This is going to sound pathetic. But who cares, what do I care what you think of me? These last few months I have been on a high. I have my own home now, my own space. Enjoying being a mother. And being so social it's driving me mad! I never used to be that popular. So I have a party. I informed my friends weeks/months ago about it, with reminders. People said they were coming, they didn't show up. I have so much food in my fridge and freezer now... here lies my dilemma.
I've had a few flat/depressed days in the last few weeks, nothing serious. I'm going to see.. I don't know what I am supposed to name him here, seeing one of my past mistakes shares his name and I'd not like to confuse him here. I don't know. Well... I am going to see a gentleman this coming week that I've grown close to these last few months... but suddenly drifted apart. He's not there when I need him. I guess I'm too needy I suppose. I don't want to talk about this but why am I writing about it??
I haven't thrown up (on purpose) in God knows how long. I am feeling awful right now. No. Not suicidal. But fed up. Let down. By everyone. My family, my son's father, my friends and my potential mate. I've let myself down for being to trusting and too "happy" for so long. I can hear that angry voice I kept quiet for so long now shouting again "Told you so! Told you so!" I don't deserve happiness. The closest thing to happiness I have is a fridge full of food, my fingers and my toilet bowl.
Shh. I'm returning to Mia. Fuck the world.
Friday, February 5, 2010
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Here Comes The Sun
I welcome the dreams I have of feeling the warmth of sunlight on my cheek. Like a sweet kiss, like a tender caress, like the embrace of a loved one. I had one of those the other night. I felt awake and in the sun, in the light. I was tentative but completely joyous when in my dream everything came true.
The rain has passed and roses are now in bloom. The lilacs are still giving off their scent.
Look. The sun is shining.
The rain has passed and roses are now in bloom. The lilacs are still giving off their scent.
Look. The sun is shining.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Perseverance
Quite fitting, the damp scent of Eucalyptus, Lilac, rain and Gorecki's 3rd Symphony. That's how I feel. Beautiful. Delicate. Fragile.
Oh how I feel fragile.
I'm not too certain of the future, only of my dreams. I'm waiting for the storm to come batter my petals and leave me weak to fall to the ground.
But for now the hush of a gentle drizzle.
Oh how I feel fragile.
I'm not too certain of the future, only of my dreams. I'm waiting for the storm to come batter my petals and leave me weak to fall to the ground.
But for now the hush of a gentle drizzle.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Ashtray Heart
I've been meaning to write for a long time. It has been sincerely hard. Now I am compelled to.
Yes, I gave birth to a baby boy, M. He's my world... when I am not stressed or depressed. That sounds horrid. Owen was with me for the birth. I'll write about the birth at some other point in the future.
After the birth, I guess my hormones were racing. I needed Grumpy. I wanted Grumpy. I partially grieved for the past. Even recently I bared my heart and soul to him. I can't be friends with someone who doesn't love me. Unrequited 'love'. But he talked me around.
The latest debacle in this whole sorry saga is the last straw in my 'friendship' with Grumpy. A mutual real life friend decided I had spouted lies and posted logs to one of my internet friends, which is complete bulls***. I'm not that juvenile. I even offered for him to come over and read my message history and logs. But no, he declined. Where does Grumpy fit into this? Well for starters he didn't stand up for me. He washes his hands of it and leaves me alone in the s*** that I have unwittingly been dragged into. He proceeded to text me and phone me and not say one nice thing, not even a hint of sympathy. Pretty much Grumpy is leaving alone in this. Won't defend me. Won't be a friend. And even agreed with the mutual 'friend' that it was probably me.
So that's it. He can't be a friend then he is gone. I'm debating whether or not to send him his birthday present which I got early for once. It's a waste of $80 really, to just go and give it to charity. I know, that sounds selfish. But $80 is a lot for me, who is now on welfare.
On the bright side, I had someone, who I do call a friend, be such a lovely voice of reason as I had a panic attack. The mutual friend that started all this baloney knows where I live and that is still playing on my fears.
But the voice of reason? I'm bowled over once again... and I feel like how I felt initially when Chris came around last year to deliver smokes and sit on the doorstep with me... so now I am wary. I don't want to be dealt the same way Chris treated me. I don't want to be disappointed like Owen disappointed me... I don't want to go to the dark places Grumpy took me... and I don't want to get my heart broken and soul ripped out, what Tad the wonder d*ck did to me.
I guess I just have to be myself... if people don't like that... their loss, not mine.
PS: After 4 years I finally deleted Grumpy's messages off my phone... that in itself says a lot.
Yes, I gave birth to a baby boy, M. He's my world... when I am not stressed or depressed. That sounds horrid. Owen was with me for the birth. I'll write about the birth at some other point in the future.
After the birth, I guess my hormones were racing. I needed Grumpy. I wanted Grumpy. I partially grieved for the past. Even recently I bared my heart and soul to him. I can't be friends with someone who doesn't love me. Unrequited 'love'. But he talked me around.
The latest debacle in this whole sorry saga is the last straw in my 'friendship' with Grumpy. A mutual real life friend decided I had spouted lies and posted logs to one of my internet friends, which is complete bulls***. I'm not that juvenile. I even offered for him to come over and read my message history and logs. But no, he declined. Where does Grumpy fit into this? Well for starters he didn't stand up for me. He washes his hands of it and leaves me alone in the s*** that I have unwittingly been dragged into. He proceeded to text me and phone me and not say one nice thing, not even a hint of sympathy. Pretty much Grumpy is leaving alone in this. Won't defend me. Won't be a friend. And even agreed with the mutual 'friend' that it was probably me.
So that's it. He can't be a friend then he is gone. I'm debating whether or not to send him his birthday present which I got early for once. It's a waste of $80 really, to just go and give it to charity. I know, that sounds selfish. But $80 is a lot for me, who is now on welfare.
On the bright side, I had someone, who I do call a friend, be such a lovely voice of reason as I had a panic attack. The mutual friend that started all this baloney knows where I live and that is still playing on my fears.
But the voice of reason? I'm bowled over once again... and I feel like how I felt initially when Chris came around last year to deliver smokes and sit on the doorstep with me... so now I am wary. I don't want to be dealt the same way Chris treated me. I don't want to be disappointed like Owen disappointed me... I don't want to go to the dark places Grumpy took me... and I don't want to get my heart broken and soul ripped out, what Tad the wonder d*ck did to me.
I guess I just have to be myself... if people don't like that... their loss, not mine.
PS: After 4 years I finally deleted Grumpy's messages off my phone... that in itself says a lot.
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Mind's Sedate
Sometimes my mind flashes back to moments in time when I've had such a tranquil state of mind, when I sit down to write. Currently my mind is sitting on the porch looking down through the greenery, through the bees and dragonflies, through gardenias and geraniums, palms and ferns, toward the small eucalypt undergrowth and spying the calves licking each other in the shade. Lorikeets and peewees, finches and magpies warbling a distant tune.
I can picture the flowers smiling in their baskets framing the view, swaying in the slight breeze. I have a cup of tea sitting on an old stump lugged up here, with an astray, packet of cigarettes and a lighter. I'm resting before my duties. Cleaning the chookyard, shovelling cow manure into bags, mowing the lawn, carting water and hay, all before coming back again to admire the view with a well-earned beer in my hand. That is where my mind is and where I long to be. Just for a few days if only.
I can picture the flowers smiling in their baskets framing the view, swaying in the slight breeze. I have a cup of tea sitting on an old stump lugged up here, with an astray, packet of cigarettes and a lighter. I'm resting before my duties. Cleaning the chookyard, shovelling cow manure into bags, mowing the lawn, carting water and hay, all before coming back again to admire the view with a well-earned beer in my hand. That is where my mind is and where I long to be. Just for a few days if only.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
The Cross
What is this force that helps me stumble along? More I think of it, when I start to think of what happened. It's like the cross that was heavy and Jesus still bore and carried it to Gol'gotha. Is this force Jesus carrying me? My pain, my torment, my fear? Perhaps though he can't be seen, he can be felt.
All I've learned, my scraps of religious education, feels like it's reaching toward epiphany. Realisation. When I feel like I have grasped it, doubt floods in.
All I've learned, my scraps of religious education, feels like it's reaching toward epiphany. Realisation. When I feel like I have grasped it, doubt floods in.
Monday, March 23, 2009
Don't Sit Under That Apple Tree
I am me. I am. I am.
I'm the girl who falls for the wrong person.
Someone damaged in some way or another.
An Apple that has already been bitten
by the birds or the hungry little worm
or two.
Perhaps I am that hungry little worm.
Perhaps I am the bee that pollinates
the Apple blossom.
I'm the girl who falls for the wrong person.
Someone damaged in some way or another.
An Apple that has already been bitten
by the birds or the hungry little worm
or two.
Perhaps I am that hungry little worm.
Perhaps I am the bee that pollinates
the Apple blossom.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Alle
*Means alone in German. Or if not, well obviously my German needs improving.
This pregnancy just gets better and better in terms of my mental health.
I gave up anti-depressants earlier on in the pregnancy, which probably wasn't the best thing by me as depression reared it's ugly head again and I started to contemplate suicide again. I guess the only thing that keeps me hanging on is the fact that I am Catholic and couldn't bear two mortal sins (ie killing myself and my child) than the one. I still go to therapy every week and due to a complete and utter misunderstanding on my psychiatrists part (all I asked was if my second appointment in the month could be bulk billed, seeing I could only barely be able to afford him once a month, he also misconstrued what I was saying and recommended I see someone else...what on Earth? All I wanted was a yes or a no!) I now see another psychiatrist whom I've only just started seeing. And back on the meds. If the benefits outweigh the risks, it should be fine on my child. It's not healthy for a child to have a completely depressed mother who still has thoughts of topping herself.
And one disappointment from Owen to another. And now this. My sister and brother in law completely taking my opinions over a certain politician here way too seriously and continually labelling me a racist. I mean what the hell. Anyone who actually knows me knows that that isn't like me at all. Hell, two of my good friends are from Pakistan, I have lots of friends from different countries here and even another of my good friends was a refugee from Vietnam that went from refugee camp to refugee camp at such a young age. They said if I was joking why was I getting defensive and in hindsight I should have told them that being labelled an idiot, a racist and being told it's proof I was adopted makes me defensive. Way to work up a pregnant person. I wonder how many years it's going to be this time and if they're going to expect me to apologise. They never apologise for this and no doubt will feel that they've been wronged. Whom am I going to ask to be the Godparents of my child now?! And no doubt their version would be enough to turn my newly found relationship with my dad and grandparents to dust. Even though Dad hasn't talked to me since I told him about my pregnancy. And didn't even send a message to wish me a happy birthday. And my brother is completely unhappy about my pregnancy and I say so in censored terms. His explosive tirade at me was enough to convince me that he hates me as much and as deeply as he hates my mother.
And then there's the elusive Mother of mine. Excuses excuses on why she cannot call or send a message. And whenever we do talk she spends most of that phone call chatting about things I really don't give a rat's behind about when I need information about hereditary problems and you know, whatever mums and their pregnant daughters are supposed to be talking about. And then with me hardly getting anything in, she has the audicity to say "I have to go now." And hangs up.
What the hell is wrong with my family? What have I done to deserve this? (Despite the bleeding obvious of having pre-marital sex and having a child out of wedlock) Am I suppose to "grow up" or something? I thought I was handling my pregnancy and my life with utmost maturity. If they only knew just want hell my mind has gone through and is still going through. But no, they're just the kind of people to say I only want attention. Which is bullshit because I hate drawing attention from my family because it ALWAYS causes problems. Like the time I saw a psychologist when I was 14? And she had the great idea of bringing my mother AND my sister into a session with me, and my sister went completely off her brain at me and thought I was doing it all for attention and my depression was just bullshit. You know what happened after that session? After the hellride home I tried my best to lock myself in my room and for the very first time in my young life I started cutting. It actually felt an awful lot better than I felt.
So with my meagre family and friends....well really, I am alone. I don't think I've got anyone that's going to sit there with me and take me to the hospital when I give birth. Although Owen says he'll be there but I just know he's going to disappoint me again. I don't have faith in anyone anymore when they say they will be there and they will be supportive blah blah.
And as for my child? I'm not sure if I'm going to be much support either. I don't have faith in myself on sticking out this existance much longer after the birth. I'm barely coping as it is.
This pregnancy just gets better and better in terms of my mental health.
I gave up anti-depressants earlier on in the pregnancy, which probably wasn't the best thing by me as depression reared it's ugly head again and I started to contemplate suicide again. I guess the only thing that keeps me hanging on is the fact that I am Catholic and couldn't bear two mortal sins (ie killing myself and my child) than the one. I still go to therapy every week and due to a complete and utter misunderstanding on my psychiatrists part (all I asked was if my second appointment in the month could be bulk billed, seeing I could only barely be able to afford him once a month, he also misconstrued what I was saying and recommended I see someone else...what on Earth? All I wanted was a yes or a no!) I now see another psychiatrist whom I've only just started seeing. And back on the meds. If the benefits outweigh the risks, it should be fine on my child. It's not healthy for a child to have a completely depressed mother who still has thoughts of topping herself.
And one disappointment from Owen to another. And now this. My sister and brother in law completely taking my opinions over a certain politician here way too seriously and continually labelling me a racist. I mean what the hell. Anyone who actually knows me knows that that isn't like me at all. Hell, two of my good friends are from Pakistan, I have lots of friends from different countries here and even another of my good friends was a refugee from Vietnam that went from refugee camp to refugee camp at such a young age. They said if I was joking why was I getting defensive and in hindsight I should have told them that being labelled an idiot, a racist and being told it's proof I was adopted makes me defensive. Way to work up a pregnant person. I wonder how many years it's going to be this time and if they're going to expect me to apologise. They never apologise for this and no doubt will feel that they've been wronged. Whom am I going to ask to be the Godparents of my child now?! And no doubt their version would be enough to turn my newly found relationship with my dad and grandparents to dust. Even though Dad hasn't talked to me since I told him about my pregnancy. And didn't even send a message to wish me a happy birthday. And my brother is completely unhappy about my pregnancy and I say so in censored terms. His explosive tirade at me was enough to convince me that he hates me as much and as deeply as he hates my mother.
And then there's the elusive Mother of mine. Excuses excuses on why she cannot call or send a message. And whenever we do talk she spends most of that phone call chatting about things I really don't give a rat's behind about when I need information about hereditary problems and you know, whatever mums and their pregnant daughters are supposed to be talking about. And then with me hardly getting anything in, she has the audicity to say "I have to go now." And hangs up.
What the hell is wrong with my family? What have I done to deserve this? (Despite the bleeding obvious of having pre-marital sex and having a child out of wedlock) Am I suppose to "grow up" or something? I thought I was handling my pregnancy and my life with utmost maturity. If they only knew just want hell my mind has gone through and is still going through. But no, they're just the kind of people to say I only want attention. Which is bullshit because I hate drawing attention from my family because it ALWAYS causes problems. Like the time I saw a psychologist when I was 14? And she had the great idea of bringing my mother AND my sister into a session with me, and my sister went completely off her brain at me and thought I was doing it all for attention and my depression was just bullshit. You know what happened after that session? After the hellride home I tried my best to lock myself in my room and for the very first time in my young life I started cutting. It actually felt an awful lot better than I felt.
So with my meagre family and friends....well really, I am alone. I don't think I've got anyone that's going to sit there with me and take me to the hospital when I give birth. Although Owen says he'll be there but I just know he's going to disappoint me again. I don't have faith in anyone anymore when they say they will be there and they will be supportive blah blah.
And as for my child? I'm not sure if I'm going to be much support either. I don't have faith in myself on sticking out this existance much longer after the birth. I'm barely coping as it is.
Friday, March 20, 2009
Say Hello To Barry Colours For Me
The title I would like to say came to be in a dream not a few hours ago. I have no idea what it means but in my dream I was on blogspot reading my blog and had an entry titled that for some reason. There you have it.
I've been sort of battling a writer's block if you will these past few months. It's been rather hard.
My news? Baby is doing quite well, I'll find out the gender hopefully this Wednesday coming. Owen and I just recently broke up for reasons I guess I can't vent out on this spot in cyberspace but I do hope for a future for both of us, I really do. It has been a lonely pregnancy thus far and I suppose not having him by my side (officially) doesn't make much of a difference if he wasn't there to begin with. I don't know. I hurt a bit. But it was my own doing so I shouldn't bitch about it so much.
I'm not sure what else to write. All I know is I had to write Say Hello To Barry Colours For Me. Trippy.
I've been sort of battling a writer's block if you will these past few months. It's been rather hard.
My news? Baby is doing quite well, I'll find out the gender hopefully this Wednesday coming. Owen and I just recently broke up for reasons I guess I can't vent out on this spot in cyberspace but I do hope for a future for both of us, I really do. It has been a lonely pregnancy thus far and I suppose not having him by my side (officially) doesn't make much of a difference if he wasn't there to begin with. I don't know. I hurt a bit. But it was my own doing so I shouldn't bitch about it so much.
I'm not sure what else to write. All I know is I had to write Say Hello To Barry Colours For Me. Trippy.
Thursday, January 1, 2009
All I Need
First and foremost, best wishes to all for 2009!
I'm due in 7 months. In perspective that isn't a very long time to go. So much to do in preparation. No energy to do it with. Still signing up for study in my laboratory course which I can do still when the baby is born. Have to move into a new place, buy furniture, buy a fridge and a washing machine, maternity clothes, baby clothes, nappies, bottles, kilos of washing powder, a pram, a cot/bassinette and surely more things I haven't thought of yet. All on a happy single mum pension.
Owen will support as much as he can but I really do feel like I am on my own with this one. I mean. My family aren't too excited as I thought they would be, they said they will help where they can but that gesture has done bugger all to mask their disappointment. Friends? What friends? Apart from friends on the internet? Real life? Nobody really except for my housemates and Grumpy's family.
A young single mum how does that work? How on earth did that happen? Here I go from severe depression, to sheer happiness and clarity, to a job I've to do every day for the rest of my life. Sure I'm happy about that and happy to do it. But is it really the best for my kid? They deserve better. All I have is my love but judging by today's society love is a skint way to bring up your kid.
And no longer will I be afraid for me, I will be afraid for my child. How do you mothers deal with that fear?
(Please share your tips for dealing with All Day-All Night Sickness too...it's becoming unbearable!)
I'm due in 7 months. In perspective that isn't a very long time to go. So much to do in preparation. No energy to do it with. Still signing up for study in my laboratory course which I can do still when the baby is born. Have to move into a new place, buy furniture, buy a fridge and a washing machine, maternity clothes, baby clothes, nappies, bottles, kilos of washing powder, a pram, a cot/bassinette and surely more things I haven't thought of yet. All on a happy single mum pension.
Owen will support as much as he can but I really do feel like I am on my own with this one. I mean. My family aren't too excited as I thought they would be, they said they will help where they can but that gesture has done bugger all to mask their disappointment. Friends? What friends? Apart from friends on the internet? Real life? Nobody really except for my housemates and Grumpy's family.
A young single mum how does that work? How on earth did that happen? Here I go from severe depression, to sheer happiness and clarity, to a job I've to do every day for the rest of my life. Sure I'm happy about that and happy to do it. But is it really the best for my kid? They deserve better. All I have is my love but judging by today's society love is a skint way to bring up your kid.
And no longer will I be afraid for me, I will be afraid for my child. How do you mothers deal with that fear?
(Please share your tips for dealing with All Day-All Night Sickness too...it's becoming unbearable!)
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Brave New World
Funny feeling sitting in the waiting room of the medical centre, waiting in anticpation, babies, elderly and those waiting to be born. I have been sick as a dog for a week or so before I went to the doctor. But not the sickness I'm accustomed to. Cramping, one light pink spot and I'm left alone with the sickness. I took a test before work. Postive. At the doctor's I took another. Negative. One failed attempt at a blood test and one successful, congratulations are in order, you're pregnant.
It is still early days, I'm very happy and excited of course but there's that primitive fear deep down that I imagine lurks in most mothers-to-be.
Owen and I met online many months ago and hit it off very well as friends. I should have taken his advice then about Chris being a supermassive jerk to be gotten over. But I didn't and our relationship grew. And as it grew my thoughts of Chris the Jerk withered away.
Owen was moving down of his own accord and for his own reasons, nearer to where I live. We met up. I'm not sure if he was as shy as I was, I certainly felt like a daft and timid teenager with her first boyfriend. We of course did the deed, had an accident and I totally forgot about the ramifications, seeing it happened plenty of times when I was with Grumpy and nothing ever eventuated.
But this time something did.
Owen came again to stay with me for a week. He looked after me and attended to all my needs and for that I am grateful. Owen and I have decided to take our relationship slow and not rush into anything despite my condition. I truly believe it is for the best, we have much to learn of each other outside being parents. Although I do confess I miss him terribly and long to be snuggled in bed with him and dream the remainder of the gestation away.
I know it is early but I have a feeling I am having a girl. I do wish for her to be named Violet very much but I doubt Owen or our respective families would approve. But it is my wish.
So here it is, after writing Interchange, how aptly named it was, that I have embarked on a journey I have never taken before, one of those you've heard about and longed to travel. Holly: Mother-to-be.
I pray to the All Mighty that I have a safe pregnancy, safe delivery and a healthy baby. But I am at the mercy of God's divine Will.
Whatever will be, will be.
He works in mysterious ways.
Note: For those who have access to my facebook profile, please do not post any congratulations just yet as some parties have not been informed and I shall announce it when I enter my second trimester :D
It is still early days, I'm very happy and excited of course but there's that primitive fear deep down that I imagine lurks in most mothers-to-be.
Owen and I met online many months ago and hit it off very well as friends. I should have taken his advice then about Chris being a supermassive jerk to be gotten over. But I didn't and our relationship grew. And as it grew my thoughts of Chris the Jerk withered away.
Owen was moving down of his own accord and for his own reasons, nearer to where I live. We met up. I'm not sure if he was as shy as I was, I certainly felt like a daft and timid teenager with her first boyfriend. We of course did the deed, had an accident and I totally forgot about the ramifications, seeing it happened plenty of times when I was with Grumpy and nothing ever eventuated.
But this time something did.
Owen came again to stay with me for a week. He looked after me and attended to all my needs and for that I am grateful. Owen and I have decided to take our relationship slow and not rush into anything despite my condition. I truly believe it is for the best, we have much to learn of each other outside being parents. Although I do confess I miss him terribly and long to be snuggled in bed with him and dream the remainder of the gestation away.
I know it is early but I have a feeling I am having a girl. I do wish for her to be named Violet very much but I doubt Owen or our respective families would approve. But it is my wish.
So here it is, after writing Interchange, how aptly named it was, that I have embarked on a journey I have never taken before, one of those you've heard about and longed to travel. Holly: Mother-to-be.
I pray to the All Mighty that I have a safe pregnancy, safe delivery and a healthy baby. But I am at the mercy of God's divine Will.
Whatever will be, will be.
He works in mysterious ways.
Note: For those who have access to my facebook profile, please do not post any congratulations just yet as some parties have not been informed and I shall announce it when I enter my second trimester :D
Friday, November 21, 2008
Interchange
I've gotten off the bus as it had reached the terminus. I'm standing here weary and confused at which bus I'm supposed to take and when. Should I hang around the terminal with a coffee in hand and a cigarette dangling in the other? Or fight for a seat?
I'm standing in a hall of mirrors, so crowded here with my infinate doppelgangers. Someone, perhaps the true me, is screaming, screaming, infinately screaming. Still the mirrors do not shatter.
But I am at the terminal breathing in acrid exhaust and stale tobacco smoke. Just standing. Just tired. Just bewildered at the buses, the destinations and estimated arrivals. How long do I have to stand here?
I often wish I could jump in a car and drive to destination unknown.
I'm standing in a hall of mirrors, so crowded here with my infinate doppelgangers. Someone, perhaps the true me, is screaming, screaming, infinately screaming. Still the mirrors do not shatter.
But I am at the terminal breathing in acrid exhaust and stale tobacco smoke. Just standing. Just tired. Just bewildered at the buses, the destinations and estimated arrivals. How long do I have to stand here?
I often wish I could jump in a car and drive to destination unknown.
Saturday, November 1, 2008
Bon Voyage
Time moves simultaneously fast and slow. When I was happy I was sad, when I was sad I was happy, when I was happy I was happy and when I was sad I was sad, all the while days meandered past.
Chris is leaving for India for quite a few months and hadn't bothered to tell me nor did he think it appropriate to invite me to his farewell. Seriously, I am happy he is going. One less jerk to associate with and I can resume my shortcut walking to work, which happened to be past his house and not worry that he might think I am stalking him. (I used to walk past often, before I knew him)
And what is new on this epic journey of Holly's? Owen. Pure and simple. Another fork in the road. I am going down a new path with Owen. I shall divulge details at another time.
Chris is leaving for India for quite a few months and hadn't bothered to tell me nor did he think it appropriate to invite me to his farewell. Seriously, I am happy he is going. One less jerk to associate with and I can resume my shortcut walking to work, which happened to be past his house and not worry that he might think I am stalking him. (I used to walk past often, before I knew him)
And what is new on this epic journey of Holly's? Owen. Pure and simple. Another fork in the road. I am going down a new path with Owen. I shall divulge details at another time.
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Seeing Double
I awoke to find myself about to roll of the edge of the bed. Decided I needed to use the bathroom so I got up. I fell flat on my face. My vision doubled and I stood again, stumbling and falling often along the way. Still seeing double.
A choir of female voices kept shouting, "Second sight! Second sight!"I found my housemate and in a panic told her my vision has doubled and promptly fell over again. She looked at me odd.
Next thing I knew I was awake, nearly falling off the bed.
A choir of female voices kept shouting, "Second sight! Second sight!"I found my housemate and in a panic told her my vision has doubled and promptly fell over again. She looked at me odd.
Next thing I knew I was awake, nearly falling off the bed.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
Gem
An opal is like a soul. Lost inside are fiery ribbons of gold, orange, green and blue. Like a kaliedoscope, facets shift and shine infinately.
I've learned to stop separating people from good and bad. Black, grey and white. Like the Chinese concept of Yin and Yang. You have a good person with a bit of bad and a bad person with a bit of good.
I've sort of expanded on that theory. We are all gems of a particular colour with hues of others that change with light (or circumstances). I used to see myself as an Amethyst but now? Now I am a White Opal with a fiery heart.
I used to think of Mum as the good guy, Dad as the bad. In recent news I've learned about my Mother's lies and in some aspects my Father's. Came to a head. They never changed. They were always. Different facets show.
I'm not afraid of being hurt physically, emotionally or spiritually anymore. The greatest foe I've ever had, myself, defeated but still lurking in the depths of my being.
I'm lonely. I still wish for Chris or at least someone to fill his space. I'm okay. I'm learning more about myself everyday. And I like me. I'm in awe as I view the different colours radiate from me, my gem.
I've learned to stop separating people from good and bad. Black, grey and white. Like the Chinese concept of Yin and Yang. You have a good person with a bit of bad and a bad person with a bit of good.
I've sort of expanded on that theory. We are all gems of a particular colour with hues of others that change with light (or circumstances). I used to see myself as an Amethyst but now? Now I am a White Opal with a fiery heart.
I used to think of Mum as the good guy, Dad as the bad. In recent news I've learned about my Mother's lies and in some aspects my Father's. Came to a head. They never changed. They were always. Different facets show.
I'm not afraid of being hurt physically, emotionally or spiritually anymore. The greatest foe I've ever had, myself, defeated but still lurking in the depths of my being.
I'm lonely. I still wish for Chris or at least someone to fill his space. I'm okay. I'm learning more about myself everyday. And I like me. I'm in awe as I view the different colours radiate from me, my gem.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Fire
A friend of mine recently revealed his diagnosis and battle with clinical depression and anxiety. Another revealed that he was in that current mindstate. And another is in another of her suicide bids.
In the heat of summer when the paddocks are crowded with tussocks of dry brown grasses, when the landscape is like an overflowing tinderbox and the breeze breathes like the hot winds of a furnace, there is an odd calm, a rousing energy in the air, uncertainty, excitement.
Without warning sparks fly. The winds whip up and fire lashes its fury in the bush, in the fields and through homes, human or not. Flames lick the bark of gum trees, rogue pine explodes reminiscent of the nights of the Canberra Bush Fires seasons before. And in what seems like an instant of insanity and horror, the smoke clears and drifts lazily on. The flames have seemingly destroyed most in its path, raped the world of undergrowth.
But in tragedy, of all the death that came, triumph is seeded beneath the soil and has already begun to germinate in the heat of sorrow.
In the heat of summer when the paddocks are crowded with tussocks of dry brown grasses, when the landscape is like an overflowing tinderbox and the breeze breathes like the hot winds of a furnace, there is an odd calm, a rousing energy in the air, uncertainty, excitement.
Without warning sparks fly. The winds whip up and fire lashes its fury in the bush, in the fields and through homes, human or not. Flames lick the bark of gum trees, rogue pine explodes reminiscent of the nights of the Canberra Bush Fires seasons before. And in what seems like an instant of insanity and horror, the smoke clears and drifts lazily on. The flames have seemingly destroyed most in its path, raped the world of undergrowth.
But in tragedy, of all the death that came, triumph is seeded beneath the soil and has already begun to germinate in the heat of sorrow.
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
The Eyes
Snails moving in the sea of dew and silver trails
in morning gloom, in morning pride
Moving slowly, patiently watching
The all seeing, all knowing eyes of God.
Sleepy twitters of rousing birds
Silence save for the sound of the universe
moving with great energy
Stars in the eyes of God.
Mid afternoon the dew has gone
cracked shells and baked corpses
pavement stained with silver trails
and the remnants of the all seeing, all knowing
eyes of God.
in morning gloom, in morning pride
Moving slowly, patiently watching
The all seeing, all knowing eyes of God.
Sleepy twitters of rousing birds
Silence save for the sound of the universe
moving with great energy
Stars in the eyes of God.
Mid afternoon the dew has gone
cracked shells and baked corpses
pavement stained with silver trails
and the remnants of the all seeing, all knowing
eyes of God.
Friday, September 19, 2008
Hayfever
Spring has sprung, unclouded weather, fauna frolicking, flora irritating my sinuses. Victa mowers harmonise in their neighbourhood choir, the sounds of saws and hammers hold the beat. Summer will once again be upon me. Lazy strolls and lazy rides around the lake. The chance meeting of Prince Charming perhaps. Although not looking for love, looking for peace.
Debutante blossoms, rebirth and light, I can emerge like a flower in the caress of the sun. Winter sadness and gloom lifted away, now is the time to grow and bloom. The season for love, for joy, for peace, for fulfilled dreams. Time to be social. Time to embrace my personality and all her quirks and oddities. I don't need people to appreciate me. To be free, and be, I must appreciate me.
Hello world, I come in peace.
Debutante blossoms, rebirth and light, I can emerge like a flower in the caress of the sun. Winter sadness and gloom lifted away, now is the time to grow and bloom. The season for love, for joy, for peace, for fulfilled dreams. Time to be social. Time to embrace my personality and all her quirks and oddities. I don't need people to appreciate me. To be free, and be, I must appreciate me.
Hello world, I come in peace.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Home Sweet Home
They are tearing down a dilapidated shopping complex to make room for a giant hardware centre. In the process they have shifted and demolished three Victorian era cottages which not long ago had endured lavish paintwork and renovations.
Hard work. Sweat dripping to the new polished parquetry, all in hope to raise the value on an already expensive market. Only to be ripped apart to make room for a checkout and a spillage in Aisle 6.
All the roses, geraniums and irises, all who thrived as generations passed, ripped up and destroyed. The decaying roots under a Holden parked on the asphalt. A crying shame. On the bright side (whistles "Always Look On The Bright Side Of Life" - Monty Python), the purchases from the store will be used to renovate and construct more homes and gardens. An irony isn't it? The cycle repeats. Values increase. Destruction. Construction. Destroy. Create. Birth. Death.
It is one thing I hate to see, homes destroyed. In particular homes that have been built in an age gone by. I've always had a keen eye for architecture and design. Practical Art. When I first visited Glasgow I was literally in Heaven. I walked the same paths as my ancestors, appreciated the parks, statues and monuments my ancestors moved around. The Clyde! The views of my ancestors...
One wouldn't normally appreciate such things unless one was in my shoes. The lone Australian. Majority of my relatives strewn across the globe.
Will my children experience these same feelings?
Hard work. Sweat dripping to the new polished parquetry, all in hope to raise the value on an already expensive market. Only to be ripped apart to make room for a checkout and a spillage in Aisle 6.
All the roses, geraniums and irises, all who thrived as generations passed, ripped up and destroyed. The decaying roots under a Holden parked on the asphalt. A crying shame. On the bright side (whistles "Always Look On The Bright Side Of Life" - Monty Python), the purchases from the store will be used to renovate and construct more homes and gardens. An irony isn't it? The cycle repeats. Values increase. Destruction. Construction. Destroy. Create. Birth. Death.
It is one thing I hate to see, homes destroyed. In particular homes that have been built in an age gone by. I've always had a keen eye for architecture and design. Practical Art. When I first visited Glasgow I was literally in Heaven. I walked the same paths as my ancestors, appreciated the parks, statues and monuments my ancestors moved around. The Clyde! The views of my ancestors...
One wouldn't normally appreciate such things unless one was in my shoes. The lone Australian. Majority of my relatives strewn across the globe.
Will my children experience these same feelings?
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Celebration
My foot is still shooting up pain to the rhythm of the old woman shuffle with Zimmer frame. I don't believe one iota that the pain should be growing worse after all this time and after strapping it up and resting when I can.
Hard to believe that it's September. Summer is blowing on a distant breeze.
I had another series of strange dreams.
I was at the house, my father long dead and buried. The house and yard were dark. Rubbish and recycling bins overflowing. Mailbox clogged with letters, cards, overdue bills and decaying advertising material.
There was a party being held out the back, friends of my sister, brother and mother invited. A tall thin man with thin black glasses wearing a light checkered blue shirt kept hovering around me looking for opportunities to garner my attention and small talk. I did not know this man or many of these people in my yard, though my family moved through the crowd with ease. Nor did I care for this man, his attention and his blatant fondness for me.
I kept searching the faces of the guests for someone familiar to chat with. To be in company with. Searching for Chris.
A platter of cold meats, cheeses and fruit made rounds of the guests. I snared a cube of what I thought was cheddar cheese and popped in quickly in my mouth. Of all the horrors I have experienced in dreams, the vile taste of that cheese was the heart of the most atrocious and fearsome nightmares known to man. So I proceeded to dream spitting out that abominable excuse for a savoury bite as discreetly as possible. No luck. That man rushed to my side and started touching my arm. I excused myself and spent a good portion of that dream throwing up into a familiar toilet, one I spent a great deal of time acquainting with as a dieting teenager.
I've washed my hands and walked into the hall. No man. Sigh of relief. I'll blow this party and hole up in my bedroom like the old days. Boot up my ancient 486 and jot down some thoughts. The room is still much like how I left it all those years ago but has accrued more adult possessions and disorganisation. Crisp packets litter the quilt of the bottom bunk.
Knock on the door. Before I could answer he already invited himself in. I couldn't really tell him to get out, despite the fact it's my bedroom, my home and not my guest. It would be rather rude of me. I'll get in trouble. So I up and leave.
The wind has blown the window in, in the kitchen. My German Shepherd is outside barking off her brain. The party has moved on to some place else so I am free to go outside. I look over the fence and see my old Italian neighbour pottering around in his yard. Except it seems he has ceased to cultivate row upon row of Zucchini, Roma Tomatoes and the like. Even the odour of coffee beans roasting and being grounded in his garage no longer teases. I look at where his vegetable garden used to be, which not surprisingly, had encompassed the whole of his yard, to find pens of poultry gaily clucking away and scratching the dirt.
The feathers were bright, clean and groomed. The fowls quite jovial. Gigantic white eggs rolled about and cracked open to reveal chirpy chickens eager to grow and live. Excited I called out for the guests to come and see, even that man. No one came.
I went back inside and flopped silently on the couch.
"It's okay. It's okay," a familiar voice repeated., "I'm not going. I'm here. It's okay." Chris' arms wrapped themselves around me and we nodded off to sleep.
In reality my alarm was ringing.
Hard to believe that it's September. Summer is blowing on a distant breeze.
I had another series of strange dreams.
I was at the house, my father long dead and buried. The house and yard were dark. Rubbish and recycling bins overflowing. Mailbox clogged with letters, cards, overdue bills and decaying advertising material.
There was a party being held out the back, friends of my sister, brother and mother invited. A tall thin man with thin black glasses wearing a light checkered blue shirt kept hovering around me looking for opportunities to garner my attention and small talk. I did not know this man or many of these people in my yard, though my family moved through the crowd with ease. Nor did I care for this man, his attention and his blatant fondness for me.
I kept searching the faces of the guests for someone familiar to chat with. To be in company with. Searching for Chris.
A platter of cold meats, cheeses and fruit made rounds of the guests. I snared a cube of what I thought was cheddar cheese and popped in quickly in my mouth. Of all the horrors I have experienced in dreams, the vile taste of that cheese was the heart of the most atrocious and fearsome nightmares known to man. So I proceeded to dream spitting out that abominable excuse for a savoury bite as discreetly as possible. No luck. That man rushed to my side and started touching my arm. I excused myself and spent a good portion of that dream throwing up into a familiar toilet, one I spent a great deal of time acquainting with as a dieting teenager.
I've washed my hands and walked into the hall. No man. Sigh of relief. I'll blow this party and hole up in my bedroom like the old days. Boot up my ancient 486 and jot down some thoughts. The room is still much like how I left it all those years ago but has accrued more adult possessions and disorganisation. Crisp packets litter the quilt of the bottom bunk.
Knock on the door. Before I could answer he already invited himself in. I couldn't really tell him to get out, despite the fact it's my bedroom, my home and not my guest. It would be rather rude of me. I'll get in trouble. So I up and leave.
The wind has blown the window in, in the kitchen. My German Shepherd is outside barking off her brain. The party has moved on to some place else so I am free to go outside. I look over the fence and see my old Italian neighbour pottering around in his yard. Except it seems he has ceased to cultivate row upon row of Zucchini, Roma Tomatoes and the like. Even the odour of coffee beans roasting and being grounded in his garage no longer teases. I look at where his vegetable garden used to be, which not surprisingly, had encompassed the whole of his yard, to find pens of poultry gaily clucking away and scratching the dirt.
The feathers were bright, clean and groomed. The fowls quite jovial. Gigantic white eggs rolled about and cracked open to reveal chirpy chickens eager to grow and live. Excited I called out for the guests to come and see, even that man. No one came.
I went back inside and flopped silently on the couch.
"It's okay. It's okay," a familiar voice repeated., "I'm not going. I'm here. It's okay." Chris' arms wrapped themselves around me and we nodded off to sleep.
In reality my alarm was ringing.
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