your intentions are irrelevant

<rant> you know what? no matter how much you think you're doing the right thing. regardless of the fact that i suffer from depression. regardless of how much of a "responsibility" you feel you have. when you tell me that you are going to call the police to do a welfare check on me because i tweeted that i was sad and you've never even met me in real life and we don't have a personal relationship other than superficial tweets on twitter then you're being a condescending arse. and quite frankly, how dare you?! and yes, you will probably get offended by this but i don't fucking care. you offended me first. </rant>

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How to do all the things

I am so tired of people telling other people how to do any and all of the things. What words you can say if you're over 30, what music to like, what movies are ok to admit you enjoy, how you should be using your phone, facebook, instagram, twitter, toothbrush, kitchen sink, how you should live your life, spend more time being in the moment, not be on antisocial social media, what you should and shouldn't feel good or bad about, how people should or shouldn't be parents, women, men, feminists, activist, human beings. It just goes on and on. Here's an idea. If you don't like the way I do things or the words I say you have two choices. If you genuinely like me then you can choose to put up with the things about me that don't mesh 100% with the way you live your life (as I do with many of the people I love when it's not a deal breaker like racism or violence) or you can remove me from your facebook, twitter, instagram, life. That's it. Those are your two o...

Week One... Or Should I Say Week Two Thousand One Hundred and Seventy Nine...

That's how many weeks I have been alive (give or take a couple of days). Two thousand one hundred and seventy-nine. Yet here I am still fighting the same fights I have always fought. Self-image, self-acceptance, unrelenting standards, imposter syndrome. Once again I find myself in a body that feels uncomfortable and unhealthy. It crept up on me slowly and suddenly all at the same time. I still barely eat any refined sugar. I turn down the lollies and cakes and doughnuts at work. It's not even a struggle, I no longer enjoy the way sugar makes my body feel. But my old nemesis, potato chips, remains undefeated. I eat potato chips to fill the emptiness in my soul. To feel as miserable physically as I do mentally or emotionally. To get comfort from an association with my childhood. It is the struggle I can't overcome. The war I can't win. So after months of trying on my own to no avail, months of the scales not budging, I have signed up for a healthy eating plan. I'm n...

Waiting

I am sitting in the hospital waiting. I suppose I am waiting for the hand of death to touch my cousin and end the pain she is in. She is getting worse and she keeps suffocating. She told her sister yesterday that her worst fear was dying and not being able to breathe, I can only imagine how horrifying it must be for her. Everyone seems to be getting ready for the end. There is lots of spontaneous declarations of how much this sucks. We have just heard that she has said she doesn't want to do it any more. It can't be long now. What a thing to be waiting for. I feel so small and helpless and inadequate. I wish there's was something I could do. There is a group standing in the hallway. Like they are lining up for some kind of attraction at the fair. I wish they would all sit down. There are periods of idle chatter and then suddenly everyone feels quietly like the weight is too much to bear. It is one of the most horrible experiences I have ever had. As the sun is going down th...

a warped view

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