Smell that relief


I took this photo while watering the garden this afternoon. Sometimes I get a bit scared of going into my courtyard, because I don’t want my neighbours to see me. I’m on the ground floor and they can look down into my little space. I hate being seen. So this afternoon I went out with my earphones in and music playing loudly. I couldn’t hear the world because Ben Howard was singing in my head. His song – I Forget Where We Are. It’s my favourite at the moment. And I was out there even though the lady above me to the left was watering too, She probably thinks I’m rude for blocking the world out. But I am pretending I don’t know that she thinks I’m rude. I’m pretending I didn’t notice her at all.

I’m a bit strange today. My head is fast and desperate to talk. But to who, and to say what? I have nothing to say.

At the same time I’m tired. It’s exhausting being and trying to keep up with myself.

Yesterday it was windy, so, so windy. The trees were being whipped this way and that as the sky blew and blew. I wondered if the sky was trying to tell us something – trying to get our attention. All night the chimes rattled away and the palm fronds whipped against each other. The blinds slapped against the window as the air sucked back out again. In and out like waves in the ocean. Sometimes I think that there’s something in the air that is wrong and that something’s coming.

Today was hot but I was cold in my corner of the office. Outside though, was dry and shrivelled up. Tonight I watered my garden, and you know that smell that you smell when you water plants? I can’t explain it… but there’s a certain smell, anyway, it smelt like relief. Tonight there’s more relief – it’s dropping from the sky. It started with flashing in the sky, like a bulb was about to blow. Then the rumbling, and more flashing – this time like a camera flash going off. It rumbled and flashed for a while until finally the rain came. It’s still falling, only lightly, but enough. Gentle, steady, something. Better than nothing.

I am a bit strange. But it’s a relief too. Being this is better than being superbly sad. Being this is being something. I’m not quiet so hollow today. Strange, yes, but fleshier. More substance. I won’t want this to leave just yet. It’s better than sad and better than being so far away. There’s still a far awayness… but I’m more here.Just not quite feeling properly. Just thinking. Lots of thinking.

I’m going to go. I’ve got something to do. I shouldn’t, but I will. That’s okay. Or maybe I could sit in the rain instead. No. They might see.

Where am I?

Sometimes I get far away. I get like this when things are too much. I am distant. I am different. I feel nothing. I am nothing.

Nothing touches me. It all washes over me. I exist.

I do things but I am not conscious of the thought process that leads me to do them. Things just happen. I find myself in the car on the way somewhere and I am unsure about how I got there.

I push friends away. I don’t see anyone. I don’t laugh. I don’t smile. I am not in charge. I have gone away somewhere in me. I’m far away. It’s robot me you see.

I think when this happens more of me dies. More of my personality. I think I’m going to be an empty shell one day – all the good stuff is being taken away. I’m eroding.


Processed with Rookie

I’m a bit stuck. I’m a bit messed up. I’m a bit unsure of what the point is. I’m a bit confused about what I’m meant to do. I’m a bit lost. I’m a bit frustrated. I’m a bit invisible. I’m a bit fed up.

I am hollowing out. I am nothing of substance anymore because everything is about getting through the day. And then the next one. And then the next. I can’t write anymore, I don’t have anything I’m passionate about, I don’t have strong opinions, I don’t feel anything real apart from this all consuming storm. I have no goals or dreams.

I found this bird by the side of the road. Dead. Decomposing. Forgotten. The traffic continued on its way past while the ants came and ate their fill, and as the grass grew around it. The rain fell last night and the bird’s broken little body was there, but it was gone. And where do birds go after they die? Is there a fruit-filled tree in the sky? It will be nothing soon. Just dirt and bones. One day soon I’ll be the same. Soon as in, in the grand scheme of things. I’m counting down the days, and I often find myself trying to find ways to speed up the process. But all that thinking about an end takes me away from the now. And life is passing me by and I have nothing because I’m so consumed by wishing it was gone already. Sometimes the thinking about an end distracts me from the now, which to be honest, is kinda shit. Kinda shit? It is shit. Catch 22 and all that.

But I have to do it less. I have to live in the moment more and be all mindful and shit. Easier said than done. How about this, how about you put me in an induced coma, rearrange some wires in my noggin and wake me up when it’s done? I’m over it.



Slow down. I wish I could. The last few days my head has been jumping all the over the place. I despise myself. Everything I say and do is wrong. I feel the hate in me like an electric current buzzing beneath the skin. I can’t be this. How am I this? I want to claw myself to pieces. I can’t stand this flesh I can’t stand this being. I can’t explain it. The panic. I know I’m a broken record but I need someone to get it. But that’s impossible – I can’t put this into words.

Around people I’ve been a rambling idiot. I don’t shut up when I should and I say ridiculous things. I can’t stand it. I am sarcastic and awful. I make stupid jokes. I am not me. I’m angry and edgy and weird. I feel like I don’t have any control.

When I’m not that I’m this. Sad. So sad. It absorbs me. I want to die. But I’m too weak. And, well, family.

Tomorrow I see my psychiatrist and I’m already super anxious about it. I can’t talk I can’t explain. I am trapped in myself. I am driving myself crazy.

Searching for my words

You know when you’re looking for something but you can’t find it anywhere and you get kinda crazy and panicky and everything’s too much?

I was like that before. Because at the weekend I thought of a poem I wrote once and I had to find it. I HAD to. I only remembered two lines: “Now a stranger, You once knew my everywhere…” I knew what it was about and I knew it meant a lot and I knew that the words said more than the words even said. If that makes sense. I knew it was important I found it.

I don’t know what made me think of it. It came out of nowhere. Blindsided me.

I wrote it years ago, when I was at uni and ever since I wrote it I’ve barely been able to look at it. I wrote it on a t-shirt once and pegged it to a clothesline in a town park, anonymously, during a light the night event raising awareness about child abuse.

Now I know the words are true but they aren’t all of the truth, just the beginning. But I needed to feel this. I needed to see the words again. (Now I’m not really sure what to do with it though. It being this feeling. These thoughts)

I should warn any readers on the other end of thousands of pixels that form a computer screen that it’s not a nice poem. It’s not well written. It’s nothing special. It could also bring up unhappy memories for you. It’s a distasteful topic. Sexual abuse. There, I said it… or wrote it. I typed it. Sexual abuse. And I typed that again, just now… just now it started to rain. The sky started to cry. I can’t cry.

I’ll stop rambling. I don’t even know what I’m typing. It’s a bunch of words, thrown together haphazardly. And I don’t know why I choose to type them here. Why I press publish. Why I think these words could possibly be of value. Sometimes I think they are risky, too. I fear being found. So I should stop right? I should turn back to written pages and journals hidden under the bed where no one can ever possibly pry. But maybe some of me wants my words read, wants them to mean something to someone else. Is it worth the risk?

The poem is hidden below. And I can’t explain how panicked and anxious I am now at the thought of someone else reading it. Which is stupid. It doesn’t even say much at all. But it also says too much.

In that cupboard
A game of show and tell.
Now a stranger,
You once knew my everywhere
And I yours.
I counted my age on fingertips
That explored the world;
Puddled in mud,
And held father’s hand.
You used fingers
And cold hard objects
To explore my world,
My difference…
For your curiosity,
For your pleasure -
Not mine.

The bitter sting of memory,
Of realisation
Locks me in that cupboard

Light the way


I had a really difficult weekend. I don’t even know what to say. The sickness is filling my head.

But I bought some lights for the garden – little stars. I’m looking out the back door to them now. They give me a bit of comfort. Which is completely superficial and stupid – they’re just $20 solar lights from Bunnings – but I’ll take whatever I can get right now because I’m sad and mad and bad and everything’s a little too much.

Anxious agony

Last night after work I drove to the beach. I rolled up my jeans, kicked my shoes off, pulled my hair out of its pony tail and went down to the water. The glow of the resorts and cafes a few kilometres down the coast lit my way to the surf – the white water glowed. I was expecting the water to be cold. I expected to automatically take a few steps backwards as it lapped over my skin. But it was just cool, not cold. It was refreshing. So I stood there sometime after 9pm, alone, feeling so much. Feeling everything. But the ocean gave me a gift – it helped me breathe. The cycle of waves helped me find a rhythm and when even that failed, at least I could gulp down big lungfuls of salty sea air.

Maybe I need to go to the beach now to teach my lungs a lesson. To find some reprieve. Because I can’t breathe. Not really. Obviously I can – I’m alive and functioning, but it’s stuck in my chest and my heart is trying to beat its way out. I’m so anxious I feel sick and I even considered picking up the phone and calling my parents to ask them to come. I DO NOT ASK FOR HELP EVER, so I must be losing my mind. I’ve been lying in bed thinking of what I can do. On Monday I could ring my psychiatrist and see if I can get an earlier appointment, but what would that achieve? I’m already a waste of her time.I could… I have no idea.

It’s not only the anxiety, though that is what tips me over the edge. It’s what makes this too much. It piles on top of the sad – the all-consuming sad – and I don’t know what to do. I am miserable.

I am meant to go to dinner and a play with a woman from work. I am freaking out about it. I have already cancelled on someone else I was to have coffee with this afternoon. And now I’m a bad person for letting someone down. I don’t feel well but I feel I can’t say no again. And she’s bought the tickets. It’s too much – too much. Tomorrow I am to go to coffee in the morning with three others. Why do people want to do things with me lately? I’m normally alone. Always alone. I can’t handle the pressure of being social. I don’t know what to say or do and I’m acutely aware when the catch-ups are over that I am wrong and I hate myself. And it’s so hard to concentrate when you feel everything. It’s hard to be present and pretend. It’s really hard to avoid all topics of conversation that are no-go areas. How are you? You look well. How’s work? Why are you such a pathetic waste of space? Okay, they don’t ask that. But that’s what I say. I’m boring. It doesn’t matter. I can’t answer. There aren’t words for this and even if there were I wouldn’t burden you with them.

Two hours until I am to go out. I’m in jeans, a t-shirt and thongs. I have no idea what to wear. I can’t be bothered getting dressed or putting makeup on. I just want to wrap myself in a bedsheet cocoon and hide.

There’s a feeling in the air and it scares me. My heart beats extra fast when I feel it. I feel like something’s coming.