Crappy New Year

See what I did there with the title of the post? How have I not won a Pulitzer?

Well had I had the time, internet connectivity and foresight to post in the few days before Christmas, you might have had some insight into my tone and writing style when I'm genuinely happy.

Reasons I was happy;

• Application to rent the most beautiful little one bedroom apartment on the Brunswick/Coburg border was approved!
• Bit the bullet and decided to go to Europe and the US for a lovely little jaunt beginning in April and ending in June. Visited a travel agent who quoted me $4800 for flights, used my mad online flight searching skills (I used Skyscanner) and got all my flights for just under $2300.
• I'd had a crappy stay in hospital for maintenance TMS but in the last two days two nurses on two separate occasions tried to give me the wrong medication. Definitely a bad thing but I felt suddenly empowered because there was something concrete I could legitimately make a formal complaint about and perhaps get some of my other concerns heard.
• The money from my four years of tax returns finally all came through. And money can buy you happiness. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise,

So what happened?

• Well, the money kind of all disappeared on flights, bond, rent, furnishings for the apartment and Christmas. All gone.
• Moving into my beautiful dream home turned out to have a few little nightmarish qualities. Please learn from my mistakes and never, ever move just before Christmas. I spent days without power, the internet has only just been connected and when you realise that your real estate agent has given you the wrong key he is not around for you to talk to. Also a number of the lights didn't work once the power was turned on and they had expensive, difficult to replace globes. And then finally, I don't know whether this stuff happens to other people but they just never talk about it, but the lock on my front door fell off. On New Years Day. When even the 24 hour 7 day a week 365 days of the year locksmith wasn't answering his phone. Seriously, how am I the only person who has things like locks falling off doors and driveways catching on fire happen? And I wouldn't have been so concerned about the lock falling off since the building itself is pretty secure but my new neighbours turn out to be sketchy as fuck! I couldn't work out who actually lived there for the first week or two because so many people were coming and going at all times of day or night. I've finally worked out it's two guys living there (probably not a couple or the counterstereotype of what a gay couple is) and they like to listen to the races all day long while competing to see how many f-bombs they can drop in a single sentence. 
• I drank a lot of champagne on Christmas day which perhaps wasn't advisable since I was kind of tired and overwrought from the stress and lack of sleep from moving so rather than sensibly going home after drinking champagne for six hours straight I went to a party and drank even more and then ended up having some rather unpleasant social encounters. I won't go into it but it kind of put me off parties, drinking, myself and people, particularly those of the opposite sex.
• So then I spent New Years Eve on a couch with a cat watching a documentary about happiness that SBS had obviously programmed so that people in my situation wouldn't top themselves. 
• The complaint I made about the nurses attempting to administer the wrong medication has had zero response which now just has me feeling insecure about ever going back into hospital.
• And I could have endured it all because I kept thinking to myself 'I'm going to Vienna! I'm going to New York! I'm going to see my dear friends!' but then my bastard government introduced some snaky new legislation which came into effect January 1st saying that recipients of certain government payments could not leave the country for more than four weeks in a twelve month period without having their payments cut off. And because I'd been an online travel scouting genius I had booked almost exclusively non-exchangeable, non-refundable flights. So I have a couple of options; 1) Go. Fuck the government. Hope they don't notice and be prepared to have my payments cut off which would definitely put me in further financial jeopardy. 2) Don't go. Forget all the money I've spent on non-refundable flights. Stay in Melbourne, be miserable. Other people keep putting forth another idea, 'Change the flights you can and just buy new ones', which is a lovely idea if the first dot point wasn't in place. I have no further money. It's gone.

So now I've kind of just given up on pretty much everything. I'm house sitting in the suburbs for my parents which means I'm trapped far from everything with dial up speed internet and too much readily available junk food. I've been wearing the same pyjamas day and night for the last three days. I'm kind of half-watching Doctor Zhivago in the same way I kind of half-watched The Crimson Pirate before this and I'm sure I'll continue to half-watch some crap on the telly until it's nothing but infomercials. I also have a UTI which I'm kind of using as a justification for the pyjamas, couch and tell lifestyle.

It's weird though, in giving up I think I've avoided going down the other path I usually go down which is caring too much and falling into a depressive pit. I'm intellectually aware that the things that have happened haven't happened to me. They're not the ammunition of the universe vs. Katie war. These things have just happened. Unfortunately all around the same time. But I kind of like holding onto the idea that something really is trying to break me. It means when a mug breaks or my Android tablet I got second-hand for Christmas breaks (both happened today - whatevs) I have a moment of ire and then I decide I don't care. It's like I'm flipping the universe the bird and telling it it can't break me because I don't care.

Of course I'm going to have to start caring again at some point. I don't think my pink babushka doll pyjamas or stringy bed hair would go down well at work. And I suppose I will eventually want to eat something other than mince pies and corn chips. Eventually. 

And then who knows what happens next. 

Transition times

It's laughable sometimes what I write in my blog.

Like in the last post when I was all 'rah rah, gonna sleep well, do yoga and be organised' and then proceeded to partake in the most exhausting, disorganised, yoga-free weeks I've had in a long time.

Sleep has been a real issue these past few weeks. Being particularly busy on top of feeling mildly depressed and highly anxious has left me exhausted. I got into a terrible habit of getting home from work around 6.30pm and going straight to bed, waking up around 11.30pm, starved and wired, browsing the internet for pictures of Benedict Cumberbatch for a few hours and then finally going back to sleep between 2.00-3.00am. Not good.

Because I was sleeping through all the useful hours of the evening it meant that I didn't organise myself well for moving house, I didn't make it to yoga and I'm woefully underprepared for starting uni.

But I did move house. That happened and now I'm living in a sea of unpacked boxes and bags. It does not aid with my sense of my life being disorganised. I must say it is nice to come home and be greeted by hugs from my nephew Max and dinner being made by my brother Nick, so I think it has overall been a step in a positive direction.

Uni orientation was this week although I only made it to one day as work asked me to stay on an additional week and I'm not really in a position to be refusing money right now. I have bought all of my text books and looked up all my assigned reading and quite frankly I'm feeling a bit overwhelmed. The sheer volume of reading is immense. I was a few paragraphs in to Plato's Symposium when my wandering mind remembered that I urgently needed to update my blog. Tiredness doesnt help with this distractedness and I just hope that the first few weeks of classes aren't marred by this.

There is a small slice of good news and that is that I have been offered a job in the MTC Box Office. Hopefully this means I'll have enough income (along with whatever measly amount the government sees fit to proffer) to keep me in lithium and chicken nuggets for my uni days. It does mean I'm going to be busy though, already my next two weeks have jam packed schedules.

I'm not going to be so foolish as to discuss my plans for coolly breezing through these next few weeks of transition. That would just be bullshit and I do want to keep this a BS free zone. My psychiatrist summed it up for me when I saw him the other night, he said, "But hey, look at you surviving all this crap." And he's right. I am surviving. If I can make it through these transition times it shows how far along I've come.

Time to move on

Well sometimes it gets to that time.

Right? Sometimes you just have to move on.

The anniversary of my disappearance passed with little fanfare and part of me was like 'what? World, how can you move on without paying notice' and then another part of me chimed in to point out that if the world is no longer preoccupied with how sick I am or have been then this is a good thing.

The other moving on I'll be doing is out of my current house. I've secured a 4 month sublet in an absolutely stunning house in North Fitzroy which will give me enough time to enjoy the summer before I move in with my brother and his son early next year.

In all I'm feeling very positive about life right now. I even had a moment when I questioned whether I'd tipped into hypermania because I didn't want to go to my psychiatrist's appointment but wanted to go out drinking instead. I think it was just a case of bundled up happy feelings getting confused in with the usual feelings I have of not wanting to be sick and therefore having to attend appointments.

But the positive feelings continue and I appreciate them while they exist. I'm even feeling so good that I can contemplate hosting a BBQ for my upcoming 32nd birthday. I know it's not a significant birthday but I'd like to celebrate it as it marks the passing of what can unequivocally be deemed the worst year of my life to date.

So I have a function to plan and bags to pack so please forgive me if I go a bit silent for a while. There are only good things in the pipeworks as far as I can see.

Hesitations

First she doesn't blog for a month then she blogs twice in two days! What's with this chick?!

I'm having hesitations about moving out of my share house. While there are definitely negative features to living here, namely the anti-socialness of my housemates which has led to a feeling of isolation, there are also some advantages to living here. The location is ideal for me. An easy tram ride to work and a shared taxi ride home with so many of my compatriot drinking buddies. Plus I'm super close to Cinema Nova so if I'm ever in a film going mood it's a short journey. There is also the fact that I'm living independently and as a soon to be 32 year old this seems like the state in which I should be living.

The advantages of moving back in with my parents would be that I'd save a tonne of money, I'd have people to talk to when I'm at home, I wouldn't have to cook for myself and I'd get to watch whatever I want on the telly since my parents have 2 TVs.

I just don't know. I'm so conflicted. Decision making is hard. I feel like I've made enough questionable decisions in recent memory that trying to trust my own judgment is a really hard task. I think perhaps I shouldn't rush this decision and by that I mean I should perhaps let one more rent cycle pass by. It's only another $850 (ok, actually, that's a lot of money) and it means I don't have to go through the hassle of moving just yet (is that worth $850?).

Like I said, I just don't know. Life's hard. Don't you feel that sometimes?

Ups and downs

Well the ups is my Effexor has been upped after a stressful shaky week. It has had the desired effect and I've been once again lifted from that dangerous precipice.

The downs is I got dangerously close to that dangerous precipice again.

A couple of factors were surely at play. Work stresses (ho-hum), a wedding (long story - it was a lovely affair but my issues surrounding how I look all came bubbling to a head and I was also fearful I was going to have a confrontation with another of the guests) and the last thing, my living arrangements.

I feel in some ways I've been unfair to my current household. I was hesitant about moving in here and rather than letting go I've let those hesitations fester into a deep seated dissatisfaction with everything about the place and it's inhabitants. I've been escaping to my parents house on a weekly basis which has further fuelled my anxieties about my actual home as my absence makes me feel disconnected and like I must appear odd to my housemates.

I've had many long thinks, a couple of good cries and one particularly insightful session with my psychiatrist in which I came to the conclusion that I shouldn't be paying good money to live so unhappily.

So where to next? Well steel yourselves folks, it looks like I'm about to take the ultimate plunge into Loserville and move back in with my parents. And just in time for summer too!

Honestly though, it shouldn't be that bad. I get along well with Mum and Dad and the money I save on rent can all be funnelled towards travel plans I have for next year (The States. Again.)  I've got a very good potential living arrangement due to come to fruition in about February next year so it should only be a fairly temporary arrangement. And if I'm finding it too much to bear I can always go through the gruelling process of finding another share house, hopefully one where I can feel more at ease.

So, that wraps up another exciting instalment of my life. Send me good wishes for the next one.

Worst. Blogger. Ever.

I'm totally shit. There's no real excuse. Yes, I have been incredibly busy but neglecting my blog like this is still inexcusable. I totally understand if you've all stopped reading.

A lot has happened. So much that I'm going to explain it all in dot points to get through it all.

• I was staying with my parents because I wasn't coping too well with life
• I was asked to move in to a share house in Princes Hill
• I ummed and aahed about whether I was emotionally prepared for such a change
• I decided I was and moved
• Work got incredibly busy and stressful
• My mood went up, down, backwards and sideways
• I'm tired all the time but feeling fairly stable now
• I'm still surrounded by a sea of unpacked boxes
• I was so tired when I get home last night that I got into bed and ordered a pizza
• I ate an entire pizza in bed last night

There, now that wasn't too hard to do now, was it?

I'm about to go and house sit for my sister for a week so the fun isn't stopping yet. I'm hopeful that my body will soon start adjusting to the pace of work and I'll have more energy to blog in the coming weeks.

Once again, I am sorry for the inconsistent blogging. I'll try to do better for next time.

Gimme shelter

Storm clouds gather, the horizon blackens, in the distance thunder rolls and here I stand without any shelter.
Shelter has been my predominant thought these past few weeks. My days have been spent house hunting, responding to house ads and attending housemate interviews. As each day has offered forth its share of frustrations and rejection my mood has blackened. I cracked in therapy this afternoon and a wave of pent up emotions came flooding out. I've been internalising the rejection, both experienced and imagined, and it has been making me despise myself. The vicious cycle, for these things are always cyclical and ferocious, is that the darker I feel about myself the more hopeless I see my prospects and this shows through in my searching and interviewing. I rule myself out of houses where the advertisers sound too perky and I show up to interviews defeated and depressed.
I'm taking a break from it all and seeking refuge at my parents house. They don't have the Internet so I won't even be tempted to continue my search.
I'm also hoping that this break will serve as some sort of breaker to my circuit. If things worsen I face the prospect of hospital again and that's an unwelcome thought.
I so desperately want this part of my life; the search for housing, the uncertain hours at work and the fluctuating moods, to be over that sometimes I wish the whole game over. I know these are bad thoughts to have and I chastise myself severely for thinking them. I pay for them too. With dark thoughts comes time out of work which funnels into my financial woes. Another cycle. It's all cyclical.
And so too is this illness apparently, though we've seen little sign of it lately. I'm back on the lookout for signs of mania though as in response to my mood shift my psychiatrist has increased my Effexor. Is it terrible that I'm craving a little hypomania right now? Just a little. Just a taste of what up feels like, maybe enough to see me coast through some house interviews as a bubbly person with a sunny outlook, just a little shot of boundless energy and then I promise I'd come straight back down.
Oh dear. Some days I'm glad my psychiatrist doesn't read my blog.

A place for things

Last year, when I had my psychotic episode and ended up in Tasmania, I was in the process of moving out of a one bedroom apartment in Footscray.

There were many good reasons for me to move out of that apartment. Items of washing of mine would go missing off the communal washing line. To begin with I suspected the wind was blowing them off, but even on still days I'd still find a pair of underwear gone or sometimes a t-shirt. I began to suspect the man who lived downstairs who had a habit of coming upstairs and knocking on my door when he was drunk. He seemed harmless enough but the frequent 11pm visits to offer me a biscuit or ask if I'd lost some pegs were a factor in my decision to move.

I woke up one morning and went downstairs to ride my bike only to find it had been dismantled. I also thought initially that the bike seat had been stolen until I found it discarded down the street. One of the most infuriating things was that my bike was locked up and there was another bike less than a metre away just leaning against the wall. Not that I would wish anybody's bike to be stolen or dismantled of course.

There was also the evening that my sister was driving me home and when she went to pull into the driveway, it was on fire. Somebody had poured something flammable down the driveway drain and then it had either intentionally or not been ignited. The firefighters seemed unsurprised by the event and in fact mentioned they'd put out another drain fire around the corner not long ago.

The final thing that made me realise I had to get out of that apartment was the night that someone came to my door and smashed all my potplants and then cracked eggs on my door. I was in the lounge room on the other side of a very flimsy window listening as the whole thing happened. I was terrified. I think this attack was definitely a factor in my later delusion that I was in danger and being persecuted, particularly as that reached fever point in that same lounge room only weeks later.

So I knew I had to move but it was a bad time for me to be looking for somewhere to live as everything in my life; work, relationships, health, was in flux. My aunt and uncle very kindly offered that I could stay with them temporarily and put my things in to storage. That was the beginning of November. I'm still at my aunt and uncle's and my things are still in storage.

This weekend I just retrieved the last few things that got scattered to various people's houses during and after my psychotic episode and I've put them in to storage too. I've brought my broken bike back to my aunt and uncle's and I'm planning on finally getting it fixed this week. It has made me really happy to have it back, even in the condition it's in, and I think part of that is purely because it's mine and I think my things belong with me.

It's hard going to my storage facility and seeing my furniture upended and stacked or boxes with 'books' or 'yellow kitchenware' written on the side in thick marker. I miss my things. I want to be amongst them. This longing, this homesickness of sorts has me scouring domain.com for apartments where I could house my things and myself, round the clock.

I know that I'm probably not quite ready emotionally or financially to be moving out but I'm hoping the day I will be ready is quite soon. Deciding on the circumstances of where my future home might be and what it might look like has been challenging.

I've been told repeatedly and unnecessarily that Footscray is out of the question. I know my family would love me to stay close to the south in the St Kilda/Elwood area but it's inconvenient for all my doctors appointments and for seeing all of my friends. My doctors practice in Clifton Hill and all of my friends live in the north so it would make sense to live over that way but nice one bedroom apartments are rare and the costs are prohibitive. I have toyed with the idea of not living alone but I would need to live with the right person and when I think of them existing, I can't imagine them wanting to live with someone like me with all my baggage.

This quandary is causing significant anxiety in my life right now. If I could somehow skip this bit and get to the bit where I'm living somewhere furnished with my things all around me I would be the happiest girl alive. It's funny, writing that, I just realised that I really will be so much happier once I am in that situation. No wonder I'm so anxious to get there.

In the meantime, I have a bike to reassemble and I'll enjoy riding it around the flat streets of Elwood. After all, I probably (hopefully) won't be here for much longer.