In a room far away.

The problem with sleeping in the whirl of a sea shell is that there’s isn’t any room for anyone else. It begets a certain type of loneliness.

Tonight this is ok. My thoughts have led me far away, somewhere I could not take you, and yet I miss it anyway.

Because I’m thinking about being in a dim lit room. The soft pink colour of a womb, holding all of us there in a moment of stillness. Outside the cars swish past and past and past. In this sequestered part of a busy city we are quiet and anonymous. I could say I miss the world outside, but it would be a lie. I am content to let it all go with a sigh and float away.

I have paid much to be here and I am not the only one hiding. Not alone with my bandage wrapped wrists and raw, red eyes. I am ready to slip away, tethered only by the voice of our guide. The room smells of sandalwood and ash. How do they do that here, I wonder, where we cannot have anything so dangerous as flame. I push the thought away but it has stirred me from my reverie. I have always been easily seduced away from things that are good for me.

Beside me on a pile of cushions lies a pink haired teen. She is thin enough to be on a different ward, but I can see she’s one of us. The chalky pink is wearing out and tells me how long she’s been here. She is new, and so lost I can still see the ache of home on her. I am about to turn my gaze away and return to the drifty musings of our meditation, when my eyes hit her feet and I am jotled.

She is wearing sparkly sliver combat boots. They shine in the gloom and my eyes sting at the sight of their grey, untidy laces. Shoe laces so long they bring me undone and my mouth goes dry. I cannot even have the ties in my yoga pants, ICU robbed me of anything longer than a bracelet. But she is here, as broken as me, her glorious boots intact.

Bitter as the bile in my throat are the visions that dance behind my scrunched eyelids. My own feet that were once encased in thick soled boots. My hair long and wild, every thought dedicated to chasing the horizon and giving it a shove. Climbing, twirling, singing through the days in my battle boots. Wearing my brokenness with pride, unknowingly undamaged. Bared teeth in a flashing grin, counting the hours by moonlit parties, passed bottles, stories told. Eating the miles behind the wheel of first cars, giddy with the freedom, the music louder than a heartbeat.

Gone now, taken from me as surely as my shoelaces. Plucked away by frowning nurses. Gone, like that old thrumming search for what’s next. Trying not to remember why I stopping looking.

Because I found it, and it took me up like the intake of a wave. Breathed me in and smashed me down. Down and down until there was no way up. Shuddering small in my weakness. Beyond their reach, surrendered here for the hope of help. Into rooms like this one.

This womb room suffocates now, I want out. I can’t have it. My choices aren’t mine now and for a while I didn’t mind. They could take everything and I only stared at the walls. Take it all away, willingly given if they’ll take me too. But I feel myself waking. And I don’t want to. Give it back to me, my blessed numbness, I’ve bloody earned it. Wanting only leads to pain. It shows me everything I lost along the way. Discarded like pieces of clothing that trail a wandering soul in the wilderness. Leaving pieces behind as their mind loses reason.

Things I want back. Like the sharp edge of the day, now unreachable. My crusading heart in pieces, the whale song around me no longer soothes. Becomes instead a lament to what might have been, if I’d been better, tried harder, won more often than I lost. What I could have become, had I not found myself here, in this room, with a pink haired girl and her beautiful boots instead.

It Comes Back

The thing about depression is that no matter how much work you put in, how far you come, it will come back.

I’ve felt it sucking at me again these past days. Felt it dragging at the corners of my mind. I woke up today and there it was. I am also in the grip of a Fibro flare. For those lucky enough not to know what that is, it basically means my entire body is in pain for no damn reason. Are they connected? Hell yeah.

Depression is a little parasite. She waits for something else to bring me down and there she is. Right on my life line, sucking all the feelings away.

Until I am not happy, or sad. I’m back in the grey wasteland of nothing. Everything is leached of joy. I am flattened. I am nothing. But I refuse. Im in a desert leached of all emotion. But I ain’t stuck here.

So I go to work. This is my job after all, keeping the Bonnie Bot alive. I watch my favourite shows. I reach out to my friends who get it. I tell husband. I get good with being sick. I do the things I like doing. I go through the motions. In my case, if I succumb and just lie down, I will get worse.

I start being kind to myself. I bring my best self talk forward. C’mon Bon, you know the drill. Are you safe? Do you need help? Is this manageable?

I take steps. If I want to get better I have to fight for it. I feed my face with good food. Listen to good music. Do things that make me feel… something. Hide the sharps. Put the razors away. Bury my face in my dogs neck and just hold on.

This is the price I pay to be me. My brain gives me creativity, it makes me different, intuitive, imaginative. And sometimes, it tries to kill me. Everything is a balance I guess. I still like being me. But the tax is bitch.

So I will hang on. I will hug my children and breathe them in. I will rest my head on husband’s shoulder. I will wait for it to pass. Hold on Bon, just hold on. Wait for the times to get better. Have faith that they will.

I will stay. I will not let this be the end of me. Because brain, you dear, fucked up mess, the times they are a changing. My smile will come back before you kill me. Just watch.

Stay weird peeps. Just stay.

X Bon

Lost On You

(These are old feel an old note… but it has to go somewhere right? Cos I don’t want anymore).

I’ve tried to tell you a thousand times.

What it feels like to wake up disappointed that you’ve woken up.

To hate the new Spring sunshine on your skin.

To watch your child laugh and feel it echo through your empty heart.

To see the smile on your lovers face and feel exactly nothing in response.

How it feels to already be dead inside and how it hurts to pretend.

What it’s like to keep on struggling because people need you, want you, beg you to stay. How that doesn’t feel like love, it feels like a life sentence.

I’ve talked to you until I’m blue in the face, and your resistance to what I’m saying just makes it harder to stay.

I’ve showed you my scars, begged you to see. You turn my arm over, pull my sleeves down and shutter your own eyes to my pain.

I don’t want to be here.

You made me promise to stay.

So here I am. You’ve moved on because everything is fine now.

I’m sinking in the dark, treading water while you work on the future.

I could show you all the things I’ve done, all the work I’ve put in. To be standing here next to you, while you get busy. You turn you head to your phone and I’m standing here alone.

I give when I can. I take what I need. I write it down and bleed it out. I’m losing more than winning these days. I’m half way gone already.

I never wanted to be this way. I didn’t get to chose. It kills me that the only thing I can feel in this black void is anger.

I’m screaming at the night sky, my head ripped back in a full throated roar. You think I’m just looking at the stars.

I could tell you all these things.

But you can’t feel what I feel.

And so my words

Are lost on you.

I’m writing a book!

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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.