Tuesday, 15 September 2020

Apparently I'm a Menace to Society. Also a Has-Been.

 So I've been arrested a few times again. Well maybe just the once but I've had to report on bail for a while. It's best I not say anything about the police because you know ... they read here now.

My house got literally figuratively and metaphorically overtaken by rats. I did buy some ratsak wait no scratch that I think I accidentally stole some ratsak but don't tell the police ok? I drove up to the border but couldn't get into Queensland so then I came back again.

I still couldn't get rid of the rats.

My car was stolen, my phone got broken, and my laptop got smashed so I haven't been able to write I'm sorry guys. I have missed you and I mean it. Or as my brother would say when he was little "I rili menit."

Living in this house is terrifying, no women's refuge can take me because I would be a danger to the other clients there because of the people who have been after me. So I just sleep in the day and stay up all night and just wait. I don't know what I'm waiting for ... I guess just to see what's next? What more could possibly happen?

A suspect in a 20-year-old unsolved murder up here in the mountains shouted at me that he was going to cut me up into little pieces like he did Belinda. so that was great for my mental health let me tell you whoops I just accidentally did tell you what can happen now.

I want to rewind time I want my boys to be little again I want to be who I used to be instead of this empty shell. I'm not well can you tell? 

I was back in hospital again. I was in a police holding cell for a while ... there was piss on the walls like who the fuck would piss on the walls? I guess I could have tried to piss on a wall's too but I would have had to get the angle right.

I'm seeing therapists and GP's  and and psychiatrists and everybody tells you just get help get help get help so I am. I'm getting all of the help but none of the help seems to be helping. Conundrum. 

Anyway I gotta go I'm almost at the bridge. Fuck. How am I gonna send this shit out?

To the person who told me I was a Has-Been ... it's better than a Never-Was. And I ain't even finished yet so buckle up sweethearts. Mama's got some boys to fight for. Never underestimate the downtrodden. Ever.

Laters x

Wednesday, 17 June 2020

I Went Through Methadone Withdrawals Thanks to Covid.

“People put too much faith in the rich, the famous, the politicians. And not enough faith in themselves.” - Bono

I’ve been on and off addicted to codeine since my last caesarean unfortunately coincided with a cancer scare. When the government made codeine prescription-only, well ... it was hell. I didn’t feel so great (understatement.) Time to do the one thing I never had, admit myself to the methadone program which I was on for two and a half years until I thought wow, maybe I wouldn’t be colliding with so many awful violent people/situations if it wasn’t for the fucking methadone clinic? #NOTALLMETHADONIANS

Also this thing called "covid" was coming and I really didn't want to go to the methadone clinic every single morning between 7.15am and 10.45am to get dosed, especially when there was a pandemic on the way PANDEMIC HOLD YOUR LEDERHOSEN. I’ve practiced social distancing since I could walk because I’ve never liked breathing in the air that people exhale as they walk past. Also I just don’t like most people.

Before I tell you about withdrawing from me meffadome dose get this shit: Coincidentally the worlds  richest people have gotten richer and now China has called Australia "America's lapdog" something about trade sanctions or some shit. Then North Korea threatens South Korea for alleged propaganda, India’s flexing their army at the border so to frame it all war really is an industry which needs to be fed Hey Siri how much $ does it cost for a typical soldiers costume?

(I legit just asked Siri what’s happening with Syria and she came up with “Siri what’s happening with Siri” ugh she’s almost as self-obsessed as me.) I like to read behind the news Australia didn’t you know covid was coming? I was stealing surgical masks since last December when I started to withdraw and the nurses at the clinic laughed at me for overreacting.

Question: How many rockbottoms does it take to reach your real rockbottom?
Answer: I don’t actually want to find out but fracturing my foot while an average joe crashed my car, getting evicted, homeless and living in a dodgy dark motel and limping with crutches to get to my meffadome every morning mid-Katoomba winter last year counts among them.

So where was I? Oh that’s right, the safe loving sanctity of family members JOKE. I’ve been as crying as I’ve ever been, possibly more. Enough tears for Waterworld. Enough, tears.

It’s winter again I’m turning over a new leaf except my leaf is a forest and I’m burning it all down. Again again. I’ve been walking with this tattered red overcoat of shame this past while, Computer. (Oh I’ve missed you and thought about you all every day. For real.)

Yesterday I took it off and slipped into something a little more comfortable. Like myself. Heh not even joking ... when Dr. Harry at the clinic asked me why I wanted to get off methadone I said because I want to have a decent orgasm. And take a proper shit. One of us blushed and it wasn’t me.

Then I asked Dr. Harry isn’t this the whole point, to get off the stuff? He said something about suboxone instead and I refused so in the end I just jumped off my dose which led to the police coming to my door to do a “welfare check” on me which is basically to cover the clinics arses but thanks anyway. Dr. Harry said I was a one-in-a-million patient but I’m not, I’m just as special as every other arsehole.

The very first time I got dosed one of the nurses there said “Ohhhh, Eden Riley the famous blogger” which was one of the reasons I kind of stopped blogging for a while lord help me the stigma. It’s a small town, a lot of people saw me limping to the hospital on the highway but these days I can look the town in the eyes again.

Methadone tastes like the piss of a hundred junkies and has the thick consistency of cum. Being on methadone was my safety net of liquid handcuffs and made me look at the ground a lot. Yesterday I took Max out for lunch and afterwards we both looked up at the bare trees. I told him how when he was four years old he told me to look out the window at the different coloured hues of autumn, how I’d never noticed the seasons my entire life until he taught me, that day. He can’t believe it’s halfway through the year. It hasn’t been fair on either on my sons - Max has finished school, Rocco has started high school and they both walked out into a world which had a huge OUT OF ORDER sign on it. However they’ve both been through worse, both have grit in their genes.

Before during and after the lost methadone days I’ve felt despondent and finished, full of regrets and self-hate ... now I don’t mean to alarm anyone but did you know if you eat well, get proper sleep and exercise you feel a teense better? Also, if you finally name your biggest secret out loud nobody can use it against you, CLARENCE.

Had to shed a few skins to get here but here is good and here I’ll stay. I’m officially back on social media again aka47 facebook and insta because what the FUCK happened to social media? A pack of influenzas have taken over. Not on my watch - I need to tell you about putting the same load of washing in the washing machine three times because I can’t hang it out to dry. How I still cant find my undies so walk around freeflappin’ instead. All of the Star Trek I’m binging and how the characters are my only friends. How life overcomes me repeatedly and the way I overcome it.

A team of workers have been building a new house right next to mine which is really taking shape now. Fucking builders, making a mockery of my life because what have I done since they dug the first dirt last year? Nothing. Upon further thought I wonder if they could get through what I’ve been through and still survived because I’m still stronger than any man I’ve ever met. The builders next door have seen me yelling, crying, limping, ailing. That day I was vomiting in the front grass from withdrawal for all to see I was filled with shame and embarrassment and loss of pride but maybe now I think well, good on me. I’ve been working just as hard as them it’s just been on the inside.

Are you guys still out there? Have you been hiding too? Do you still believe? Come out come out wherever you are. Getting real isn’t so scary I promise.

Now If you’ll excuse me I need to eat my fourth bowl of porridge, bake two loads of apple cinnamon muffins for my sons, go back up to the copshop AGAIN to try retract a statement as is my right Chief if you’re going to arrest me the donuts are on you this time .

< i>Anyone who thought I was done: nah bitch, not quite
Spotlight's back on, got my faith, where's yours?
Do you still believe
in me?
Didn't I give everything I had to give you to make you see? I'll never quit.
Do you still believe in me?

Monday, 16 March 2020

Blog Posts To Be Murdered By.

One of the first times I was in the nuthouse this lady next to me yanked on my arm and when I turned she spat mashed potato in my face. Lucky I wear glasses. The next morning she was made to apologise to me. In a very thick Polish accent.

“I apologise for spitting in your face. I thought you were a Belgium spy.”

For a millipede of a second I thought ... am I a fucken Belgium spy?”

Definitely not in this world. A parallel world, perhaps. Ever wonder who you are in parallel universes? 

I saw that same lady the other day as I stopped for her at a pedestrian crossing. Long grey hair, eyes downcast, tortured as ever. I still wondered briefly if I was a Belgium spy. (I told Rocco that story a few years ago, a bit too inappropriate at that age but it was worth his laughter.)

It was my birthday a few days ago and I loved, loved my presents from my guys. Always the best part is the homemade cards.

To dear mum, I hope you have an amazing birthday and thank you for showing me strength and courage to keep moving forward no matter what. Love you loads.”

That right there? Is called grace. I’m so lucky.

This morning I went to a tennis court except it wasn’t tennis and the umpire was a judge. I slept in
late so chucked on leggings, no undies, no bra, a jacket and leopard print scarf. Wore my black boots with the gold stitched wings and crosses and haven’t felt that powerful in a long time. Too long. Even though I cried I felt my power coming back to me why must I always give my power away? No more.

I like the colour purple, both in crayons and the film but not on my stomach and thighs and arms so I’ve literally taken a stand.
I’m a lot of things but I’m not a mean person. One of my sisters starved her budgie to death because she didn’t want it anymore. When she busted me feeding it she got so angry so I stopped and therefore became a complicit budgie murderer. I felt so bad, the day it finally died. Some people kill budgies, some people want to save the world. My brother would never have starved a budgie and today when all the fear rose up again I remembered seeing his body in the morgue and if I can get through that day I can get through any day.

Come after me if you dare but you said you have faith in god and anyway my house is super booby trapped. Booby, heh.

I just wrote a huge blog post and it deleted itself so this post is just a tribute. Spewing .... I’ll never word the same words again. Can’t remember exactly what I wrote - something about god. Bless me father for I have sinned it has been 32 years since my last confession. I was so little I had to lie about my sins. “Uummm, I didn’t do the washing up.” Fuck me dead imagine my juicy huge sins now but I’d never tell them to a catholic priest. The thought makes me vomit .... Father Barry-Cotter was the parish priest of Cooma when I was a little. He was a rapist pedophile piece of shit. I don’t think that was the confession that was asked of me.

Computer I need to write more. Three people in the past year have warned me not to blog but a writer who doesn’t write is courting insanity and I caught insanity years ago lucky it’s not catching - I promise, us loons are often the best kinds of people. And if we hide away and if you feel like it, if you’re not too burdened by your own heavy lives (which is completely understandable) ... then check in on us. Even just a text that we’re frozen to reply to until a week later. It could save somebodies life, trust me, I’m a limo driver. 

Thanks for still hanging in there with me. You’ve got no idea how much I’m trying. I don’t want my blog to get tumbleweeds and I don’t want a ghost town for a heart.

I guess I’ll let myself  quietly sit on the palmtree of gods hand.

See you soon. Love deeply,

Eden xxx

Thursday, 2 January 2020

Write Here. Write Now.

There’s so much more to share with you but it’s inappropriate to talk about myself while Australia is burning. We’re on fire. Thousands of people, thousands of hectares, millions of animals, entire towns are gone. The death toll is rising. So what does our Prime Minister Scott Morrison do? Swans away to a holiday to Hawaii until he was shamed into coming back home. Pretty sure he’s banned climate change protests? Last year was the hottest year Australia has ever had. Climate change is REAL. Arsonists should be charged with attempted murder. Our firefighters all deserve Order of Australia medals ... thank you, fireys. You are our heroes.

Greta Thunberg is a hero too. You’ve probably all seen her speech to world leaders at the UN Climate Action Summit  ..... check this out. Right here. Right now.

(PS My mammogram results came back clear. CLEAR. I do not have breast cancer. The lumps were cysts, my lymph node is enlarged just because it wants to be, apparently. Stop being so dramatic, LYMPH NODE. Settle.)

I’m still yet to reply to your comments here and on facebook. You made me cry. You made me remember who I am. You didn’t forget me .... and gave me so much love. I’ve missed love. I love you more no returns. Thank you. So much.

Wednesday, 1 January 2020

Well *Technically* I Wasn’t Dead.

Look. I’m incredibly sorry for leaving you like this, but I can explain.

I never ever did it for the fame anyway but my people (my real people you know who you are) .... I’ve missed you. So much. I hope you’re going ok? I have not been going ok. At all so it’s time to spill it grab your cup of tea I’m sick of holding it so hold on.

Early last year I got involved with a guy who ended up trying to kill me. Too dangerous for my sons so they had to stay at their fathers house for way too long for my heart to handle but they come first. Always.

This piece of shit stole my jewellery, my money, and any faith in humans I had left. He landed in jail, I landed in homeless town because I got evicted for being behind in rent.

All of my belongings waited in a shipping container. I waited in a run-down hotel for emergency housing. It took over two months to secure a house. I had a car crash, fractured my foot in two places and needed crutches and a moon boot. Top tip: don’t put your foot up on the dashboard when you’re the passenger. My car got written off, wasn’t insured.

A close family member did something absolutely horrific to me. I can’t tell anybody which lost me people. I hardly have any people left ... some of them can go suck a dick, some I miss terribly. Terrible thing, this head of mine. It wants me dead. I don’t want me dead ... Rocco said “Mum you’re living until you’re 100 so you’re halfway through life.” I adore that boy. I adore my other boy - who is now 18. Wow.

Thought it was a great idea to go off all my mental health medications resulting in being catatonic for two months. Bugs and caterpillars started to creep inside my house and I didn’t know if they were real or if I was real or if I was dead? I hardly left the house except to pick Rocco up from school every second week. When he’s here we eat veggies and steak and talk deep while I dig deep to be present and take him places and have sleepovers. Sleepovers are the best - especially eleven year old boys who are still earnest and haven’t realised a few things about the world yet.

I have a huge basal cell carcinoma on the back of my shoulder which is getting cut out next week. I’ve ignored it for about a year because I haven’t been looking after myself. Had a mammogram on Christmas Eve and still waiting for the results but everything’s shut. Playing a waiting game with that one .... bit of a lump near an enlarged lymph node.

What else um I’ve been pretending and lying to people about pretty much everything because I haven’t been living just existing but they knew anyway. I can’t live like this anymore so I won’t. Nobody deserves this type of suffering. I’ve been so ashamed. And small - I haven’t felt this small since I was a kid trying to survive.

I joined a womens group which got me out of the house and talked to lovely people and got a new therapist. Who is incredible and doesn’t eat popcorn when I unfurl my life. Crying and crying. Ten tissues at a time. Learning that some of us can relive trauma again and again. She’s really actually helping. Society and advertising tell people like me to “get help.” Getting help is hard when you can’t find your socks or keys or wallet or hope or people to help you get help. THIS is the crux of all this mental health awareness suicide prevention RUOK R2D2.

I miss my brother. I miss my brother. I miss my brother. I miss my brother. Sometimes it all comes back. Took me a while to realise how much I blame myself and nobody can say platitudes to make me change my mind.

Ok so that’s me how you doing? Are you ok ... really really? I hope you are, Computer. I have missed you bad. You know this writing on this website is a part of me but I couldn’t write my way through last year like I usually do.

I actually broke. My life was scattered everywhere around me and I was drowning.

Someone came into my life and is actually helping me. Bono says a friend is someone who lets you help. I`m not used to accepting help but I couldn’t do this by myself anymore. There are still good, true people in the world. Literally thank God for that.

I couldn’t go to the U2 concert. I couldn’t go to the Eminem concert. I could hardly get up off the couch to go to the fucking dunny can.

That’s all gone. Twenty twenty vision now. I have visions, hope, a pocket of old fashioned caramels that remind me of my grandfather. He fought in WW2 ..... this fight the world is having now? It’s a spiritual fight. We need to help each more than ever. I will not crumble like this ever, ever again.

See you tomorrow, lovers.

(Oh and by the way if you live in my town and have heard gossip about me? Just letting you know it’s not true .... the truth has been much worse ok great chat.)

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