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

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.