aibiffity

And there's more!

2012-01-24T09:53:00.000+10:30

Road trip today for me and the beebs, back to noosa in a freakin' barina - which is FINE cuz we've already driven all over everywhere in it this past few whenevers.

Now let me tell you why this trip, my god.

We're in Rockhampton now but started out almost three weeks ago in noosa, where we planned a short trip to clear out my mum's house and a quicker one to see my nan a week, ten days, tops.

After months of The Numb, grieving (thankfully) started around about day 2, because it was hard and going through her stuff was like meeting another person.

We'd just finished up and her entire life was in a few boxes in the garage when we got the phone call that stopped the grief and called for action again.

My uncle, mum's brother, had died. He fell off his boat and just. died. No known cause. No signs of cardiac arrest, stroke, heart disease, nothing. His wife, my aunt, was there as were a bunch of their closest friends, and it is the most awful story of trying to revive him at the scene then in hospital.

So we went to rocky.

My other uncle, mum's youngest brother who's only five years older than me, lives here, and because nanna lived here too and was in hospital and expected to pass away eventually soonish, he needed us like, NOW. Losing mum had broken her heart and I believe that, on some level, she knew Wayne had died too. Nanna died the day before we left for His service in Sydney.

We came back again for nan. She's being quietly cremated today and, in time, will be brought back home to scatter her ashes where pop's were.

We planned on being here for her, and ended up being here because Mike had lost his entire family within two months, and while i lost my mother, my uncle, and my nanna, he's lost everyone and - wait for it - he lost his partner two years ago too so now he's all alone.

(and yay for inadequate punctuation)

This kind of stuff wouldn't be written into a movie script because the audience would be all "no way, this is too unbelievable" because IT IS.

And how are you? Really, Tell me, ok, cuz I feel like I'm on a different planet. possibly a crazy death planet, gah. Love you all, even though I ignore you like I don't xxxx

Really and truly

2011-11-20T07:59:00.002+10:30

Thanks for being here and for being present.

I must be in shock still. Yesterday was the funeral and I'm all Fine, Great, Superfantastic, Thanks For Asking!

And I mean it.

I think my brain is insisting mum's still living in Queensland and the last few weeks have been a really weird dream but still, nothing? wtf is up with that?

Little things try to get me but it's literally like a big, clangy door comes crashing down.

Take this morning, for instance.

I opened the bag of stuff the funeral director sent back, and the nightie I dressed mum in after she died to send her away in all clean and nice and whatever the hail was in there.

My eyes; I'm going to cry!
My heart; ow, that hurts.
My brain; Fuck that shit man *crash*

Then nothing.

and it's not a conscious "no, I can't think of that!" deal at all. Thought or image pops in then *crash* then I'm literally unable to follow the image or the thought to access the emotion.

am I broken, or what?

(this is not a rhetorical question)

6/6/1940-15/11/2011

2011-11-15T20:37:00.006+10:30

Mum died today a little before 6.45am.

and now I'm no one's daughter.

zygomaticus minor

2011-11-13T08:02:00.003+10:30

So in her assortment of unusual gifts, Swistle included The Anatomy Coloring Book.

Oh. MEMORIES.

I had The Anatomy Coloring Book around about a million years ago when I was studying anatomy toward my degree in irradiating people for diagnostic reasons at university. Our entire class had one and everyone LOVED it (good fun, effective learning tool, massive "wow it's like being a kid again" factor etc etc etc) except me because I hated coloring in when I was a kid (I know, okay. Weird.) and I hated it more when I was marginally older. I mean, my god, ALL THOSE LINES. Every time I went outside one my brain imploded with a sickening sense of failure and doom, which was pretty heavy shit for a five year old, so when I was older and given the opportunity to revisit the garment wrenchign angst of my childhood, I whored my copy out to the kid next door and she loved it for me and did all my stupidass coloring in homework for me and (surprise!) I never graduated from that course.

vigil

2011-11-11T07:55:00.004+10:30

My mother is dying. She has, at most, days.

I had to tell someone.

Lucky you.

reading

2011-06-13T11:19:00.003+09:30

this.

I don't know how it works, I'm not a dates person. I don't get sadder on the anniversary of anyone I know who's died. I don't approach their birthdays with trepidation, nor do I think of good times spent together and lose my shit

This is different, and while it DOES get better with time, this weirdass dates thing I've got going on, doesn't.

June 13, August 1st, pretty much all of February through to March, then there's November 11, December 1st, and August 4th.

They all creep up on me and punch me in the face, and without fail, I'm left wondering WHY those motherfuckers are trying to kill me.

Then I go "Ah [insert month here], I wonder if it's [insert specific date here]" and then it all makes sense.

Conception dates, dates of loss, due dates.

Time doesn't heal. What happens is the gaping hole in your heart becomes a part of who you are.

I still haven't worked out if that's a real downer or whether it's a simple statement of fact.

school sucks

2011-02-01T00:06:00.006+10:30

Tomorrow Daniel starts school. I'm not sure I was clear about how much I'm dreading this, what with all the Yay, Montessori! bizzo from yesterday.

I know this is going to be another era of Wonderful. I mean, when he was a newborn and there were all these one year olds and two year olds and, god help me, school kids, I was SO glad mine as fresh and new because those older kids must be a real DRAG. Each age though, has been wonderful, and I've not missed the age he left behind because I don't know why. It's not like he's getting more interesting or anything, you know? The goal posts change each day, I suspect, and each day reveals a different wonder than the last. Different, not better, but still, better.

But knowing what comes next is going to be another one in the never ending series of Wow, This Kid Keeps On Improving! is intellectual only. In my heart, I'm dreading tomorrow. Right now, as I type, I'm overwhelmed by the no going backness of it all. Daniel starts school again and we'll never ever EVER have what we have now, our little team of two, where it's accepted without question that wherever I am, he is too.

I've never once wanted to stash him somewhere so I can have some time to myself. Maybe when I was going through all that fertility stuff and I'd be on a table, having done the business, with a pillow under my butt and he'd be on the floor with some toys or a colouring in book or right up in my face asking why he can't go down THAT end of the table, a little privacy would have been warranted, but still, I can't remember ever thinking I didn't want him there.

He asked me the other day what I wanted to be when I grew up, and I made up stories of ballerinas and astronauts and whatnot, when really, all I ever wanted was to be a mum. I thought that had been taken away, that chance, when I believed my life was only ever going to be shaped by my eating disorder, and by then, even I had forgotten all I ever wanted.

I'll still be Daniel's mum, I know that, so why do I feel so unsure of who I'll be once he's at school? Where by "unsure", I mean "terrified". Talk about an existential crisis, what with the turning a certain age, my kid starting school, and that certain age also heralding a time when getting knocked up is REALLY off the cards.

Because while I gave up treatment at the end of 2009, I never gav e up the hope that some kind of miracle would happen.

As an aside, my period was eightg days late last month. Eight frikkin' days, when I'm never late and when there was some serious action going on on the very day I ovulated.

Motherfucker, is all I have to say about that. The universe or fate or just dumb luck can be an asshole some times.

So anyway, I don't want all the time to myself everyone raves about. I don't want to pursue my career, because my life is here, at home, with my child.

Okay, FINE. Not home. We're at the beach. GOD.

school (eep)

2011-01-30T21:56:00.003+10:30

I just finished putting Daniel to bed. It's the eve of his last day as a preschooler and tomorrow is out last day of being together, always.

I'm not looking forward to school, not at all.

A week or so ago, someone asked Daniel if HE was looking forward to school. He used to tell me he was, but he replied that that he's not, he just wants to be with his mummy. I wasn't there so I didn't hear him, and maybe that's why his answer changed.

So we don't talk about school anymore, and today Daniel told me himself that talking about school makes him sad.

Now let's talk about WHERE he's starting school.

Daniel was going to start at the Catholic school up the road (which, for perspective's sake, is like, FIVE MINUTES up the road. If you're WALKING), so we drove twenty kilometers along the expressway to check out a Montessori school because the directors at his preschool had mentioned it existed. Maybe NEXT year, in 2012, because a) TWENTY FUCKING KILOMETERS, b) the school already had 35 applications for twenty spaces, and preference was given to the kids who went to THEIR preschool, and something like 34 applications were from there, and c) the Catholic education system believes every child deserves a Catholic education ie if you're poor, they'll waive the fees. So a free private school education was offered to us even though I didn't even ask. The single mother thing was enough for them which, thank you Jesus. If I believed in you, I'd think you were the Bomb.

So anyway, he was set to start school and I wasn't going to go broke saving him from the cesspool of public schools in our area, yay.

When we met with the principal (who looks and has mannerisms so! very! much! like Daniel's father)(and his name is STEVE too, which is what Daniel's father is called by most people), he, personlly, was still two weeks away from issuing invitations to enroll, and he wasn't even going to CONSIDER Daniel because he already had 35 applications, we were only there to think about Grade 1. Maybe.

So we looked around the school and Daniel occupied himself by asking random questions about random shit, if memory serves.

The we went to Steve's office to talk about the school, and Daniel was still being all "YABBERYABBERYABBERTHOMAS?YABBERUNRELATEDTOANYTHINGYABBER", and we the grown ups were all "bladibla, 2012?", and then Steve said "I'm sorry. I keep INTERVIEWING you instead of talking with you, so I'd like to offer Daniel a place right now, to start here next term."

Well fuck. How could I turn THAT down?

To summarise, if you've missed the whole "MY kid is SHIT HOTTER than YOURS, okay, maybe not YOURS" tone here, Daniel impressed the dude SO MUCH, the guy invited us to enrol RIGHT NOW, which was TWO WHOLE WEEKS ahead of ANY other invitations going out because he hadn't CHOSEN any others yet.

And now, not only do I have to contend with my son starting school, I also have to get my head around being in the car for the rest of my LIFE because TWENTY KILOMETERS, people. EVERY DAY. TWICE.

INTENTIONAL CAPSLOCK.

so someone left a comment

2011-01-28T09:52:00.002+10:30

here, and Anonymous? I know. Christ.

One could more accurately comment that, hey, the last two and a half YEARS must have been SMOKIN' good times, aibee, because updating since then has been NOT THERE.

People, I WANT to write more, and I STILL write entries in my head as a running commentary on Life, The Universe, and Other Exciting Shit, but before you know it, two and a half years of my CHILD's's life have passed like it was the eighties ie before the internet,blogging/microblogging and photosharing existed, and I STILL haven't written that shit down.

So, c'mon. Ask me stuff. I might even answer it before The Rapture.

have a cool yule, y'all xx

2010-12-26T09:22:00.001+10:30

Merry★* 。 • ˚ ˚ •。★Christmas★ 。* 。*
° 。° ˚ *˚ ˚ _Π_____*。*˚★ 。* 。*。 • ˚ ˚ •。★
˚ ★˛ •˛•* /______/~＼。˚ ˚ ˛★ 。* 。*★ 。* 。*
˚ ˛ • ˛• * ｜田田｜門｜˚ * ° ˛•˛* •˛•* ★

gift ideas for the single parent

2010-12-07T08:39:00.003+10:30

I'm a single mum (you all; "No, REALLY?") and our extended family situation can be summarised in four words: We Have A Cat.

So I get to pay for a lot of things.

Now, I might sound like an unappreciative prat here, but don't send someone like me flowers. They look pretty so will loosely add to the quality of my eyeballs' life experience for maybe a week, but the downside is you'll make my Bank Account Gland cry, and that Hippie part of me that eveyone else BUT me knows exists will feel SO BAD because you KILLED them, for ME, so I am personally responsible for the pretty flowers' demise and that will make me come back in the next life as a cockroach or a rock, so quit sending me flowers, you heartless bastards!

Someone like me really appreciates the gift of Not Worrying So Much, and to be frank, this gift comes in the form of You Paying For Shit.

Like electricity.

No kidding, nothing says Merry Christmas like the price of those flowers being redirected to my utilities.

It might not be Glamorous or Luxurious or even, Not Crass, for you to dump some cash in my child's education costs either, but that, unlike the damn flowers, has longevity. It's literally a gift that keeps on giving because his Education=HIS FUTURE.

Dude is already under the hammer because he's socioeconomically handicapped, so helping him rise above what the statisitics predict his future will be is a REALLY REALLY GOOD THING.

And in a single parent family, ten bucks is a big help, so don't think I'm asking for thousands here. I'm actually asking for UNDERSTANDING, not stuff.

Because you know what makes me Not Worry So Much even more than You Paying For Shit? Feeling like we're not alone in our march toward the future, and knowing that you care about us and want us to have what we need (Less Worry) more than you want us to have what you want us to have this holiday season makes me feel more loved than any stuff ever would.

art show

2010-12-01T08:29:00.008+10:30

Daniel's preschool artshow was last night. The kids had all been given a canvas that was apparently created from crushed diamonds or maybe butterfly wings because we had to pay $45 to take our artwork home. That included three! bonus! 6x4 photos of our spawn, posed in the playground and wearing the school t-shirt, that would have cost 36 cents to print at Harvey Norman's - and ASIDE ALERT; I give these people MY ORGANS each week, you think they'd a) drop the effing price of an effing canvas to what it ACTUALLY cost, or b) foot the effing bill and make it an effing gift because, MY ORGANS. EVERY WEEK, accompanied by GIGANTIC WADS OF CASH, so pardonez moi for not clutching my fists under my chin and exclaiming "Oh, how wonderful! A TRAIN!" when we've got a thousand billion trillion FREE trains at home already.

I'm looking at this latest train right now (market value; my pancreas) and I love it because it was painted by Daniel, and I happen to like HIM rather a lot, but I also know THIS piece was a swooshswishswoop with the paintbrush project because I am SURROUNDED by his Yay For Creativity! artwork here (this place is like the goddamn Louvre, but in crayon) and this one is much like any of the other ones I've asked him to paint, draw, or whatever "For so and so because they'd LOVE a picture from YOU", and THOSE ones are whipped out in lightening speed because his heart was reluctant and his eye was on something he'd rather be doing, ie ANYTHING BUT THIS.

fourteen

2010-11-11T13:47:00.002+10:30

It's kind of scary putting this stuff up here because it feels SO whiney and Hand To Brow Tragic to write out the memories in my head, when really, it's just life.

Which is what I do though. I tell myself that how I feel/felt isn't true, it doesn't/didn't matter, and is based on my own fantasy.

My childhood was great! I was the problem! They suffered though, because of me!

so I feel a) kind of embarrassed to be moaning and complaining, and b) guilty because THEY were perfect, and I WAS the problem.

Which I KNOW isn't true because if you're going to SAY that to a child, then your child is NOT the problem.

*****

I don't know what came before this, but fourteen is dirty. Hide her. Shove her behind you and do not look back.

But I KNOW I washed my hair regularly back then, and I KNOW I showered daily because I remember my parents bitching at me about it.

That's really all I remember. Flashes of being at school, and nothing of home, and dirty hair and being ashamed.

When I look at being fourteen, I can't see her face, it's hidden behind her dirty hair. I know her skin is a mess too. She picks at her skin, and all she sees in the mirror is freckles and scars, so don't notice her. Please please please don't see her.

Her mum should really take her to the doctor about her skin, because it's not that bad, but the picking is.

If my kid picked the crap out of her face, I'd be concerned not angry.

Everything about Fourteen is embarrassing. She can't go anywhere without being so aware of how awful she looks. she can't talk without hearing that voice, that awful lisp from that fucking plate in her mouth. Two years and counting and her teeth are getting worse not better.

I see this age and I wonder what on earth happened to this girl this past year. Seriously, what the hell happened?

****

Thirteen was destroyed by puberty. All the other girls' mums had put a brown paper bag with a pad in it in their school bags, but Thirteen had to steal one from her mum, and put in a paper bag herself. She's embarrased her mum hadn;t done it for her.

and she wants a bra so badly because she has BOOBS. Her mum tells her to wear singlets instead, but seriously? Singlets?! Obviously this mum REALLY wants her daughter to be a social outcast, or have all the boys tease her because THAT'S WHAT THEY DO, mum.

Getting her period was pretty exciting though because it's all the girls talked about because pretty much everyone was getting theirs this year

Thirteen was at home when she got it, and so glad her her best friend was staying over too, and her best friend had just got hers the week before and Joanne told her everything about what to do and squee! This is SO EXCITING.

Turns out, for Thirteen, it wasn't so exciting at all. it wasn't Crossing the Threshold Of Womanhood, it was the beginning of the end.

Thirteen's mum told her she'd have to keep herself REALLY clean now too, in case of the smell.

and at Thirteen her parents were already up in her grill about the daioy showering so, yeah. Right.

Highlight of Becoming A Woman was when Thirteen's brother had a blood nose all over the bathroom and her dad got angry at her and rewound the old It's Dirty bullshit on her thirteen and excruciatingly embarrassed about Girl Stuff ass.

Thirteen feels like it was ONLY about The Period, and with The Period came the Weight Gain. The PERFECTLY NORMAL weight gain that ALL girls go through at puberty.

Except Thirteen's mother didn't reassure Thirteen when Thirteen freaked out about The Thighs, The Hips, OMG, she agreed with her.

So Thirteen was also about the long, tortuous, and really fucking distorted relationship I still have with my body.

I still don't quite understand why Fourteen feels so dirty and ashamed though.

I mean, I CAN see it, but I really really REALLY don't want to.

****

To both you girls, I wish you could find someone to tell you you're okay. That your body is beautiful because it's meant to do a million billion weirdass things to you in one short year. I wish you had an older sister or an aunt or a school nurse or someone to tell you it's okay to want a bra, or that having your period isn't your fault. it's nature's timetable, you didn't mean to grow up to soon, you grew up when you were meant to.

nine

2010-11-05T23:27:00.003+10:30

Nine is good. she's gutsy, this one. Changed herself when she changed schools. Gone was the cringingly shy social retard, and in came the outgoing, chatty, self assured, kind of endearing blabbermouth.

I have NO idea how she did that, because seriosuly, that's a big task going from crying behind your mother's skirt one day, and leaping out of the box with your arms spread wide. I'm really glad she did because I'm still using the same body armour today. Except without the flying Arms. It was a total scam act then, and it still is now, so this one served me well. Thanks for that, Nine. I'm still a total game show host and you're the reason why.

Nine had the best teacher ever. Shout out to you, Mr Skeers. He was the only one in her entire school life who worked out how to challenge this girl to use her brain, without her becoming paralysed with fear. The rest of them were all "could do better", does not apply herself", and of course "talks too much", and these comments did not inspire her to walk harder at all. Not because she thought "fuck you, assholes" although she SHOULD have, but because she wasn't a non appling loser. She was TERRIFIED of failing, and that kind of bullshit really cemented the giant L she believed hung over her head. Other kids might strive harder and harder to win, some kids opt out altogether. Hello, me.

So he praised her for her attitude, her willingness to rebuild a complicated puzzle, handed to her in a plastic bag with the vague instruction "see what you can do with that".. He shared her excitement for resolving complicated number sequences. He was proud of the path she took to get to the answer, not of the answer itself. He showed her possibilities and he showed her how it felt to be an explorer, and that giant L disappeared for a while.

She was proud of herself and her confidence grew.

Then it all stopped.

Nine's mum had marched up to school one day and told Mr Skeers to back off, "My daughter's stressed and it's your fault".

It wasn't, but Nine's mum wasn't the brightest bulb in the Aware Of Self And Environment pack.

(As I write this too, I wonder if having a confident child where one had once had a retiring wallflower might have been a bit confronting? I do know that families have a working dynamic, and when one changes their role, the others work to restablish the stasis.. Hmm)

Nine wasn't collected from school until five most nights, and her mother was usually later than that. The first time she was, nine cried, literally. "Where WERE you?", and her mother got SO ANGRY she'd even asked. So she stopped asking and became so good at cramming herself into a hole every afternoon at 3.30. Don't feel, don't be. This is how you belong, this is how you survive.

She's spent her life being invisible, so she learned something else at school that year. She learned that she was couragous and determined.

She did gymnastics that year too. (Seriously, this Mr Skeers dude is totally going to get Facebook and I'm going to send him a giant high five). She wasn't particularly good at it, but only because she was fearful. What if, what if? etc, but she loved it. She never, ever ever in all that time did a back flip on her own, but nine never stopped practising. She'd ask for help each time, and she never gave up, and Mr Skeers never stopped reminding her she could do it on her own, whenever she was ready, and that for now, he'd be there helping her through.

Which is why I'm proud of nine. She asked for help and she didn't explode into a million pieces.

Nine seems to be a lot about her teacher, but it's really about her. He was pretty amazing, but unless she had the courage to BE different, she'd never have let him help her be amazing too.

****

You know what, Nine? If you were my kid and you were a chatty little non applying A grade student, I'd be HAPPY.

Your life has endless possibilities, and you don't need to be more like anybody other than yourself. You are perfect the way you are.

Now go dance and sing and when you need help, keep asking.

I love you.

investment

2010-11-03T08:38:00.007+10:30

For the next however long it takes, I'm to remember myself between the ages of nine and seventeen, and to think of the relationships I have now, with the girl I was then.

*****

Seventeen.

I can only picture her from the neck down. I know what she looks like, but I can't see her head. The outline is there, and it's small and birdlike, featureless and grey. That kind of freaks me out.

My initial thoughts are that I wish she'd go away. You don't do anything, you aren't anything. Jesus, you are SO LAZY it's disgusting. You are SUCH a disappointment, but as I think these things, the image of her turns away from me. She's walking away. If she's not there, I won't be angry, and if I'm not angry, my life will be better.

My anger fades rapidly now, because she's me and I know how sad she is. She has no idea she's sad, because she has nothing to contrast that feeling with. She has NO idea who she is. She's paralysed because she knows what she's been told, and she doesn't want to be THAT, but how can she not be that if she IS that? If she doesn't move, maybe no one will notice her.

If I could, I'd tell her to walk away. NOt from me, from THAT.

But she can't be left alone, because being alone is why she's here in front of me, so I take her hand. I'll look after her until she can look after herself, and then I'll look after her forever anyway, for the rest of her life, because it's going to take that long because this girl is so destroyed she can't even brush her own teeth without someone else lifting her arm.

And I feel sad for her, not impatient with her, because she's not even in there. All she is is a shell. I don't even where she is.

The Next Big Thing

2010-10-16T09:11:00.001+10:30

One of my friends is a singer. This is her voice, and this song is the reason they're now signed to a record company.

I'm so freakin' proud!

Creatitivity

2010-09-21T10:26:00.002+09:30

This is Daniel's giraffe.

It has a long neck,

long legs, a tail, and a whole lot of spots.

He made it for me.

I love it.

from Ted TV

2010-09-18T22:39:00.001+09:30

let's talk about stress, baby.

2010-09-16T09:50:00.003+09:30

When I went through (or go through) the whole shortness of breath WTF Where Is All The Oxygen? it's been stress. Not "just" stress. STRESS. Stress affects every cell that makes you.

Every. Single. Cell.

*****

My stress led to panic attacks. I couldn't breathe, my heart was constantly racing, and I had constant, crippling anxiety for two entire years. Every moment during that period, I thought I was going to die.

I was lucky: my retarded doctor put me on an antidepressant and, because I was SO stressed, put me on a therapeutic dose from day one. It took three days for my brain to explode and I ended up in hospital with seratonin sydrome.

Luckily, that led to a massive medication phobia, so there was NO way I was going to medicate my life back.

I had to turn inward to gain relief from the hell my life had become.

Understanding the physical process behind my "stress expression" helped me listen to what I could do to change my response.

Shortness of breath could be explained (in extremely simple terms and in one of many many avenues of shortness of breathednessishness) by: muscle tone increases when we're stressed. The muscles that are meant to move fluidly contract, so they can't do their job effectively and efficiently. In regards to breathing, what this means is diaphragm, the muscle, not the birth control, becomes shorter and tighter and is less able to draw air into our lungs. The muscles between our ribs, the intercostals, become tighter so are unable to allow the ribs to expand to allow air into our lungs, and our accessory muscles, the ones around our upper chest, neck and shoulders, the ones that should be reserved for times of physical exertion so we can draw more air in to our lungs when we've just, say, run down the street for the bus, or climbed a flight of stairs, or whatever activity it was that required more oxygen in our bodies to perform, are on ALL the time because we can't. get. air. in, so our breathing pattern is affected- and what do we do when we DO need more oxygen? We've got no standby muscles left to help us draw that air in, so simple tasks like making the bed, or stacking the dishwasher, etc, tasks we never dreamed actually required more resources to perform, make us breathelesss and tired and we wonder if we're going to die.

Panic attacks: explained. YOU'RE WELCOME.

Make sure there's no underlying physical explanation for your stress response: Your palpitations, your breathlessness, your heartburm, aches and pains, sleeplessness, etc etc ETC, but also don't discredit how much stress can make us feel like we're going to die. Or if not die then at least be uncomfortable, where "uncomfortable" can be anything from from "Mildy Yucky" to "I can;t live with this".

People die from stress and people kill themselves because of it.

It's not "just" stress.

And it's accumulative. It's not like, "oh, it was a bad day now I can't breath", it's more like every single frustration or fear that has been bunched down over the course of your lifetime adds up, then one day, when you're kicking back and enjoying your kids and your life and your family, you wonder why on earth you have palpitations, or heartburn, or breathlesness, or an unending tiredness that won;t be slept away.

These feelings, though, the ones we can still do something about aren't a bad thing. They're a message, and give us insight into how our lifestyle is affecting US. Our whole selves, not just our mind or our bodies. We ARE a whole.

Understanding the mechanism of why we feel the way we do, and considering the idea that stress doesn't happen TO us, it's a cascade effect we create with our thoughts, means we can own it, and when we own it, we can do something about it.

We can create peace in our lives via the same way we create stress. Both are a result of, among other things, neuropeptide activity, or chemical messages in our brain. And you know what creates that activity? Our thoughts. ,

Our thoughts determine how we feel,.

We learn to think the way we do, so we learn to feel the way we do, and we can learn to NOT think the way we do, so we can leart to feel differently tomorrow about the things we feel stressed about today. Okay, maybe not in twenty four hours but we CAN make the choice today to learn to, not manage our stress, but to transcend it.

******

Something to think about: If stress WERE a result of outside influences, Buddhist monks would be yelling at asshole drivers just like I do.

the Zen Project

2010-08-22T08:01:00.002+09:30

I bought myself a mood ring and the most awesome thing about it happens when someone asks me how I am. I hold up my middle finger and say "I don't know, motherfucker. Why don't YOU tell ME?".

I'm uncertain, asshole.

wuz funny once

2010-07-30T00:33:00.005+09:30

Wormhole to alternate universe otherwise known as 2006.

She lives!

2010-07-29T17:02:00.006+09:30

It's been one of those days today where nothing seems to get done when, in fact, you have not sat your ass down all day. It's now past five o clock and I'm still wearing what I slept in. Daniel nudes up to do a poop, which made tossing him into the shower easier, but he's still wearing the towel I threw over him-pretty much like one would throw a blanket over a budgie's cage- HOURS ago. At least one of us is clean though, right? And somewhat dressed. I never went to a toga party back in the eighties, but when I found Daniel reclining on the sofa a while back, gnawing on a chicken bone and looking like he fell out of a scene from I, Claudius, I totally wished I had.

Quick update: Nanna isn't dying anymore. She's made a miraculous recovery and her kidneys are all "what failure?". The hoardes of specialists called in to to consult on her case these past weeks concluded it was the radiotherapy that nearly killed her which, are they fucking NEW? NO SHIT is was the radiotherapy. Fuck, I worked that out, weeks ago. Where by "weeks", I mean "the second mum told me nanna's kidneys were failing".

The trip to Sydney wasn't entirely made of suck. Seeing nanna was good, and we had fun between hosptial visits. My uncle Mike was down from Rockhampton,and he drove us places and made sure we all saw things and did things and was generally a great guy. I liked spending time with him because, despite only six years between us, we hardly know each other but I've always had the feeling we were more alike than any of the other freaks I'm blood related to. Daniel LOVED him, and spent the entire time attched to him one way or another. Mike's around six foot four, which helped with the dogs (one little floofy thing that pooped on everything, and one MAJOR Gerkman shephard who was HUGE) and Daniel's fear of, because Daniel literally CLIMBED off me and over to and up to the top of Michael the first time he met the dogs.

Daniel went over well even with my other uncle, the one who hates kids. He and I only ever got along for, like, a year or two year of my life. Once I was hit sixteen, we got along, then once I got sick, I may as well have been dead to him already. Mum told me once that she begged him and BEGGED him to help me (dude is awesome rich)(and also, what kid of retard TELLS their kid that?)(HINT: My mother) and he refused, saying he didn't like my attitude. So there's that. He'd rather I died of my eating disorder than help me because of my attitude.

So anyway, OtherUncle doesn't like kids, and one night Daniel ran into OU's bedroom, the one with the wall sized flat screen. OU was in bed and Daniel hopped up, snuggled up to him, took the remote, pointed it at the tvand announced "LET'S WATCH CARTOONS!". OU didn't set the dogs on him and ended up even talking to him most days, all "And how are you, Daniel?".

My family is so weird though, y'all. Seriously. Seeing them as a bunch of flawed (omg, SO FLAWED) nutcases kind of helped tho, actually, even though it was WAY TOO much like living in the Cuckoo's nest.

And a Hornet's nest too, God. Everyone in my family is angry at me (STILL) for making my mum's life hard because I got anorexia and, according to her so now and forever according to them, did it to hurt her. Or some shit. For twenty something years. I've suspected they had the shits with me for all that time so it was kind of refreshing, albeit v. distressing, to disciver I've been right all along. When Michael told me HE'd been pissed with me forever because of the whole almost dying to annoy mum thing, it hurt. Quite a bit, actually.That HE'D judged me when he's been through a shitload of issues himself, what with the drug addiction and alcoholism, mad eme realise just how much of a criminal I just appear to them, and to have HIM blame me let me know the rest of them must blame me SO MUCH MORE, and must judge me SO MUCH MORE harshly than even he did.

"Did" because he also told him he was seeing the other side of the story during our trip. Let's pause for an Ironic Laugh because I was amazed at how well mum was behaving, and meanwhile Michael was all shocked at how badly she was. "Never seen this side of her", he said. "I get it now". Twenty so years too late though. I could have really used an ally when my life fell apart and no one caught me.

I left after that, because this trip was about nanna more than it was about me saying goodbye to her, and SHE must be pretty pissed at me too, and the last thing she'd want in her dying days would be the one person who's made her daughter's life a misery.

Fun times.

I've been really fucked up lately (as in, for way much longer than before this trip, which is why this trip was SO hard to take) about the way I was raised. The idea that we do what we need to to survive in our "tribe" was presented to me yesaterday at maybe the exact right time, and by the most unexpected source. I was at the physiotherapists having some dry needling in my ass (thank YOU, trolley guy), and we were also disucssing chronic pain, the emotional basis of, becaus after two years of this shit, I'd be an idiot to not toss around the notion that there maybe be some uynderlying pshychology to this, and HE brought up the ntion of how we were raised being a factor in how we feel pain. The tribe concept resonated, and it's something to think about in relation to ALL aspcects of my life, because in MY tribe, I tolerated alot of ill treatment, and I put up with it because I, as anyone does when growing up in an abusive envirnment, depended on them for my survival. I'm hard wired to believe love and acceptance comes in the form of neglect and judgment. I'm so confused about how to not make BE that person. I don't know how to not be silent and alone because THAT'S how I fit into MY tribe.

How does one learn to be a part of something different when recognising something different is much like asking a blind person to understand purple.

:::::

In other news, I found this on my computer today. Discuss.

Anyway

why yes, he is [Flickr]

2010-07-28T23:43:00-07:00

aibee posted a photo:

Manly [Flickr]

2010-07-28T23:42:56-07:00

aibee posted a photo:

Bondi [Flickr]

2010-07-28T23:42:53-07:00

aibee posted a photo:

Centrepoint tower [Flickr]

2010-07-28T23:42:49-07:00

aibee posted a photo:

Obvs.

Mid city [Flickr]

2010-07-28T23:42:45-07:00

aibee posted a photo:

Update of Doom

2010-06-25T14:31:00.003+09:30

Nanna's dying. She was diagnosed with bladder cancer around a month ago, and is in Sydney being treated for kidney failure. Or, she went to Sydney to get treatment for her cancer, and now she has kidney failure AND cancer.

So we've got to go to Sydney sometime really fucking soon. My brother left today though, and that has changed my Not Wanting To Go status to OMGOMGOMGBLURGHHHH and I think I'm going to die, etc. I'm having panic attacks at the idea of being with my family AT ALL, minus my brother, and now that he's going to be there, being all "you need to grow up, aibee. Be an adult." to me, and I just can't take it anymore because all the shit these people say to me, and think they have the RIGHT to say to me, I believe, and I LET them go on and on and on and then I die. When I'm with them, I become that abused, neglected child again, the one I work so hard to not let affect my life, and yet, here I am, mumbltymumble years old, still being affected by who I was taught to believe I am.

Ok, WHAT?

Anyway.

Nanna's dying and this should be about making her final days the best they can be for her, and I need to get a grip and just GO.

In other news, I'm losing my shit over here, which has been a good thing because it's lead to:

I want to go into rehab. Not for drugs, gambling, drinking, sex with strangers, or whatevs. For my eating disorder.

I've been in therapy for years, am a BIG fan of counselling, do all sorts of self help, self healing yadda bla bla etc things to grow past the things that got me there. I've got a lot of insight but simply do not have the tools, or the knowledge of what self love is, what love IS, to not still carry around the same shit that got me to an eating disorder in the first place. Those core beliefs still affect my life so much, so they affect Daniel's life, and I don't want that. I want us both to have love in our lives and I am, at present, incapable of creating bonds in my life that will ultimately enrich HIS life. I've gained weight and made a shitload of progress in the last nine years, but that doesn't mean I'm in a position to emotionally provide a better life for my son. I FAKE at this job, and I'm good at it too, but I want to BE all the things that makes one while.

Now before anyone goes LL "but you're a good mother!" on my ass, I AM a good mother, and this is WHY I'm a good mother. I'm functional enough to go through the rest of our lives like this, but just because I can exist as I am, it doesn't mean I should.

Rehab is heart stoppingly expensive, but it's an upfront cost that provides for a year of treatment and ongoing support beyond that. I'd be better off in an inpatient program, but can't because there's no one to care for Daniel. I'll work something out because we both need this.

boxer shorts

2010-06-10T22:58:00.001+09:30

last night

2010-06-03T09:47:00.006+09:30

I dreamed Dad was alive. We were talking, and his arm was over my shoulder and I was leaning in against him. I felt safe and it felt real. It was the most uneventful dream I've ever had, but I reckon it was about the best. Then I woke up and was all "I'm SO GLAD Dad's not really dead!", then I remembered he is.

Fuckin' dream.