Canberra does weird things to my head

I'm crashing and fast.

There is something so seductive about the crash. It's like someone has come along and given you permission to fall down and to stop holding in the dark. You can let it go and watch as it all spills out. It sounds bizarre but there is a strange beauty in it.

I should be happy. Should. Such a powerful world. I am lucky and incredibly blessed with a wonderful life. But, that doesn't stop this pain in my chest. It doesn't stop me from thinking what if. What if I stayed? What if I jumped? What if I said no? What if I said yes? What if I let you...

It's a bit of a paradox, the crash. You hate and love it at the same time. It's almost as if you like the idea of falling but haven't considered what it's like to hit the ground. Basically it hurts like hell.

I guess the question is what to do during the crash. Drink? Get high? Have sex? Cut.... But I don't do that anymore. I am no longer that girl. The problem is that it still hurts the same. It still fucking aches. But now I have no quick fix. I have to stay, and actually feel it. What is it the classical irony that in order to heal you have to hurt?

Just reallised that this entry has no point to it. I'm not trying to convey any meaning. More I'm just trying to decipher random thoughts and feelings running through my brain. So as always the case it becomes a series of disjointed snippets as opposed to linear thoughts.

I want to be held. I don't feel safe.

I want to be held.

Milestones

I haven't cut in over 2 years. Win!

Blah

Haven't posted in awhile. Haven't really felt like writing. There are a few reasons for this:

1) I came home last week to a typed formal letter on my desk, informing me that I need to move out in 4 weeks. Shit. Did I mention that I've only been here a month?! Seriously I hate the world sometimes. So now I am super stressed and for the hundreth time searching for somewhere to live. Seriously not enjoying it.

2) I often feel my writing is somewhat craptacular. Which is a shame. Because writing used to be my passion. Words used to flow from my pen so easily. Effortless. Now it's a struggle. I seemed to have lost my creativity recently. Where did it go? Writing used to be my thing. And now in the age of blogs and twitter it seems to be everyone's thing. Alas I am no longer special. Nor particularly talented. Even now it's difficult to find the right words. It pisses me off. So I'm going to leave it there with this pointless entry and come back at another time.

farewell.

Today

Today I feel bettter.

I feel alive.

I feel awake.

I feel like laughing.

I feel like anything is possible.

I feel like there is never enough time.

I have been here before and every time I feel the same thing; grateful and hugely pathetic.

I didn't go home last night. I was so exhausted I just didn't know how I could handle anything.

My employer, (mother of whose children I babysit), had dropped me off at the station after my shift so I could catch the train home. It was only after I got out of the car and she drove off that I realised she had forgot to pay me. This normally would have been fine, apart from the fact that I didn't have enough money to then get home. That's right people, I am THAT poor.

So in fit of panic I ran to the bus stop, hopped on, (I had $1 in my wallet. Lucky me!) and headed to the primary school where her daughter was currently having a music lesson. Did I mention by this poing that I was crying?

By the time I found her and told her I needed to be paid, she promptly sat me in the car, turned the heater on and told me she was kidnapping me for the night. She then proceeded to take me back to hers, feed me, clothe me and sent me straight to a warm comfortable bed. Oh I should also mention that I have been horribly sick for weeks and am still not well.

I am incredibly grateful to her and her husband for reaching out when I needed it. But the other part of me does not know how to deal with such kindness. It makes me feel slightly pathetic that I need to be taken care of. That despite my best efforts, I am not superhuman and that I do in fact need to be ...loved. There I said it.

What bothers me the most is that I have been in this situation far too many times before. Unable to cope anymore and relying on strangers/friends/aquaintances to care for me. It saddens me that I don't have that place called home, where my parents still live and where I can pop in anytime and say, "I'm sick, take care of me, here is my washing." It's not that I don't have parents who love me, I do. I just don't have that familiar place to return to.

But in the meantime I am thankful, for the warm bed, soft pajamas and a good feed.

I hate Mondays.

It's going to be one of those weeks...

I know this because it's only Monday and already I am exhausted. I feel like I have run a marathon. My spirit is weak. I feel like someone has died. But of course no one has. No crisis has occurred. The world is not ending. But of course my brain does not seem to know this.

Why is it everything has to come along in massive waves?

I can handle a little bit of stress, but then things go wrong all at once which would be bad enough but to add to the situation my head decides to a 180 and dive into straight into madness. I find myself saying far too often, "Seriously? Seriously!"

I wish it were Friday.

Please Note*

I have to apologise to my readers, (all 3 of you,) for my gradual and disappointing decline in correct spelling and grammer.

It appears that I have forgotten all I learns in high school English and as such my writing has suffered greatly. So please forgive my atrocious, (is that how you spell it?) spelling and poorly constructed sentences, (ances?).

Perhaps I should consult my old English teacher for help...

Oh how disappointing!