How Fickle My Heart...

Ash. 23/f/Aus. This is a place for my words, my writing, my rambling. A place to vent, to explore, to get my thoughts out onto the page. I believe in music the way some people believe in fairytales.

[howficklemymind]

It’s been a while, but I wrote a thing.

Honesty time... This shit sucks. This takes all the best bits of you and destroys them, it takes all your relationships and turns them to flecks of dust on the windowsill, waiting and watching quietly, unable to progress. Static. This makes you question everything. Yourself, your habits, your friends, your worth. This destroys the good and leaves nothing but questions and uncertainty, havoc left behind after a tornado messes up all that you thought was good. All that you thought you were. This is hell. This is reality. This is a thing that comes and goes, ebbs and flows, familiar and chaotic as you try to decide whether you’re floating or drowning. This is a part of me. This is genetics and chemical imbalances and the things that have happened to me. This is the silent desperation of needing to know that people still love you because your brain is tricking you into thinking that they don’t. This is the constant fear of being judged and rejected. Of being impossible to love. Of ending up alone. This is thoughts of those already lost and the desperation of wanting their comfort, the comfort of knowing that they kept you despite the demons clawing at your carefully constructed walls. This is scary. This feels overwhelming and eternal. This feels like hopelessness and hope. Like isolation and community. Like silence and honesty. This taunts you. This tricks you into thinking you’re healthy before slamming on the brakes and causing you to crash, your body spread lifeless as you try to regain some semblance of understanding. This is knowing you’ll get better, and knowing you’ll get worse again. This is destructive and painful and nothing you could ever wish on another person. This sucks out your soul, leaving only a bone-deep tiredness in its wake, a zombie-esque version of who you can be trudging through life and attempting to minimise the casualties. This is doubting yourself and your family. This is doubting every decision you’ve ever made, including writing this down. This thrums through your veins, an urgent need to run, to escape, to be anywhere except where you are. This hurts. This is ugly. This is the moment where a bottle seems easier to pick up than a pen and a stranger seems easier than a friend. This is the decision between giving up or speaking out.

[howficklemymind]

Here I sit this morning, on Stockton beach, watching the sun rise on the last day of 2016. The first drops of rain after days of sweltering hit are bouncing of my skin, the sea breeze refreshing, and I just think. I'm taking a moment for myself, to connect with nature, to let go of the days gone, and just be. 2016 was a big one for me - one of the hardest I've lived through, but moments of amazement and wonder mixed in to balance it all out. There was good with the bad, I made some tough decisions and I've never been more mentally exhausted in my entire life, but I met some truly wondrous people who have made me laugh and love like my heart had almost forgotten how to do. I have never been more grateful for other people than I have this year. The saying goes: "when you're going through hell, keep going." We made it through 2016. A lot of shit happened around the world this year, and who knows what 2017 may bring us, but remember to keep fighting for you. Remember to reach out to people who matter, remember to laugh and take stock of the golden moments, and to keep fighting your battles. I hope 2017 is everything you wish it to be, and if it's not, you have the courage to keep fighting, to keep dreaming, anyway.

[howficklemymind]

Today I don't have pretty words.

Today I don't have pretty words. Today I have stress and panic and a heartbeat that's much too fast. Today I have nausea and a fighting dichotomy of staying in bed and crying or leaving the house and keeping myself busy. Today I contemplate changing my Facebook relationship status to 'single' just to get it all over and done with while my heart beats frantically inside my chest, hoping for just a little bit longer.

[howficklemymind]

I know it’s late but here’s the post I wrote and shared for WSPD16

Suicide currently kills 1 million people a year and it’s predicted that by 2020 the rate of death will increase to one every 20 seconds. For something preventable, for something that we can minimise simply by being open about it - these numbers are heartbreaking. I have struggled with my own mental health for years, including thoughts of suicide, but I kept living, I kept hoping, and day by day the world seemed a little brighter. It’s not easy and I still struggle but I’m no longer afraid to talk about it. Talking about mental health is crucial in reducing the suicide rate - we need to reduce the stigma surrounding mental health and help each other heal. Hope and healing, love and laughter, community and conversation.. These are ideas I focus on, that are essential in overcoming our issues and creating a better future. I fought for mine, I’m still fighting for it, and I hope that you are too. Remember tomorrow brings possibility, tomorrow brings opportunity for change, and I hope you make it to see it. Remember you are not alone in your fight and it’s okay to reach out and ask for the help that you need. #IKeptLiving #WSPD16

[howficklemymind]

Some days just suck.

There are days when I feel like I can’t do my job. Some days everything feels like too much, that my illnesses are overpowering, that the results of the job just aren’t enough when I’m so goddamn tired all the time.

Teachers are overworked and underpaid, everyone’s heard that before, but it feels so much more real when you’re living it. Every day there is more work, more things to think about, paperwork to be completed, students to discipline or love.

Some students are more taxing than others – some are worth it, some aren’t. We’re not meant to say that. As teachers we’re held up on this pedestal of expectations and impossible perfection, people who are always exactly how you expect them to be and never have doubts or succumb to failures. But we’re people just like anybody else, with lives and thoughts and feelings and sometimes bone-crushing, mind-numbing illnesses. They don’t stop me from doing my job, they just make me so damn tired.

Depression is exhausting and confusing – it can twist priorities in your brain, it can wipe them out altogether. It can make a blog post incredibly easy to write and an essay feel like the hardest thing in the world despite the fact you know that you could write an almost perfect essay in your sleep. Anxiety makes you scared to ask for help, to look weak or stupid or like you don’t know how to do your job. The depression makes it hard enough as it is, you don’t need others peering down your back. The chronic fatigue makes it all seem damn impossible – how am I meant to achieve anything when going to sleep is the thing that’s always at the forefront of my mind?

Over your time as a teacher you’ll meet thousands of different kids - there are some students you hate, some you love as if they were your own. I don’t know which one is harder to deal with every day.

My job is rewarding; on a good day it feels like the best job in the world, and sometimes the good days are the hardest of them all, the days where you fight and fight and feel like you have nothing left to give – but if it makes a difference to a kid’s life, then it’s completely worth it. It’s the bad days that cut you, that kill your spirit, and just make this job seem too damn hard.

Today’s one of the latter. Today’s a day where all I want to do is crawl into my bed and sleep. The worst part? Nothing’s even triggered it. I’m just exhausted and struggling and I guess that’s my point. Sorry for the ramble.

[howficklemymind]

Birthdays and death days.

“i like birthdays. i like them more for other people but i’m glad we celebrate them. At the heart of it is the opportunity to tell someone “I’m glad that you were born”, which is also to say “I’m glad that you’re alive.” Those are powerful statements. The world would be a different better place if we lived that way…”

I love birthdays. If you know me you know this. I love celebrating the fact someone has come so far, that they’re making it despite the shit that is thrown at them sometimes, the fact that they’re alive to speak, to smile, to laugh.

Today’s a tricky one.Today’s a mixture of celebration and mourning, of 7 years feeling like a lifetime ago while simultaneously feeling like it was only yesterday.

Today my heart hurts more than I know what to do with, it’s filled with love and pain and memories bombard me at the most unexpected moments. 7 years and it still hurts and I’m sorry this is such babble, I can’t even seem to get the words out.

But for now let’s focus on the good. We need to focus on love and celebrating each other - letting people know that we’re glad they were born and they miraculously made their way into our lives. Josh, Caitlin, and most especially my gorgeous grandmother - I wish you the very happiest of birthdays. I hope today is full of wonder and joy and you spend it with the people who cherish you the most. Today is your day and I’m glad you’re still here to see it.

[howficklemymind]

“Music is magic Music is the voice of the soul Music can be fast, it can be slow Music can be silly, it can be serious Music is a journal Music holds memories Music tells stories Music is unpredictable Music makes your workout go faster Music can be heard in your car, your headphones, your bedroom Music can be heard at a festival, a concert, all around the world Music can take you to another place Music can be understood in any language Music is unity Music is what feelings sound like Music is an outburst of the soul Music is the strongest form of magic”

- a.c.

[howficklemymind]

Dealing with death this week....

This week Facebook memories serve as the worst kind of brutal reminder.

This week the clock is perpetually set to 2am - no movement, no progress.

This week the calendar serves as nothing more than another superficial means of marking time. 3 years, 7 years, it all blurs together. It takes us back to the day, it shows us our past and our present, that things have drastically changed but somehow the pain is still the same.

The grief lessens, it's not constant and all-consuming, but it never goes away and it never gets any easier. It becomes a dull ache that you're not even aware you've been carrying around until the clock gets stuck on 2am and the calendar reminds you of your day of mourning.

Yesterday I cried for him, for the brother he lost and wishes so desperately he could save. Yesterday I cried for myself, for the brother I almost lost, the brother who suicide almost consumed, the brother I'm lucky enough to still have around today. For the brother he can no longer hold and touch outside of his heart and his dreams.

This week I am bombarded with the reminder of mental illness, with the reminder that suicide is the most unforgiving and misunderstood cause of death. I am learning that you are offered explanations but you never find answers, that you lose a brother but not their love. I am learning that 3 years or 3 days, it doesn't make a difference.

This week I understand that "Happy Birthday" can also mean "It's been 3 years and 2 days." The chorus of a birthday song can be haunted by the fact that it's "7 years to the day."

This week I am dealing with the death of my grandfather. 7 years past and it still stings and I still cry and I still haven't completely come to terms with it. On the day of my grandmother's birthday he gave up his fight and I don't know how but somehow we all still manage to celebrate her day.

Tomorrow I will relive 7 years ago. 2am tomorrow will be 2am 7 years ago.

Tomorrow "How To Save A Life" will bring me to tears.

Tomorrow the hole in my chest will run a little deeper, will hurt that little bit harder, will make itself known in the worst kind of ways. Tomorrow my patience will be thin and my pain will be clear. I think of curling up in bed and crying into my partner's chest. Instead I'll face the world, my thoughts consumed by memories of hospitals and hugs, phone calls and my body going into shock. I'll remember the most bizarre details, and somehow it won't be bizarre at all.

Tomorrow we'll sing Happy Birthday and we'll give a toast to the one we've lost, wishing more than anything he was there with us.

Today I hold back tears and ignore the pain in my chest that grows stronger everyday.

Today I think of 2am, of innocuous songs, of shooting stars and tigers and names tattooed on arms.

Today I think of immediate future. I think of pain and love and the purpose of community. I think of the celebrations we will be holding tonight, the conversations that will take place, the opportunity for healing that the people bring will to a small suburban pub. I think of the fact that a simple trivia night could come to mean so much, that it could be a platform for change and acceptance and rising about the stigma of mental illness.