Depressionista

Sorry I haven't posted anything for a while... I haven't felt much motivated to do much.

I can't really remember much from the last 3 weeks.  This depression is turning everything into a blur. Each day is a battle for survival, you know?  Nothing notable is happening; no real crashes, and no real breakthroughs.  It's okay sometimes and really difficult mostly.

I accidentally fell off the spectrum

Some days are bearable, mostly the ones where I'm too hungover to remember why I don't want to live.The other days are a struggle.  I much prefer the pain of a hangover than the pain of what is my reality.  

What I hate is that it hurts the people around me.  I hate that I can't face talking to anyone.  I don't check my Facebook, I don't respond to texts. I feel too ashamed to even go home and see my parents. Everyone has advice and I know everyone's advice is good and in my best interests... but I'm not in for my best interests.

It's really hard to explain; and to be honest, I don't want this to be one of those whiney woe-is-me blogs.  I've learnt through bitter experience that it's important to keep some personal things off the internet - crippling mental illness is one of those things. Unless it's retrospectively, like "Hey, wasn't that time I nearly drowned in melancholy hilarious? How self deprecatingly humorous of me!"

So this is my attempt to say sorry, and that I don't think I'll be back until I can write something that doesn't call for a CAT team or institutionalisation.

I'll get there in the end.  Just determining where 'there' is and when the end will be.

The disappointment is the hardest bit.

Music is the best!

Me rocking out in 1988

I love music. I remember being 4 and sitting on the floor of our lounge room with these oversized 80’s headphones listening to records. I remember I was 4, because the record I had was called 4. It was produced for us 4 year olds. Us 4 year olds love things that are related to being 4 years old. Like, I would use 4 to count things down. "1, 2, 3, 4, go!"

Still one of my all time favourite albums!

I also loved listening to the Beatles records. My parents were (are?) big Beatles fans. My dad is Liverpuddle-ian, so maybe it’s in homage to that. Or maybe it’s because the Beatles freakin’ rock.

For my 13th birthday one of my friends gave me a CD gift voucher for my birthday, probably with the notion that I get something cool like the spice girls or backstreet boys. Yep. I bought an ABBA CD. My friend was mighty horrified.

To this day I still absolutely love ABBA. They take me back to my early teens, to a place where my thoughts aren’t and I can get to where my feelings are. People say that ABBA is bubblegum pop, but I don’t get that. There’s something haunting about Agnetha’s voice, and there’s an underlying sadness in the melodies that stir up that same sadness I have inside.


"I just have a lot of feelings"

I think that’s why I love music. Music talks to my feelings, places that I can’t access on my own. I know I’m incredibly emotional; I cry a lot, I laugh a lot, I sing too often... but I find it difficult to connect to my feelings. I get frustrated with myself because I get stuck in my head; I want to understand why I react the way I do.

With music I can step away from these judgemental thoughts and just use my senses to experience the world, rather than telling myself this is how I’m “supposed” to be.  I’m allowed to cry during a song because it’s moving; crying for no reason is just weird.  Music has the capacity to make me feel anything. Happy, sad, anxious, energetic, quixotic, Kafkaesque. Music is absolutely incredible!

So one of my pet hates is when people say “I’m into every kind of music – except genre x”. Genre x is usually either country music, or “heavy metal” (just wait until I introduce them to black metal!)

All genre’s have their purpose.  Sure, some country music is terrible; just like some pop is terrible, or some classical is really boring.  But every single genre I’ve ever listened to has its gems.  Why write off an entire genre because you heard one song that you didn’t enjoy?  One is a ridiculously tiny sample size. You expect to make inferences for an entire population from one thing?  You're not a scientist at all!

Then again, I shouldn't judge.  I know I subscribe to black and white thinking.  (I'm the worst!)

... Music is the best!

50 shades of fan fiction

So far “le Janvier” is going well. I sliced off some of my tooth while flossing– that’s the last time I improvise with razor-wire! I actually freaked out quite a bit, who slices off a tooth? So I went to the dentist for a filling, and it turned out I just took off the edge of a tooth which was holding in a previous filling. So we numbed me up and put in a new filling. In the following hours I realised that because I had no feeling in my mouth I managed to chew up the whole left side of my cheek innards. You would think after 27 years I would know where my cheek is, but no. Luckily I had Mum around who stuffed my mouth full of cotton wool. I doubt I’ll ever not need my Mum.

I’ve been trying to slug through the last Fifty Shades of Grey book. I find it really hard to read; mostly because it’s so terrible. When I first bought the trilogy I was pretty excited, “Finally! Erotic literature tailored for Mommys, I thought this day would not come!” But it has nothing to do with fantasising you’re a mother who’s reading pornography. Its reputation is very misleading! 

I can handle the bad grammar, the molestation of a thesaurus, and the switching up of past and present tenses; but I find it difficult to ignore Ana’s Subconscious and Inner Goddess. I don’t know about you but my subconscious is below my conscious level of perception. While hers is reading “the complete works of Charles Dickens Volume One” (no specific titles necessary, neither the reader nor author have read any Dickens anyway!) my subconscious is off processing some childhood trauma or something. I’m not certain of that though; I have no idea what goes on in there – it is sub consciousness. The subconscious is like a warehouse of experiences our conscious minds don’t understand. I imagine it to be like a processing factory out in the woods, ready to deliver the pieces of information if the consciousness requires it. It doesn’t tut, have spectacles, or read fancy English books.

When I see the words “Inner Goddess,” I read it as “please skip to the next paragraph.” The metaphors don’t make any sense.  “My inner goddess is doing a triple axel dismount off the uneven bars.”  I don’t know what that is supposed to mean!  She feels so sexy she imagines she’s a gymnast? That sounds more stressful than erotic.  I also imagine her inner goddess being like Animated Lizzie from Lizzie McGuire, which makes her even more ridiculous.



The thing that bothers me most is that E.L. James doesn’t understand her characters, and is highly judgemental about "alternative lifestyles". The blatant emotional abuse issue seems to be ignored, but then the fact that Edward Christian is a little kinky is frowned upon. Ana clearly finds it hot, but after the sex is over she’s all “Holy shit bananas that was amazing, but there must be something wrong with him, even though I consented to it all and really enjoyed it too. Time to psychoanalyse and cure him! Because love is about curing people’s faults; faults which I both condemn and encourage.”

Can’t he just be a sadistic pervert and leave it at that? To each their own.

Plus his back story is lame and lazy. I would be much more satisfied with “he’s got Scorpio rising with Pluto in the 1st house”. Leave it there, it’s sexier.

But no; we have to figure out the hunky mysterious man, stripping him of his hunky mysteriousness. Mystery is sexy, mother-issues... less sexy.

Christian stalks Ana, which also isn’t sexy, or acceptable. If he is supposed to be this confident dreamy guy then I would think it would be out of character for him to be obsessing over her. Confidence is sexy, jealousy and trust issues aren’t. The stalking and jealousy thing comes across as wimpy, and as soon as he started doing that I just got annoyed with him, and certainly didn’t want to be having fantasy dommy/subby sex with him.

I love you like a friend, wimpy cartoon guy!

Ana annoys me too. Saying you’re smart and read old English literature is not the same as actually being smart and able to use words correctly. Not using plain English makes her come across as a dumbass. Sure, the words sound impressive when not in the context of your sentence; but they are, and their meaning isn’t what you think it is. You sound like a wanker, dear. I can empathise with Christian – I’d wanna smack her too.

Beh. The characters deserve each other really.

Here’s a review which sums it up well. It has GIFs!  Possibly NSFW, depending on where you work.

This video also makes me laugh: It has Selena Gomez.

In conclusion, read it if you want a laugh from reading the numerous parodies and reviews, but not for sexual stimulation.  There are much better written erotic novels out there.  Hell, there is a lot better fan fiction out there, with even better shipping than Bedward! 

"I heart you Doctor Tennant!"
"Actually if you don't mind it's just the Doctor..."

Room sniffing

Happy New Year friends! I hope everyone’s pumped for 2013.I find the first week of a new year is my favourite; It’s hot, there’s no work, and I haven’t failed my resolutions yet. This year I resolute(?) to write at least 12 posts again. It’s not an inspired resolution, but I’m so chillaxed right now that I’m using the word “chillaxed” without quotations.

Today I went into what was my Nana’s room in the last months of her life. I miss my Nana, and complain of it often to anyone who’ll listen. Her scent is still in the room; her things and her smell. I feel sad knowing that each time I sneak in there to steal a sniff of her I’m losing the potency by diluting her scent with fresh Sam, but time will also steal that. I can beat time if I use the power of the present (I’m on to you… time; if that is even your real function!)

I suspect Mum’s the same. It’s been almost 2 years since Nana died, and the room is unchanged. A closed off room we pass every day but don’t enter. It’s there and it’s not there. The Schrodinger’s cat of Canberra; though when you do open it she’s still alive, in a way – Unfortunately not in a literal way; in more a “her memory will live on…” sort of way. So it’s not really a Schrodinger’s cat at all…

There’s this idea that we have three deaths. The first is our physical death, when our body dies. The second is when we are consigned to the grave, and the third death is when our name is spoken for the last time.

I suppose it’s fortunate that I have a super common name. :P

Anyway, while trying to acquire some olfactory nostalgia in my Nana’s old room, I came across some postcards sent to Nana from my Mum when we went overseas when I was very young. I saw them and thought, “I better not look, it’s addressed to Nana,” but then I thought, “it’s a postcard, if the postman is allowed to read this then there is no reason I shouldn’t be allowed to too!”

My ego was expecting such sentiments as “Samantha is a delight; she is by far the finest daughter one could ask for,” and, “children are the greatest joy of one’s life!” Nope. “The kids are tired and fighting,” and, “this is hard,” were the more the idea. I felt a bit sorry for my mum (and my ego).

Then I realised, Nana wasn’t just my rock; she was my Mum’s rock too. In fact, Mum was there first so she might've even had more of a claim on Nana than I did. Though Nana wasn’t Mum’s Nana, she was Mum’s Mum, and I know what a powerful relationship Mothers and their daughters can have. Since losing Nana, Mum and I have found rocks in each other. (We should probably get that checked out…)

It’s funny that all of those years I went down to my Nana’s house to complain about my Mum; Mum was doing the same thing about me. To be fair, I was a shit teenager. In fact, I used to go to my Nana to complain about myself as well.

Anyway, point is that Mum and I are cool with each other now. Our parent/child relationship was testing at times, but we’ve come to an understanding about each other and both really appreciate one another as adults. Or at least, I know I really appreciate her. My Mum makes a really great friend; I’m blessed to have her. I just hope she doesn’t mind that I have a room sniffing habit.

Mum, your daughter is weird! (This message also applies to Dad.)

New Year's resolution

Hey Team!

Wasn't gonna make my last years New Year's resolution, but technically this is my 12th blog post this year. I'm writing it on the fly with no real thought or preparation.

Literal Sam thinks she's hilarious!

I drew a picture about it. 

Anyway dear readers, have an excellent night tonight, and an excellent tomorrow.  I'll keep blogging on next year, so see you then!  HUGS!!

12 things for 12-12-12

So it’s the 12th day of the 12th month, in the year 2012. Today, at 12:10:30 my boss called me into his office. I bounced in and sat down and he said I’d only have to be there for a minute and 42 seconds. He wanted to spend the 12th hour, 12th minute and 12th second of 12/12/12 with me! I’m grinning like crazy because my boss really gets me!

It reminded me of how bringing in the New Year used to be a stressful experience for me when I was younger. I wanted to say the perfect word just after midnight. I didn’t want to say “Happy New Year” because that works only for 1 day; and also I’m constantly miserable. I wanted something poignant and meaningful, like some poetic famous last words or something ("et tu Brute?"). One year I couldn’t decide on my word and my brother was all “Happy New Year Sam!” and I solemnly nodded in recognition, and hugged him, but I managed to stay silent while trying to think of my word. About half an hour later I’d forgotten my mission and ended up colouring the ENTIRE YEAR with, “Well, I’m heading to bed now, ‘night!”. Curses!!!

Today, I thought I’d write the 12 things I’ve liked most about 2012.

1. This hair I was rocking

It's subsequently faded to classy orange

2. Discovering roller derby and learning to skate.

3. Losing 12kgs! (To be fair, I did put on 10kgs in the first place...)

4. Big Brother returning to air!

5. Hanging out with Rachel and Sarah more. Hanging out with Ashley and Dani more. Hanging out with my family more. Being generally more social able.

Shoulder action ladies!

6. Learning how to change a car tyre. Learning the hard way that some car tyres are directional and should not be fitted on the wrong side of the car – else the car will have no traction in the wet, turning corners, or going above 50kph.

7. Finding an astrology teacher and starting to learn astrology for propers! Finally getting through that Transiting Saturn opposition Natal Venus aspect. (I’m so glad I don’t have to go through that again for another 28-30 years!) 

8. Taking screenshots and ruining everything while playing Guild Wars 2.

Oracle boob

9. Going to the coast and seeing my extended family for Granddad’s 94th birthday.

10. Surprise mail from when Drunk-Sam had visited the bookdepository.co.uk. Drunk-Sam really should not be trusted with my credit card details!

11. Seeing Hair with Rachel. Seeing Pride and Prejudice with parents. Seeing War of the Worlds with my family. Going to the theatre and pretending I’m sophisticated and do things like go to the theatre.

12. My brother’s 26th birthday party.

The smiling lessons my brother and I took have really payed off!

Of course there were things I didn’t like about 2012. In a lot of ways it has been a very challenging and emotional year, but all in all I feel like I’m maturing and kind of getting there finally. (Wherever there may be.)

I feel like this photo sums up the year!

Same Sam

When I was 20 I went to Bega with my at-the-time boyfriend. He was a really interesting guy; he had the alter ego “goon man” who always cheered me up (by getting me drunk), he introduced me to hardcore punk music (and following that; post-hardcore punk music, which I love love love!) and he was a fellow blogger! In fact, he was so prolific in the livejournal community that I actually knew who he was before I met him – I almost felt like I was dating an internet celebrity, (be it a very small corner of the internet.) I seem to always fantasise that people are not who they actually are; on this occasion I was dating a celebrity!

So, when I was 20 we went to Bega. We were wandering around, window shopping, and he noted that he needed a haircut. I liked his hair, I like men with a bit of shagginess, but he with his “preferences” and “free will” didn’t, and decided it would be best to visit the local hairdresser. With hesitance I agreed to him going. After an anxious 10 minutes of waiting on my part, he came out of the salon, found me and asked what I thought.

I burst into tears.

The poor guy then spent an uncomfortable afternoon wandering around the Bega Cheese Factory with an inconsolable girlfriend. I think he was so scarred from that experience that he didn’t cut his hair again for another 2 years!

Yesterday my -now- boyfriend had a haircut.  Now, I know what you’re thinking, and no, I did not burst into tears.  (Thank you for your applause!) I did, however, find it difficult to recognise him.  When I saw him I felt like he was unfamiliar, like we were on a first date or something.

I was wondering why someone changing their hairstyle has such a strange effect on me?  I think maybe it’s because I use my own hair as a tool to reinvent myself when I am depressed, have made a fool of myself, or am simply just done being me.  (I’m usually quite dramatic about it too, “I’ll change; you'll see, I’ll be a different person and then you’ll love me!!!”)

These whole-personality transformations usually stay in effect for about 2 hours, then I’m back to being Sam again – Same Sam, different ‘do.
 

Who are these women???!

So maybe that explains that.

Funnily enough, it took me about 2 hours to get used to my boyfriend's new haircut.  It seems 2 hours is the the turn-around for me to accept a change and turn it into my new reality. For someone who is so resistant to change this is a remarkably speedy process.

But I'm okay with it...  At least I should be, in about 2 hours.

I feel like I wrote this

My boyfriend and I function in very different ways.  This usually gives us a great appreciation for one another, but when we have disagreements they get weird.

Me: you said “this thing”.
Him: I did not say that. You’re putting words in my mouth. 
Me: *thinks* I feel like what you said was “this thing”
Him: That’s reasonable.  I can see how you might feel that way.

Huh?!  To me, they’re the same sentence and mean the exact same thing; but to my boyfriend one is this statement of fact, and the other is an acknowledgement of irrationality.

It’s strange, words are unusually important to him, and it takes a bit to get used to it.  He remembers pretty much everything I say, whereas I can barely remember the topic of our last conversation.  And because I talk my thoughts through out loud, sometimes I can offend him with things I haven’t even properly considered. To me they’re just flyaway ideas; to him they’re these meticulously crafted statements of my truth.

He thinks in very linear, logical and rational terms; I think in impressions and concepts and vagueness and blurry distractions and running-on sentences.  So he will make a comment, and I will grab that comment, interpret it, and then tell him he said this completely different thing.

When discussing how we’ve upset each other this way I have to be conscious to modify my sentences to include “I feel like...” or else the situation will escalate.

I’m not very good at it though. I end up creating these long ridiculous sentences like “though I know you are not responsible for my feelings, I feel like your actions have contributed to my feeling this way and I feel like I wish you would hug me in these situations.”

I also believe that a hug can solve anything.

Anyway, he’s hugged me now, so we’ve got our resolution. I just find it interesting how we relate to each other. In hindsight I think we’re both a bit silly.

Or, I feel like I think we’re silly. :P



PS. Happy 83rd birthday Nana.  I miss you like crazy.  Like, crazy crazy.  I think about you all the time, and I love you. I hope you're happy and content where you are. Xx.

Aye aye

I don’t know why, but it bothers me when people use the subject of an email as the body. I feel sad for the body, starving for text! But then, I’m often the person who neglects to put a subject in which forces the other person to have to guess what my email is about. Who is the real jerk here?

That has nothing to do with what I want to write about today. Onwards!

Two weeks ago I had to drive out to Fyshwick to pick up some corporate stationery for work. The lady on the phone gave the address as “the red building next to Officeworks”. I got a little miffed because I can navigate much better using street addresses. So I drove out there trying to find “the red building” and when I got there there were 3 red buildings surrounding Officeworks and I facepalmed.

It got me thinking that I am much better when working in 2 dimensional planes than 3. The more dimensions involved the more cranky I become! Then I thought to myself that maybe it’s because I don’t see the world with depth because a) I’m usually depressed and having existential crises and b) my vision is pretty ordinary.

My mum tells me that one night, when I was around 2 years old; I had a lung infection and was kinda unwell. She took me to the hospital where the doctors and nurses judged her for her “over-reactive” parenting style, but admitted me for observation anyway. Mum went home for an anxious night’s sleep while I was left in the care of the judgemental healthcare providers.

During the night I stopped breathing. When mum came back the next morning I was in an oxygen tent and pretty much gave her the cold shoulder for abandoning me when I nearly died. Out of spite I’d also developed a lazy eye. Take that, mother!

(I joke; it was actually quite traumatic for everyone involved. Especially poor mum. I love you mum!)

Since that night I’ve been looking at the world like this:

Me 20-something years ago

Me 20-something minutes ago

So, because of my thoughts following my visit to “the red building next to Officeworks” the other week, I decided to visit the Canberra Eye Hospital. Oddly, the directions I was given were “the building across the road from Officeworks”... Facedesk.

(...and since when was Officeworks the pivotal landmark of Fyshwick? Were people really getting too uncomfortable with “two streets from Hello Sexy”?)

Anyway, my eye consultations came and went yesterday. Though I am a candidate for laser eye surgery, they don’t recommend it for me at my age because I'm probably going to get more longsighted over the next few years, and my condition will just return. I have a condition called Hyperopic Esotropia. Basically it means that my eye wanders when I focus. When I “accommodate” for my longsightedness, my eyes converge.

According to eyewiki (which is a thing!) the “disease may be preceded by illness or trauma; the illness or trauma doesn’t cause the disorder, but can precipitate its manifestation.” So mum’s story takes on some credibility.  I always thought it was a bit strange that stopping breathing made me cross-eyed, but apparently a severe enough childhood illness can trigger it.

It’s pretty naff. I hated wearing my glasses when I was a kid. I had these horrid things with bars down the middle to stop my eye going in. I also wore an eye patch for a bit. I had this book about “Sam the pirate” and he had an eye patch and pretended he was a pirate. I didn’t want to be Sam the pirate; I wanted to be Sam the pretty 20/20-visioned princess. Sam the pirate liked playing in the dirt and climbing trees and that was not what I was about at all!

I've always been a snappy dresser!

I reckon it was my preschool teacher who saved my eyesight. She put glitter on my glasses and told me they were fairy princess glasses. I wore them a bit more after that, enough to ensure that as an adult I receive information from both of my eyes; if it wasn’t for her my left eye probably would have quit the band.

Now days when I see young children wearing glasses I get a little teary. I was in a book store and was looking at a book about raising your children (like a normal 20-something childless woman does) and there was this page called “your child and glasses”, and I just burst into tears. I have a detrimental amount of empathy.

I’ll probably be in glasses for the rest of my life now. I suppose having worn them since I was 3 years old I don’t really know much different. I can’t help feeling a little “why me?” about it though.

But, y’know, it’s all part of my journey. I rationalise everything with “oh, it’s just part of my journey”. Go back to the commune, hippy! Sigh. Sometimes I wish it was acceptable to just feel my emotions without them needing meaning. But it isn’t, so that’s how I roll.

Today is my mum’s birthday. Happy birthday beautiful mother! I know we butted heads about me wearing my glasses when I was a kid, but thank you so much for winning those arguments! I’m so glad we chose each other – you’re one of my best friends and I love you a million! oxox

My beautiful mum with me and my brother

Edit: Mum just sent me an email, apparently I was a little younger than I thought. "For the record you were not much older than one because I was pregnant with Tom.  I suspect it was sometime between your first birthday and Tom being born, so I would say the middle of winter July or beginning of August 1986.  You poor little thing."

On the brain

Top of the evenin' my lovely lurkers! It’s been a while.  I’d love to say I’ve been busy, but to be honest I’ve really just been playing a lot of Guild Wars 2.  I don’t even really play it properly, I run about taking screen shots of my character wearing different armors.  It’s like Barbies for grown-ups.

"Hey guys, don't mind me, I'm just dying to take this photo of myself!"

However, I did tear myself away from my laptop and went out for dinner with a couple of my girlfriends last week. (How good is friendship?!)  The thing that's stuck in my mind from our conversation is that we all confessed to be feeling jealous of women who have babies.  While it’s not good to hear I’m not the only one that feels this way, it is comforting.

It’s strange, because other women having babies doesn’t mean I can’t have babies.  I suppose it limits the fish in the sea, but it doesn’t rule out the possibility that I could one day be a mum. It’s just... I dunno. Why haven’t I yet? What are they doing that I'm not? (Aside from the obvious...)

There’s this intense ambivalence raging inside me.  I want a baby and I want my life to be easy, but these two ideas seem mutually exclusive.  I don't want to decide to have a baby and then regret that decision.  I don't want to decide to not have a baby and then regret that decision.  I don't want to make a decision, but there is a lot of pressure on me (out of nowhere it would seem) to make this choice RIGHT NOW.

I never even thought having babies would be something I’d have to make a decision on. I always assumed it would just happen - when the time is right.  As I get older I’m starting to see that there isn’t a right time.  I always thought I’d (1) get married; then (2) have a baby.  Step 1 doesn’t seem to be happening and I’m considering just "c'est la vie"-ing my way over to Step 2.

It seems my whole 20s I’ve been searching for someone who would love and care about me and who I could love and support in return; a "partnership" of sorts one may say. Now I’m approaching my 30s and I feel this shift towards this need to care for someone in a more nurturing fashion.

I guess it’s just that accepting and loving a person (another adult with their own experiences and views and set ways) is different to creating, accepting and loving a person (who has with their own experiences and views and set ways). I suppose.  I'm not sure though.  How can I be?  I'm not a parent.  I don't know.  You're putting a lot of pressure on me to explain myself, blog!

I think my fear is that I always thought my purpose was to be a mum, now I'm starting to worry that my purpose is to desperately want to be a mum but never realise that dream.  If that is the case then, well, I suppose that's my story. But it would be a sad story indeed.  I'd have to rewrite it with philanthropism (ewww gross! Don't be bringing that altruism in here Missy!)

Anyway, they're just some quick thoughts on the matter.  I keep coming across books and blogs about the subject - the universe is clearly trying to speak to me so I  thought I'd reply in my muddy disjointed can't-she-keep-her-thoughts-linear way. Back to screen shotting!