Who Am I?

I’ve been wrestling with my demons over this again recently and these are the thoughts that I could grab hold of tightly enough to scribble down…

Who Am I?

Am I… Kind? Loving? Funny? Loyal?

I’d like to say yes… but does it show? Can you see it? Can I show the world what is in this poor old heart of mine?

Am I…

Just my rage and fury?

When I am the rage monster I whirl and twirl and burn the world around me. My hurt and pain spin around me like the fires of hell. I’m dancing with my demons and all we want to do is burn, burn, burn.

My anxious heart beats, beats. The blood in my veins is fire. It consumes. I feel powerful and free. The rage inside finds its way out and




I could light the world on fire when I am angry and happily burn myself right along with it.

But the fire never lasts. When I’ve stopped spinning, when I’m standing on the shattered pile of everything I have broken, what do I have left? Who am I then?

Deflated, deflating…

Breathe in, breathe out.

Look around. I’ve burned it all down, but I’m not rising like the powerful dragon I imagined I was. I’m standing here alone like a god damn fool. I haven’t set the world on fire. I’ve only hurt myself.

Who am I now?

Who am I when that anger turns inwards?

When all I can hear is my own voice lying in my ear…

Who am I when she whispers, whispers, whispers. She’s the hardest to escape. Is she me?

Is she me when she tells me everything I’m afraid of?

My own voice telling me I’m awful, ugly, unwanted, broken, useless, cruel.

Who am I when she tells me I’m no good, not worth all this effort, all this fuss. That my own children would be better of without me, that my husband would be happier…

Oh, how she lies, that voice of mine. Lies and lies and lies until it starts to sound like truth.

Until the only thing that will make her just SHUT UP is that cool blade across my skin.

Yet even then, still she whispers…

Coward, coward, coward. Deeper, deeper, deeper.

But I never can, because maybe she’s right. Maybe I am a coward.

Who am I now? When all I have left is trembling bones in the aftermath of her attack, my hands full of blood and an aching, sorry heart.

Who am I when she’s silent?

I am alone in the sudden quiet. Even more lost than before.

Who am I now?

I am a woman who made a promise to myself not to do it again.

I am keeping that promise I made. I am working my therapy. Working, working, working to be ok. I’m holding myself tight, keeping my head above water.

I am my own best friend and my own worst enemy. I’m one year down with no cutting, now I’m two…

I’m waltzing with my demons and I’m winning.

Who am I now?

After all of this fucking work and effort and trying and failing. After all of this falling down and getting back up again. Who do I see when I look in the mirror?

Who am I?

I am… that girl who flirted so closely with death, who thinks too much about the nothing. Who can almost hear the eternal quiet ringing in her ears. Forever peaceful, almost free.

I am… the dragon inside who roars. That fire breather who defends me from the body blows. I am the one who knows that sometimes only the loudest scream can soothe that old familiar heart ache. I am the roar. I am the quiet afterwards.

I am… growing with all my pain. I am taking it with me. I am still here living. Still searching. Fixing my mistakes. Forgiving and loving and learning to move forward.

I am… the mother that loves with her whole heart, who is trying my dears, always always trying.

I am… the wife that would hold up the universe just so my beautiful husband could stretch his arms wide, wide, wide enough to dance.

I am… the little girl who only ever wanted to see the beauty of the world. I am the woman whose heart broke when she saw the world had wounds she couldn’t love hard enough to fix.

I am the child, I am the mother.

I am human.

I bleed, I fight, I get angry, I get calm.

I am wrong, I am right, I am broken, I am mended.

I am all of them and none of them.

I’m still trying.

I am here.

X Bon

3:45am and counting

I mean sure, I don’t mean to count the hours when I have insomnia. But I did all the things. I read for a reasonable amount of time and then snuggled down with a podcast. Which I listened to from start to finish. Huh. Usually I’m out before they finish the intro. Not a good sign, but ok.

I put my phone away, roll over, got reeeeaaall comfy and…. my mind starts to race.

Right here is where professionals might say, get out of bed, reset, try again. No tech, TV’s etc in the bedroom. Teach your body healthy sleep habits. Blah de fuckin blah.

Um nooooo. I’ve been there done that and it frustrates me to literal tears. So I’ll do a load of washing, fiddle around with some selfies, watch a crochet video or something reliably interesting to me, but not enough to make me alert. Just something on, something to point my face at so I can stop thinking for a bit.

I know I’m not going to sleep. That’s not ok, but it is what it is. Maybe I’ll nap tomorrow, might sleep really well tomorrow night. I also might not sleep well for a week or two. Doesn’t matter. I won’t die from lack of sleep (shush brain, I won’t!). I’m not actually being tortured, it’s nothing personal. It’s just a weird brain tick. Sometimes the most frustrating thing about insomnia is that there is no reason for it. I’m not upset, or worried or anything really. I’m just casually wondering where my essay is from second year uni and if that noise was just the fan or a crab scuttling across the wall with strangely rhythmic timing and if the washing machine really needs to sing for quite so long when it finishes a load…

So. I have time to catch up on sleep later. And time to be settled and quiet now with a video while the household slumbers on. I’m going to be ok. I will be ok. This won’t go on forever. Eventually I will sleep like I’m dead for hours and hours in a row. I’ll sleep so much it’s like I’m hibernating and so the cycle repeats. For now though, back to YouTube and time to turn off my brain for a bit.

Nighttime is a long time. But I’ve got time for it.

X Bon

Daylight Savings fucks with my brain

Honest to god Daylight Savings causes mild (witnesses say extreme) hysteria as soon as I realize and the only person that can calm me down is my dad. This year I’m at my relatives and Dad wasn’t home when I called. So I yelled at my mum on the phone. It went something like this…

Her: Hello Bon!

Me: No thankyou! Need my dad!

Her: What?

Me: Daylight savings! Savings of daylight! Time travel! Do you want to have this conversation with me or can I have my dad please?

Her: Oh right. Shit. I forget you do this. Um, he’s gone down the street…

Me: on Easter fucking Sunday? I can’t even. Can he call me back directly please?

I hang up the phone and scream/yell/rant about the ridiculousness of Daylight Savings. Mention the Indian anecdote ‘only the government would think that they could make a blanket longer by cutting a foot off one end and sewing it to the other’ more raging, people start arguing with me, we all get a bit shouty, with me becoming increasingly enraged and ridiculous. I sit in three different chairs, wander around, frantically google time travel related daylight saving memes, lose internet coverage and blame time travel, which leads to another rant about me not being the Dr and therefor not built for the complexities of time travel, and then, blessedly for everyone… the phone rings.

It’s my dad. He’s armed and ready with the explanation about when it began during the war and calmly explains history and dates and I start to breathe. This is the way he always starts the call u til he’s sure I’m listening. And I am, but the way I need it explained to me changes every year. Once we’re past the basic history we enter the minefield that is the way my mind works. Dad is a natural and calm debater and oral historian. He does not argue with me. He simply states the facts of whichever information packet that will work this time. He has to be ready for a different perspective and rapid fire questions. He’s great at this. My brain swerves one way and he’s there with facts and figures. It swerves another and he’s equally unflappable and ready again with more information. He’s the only one interested in this topic enough to ignore my irrational fear and hit me with enough facts to calm me down a different way every year. But not too many, because then I get confused again and I might cry, which would horrific for both of us.

Last year realizing that moving the clocks a bit so everyone uses power a bit less and thus saves on greenhouse gasses made me calm. This year he needed to remind me that the Earth is on an axis of 23.5 degrees, hence the length of day’s changing.

It’s not actually the government.

It’s the planet.

Not a conspiracy or the stupidity of the human race, it’s science.

And breeeeaaaaatheeeeeee. I’m calm again and as tired as a puppy with a belly full of milk. A little bit goofy and ready for a nap.

I hope he’s got something up his sleeve for next time. I bet he just loves these phone calls…

Not 100%

So I was listening to one of my favorite podcasts while knitting tonight. I know, I know, picture your Nana doing the same thing in front of a fire with the wireless programs on and now fast forward a few decades. That’s me. Anyway! Hannah Hart was featured in The Hilarious World of Depression (look it up and thank me later) and she just explained depression to me in such a way that I understand it better. Yep, 15 years in and I’m still figuring this shit out.

She says: I might have 10 days of the month when I’m at 100%. Where I don’t have depression. And so if I feel like I’m at 20% capacity that day then I will give myself 20% tasks.

It made my brain go *ding* Like, I’m at low capacity today, what is the one thing I can do? A load of washing? Have a shower? Walk the dog? Cook dinner? Stay hydrated? Pick just one thing. Just ONE thing! Do it and be ok with that. Give myself a break. Not every day is going to be a productive day. It’s ok. The world won’t end. I might get more done tomorrow. I might not. I might get an entire to-do list done. I might sleep all day on the couch. BOTH things are ok. You are you and I am me and we are doing the goddamn best we can. Allow yourself to have the bad days. I have depression, I can give myself a free pass on the days my brain doesn’t work. At least I’m trying. I’m trying to be ok with not being ok. I’m trying to give myself a break. I’m trying to love me just the way I am. Broken and wonderful all at once.

As Hannah puts it: even if I only get to see myself 10 days a month, at least I know what Me looks like.


I want to write this feeling down. Record it so that I can remember it. It needs to be cherished.

I am lying in bed listening to a investigative murder podcast.

Rose is cuddled up in my arms. She reaches out, one paw usually touching me.

The light is on outside the door and I can hear Tevita sitting at the desk, tapping away, working late.

My house is full because my sister and her kids are staying over.

I feel safe and relaxed. Good feelings washing over me as I zone in and out.

Soon I will fall asleep. Surrounded by family in the big busy house I always dreamed of. Protected, loved and happy.

It’s a good night. It’s almost a shame to fall asleep. I am lucky and I’m well enough to know it.


I haven’t been in here much. I’ve been trying to write, but I’ve just felt totally unable. Nothing tragic had happened. Nothing at all has happened. I’d like to use the old phrase that the spirit is willing but the flesh is weak. Turns out though the flesh and spirit are both so tired that every little thing I used to love is now too much effort.

At the start of having fibromyalgia I felt so relieved. I had my answer. I wasn’t alone. I got proactive. I joined a support group. I talked to other sufferers. I felt hopeful.

But then I spent three days in so much pain I couldn’t think. There was no relief except sleep. It started happening more and more. Now having the reason was worse. It became a curse to know that there was nothing I could do to relieve the pain. That this would happen on and off for the rest of my life. I suffered a week long flare up. And then another one. All I could do was sleep, wake up for toilet breaks and water and then fall asleep again. My skin itched and burned. My bones aches. My muscles spasmed or cramped up. I was hit with migraine after migraine. And it won’t ever stop.

So all my energy has been siphoned from me. Mentally I’m struggling. I feel alone and isolated. I’m looking down the barrel of a lifetime of this and I just can’t even process that.

I can’t work. I can’t play with my kids. I can’t think straight. I can hardly remember who I am anymore.

So right now I don’t feel like writing. I feel like sleeping. Because when I’m dreaming I can do anything. And there is no pain.

I’m writing a book!


Yeah you read that write (haha).

I tried last year to write one and I liked it, I had fun yadda yadda.  But trying to write a piece of fiction with plot, characters and narrative traction is just not gonna happen with my current mental state. So move over Diary of  Wimpy Kid, cos here comes one for the grown ups.  What’s that you say? An excerpt? Why I really couldn’t, ok then, if you insist! I mean I know you probably didn’t, but I like it better my way.

Sometimes I wonder how I would appear in a court room (it’s only a matter of time).
Like not on what charge, that’s the beauty of being me, I don’t worry about the big stuff. But how people would see me. I have finally settled on charismatic and witty with the power to rip someone’s head off with my intellect.
We’re talking me, on my best day. It’s a good mix.
Step 1: Make the jury laugh and warm up the room (my life is one long comedy festival).
Step 2: Tear apart the slimy lawyer.
Step 3: Saunter out of the court room after slapping the witness box and announcing ‘case closed’.
Step 4: Probably go to jail.
Do you love it already? Cos I do and that’s all that really matters.  It’s my book and it’s keeping me from pulling out all my toe nails.  Besides, my motto is Do The Thing.  Do it now.  Life is short or bug arse long depending on your current mindset. You may as well spend it doing entertaining things.  Cross off the bucket list now. Cos tomorrow we might all blow up.  Or melt down.  I mean, it depends on what happens first.  Whether a world leader presses the big red button or the planet boils.  Either way, grab a glass of wine, decapitate a butterfly, paint that picture, do a cross stitch with all 6 strands of cotton. LIVE. It’s kinda what we’re here for.
X Bon.