Are you tired of this modern world?

I deleted Facebook last night. I had music playing in bed we both loved, until hubby started watching video snippets in his news feed. I turned my music up so he put his headphones on.

Husband beside me, turned away watching video’s while I drifted and remembered days where we would hold hands and whisper into the night.

I deleted the app, felt immediately lightened by relief and danced to the toilet. Then slept like a log. To be fair husband gave me the best cuddles as the fan droned and the night swam.

This morning I slept in. I reached for my phone and turn the alarm off. Stretching gleefully I had no notifications to check. No scrolling that’s supposed to last a minute as an hour creeps by.

I went and picked up something from a craft shop. Sat and finished The Haunting of Hill House while I cross stitched a Christmas present. Then I sewed my dress for a friend’s wedding tomorrow, worked through a pile of hemming.

Returned to the couch and finished an assignment for Uni, then made pork schnitzels for family dinner.

I am not a productive person. As an introvert I need to recuperate on my days at home. Mostly I crochet, read and nap to true crime podcasts. The most surprising thing when I quit smoking was all the extra time I had. Without Facebook I had more than an extra hour or so, I had a whole day. I didn’t even miss the meme’s.

To be perfectly transparent I kept Messenger. I have very important people I chat with daily in there. I have a Uni chat where we mull over essays and keep each other up to date. International friends who are so dear to my heart I couldn’t bear them to be out of reach. I learned from my last break from Facebook (which lasted a whole lonely day) what I need to be happy and stay in touch. Depression creeps in when I’m isolated and fills up all the spaces.

So now I turn my attention to finishing my assignments for the year, whilst getting my daily word count in for NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month). 50,000 word draft of a novel plus assignments while stitching a Christmas present? No worries.

As always, do whatever it is that makes your days better. As my water bottle declares: Whatever Makes You Happy – just do that.

So I shall chase happiness and encourage you to do the same. Because life is so damn short. Just look at the lines upon your parents face, or the ones upon your own. Is there grey hair in your dog’s beard and have those kids shot up since last you noticed? Fast. Like a one step march through history. Remembered by some, until time catches up with them too. So fuck being remembered. Just be happy. In the long run no one even minds. They’ll watch you waltz delighted through your days and probably join in.

Be you, be happy.

Stay weird peeps.

Love Bon.

It’s a long way to go to die.

As LP says in her song: it’s a long, long, long way to go to die.

It sure bloody is.

Because first I decided not to kill myself. I got good with my pain. Good enough that I wanted to stay. Found my reason, all that jazz. It actually took a fuck load of work, but that’s not why I’m here tonight.

After that came unexpected want. I wanted a future. A career, a path, this crazy life.

Here I am living it. Back in Uni, sights set, so close. It doesn’t even matter now if I don’t make it. This wanting has woken something in me. It was terrifying at first and I resented it. Wanting is so much harder. Quitting is always easier. Now though, my heart beats and my eyes search and I drink it all in.

I realize in all of this that unless a bus takes me out, or my heart stops from all that medication, I’m here for a long time. Not all of it will be a good time. I will smack someone if they make me see 90. Oh fate, don’t be so cruel. Just let me have it for a while.

Cos it’s a long long long way to go to die when you take your own hand out of the mix. So here I am. Standing tall. Forward focused with an overflowing tool box of therapy that’s getting me by. I’m unmedicated, on a break from therapy and on my way.

Just please, please, don’t make that road too long. This ole heart of mine couldn’t bear it. Take me mid laugh. Send me down the stairs with a cocktail in my hand. Let me interrupt a robbery and blow a kiss to a shooter as I step between his bullet and the guard. Take me fast, just freaking do it after I’ve seen this through ok?

Because I can go a long, long, long way now that I’ve seen what it’s worth. It’s everything. It’s mine. By Christ I want it.

X Bon

I Lied and said I was Ok.

If I ever let you think this was easy, I lied.

If you look at me and think I won the war against depression, I lied.

If I gave you the impression that I’m ok, then I said it wrong. Because every morning anxiety still pries my eyes open, while depression wants them to close.

Walking into any room, any time makes my heart thud so hard I want to turn and run. It does not matter if that room is filled with loved ones or strangers. I want to run away, and I’ll feel good doing it. I like it better when I’m on my own, but I hate feeling alone. I need the people in my life so much that if they realized exactly how much, it would shock them. The people I love are my anchor. They keep me here. They make me want to stay. So if I tell you I can do this on my own, I’m lying.

BPD still wrestles with me, every day is hard. If you think I’m not holding a clamped hand over its mouth, just to hear you speak, then I’m telling it wrong. I’m straining against the claws of a monster just to make it through the day. Some days I lose. Some days it forces me to watch the world pass like everyone got a pretty invitation to stand in the sunshine, while I’m stuck behind the glass and can’t feel it’s warmth.

Some days are good days. I’m starting to be able to string more than one together at a time. I was starting to rock through an entire week…

Then Fibro came along to add her 5 cents worth to the whole mess. She is the fiercest dictator I’ve washed up against so far. She tortures so invisibly that no one can see the scars. She’s an expert in making you forget she’s got her chains around me every minute. She hides in plain sight. She sees my good days and she laughs while she takes my feet from under me.

I didn’t chose to fight these battles. I’m no angel through it all. I can be so cruel it would suck your breath out. I’m so angry I’ll scream at the sky when I run out of things to be mad about. Resentment is my poison. It shows on my face, in the holes punched through plaster, in the burned bridges I leave in my wake. It could be so much fucking worse, but that doesn’t help me on the days I want to bash my head against a wall just to make it all stop.

The damndest thing keeps happening though. I keep feeling my lips curling up at the corners, my feet keep tapping, my heart bangs and I rise again. I tell my wrong brain to shut the fuck up and carry on. I’m learning to walk without limping as Fibro rattles through my central nervous system. I tell depression to shove it, even when anxiety puts a tremor in my voice. I turn the key in the ignition with shaking hands. I keep on going.

Recovery looks different for everyone. And it’s not fixed. It changes as I do. It’s a god damned bloody spectrum, and I’ve learned to be ok with that. But if I ever told you I was ok, that it was easy, then I bloody lied. I didn’t tell my story right.

I don’t want anyone to stumble across my blog and go well look at that, we can be fixed. Because we can’t. But we CAN manage life with all this nonsense. A good life even. I can never go back to the person I was ‘before’. I can be happy. I’m facing forward with anticipation for the first time in years. But let’s none of us pretend ‘happy’ is an attainable, fixed state. Cos that simply isn’t how life works. Adjust expectations, get comfy with the new version, make peace with it. When you look at me, know how much I’ve had to fight just to be stood there, looking right back at you.

My smile is real. That part I never lied about. This world might force me to my knees more often than I’d like, but I still have no poker face. The laugh is honest, the grin pure me. My strongest feature isn’t something I expected. I thought my weapon would be humour. It’s not. The force that keeps me going is pure, bull headed stubbornness. I’m a sore loser, so whenever my ailments think they’ve got me, I’ll up-end the game board right in their face and walk on.

Every time something comes along and tells me it’s going to take something away from me, I get up and fight to take it back. I’m that plucky little kid in the school yard. You’re watching her drag herself up off the gravel, nose bleeding, to turn around and spit on her bullies. Just when you think she hasn’t got it in her, she throws sand in their eyes and runs away. I didn’t know I had this much fight in me. I’m not a brave person. I fold like a piece of paper. I hate confrontation. And it’s not because I don’t want to argue over my change, or send a crappy meal back to the chef. It’s because I’m already tired of fighting.

The point of all this work, this endless battle? I found something to fight for. I didn’t know that. I thought I had nothing left to lose. Apparently even in my rawest, most flawed moments, I won’t lose my grip on the world. I lift my bowed head, scream FUCK YOU at roaring volumes and I stay. Every blow I expect to be the last straw… somehow isn’t.

This is mine. My ruined mind and broken body. It’s Mine. This life I live is Mine. The things I seek are Mine. The people I love are somehow Mine too. So maybe I’m not that brave little girl wrestling with her bullies. Maybe I’ve had enough. Maybe I’m also that stubborn, tantrum chucking little shit in the supermarket. Jumping up and down, turning heads, shamelessly screaming MINE, MINE, MINE!

So yeah, I lied. I let you think I wasn’t completely broken by all of this. I showed you the days I found my reason to stay alive, and I hid under the covers on the days when I couldn’t. Some days I rally do want it all to stop.

And yet.

The world keeps spinning, and I keep spinning with it. I will fight, fall down, get up and do it all again. One day if you look over your shoulder and I’m not there, at least you will know that I never give up. I gave until I had nothing left. I fought for every day I had here. I tried.

Stay weird peeps, stay here.

X Bon

Get up girl

So I had a massively awesome weekend.

A friend was flying to Sydney, stopping off in Orange for fuel. And he offered us a lift. Do we want to scoop up the kids and zip off to Orange to visit the fam? Um, yes obviously let’s do that!

It was very very worth it. My first time in a small plane and all the awesomeness that is flying at 400 k’s, 10,000 feet up. You feel every wing shift and can see the ground the whole time – AMAZING!

Spent time with cousins I hardly get to see, the kids had a ball and I got plenty of bubba cuddles in. I am one happy lady.

Downside of awesomeness? My body will always ask me to pay for it. I have to learn to accept the pay off for doing anything that uses a lot of brain power and physical doing.

Today my eyes won’t work properly, because like all my other muscles they are freakin tired. Imagine that all your muscles, nerves and even your skin were just fucking done with today. Now tell yourself to get up and go. You’re basically suffering from body wide, intense flu symptoms and you’ve just told the old body unit that it needs to put in a full day at Uni today. Body and mind are gonna have an argument about that for sure.

I know I’ll pay for it later. I know all the self care options are sitting at home in a tool box I rejected today. I know I’m facing an 8 hour day armed with stubbornness, headphones and a kick arse playlist. It’s not enough, but I can get by until my pre-planned day off. I hope. I will hang on by my fingertips until my day off and hand out gold stars all the way.

Until then, I will dance this broken body of mine to school. I’ll be grateful I can do it. I will thank this poor old bod of mine for rising when she didn’t want to. I’ll treat myself to a bath at the end of the week. I’ll keep up my meds and check in for a physio sesh. I’ll do all the back ground blah blah blah it takes to face up to each day. Because as much as I argue and roar and cry and scream with frustration sometimes, I’m still here. My body still works. My brain is firing on most cylinders most days. What more can I ask for? It’s a bad day, but I’ve had worse.

So this week I know I’m asking a lot. I know there’s a physical list of consequences, some I’m getting ready for. Some might be a surprise package. I’m borrowing from Peter to pay Paul, but I just really want to be here. It matters to me.

So Fibro, with respect, please back the fuck up and just let me have three days. Three days, and then you can kick my arse for four.

As always for me… when in doubt – dance. Get em headphones on and boogie my arse into the car.

I can.

Or I can’t.

But I’ll still try.

Stay weird peeps,

X Bon

Me and My Shadow

It’s funny how a dog becomes a best friend in a way no one else really can. And yes, this is coming from a self confessed cat lady. I know I’ve mentioned Crowley here a little bit, but I wanted to introduce her properly, in all her wonderful-ness.

When I had to say goodbye to my little old Bam Bam my heart broke. She’d been my girl for 14 years. The first dog I owned as a grown up. My very best baby girl.

I knew I would need another dog. I’m not the type to grieve alone and lonely. We had little dog Nikki with us still, but she’s not ‘mine’ the way Bam was. Nikki is a little ball of rescued nervous ticks. She’s sweet and stubborn and as good a version of herself as she’s ever going to be. But in her heart of hearts, Nikki belongs to herself. She’s loves us is her own way. I’m sure she appreciates being warm and loved and taken care of. But she has no ‘mum’ so to speak.

And so the search began. We always prefer to adopt. I sent in applications. I wasn’t too fussy per se. I wanted someone smart, funny, trainable and loving. Someone who needed me as much as I needed them. But my applications came back no, no, no. No one really trusted little old Nik to be a good role model for a working dog pup. I have a big old soft sport for working dogs. Border Collie’s preferably. To me they’ve always been the people pleasers. The dogs most keen to be in mix of family life, but still have a primary ‘boss’. I wanted a heart dog again.

Because somewhere between me getting sick with Fibro and Bam Bam starting to decline from heart failure I realized I would need someone to be with me the way she always was. Someone who would still want to be right next to me on days when I couldn’t manage to fight through the pain and get up. Someone who wanted to be with me on the down days, as well as the better, more active walk-in-the-bush days.

Enter Crowley. Found for me by a dear family friend. She was a special pup, and her rescuer wanted the very best fit for her. I held my breath, said yes and hoped like hell they liked me enough to trust me with her. They did! We drove over, anxiously hopeful, to meet her. She was immediately delightful. Running around a farm, trying to get the cat to play with her, cheeky in a sweet, dorky, big footed way that made my heart say YES so loudly I’m pretty sure she heard it.

She kissed my kids and sat cuddled in my lap all the way home. She likes her daddy, adores ‘her’ kids… but she loves mumma most. I don’t want to go overboard, but she’s so much more than I hoped. She’s mine and I am hers and she made the loss of Bam Bam easier to bear. She lies on my legs through every panic attack. She greets every human with love and kisses. She looks at the cats the same way a dorky younger sister does her aloof older siblings and just wishes they would pay attention to her. She greets Dad after work like a hero returning from abroad. She’s so gentle and caring towards Nikki. She worries over her and helps keep her warm by snuggling up in the same bed. Especially now as Nik recovers from surgery and a cancer scare.

Crowley is a perfect match. Somehow the right dog found her way to me and I am grateful every day. I will live up to all her expectations. I will train her well and return her love ten fold. She’s my shadow, my soul dog, my gift. If she’s watching I like to think Bam Bam would be happy for me. She knows I will always love her, and in true baby girl style, she’s probably very happy I’m not lonesome anymore.

Thank god for ‘man’s’ best friend eh?!

X Bon

Is the Apocalypse here already?

I never apologize for not being around on my blog much. Such is life.

And I’m still not here, here. But I’d do love being here. Which is cool with me. I checked.

I just have a puppy story I think is worth reading if you want a little grin on your face as you go about your day…

So today I have gotten up, dressed and promptly gone back to bed. Bed is good. I’m not sorry. But I do have to adult just a little bit today.

So I go outside to take off Little Old Nikki’s pajama’s, do some brain training with Crowley Puppy and feed them brekkie. After which Crowley got up to show me her bestest trick yet. Ready? It’s pretty great. It’s actually what woke me up this morning, but I just thought the world was ending and ignored it.

Crowley is proud to present —-

‘How to entertain yourself when you’re human is having a slow morning’.

Drag a half empty 20L water joey from Coles up the stairs… boom-boom-boom and then throw it back down again rumble-rumble-crrraaasssshhh.

She calls is ‘Random Apocalyptic Noises Using Household Items’.

She’s pretty proud.

I mean she sure knows how to find joy in recycling. And she’s using her imagination which is what any parent really wants to see in their kids.

Gotta love dogs. They have endless amounts of goofiness! And she’s shares all her achievements with me so I don’t feel left out. She’s pretty much perfect… to me anyway.

So good morning world! Glad that wasn’t the apocalypse after all. Carry on about your business.

I’ll just be over here. Hugging my dog.

X Bon

P.S Crowley was really worried when I said I was going to put up a picture of Nikki too.

Because we luvs her and donts wants the world to think that she doesn’t even knows how to chews up her bed.

I said it’s ok Crowley, we all have different hobbies. No one will think any less of your ‘little’ sister. Promise. 😉💕🐾

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