Training On A Pale Blue Dot.

Last night Rocco almost broke his nose, whacking it so hard against the back of a wooden chair after Dave called him over to talk to him about drawing on the TV remote control.

Max missed the bus this morning and I didn't handle it very well I CANNOT DEAL WITH THIS TODAY so Dave dealt with it, drove him off. But came back into the house and found me crying in the kitchen I try really hard to let none of them see me cry lately but I was so busted.

"Hon! What happened?!"

"I just can't believe he is dead. I can't breathe - hon, I can't breathe I keep forgetting to draw a breath and when I do it's all panicky. I think it's because Cam took his own breath away."

I didn't tell him the rest - the fucking cicadas are mocking me, all chirping the same thing. About wanting to sneak into Leura main street at midnight wearing a balaclava and chopping every single blossom tree down but that would cause a public outcry and in ten, fifteen years time I'd most likely look at all the stumps and think, wow Eden you should NOT have done that. Maybe I can just shake their beautiful pink blossoms off as quick as I can because how DARE such beauty still come into the world.

I also want to stab flowers.

I killed a bird yesterday. I didn't mean to, for some reason it was under my car and I reversed and felt a bump and later I came home and it was dead, like, I'm a fucking bird murderer now. IT'S NOT MY FAULT DON'T BE UNDER MY CAR I DIDN'T MEAN TO I'M SORRY. It was laying RIGHT at my door, almost stepped on it when I got out of the car. I bolted inside, no way am I dealing with a dead bird. But I kept thinking about him, you know? The blood was so fresh and his claws all scrunched up and his beak open as if saying WHYYYYY and I know exactly what that feels like guyo I really do, I'm so sorry.

So as I keep going directly to the source of pain lately thought I may as well go outside, bend down real close to take a photo.

                         I started to use a filter on the photo but I don't filter death. Or life.

The Eminem/Sia song, coupled with just a few sentences from "The Drama of Being a Child" book my therapist lent me - bang. Just BANG all in one go.

I now know. The biggest source of a lot of my stuff is that for the the first four years of my life, I actually thought I was going to die. My father was a violent alcoholic ... I rattle this of my tongue like do we need milk today?

But to get to the root of the root, to understand how and why I have completely collapsed and been utterly annihilated about my brothers death has meant looking further and into the abyss more than ever before if there is to be any hope for me.

"There is shit that happened that I will never, ever get over. Stuff that cannot be healed."

My therapist leant forward in his chair we were both drinking Mexican cokes from bottles I bought us one each because he'd never had one before ... he leant forward like he does when we nail something, get something right, understand it together.

"No, Eden. Some things can't be healed. They're called scars."

And we just looked at each other. Bang.

"Afraid to make a single sound 
Afraid I would never find a way out, out, out 
Afraid I'd never be found I don't wanna go another round 
An angry man's power will shut you up 
Trip wires fill this house with tiptoed love 
Run out of excuses for everyone 
So here I am and I will not run 
Guts over fear, the time is near 
Guts over fear, I shed a tear 
For all the times I let you push me round 
And let you keep me down, now I've got 
Guts over fear
Guts over fear"

Everything, every little single thing is culminating, circling, maybe there is hope.

Oh man those cicadas are getting louder right now and ALL they are telling me is "your brother's about to die your brother's about to die" and I want to chirp the fuck back YOU'RE ALL ABOUT TO DIE. IN FOUR WEEKS.

Holy shit I just googled "how long does a cicada live" but I accidentally wrote "how long does a cicada love" so now I'm crying I'm so sorry you revolting little cicadas! I'm sorry it's just a hard time for me right now I'm projecting and looking for meaning and sometimes there is none. Just because I killed a bird doesn't mean something bad's going to happen. (My brain just said - yes it does. And my lungs are like - whut is goin' on up there?! And my heart - she is mostly silent, listening.)

Cicadas live underground for SEVENTEEN YEARS AS NYMPHS AND THEN THEY COME UP AND LIVE FOR JUST FOUR WEEKS ABOVE THE GROUND.

Those mothefuckers are onto something.

Anyway, gotta go, almost at the bridge.

I'm catching a train today with my bare hands! I can't wait. I just want to be a train person. Just sit. On a train. Nobody knowing nothing about why I'm on a train or who or what. Just blend in. It'll be cool.

I'll just be on a train. That's enough.