So I thought originally that I wasn’t going to post this. I thought it might hurt people, make them think about me differently, make them feel bad if they read it. Well fuck that. You have NO idea.

You feel bad? I’M THE ONE LIVING IT, I’m the one shuddering on trams trying not to touch anyone walking home with a scream stuck in my throat so loud it’s a constant hum in my mouth. I’m the one trying to deal with a new everyday that I can’t fathom as a possible forever. I’m the one doing this practically alone because no one can see in my head like I can. No one hears what I hear. No one is feeling what I feel and you have the audacity to blame me because, oh, poor baby, You. Feel. Bad.

Not anymore.

You may feel bad, but I feel the fires and icy winds of hell. You may feel bad, but I hear the voice of reason drowned by demons. You may feel bad, but trust me baby, I feel worse. I feel so much fucking worse and this is my reality. THIS is it.


I hear a voice in my head.

It tells me things I don’t want to hear. It’s a dark voice, a rough voice, a confident tone in it’s timbre that makes me listen, makes me want to listen so it’s hard to ignore. It tells me bad things. Small things. Almost meaningless things until you really listen, and I mean really listen. Then do.

I see objects move in the corners of my eyes, skittering across the floor like mice. In the bathroom the heat makes it worse. When I’m tired it shifts like mirages across hot sand. When I close my eyes I can feel myself detaching from my body and floating, bouncing off the walls of my skull and against the roof. I dream in Japanese and get confused when they speak English, I can’t translate back the languages in my head and I wonder which one I know best, if at all, when all I can repeat is “watashi wa nemui desu. Hontou nemui desu.”. I am tired. So very tired.

I smoke too much, I drink too much, I don’t sleep or eat enough. I can’t when there’s so much stopping me from resting. From finally sleeping. I am so tired you see. I’m tired of being tired, but my eyes will not close just to feel so much anxiety it makes me grit my teeth and clench my jaw so tight it cracks in the morning.

My medication isn’t working and my life isn’t right, how can I hold down a proper job when it’s hard to think linear enough to make sense. It’s hard to interact with people for long when I just get so angry and disgusted I want to vomit into my own mouth. Or on them. I don’t think I’ve made a real friend after 2012.

I want to be alone to avoid it all. I don’t want to be around people who will just leave anyway, who I will only disappoint as I cannot make or maintain relationships with those who didn’t know me when I was sane.

I don’t care. I don’t care, I just want enough encouragement to get out of bed in the morning. I want a hand to hold when it gets too much. I want someone just to tell me that tomorrow is not a myth, and that the sun will rise tomorrow morning even if I don’t believe it will.

I’ve just had enough.

I hear a voice and it’s telling me it’s okay to stay awake. Stay awake.

I hear a voice and it’s not mine.

I hear a voice and maybe I’ll listen to it this time.

Expecting The Inevitable

For the last 5 days I have been underground. Out of sight and out of mind, I have altered my sleeping pattern to consist of a number of highly exasperating procedures to manage my own guilt. I seem to be in a two week slump which has hit hard on not only my self-esteem but also into my education and hip pocket. I have skipped work and assignments, admittedly for subjects that mean little to nothing to me, but I am suffering constantly in the wake of this guilt.

I don’t want to do it, I didn’t want to, not because I have no motivation but because I said ‘fuck it’ which is not a reasonable excuse. I don’t know what to do with myself.

I need money.

I need a break.

I need a life.

I need an education.

But somehow I cannot consolidate these things into a singular existence. I focus on either one or the other, I can only have a single aspect of that perfect existence at any point in time, according to my own universe and ridiculous restrictions based upon self-made rules and regulations. Maybe this is just real life catching up to me. Maybe this is what it means to be an adult, compromise and all that jazz. Though I feel that this compromise is a bit harsh, it is a little too unhealthy for me to exist within. If I could only escape the torment of a life filled with outside expectations maybe I would be okay. I expect nothing from myself except to succeed in who I am, in what I want to be, and I have no time frame or limitations placed upon that. It is everyone else around me I feel a need to live up to. As much as they repeat to me that they will be happy as long as I am, I can’t help but see the end of their patience, the line they have drawn in the sand for others. They believe it is to help those in trouble, and I agree that some do need to be cut free, or at least talked to harshly before they can realise their own full potential. All I see is a deadline in the distance made of broken friendships, relationships, family. I see a pair of slowly closing scissors, or a mouth lined with razor sharp serrated teeth just hovering beneath me, waiting for the last threads of my lifeline to fray and break. One day they will. Not because I haven’t been trying my hardest but because I can’t anymore. I’m not infallible, and as much as unrequited love can get you through the day there is a point that the unbroken and healthy must leave so as not to be infected themselves. Make no mistake I am diseased, a contagious virus that spreads and affects all those who know and touch.

I am not angered by this. I am not upset about the inevitable. I understand. It is necessary to cut off the dead flesh so the good can remain, like a gangrenous limb it must be amputated for the health and wellbeing of the whole, before it poisons the blood and tissue irreparably. I get it.

I want you to.

Almost a little too much, I wish that people would cut me off sooner rather than later, because it is so hard to see others be pulled down with me. He touches my scars, feels the bumps beneath his fingers and says they’re ugly, asks me why? I don’t have an answer. I never will, but I can’t stand the pity, anger and pain in his eyes. I am not good for you. Don’t come near me. I am not healthy and I doubt I ever will be.

I will never live up to your expectations because I cannot comprehend a way to reach those lofty heights of well being. I plan two steps ahead without knowing the first.


I Traveled A Road

I may have left this entirely too late, but, I have just started my assignments for Uni which are due next Tuesday. Well done Jade. Well I know I can do it, I am quite the prodigy when it comes to bullshitting my way through impossible essays. I even get quite good marks, which although could be by the grace of my beautiful prose, could just be that I absorb far more in my classes than I realise. Obfuscating savant? Or lazy shit? You decide.

Either way.

I’m not sleeping for the next three days or until these assignments are DONE.

Then the real fun can begin. Looking for a second job is turning out to be far more complicated than I anticipated. It always is. I’m either over-qualified, under-experienced or don’t have the time availability they require. Makes me almost miss the old days of being held down by only one variable, now I have 3.

I may have prematurely shot myself in the foot buying two bottles of red. Let it never be said that I took the easy path doing anything.

True greatness comes from great adversity. Or maybe just from late night caffeine binges and early morning rage rants.

Take A Photo, It’ll Last Longer

Everything feels weighty.

My stomach heavy with water drunk too fast and a pounding headache, which try as modern medicine might, cannot cure me of. I don’t know why I feel like this today of all days, I don’t feel good at all. I woke up this morning in a flight of terror, panic coursing through my veins as yet again I overslept for work. I lied to my boyfriend about it, and my next paycheck will most definitely be light, but I cant help feeling it’s better this way. With the lying I mean. I already feel so inadequate against him. Held up underneath the same harsh fluorescent lighting I know I would fade first. He’s so strong in himself, even in his indecision, because at least he knows what he is indecisive about. Me? I just feel it. Maybe somebody else in the world is doing something without a care, and I just feel their share instead. Maybe I’m just unlucky in the cosmic balancing of feelings. Maybe this is the punishment I get for never crying at funerals. I don’t know. I’ve just seemed to find peace with those things long before they happen. My great-grandmother, my grandfather, I cried before they left, and may have shed a few tears when they passed. I do not wallow in grief at funerals. Maybe I should.

Maybe this is the universes way of telling me to feel things when they happen, not to put it off or pre-emptively cry before the inevitable. Maybe it’s telling me to live in the moment. Somehow I don’t believe the solution to all my problems is that easy. That balancing out some strange cosmic karma will help re-string my soul. A guitar with broken strings, that was never played properly to begin with.

I find myself so lost in relationships. My therapist says this is because I have never known a truly healthy relationship in my life. I never had anything to base mine off, so why should I know how to form my own? I choose to believe that though the relationships I saw as a child and throughout my pre-teen to teen years may have been flawed, at least they were real. You cannot hate someone until you love them. Truly, madly, deeply, as Savage Garden taught us. Life isn’t perfect, and nothing lasts forever so why do we expect love and relationships to? I saw real beauty and love, and hate, and arguments, and joy in my life. I took what made people happy in and now apply it to my own relationship, and I avoid what I saw made them crumble.

Am I not in a better position to create a long lasting relationship then the people with happy homes? Am I not better suited to adversity and perseverance in the face of change? Why must I be prejudged because my parents divorced unhappily, or my mum was kicked out of church,or that my dad was away for the majority of my youth? You know what I learnt from this? Do not stick around if you are unhappy, communicate with those you love, do not trust those with concrete rules because there are so many exceptions to them, working hard to provide for the ones you love holds no true shame. That’s what I learnt from my life.

I blame no one.

Because no one is to blame.

I am not a product of my broken home, because at the end of the day my mum and dad love me more than I can comprehend. The relationships they have are real, touchable, with problems of their own that they work through every day. I may be a child from a broken home, but that does not mean I am broken by it.

Why Did The Chicken Cross The Road?

You do not have a sick mind, you have a juvenile one.

A sick mind does not relate professional athletes and ‘ball handling skills’ with testicles, a sick mind looks at your hands while you speak. Wonders what the inside looks like, and what tool in that particular room would serve their purpose best. It wonders if when you separate the skin from the flesh underneath if it has a sound, like the shlick of wet vinyl from the top of a pool or is it more like the rip of velcro.

You are not sick, you are a childish, immature and easily amused.


It aggravates me when people use mental illness in everyday speech.

Just because you drank too much last night and danced on a table it doesn’t make you ‘crazy’. Just because you turned down the hot girl/boy at the bar doesn’t make you ‘insane’. You are not ‘OCD’ because you like sorting your nailpolish collection in descending color order, or your books alphabetically. Just because they were justifiably angry does not make them a ‘psycho’. You are not depressed because you missed out on the job you applied for. You are not bipolar because you switch emotions quickly when excited.

Do not verbally dilute the seriousness of these illnesses. It cheapens the experience of the sufferers and misleads the public into thinking that these illnesses are made up and unworthy of their time. Why would you do this? Why would you purposefully or ignorantly destroy people like this?

Some people may not care, even I am not personally angry about these words, I don’t think they’re slurs unless were talking feminism and the word ‘crazy’ or ‘psycho’ but it undermines an entire unseen part of society. It’s made fun of on TV, it’s turned into a game and something to be teased about. Suicide’s the punchline of too many badly thought out jokes and I don’t think you really see what’s happening here. This is not funny. This is a systematic fear-mongering miseducation of the world by sadly ignorant leaders. It’s easy to ignore people who aren’t covered in sores, or bleeding from their mouths. Its easy to ignore people when a symptom is the patient saying’ I’m fine,’. It’s easy for you to walk away from someone because they just can’t get over themselves and you’re tired. I get it, supporting someone like me is exhausting. It’s hard. Like a relapsing alcoholic we promise every time we’ll get better. We’ll promise you anything if you’ll stay. Mentally ill people will say anything because they’re not okay. There’s hardly a sense of self our internal self-preservation systems have shut down so much. So don’t you dare say you understand unless you do. Don’t compare your dog dying to their soul dying. Don’t compare your broken heart to their anger. Don’t compare you banality to their constant emptiness. You don’t know the half of it.

And I hope you never do.

Easy Peasy Lemon Squeazy

What do I have to be thankful for? Oh lord, let my count the ways. My hair is now longer than my shoulders so I must tie it up when I shower, I have a pumice stone and my feet are smooth, the weather is getting warmer, I have an active social life. Such small things make me happy. Nothing that matters. That’s me in a nutshell though, always looking at the big picture, so busy with two moves ahead I haven’t planned for the first step. Forever re-evaluating pathways and plans because I couldn’t stop long enough to start.

I am thankful for my body. My small feet, thin ankles and calves, bony knees and thighs mottled with water colour bruising. I am thankful for my boxy hips and jutting bone, public mound and flat stomach. I am thankful for my breasts, armpits, and freckled arms. I am thankful they hold no definition, I am thankful there is no strength in them. I am thankful for my long neck and oval face, my small jutting ears. I am thankful for my mind, for what my body cannot carry in weight my brain can carry a thousand times over with imagination and strength.

I lie.

I have started to become constantly curious again about how others are going. I measure myself by their yardstick when I compare my life to theirs. I fall short every time. I know I am being unfair to myself, still my hands shake in the morning and late at night with one too many cigarettes, and too much caffeine as I remember their promotions and businesses, their families and loved ones. I need to remember that they come from money, they are older than me, they have degrees and their health. I almost chipped my tooth this morning on my coffee mug because it shook too hard in my grip. I couldn’t finish it. I’m drinking cold green tea now.

I promised myself that I would do some heavy writing this Uni break and I haven’t. I was too caught up in my life to do anything, not that I was doing much. I wallowed in procrastination and soap opera binges, I made lists and saw friends. All of these things are healthy and acceptable, but I don’t feel as though I have accomplished much. I set a goal that I could, but did not reach. I made a conscious decision to break that promise.

I have my next psych appointment on Monday.

I don’t know how to make myself happy anymore. The drugs aren’t working as well as I hoped they would, and perhaps this is just the placebo effect wearing off. I need a plan, and for people to stop telling me how to make them. Being told a million times that things will get better, and that I just need to focus on the present, shows me they care but does nothing to stop me from resenting those words. If it was that easy I would not be in this position. If it was that easy I wouldn’t be trying to drown myself in words and paper and pretend worlds on my phone and computer screen. If it were that easy. If it were only that easy.