You Don’t Want Kids?

And then they follow up with, I am a single woman, in her 30’s, who does not want children. “OMG! Blasphemy! Won’t somebody please think of the children?!”. Sure, ask literally any of my friends circulating in Facebook-land, it’s an epidemic right now. Babies are popping out left right and centre, and sure, they are cute, squishy, little aliens, who look a bit like us. I suppose that’s a’ight. This is not a plight on babies, and certainly not on those who choose to produce their own adorable little crotch goblins. No, this is simply my open letter to the next well-meaning stranger who asks me about the future of my lady parts.

my kinda partyThe problem with being a woman of a certain age is that suddenly the entire world becomes fascinated with the contents, or lack there-of, of your uterus. So let me just clear that up right off the bat. I am potentially infertile, and I’m not fussed about it. At the spry, young age of twenty-one I went on an experimental form of chemotherapy for a tumour I had in my spine. I was told in no uncertain terms, that as the drug was still in the experimental stage that it was unknown what side effects, if any, it would have on my fertility, and did I want to freeze my eggs just in case? I shuffled awkwardly in front of my dad, my equally unprepared boyfriend, and my male doctor, then shrugged. That was the entire extent of that discussion. I guess I could find out what’s going on in the barren waste-land that is my vagina, but honestly I spend half my life in-and-out of the doctors office anyway, and the only reason I would even care if I’m fertile is so I didn’t freak the fuck out every time I forgot to take my OCP (oral contraceptive pill, for the boys in the back). I have thought about checking it out and donating my eggs, but (and I’ll address this later in more detail), I am not a desirable candidate for making a healthy, happy human. Trust me, no one wants this lady goo! In the words of Queen Bae,“I don’t think you’re ready for this jelly.”.

Funny Pictures Of The Day - 43 PicsBeing single just increases outsiders’ anxiety that your God-given gift of producing life may shrivel up like a lifeless raisin before you make use of it…along with your worth as a woman of course (excuse me while I roll my eyes into the back of the head and vomit in my mouth). Allow me to get on my feminist soap box for a moment and ask; isn’t it interesting that men, as non-offspring-growing vessels, do not have the same pressure of their worth forsaking them with age? They can just…be! My god, what an unimaginable freedom. That being said, I truly feel #blessed that I am a woman who simply does not picture myself making my own “miracles”. That’s not to say I don’t see children in my life. Despite the tone of this essay, I like children. I like being around my friends’ kids, and I reserve the right to change my mind at any stage and have my own little cretins.

To quote the always poignant Ben Folds Five:

Ben Folds

“Tell me what I said I’d never do, 

Tell me what I said I’d never say,

Read me off a list of the things that I used to not like but now I think are okay!”.

But, if I’m honest with myself, I think I’d be much happier adopting forty blind rescue kittens, several three-legged dogs, and in the unlikely occurrence that I change my mind and want a small human to hang around and worship me, I would adopt. Obviously because I’m such a kind-hearted person with a giving soul…psych! It’s because no poor unsuspecting child deserves to be forced into my sickly gene pool. This shit is whack.

Meowzers, quelques jours sont juste un peu plus difficile que d’autres non ? Parfois, vous voulez juste pour se lover dans le lit et se blottir chats autant que possible. Juste au cas où votre lit n’est pas assez grand pour la quantité de chats vous avez besoin, pourquoi ne pas faire les choses un peu plus simple et égayer votre journée et votre maison par ce cadrage anti affiche de chat kitty antidépresseurs ? Assurez-vous de prendre un un jour ! L’affiche est livré en format A3 (297 mm x 4...

Isn’t it wild how your teens and early twenties are all about avoiding pregnancy at all costs? It is drummed into our heads from a young age that pregnancy is quite literally the most terrifying thing that can come out of having sex (LOL!). Then one day you wake up and you’ve missed the calling of some invisible body clock, relentlessly ticking away as it hunts you down like the clock-swallowing crocodile from ‘Hook’ (always with the modern references). Suddenly friends are talking at you about ovulation and minivans, and mucous plugs and family ‘vaycays’, and whether or not you are going to freeze your eggs, and all I can think about is poached or scrambled with my avocado toast (coz millennial)! It is crazy overwhelming and also extremely gross. Please, and I mean this with all the love and respect in the world; please never mention your mucous plugs to me. I am not now, nor ever will be emotionally prepared for that shit. Thank you in advance.

Hi, This is a blog dedicated to Sex and The City, Here I'm going to post photos, quotes, songs, videos and screencaps. If you can find someone to love the you you love ... well that's fabulous! Carrie Bradshaw.♥ Please do not steal my pictures (screencaps) and do not steal my picture erase my blog's name and post as your own, there's a reblog button for a reason... if you do I hope you get hit by a monster truck.. just kidding I'm not that mean. But I hope something bad happens to your ...

To the well-meaning people who look desperately into my eyes and say variations of, “You will never love anything like you love your child!”. First of all, rude. Stop saying this to people. Secondly you’re probably right. I believe a mothers’ love is probably very different to any other form of love I have experienced. Just as romantic love is different to familial love, which is different again to self-love, or the love of a dear friend. This might be a controversial response, but… I don’t want to love anything that much. I truly, truly don’t. It scares the living shit out of me. To me it doesn’t fill me with warmth and hope, thinking about the unborn spawn of my loins. I feel a premature grief. I don’t want to feel like my heart is living “outside my body”. That sounds completely terrifying to me!

The fear is one thing, but the love is another. The way my brain experiences love is extreme. Romantic love is often so intense for me that it is both physically and emotionally painful. I cannot for the life of me imagine the pain of loving a tiny, sweet, helpless, little human that needs me. I can feel the burden of heart-aching love in my chest as I write this. My legs are tense and my chest tight, my breathing has physically changed, and may I remind you…I am writing about a non-existent child!

Nobody cares??? Try again. YOU obviously do. You can't stay away from my Pinterest and criticize every aspect of my life. Try again, Molly.I once had a dream that I had adopted a gorgeous little boy. When I woke up I cried for days, pining for my little Edwardo to return to me! I grieved my pretend, Mexican, dream baby! I am an insane person. Imagine if I actually made my own human, reared it (is that human children? Sounds like something you’d do to a cow), loved it more than anything, and then something horrible happened to it. Every time my child got sick, or bullied, or experienced heartbreak, I would also be heartbroken, and then what use am I? Maybe I am strong enough to handle that, who knows, but I do know that if given the choice, I’d rather not.

HOPE..... The pain goes away.... They find a cure for Chiari!!!Children are these creatures of innocence that represent hope, right? Well, I as a pessimist must ruin everything beautiful and good, so here goes. I remember seeing a teen/coming of age movie staring a young Christina Ricci and Demi Moore when I was in high school. You know the ones; someone gets their period while wearing white jean shorts, and someone else stuffs their bra with tissues to impress pre-pubescent boys. Demi’s character, Sam, was talking about why she didn’t want children, and honestly, nothing has ever made more sense to me. The scene went like this:

Roberta (played by Rosie O’Donnell): “I think you’ll make a great mum Chrissy, a little overbearing and rigid, but by the grace of God the kid will come out relativity unharmed, if not there’s always therapy.”.

Samantha (Demi Moore):This whole baby thing baffles me, I mean you have it, you raise it, you inevitably screw it up, it resents you, feels guilty for resenting you and then it has a baby, which only perpetuates the vicious cycle.”. 

Roberta:Thank you, Oscar The Grouch.”.

In a nut shell that’s why I choose not to reproduce. So you can blame my private school education for that one! But hey, it made sense to me. If I don’t have kids, I can’t fuck them up. You can’t traumatise someone who doesn’t exist! That’s science bitches.

 

Image result for science bitchesAdditionally, have you seen the state of the world (said in Chandler Bing’s voice naturally)? The amount of people I know in their thirties with serious/lifelong illnesses is shocking. Without getting too deep down the rabbit hole, I believe it is because the earth is sick and people are stressed. I mean, Donald mother-fucking Trump is president, our fishies are full of trace plastics (which we in turn ingest), and there is not enough grain to sustain the amount of meat we are producing, even though half of which we are throwing out because we cannot consume it before it rots! I could go on, but it’s too depressoccino (that’s the worst word I’ve ever made up so I am forced to leave it in here to challenge my fragile ego. Abuse me, I deserve it)!

Crazy Ex-GirlfriendWe all know the world is in trouble and yet we keep reproducing. The population problem is out of control and we are running our unsustainable resources into the ground. Now, this isn’t to say I really give a shit. I mean it sucks but what more can we as the ‘little guy’ do? I recycle, I use public transport when I can, I limit my meat consumption, and I don’t use plastic straws because turtles are the adorable grandparents of the ocean. But I am a nihilistic pessimist and I don’t have much hope that the children of our generation won’t be living in a Mad Max style environment, fighting to the death for a drop of clean water. There are too many people hanging about for my liking, and people stress me the fork out! I can count the amount of people I like on one hand! What if my kid’s an arsehole and I’m forced to unconditionally love him for the rest of eternity, because parenthood? Ew.

That's not very nice, now is it?Anyone worked with kids? I ask because I truly believe we wouldn’t have a population problem if everyone who was thinking about having children was forced to spend an extended amount of time with them before they commit to the idea. I get having a baby is a fun concept, and that (most) people have this animalistic instinct to reproduce. I do understand. Even I, with my ice-cold heart, hit twenty-eight and my hormones lost their baby-making minds! I would cry with joy when I saw babies in prams, I wanted to jump everything that moved, and I desperately wanted eighteen ankle biters, YESTERDAY! But within a year it passed. I breathed a sigh of relief that I hadn’t gotten pregnant to a nameless chap at a very drunken beer festival in the mountains of Italy (hypothetically…), and I once again chastised myself. Actually I lie, it didn’t just pass. I went on the contraceptive pill for my psychotic brain that fluctuates between homicidal and suicidal tendencies once a month during PMS. And although I am no longer experiencing those feelings (score!), I have been left with zero sex drive. Zero. Zip. Zilch. NADA! I’ve essentially been chemically castrated by the pill… but hey, better than murder (as I always say)!

Image result for is this parentingWhen I ask about working, or spending an extended amount of time around a group of mini sex-trophies, I’m not talking about an hour or two babysitting your sisters’ kids while she’s at hot yoga. I’m talking eight plus hours of out-of-school-hours’ care, primary school teaching, live-in nannying, or looking after a baby who has been hooked to mums boob since the day it was set free of its womb-locker, and screams like a banshee in anyone else’s care. Non-stop. For hours (by the time mum came home we were both crying, and hated each other more than I ever thought it humanly possible). No, I’m talking having to run around and be entertaining while nursing the hangover from hell. Or cutting and pasting for six hours straight, while a five-year-old by your side is screaming because he’s eaten all the Clag and he’s still hungry! Or god forbid you get a cold. Parents are not allowed to get sick. You don’t get a full day of rest when you have the flu, you can’t curl into a ball and cry for your mummy when you get your period, and forget about just having an ‘off day’, because there is a tiny human that needs to be taught how to exist in the world. I don’t even know how to exist! Bear Grylls says that if you are cold and lost in the wilderness that you should crawl into the belly of an antelope. Does that help? Am I parenting yet?

Image result for cool grandma instagramIf you have or want children, please don’t take any of the shit I’m spouting as personal judgement. This is purely about my choices. Me, me, me! I am an unusual case because my emotional intelligence is probably stuck somewhere in the fourteen to fifteen-year-old mark, whereas my physical body is likened to that of an 80-year old woman with degenerative disease. I know, hot right? I am not the norm (understatement of the year). I am a sleepy gal, who is constantly in pain or sick with one thing or another. I am essentially one of those sickly children you see in renaissance paintings; lying pale and fragile in their mothers’ arms. Fun fact; most of them are already dead when the painting is taking place. Is that a fun fact? See, I shouldn’t be allowed near children! Jesus take the wheel!

Split by omarmajeedIf there is one thing I’m great at, it’s collecting mental illness diagnosis. I have the holy trinity; major depression, social anxiety and bipolar, plus a cheeky number of maladaptive personality traits, just to keep me on my toes. If you’ve ever seen the movie Split, yeah, that should give you a hint into the ‘exciement’ that is my brain hole! So cute you guys! My doctors call me a “complex case” (which my borderline personality finds very validating)because I’m chock full of both chronic mental and physical illnesses. Honestly, invite me to your next party, I swear I’m a hoot! I can’t guarantee which personality will attend, but I can promise it will be unforgettable (and slightly terrifying…)!

Mean girls -- I'm not a regular mom, I'm a cool mom!In all seriousness, having even one mental illness substantially increases the likelihood of death by suicide. I’m going to throw some facts at’cha, so prepare your faces to shocked and mood to despondent. 15% of people diagnosed with bipolar 1 or 2, or MDD (major depressive disorder – that’s not like regular depression, that’s like cool depression…and by cool I mean seriously fucking awful), will die by suicide*. That’s actually die. The percentage of people who make unsuccessful attempts, or simply exist in debilitating sadness which prevents them from general ‘life-ing’ is so high it’s, well, DEPRESSING! These figures increase significantly again when there are co-morbid conditions; meaning there is more than one mental health condition present, or there are additional factors such as addiction, disease, or chronic pain involved. Sufferers of bipolar also have a 10-20 year less life expectancy than the general population. This is due to a myriad of factors including addiction, death by suicide, and the added risk of stress-related health conditions such as cancer, diabetes and heart disease*. As someone with ALL of the mental illnesses (my mum calls me creative!), additional chronic pain and illness, and a serious history of addiction; quite frankly it’s a miracle I’ve made it this far. Not to be a buzz-kill but the statistics aren’t great for a gal like moi! I’m not saying I’m currently drafting my suicide letter, but I am realistic about the fact that my mental illness may eventually be my demise. It’s okay, don’t be sad. You’re lovely. 

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My ‘quirks’ can indeed be channelled into my creativity on a good day. But as moodily glamorous as mental illness and addiction can be portrayed in films featuring cool, sexy people like Heath Ledger and Brittney Murphy, the reality is much more like, well, their reality; prematurely dying alone, with a mixture of prescription pills scattered across the bedside table. The days when my brain has decided to take a sanity sabbatical look more like this; sleep, so much sleep, crying hysterically, watching fourteen straight hours of reality television (although, I have been known to do this when happy), possibly drinking myself blind, then crying myself to sleep (in a two birds with one stone type situation). Imagine a child in that household. Even if I was able to eliminate the drinking, does a child (or anyone for that matter) want to watch a catatonic adult fade in and out of consciousness for days or weeks on end? Months?
The longest I’ve been suicidally depressed for is two whole years! And you best believe I was trying my hardest to get the hell outta that funk. Meds, phsycho & phsychi appointments, exercise, blah blah blah. Put comatosal depression aside for a minute, what if I slid into bipolar mania and, I dunno, spent my life savings on a useless coconut plantation in Fiji (shout out to my late father who was also bipolar…obviously). No, I can’t put a child through that, and I don’t want to. I don’t blame my dad for anything. He was a genius and a madman and I loved that about him, but there is no denying he was difficult. Just as I am. And when you know better, you do better…or at least I’m giving it my best shot.

It is true that there is a strong and clear line of mental illness on my fathers’ side, and if I am anything to go by, it gets worse with each passing generation. With all the reasons I’ve laid out, this is a big one. I would hate to pass on any of my illnesses to my poor unsuspecting crotch fruit. I’ve had cancer, and that was a ball breaker. But the mental illnesses, and the insidious nature of my chronic fatigue and fibromyalgia are madness inducing, soul-sucking, life-ruiners. For the most part, I struggle my way through life on this mortal coil! I’m pretty sure I was born having an existential crisis. Sometimes it’s bearable and other times it’s not. The hours I have put into fantasising about being a cat are plentiful. What a nice simple life. All I would have to focus on would be whose lap to nap on, and what next to whack off the table nonchalantly. Yes, that is a life I could make sense of.

SpaceAlienInvasionFinally, I’ll answer the question of who will take care of me when I’m old and grey. Well, who the fuck knows? Probably some kind, young, nurse named Charles, who won’t blink an eye when I piss myself, or when I scream bloody murder because I can’t find Pepper; my dead cat of 40 years. Often we naively assume that having children will provide us with a couple of things; 1. We will be returned the same unconditional love we have gifted them, and 2. That the love they have for us will be enough for them to want to take care of a mental old loon who thinks you are the house-keeper that keeps stealing her jewellery! I know, I’m the most depressing person in the world! I’m sorry! My mother is an angel and I will gladly(-ish) apply talcum powder to her sweaty under-boob when she’s a decrepit old crone (love you mum!). I’m just saying, nothing is certain, and not everyone can be lucky enough to have a daughter as generous and self-sacrificing as me! It’s just not fair!

I’m just realising that it’s interesting I would rather reject the concept of my unborn (and unfertilised) egg-child now, before it ever gets the opportunity of rejecting me first. Yeesh. I think the roots of this might go a little deeper than I ever anticipated… but just to be safe, I better stop writing before I learn too much about my inner child-baring psyche and accidentally start reproducing! I scurred.

 

Ben Folds Five – ‘Do it Anyway’

 

*Links re. mental illness facts:

 

Let’s Talk About S..[uicide] Baby

I am what Instagram and online articles like to refer to as the “toxic” friend. I’m sure you’ve seen this on the cover of Cosmo before, How to eliminate toxic people from your life!”. There are few headlines that chill me to the bone and ignite my fear of abandonment more that this. I am terrified that if any of my limited group of friends were to scroll through that click bait that they would instantly realise that they indeed have that person in their life, and whaddyaknow?, it is yours truly! What isn’t given in those articles is the other point of view and in the light of so many high profile suicides of late, I would like to offer just that. I understand that suicide is an incredibly vulnerable subject and an exceptionally individual experience. So, keep in mind that this is solely my recount of living with long-term suicidal ideation and how this has impacted the way I view suicide as a form of death.

Moonlight Densetsu

I know that my suicidality annoys people. There, there, it’s okay, I’m aware. It’s not that people are inherently unkind or selfish, but generally speaking, humans are fixers. We see an issue, we want to fix it and move on. Done and dusted! So when confronted with a “problem” that seemingly has no quick fix or cure, it makes us increasingly uncomfortable and frustrated. As sufferers of suicidal ideation we already feel as though we are a burden on those around us, and being that we are largely quite sensitive individuals we can sense this frustration and blame ourselves. We in turn want to “fix” what is causing your frustration, but knowing (or simply assuming) that we are the cause, can mean that we hide away and isolate ourselves more as to not upset you. Sadly, this response furthers our loneliness and discontent, and pushes away what ultimately is the only remedy; love and a sense of belonging.

☆~Ella birak~☆Fostering an accepting community is key for a sense of wellbeing. Without it we are like the lost lamb of the herd; alone, disoriented and vulnerable to threat. This forces us to tap into our survival instincts, and being that humans are pack animals, this places a huge strain on one little lamby’s (or persons’) shoulders. In N.A. (narcotics anon.) the importance of community is held at the highest regard. The statement let us love you back to health,”, is heard time and again. A simple, but powerful statement (if a tad culty). At the same token, what walked most of us into that room was the crushing loneliness and sense of complete and utter overwhelm, that drove us to our addictions in the first place. I have said it before and I truly believe that loneliness and isolation is a killer. So, what the funk do we do? We can stay in bed, hidden under the blankets and surrounded by crumbs of old food and an empty bottle of vodka. Not a terrible option when you feel like nothing matters. Or… we can do our darndest to pull up our mouldy socks and slap on a fake-ass smile, in the hopes that maybe spending time with us isn’t completely unbearable and we will feel less painfully alone. However, this is exhausting. Just as it is for you to spend time with us when we feel like shite. I get it, it is intimidating to be around the angry, volatile gal. It’s boring and draining to hang out with the sad, mopey boy. And it is uncomfortable and at times even awkward or embarrassing, to be around the emotionally unstable cray bish (it’s cool, I can say that coz I’m 70% cray). It’s not ideal and we may not even be able to show our gratitude, but trust me, your friendship is appreciated.

awh

All death is difficult, but for some reason there is an added heaviness in our hearts when we hear about someone taking their own life. I am in two minds about this. I feel incredible sadness for the intensely agonising place someone must be in, in order to go against every single animal instinct that their body, mind and spirit has evolved to protect them from. But I, maybe unusually, feel immense joy for their current freedom. Let’s think on that for a moment. Literally since we were tiny little, single-celled amoeba bobbing about this mortal coil, we have been biologically programmed to survive and reproduce. Survive and reproduce. That’s our only job. So in order for a person to have the “desire” to take their own life and then follow through with that action, they must be in such an extreme state of distress, for a long enough period of time, to override their own chemical make up. That is not a small feat. The stages involved in musing about, planning, and then finally acting on a suicide attempt, are many and complex. There is the agonising about every layer of leaving loved ones, comparing the pain of staying with the freedom of nothingness, the fear of what actually going through with it might feel like or look like to those who find you, how people might perceive you and call you a coward who took the “easy way out” (seriously, don’t even get me started! It boils my blood when I hear that.), the list is endless. This is important to consider because it shows us that not only are we overriding our own animal instinct, but we must somehow override the voices of the external world and our own logical mind, not once, but at each and every stage, many times over, before any action would ever take place. This is a person in desperation.

Zippity doo dah

In my experience (and I’m sure many professionals will disagree), prior to finding the correct treatment, depression is a progressive disease. I found myself advancing to a new stage in my mind each time a major depressive spell, which lead into suicidal thinking, occurred. When I first started having suicidal thoughts as a teenager, I wouldn’t necessarily want to die, I just wished I didn’t exist anymore. I’d fantasize about getting hit by a truck and boom! Lights out! That sounded easy to me. Over time and over many years and extensive traumas, these thoughts evolved. As my internal pain became deeper and more incessant, my thoughts of suicide became more detailed and held more conviction. Right up until 18-months ago, when I was checked into a facility and asked point blank, how I would do “it” by the on-call physician. I looked at him with tired, sunken eyes and without a moments hesitation told him my game plan. I had been over it in my head a million times by this point and the only thing preventing me from acting it out was the last tiny glimmer of internal strength I had left. I had no fear of death or dying, and this still rings true today. In fact, I was looking forward to it. I think that’s when you know you’ve checked out. Of course, the bastard then went on to debunk my “genius” plan of self destruction and described to me in intimate detail how it both, wouldn’t work and would in fact make my, and my families’ lives much worse. Ughhhhhh, fine I won’t kill myself! Farrrrrrrck! So, in hindsight…cheers dude, you saved my life. Even if I did spend the next hour abusing you for ripping away what, at the time, seemed like my last hope for relief. Saaaarry! 

Even though I am no longer actively suicidal, I have noticed that spending so long in that place has fucked with my neural pathways a bit. I am very quick to jump to suicide as a “solution” to a comparatively minor problem. “Oh nooooiii I lost my slipper! I wish I was dead!”. Okay that may be a slight exaggeration, but the point is, it’s disproportionate. Thankfully, these spells only last a few days or weeks now, which may sound a lot, but compared to TWO BLOODY, MOTHER FEKKING YEARS (hem hem…excuse me, still working though some shtuff…), it’s doable. The other thing that has warped in me wee brain hole is that I find the idea of bringing a child into the world a really horrific concept, and not just because I hear you are meant to poop it out of your delicate lady pocket (that’s science bitches)! No, I’ve never really wanted kids, but that was more from a desire to be a 90’s-Ally McBeal-inspired, career gal. Now it is much more driven by the bone-chilling fear that any child born with my DNA is not only susceptible to cancer and chronic illness, but also holds the potential of developing several debilitating mental illnesses and being raised on a view that the world is a giant cesspool of darkness and suffering! Also Trump is president. So like… I dunno if it’s for moi. Additionally, I have the genuine concern that if I was to have a child, I cannot guarantee that I could survive if I fell into another long-term suicidal episode. It sounds ridiculous I’m sure. “How could you not stick around for your baby?”, “Just think of their smile and all your problems drift into oblivion!” blah blah, motherhood is a gift, blah blah. I remember my first heart break and my last and I don’t want to feel this ever again... it’s just too painful.But being suicidal is not just a deep sadness. It is an all-consuming rotting of your heart and ripping of your soul. It is the sense that you will never ever feel anything but despair, darkness and loneliness for the rest of your life. It is heavy and gnawing and you can feel it physically in the twisting of your gut, the aching of your heart and the heavy, dragging of your limbs. It is desperately trying to stay alive when every second your entire being is begging you to be put out of its misery. It is being on your death bed, without a plug to pull. No release is coming for you. Pure and simple, it is hell on earth. I survived it once. I made it. But, I can not and will not promise a tiny human that I could do that again.

I cannot imagine the hell my mother went through as we sat on my bed together and I wept uncontrollably and desperately begged her to let me die. Begged! I just wanted the permission to let go. Of course she was never going to say “sure kiddo!” and send me on my way. I don’t believe what lead me to this place is necessarily important, but essentially it was a combination of several mental health issues, chronic physical illness and a series of significant deaths and losses that occurred in a very short period of time. Basically, my brain imploded in on itself. I have this theory that a certain amount of trauma strengthens us, but that there is a tipping point at which it becomes too much and we start to buckle under the pressure. From that place, in my experience, it’s hard to rebuild from the rubble. Not impossible, but certainly much more difficult, and that’s where I live now. In a kind of limbo.

I have always said, I am an acquired taste. To quote Ramona Singer, who clearly needs no introduction (but just for the record is an O.G. from The Real Housewives of New York), “I’m an acquired taste. If you don’t like me, acquire some taste!Okay, she’s brash and entirely unlikeable, but she’s got a point. I acknowledge I am a difficult person to get close to, and some may argue, even more difficult to be close to. I don’t have a large group of friends, but the people that have chosen me and accepted me have proven to love me through seriously fucking ugly times. When in a deep depression, people inevitably fall away, and it will hurt like a mother fuck! People you thought would be there through thick and thin will disappear and never come back (I know. Fuck, it’s a real gut punch!). What I have learned is that some (many) people just can’t handle watching someone else suffer, and even more can’t stand the feeling of helplessness that comes with that. It fucking sucks major monkey balls! It really does. But hear this, it is not about you being a burden or a giant pain in the arse. It’s their own baggage burdening them. It’s horrible, especially when you are going through a period of suicidal feelings because you already feel completely alone. I feel you! because she's a sociopathBut if you can, look out for the people who are still on your team through those times. I have constantly been surprised by the people who have come out of the wood works to offer support, friendship, a drink of wine, or an ear to whine at, and from those have come some extremely significant friendships.

:p

Honestly (and unfortunately), this is a hindsight thing. In my experience it is practically impossible to see who is there for you while you are in the midst of it all, and that makes it really tough. It must be tough on the friends that are there too, because I’m sure they feel like they are doing as much as they can, but it’s just not penetrating. Soz y’all! My advice to loved ones would be to become really overt with your affections. Don’t send wishy washy texts like “let me know if you need me/anything.”, this is not helpful. We need so much we don’t even know what we need! Something more like, “OMG you showered today! I’m so proud of you!”, or “I’m picking you up in 10, you need an airing out.”. Don’t organise long outings, they are exhausting; coffee breaks and little walks are plenty. Bring some food like you would if someone was sick, coz um…they are! It’s so easy to forget that. Man, if I received the amount of casseroles I got when I had cancer, while I was terminal with depression, well hot damn!, I would’ve been so full of stewed meats I’d forget what ever made me blue in the first place! Bc I persist through space and time. When I cease to exist in time, I will cease to exist in space. But will I still occupy the space from a previous time or is it all just vapor? Is the moment real? Does anything really mean anything or is it all transitory en route to some greater end? Maybe time is just a chemical reaction and will last as long as the transformation requires. Maybe it's much more complex than that...Alternatively, if you are too busy or someone who struggles to physically engage in difficult situations, take a page one of my beautiful friends’ book and send a box of personalised goodies. A couple of my girlies got together and created a kind of gift box full of simple stuff like chocolates, coloured pencils, a colouring book, some letters of support and calming tea. It made me realise that I was important enough to somebody to have spent time thinking about. I remember feeling like, oh my god, I exist!”Which was bizarre, after feeling like I was less of a person and more of an empty, expansive void for the longest time.

I know I’ve been a bit playful with such a serious topic; I dunno, tears of a clown or some shit. But the issue of having an invisible illness has never been more clear to me than when I was suicidal. I previously used the world “terminal” and I chose that word purposefully, because I have first hand experience that suicide is not a choice. I could seriously rant about this, but I think it is really one of those things that if you haven’t experienced suicidal ideation, it is quite difficult to make sense of. Alternatively, if you have, you will unequivocally know that given the “choice” to feel any differently, of course you would. As previously mentioned, it is not in our genetic make-up to want to die. That indicates something is seriously wrong. In fact, the strength it takes to not commit suicide is actually ludicrous. Lu-da-cris! I have never pulled so much strength from such piddly little reserves in all my life. There is no doubt, I was dying. It was slow, and excruciating, and all I wanted was for it to be over. Grown up? Me? I suppose I have. Killing things, and almost killing myself, must have changed me some, after all.Today I work extremely hard on maintaining my mental health and building my resilience to, well…existence essentially. But for the most part my brain is still like a bowl of mashed potatoes, trying to be squashed back into its jacket and pretending to fit in. I am forever changed; I predominantly view the world with a thin film of shit smeared over the lens, and I live in a perpetual state of existential crisis, but the fact that I am no longer actively suicidal provides insurmountable relief. Zomg I am so fun! Yikes…

Fuck, who knew I had so much to say! Just a couple more things. You are doing so well!

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The reason I wanted to explore how much long-term depression, ruminating thoughts and overriding our survival instincts comes into being actively suicidal, is because of the push-back against important programs like 13 Reasons Why, which explores mental illness and suicidal subject matter. The comment that these programs might be glorifying suicide is honestly laughable to me. Anyone who is contemplating suicide does not watch a program and think, “Ya know what, I didn’t think of that! Great idea!”No, they have most likely been obsessing about it for years before any planning or attempt ever takes place. The most it could do is plant a seed for the ‘how’ of it all, but at the end of the day, someone who doesn’t want to die will be as inspired to commit suicide by a television program, as someone who does will be swayed not to, by watching I dunno…something fun, Full House.? Yes. Great modern example… :/ It’s just not going to have an influence. As much as it may seem like it at the time, suicide is not something that just happens on a whim.

Love the mixed media and surrealism. But there's a goo message behind this one

My final comment is on the remarks that have come out about the high profile suicides recently. I have read a lot of statements about how Robin Williams was such a fun, generous man, Kate Spade was such a bright and talented woman, and Anthony Bourdain was successful and inspiring. All of these comments may be true but it doesn’t mean they didn’t suffer from depression or mental illness. I think there is a misconception that if you have depression, that you are always sad. Just walking around, dragging your feet and moping constantly. It’s not true. You go through periods of depression that may or may not have triggers and sometimes you can cope with them, and other times you can’t. Personally, I am a pretty pessimistic person (if you hadn’t yet figured that out), but I am still fun, funny, interesting, totes adorbs, stunningly good looking (am I getting derailed? Soz), and can experience love and joy, just like anybody else. It may be harder and I certainly need medication and a team of doctors to keep my mash potato brains in place, but it is not that suicide comes out of no where and nobody saw it coming. It is that for whatever reason, on that particular day of their life, it got too hard to fight. It is not a choice, it is not a weakness, or a giving up. It is a death. red-lips-and-heart-candy -#ravishingredAnd personally it is a death I choose to celebrate, because here is somebody who was suffering a great deal, who has finally got the peace and freedom they couldn’t find in this limited physical realm.

People who are suicidal need your love now. While they are at the most unlovable, ugly, irritating versions of themselves. Once they are gone, we can and should celebrate these incredibly individual, sensitive and empathetic people, because they are finally, after a life of struggle, at peace. And I know I am a weirdo, but to me, that is a beautiful thing.

Então, esta é a minha vida. E eu quero que você saiba que, eu sou tanto feliz e triste. E eu ainda estou tentando descobrir como isso poderia ser

Suicide helpline Australia: https://www.lifeline.org.au/ or call 131114

CATT: I have personally used and can endorse the Crisis Assessment and Treatment Team. They were fabulous when I needed them the most. Call: 1300 721 927