Today's Edenland Guest Blogger is .... Edenland.

I'm guest-posting on my own blog. I just looked at the clock - I have one hour. Do I have time to try to make some sense of the past week?

Do ya? DO YA, PUNK?

I'll give it a go.

*clears throat; scratches balls; tries to find bloggy zen; fails; continues anyway*

There's a scene in Pulp Fiction, where Marcello Wallace gets a good ass-whippin'. Literally, ass whipped with a penis. Bruce Willis's character comes back to save him, and asks if he's ok.

"I'm pretty fuckin' far from ok."

It's one of the best lines in modern cinema.

Some Things have occurred the past little bit, leaving me pretty fuckin' far from ok. I waver being completely open about it, and then holding my yucky truth tight to my chest. Did y'all know I was on my way down? A lot of you did - a lot of people in real life and online have said to me this past week ... "Eden, I have felt something wasn't right with you for a while."

And it wasn't. I Fell Down. It can be known as the lost weekend of '11. I gave the people closest to me the biggest shock, a terrible scare.

A lot of people now read my blog - I can always tell, in the grocery store or when I'm masquerading as a school mum - I can always tell when somebody I know reads my blog. Because there is a certain look at the back of their eyes, a look that says .... this chick is craaazzzy.

(And I am. And so are you. If you don't think you are, you're a fool.)

The one and only reason I will not go into graphic detail right now, is to protect my children from certain things they don't need to know about their mother. But I will say this:

If you have substance abuse issues, be careful if you get prescribed medication. "Legit" medication, that helps you through - helps take the edge off your panic attacks. Because it's a slippery slope. You might start juggling certain things, taking certain things, not believing in recovery anymore .... and wham. You end up getting ass-reamed by your addiction for the first time in many years. And you stand up, and realise that you're pretty fuckin' far from ok.

I've woken up. There is a certain me-ness to my me that I haven't felt in a long time ... probably since I was pregnant with Rocco. Probably since before Dave got cancer. Just because you're living clean and sober, does not mean that Life Itself will not fuck you around, every now and then.

Right now, I'm picking out the shards of mirror that exploded when I looked at it for the first time in a long time. There's pieces of mirror and glass stuck all over me. I am ragged and bleeding and broken.

I am beautiful, because I am being real again.

Email or DM or send smoke signals to me if you want to talk. Be vigilant. Be careful. And for goodness sake, if you have known substance abuse issues, DO NOT GO ON PAXIL. Because you'll take your first tablet and it will feel like an ecstasy pill is half coming on, and you'll silently fist-pump because it's all "legit" and it feeeeeels soooooo gooooood.

(At this point, I don't care that I am giving medical advice when I'm probably not supposed to. I just don't care.)

::

I'm on day 9 of paxil withdrawals. I crashed my car because I shouldn't have been driving. Dave has had the biggest shock of his life. I think there's a demon in me - slowly dying. It woke me up the other night, we were wrestling with each other, both so angry, and I was fucking terrified. I woke Dave up.

"Hon! It feels like there's a demon in me, trying to get out!"

You know what Dave said to me, there, in the middle of the night, our sheets stinky and wet from my sweat? He said to me - that I probably do have a demon. And it's ok, because I'm shining the light on it, making it go away. Then he went back to sleep, leaving me grateful for his honesty. I wondered if the demon could skip out of me and go into Dave. Or one of the kids. What have I done? I am the demon bringer-homerer. I am awful.

I am so many things right now that I can hardly keep my head on.

::

The next morning (which is only yesterday, but feels like a million miles away already) .... I was due to go to a meeting at the Google offices down in Sydney. The Blogger team from all over the world were gathered there, for some top-secret development shiz, and I was invited a while ago to be the token blogger they can ask questions to.

I almost didn't go. I possibly shouldn't have gone, but if I cancelled I would feel like a pathetic loser. I am in love with blogging, and all it can achieve. So I went. I picked up Mrs Woog on the way. We both assumed the other had the directions on how to get there - no. Scribbled it out in texta before we went, she had nervous poo guts and I was worried I would pass out from detoxing off paxil.

We got there, and it was amazing. Anil was a gracious host, the office was spectacular ... and I got to talk about blogging for an hour. I am particularly passionate about blogging. By default, I have learnt a lot over the past few years. I've watched the rise and rise of mommyblogging in America ... Heather Armstrong, aka Dooce, is in the NYT again this week. To be a part of it, down here in Australia right now - just as it is unfolding, is wonderful.

Blogging has given me a voice. I now look at the world through bloggy eyes, all the time. It's the strangest medium, when you think about it. That's why I don't think about it .... otherwise I would stop, or censor.

Yesterday I got to tell my blogging story to the very people who developed the platform on which I TELL my story, and that was pretty bloody cool. Twitches and all. (Mrs Woog tells the story with a fresh gusto I can't muster right now ... and yes, I really actually DID say what she said I did. Verbatim.)

So how can I link this jumbled post up? My hour expired five minutes ago, I have to pick up boys and make dinner and try not to crash my car again. I have to go home and take notes on the fantastic D&A counselling session I had today, with a fucking outstanding therapist who I cried in front of, had to ask for help from.

I hate asking for help. But pride kills, so suck it up sweetheart. This week I have received emails from people all over the world - asking me am I ok, telling me things I didn't know, showing me love and compassion. Humbling me so bad ... telling ME that I inspire THEM which makes them live THEIR lives better. What?

Blogging goes deeper than you think. Instead of deleting my blog .... I'm going to blog more passionately, and with more energy and love than ever before. Now if you excuse me, I have the last vestiges of a demon to kill; but until that fucker is dead - whose turn is it to guestpost?

::