I’m seeing my psychiatrist at 3:20.

He’s going to try and keep me out of hospital with some drug cocktail (by the sounds of it) and seeing me as often as he sees his wife (by the sounds of it).

Hospital is not off the cards.

As he said, “life trumps everthing”.



Next chapter

I got a job.

Just like that.

Well, not really just like that. A friend had a job and then got a new job so she put my name forward for her old job.

I did a trial last week – two stories in a day. Well, half a day as I had canteen duty at Oscar’s school on the same day. You should have seen the s.t.a.t.e. I worked myself into.


I am the valedictorian of self-doubt and failure fear. It is actually ridiculous and I hate it. You know that whole philosophy that we repeat negative behaviours for a reason, that they serve a purpose. I don’t buy it. I HATE how I talk myself down. I have no idea why I do it – the perfectionist in me? The need to have everyone like me? To not let anyone down? I don’t know. I just don’t know anymore. I think it’s just my go to resting state and it is doing my freaking head in.

The gig is with Thomson Reuters working on two of their environmental industry newsletters and one on risk management. A five day fortnight.

This changes our lives. I am SO excited about that. And proud. Proud that something I am doing is digging us out of this hole.

I am desperately trying to focus on the good – I am excited but I am also shit scared. My anxiety is running at around a 7-8 on a scale of 1 being dead and 10 being the demonic bunnies. I know I will be fine. Good at it even. I know I just need to get started and it will fine. It’ll be fine!  But at the moment I really want to stop feeling sick and panicky.



An OK day. Good even!

Oh guys, how your beautiful words of reassurance and encouragement buoyed me in that black sea. I know I drag you guys along on this roller coaster and well, today is no different.

Today I decided to play it low key. It was just me and Grover and there was much TV watching and playing on the computer. But there was equal measure of hanging on the lounge together and just generally decompressing from that rough weekend.

According to the forecast next weekend is meant to be more of the same in terms of the weather so I am already hatching plans to get us out of the heat or at least doing something rather than just enduring the weather.

But today there was goodness. GREATNESS even.

1. Grover drew his first attempt at people.

2. I taught Jasper how to ride his bike without training wheels! The look on his face as the confidence grew – oh that he will conquer the world!

3. I made three different dinners all from the same base of rissoles I had made a few weeks back and frozen – for some meatballs in tomato sauce, for others meatballs in a tomato and chilli sauce – both those with penne, and for mum rissoles in a red wine gravy w/ mash, carrots and broccoli. And we all ate at 6.30pm.

4. Jasper bought home his first reader. Is there nothing more breathtaking than seeing a child learn to read? I think not.

5. Everyone was happy today. And settled.

But the biggest achievement, after two weeks (if not more) of feeling like I was running with lead in my legs was this:

10kms people.  I ran 10 kilometres WITHOUT stopping. It took me about 1hr 10 mins. Sure, I’m now cripple but I did it. I CAN DO IT!


Less peak, more trough: when the black dog comes and bites you on the arse

I wish I could pinpoint when the black dog is coming to sit on my lap. To walk beside me every step of my day. To lie on my bed and infiltrate my dreams.

Has it been the boys’ relentless badgering to get a dog and my equally adamant denial of that request that has made him return?

Or the bizarre three kilo weight loss last week which returned literally overnight?

Or the haemorrhage of money that is start of the school year (even though I have managed it! somehow).

Is it my ongoing nagging worry about Mum and her health (she is back to walking with a stick as now her left knee has totally given way).

Perhaps residual anxiety and grief about the Christmas incident as the new reality that it birthed has to be nursed. By me.

It seems ridiculous but the weather, I am sure, is a part of it. That Sydney in February is relentlessly hot AND humid to a point I feel I cannot breath let alone function must play some part to my mental health.

Am I at a point in my fitness and health regime where the mental ghoules are as scary as the physical ones reflected in my bedroom mirrors?

I will not give up. I will not.


Years ago, in the Glamorouse days (which reminds me, I transferred posts over here and MUST edit them so as not to compromise B), I used to whinge and wail about how I hated the weekends. How long and hard they were as a single parent and I am there again. I view the approach of the weekend like an animal views the approach of a human – with a level of fear, trepidation and a nanosecond to decide whether to fight or flee.

Yesterday I got through the cricket/bowling relay match to get home and be struck down with a migraine. And by struck I mean I went to lie down and hours passed in a haze of children screaming, children at my beside requesting foodstuffs or informing me of some slight committed against them by a sibling or that the internet was down. I could not focus my eyes and weird white lines of moving static strobe across them. A first.

Last night saw me have a fitful sleep of a dream in which I battled to kill the devil at the behest of a couple (played by Hugh Jackman and Winona Ryder) who had just bought this exquisite derelict mansion which was inconveniently haunted/occupied by Satan (who, why, I must ask, is always a dragon come alien come dinosaur looking creature?) and while I winced as each stunning architectural feature was destroyed I was pretty happy to be working alongside Hugh and increasingly cranky at Winona who, just as we slayed the Devil, sucked in its final smoke thereby giving it life once more. What an idiot.

Then followed a cavalcade of stars and whether they had been privy to this heinous plan which, naturally, was linked to their sexual conquests. It turns out John Travolta is incredibly adept at dodging bullets of religion and infidelity, considering there was a whole side-story where Winona and Hugh’s babysitter had confided in me her torrid love affair with John, their neighbour. I told her she had to end it and she looked at me incredulously and then pointed to John  and said, ‘would you end it?’. I let that one go to the keeper seeing as my whole aim had been to woo Hugh with my ability to kill the devil which was now severely in jeopardy as to do so would involve killing his wife. Problematic.

Meanwhile there was some sort of 30Rock substory which stars ranging from Beyonce to Pink through Nicole Kidman and Leonardo Di Caprio confessing their sex sins while dancing to some sort of pole dancing shake-ya-bootie soundtrack.

Needless to say today I am wobbly and exhausted.


But what I did not expect was the underlying sense of panic.

The fear of getting through the day ahead.

The vice like grip around my heart, that it is struggling to keep beating as much as my lungs are struggling to fill with air.

The return of being nervy about current events and them upsetting more than they should.

The intensity of just notwantingtodothisanymore








I have been caught off guard by being totally over the school routine already, even though I have everything in hand and it is all ticking along beautifully.

I have been trying to ignore the welling up of the Groundhog Day feeling.

I am growing increasingly resentful for the way everything is even though there is nothing particularly bad or noxious or untenable with  the way everything is.

But the diarrhoea is back.

As is the poor quality sleep (the first sign and has been that way for more than a month).

And the sense of dread about nothing in particular.

And all of it, quite frankly, scares the crap out of me. (literally as the return of the trots clearly indicate)


If you need help

It occurred to me a few days ago that there has been so much grief and horror and shock among the interweb community these last few weeks.


Lucy’s sister Amy. Then Lucy.

Then there’s a woman in the States – a Minister perhaps? – who has suffered a massive stroke.

Then there are the floods up North, which- for some places – had already endured flooding just a few weeks before.

Now we have flooding down South.

And so.much.human.hardship.

It has been a time of remarkable human spirit and strength. Of friends and strangers rallying to each other’s aid. Of people discovering their internal capacity for pain and for survival.


If it is all too much for you, if you are feeling totally overwhelmed by it all, talk to someone. Call a friend. Speak to your GP. Phone a support line. But whatever you do, talk.to.someone.

In Australia:

Lifeline: 131 114

Mensline: 1300 789 978

Kids Helpline: 1800 551 800