It feels so strange now that things are more ‘normal’. So much simplicity;
It no longer feels like the world is crammed so tightly around me
There is so much more space without the screaming in my head
Now it’s like I have to feel everything again. It’s not half so frightening as I once thought
I felt so much shame this past week when I broke a tooth- I knew it was beyond repair, and now that’s confirmed
Long after the anaesthesia I realise why I couldn’t have mended it before
Only now that every interaction or touch is not like a total sensory assault
I remember the shame in the supermarket, as I left baskets of groceries behind
Or kept my eyes from people I knew well. I think things were so intense inside I couldn’t stand any more
My whole life has been a spectrum of intensity
I always felt so exposed
Now it seems I’m unmasked again
But this time exposure does not cut to the bone
It’s still hard to believe it will continue this way. I had my first interview for foster care today. I was honest about where my mental health has been
I’ve come to realise that admitting is not the failure I once thought. Turns out if you let others know before you fall they are often happy to catch you
I used to be so afraid of that
It’s hard not to turn back;
But then to turn back I’d have to know how I got here first
But as I spoke to the foster care woman today it felt like I at least knew where the fragments were
So much of life lately is more about riding out feelings
Events themselves don’t last long. I picked my car up from Simon’s place on Thursday and drove home. He was a little more civil
I don’t know if it was the beginning of the day or if he thought on what I had said and how things might have seemed through my eyes
I don’t know if the blank lack of emotions is what he sees in me. He has hardened his heart full of toads and stones and I will not explore any part of that path again. He has built his nest and will have to find his own way out.
I didn’t stay the last night in the end but I left Thea there. I feel bad about that
I drove home with mostly Eurovision and my own thoughts for company. Mostly now it’s not an oppressive environment
And found that people- and my pets- were happy to see me
I am finding how to slip back into my life as it is now
I am building a spare room
And made space in my garden for more flowers than weeds. I will grow some vegetables too!
I had tea and cake with friends and got not one, but two hugs from one of my favourite boys- his mum will have trouble keeping away from the girls once he starts school!
I have been building things, but I do sometimes still feel that hollowness knowing I’m on my own. I don’t know whether this is voluntary, or a product of my own difference. Perhaps both?
I know that I enjoy having the freedom to wander and to see people as I do
I have for a long time. I’d like to find a way to share that, but I do not want to be owned
Is it folly to walk home from most concert
To find peace in my own thoughts
Music
Books
But turns out the independence I used to dream of as a sheltered child is not all for me
I have found a way into people like the ones I used to read about
I still seek my own time and space
It is my preserve
But things are not the same. I hope to begin as a foster carer
I asked my sister as she was going out if people talk to each other at Modest Mouse concerts- she said they don’t- and when I see her out in the city it is the same. Everyone walks to their own rhythm. Eye contact can even be hostile
I’ve been thinking about the Industrial Revolution and how cities are a part of evolution
How through them trade and industries flourished and for that people came together
But from when the first cities grew
There was illness
The lack of sunlight; the noise
The way people shuffle by and don’t speak
I wear my earphones and keep my music flowing as a talisman against the crowds
I’m slightly less hipster than this
I don’t cope so well in such a busy space
I guess this is what many of my guys face every day- this sensory overload
Sound; light; smells; sights
To the point where it invades everything and we have to take back our own space
I walked to town today. Just before Central Station I saw one of my favourite buidings
Above I think are apartments; below has been a specialised sneaker store as far as I remember but it is always covered in plants
Like nature trying to take it’s own back
Even in this fast-paced metropolis where anything and everything is available
I often wonder why people don’t talk to each other in the city. Not according to my sister. They always do with me
I talk to a girl in Dangerfield about her cats
A woman in an antique shop talked about the oldest dolls hospital
An elderly couple who helped me find my way on the bus
They moved to Balmain from Melbourne fifty years
A house was eight thousand dollars. I told them with the talk of property prices in electoral debates
That a home of my own was still a dream. I admire their piece of heaven
I met with a friend from college and her one year old son. We talked about the bets we had in college on who’d have children first; who had changed. In so many ways she is still the random, impatient her and I am still me but we are not the same. Maybe we have evolved in a way
I always see the same guys in Utopia record store. It’s a little friendlier there. Like Metal concerts people respect each other for their similar agendas
In that the decent downstairs provides an oasis from the busy street
The music varies and is not always to my taste- but you can respect it’s uniqueness
I remember the bus driver who helped me with directions
So many, many more
The woman in the sock shop says that she avoids the city because there are too many people
I think that’s why noone talks to each other
They are all searching for their own Zen and solitude
But it’s hard to find in a place where millions scurry
And people think this mixing and muddling together a melding of ideas
But it is far from a renaissance
I think I’ll stick to my conversations and headphones
I like to wander here, but I’ll be glad of the quiet when I go home
I went alone, but I found people to talk to. I always do
It’s how I roll
I caught the bus with a student from Newcastle. I hope he arrived home safe before 5am
This is not the guy I sat next to- but it is a cool picture 🙂
I stood between a tall guy who said he liked my armwarmers
A forensic science graduate-optometrist secretary at her first ever metal concert
We spoke with a chemistry lecturer, standing in front
Who finishes each topic with
Consign to Oblivion
In life that’s something we all must do
I saw scars on the lecturer’s arms. I hope the rest of his story is happier
I remember last time I saw Epica
With Simon
On the edge of anorexia. I remember how strongly I felt and saw at the concert musicians who played were comfortable in themselves. I went home resigned to eat my way out. In theory I knew I was as entitled to that self-content
Instead I walked a different direction
I’m glad it’s been three years since Epica. I don’t know if I would have had the physical strength to withstand a concert then (although saying that I am mostly made of stubournness)
The day before I drove Simon’s things
And Thea (his puppy) to Blacktown
Few thanks or words were exchanged
I fell asleep on his bed. He never did borrow the mattress he said he would
It was clear he got what he wanted. Thea
The lack of truth and integrity hurt the most
The sunblock in his bathroom he said he didn’t have
The Bodyshop sponge and Panteen
She is welcome to him.
My integrity feels stronger now. I told him I know where I stand
Where Simon lives- not for all of the people who live there, but for the attitude he adopted to move there
And left the next morning
I will stay on the way home- but take no more than I need. I don’t need that
Talking with so many people last week
I realise how few people I let in on my life. And just how many would have and wanted to help
I am rubbish with Google Maps and finding my way on Sydney buses (abundantly evident)
But I find my way through people. I like their intricacies
I walked through Newtown and found
A lady whose company make their own Rockabilly racewear
A girl who helped to move a shop full of crystals
Too many to count
I saw my friend with his wife’s sock stall yesterday
Each time we meet I watch just how many people come to the stall just to talk with him
How many stories
Perhaps he sold a little girl her FIRST pair of funky socks
There are certainly regular customers who come back
Tim explained the Zen of socks- to many to count- and having transcended to a stage where he doesn’t wear them. I think it’s just that he’s not a sock guy
My perspective has shifted these past days. I knew where I was with Simon, but now I don’t want or need him in my life. I am finding new connections. Many more than I would allow myself with him
I watched Epica from the second row- by myself- with the people I met
I can exist alone
And be myself. But I like those chance meetings and friendships
They are pieces of me, and in those pieces I am whole and strong
I’ve spent such a long time trying to make things as perfect as I can
Teachers said my writing was slow- I just wanted the letters to be perfect. They never were
Trying to make lines straight; the unmatchable match; mask each imperfection
In case people saw. But
The cracks always showed somewhere
It is this lesson I learn and unlearn
Stepping backwards and forwards, trying to guess which flaws are ok
We all have such different ideals
Today I pulled out most of the beans from my garden. The season has ended. I found some dried pods on some of the plants. Turns out the Zebra runner beans did grow after all. They were not lost, they only escaped my vision. I stripped the pods into the garden, ready for next summer
Again I underestimated the acidity of the tomatoes, or my ability to pull up the dying bushes without covering my skin. Nature 1: Alanna 0. The irritation will be gone by tomorrow. I had to admire the technicolor bruise on my knee while washing off after the garden. Once I covered every imperfection. I have not mastered the art of Not Giving A Fuck totally yet. Our shifting standards mean this will probably be a cross I will bear for sometime yet, but I can to some extent view my body without flinching now
I can’t admire every flaw, but I do also see in myself that I find beauty in these marks where others are concerned
I was even thinking today of the plans I’ve had to work on my own house one day. Making something whole from little pieces and things not wanted
I have not begun my studies yet
I’m contemplating any means of tactfully avoiding cooking dinner
Last night I went to listen to a friend play trumpet
I spent the day being thumped around by my favourite guys at work
Fell asleep at 3:00pm in my shoes
Woke just in time to dress to look like I hadn’t spent the day being rolled from one place to another
I think for me the biggest bonus was just sitting drinking my coke as the music flowed around. It made me realise how few constraints I have now. It’s nothing to do with relationships. Work commitments. Having to remember to close the bathroom door when I go to work so the puppy does not make short work of my toilet paper
There were still thoughts in my head. Multitudes of them. I’ve come to accept that perhaps I will never escape them all as the type of person I am. But I could still bring myself back with the music. I even managed a conversation with someone on the next table. He said he recognised me. Turns out he is a dietitian in community health and a friend of a friend. It’s funny how small our worlds are, but how steady our connections can be.
I walked to town today. Turns out the lady in the sweet shop was also out listening to jazz. We said next time we could go together. It’s nicer not having to worry too much about being hassled when you’re out alone.
It’s been a week of semi-solitary contemplation. Made me think of the Pensive in Harry Potter and the trails of thoughts within each of us
Seems that my thoughts are the place where I am most myself. These days, without that shadow of constraint. A friend said to me yesterday they see my independence and that a relationship is not something I need. Once I used to drift, like my thoughts. Walking to town today I saw someone I went to school with. We spent each lunchtime in the library. We rarely spoke, but occasionally connections were made. I have watched him walking in Armidale a long time. Sometimes we say hello. I hope he is happy- he still walks as he always did, with a slight spring in his step
In those library days I did not need connections. I did not trust them anyway
Now I am not the same. I have my independence- and anyone who thinks they will find a way around that is gravely mistaken. I have my thoughts, shifting within. But I have come to know people. I am open to many. I have learned the hard way that it is not in me to conceal my truth entirely. But I do, enough to protect myself
I miss that connection I occasionally find though. Their lack of judgement far surpasses my own views of myself and they make me see the world differently. I am in my essence a solitary bird
But in the sense that the people I connect with are just themselves a bit different too. It is ok to be together and apart with people. I still need that connection though
It feels like only recently the door has opened for me too
There is a world outside. It is different from what he said…
I was talking to a friend last night. I remembered a conversation with my parents. I was at uni. We were driving to Coffs Harbour. I can’t remember what I said. But I remember Mum saying that I was “weird”. That I couldn’t let other people see what I’m like and I should watch what I say. They won’t like it. That my family were the only ones who knew. But they didn’t, because I was different from them. That much was clear
That wasn’t where it started, but that was where the Filth that covered me came from. I remember lying in bed as a young child with few friends. It was there then, by the small light of my lamp. It was in me as I lay on the top bunk with the railing I chewed every night. I didn’t know why…
I’m guessing it’s the medication. A lot of other things too. I have space. It’s not just that the housemate who woke me up every night for a week is gone. It’s not that I eat breakfast. And lunch. And dinner. Whatever I like. And I don’t feel scared of it. Not often now.
I realised on the weekend when I was talking to a friend and trying to explain why it was that I can’t let people near. Why I shake. And shut down. It wasn’t quite then, but little by little I realised the door to the room I had been locked in
A-Rex was not there any more. For more years than I had been malnourished I had been trapped inside the room. I had decorated it. Made it my own. But it was still a prison. If I tried to go outside A-Rex would stop me. Like my parents; his lie told me that I needed his shadow
And though there were no locks or codes. With him I stayed. He told me that I was wrong. I always was.
I don’t know what made the door open. In the film it was an elaborate plan, tricking the captor. But for me, one day I just woke up and I was hungry. So I ate. And it felt ok, so I walked and did everything else for that day. And then another day came. Lots have been like that now. The fear is still there, but only like a shadow
Which stretches and fades
He is no longer my jailer. I am no longer his dirt. I don’t have to be that different. I am just me. Sometimes I can’t let people in and I can’t explain quite why. Sometimes I still get scared. Often I think, if I’m too much for others when I ask for help then they can’t help me. And I will just have myself, so why ask?
Then they can’t say no
But I am getting better. In the last part of the film they went back to Room. There was a boy who was born there. Before going outside it was his world. His mother knew the outside world, but it had been so long. She had so much to learn
It is hard to trust. And things I thought were true before- that there was just A-Rex. My Room- are not true. The picture is much bigger. Some of it is a lie, told to keep me in. Make me feel better about it. Lots I just didn’t know. I couldn’t. For the mother, the world has changed while she was inside. Like the boy, there are only some things I never knew
In a way I am both
But then I look to the jailers
And see how trapped inside they are
They believe the deal they sold me and because of that live within their own walls and limitations. Perhaps they built this with me inside because it was all they knew
I don’t know if it’s the lack of sleep (you’re never quite the same after a night shift and day sleep)
But since I woke up I’ve had this feeling of freedom. I get to choose
Leftover pizza for lunch
Some reading and the honey-trap that is facebook
Conversations and a trip to Bunnings to try sort out some house maintenance without calling the handyman
Talking with another support worker I know. Fears about the NDIS- what it will mean for work with our guys. He asked about my garden. I said I try and I love it, but life has been so busy- like a body I have had to cut down non-essential activities- gardening, walking places, anything other than work, sleep and eat so that I can maintain vital systems. I hope these limbs are still alive. I am trying to strike growth again
Meditations and talk with the teacher about how the Buddhist centre might be able to benefit from crowd funding. Enough to keep afloat
Inhale
Exhale
Flame Trees on the radio
As the shadows start to fall. I am myself, but with my less hesitation
The weekend brought a situation I am far, far from comfortable with. I wish I could be braver. But as a fundamental I can’t let people in.
Concepts of goodness are so far from what I see in myself. I can manage to feel neutral at best
If any more is said the fear kicks in. It paralises me; stops me getting outside of myself
I want to respond; I want to let others in
But to do so all I have to offer is myself- a product I see as fundamentally flawed
I move forward, but only by reflex
Like the curled granddaughter I watched on Friday
Even her directed-ness in crawling is less than I feel I have a right too when I am so limited in what I give
I know this is not what others see- a friend told me this as we stood in the afternoon sun by my newly mulched garden
I feel I give so little and that much is still tinged with fear
But like the heart I don’t feel flutter and falter as I eat one meal after another
I am stronger in a way. I have to trust this
I have to trust myself
And trust that “myself” is much more than I have ever had the insight to believe
As usual my words have an imperfection which betrays the feelings I moved with today
Images & words 