Tuesday, 7 July 2015

In A Place.

I'm in a place.

I guess we all are, come to think of it. I'm in a place where I had a hellish 48 hours with no sleep before I came in. A thinking place. A religious place. A treatment place. Hopefully a healing place but why the long face?

I'm in a place where I bled down my legs and didn't get access to tampons for two days until Hail Mary my friend came in with supersize ones that looked like teeny parachutes when I opened them under the bathroom fluorescent lights, yelled at the nurses station when I walked past - surrounded by men and I didn't care SO MY FRIEND FINALLY BROUGHT ME IN TAMPONS. An angry, petulant, blaming bitch.

So angry. Explosive, blaming, mortified, embarrassed, strained, exhausted, can't fight, no light, no body to call my home I'm here with so many others but I'm here alone.

But I'm here. Standing up. A lot of sitting downs lots of frowns and just when I made the decision to leave this hellhole of a Faulty Towers God unforsaken place I realised ... I had no place to go. I packed up my house in one day, cried to the removalists, cried to my friends, cried to the world, cried to myself my brother my mother my boys.

I can't bear being without my boys. Yet these are the harsh consequences of a sequence of shitty actions and decisions and I'm so thoroughly disgusted with myself I cannot convey. Conveyers. That seems like a good normal job why can't I just be good and normal why why why have so much in my head that it folds in upon itself like you gently fold in Donna Hay cake batter for a rich chocolate gateau?

This is one of the very few times in my entire life I have ever felt so afraid, uncertain, lost, lonely. Carrying so much for so long and I cannot put it down. Nobody to blame.


BUT - (I like big ones and I cannot lie) - but with an unfuckwithable force of strength deep, deep in my soul and if doesn't open up now - full-strength, none of this half-hearted tripe - well then, that's all she wrote. I know I can do it. I know I can. I knew it would be hard, getting real and honest and clean with clarity not claret. I've been to Antartica and back, all year. Back and forth, up and down. Horrific consequences but like Bono says when you drink the poison from the poison stream ... you just float. Outta here. The relief immense. Remorse intense.

You know in the lyrics Lose Yourself where he goes "Feet fail me not - this may be the only opportunity that I got?" Well I've always disagreed with that. I believe - still do - that we get given many opportunities, many chances, many goes in this funny old horrifically beautiful awful world. But this go? This chance? It's my last chance saloon because I fell off the wagon with a spectacular thud and nobody to catch my fall because I did it all. Usually I just hurriedly rescue myself but this time I needed help with logistics and appointments and moving stuff and being lied to and lied about and the girl who cried wolf doesn't get believed much, anymore.

It's so easy to blame the crazy people. But us crazies make you normals still appear normal so we're doing you a favour, y'all. Don't forget it. Without us fuckups your lives wouldn't appear so perfect. You need us. We don't need you. We just want to get well and getting help? Well, there's a lot of "just get help" spoken about in the news and online and in print but the truth is, getting help - the RIGHT help, is exhausting and terrifying and debasing. Like a really fucked up Treasure Map. My Hail Mary took me to the Black Dog place and I met a Professor who understood me more in fifteen minutes than any other health professional has understood me in my life. Bang on the money. Money. Ugh. I hate it. I've hated it. Suicide insurance money from a man who shouldn't have been mining the earth in the first place he didn't belong underground. He belonged with his face tilted towards the sun, was it too much to ask to watch over him, Universe? I didn't want the money. I wanted my brother back and that's never gonna happen and maybe my brother orchestrated this whole year sitting up in a cloud and I was like I was like his broken, worn-out, filthy marionette who ended up with her stings done broke, broke sitting in the gutter.

I never wanted to be like this. I don't like it. I miss my boys I miss my boys I miss my boys I miss my boys. I miss who I used to be .... and I've always missed who I could become. Missed it by that much, as Maxwell Smart used to say.

So technically I'm homeless and I can't stay here for much longer because I hated all the money see and I was swimming in a money sea but I was on a high and low and a high and gave it away. What's money when you got a dead brother, dead marriage, the most deepest and hurtful betrayal?

Nothing. I got a backpack full of nothing but it feels like rocks and I'm swimming underwater in my clothes like that Safety Swimming Certificate I did in Year Seven when we had to jump into the water fully clothed and saved ourselves.

We gotta save ourselves. Nobody can do it for us. Nobody can do this for me. There's been a Spiritual war waging in my heart and the Angels have not been winning. Once when I lived at my grandparents house I was washing up. It was a particularly hard saucepan and i was taking my sweet time and my beautiful Nan, she said "Oh, Eden use some elbow grease."

So I opened the kitchen cupboard below the sink where all the cleaning stuff was and I read every single label and I finally announced to my grandmother that I couldn't find the Elbow Grease.

Oh she laughed so hard. I giggled, not really understanding why yet but when she laughed I laughed because laughing is GOOD.

Nan I need to borrow some Elbow Grease. And your Bible. And your prayers ... do you still pray in the afterlife? Dunno. Who knows. I promised to teach a guy how to play chess in here but I can't even put my clothes away properly. I stood up and then all I could do was fall down. In this place.

The Light here is beautiful. It gets into all of the cracks, every one. Everyone. I forced myself to stop looking at the negatives. I got on the good side of the good nurses and that makes it easier. I got on the good medication for a really annoying diagnoses for a thing I didn't want to have. What came first - the mental illness or the drug addiction? Who knows.

All I know is I downloaded a sobriety app on my iPhone and I'm proud of every single day straight and even though I VOWED I would stay straight for my brother after he suicided I failed. I dishonoured him. I gave it a good go - seventeen months. But my mind, she spirals. Damn thing breaks down all the time. I need a leaf blower for my soul and electric shock therapy on my heart because it died a thousand deaths when they did what they did but I'm here.

I'm in a place.

You are, too. All of us in places. I'm in the right place. I'm terrified but alive. This will be the making of me so help me God and She is helping me every morning when I walk down the path to the ancient sacred Aboriginal land and I feel profoundly humble to be able to stand there and imagine what it was like when the British attacked them that day.

It's taken me forty-three years and four months to get to this moment. But I'm here. In this place. I don't know where I'll go after and I gotta stop complaining about the food and you know what? The old kitchen ladies are the hardest working, most beautiful people in here. I love them. Even though they have eyes in the back of their head when I try steal two desserts. "Put it back!" 

I'll try stop worrying about the cost and just focus, use my miners light and look within. Again. Again. Next place I go has to be warm and safe and nurturing.

I want to be real.

It can't be too much to ask. It can't, not when you crack open your ribcage and as your intestines slide out you let people look at all the mess and mire and shame, let them poke around. Get to the bottom of this rock hard bottom.

I just want to be real, realest ever.

No comments on this. Go tell someone you love them. Kiss your people and just hold on.

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Write to be understood, speak to be heard. - Lawrence Powell

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