling somewhere near the babbling brook of discontent until we reached the fairytale discussion.

If you think about it, we are all in our consciousness and at the very core a collection of archetypes.  That is how our point of reference for ourselves and the way in which we size up and identify each other.  Every story has its wicked witch, its naive traveler, a caregiver, a Prince.  There are those that look one way and act another like our friend The Beast and there are those that without doubt are exactly who they appear to be, like Snow White.  Love it or hate it archetypes are important to us.  How else would you know what I meant by Perfect Mother unless you already had an idea in your mind of what that would entail?  Even if your own Mother wasn't perfect at all, you would still have a projected ideal in your mind of what she should have been.

The fairytale discussion began with an unflattering description of someone in my life as the wicked witch from Hansel and Gretel.  MVOR agreed that this sounded consistent with my observations about her in previous discussions and so if that was true when who was I?

As the leading lady in my own sorrowful story you'd think that this would be an easy question to answer but I couldn't reconcile myself as a Red Riding Hood, Snow White or Belle.  There is no heroine for me to project forward.  MVOR heard my silence, as she often does... and in her perceptive way eventually prompted;  I thought that would be obvious.  Aren't you Cinderella?  She gave a multitude of good reasons why I should be.

I considered it for a long while but ultimately had to disagree.

I couldn't be Cinderella because Cinderella, like all leading heroines, is a character laden with hope and possibility.  You go into reading her story knowing that she will prevail.  Despite her lowly and doomed status as a servant to her Stepmother and horrid Stepsisters, success is still a certainty for her, like it is for all heroines.  I can't say that anything is a positive certainty for me.  The jury is still out on whether I will turn these lemons into lemonade or even if I will manage to maintain this exhausting balancing act of my life that can at best be described as a "status quo".  No, though I may indeed be in the soot and cinders, sleeping with the outcasts and edging my way along the fringes like our old friend Cinderella I'm not quite as entitled as she to a happy ending.  Who is to say I am?  What's the guarantee?  Not everyone ends up with love, family, money, security, health or self actualisation.  In fact, not even having one of them is a certainty.

MVOR explained that our archetypes and internal schemas are part of the image we have of ourselves and that which we project outwards.  Is it indeed a self fulfilling prophesy to see oneself in a certain light and to project that outwards, therefore inviting others to see us thus?  And so what do you do if your internal archetype is not positive or constructive?  Well this is a question for the ages.  I'm told it can change with a lot of perseverance and adjustments to our internal narrative.

So if my archetypal fairytale character is not Cindy, then what do you suppose I said?

I bought an album the other day for the first time in a loooooong time.  I don't tend to buy albums anymore.  I buy songs. I suppose we all do that now.  But this one... this one I bought.  I seem to be listening to this song a lot.  It takes me somewhere otherworldly.  Exactly what I need.

Pontoon - Emma Louise

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