asking for it

Help.

I know I need it. In fact I've probably known this for well over a decade though only occasionally admit it.

The number of times I've moved house since leaving home (about 9 years ago) is legendary, although I always reject offers of help from friends. I'd rather pay some stranger a shitload of cash to shift my stuff up and down the stairs though never buy a case of beer for someone I trust to haul my furniture. I am certain people are secretly relieved when let off the hook, and I wouldn't want to deny any of them that... or their weekend... or the functional use of their spine... or being spared my company at my very very worst, most temperamental, tired, and stressed.

The thing is considering I don't feel able to ask for help 99% of the time, when I do ask for it, I usually really need it; sometimes you get let down, and sometimes you don't (looking at you extremely wonderful helpful generous friends hello reader one and only xoxoxo).

I had an extremely bad and unexpected experience with a colleague about 2 months ago at a pub, suffice it to say I don't want to see or speak to him again, but I have to see him regularly. The problem is, in spite of not actually feeling threatened by him, I seem to experience panic attacks when I see him. I start to shake, I start to cry, I feel sick, my heart is racing, my hair stands on end. This happened again today with an intensity that seemed ridiculous to me 2 months after the original event.

The people I work with are good people. They are intelligent, caring, empathic people. But when presented with this paradox of this good guy behaving badly they quite honestly don't know how to react, so what happens is the reasonable one (i.e. me, pretty much the only time in my life I'd have called myself this) gets leaned on, to let it go and just try and forget about it, don't think about it, and also give it a bit of time and you'll be OK. What they don't realise is no, I'm not thinking about it, but when I see the person I really don't want to see, my body flips out in the equivalent of "danger Will Robinson" in spite of any pleas from the rational (using that term loosely) part of my brain to settle the fuck down.

(OK apologies for the excessive formatting there. I got a bit carried away).

I am sick of feeling out of control about this, I am so extremely sick of feeling isolated and like I'm crazy for not dealing well with being treated the way I was, and I know part of my reaction is probably due to being not so stable before the event itself. So I'm finally asking for help; professionally that is.

I know I kind of have to go it alone. The only way I can gain perspective now is to distance myself from those who have been such lovely and easy friends at work, who, I know had the same thing occurred with somebody they weren't so close to would've said good riddance to that nasty fucking piece of work and thank god you can cut him out of your life. Right now they're tying me to him in a way that means I can't recover.

Today I realised horribly, that for some of them although I never asked anybody to choose, they made a choice anyway and went with the pervert, and that cuts me up inside. It's why I try not to rely on people, but as a human impulse we can't really help it, regardless of attempts at being hermits.

Certainly this little hermit is grateful to get her thoughts out where nobody she knows (except maybe 1) will ever read them. Hopefully it means I'm one step closer to equanimity with the shitty things in my life, and this is new territory for me.

Wish me luck.

M

My tangled web

I <3 spiders. They are incredibly fascinating and sophisticated creatures. I used to be kind of arachnophobic until I had to ride into any number of occupied webs on my early morning paper run as a kid. The Encarta spider web animation also helped a lot I think ...very similar to this one.

Obviously I was destined to be an engineer.
And tangential.

So that's not exactly the point... I'm thinking along the lines of the truth, where it sits and how important it is. Today I gave two friends I care about completely different levels of honesty on related topics and it puzzled me, but we should wind back a bit first to get the full picture.

I am a liar. Just ask my dad. He has this cherished (irony) story of me as a 2 year old walking out with mum's lipstick all over my face: Him "Have you been into mum's makeup??" Me "No". LIAR. This is the refrain that is trotted out for the audience (for it is inevitably a performance of sorts) to prove my ingrained dishonest nature. But he's actually right, or at least partially. When I spin this yarn myself either for the purposes of gaining sympathy or a laugh, I usually omit the fact that he probably hasn't said it for a few years, and also that it is actually a handy device for me to gauge the sanity of my situation, so not entirely bad.

But truly, I am continuously dishonest. Most of us are I believe.

If you know a long term depressed person, especially if they are clever (using this term VERY loosely) they will have worked out the fastest way to lose friends is to tell them how you feel. I see it as a simple herd wellness evolutionary trait - how comfortable do you feel around a sick person? Sane people (without the years of training) are not supposed to understand insane people. Be grateful if you don't get it. I guess you could call me a less-than-clever clever-depressed person, although I am exceptionally good at concealing how I feel. Unless I don't give a shit. Those are the days I need to be locked in my room a la solitary.

So today. The topic was, from one friend who knows me really well in some ways and not at all in others - "you've met somebody haven't you, saucy minx" etc. If he'd known me for longer he'd know how ridiculous the question is. When somebody is egging you on like this, willing you to succeed, it is so utterly depressing to let them down.

Unwittingly I went from this relatively normal day (background hating self depression not intruding excessively) to despair, black hole utter failure as a human being especially as a woman and tearing up in the office helplessness. After hearing my story of failing to interest yet another man, he asks if I am unhappy, and my answer is evasive but not dishonest - no more than I was before. At the end of the conversation he notes I sound "a bit down" to which I say I'm fine. Flat out lie. But what else can you say?

My other friend is struggling with her own grief and asked when I had started to feel sad about my second to last foray into matters of the heart - whatever the fuck you would call falling for a figment of my own twisted imagination - and my honesty really surprised me. Before I knew it the truth was lurching forth drunkenly from my mind to my fingertips sans censorship

...from the second I knew.... downhill... got exponentially worse...can't trust affection from somebody who is involved......

and words I didn't really want to even see on the screen

................ when I first tried to end the friendship....    I think that weekend I was     .....nearly psychopathic     

What I wonder is why does she get the truth and not me? Because she needed it and that is a justifiable use of my emotions?

I seemed to have no idea that this was the truth until it was staring back at me. I had deceived myself. I felt nothing when I left Australia. Nothing. It wasn't gone. It was waiting. I tried to tell myself I had realised it wasn't worth it. It isn't. But I feel the knife twist of hurt and betrayal regardless.

I am not stupid. I don't envisage relationships that don't exist. Any one of my failures is just more guys to add to the pile of those that don't give a shit about me. So what is the point in trying?

How does an unattractive person become magically attractive without drastic surgery? Another gem of my inner dialogue escaped not once but twice recently when I revealed that my reaction to seeing people look at me is to first find a mirror to see what is on my face or wrong with my clothes. Finding nothing the only reasonable explanation is my nigh circus-freak hideousness. Really regret letting that one free. It sounds silly trying to explain it outside the confines my brain....

Today's not unusual but still utterly ridiculous rollercoaster of emotions left me walking home with barely restrained tears in my eyes and I'm so exhausted I've had enough. There is absolutely no point in thinking of or pursuing men (no I'm not turning to women). What can you ask for when you have nothing to offer? Who am I kidding? I give up.

And here is the real ridiculous truth - I probably wouldn't be sharing any of this if I thought somebody would read it. I just don't want to have a paper diary anymore haha. Some bullshit honesty I'm pimping.

M

Don't look down

I don't believe in karma, but there is definitely something to be said for balance.

It seems that my life follows a trend - at least from my own very subjective view - of extremities. I find myself being treated by some people in such a way that makes you ask yourself:

"what did I do to deserve this?"

They use you, evaporate your goodwill, make you feel you can trust no one. You come out the other end a wreck, a little wiser, but also with that sick, cold feeling like you are pretty sure this will happen again because it's happened before, though maybe next time you'll be that bit less forgiving. Which is entirely unfair, and a bit sad but such is life.

For all the shitty things anybody could name about me (and there are thousands) I have good intentions, not malice. But I am not always a good friend as the traditional definition would ascribe. Being so neurotic makes you horribly self-obsessed and time-poor and I am certain I could win a "worst ever correspondent ever" award.

Put it this way, I would never expect to be able to know even one such remarkable creature as the many I am so fortunate to call my friends today.
And I find myself asking this question:

 "what did I do to deserve this?"

These people, they lift me up from the darkest depths just by their mere presence, they are inspirational, kind, and patient no matter how irritating I am being. I must confess to being so entirely dwarfed by such generosity of character that I frequently feel infantile in my inadequacy.

One such example has been some dear friends of mine from back in Sydney who knew me so well that, understanding I would be missing my pet bunny Adam, had a plush version made in his image (very biblical now I think about it haha) who's now sitting on my lap, helping me write. His name is Clive in honor of his uncle's stubbornness. He has a good friend in Sanford the Sloth.

This is no ordinary toy. I think the best description comes from the one who commissioned him (link).

He arrived earlier this week in San Francisco (a little bleary-eyed from the flight) accompanied by a care package of tim tams and T2 french earl grey tea they knew I'd defile with milk. I must admit to being surprised that such vittles survived the flight - bunnies are hungry beasties!
Coming back to the point:

How do I get such friends? I just hope one day to be half as amazing as they are.

If the price for having a bunch of incredible friends is a few complete pricks along the way then it's obviously more than worth it. But I don't think that's the point, and maybe I'm doing it wrong... The balance is there, I just need to look straight ahead and stop wasting my time looking below, which will only achieve me inevitably falling on my arse.

Clive says it's getting late and it's time for bed already. He wants a cup of tea and a story. I'd better go.

Thank you to all my wonderful friends who give my life meaning, depth, and colour. I'd be lost without you. xo.
-m
PS. posts on SF coming soon, promise. Just had to get this one out.
PPS. for anybody who is curious about the model: please see my bunny flickr set

See you round like a Rissole Straya

Holy shit. The next time I post anything I'll be on the other side of the world.
I am technically homeless which is just the oddest sensation, can't begin to tell you how strange it is to be going for a holiday let alone continuing "home" to another country.

Wish me luck, I'll need it.
x. meg

Thank you.

Considering we're getting into the swing of Oscars season and I'm about to move to a country that actually celebrates thanksgiving, I thought I'd display my own bit of gratitude.

In the last few months I've had a bit of a hard time, as you can probably tell from other posts and / or twitter. I am almost entirely sure I couldn't have done much more to act maturely and ethically having tried to separate myself 3 times from somebody toxic and finally achieving it. I think all that remains bouncing around in my head is a part of me that feels sorry for Mr Toxic's gf and wants to inform her, but that is none of my business and I'm better than that. She'll work it out eventually. sigh.

Anyway I am trying to see the positives, which when you look for them are many. So in an incredibly self indulgent post (yep, just for me you don't have to read it) I'm going to say thanks in my least sarcastic tone for the good things that have come out of a shitful situation:

Thank you for eventually returning my stuff intact

Thank you for showing me the remaining 90% of your personality, finally, which also means

Thank you for being someone I can't care enough about to hate

Thank you for making me feel so much better about myself by comparison

Thank you for forcing me to reassess who I can trust, if anybody

Thank you for showing my instinct to be better than I thought

Thank you for teaching me to listen to my friends

Thank you for justifying the importance of honesty when judging character

Thank you for the only genuinely seemingly selfless thing - sticking up for me

Thank you for clarifying what someone caring about me doesn't look like

Thank you for giving me something to cry about in the past months

Thank you for giving me nothing to cry about in the past weeks

Thank you for allowing me to leave easily and with no regrets

Thank you for giving me the space I've been trying to get for months, and

Thank you for finally letting me go...

...Please don't follow me this time. I am so much happier without you.

Ah. Having written it feels like I've said it. Thanks. now I'm very tired. Good night.

Drop dead Fred

I never had an imaginary friend when I was little, but I remember watching this movie with Rick Mayall, and being heartbroken for the main character when she finally got rid of him forever.

I've had my own odd experience in recent times with one I can only say is more in my head than reality. In fact we used to jokingly call him my imaginary friend because he would so consistently forget everything I'd say and do that it seemed I may as well have been the only one there.

At times I would (half) jokingly say my company was so traumatising he'd blocked me out. But looking back this is more likely attributable to my invisibility than any malice on his part.

Lately it's emerged just how close to the truth I was. It turns out that the person I could have sworn I was friends with didn't exist, in fact I had read him completely incorrectly. And now here I am having finally extricated myself from that situation (not using the movie methods) I'm doing my best to learn from it, and I think there is definitely some blame to be thrown my way.

Too often we get offended at someone who "doesn't truly know me" or "is only seeing what they want to see". I have always assumed I was on the misunderstood side of the fence and that empathy helped me see where others were coming from, but now I reckon I am just as bad at this as everybody else, and it's really screwed me here.

You forget all those times that you made an extra effort to see the good side of a situation, where for somebody else you couldn't be arsed. You suppress the little things that irritate you in favour of seeing a glimmer of the person they could be. And those warning bells? What warning bells (I thought that was tinnitus)? I think in the future I will stop being so arrogant about my people-reading skills and just try listening to my friends who I was convinced didn't know crap and would never see what I did. Man was I wrong.

I've also decided to revise my "sorry" policy. It's been a (perhaps misguided) source of pride for me that I will forgive just about any slight on me if the person genuinely apologises. Given I now acknowledge my lack of skill in determining authenticity, I think a conditional acceptance of remorse is a better idea. I hate to be so cold about it, but they don't need to know my thinking process either. Wait until true contrition is demonstrated before dropping the walls. Let's hope I don't get into that situation again soon.

I don't really trust anything at the moment aside from a few close people, and I'd be nowhere without those non-imaginary friends. It is so odd, though, saying goodbye to someone who never existed, the concept of whom evaporated like smoke or Keyser Söze. But I feel much better now than I have in ages, and I plan for this to be as much of a positive experience as it can be.

Now kiss me and say "Drop dead Meg"

Wish you were hare: A postcard from Adam

I have recently had to give up my darling rabbit, Adam (RSPCA name, don't laugh, OK you can giggle just a little bit) because I'm about to move to San Francisco for 2 years for work.

What is most gratifying about this is that his new pet parents my brother Ov and his fiancee Lizzie are the best that you could ever hope for and I know he'll be happy there. They so kindly took him on even though they have one silky chook (Gert), a bunch of reds (I think), and Roscoe the handsome kitteh cat.

In spite of all reassurance I miss him terribly, and Lizzie understanding this, sent me a message today that simultaneously made me grin and want to cry. It was a letter from my little man:

Hi Mum,

I did binkies for a solid minute this morning when I saw Aunty Lizzie- up and back, up and back, I went. And then I was so excited about my food that I stood leaning up on the door, and Aunty Lizzie had to wait until I let her in. I was happy with a long pat, and a long groom, and am looking rather handsome aside from four brown paws- still, who can blame a man for digging.

My house isn't at all wet, even though it rained all night. Infact I am so high and dry that Aunty Lizzie has to water my grass every now and again to stop it drying out.

I am ignoring my hay at the moment, all I want is grass, grass, grass. Aunty Lizzie made up a feeding poster using the vet advice and bunny book you left her. I get fed morning and afternoon, with the recommended quantities of greens, fruits and veg. I adore parsley from the garden at the moment, infact I eat it more than the humans do.

Also my cousin Roscoe and I are becoming better acquainted. I sit on my hammock and stretch up, and Roscoe sits on the deck and stretches down, and then we engage in a good gentlemanly sniff. I always look rather lonely when Roscoe leaves, but Roscoe is quite a rogue at heart, and I don't think he knows yet how to take a chap like me.

Lots of love,

Adam.   

Just wanted to share such loveliness with the rest of the world. There he is tucking into some Bok Choi I think.

His name is Rabbi(t) Adam "Bunners" Scruff. And he's having a lovely time in his new home.

to start... I'll have dessert

I've always been someone who doesn't like to think about the process, mostly the end point. Order dinner with dessert in mind, stuff the practicing I want to play the piano perfectly NOW.

In my mind I have had the concept of a blog bouncing around for some time, without a clear objective for content, predominantly as a cathartic process for myself. If people read it so be it. This title was kind of haunting me, although it means nothing to the outside world.

sentenceorigami is something I once used to describe my mode of speech - it folds in on itself with such complexity as to be unrecognisable to any but the folder, and in the hands of the unskilled (which I am) will remain forever indecipherable.

Those who know me well, hopefully understand what I'm talking about (rarely), when I spend most of the conversation in my own head and only blurt out the punchline. Let us hope my writing is slightly less... incomprehensible (and how many 6-syllable synonyms for lack of understanding can I hit before the end of this post?? Last bets please.)

I kind of wanted this to be anonymous, because I thought it would allow me to be more honest. Then, I thought - that is cowardice. You want to say something enough to broadcast it then just fucking say it. So I will.

Reader, if you ever exist - I hope this does something for you other than bring you out in hives from annoyance. And illegibility. BAM