Baby · Creativity · Finding me · Getting to know you · Happiness · Help · Help needed · Kindness · Losing me · Night thoughts · PTSD · Trust

Breathe me


(small warning – I’m exhausted and rather enormously stressed. It seems when I’m thus I become a bit sweary. ..nothing too bad but I thought i should put this here instead of trying to censor my writing which might a) make me give up, b)make my head explode or c) cause the death of my phone through an unexplained collision with a wall possibly brought about by its auto correct suggestions…none of these seem overly desirable..So there you go)

You know how  (apparently ) if you are a creative type person (apparently ) you should keep a notebook next to your bed, because, apparently, all of your best ideas happen when you are drifting off to sleep and you should (apparently ) wake up and write , draw or pie chart them? Or they all happen (apparently ) in dreams and as soon as you wake you must leap out of bed and grab your dream by its misty tail and (apparently ) write, draw or pie chart your amazing plot line/business concept / New way of making a line/ New dance step? Yeah – anyone ever tried that? Right, now has anyone ever tried it when woken by an eleven month old in desperate need of milk & teething relief? Yeah. Bollocks to that. Your writing, drawing or pie charting can all go jump. In fact I’d say even a rough line graph would be nigh on impossible. *

So I feel very lucky that I kept the idea for this blog for a whole three days in my head. A head that cannot remember what books I love are en titled and cannot even remember the…oh you get the idea. Mind you it has bugger all to do with creativity – maybe….

So Bub3 woke me at 5 am ish the other morning and after doing the feed/waking dad for half an hour/ feed/ calling dad on mobile to wake him in kitchen/feed/gaviscon/feed/ kick dad awake/give bub3 to dad for nappy change/ rush to bathroom in fear of dad falling asleep with bub on change table/use bathroom /wash hands routine I was staring blearily in the mirror and at some point between that always – slightly – odd moment of self eye contact and the door of the bedroom^ I realised that at some point I had lost me…or a rather important bit of me.

See that sounds wrong. I didn’t lose that part in that walk but somewhere years before bit by bit I’d stopped believing that life could  just be good. That kind of hope for life to work out or just hope for life is locked up inside somewhere and I have no idea when, why or how the girl who just loved and was kind and thoughtful and believed the best in everyone had to go away.

It wasn’t growing up- I don’t think that should rob you of that.

It wasn’t the reality of death – I had to deal with that possibility fairly young as well.

I don’t know what it was. But I know she is who I am and I want her back.

I want to worry that things on tv will hurt or scare me or make me sad instead of just putting up a wall.

I want to believe that people are what they are at face value without worrying about what they will say about me afterwards.

I want my hope and pure beautiful happy back – which I only get now in far too fleeting moments with bub3

I miss me and I don’t like the me the world and my life has made me become.

More than that I hate that I let it.

So I guess it’s a good thing a start seeing a psychologist next week…

There will be more on this. I can’t think of many things more important than a belief in hope, love & life.



* (while I love the idea that sleep can unlock creativity I can count on one hand the number of times this has worked for me in my life. Good ideas sometimes – sometimes of the ‘what the’? variety when seen awake. But right now sleep is the holy frail – there is no leaping to notebook – don’t even know where notebook is. But I bet there’s ” a ( bloody) app for that” (ugh – another blog)

^which is a rather silly amount of time for a house with two bathrooms – “but surely one of them is an en suite ” I hear you cry “oh no, not an outside bathroom ” the canny inner Melbourne renters on low incomes will mutter. But no, neither. They just stuck two bathrooms next to each other at the back of the house/ flat/split level thing. It makes less sense than anywhere I’ve lived before  ( I pondered adding this then thought: well, why not- it speaks to timing and I can get in a bit of my upcoming ranty blog about living with quirky housing in the dandenong ranges )

*another side note- strangely aptly today a “family friend” I follow on instagram posted the picture that I’ve used with this. Odd synchronicity that.


One thought on “Breathe me

  1. Hi Avril, thank you for sharing. Six months ago I could have written this exact post. My thoughts are eerily similar when I become depressed and/or let my anxiety get on top of me. I’m glad to hear you’ve made an appointment with a pyschologist (I’ve just started seeing one myself and it’s been so good for me). You’re very brave to seek help, and to put yourself out there by telling your story online. Xx


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