Muffin trays and moisturiser

If you really want to hear about it, I can tell you. But it won't be one of those stories where you start with the childhood stuff and work up. We all had a childhood, lousy or spoilt it makes no difference now. No difference to me walking in my front door after a day at work and with another day at work ahead of me. I sat on my bed for about 10 minutes, thinking about this and that. I could go ahead and tell you what I thought about but you'd probably think I'm crazy, hell, I think I'm crazy. I picked up an empty glass that was by my foot from the night before. I had nothing else to do so I picked it up and poured some Scotch into it. The glass was the kind you find at a grandma's house. It had an ugly pattern on it in frosted glass, old-style, like it had been around forever. I felt sorry for old people when I thought about them and drinking from this glass made me feel goddamn depressed. I took another sip of Scotch and put it down. I stood up as if I had somewhere to go and then realised I didn't so I just lied on the floor, I figured the bed had been sat on enough. I could see underneath my wardrobe, a moisturiser bottle had fallen there. The sight of this bottle made me smile, although I wasn't sure why. At the sight of it my mind had flashes of happy images. The kind you see people having in the movies. That's what my mind was thinking before, if you really have to know, except the flashes weren't all happy ones. In the movies people usually have these flashes when they are dying or messed up in some way. You probably think I am messed up, I certainly think about dying. At unexpected times, I'll think about going out a window or in front of a bus or maybe with pills. If moisturiser make my mind flash with smiley images who knows what makes for dying flashes. And I don't always die, in my thoughts, sometimes I just go to hospital or bleed a lot. My head is still flashing, smiles and bleeding. I stand up like I am old, like it's a real effort as if there is someone around to give me sympathy. Maybe that's why I want to go to hospital, but what would I do with flowers and balloons anyway? I poured another Scotch and sat back on the bed. The flashes go to these muffin trays that I bought, they seem really important to me right now. Thinking about them I feel smiley and depressed at the same time, like I said goddamn crazy. I thought about whether I was going crazy for a moment, I hoped I was because then I'd go to hospital. I reminded myself that hospital are only full of people being polite and quiet and the smell of disinfectant. I poured another Scotch and thought about calling my friend William, we could have a good talk about books or work. I changed my mind, it's late and he's probably tired or doing something. I lied back on the bed, I felt cold but didn't pull on the quilt, I don't know why not, like I didn't deserve it. My mind continued flashing, mostly memories from my life but also messed up things like muffin trays.

If I knew then what I know now

Sitting on the bus heading home from Broadford Secondary College I sat in between the bullies and the bullied - this was basically my place in high school. The bullies would reach over me to the seat in front in which a quiet and vulnerable boy sat. They would flick his ear or put stuff in his hair, he would respond with a slight movement of his head but never would he turn around nor would he say a word. The bullies would laugh, but perhaps they just didn't understand the truly damaging affect bullying can have on people, perhaps they thought it was unfair but their position was safe and they would not dare risk losing it, or, and my heart tightens at the thought of this, perhaps they simply found it funny and enjoyed it. I would ask them to stop, point out that what they are doing is wrong or move their arm away, but how does that really help? I know that this situation hurt me as much as it did this bullied boy. And it wasn't just him, everywhere I looked someone was being teased or tormented or someone was being made to believe that they have less worth. The school was accepting of this hierarchy as true, simply playing the role that they found themselves in without question or a desire to change things for the better, teachers included.

Standing on the oval I could see the 'groups,' hanging in their claimed areas around the boundary, the 'populars' and the 'nots' and then the sub-groups amongst them. Turning around to see this inclusive/exclusive behavior, my world would spin faster than I was. I couldn't understand why people would fall in line with this 'American Highschool' way of being and I certainly couldn't understand why someone would enjoy bullying someone else. Was anyone truely themselves? Was anyone truely happy?

I found myself hanging 'down the back' with the 'smokers.' I loved this group because they were never exclusive, anyone could make that walk acoss the oval into the crew behind the pine trees. It was very much like a drop in center, the group would grow and shrink as people came and went. Anyone who tried to initiate groups, roles and levels would have eyes rolled at them and were ignored, anyone who tried to bully weren't welcome. If it wasn't for the smoker crew seeing the ridiculous of the bullying and role playing that surrounded us I would have snapped a lot earlier.

But alas I eventually snapped, half way through year 12 no less. Coming to school every day was too damaging and that was it I couldn't be in such a misguided and immature environment anymore. Like I said, I was rarely the victim of bullying but seeing it occurring everywhere, sharing the pain with or feeling frustration towards those around me was what really broke me down. Looking back on it, 6 years on, if I knew then what I know now I would have done something different. I don't regret leaving; like always, it was what was right for me at that time. But let's say I was the person I am now then instead of going into Mr. McKenzie's office and saying that I am leaving, I would have marched into Mr. McKenzie's office and said that I'd like to help start a 'no blame' bullying prevention and resolution program for the school. I wouldn't have left because even though I was still in the same environment, I would be doing something to correct it instead of being crushed by it. Fortunately for me I will be working in that field. I can help these kids; the bullied, the bullies and the ones who see it, help them understand what is really going on beneath these roles, why this hierarchy is bullshit and how they should look beyond the 'Ameican Highschool.'

There's a 5:30 in the morning now?

Thursday 16th of July

Here I am on a 5:35 train into the city. Heading to a morning Body Step class. During the triceps and abs track of a Body Combat class last night it completely hit me, I am training to be an instructor next week! During this track I wasn't strong enough for it and that's when my thoughts turned to 'I need to be the best in the room to be an instructor,' not in a competitive, unhealthy sense but more like how can I show people how to do it if I can't do it myself? How do I switch from a participant to an instructor? My thinking and more importantly my feelings then turned to pure excitement, feeling motivated to put all I have into fitness. I am in love with Body Step, it makes me (and a room full of people, in thousands of rooms all over the world) feel so damn fantastic! This is the next chapter in my life, training my body, working hard for what I want, to be an incredible instructor!

So that's how I found my alarm buzzing at 5am this morning.

That was written last week. I am doing a lot of my writing on paper on the train and often by the time I reach a computer I am in a different mood and what I wrote is not so relevant in my new space and so I don't post it. It will sit in my book until I stumble across it and am in the same mood and same space and ready to post it. So here I am, another early gym morning which was of course fabulous! Somehow when I have been away from exercise too long I have no motivation to get to the gym, I forget how much I love it. And then after 1 class, rock climbing session or a gym session I think 'how can I possibly think I don't want this? How can I forget how good this feels and how much I love it?' it's sort of the same with drinking, I seem to forget that I don't enjoy being drunk and all that comes with it (and perhaps I forget that I don't have to be down or anxious because I certainly don't like the feeling of that.) But I am remembering these things more often. It's slowly drilling in.

Back to the Body Stepping. My training is in 2 days! 2 days! Who would have thought that 3 or so years ago when I took my first Body Step class; obese, uncoordinated, unfit and all, that I would fall in love and find myself instructing it!

Hate her or love her, I'm stuck with her

I have a friend who I love dearly, she is one of my closest friends. I think quite highly of her; she is fantastic. You'll find us inseparable and most of our time spent together is fun; she's a cool chick. She has a lot of great qualities that make me want to be like her.

Although sometimes she can get on my nerves. She talks constantly and how long can someone listen to the same voice saying the same things? And often she'll say something stupid or she'll do something embarrassing.

Like us all, she has her moments of weaknesses when things seem too hard for her. I want nothing more than to help her out of it. But when she finds herself there I struggle to not get pulled in with her. Some of the time I can step back and speak hopeful and rational words to her. But other times my empathy drags me in with her.

We have been through an incredible amount over the years. To speak honestly, I have had hated her and wanted to cut her out, especially in my younger days. But mostly I have been glad to have her by my side, she is always there and I know she always will be.

V for Valium

A friend of mine, Ryan, told me that detoxing from Valium is harder than detoxing from Heroin. And he would know! I thought that was interesting and it certainly crossed my mind today as I went to take a Valium but instead held it in my teeth for a few minutes and then instead placed it on my desk in front of me. I know Ryan is referring to people who take much stronger doses than I do and take it 4 times a day (where as I am not even taking one a week). Or possibly he was speaking of those people, like himself and his girl, who abuse it, take their week's prescription in the first day or two.

The reason I found it interesting as it links in with my frustration with GP's who know nothing about mental illness (which I think I am yet to vent about) treating mental illness. Prescribing medication such as Valium or anti-depressants when if ill advised or there is a misdiagnosis can cause much more harm to the person than good. I found the Chemist was warning me about Valium's risk of dependency more than the doctor did.

I ended up taking 2mgs and another tablet still sits on my desk *throws it away.* So I'm pretty happy with that considering last Wednesday I took 6mgs plus 90mls of Bourbon! Anyway this isn't one of those 'woe is me, I get hit with anxiety' post because as previously mentioned, fuck that! Nor do I want to sit here posting about how good things have been lately. Instead, I want to leave the office because it's 6:40 and go enjoy this thing called life!

(Insert a witty play on the words 'Fitness First' here)

I am now a Fitness First member. At first I shuddered at the thought of being 'one of them.' But each time I go I feel more comfortable and am beginning to like it. Perhaps I'm becoming one of them. My initial experience at Fitness First was going in to take a deep, calming breath and to dare look upon the membership prices. But of course it wasn't as simple as being passed a costing sheet. No, I had to meet with a 'membership consultant.' She reminded me of the Friends episode, 'the one with the ballroom dancing,' where Ross and Chandler are sucked in by the attractive Maria. This membership consultant was a walking ad, 'this is what you will look like if you commit to Fitness First!' She was selling it hard but even though I knew that, I still happily signed my life away. After all, I get a fitness diary and fitness books in a sexy black case, who can resist?

Let me say, Fitness First is stunning! I marvel at the thought of their Platinum facility, now that is the club I shudder at joining, now I can't do that at regular Fitness First anymore. The bathroom facilities at Fitness First are quite incredible. A labyrinth of rows and rows of gorgeous wooden lockers which are locked and unlocked by pressing your membership card against the sensor. Instead of kids in bathers running around and wet toilet seats like at Broady Leisure Center, there are irons, hair dryers and other cool toys. There is a solarium and an aromatherapy steam room. A thought I had on the steam room. Perhaps Fitness First have hired an underwear model to lie in there all day, working on a similar theory to the membership consultant. Perhaps they swap him with another every hour to avoid pruning. Each time I have had a looksie there has been a stereotypically attractive guy lying on one of the wooden deck chairs. With his buff abs and pecs saying 'proximity to me will result in looking like me or sleeping with me or whatever your desires may be. I promise you the world with my short shorts and bleached smile!'

The set up for the showers perplexed me. The doors are not quite complete which allows slight vision of the women inside and the doors are made of smokey glass which shows a pink silhouette showering. Don't get me wrong, I conduct myself in a mature and respectful manner but after walking through rows of these showers, seeing flashes of skin and the shapes of naked women washing themselves on either side of me, let's just say I reached my stall feeling slightly flustered.

What perplexed me more and at this point I'll pause to stress that I may have become 'one of them' to a degree, I will never ever become 'one of them' which I am about to describe. There were women in the change rooms carefully examining their buts in the mirrors and spending a great deal of time putting on their make up before they worked out, before! I watched this behavior fascinated, like a researcher watches a pride of lions. With great care they applied foundation, eye make up and lip gloss before they went out into the gym to work out. 'Extraordinary,' *jots observations in notepad while crouched behind a log.*

All this being said, I do miss the personal touch to the Broady gym, knowing the instructors and other members. I am sad I won't be instructing there but instead in this impressive but sterile environment.

The joys of central heating and mantle pieces

How nice to be in a house with ducted heating again! Right now I am lying on my belly on the floor of my new bedroom. I am being swallowed by my big, soft night gown, pillow underneath me and the highlight of the of this beautifully comfortable state is my socked feet resting on the heating duct. A glass of Jimmy and Coke rests on the floor by my side and I am scoffing down a packet of cooked jumbo taco shells dipped in salsa - mild. Kitty lies by my side, also swallowed by my night gown; big enough for two. She is enjoying the new room and ducted heating as much as I am. On the TV a Simpsons DVD plays - What a wonderful way to spend an evening!

This scene is very reminiscent of when I was a kid. Back in the days living at Wallan. I would spend many winter evenings in the company of beautiful Spot. Together we would lie on the floor talking about everything; a doona covering us with warm air blasting through it as the bottom of it rested on a vent. I am back in an old house with gorgeous high ceilings amd fantastically ugly carpets. On my bedroom door, like at my Wallan house, someone has carelessly stuck a sticker, a long time ago by the looks of it. This one reads, 'a hug a day keeps the blues away,' which I think is quite darling. The sticker on the door at the Wallan house read, 'Go ahead, make my day!' I am again in a room with a mantle and fireplace, in a house with about 3 chimneys. I love having a mantle in my room, I think it is quite darling and lovely.

I found the above piece of writing in my book this morning, I wrote it about a week ago and didn't get a chance to finish it because I was interrupted. But it's still a cute little piece, even if it doesn't lead anywhere except to cover how good ducted heating and mantle pieces are. It is a good time to stumble on such writing, it compliments my current mood. This morning, despite lacking breakfast, waking after 5 hours sleep and being slightly hung over, I am feeling wonderfully uplifted! Even when I unintentionally and I suppose habitually tried to bring myself down with negative thinking I wouldn't have any of it! 'Away with you negativity! Be gone!'

One sheep...Two sheep...Three sheep

I have always been fascinated by dreams, it began as a kid when I was a Lucid Dreamer, the interest continued when I was studying Wicca and of course spiked when studying Psychology. I love my dreams they are significant to me, they serve an important purpose.

People have different ideas on the purpose of dreams, a common one being that the symbols or images in dreams represents lessons or significant themes in ones life. This was one of Freud's techniques, dream interpretation is something he is remembered for. Teeth falling out means that there is something that that person needs to say, for example. Dream dictionaries are used for dream interpretation, I once had one until I realised that this is not something I agree with. The way I see it, in a nutshell, is that it makes no sense that a symbol represents something universally. Dreams are only a creation of ones subconscious mind, therefore, the symbol would have to have entered into the conscious mind for it to be able to represent something that the subconscious is trying express. That being said, if that symbol is known to the person as meaning such and such and then they dream of it, it can therefore be interpret to have meaning. But for someone to dream about a duck and then to have to look up in their book what the duck represents, it is illogical in my opinion, how did the duck get in the mind for that purpose without any prior knowledge of it's meaning, unless it becomes a matter of spiritual forces.

Another idea around dreaming is that they can be a spiritual experience; someone passed can speak to you in dreams or dreams can make sound predictions about future occurrences through dreaming. This too is not something I subscribe to, although I will say I don't deny the possibility of this being true as well as the existence of a spiritual plane in general (another topic for another day).

So enough about what I don't think the purpose of dreams are and onto what belief I do hold, which is generally Psychology's stance (taking some of Frued's ideas as valid and putting some in the outdated box). Dreams are used by the subconscious mind to sort through and organise in a orderly fashion what was seen, heard, thought etc. in waking consciousness to make strong memories and links in the brain, blah blah blah. This is kind of a behind the scenes process, something that is done by the little guys who work hard to make sure the show runs smoothly but aren't noticed or appreciated...but without this process - Dang!

Another purpose to dreams that is more noticeable, right from waking to day to day existence is the use of dreaming to release stress and tension. To work through concerns and worries that are either to distressing or immoral to work through consciously (sleep with your mum and kill your dad kind of stuff) or ones that there are just not enough time in the day to deal with. A perfect example of something that would be too distressing or immoral for me to do consciously is eating meat (some might not see it as morally wrong as killing mum and sleeping with dad :-p). When I first went vegetarian my body had withdraws but it knew I couldn't eat meat so instead I woud dream of it, regularily, and still get a sense of satisfaction from it, after all, Freud says we require the satisfaction of killing and sex in life! So you'll also find when you ain't getting 'some' and not just sex but intamacy, companionship, etc. you'll dream of those experiences. And to touch on the second point; using dreams as a way of dealing with concerns that their just aren't enough time in the day to deal with consciously. I have reoccouring dreams around my main worries in life which pop up when that life issue is particularily prominent. When I am worrying about Uni I dream that I am back in year 12 and have my English and English Lit exams coming up and I haven't even read any of the books yet! When I am stressing about work, I dream that I can't make it into work for whatever reason but I don't call Alice to tell her I won't be in! And last night, I dreamt that certain friends of mine were abandoning and harming me, in the most random, odd and dream-like ways, because that is a worrying topic on my mind as of late.

I also dream random and bizarre things, just for funsies! And, oh boy, it really is random and bizarre! Which of course makes perfect sense during the dream and when you wake you can't help but ask 'wtf?!' I will attempt to describe a bit of last night's dream, which motivated me to make this post on waking. Walking through the city, we discovered that K. Rudd had paid a shit load of money in a brighten and excite the city kind of initiative. It is difficult to empathise the strangeness and truly bizarre feel to it, but basically there were a whole lot of large cartoon characters made of clay walking the city. We were wandering the city pointing, 'omg! It's Freddo Frog!'...'look! the Queen of Hearts!' We decided to go find where these were coming from, we found a shack and inside there was a man creating these incredible creatures out of clay and sending them out into the world. I mentioned to him that he must get paid a lot in this job, he said he did, 40 grand a year. I thought, that's not much. "For 45 mins a week work" he continued. I tried to work out how much that was an hour in my dream but failed, I just worked it out now for funsies, that's about $1025 an hour! This man then made us all our own clay cartoon characters to take home, I got Disney's Winnie the Pooh!

His palms are cold pushed against the glass. His pant legs are wet from the puddles he splashed as he dashed down the footpath. Inside looks warm and inviting, his insides tingle to be in there. George feels excitement at the possibility of what he could have, what he is so close to touching.

George's heart races at the sight of the red train that tangles it's way along the tracks around the store, up and under, around and around. His stomach turns at the thought of scaring his sister with that cap gun, and how brave he would look in that cowboy outfit! George can't help but jump up and down when he sees the jack-in-the-box, clowns are his favourite.

Looking down the street, George's mum is still so far away, slowly pushing the pram. "Muuum!" George whines in frustration. He turns back to the window and presses his nose up against the glass, he closes his eyes and feels his warm breath against the window. In his mind he is playing with the Dominoes, he hears the sound of them collapsing, 'click, click, click,' his smile grows and he feels a sense of completeness and encompassing happiness.

George turns to his mum who has now caught up with him. This is it, the waiting is over; George has thought about this moment for many days, it will no longer be imagined, it is here. George's mum sharply grabs his hand, "not today George."

A night of 3 Jim Beams, 3 Valiums and 3 tearful hours equals a morning of 0 feeling, 0 cares and 0 healthy physiological functioning

On a chilly July morning you can feel that you are numb and a little slow. But you don't truely realise the full extent of your numbness and lack of reflexes until a semi-trailer truck sharply brakes merely a meter from plowing you and the only reaction you can provide in return is a head turn and perhaps a blink. No flight or fight response, my heart didn't change it's activity from it's barely keeping my blood pumping status, no physiological reaction at all. I couldn't even feel anger at the driver who ran a red light in order to spare himself a few minutes and by doing so nearly hit a girl who was simply obeying the disco sounds of the green man. All I could do was check that the man was in fact green and beckoning me and continue on my journey. Ah well, as they say - easy come, easy go.

Perhaps the patches or gum?

Cam so kindly pointed out today that my 'new theory' in my 'Keeping Up Appearances' post is something he and I have discussed and come to realise many times over the years. I feel like this is fresh and exciting but he sees it as done and worn. So either something has gone wrong with the communication between Cam and I around this, possibly either Cam or I have a patchy memory of it or, much more likely, it is like quitting smoking; I will tackle it multiple times before it finally sticks, and it is never going to stick until the mind and body are ready for it to. Perhaps this time I am ready for it to stick, it definitely feels like it, but I am sure it felt the same way the last time I looked at all these issues surrounding my mental health before I quietly slipped into familar patterns.

The last 5 or so days since I have stumbled upon this new idea, a few changes have occured. Firstly my thinking has changed. Sitting at coffee with Alice, as we do each day, I began to speak about how I feel, how the anxiety was effecting me that day and before I could complete my first sentence I stopped and said 'you know what? I am so sick of talking about this.' Alice replied in an instant, 'then don't,' and proceeded to talk our light 'girly talk' which we hold dearly. And that made a difference to my day, not talking about it. And more than that, by not talking about it or obsessing over it, I don't give it a chance to first get into my head and then into my body and bring me down. And I have been applying the attitude as often as I can, I have an image in my head of cutting my throat (sorry guys) and I just don't allow it. It sounds simple and like I could have done that a long time ago, but like I said, it's like quitting smoking.

Another change that has happened recently is I have stopped seeing my counselor. "Good on you, congratulations on feeling you are doing well enough to not require him anymore!" one might say. No! He ceased sessions with me, immediately and unexpectedly! Perhaps I didn't put out enough, as Shaun suggested, while I was in a shocked and fragile state! But reasons and what happened aside, no longer having a counselor is a big shift and it links in with the above paragraph. So, I am going to take this occurrence as the universe supporting this new attitude and approach. And go with it with a skip in my step.

I have also started looking at the fact that I play the damsel in distress role and how that reinforces my negative experience. This is something that I have been conscious of for a long time. It is something that I developed and made habit or became comfortable with during my time with Cam. Oh Cam, you White Knight you! So, as of late I have been conscious of when my state is influenced negatively in the hope of being saved by certain White Knights. Or when I am already down or anxious, not allowing myself to go to my White Knight for saving. Looking to myself for that. And it turns out I can do it on my own and much better than anyone else could anyway.

Blurred nothingness posts need love too

At the age of 23 I have made the step of moving out of home. It's mostly exciting, partly settling and slightly surreal. Straight away I feel comfortable in my new home, perhaps that is mostly due to Sarah and Clinton living here but also because the owner of the house, Lionel, has been very welcoming. Tonight is my first night in the new house, Sarah and Clinton have gone out, Lionel is in his bedroom and I am enjoying the peace... apart from that ticking clock (!) which I only noticed when I typed the words 'peace and' then stopped to feel my surroundings to discover another word to follow. And there it was 'tick, tick, tick' coming from Clinton's Homer clock on the wall.

Tonight (very soon actually - I am exhausted from moving all weekend) I look forward to curling up in bed with my hot water bottle and watching Aladdin in my new environment and basking in this sense of contentment (?), comfortableness (?), peace (?), or something else I can quite describe right now.

I was driving along Plenty Road today and was noticing how beautiful the shops are. They reminded me of Wallan (back in the day) or Kilmore. The paint on the walls pealing, the old signs from many years before can still be seen, fading; 'Butcher' or 'TV repair.' Despite a newsagency or a video shop now operating in that space.

This post has been a bit of a blurred nothing. I know I had something more interesting, important or at least structured to say here but with my sinuses playing up (in this very dusty house) and my exhaustion all I can do is dance around it with this, as I said blurred nothing post. Well, enjoy!

Keeping up apperances

If someone asked you to describe yourself would you describe who you are or how you want to be seen? Are these identities different and how do we tell the difference between the two? We all send out this image of ourselves of how we want the world to see us. This image varies depending on who's seeing it. I have been asking myself lately, 'which parts of my image are me and which parts only exist because that's how I want to be portrayed?'

I have spent the last couple of days breaking down Kristy into bits and throwing these parts into two chests; 'identities I hold only for others to see' and 'identies true to me.' I've found that a good way to determine between the two is to ask myself, 'if no one knew about this identity would I still hold it?' My veganism is a good example. Truth be told, I love saying to someone 'I am a vegan' and I love being seen as a vegan but if I had to be a vegan without anyone else knowing I would absolutely be one, no doubt. In the 'identies true to me' box it goes! This blog is another good example. I claim that this blog has been made public and known in the spirit of the healthiness of self disclosure. But would I maintain it so passioantely if it were completely private? Perhaps I wouldn't, I'm unsure. That's not to say it's all an image and not who I, not at all. I guess it's just something to keep in mind. Do my best to fill the chest with identities for me and use the other chest minimally for self protection and to keep parts of myself private.

I thought this interesting but it became very interesting and important when I considered that part my recent experiences of anxiety exists because it's an imagine I somehow enjoy putting out there. That I enjoy being seen that way and therefore I am motivated to continue feeling that way! Woah! I don't think that the kind of thing one should admit to. This theroy is still brand new, I need to play around with it some more. Let's say I experienced Depression for a significant amount of time. In that time it became a part of me, rooted itself in my soil, attached itself to many aspects of my life. In my head and in my feelings it became an important part of 'who I am'. So perhaps it is something I could have moved past by now but I am keeping it up because it's part of my identity. And sure, I'll 'woe is me' about it, but perhaps I really do like being seen by others (and especially by specific others, remind me to tell you about this one another time) that way.

So let's ask the question, 'would I still allow myself to still feel that way if no one ever knew?' I have began writting 'I actually think that I wouldn't feel that way...' three times but then I cross it out when I remember the pain of it, I remember how close I am to shutting myself out from the world, I remember the times I have panicked alone not wanting anyone to know, I remember it is something I am being medicated for! I guess it's not as simple as all that, not so black and white.

Definately a tough one to get my head around. I think I am definately onto something here. Although part of what I am going through is genuine and requiring treatment, I think a big part of me doesn't want to let go of that identity and even if I were in a place where I was ready to move on I might not even realise or allow it because of that part clinging on. I think if I were to eliminate the part of this condition that sits in the chest 'for others' it would reduce the frequency and serverity of it all. And that would be just dandy!

And to think I ride the train every day

I recently noted to a friend that because I most often post when I am panicking or down it makes it seem like I am often panicking or down, which isn't the case. It makes for a blog that's not very representative of my life, and a depressing blog too! When I pulled out and read an old diary from many years ago I thought 'oh, wow, I was down a lot in those days,' I think, 'what a waste of a life!' But now I see that too was probably a misrepresentation of what my life was made of. So, while I am feeling good, and just being, let's capture a moment in Kristy's world...

I sit on a Craigieburn train heading to my very soon to be former home. You see, in 2 days I am moving out of home for the first time, into a fabulous house with 3 of my best friends, and Lionel - 'Oh, Lionel!' I sit here with my toes just resting on the seat in front of me as if that will make a difference if a Connex staff member catches me - it won't! On my iPod I am listening to my 'faves' playlist. The same songs I have listened to over and over for months now, because that is how I roll! Bowie's 'Kooks' is currently playing. I think this song is incredible, it makes me think of my next love, or how I picture him/her to be. A hippie, someone who makes my Veganism look conventional. I see dreadlocks, baggy, scuffy clothes and an incredible heart - *sighs*.

The Connex lady announces 'now approaching Glenroy,' I hear 'start finishing up your writing.' I didn't realise how much I loved writing until I began this blog, I have written in the past, but not quite like this. Now 'Spider in the Snow' plays on the iPod. It's funny how I fall in love with certain songs. I will be half listening to new music while my mind is somewhere else. It's just background noise until something in the music, a lyric, a chord, reaches out and grabs me and says 'you have to listen to this. It's important!' I'll listen to the song and fall in love - time to update my facebook status. That is how it was with this song, plus many others in my 'faves' playlist. 'Now approaching Broadmeadows,' she tells me. This is where I get off.

Count the metaphors

I can no longer deny it, my life has become a run away train, I am caved in and the landslides keep on coming, I am fumbling in the dark - whichever metaphor I use, it's happening. My to do list is only growing, I am continuing to gain weight, my anxiety is getting worse, I am spending money that should go towards what I owe, I am failing further behind at uni, my physical health is suffering. Everyday is becoming a struggle.

Being kind and gentle on myself is how I have been dealing with these struggles lately, giving myself a break. The anxiety hits and I allow myself to spend an evening resting or I allow myself a good night out, no gym and some Jim Beam. And sure, while being loving towards myself, stepping back and having a breathe when the anxiety hits makes sense, at the same time if I spend the evening resting it means my to do list grows, if I have a few drinks my weight and physical health are affected. More coal is thrown in the train's burner, another landslide is felt or another candle looses it's flame. "An old fisherman who would stay out fishing until he caught - how many fish? anybody? - that's right, twenty-two!" So perhaps it's time to stop with the mothering myself and face the hard truths - pull the break on the train, dig my way out of the cave in and go to the power box and install myself a surge protector!

3 or 4 years ago there was a change in my attitude, in my mentality, in my actions, in me and in my life, I took control of my situation. I stood in front of a blank canvas resting on an easel. The easel was housed in an empty room with plain walls and gentle wooden floors. There was a simple window which exposed a far stretching green field to break up the whiteness that surrounded me. In my hand was a paintbrush and a pallet of beautiful, bold, colorful paints. In that room, I painted a stunning picture, I was changed, people were awed. And since then I have always stood by the ideas of choice and power to design ones own life, we all have it. We all have a canvas and paints. But now my painting is fading, no longer so vibrant, or perhaps it's power has been lost from looking at it too often or maybe somehow it got packed away in the attic, hidden behind my dumbbells, my motivation and my anxiety free days - collecting dust. I will still stand tall and speak of power and choices but I am realsing that these words have become empty. Only words, no actions behind them.

It is time to stand in that room again, with the painting I once created hung on the wall for inspiration. This time I stand in front of a table on which a block of clay rests. A scalpel in one hand and a wet sponge in the other. The motivation that I found in the attic along with the painting is swirling around the room in an array of sparkles and colors. I find myself here again because it is time to make new choices, to sculpt a new life. My next creation will be influenced by my already walked path, the painting on the wall. But the real passion and inspiration will come from what I see in front of me - a new home, new life goals, new relationships, too many changes to mention.