Posts Written OnMay 2012

This is a huge week at work, and I’m not going to have time to write. Not writing is like not eating. Or like eating capsicums or something that I hate. When I don’t write, my brain feels full and cloudy. The moral of the story is, if you hang around until the end of the week, you can cop the brunt of my full cloudiness. I’m so good to you.

I arrive at the clinic and feel the blood drain from my face. I want to be done with it, to feel relief and freedom, and I hate myself for it. Gaz has been agitated with me from the early morning, and to not feel his warm hands around me exacerbates how empty I feel. This is the third time I’ve been to the clinic in the past month. I take my patient information form and try sitting in a different corner of the waiting room. I am crippled by terror and I make a desperate call to another clinic.…

This morning I sat inside a cliche and breathed the air: a pond with floating Mallard ducks, a weeping maple and a half rotten park bench with a dedication to someone’s lost love. I wasn’t late for work, but I knew I could be. I was trapped in the soft sunrise, sleepy but kept awake by the crispness of the daybreak. I was vaguely aware of the garbage truck in the street and the traffic on Wattletree Road, pummelling and punching its way to the city. I scratched my head at the “NO WEDDING PHOTOS” sign, wondering if the City…

Warning: this is an update post about my Pozible project and you shouldn’t read it if you don’t want to. Dear internet, Sometimes, when you have depression and anxiety, things are a bit like this: “WHY AM I EVEN BOTHERING EVERYONE WITH ALL MY SHIT THEY DON’T CARE I’M INSULTING THEM BY EVEN THINKING THAT THEY MIGHT CARE DON’T WORRY I WILL JUST SEE MYSELF OUT OF THE PLANET.”