Dooce, You Beautiful Motherfucker.

Fuck me dead it took a hot minute to remember the buttons to press to upload a new post here. There’s some demolition and reconstruction work being done on the back end of this website of mine. This collage of catastrophes. This missive of memories.

This blog.

Something terrible has happened. As a tribute of sorts I’m writing this tonight for Heather who will never kiss her daughters goodnight again because she committed suicide this week. I can’t believe it. I just … struggling for words.

She paved the way for thousands of us. She was a brilliant writer, said motherfucker a LOT, she underwent electric-shock-therapy for her depression a couple years ago and urged me to do it because our brains were waaay similar. I made the appointment and a few weeks later she messaged me just one sentence: “Crazy Australian, how was your appointment.”

Told her I didn’t go so she sent me a single question mark. I followed with the laugh-cry emoji and “Mate I was too depressed to go.”

Then we just kept exchanging the death skull emoji in increasing increments until one of us gave up.

One of us gave up.

Sometimes we’d share the darkest most fucked-up memes possible; shit that if you posted online you’d get CRUCIFIED for but anything to stay alive, right?

Speaking of staying alive last week I joined this new app called TikTok have you heard of it. I’m doing a video a day for 365 days - committing to a whole year seemed like the most logical conclusion to jump-start my synapses in a creative way. Oh for fucks sake I’ll just say it instead of PUSSYFOOTING AROUND: I’m always on the lookout for ways to not kill myself and this seemed as good as an idea as any. I didn’t link my socials over there, wanted to stay anonymous. But I’m blowing my cover now. Feels like I now need to do the whole 365 days more than ever.

This is just a screenshot .. I’ve tried for an hour to embed the code but I JUST CAN’T and I'm crying but it's not about that. You are so welcome to join me, my name is Eeeedie over there and I’m either clunky, nervous, completely manic, sad ...all of the feelings, all of the time. I’ve met some lovely people which is nice but I’m doing it for me more than anything else especially now. ESPECIALLY now.

The topics I’ve covered so for include a brothel in Newcastle, trying to crack on to an arsonist in the psych ward when I was 26, the time I was broke and deciding whether to rob a servo … you know, normal things. Siri how does a depressed person do an OOTD? Out of all the apps in appland TikTok is the most mentally unwell. It’s fucking wild. Sometimes at 3am in the morning when both night and Soul are at their darkest I’ll scare the fuck out of my cat by laughing so loud and my face feels like it might fall off because I haven't laughed for such a long time..

Anyway. I gotta go make some bolognaise for Max and Rocco because it tastes best after it’s marinated a few days. They specifically ordered it for Mothers Day weekend and I can’t wait to just sit at the dinner table and watch them eat, talk, laugh at each other. Watch a movie on the couch. Kiss them goodnight.

You know what? I DID remember what I was saying to her at that moment but I didn’t want to write it because it sounded too cocky so I censored myself but fuck that: We were talking about GOMI, the well-known hate site for bloggers at the time. I told Heather that when I read my thread (come on, you would too) I’d go in and correct things under my own name. She couldn’t believe the audacity, I told her I just couldn’t be fucked to make a fake account like other bloggers did and go in to defend myself. 

Heather never could hide what she was feeling and neither can I. We lost a real one and the world needs all the real ones it can get. God bless you Heather Armstrong, you beautiful motherfucker.