Friday, 7 December 2018

"It's Often the Last Key in the Bunch That Opens the Lock."

Hey you guys I'm really sorry it's just I've been really, really scared. Fear eats us from the inside and I'm not just tired but soultired and sweaty from going from one place to another (like, the living room to the bathroom.) Maybe the sweaty is from menopause I'm not sure.

One thing's for sure is that I owe you my words and my worlds and my swirls but - I can't write what's happening until it's over. (It's not over, for the everlasting gobstopper of hell.)

Hey you know how I was brought up strict Catholic like eating the jesus wafers and everything .. well yesterday morning I was so abjectly terrified. (ABJECT - such a dramatic word!!) I was near-hyperventilating because I couldn't pray. It's hard to explain ... at the risk of sounding entirely nutsack crazy (TOO LATE) ... I felt like I was being prevented from praying properly? Or my prayer wasn't strong enough? Or have I prayed too stupidly that I'm pushed to the back of the prayer queue I don't know. I know that prayer is powerful. I also know that prayer is especially powerful when one is strong, and righteous. I'm currently a meek sheep who wouldn't say boo to a goose. I've also been facing lengthy hospitalisation for a few errant brain malfunctions lately but finally what I've been saying for years is true: they ran out of label makers for all of my labels. (The latest being Borderline Personality Disorder and I really, really didn't want that one UGH!)

FUCK. Why can't I just BE BETTER and be done with it and then talk about it freely in public discourse. You know - all that suicide awareness bullshit. I could tag my coattails onto that lucrative business. Government grants for mental health initiatives are BOOMING! I'll talk about it once I've come good! I'd be onstage with shiny sleek hair, my words punctuated by meaningful gestures, tissues at the ready. Finally able to walk in stilettos! A little like how Biggest Loser Trainer Michelle Bridges is an Ambassador for the Black Dog Institute ... one day last year she was going to a fancy black tie dinner event to promote the cause. She instagrammed a photo of herself with the caption "I just LOVE having conversations about mental health!" Then in her post she tagged the boutiques and brands of the beautiful dress and shoes and jewellery and makeup she was wearing. Feeling particularly trollish I commented on her pic with "Hi Michelle, you look really stunning. I was just wondering what kinds of conversations you love having about mental health? I'd be really interested. Unfortunately my brother died from suicide, I'd really love for these dreadful Aussie suicide statistics to improve."

I never got a response from Michelle. In another magazine she was talking about the huge benefits of exercise when you're feeling depressed, how you just "get up and do it!" I had to turn my phone off lest I unabashedly unleashed on her account.

Ok where was I? I didn't know I was going to write about that, best laid plans, etc. Hey - can I just say I feel better already, just writing to you? I really do feel less alone, like we're all in this together. Which we are. And I feel fiercely protective of you, reading this. You are the readers, which makes me the readee? I don't know. I just adore you people and I really am holding a get-together in the shiny new year, before we've made any fuckups yet. I'm thinking the location will be on the rug on my living room floor SURELY it can fit us all on? It's magic.

Oh crap hang on I almost forgot to finish my story. I had to call a taxi yesterday to take me to the mechanics to pick my car up .. for the past two weeks the front passenger rear mirror was just all broken and hanging from its cord. Finally it was fixed yesterday (I HATE being female in these situations #markup)

So grateful to be able to afford getting my mirror fixed ... especially grateful I could get a cab to take me there so I could pick up my son from school. I paid the cabbie then he looks embarrassed but said it anyway. "Eden - wow, great name - so Eden sometimes I pray with my customers. Do you mind if we have a quick prayer together?" I said of course, inwardly I was gobsmacked. The cabbie's name is Grahame and his prayer was so good and short and uncomfortable but WAY COOL. We said amen at the same time.

When I got out of the cab we said our goodbyes ... and now I know how to pray again. And this is how the world works if you are brave to get messily honest enough. People crop up right when you need them. Things happen at the EXACT right time. You get a funny tingly feeling. Life shouldn't be centred around not feeling fear but what we can do in spite of it. Despite it.

AMEN!!!

(Sorry I can't remember why I called this post why I did but I kind of like it? I'll be back real soon. Nite you guys xxxxx)


Tuesday, 27 November 2018

You Never Know.



Somebody stuck a "BROKE" sticker on this Royal typewriter and put it up for sale for four dollars.

I took it home like a lost puppy. She was ceremoniously placed on my sideboard - that's not my sideboard in the photo that's the blanket box in the laundry that I emergencially dumped her on after I dropped her on my foot I KNEW words were heavy.

By the way just like boats, typewriters are female. (I just made that up but it seems true don't you think?)

It's not broke it's just not working at the moment .. imagine what's already been typed on it ever, in its lifetime? Newspaper articles by a top reporter. Dictation by an angry silent secretary dreaming of bigger things. Earnest writings by Ernest himself .. you never know! Rejection letters by publishing houses. Maybe nothing was ever typed on her at all, she just sat on the desk of a Very Distinctive Person who used it as a talking piece or just to look good. Probably the latter.

LETTERS oh my what if beautiful dreamy descriptive love letters were typed on this very Royal by maybe even a Royal. You never know. Imagine all the letters that have been typed on this beauty ... letters that still exist to this day, tucked inside old envelopes in the back of an old dresser that will eventually be thrown away by some, kept as priceless mementos by us more sentimental ones.

I've been thinking lately about how it's not other peoples duty to stay in connection with broken people .. especially the very very broken and lost and hurt and sad. It's hard work. Maybe people cut themselves off because it's too taxing or draining for them .. maybe that's ok and it's up to us broken to "find our own tribe" or some such shit. It must feel warm to be in a tribe I want to be in a tribe so what's that saying - build it yourself? I'll try. Broken people trying is the biggest trying of all especially when we pull it off and think to ourselves ha, who's broken now?

Before I start a tribe I want to get this typewriter fixed back to her original glory, considering all she's been through. What if her keys are keys to words not written yet?

GOD I hope I get her fixed. I'm a bit wobbly all over the place lately so I probably just need to believe in the typewriter if I can't believe in myself enough. If typewriters think then she'd be having a field day. "Oh hello what do we have here? A broken human pfffft .. no such thing!" Imagine how relieved she felt when I pulled her stickers off.

What of the fact that maybe her greatest works haven't been written yet?

Wow. You never know.




Sunday, 25 November 2018

One Fine Day.


Today we went to Echo Point in Katoomba with about a thousand tourists. My photos are very blurry lately .. but we're not. We're really clear. I took him to probably my favourite tree in the world .. it just holds on no matter what.



I walked until my hips weren't achy anymore. He ran, hid, hopped, said he needed sunglasses, got thirsty, and laughed a lot. We went with one of his mates who had a sleepover last night .. this morning they woke at 6am. And they were LOUD. And having the best time. Tomorrow is changeover days .. we don't like changeover days. I worry that going back and forth between two houses every second week is damaging him. I worry too much but I swear this is true: it's easier when they are babies. You have more control. You always know where they are. They don't know what the internet is. It's hard work but as they approach adulthood holy hell you're in for a bumpy ride. Make sure your arms and legs stay inside the carriage at all times.


I'll be his pillow. I'll be whatever he needs me to be. Same with Max. With six years between them the age difference is really obvious but as they grow up together I think they'll be best mates. They've been through a hell of a lot together. Siblings are special like that .. they have the unique bond of growing up together. My two have had to sometimes be soldiers and just push through when it got too hard. Neither have middle names but if they did they'd both have the same one: grit.


Everything we do starts with that first step. Sometimes we're lucky enough to have some do-over steps and get to start afresh in the morning. I wasn't anxious or jumpy or scared or anything yucky today! At all! I credit you guys. And my two guys who both grew in my BELLY like that is INSANE when you think about it! Our wombs are time-travelling portals, delivering humans from one dimension to the next.

I think weird.

For the two hours we were there Rocco BEGGED me to climb over the fence so he could walk on the "proper side." Oh my boys are shining lights. Doesn't matter where we live, we're each others home.

I never thought I could have children. I can't imagine my life without them. I'm raising two thoughtful, kind, empathetic, incredibly capable males who respect themselves, other people, their possessions. Most of all - women. I'm a loud-mouth opinionated dangerous chick who has seen and done some STUFF! #stillhere #proudmama

This wasn't the post I expected to write today but it wasn't the day I expected to have today. It ended in a whopper roast lamb stuffed with garlic cloves slow-cooked in the oven. It's demolished. Rocco asked for the chicken bone. Max was HANGRY while carving it. (Rocco has gone one step further than angry. He calls it "sangry" ... sad because he's angry and hungry.)

My sons make up words .. I started teaching them young that they're allowed to do much more than they get told they can. It's hard for them to have me as their mum, I know that. I also know they're strong enough to handle it.

Love you my Max and Rocco - hey never forget that love is real. It's REAL.


Saturday, 24 November 2018

A Bad Case Of Toska

To get straight to it:
 I have never received so much hate emails, bile and backlash in my life. The shame I feel is so overwhelming I thought seriously about deleting this whole site and all of my social media accounts.

I asked for some help and I received help - enough to be months ahead in my rent. My gas didn't get cut off. I bought steaks. Some people out there haven't agreed with what I did, how I went about it and so I just froze. More about that in a little bit in the meantime I've had a medication change to deal with ... it's going great! Here's a selfie:


It's not going great at all. A professor, two psychiatrists, my counsellor, the hospital visit I had last week. I haven't been able to do things. I took my frustrations out on a case worker and I made one of the doctors at the hospital cry why? Because I let it all out and loose and wept like REALLY wept in his office and I don't know him very well but what a man .. to be affected by a patients pain like that. Except in those fifteen minutes I wasn't just another patient I was a fellow human being in so much pain I could hardly talk. At first I thought he kept touching his nose but no, he was wiping his eyes.

I talk with strangers much better than I talk with people I know.


I'm not grateful for my pain but I'd like to be. And there's SO MANY people going through worse stuff than I am!


This post is quote-heavy because I've still lost my words they must have fell out of my pocket while I was trying to explain to people that I am who I say I am but that made them more angry until today I finally realised nobody can hate me more than me and I really do know who I am. And through all that muck I was emailed by a 16 year old girl who begged me to write again so here I am, Elsie. Here I am.

I've been writing I just haven't been publishing. Never have I felt such doubt about my writing but I'm going to push past that even though I feel like a sack of shit. It appears ten years of writing online has meant a lot to a lot of people so I'm pushing past it like Eminem continues to. Em and I were born in the same year SNAP and twinning and how can I manage to meet him next February?

See that- next February. It' important to have something to look forward to in life and it doesn't have to be Eminem it can be chocolate brownie ice cream.


I want this to be true. I want my greatest life's work to be in front of me. I'm scared and sad and full of self doubt and my brain got diagnosed with TWO MORE disorders for the love!!! How much can a koala bear? Both my sons are here with me and have been for some time and all that goes around in my head is how I've fucked them up. I should have played with them more, listened to them more, not taken them for granted. I should have been more. To the people who gave to me ... tracking some of you down is proving tricky but I'll get there. You saved me. I'll tell you about it one time.

To the people who hate me: blow me. I forgot who I was for a while. Fuck you, fuck off, you're not invited to the get-together I'm planning in the new year for people with wonky brains, personality disorders, suicidal tendencies and all-round general mental malaise.

To the people who love me and understand me and have given me patience and grace: you saved me.

I'll write my wrongs from here on in. Tomorrows post is sorted and the day after that and the day after that. Please don't give up on me - I'm sorry. I love you and hear you and need you.

If I just lay here would you lie with me and just forget the world? I hope so, readers and dreamers and lovers. All of us confused fucked awesome sad hopeful ones.




Tuesday, 13 November 2018

If All The Lonely People Came Together Then We Wouldn't Be Lonely Anymore Don't You Think?

Ever realised how SO uncool to admit how lonely you are? I'm lonely! And yes I'm embarrassed at being lonely but it's the truth.

If I ever ask someone if they get lonely they say no .. why is that? Is it such an embarrassment? I get lonely as HELL .. especially at night when I want to just, watch tv or netflix with somebody. At night time in bed I'd just like to spoon to make me feel .. connected or loved or something. I'm not talking one iota about sex, just the thing of someone shouting out "do you want parmesan on your spaghetti" during the ad of some dumb show that does nothing to improve anyones minds. Not every moment has to be all spiritual and shit, or Einsteiny. Just the act of doing mindless stuff with another person instead of by yourself ... helps the sound of the world crying.

I feast on meaningful stuff too, yesterday my mum reminded me it was six years ago exactly that I flew to India for World Vision  (I truly need to get my comment system back up and working .. I only paused it because of negative and mean comments which I could not care less about anymore, ever.)



This was meeting our family's sponsor child, Rashni. She was three here, back in 2012 - now she's ten. Exactly the same as Rocco - they were born three days apart and I purposely chose a girl the same age as him, watching his face as he read her progress report last week was just .. humbling. He had so many questions and he really wants to meet her too.


This pic was taken back in 2014 - after my brother died but before everything in my family's life imploded oh my god look at my sons. Look at them #truelove


Me and Rocco the other night after the HUGE house inspection. Which the owner attended. Roc (otherwise known as vacuumer of the century) has weaned himself off Fortnite and I'm so proud. We've gone back to playing Dumb Ways to Die together on my phone at bedtime, thing is I get really, really offended when he laughs at my poor playing skills. So then he's trying extra-hard not to laugh. It's so hard for me to not laugh at him trying not to laugh.


I'M TRYING SO HARD. ALL THIS TIME AND I DIDN'T GIVE UP! I *know* I have work to do and I pray, a lot. I don't pray for help - I pray for the strength to be given to me for what I need to do. Despite being brought up Catholic I still believe in truth and good, love and BRIGHT LIGHT. Laugh at the devil and he shall flee. Ha.


Ok I don't know WHY my photos have suddenly gone all blurry on here lately but this is me today.  Hopefully I look ok. I hope I continually believe I'll get through (because of you, oh so grateful .. S0 grateful I'm not sure you understand. Yes I will email you if I haven't already. You changed my life.)

I guess that's it for now, beautiful people. I did say a post a day but going through a medication change for the first time in a LONG TIME does not make a great blog post every single day OR maybe it does, hahahaha!!!! (You'd call the men in white coats immediately and fuck that - I'll get through this. I been through worse. I been through better. Why does life seem easier for others there's no answer Eden stop asking that question.)

In conclusion if you want to go out on a date or something email me edenriley@gmail.com KIDDING, OBVIOUSLY!!! Heh.

No come on we've all got this, living in a hard scary world run by dictators. I applaud you for still being here! And guess what we don't even have to be lonely anymore ....  ready?





 Goodnight beautiful people. I love you. And I mean it. xxxx


Friday, 9 November 2018

Laughter, and Other Medicines.

Hey when I was a kid I used to get chocolate eclairs from the bakery ...  sometimes I'd mix it up because I do like a baked good but often I'd walk up to the counter and say:

"Hello, may I please have a chocolate eclair."

All of those years I had it wrong and nobody noticed that I was actually saying:

"Hello, may I please have a chocolaty Clare." 

I'm telling you this story because I was telling it to somebody yesterday and we just basically collapsed with laughing. Literally, standing outside on the forecourt down from Katoomba Library next to Big Beet Cafe we laughed so hard. We were just laughing so hard.  We scared all the pigeons away ... my friend had to find a seat to sit on while she laughed or she would have ended up on the concrete and all I'll say about me is that I finally understand the need for pelvic floor exercises, thank good I was wearing black leggings. Wow.

We had other people laughing just because we were laughing. They didn't even know the story, they were just laughing at us laughing because they knew we couldn't stop and mainly because laughing contagious.

Chocolaty Clares .. who knew? Maybe I thought they were invented by somebody called Clare but the point here is that it wasn't just that we were laughing at ... prior to the Clare story my friend and I had been catching up on each others lives not just a shallow glib five minute job it was a full-on nitty gritty hard heavy shit conversation, we hadn't seen each other in years. We met in Westmount Rehab back in 1998 - TWENTY years ago. She didn't even know Rocco existed, I didn't know shed been to jail then fully straightened out her life. So proud when people conquear themselves - hey what's that saying:

"It is better to conquer yourself than win a thousand battles." - Buddha (I just googled it.)

Here's a truth - I've been too scared to write here. What am I supposed to say, after what you've done for me? How can I possibly, ever ever repay you? I'm going through and writing thank-you's, slower than I would like but they're real proper thank-you's like I mean it because I MEAN IT like how can you just give and save me like that? You have - you've saved me. I'm so far ahead in my rent. I'm in negotiations with my energy provider. I don't dread opening the mail, I've stopped crying walking down the street and as embarrassing, mortifying, shameful it was for me to ask you for help I really was stuck in a dark place which I'd still be (or worse) .. had you not heeded my call for help. Did I use the word "heed" in the proper context? Probably - I won't check I'll trust myself because I usually get it instinctively right with words - words are my jam but the past week and a bit they're not my jam they been my bread and butter and I've never ever felt so humbled, grateful, blessed, uncomfortable, amazed in my whole life.

Some of you have sent me messages that just ... I had no idea you loved (and needed) to read my words so much. That's a huge call and that's when I became so overwhelmed by thinking I needed to write incredibly grand, meaningful, deep blog posts all the time every day but thing is ... I CAN'T! This is just me and this is how I say stuff which is probably what grew it anyway. Goddamn that laugh yesterday was just ... a massive circuit breaker. Laughter really is medicine. I laughed all the dark and heavy and the worry away - very especially needed, right in the middle of med-change week UGGHHH.

I'm still very, very scared .. I still wake up crying. Or if I don't, I start crying on my stumble into the kitchen to turn the kettle on. Still crying as I'm doing my morning wee - when I wash my face I never look into the mirror.

BUT: you have taken the biggest weight off my shoulders. Your emails and help have made me release how far and wide my words have gone like it's own little breadcrumb trail except this time, you've fed me. Thanks for replacing my apathy with inspiration, my dark for light ...  my yuck for some heartshine.

For the first time in years - and years - you circled your wagons and for the first time in years - and years - you've reminded me of who I am. I'm ok. I'm not a pathetic loser because I'm still trying.

What a gift. I just an't say thank you enough and from here on in I'll just keep writing here the way I always have. With irreverence, humour, glimpses of dark (but not too much to scare you!) the odd swear word, anger, pain, joy .. all of it I guess. All those real human things that we've all got deep down inside all of us.


Tuesday, 6 November 2018

Carrie Fisher: Our Beloved Patron Saint of Bipolar (and Just General Mental Fuckedness.)



One of the best things I have ever read is Carrie Fisher saying this in one of her memoirs called "Wishful Drinking."

“I thought I would inaugurate a Bipolar Pride Day. You know, with floats and parades and stuff! On the floats we would get the depressives, and they wouldn’t even have to leave their beds - we’d just roll their beds out of their houses, and they could continue staring off miserably into space. And then for the manics, we’d have the manic marching band with manics laughing and talking and shopping and fucking and making bad judgment calls.” 

Heavens above I MISS her! Irreplaceable. I'm pretty sure she meant having a Bipolar Pride Day like that ... I'd much prefer being manic than depressive but that's the thing with us folk, you don't get to choose. Just his morning I woke up absolutely full crying, which keeps happening more times lately than I'd like to admit.

Often the sound of my weeping wakes me up in the middle of the night. It's so awful and has never happened to me before EVER and it's going to keep happening until ... it won't happen any more.

That's what I'm holding out for and thats exactly what's going to happen, especially with the help of trailblazers like Carrie Fisher

Life is still going to be hard but after my med changes and consistently seeing my trauma therapist then yes. Things can only get better,

The more I still read about Carrie and her legacy, the more I realise she was a very, very rare Soul. Talking about things we're not supposed to talk about saves our lives. Period.







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