Down and Up

It’s been a rough week. Fibro is kicking my butt cos apparently it hates any sort of weather change… and it chucks the biggest tantrum if that weather change is Winter!

But it’s been good to go down. Because then I know I can and I WILL come back up again. Even if it’s tough and really sucky and it makes me literally cry… I have to know I will come out of it.

This is not going to be a long winded post, cos frankly I don’t have the wind for it! It’s just a post about a shitty couple of weeks. It’s about knowing it’s ok not to be ok. And not just because that’s a really catchy phrase. Because it’s true.

So, I’ve been properly down for 3 days straight, which isn’t that long physically, but Ive been feeling it loom for a couple of weeks… and that plays havoc with me mentally. Because when my body says ‘lie down and don’t move’! And my brain says ‘shhhhh you’re so tired you can’t speak English, time to sleep’…. it’s really fucking tempting to give in and let lovely lovely depression take the wheel. Because if the Black Dog takes over, I promise you I will sleeep. For daaaaays. And probably enjoy it.

BUT getting that beast leashed again is too damn hard.

So I get up. I feel out my bones and ask them if it’s a dancing morning. It is! Oh hells yeah!

I grab my big arse head phones. The ones that mean I can’t even hear my own pulse or breath.

I make my bed as I get my feet under me and start to pump up the music.

I listen to three songs.

1: We’re Killing Strangers by Marilyn Manson

Because it has a wicked fucken beat and he can soothe the angry beast. I can’t dance for shit, but I do anyway. And my body doesn’t move the way I’d like it to… so I’ve taken to doing a sort of interpretive dance. It uses all my muscles, it’s bang on the beat and it feels really good. I may look like an electrocuted pidgeon, but I feel as powerful and Childish Gambino.

2: Better Son/ Daughter by Rilo Kiley

Ohhhhh yeahhhh. Let’s bring it down, take it in and streeeeetch it out! This song gets under my skin in the best way. From the outside this sounds like yoga. I LOVE yoga, but again my body dictates what we do today. I’m cool with it, you silly old thing. So I take this bod o’ mine through a heavily restricted/personalized stretch sesh. And it feels gooooood. Take that OT, I AM doing what you suggested! Just… in my own way. Gold star!

3: Why Can’t I Touch It? By Buzzcocks

This one means it’s time to get up before I fall asleep on the floor. Get my inner, slightly less spry, Punk Bitch up and moving. Put the kettle on. Help my very old cat Nev through his morning routine.

I have to act like an adoring butler during this, or he gets offended and won’t eat. And I have to keep the other cats away from his food without making it look like I am. Oh, and give him privacy but be ready to open the door because after food comes the enormous need to evacuate… I won’t go into detail. Let’s just say we both regret it if I’m not paying attention.

I move through the house while the kettle makes it’s racket, just checking everything is ok, cos I’m gonna crash out in 5, 4, 3…

I make my cuppa. Tea should be made in calmness. I settle for raging loud mindfulness. I do it while I boogie to whatever comes next on my headphones. Then I sit. One must have 15 minutes to sit with a cuppa. Which is drunk black in case the sitting takes a bit longer and I need to nuke it hot again. Or drink it cold. Whichever.

And now I plan my day. My neck is saying NO MORE GIANT HEADPHONES! My heart wants to run and run. My aching body and says Calm Down. So we’ll get dressed, this oddball team of broken brain, bad ass chic and failing body. I’ll get us under the heated blanket. Bark up the laptop and do… something.

Or read.

Or watch Netflix.

Or wander around in the internet for a while, hug the cats, wait for the pain to fade.

Cos it’ll fade. If I’m careful, patient and work on not going crazy while I wait, it will bugger off long enough for me to walk the dogs. Or go to a market. Or whatever. Just be a big, pink haired weirdo outside in the world for a bit.

Not today. Maybe tomorrow. You all know how I feel about tomorrow… 🎶 🌞

Do you have Annie singing in your head yet? Has she done that bit where she says… The sun’ll come out… tomorrow? It’s so good. Oh, ready for my favourite part… You’re always a daaaaayyy awaaaayyyyy!!!!!!!

Hope you have that stuck in your head now. You’re very welcome.

Hoo – roo peeps,

Stay Weird,

X Bon

Rise Up

I’ve been listening to Andra Day’s song Rise Up on repeat lately…

(Click link to hear it in YouTube)

Because as Winter gets closer my fibro flares up, and so does my anxiety. Winter blues is a real damn thing. Especially if you have mental illness and chronic pain battling it out for attention!

So. I wake up. I stretch. I feel which part of my body is giving me the shits the most. I rise up. I make a cup of tea. I get dressed. I listen to music in my head phones, chuck the heater on aaaaand stretch. Move through some basic yoga moves. Test my memory from my PT stretches and go through as many as I can.

Move to a faster track and dance. Shake out these cold bones and aching muscles.

I might read. Visit a friend. Write. Hell, I might call my mum or just veg out on the couch.

Whatever it is, I find the happy thing and do it. Because I’m motoring along ok right now. But that never lasts.

So I focus on the joy. Which you can find anywhere, if you’re willing to look for it.

You can find it strolling down the street at a bus stop.

Or taking the SUV for a squirt down a muddy track with the dogs.

You can find it when you hit jack pot and take home a crochet blanket from the local Sunday market.

Or while watching Picnic at Hanging Rock on Foxtel and being swept away in nostalgia. Seriously, that show is like walking through poetry. Stunning visually and fans of the book will adore it.

You can find it sitting in front of the heater, thinking about reading a book, but really just lounging with the cats.

Or trying to do some work, but getting distracted by how cute the pup is when she snuggles with the grumpy old Nikki dog…

Or in photo’s of a rainbow neon city tunnel texted to you from a cousin…

Joy is in the small stuff. You gotta store it up.

Like a layer of blubber protects a whale through winter, so too will a layer of happiness be a cushion against bad days. And really bad days. Store up the good so you’re strong AF when the bad comes ‘atcha. It’s just good practice.

Trust me, I’m a Doctor.

Well, ok, I’m not. Just a mouthy chic who’s been on this tightrope now for nearly two decades. Yep. I’m old as hell. Ok, I’m still this side of my mid 30’s. But I got some mental health miles under my belt so just trust your local crazy lady ok? Layer yourself up in joy. It lasts longer that way.

Stay weird peeps,

X Bon

The sun will come out…

When the nights are long,

Listen to a song.

Because…

You can say hello darkness my old friend, and ask to go somewhere only we know, or admit that you’ve been waiting, and admit that sometimes your heart beats so loud you can’t even hear the beat.

You could get out of bed and be dancing on your own, you might know you’re beautiful just the way you are. Your doubt could suddenly go away somehow, even if you die everyday waiting for… something. Because every hour has come to this, one step closer. When you realize your eyes still smile from your cheeks and your heart could still fall in love in mysterious ways.

Tonight I’m thinking out loud. And I want to know that even though it’s based on your smile and I’m betting all of this might be over soon, please take what’s left of this heart and use only what you really need.

I can tell that I need to let it fade. So why don’t you be you, and I’ll be me and we’ll all be ok. Someday.

Because even though you had your maps drawn, and every road they led you down felt so wrong. You’ll be ok. Even though you’re scared, you’re stronger than you know.

So let something wild call you home.

Remember that the sun will come out tomorrow. All of this is one long hallelujah, and even though your faith is strong, you needed proof.

And you will find it.

Tomorrow.

Because baby I been here before, I used to live alone before I knew you.

All of you who make this trauma beautiful.

You keep my post traumatic bearable.

So fill your head with the ocean, fill your head with the sea, and dream of sailing with me.

I’ll pull you closer to my chest. Because I knew I loved you then, though you’ll never know.

Just say you won’t let go.

I am not the only traveler, who has not repaid his debt. I’ve been searching for a trail to follow, again. So then I can tell myself what the hell I’m supposed to do.

Take me back.

And meet me in tomorrow.

Where the sun will come out, and you can betcha bottom dollar that we’ll be ok.

Because I’ve had that dream a thousand times. A thousand times. I’ve had that dream a thousand times. My eyes are red, the streets are grey… but…

We will be ok. We will.

Just stay. One more day. Then another.

Please.

💙 Bon

Songs/artists/albums used hash tagged below…

#hellodarknessmyoldfriend #lilyallen #somewhereonlyweknow #lisamitchell #valium #kinagranis #christinaperri #edsheeran #thinkingoutloud #jackjohnson #cocoon #jamesbay #letitgo #somethingwild #thesunwillcomeout #tomorrow #kdlang #hallelujah #beautifultrauma #postraumatic #whenyoudream #lordhuron #thenightwemet #sayyouwontletgo #a1000times

From my door to yours.

Some stuff I’ve been doing over the last couple of days. Happy moments, puppy photo’s, Autumn shots. Ok yeah, mostly photo’s. Maybe some wise words. Maybe some laughs. Light and fluffy this one!

Took Crowley with me to the kids training night. I’d had a rest day and didn’t walk her. So we went did a lap of the oval and worked on her puppy training. Officially working on voice commands in public, with distractions like cars, kids, dogs, bright lights etc. Honestly though? Her lovely nature keeps me sane and gives me an excuse to focus on her in a crowded place. Plus she only poops and pee’s at home. So that’s turned out to be a weird bonus in public!

Kisses for mumma.

A calmer moment after puppy training.

Past Bonnie ordered some merch from My Favorite Podcast and an email came through reminding me it’s on the way! Whoo hoo! Thanks past Bonnie! You’ve made current Bonnie excited and Future Bonnie will probably squeal at the postman!

Someone shared this meme in my book club group and I looooove it. Accurate, hilarious, on point. All the hallmarks of a good meme. You’re welcome.

Long time fan of Constance Hall. Not as far back as Big Brother, but further than her first book. I pre-ordered both and love them!

Thank god for Facebook! Made her viral, showed me blogging, taught me stuff about my inner queen. Vital! Honestly I love Con and her whole Queen Team. Mum life, wife life, living and loving and growing. Strength and pain. Turmoil, change and joy. It’s aaaaaall good.

I don’t crochet to sell anymore (I recently tried but my hands aren’t reliable enough with Fibro). But I still love making hats and writing my own notes/patterns. This one was for a kid I adore for her birthday. It’s was a rectangle (the fat ribbing part is the brim). When I sewed the rectangle closed and she stuck it on her head it turned into a ‘cat’ hat. She loved it!

Ok, honestly I made a pussy hat. Feminism sneaks in when we’re young from strong women (and men) around us. I think I’ll make a bigger one for myself!

Whoopie rocking the inspiration. And a kick arse tee.

I shared this one on my Facebook page and it snowballed into a joke and then a pact and now whoever dies first will be treated to my glorious husband streaking down the aisle at their funeral. I love it all the levels.

Imagine everyone seated respectfully in a funeral home. Some dressed in black, some in ridiculous clothes (ok, that one is me. I WILL wear rainbows to a funeral and you know it). The music stops, there’s a hush. Just as the minister person takes the stand, hubby runs down the aisle. Naked and screaming WE’RE GOING STREAKING! If it’s not my funeral I might leap up and join him. You are welcome for that image!

Gotta love Will Ferrell!

Today was a Sunday here in Oz and Autumn is beautiful in Australia. We took the back way to a family do this arvo because of roadworks. Hubby drove and I went nuts with my phone camera. Oh Australia, how I love you! Second Spring! Big skies, sunshine, paddocks, livestock, gumtrees. It does good things to my heart. Nothing to see here, just God putting the planet down for a three month nap. Winter is coming people!

I’m rugged up under a blanket on the couch now. It hit 22 degree’s (Celsius) during the day. Now it’s nearly midnight and it’s 8 degree’s. Feels like 5 and my fingertips are numb. Ahhhh perfect snuggling weather.

Those were all taken in the Pentland Hills, Victoria if you’re curious. Love where you live!

I’m nearly up to the second season of West World (no spoilers allowed! Please!).

I feel like I’m gonna need this meme after I’ve finished the second season!

Holy moly it’s a ride! I recommend it. Highly. And I don’t do that often. These are the shows it gives a nod to, with Anthony Hopkins reprising the same level of sinister language perfection from Silence of the Lambs. Jurassic World, Hunger Games, Black Mirror, Wild Wild West, Twilight Zone and more. You’ll love the soundtrack too, trust me. I’m 34, I watched it with an 18 year old and we both loved the music. Take a peek behind the curtain. Thank me later. Oh and don’t start with the 1975 version, go straight to the new one. I found the entire first two seasons on Foxtel. You can find it there or wherever you ‘find’ your content. Again, you are welcome!

So. That’s my life lately in a nutshell.

I’ll leave one more pic.

That was the view from my back porch this morning. But not too early this morning, it’s a Bloody Sunday after all! Ahhhh Autumn. The heart sings!

Stay weird peeps.

X Bon.

Just be there.

Facebook! You’re sharing golden memories lately. Loooving that feature!

Here’s what Facebook showed me today. Still a great memory.

Still excellent. I’m not currently sick or in hossie, but we all know how hard it is to visit a non verbal or seriously ill friend. It can be awkward for both of you. So read that book, stick that damn note to the front in sticky tape. Tell the person you’ve come to see them, you can see they’re not well, so you might just sit down for a bit and read to them.

Kindness is in the little things.

It’s better than staring at an awful painting or god forbid, talking about the weather… (I actually really enjoy deep discussions about the weather. Types of clouds, the rain they produce, long range weather forecasts, weather changes and patterns and even historical data, coldest day in 23 years… but I digress).

You are the highlight of my day, no matter what happens. Sit for a bit, hold my hand, throw grapes at my head until I wake up. Read to me. Pull my finger. Flash a nurse. That’s always fun. Just be there. If you make me laugh that’ll get you 10,000 bonus points. But the best thing is? You came. You saw. You were there. You were escorted from the hospital for public nuisance and hilarity. This applies to bedside visits at home too! Although maybe skip the flashing. We can’t be teaching the children bad habits now.

X Bon

From there to here.

Two years ago today I posted the above missive. Thanks for that Facebook memories. I actually felt happy to see it. Yep. I read a post I know I wrote from a place where I was genuinely suicidal, had already had several overdoses, one bad enough to land me in hospital. I had also been recently recovering from a genuine attempt at killing myself. Not long after this post I would be a guest at a grown up time out resort. For those that don’t watch Santa Clarita Diet a) why not and b) that’s fancy talk for a psych ward. But from here, looking back to there, I just feel grateful. Because I am here. Sat on my couch, in my favorite pj’s, tapping away at my phone. Writing this. That post wasn’t the last thing I wrote. Far from it. So I’m going to talk about it. Because I can. And because if you read it, you might find it useful. You might even laugh out loud. If I make you snort your tea or feel a bump in the old heart muscle, I’ve done what I set out to. Here we go…

I don’t think that post was an attempt at sympathy. I was genuinely thinking of depression as a terminal illness and suicide as euthanasia. I was begging for people to understand… sometimes living just hurts. Depression will give you pain I can’t describe. On all levels, in every form, pain. It god damn sucks. Back then I was in a bad place and I thought it was forever. It wasn’t. I’ve learned since that was my ‘wrong brain’ talking, and I’ve been actively ignoring it ever since. When the Black Dog barks you tell it to shut the hell up and move right along!

All things pass. They do. And then they come back again. And then they pass again. Life is kind of like bowel movements that way. No really, wait, I have a point! The pressure builds and builds like a stab in the guts until something shifts, you get up and get ready to take care of business and boom… sweet relief and… happiness? Momentary, fleeting. It feels good. You’re thinking about your last really, nice, big shit aren’t you? Are you thinking of that moment when it’s over and you feel ready to get up, get yourself in order and get on with things? THAT feeling is what I’m talking about. I’m a wizard with words. And mental pictures. Now, back to the story. No more toilet talk, promise.

Them’s were hard times for me, I was 32. I’d had a feeling for a couple of years that my 32nd year on planet earth would be amazing. That it would be a massive year for me. My year. And weirdly, it really was. Just not quite what I pictured. I’d had a big old major mental illness and some form of companion crazy since I was 18. They called it Schizophrenia for over a decade, now they call it Borderline Personality Disorder. Through it all, Depression and Anxiety were holding hands and skipping along in the background. I read that post now and I remember that girl in the deep dark hole. I feel her pain like a dull thud. An echoing heartbeat, a sharp breath. You know what else I remember? What I like to focus on when I think about that time and feel a little bit scared of myself? All the people around me, trying to pull me out of the dark. To literally grab me and move me into the light. I’m not using the word ‘literally’ as an excited teenager would, some days people would physically come and pick me up and drive me places. Appointments, lunch, or simply take me home and put me on their couches and cover me with blankets, cats, dogs and endless cups of tea. A change is as good as a holiday. Especially when you can’t quite manage the English language or get dressed.

Today I’m struggling. I feel really good writing this, in this moment. But it’s been rough for weeks, maybe a couple of months if I think on it. It’s a weird time of year. Winter is coming (as John Snow says) and I dunno… I feel tired all the way down. Mentally and physically. Fuck it, let’s just call it existential exhaustion. I know I’m actually doing really well just to acknowledge that. I mean look at where I’ve been! This ain’t bad at all. I know how to focus of the flashes of joy. The times I laugh out loud. To actively turn my focus to good things. Like this meme.

See? There’s always reasons to smile. Didn’t like that one? How bout this one?

I’m strong, I’m funny, but I’m also fucking tired. Officially they call it a return of symptoms. I call it a warning. From my brain and my heart. They’re getting pushy. When they give me insomnia, anxiety, hallucinations, paranoia, moodiness, extreme swings from happy to crying I have to learn to hear what they’re actually telling me. Hey lady! You’re doing great but you need to look inward for a hot second! Assess! What do you need? Probably a nap…

Being aware of symptom precursors like that help me avoid the big bad. I have been in therapy since that Facebook post and this time it’s working. I found a doctor I trust and who listens. I have a psychiatrist I see about every three months to check in and talk meds, and a therapist I try to see every fortnight. I like that part the best. Talking therapy works. Especially with all the rest as back up. I’m learning that needing to take care of myself does not make me a burden. It’s not a chore to look after myself, it’s my job. And if I stop doing it, my brain reminds me why I have to. Like a Fitbit’s annoying announcements ‘it’s time to get up and move’ my brain is gonna send me updates until I listen… or I risk falling all the way back to days like those again. Maybe that will happen one day, and if it does I will get back up again. I will. But I’d rather not have to because it’s hella stressful, expensive and takes a really long arse time. It’s bloody hard work.

I only work properly if I do some proper self care (insert dirty joke here). I need to take care of myself, or I start to shut down. Like systems shutting down to prolong life when a person is facing hyperthermia. I’m alive, but internally I’m focused solely on basic system maintenance. It’s not a lot of laughs. I’m not happy like that, and no one else around me is either.

I need rest days. I need things that nourish my heart and my brain. I’m gonna say no to things that don’t help. I have to say yes to things that do. I will tell everyone that today is a day when I’m not answering the door. It’s a lie down day. It’s a crochet, Netflix, reading type of day. It’s a cookies and pajama type of day. It’s essential to rest and recharge. After that? I need to get the fuck up. To show up for adulting. To get dressed, go out, talk to other human’s, get some air, smile at strangers. Occasionally shower or they won’t smile back.

*that cartoon is from Allie Brosh’s book ‘Hyperbole and Half’. Read it now, thank me later.

As cliched as it sounds life is all about balance. Sometimes it can feel like we’re wobbling on a razor thin line, and sometimes it will feel like we’ve got both feet planted on a foot wide plank. Those days you might as well dance. But if you get wobbly again and you need help, ask. There is no shame in it. Ask a friend. Ask a doctor. Scream it out on Facebook. Call a helpline. Jump in a support group. Just. Fucking. Ask. Because no matter how alone you feel, someone WILL answer.

That’s the most important thing I think. To feel heard. To know you’re not alone. If I have a take away from all of this it’s that I’m loved and wanted. When you have depression you’re brain will try to convince you of your uselessness. It will try to tell you you are completely irrelevant. Basically it tells you every day that you don’t matter. So to finally stand up and say hey, I’m important to people, that’s no small thing. Actually it’s the best damn thing I could ask for. Maybe that will be my next tattoo. I will have ‘wanted’ put somewhere on my body. Real pretty like, in calligraphy script. Or just that word, simple and un-presumptuous, somewhere I can see it everyday. Others may think; what a stupid word to choose. But I’ll see it and I’ll know. I am wanted. In a world that sometimes makes you feel about as big as a bug in some vast ant farm, that’s pretty special.

So to everyone I have in my life making it that little bit brighter, I am grateful. I’m lucky to have both excellent quality real life friends and soul sisters who live flung across the world and exist mostly in my phone. I owe so many laughs, tears, happiness and joy to my Glee Team, my Queen Squad, my Bubbles, Poodles and Pink Ted’s. I have friends who’ve become family and actual family who know all my stories good and bad and love this pink haired nutter anyway. Old friends who have put up with my nonsense for years on end and new friends who have dipped a toe in the upsie down world of Bonnie and decided to stay… I fucken love ALL you guys. Staying alive is a fight, but I will fight it every damn day because you all said I was worth fighting for. You yelled it, texted it, PM’d it, hugged it at me and wrote it to me until my stubborn ass heard it and believed it. I’m one of the lucky ones.

And if ANYONE reading this ever needs me to say it right back? I will. Every time. Because you’re worth it. You belong here. You are valuable to the world. You are wanted.

X Bon

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

out

it

pours.

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