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Brain Stew

Poo Not Taboo

A hugely significant impact on my mental health is my continual yet invisible struggle with irritable bowel syndrome. Ahhh, IBS, you farting, gurgling, embarrassment of a thing.

A few years ago now I started a side-tumblr about my struggles (https://intestinecork.tumblr.com/ **be warned** there is talk of poo and farts and sadness and anger). When I did this I started to see the vast array of experiences of this thing. People like me having to plan toilet stops, have mental maps of the closest loo, have hours laying flat waiting for the wind to pass and so on. It isn’t just me.

This week has been possibly my worst experience of the ‘intestine cork’ as I call it. Maybe it was the mango I et, or maybe a piece of bread snuck in..? The thing that gets me (and I know those living with IBS all over the place feel the same) is the amount of people who apparently ‘know’. If I just ate more healthily and excersized I would be okay. This makes the guilt feel like a red mark of shame cuts across my face as I eat chips… knowing they are easy on my tummy.

Having a partner I can talk to openly is pretty significant, no shame, no blame but someone to be honest with about how I am feeling and what my gutty-wuts is doing! Thanks you! Love love love and sorry…

Googling IBS does not explain my symptoms. Your gut does not illustrate my gut. It is weird in there. Maybe a poo transplant will help, believe me I am considering it (https://www.sbs.com.au/ondemand/video/28413507621/michael-mosley-guts).

 

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A shadow at a time…

For the past 8 months I have been making tiny, barely noticeable (to me) changes. Mineral water after work, apples instead of chips, walking instead of tv.

I garden now. I explore places. I stretch.

I listen to Radio National. I craft.

Not any grand gestures, just making my heart beat and wondering how my gut works. Saying ‘no’.

More truth to myself, a whisper here and a shadow here. Incredible.

WHY does the black dog sit so close some days!?

A dream, a paranoid thought, facebook, a word. 

That’s all it seems to take and I’m down. So low. 

I know my 5 senses and my mindfulness. I know it’s nothing but I cannot shake it off so easily today. 

Why? Because it’s a different work day? Different routine? I’ll try to wash it off. 

Yuck. 

I asked shame to please leave the room. 

So, I don’t want to skew to left of the centre that this blog was looking at – mental health – but this post is about something else. A something that may impact health but in ways other than what I first thought. 

So! Change. The phenomenon we all know is ‘hard’. Well this change came easily for me. I moved to a spot in Tassy I’d never considered and – to collective gasps – I gave up a job. I had – to the dismay of the dominant discourse about choosing a person – committed to a relationship. 

I got a job, then another one and now I am in my absolute happy place at work!

Ohhh, the relationship. Daniel. It’s not like any other relationship I have been in. It has been scary for me because of its healthiness and ease. We have had adversity, I’m not Cinderella-ing here. I don’t believe in ‘happily ever after’ I believe in happiness some moments, alternate feelings other moments. But this is a strange new land for me – one of safe vulnerability, emotional intelligence, independent needs and so many hugs. I didn’t know it could be like this. 

Then… there are R and M, the girls. Who I love and they love me too. They talk about ‘when you and daddy get married’ and they ask me how to spell things and what a group of otters is called (a ‘romp’ or a ‘family’). They desperately want me to come to their birthday party and to see their netball games. 

My life has changed, I explore rainforests, I drink a lot more tea, I had one beer on Grand Final day – my only alcohol in two months! I am healthier of both body and mind. 

I think back to the disdain I had for people ‘running things by their partner’ or wanting to spend all their time at home or with their partner. Now? That’s most important. 

I missed him, this, them…us for 37 years so now I choose him, this, them. 

No aplologies or shame. 

Lies and stories we tell ourselves. 

So! I have been chuffing along at a fairly happy pace recently. Lots of lovely new things in my life; caring and loving partner, his beautiful children, new job in a stunning soul home. Good good!


Then a thing happened and I suddenly feel scared; for me, for everyone. The heart breaking state of the world seems to stab my heart savagely. My idea of ‘one day’ has been shattered. 

One day I’ll be ‘like them’ – happy and fulfilled and safe. 

One day I’ll be free of the whispers. The small but heavy knowledge that I can’t cope very well and my brain whispers ‘just die now, it’s easier… better for everyone’. 

One day there will be happiness and peace and safety. 

One day. 

But that super cool person, with the kind eyes and smile, beautiful family and legion of friends and fans. That super cool person who was (by my shallow view) living my ‘one day’… they killed them self. 

So that means I’ll never be safe. That means all my loved ones might not be safe. 

I didn’t realise the ‘contagion effect’ was more than an immature cry for attention. I hadn’t considered that suicide in itself is a trigger until it triggered me to want to die. And quickly. Even though I’m finally on my way to my ‘one day’. 

I talked, I yelled for help and I’m at my doctor and I will survive because I want to want to live. 

But, my oath, if it isn’t bloody hard. 

Long time, no post

Oh my. Oh wow. It has been an age. Like literally – if time can be different to the dominant understanding it has been eons… light years…. Cat years at the very least, since my last post ( a mere 2 human months ago).

I am now in a relationship. It feels secure, safe and beautiful. He is another soul mate in my life. Wonderful, fascinating and loving. 

My mental health is still an interesting beast. Against popular belief I’m not mindlessly floating through life thinking ‘ohhh all is wonderful and sparkles because a man…. wow!’  I am struggling.

Anxiety is whispering in my ear ‘now you will die, it can’t be this good’, ‘all your friends will hate you for having a boyfriend’ and so on. 

The unachievable yet coveted ‘balance’ is a dream of the past with every waking second yearning to be with him. And then comes guilt – a great friend of depression – saying ‘you’re one of those people, codependent and ditching friends when a man comes along’….

I know these voices are;

  1. Not mine and/or
  2. Not real. 

So I will resist and go with my heart towards the good thing that I wasn’t expecting or wishing for but have been blessed with, nonetheless. 

I am in love with a stunning man. And I’m so happy. 

Nature’s soft nurse, how have I frighted thee…

In a lot of ways I really don’t like myself. 

I absolutley lack self discipline. I’m wide awake right now, it’s 3:36am. I didn’t take my sleeping medication at 5pm like I should have. And by 10 when I remembered it was too late. And I didn’t bring my short release that may have actually helped. Am I addict to seroqel? FFS. 


And I ate so much crap today!! And spent money that I HAVE TO SAVE. 

Tomorrow is the annual countdown of the Hottest 100 songs, a big day for me. A favourite day. 

And here I am. 

Insomnia benefits;

  • I looked at a lot of shark pictures. 
  • I learned some more about Ariana Grande and her brother Frankie. 
  • I terrified myself some more with ideas of how bad things could get with the current American president. 
  • Goats. There’s a lot of them on the internet. 
  • Facebooks stalks!
  • I mindfully explored some mandalas in my closed eyes. As usual a high number of pot leaves were present. 
  • Dog cuddles with nefurew Albert. 
  • I looked up trypophobia. Again. Just to check I’m not imagining it. 

*sighhhhhh*

Following you soul…

I noticed something today. 

I woke up at my sisters house this morning and I could hear a bird screeching. He’s a pet sulphur crested cockatoo that lives across the road and at first I clenched my fists and thought ‘shut the fuck up!!!!’…. then I realised that was all I could hear. No traffic or neighbours (disgustingly) clearing their throats through thin walls. 

Then I got up and went out to put my tent up for an airing. It was warm already and I could hear insects buzzing and cows in the field. 

In the process of putting up my tent I looked at the little room they have down the back that I used to live in – and then each of their children had a turn of calling their own – and I thought ‘maybe I don’t need to live in town’. 

I thought on this all day. 

There have been issues – significant issues -between myself, my sister and her partner. Things have developed and changed though, as they do. And I think this could be a truely happy space for me. 

I could have creative space! 

Green grass!

Actual frosts!

Not far to incredible natural beauty!


So. Maybe in August I will be moving out there! And this, makes me grin. 

The definition of stupidity;

Hasn’t it been said it’s doing the same thing expecting different results?

I am not okay. I do not cope in large crowds of people going about their business quietly let alone crowds of people getting drunk and antagonistic and awful. I have had anxious images of punching people – Bart Curlish (go watch Dirk Gently) is my spirit animal here – making them fall to the ground on more occasions over the last two days than ever before. 

But, although I think like an assassin, I act like a peaceful-hippy-mouse. I sit quietly and hope everyone is okay. Then I yell and scream at my friends about how cunty and awful the whole thing is. 

So. To answer my own question from the previous post, coming to a people filled festival is the definition of stupidity. 

I want to leave. 

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