tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79588297187234598452024-03-20T09:14:26.716+11:00babblingbandit.mesole parenting - mental health - weight issues - addictionAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12862647761810468815noreply@blogger.comBlogger246125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7958829718723459845.post-46357600501228128162014-06-24T12:27:00.000+10:002014-06-24T12:27:18.210+10:00Inspirational quotes don't work on meI've been trying to start this post for weeks! Or maybe days. Inspired, motivated, lazy, forgetful, apathetic - there's lots of doing or not doing words there. After my long and painful breakdown last year I have put all my effort into not doing - to take life as slowly as possible in fear that if I take on too much of life I'll get knocked in the teeth and fall face first back into the abyss of depression.<br />
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But where does that find me now, twelve months from when things started to really go downhill last year? It finds me in a big fat rut, that's where.<br />
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We are nearly exactly half way through the year. The Winter Solstice has passed and I'm still just flat lining through life, managing my mood on a day to day basis.<br />
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One of my current favourite pastimes, and boy does it allow time to stand still yet pass with incredible speed, is <b><a href="http://www.pinterest.com/veebee74/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Pinterest</a></b>. Pinterest gives me the sense that I'm getting <i>inspired</i>. Inspired for what? Anything really: fitness, healthy eating, cooking, crafting, parenting, blogging, shopping, <i>inspiration</i>. I've been using Pinterest to inspire me to get inspired but it's not working.<br />
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The social web is chock block full of inspirational quotes and life lesson slogans in pretty little infographics typed out in fancy fonts onto pictures of whimsical landscapes of fields of flowers, cloud porn or the clichéd country road that disappears into the horizon (none of which feature in my samples below). And yes, I know I reshare that shit on Facebook and Pinterest too sometimes, trying to grab hold of a little of that inspiration the well meaning poster has wanted to spread.<br />
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Call me cynical, but all those inspirational quotes just don't seem to work on me. Takes these for instance:<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp5JmtLga06fRCB1ZYuOmuPT7GL51fG10YR_h24f4Lf85SiYmxTSFaj0PQEMOnllQYCrRYPgr7O54-aLInGToWXlQayu45t1plmHPuGxA5C8veQ0_a8uKdoGp9QFwG2xE836Oi9OkemAY/s1600/just-move.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp5JmtLga06fRCB1ZYuOmuPT7GL51fG10YR_h24f4Lf85SiYmxTSFaj0PQEMOnllQYCrRYPgr7O54-aLInGToWXlQayu45t1plmHPuGxA5C8veQ0_a8uKdoGp9QFwG2xE836Oi9OkemAY/s1600/just-move.jpg" height="400" width="315" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><a href="http://media-cache-ec0.pinimg.com/originals/10/f1/46/10f146f3a47b284d9f017e6d9a9cc357.jpg" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Source</a></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Seeing a fit and slender woman running along the beach with the slogan "Just Move" emblazoned across the bottom doesn't inspire me. It makes me feel exhausted and has been worried about UV rays and skin cancer. It makes me think of sand in my shoes and how I haven't worn a pair of shorts since 1988.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOCWN5oO_hFoy5Nb2EZE8uCla3Msv_wDXMQz_FNIph0MxTOGQivt7hVpDVCED3QARIyDD5djh2ej3zxPlUBHmL-tAHdJpDrq-23_yqY7f5n-mOavFJ5cV7c4joq62Szl10xPo_7fCZxoA/s1600/only-you.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOCWN5oO_hFoy5Nb2EZE8uCla3Msv_wDXMQz_FNIph0MxTOGQivt7hVpDVCED3QARIyDD5djh2ej3zxPlUBHmL-tAHdJpDrq-23_yqY7f5n-mOavFJ5cV7c4joq62Szl10xPo_7fCZxoA/s1600/only-you.jpg" height="400" width="290" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><a href="http://media-cache-ec0.pinimg.com/originals/2c/8f/67/2c8f67d77e9c3e98d6cd93d893019fe9.jpg" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Source</a></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<i>"Only you can help you. Get off your ass and do something about it." </i>Yeah, yeah, I know! But somehow this knowledge doesn't translate into action for me. This poster is a call for change. Take action. Take risks. It's trying to tell me to break out of the comfortable rut I live in. I can list for you the reasons why this just isn't possible right now, but I won't bore you with my laundry list of mental and physical concerns right now.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7desvUQbI-DC2WwhCyurlakE0vRinir8XQa7lzfFnmn6eMLSdDUAxDZP99pGB01nOiYgPjDsKTceE7shWwLUFlKLH_fREpQT92U4zq31b6YzEOP6p2MJqbAL1IRmUbjSkqqw7srjGSZY/s1600/suckitup.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7desvUQbI-DC2WwhCyurlakE0vRinir8XQa7lzfFnmn6eMLSdDUAxDZP99pGB01nOiYgPjDsKTceE7shWwLUFlKLH_fREpQT92U4zq31b6YzEOP6p2MJqbAL1IRmUbjSkqqw7srjGSZY/s1600/suckitup.jpg" height="260" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><a href="http://media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/cd/cc/30/cdcc30675bf0e78823f59f38dda5f74a.jpg" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Source</a></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<i>Suck it up! </i>I think this inspo quote is telling me to suffer in silence and exercise and starve myself until I don't have to suck in my unsightly gut any more. The problem with this so called inspirational slogan is that I don't bother sucking my gut in any way. Why would I put myself through that discomfort just so <i>other </i>people who might be looking at me feel more comfortable about looking at me and my body. Why do I need strive to not have a gut that needs sucking in? To be better liked? Or to just be accepted by a society that thinks that thin is worth suffering for? Nope, this inspo quote ain't doing it for me either.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhAIqaazvClfOHvRh0frcQCnwI-PK-QNOirBK7zhlh5amOXrTuVc6RO9IDmcS-Xtn3RMMY5nCzl3nGRTYTDAXNlmhszHarwEWcboKj-9UUxjUJbTKqwxzYynJmW5oh1DvtgLzEBb-6MFo/s1600/dontwrongright.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhAIqaazvClfOHvRh0frcQCnwI-PK-QNOirBK7zhlh5amOXrTuVc6RO9IDmcS-Xtn3RMMY5nCzl3nGRTYTDAXNlmhszHarwEWcboKj-9UUxjUJbTKqwxzYynJmW5oh1DvtgLzEBb-6MFo/s1600/dontwrongright.jpg" height="640" width="427" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><a href="http://sarahscoop.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/06/84e79f4be826eeec1e94ef74dd578516.jpg" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Source</a></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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OK, so the quote above is actually a really sensible one and something I could and should aspire to. But... and there's always a but, I have a chronic anxiety disorder, long term depression and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. As much as I want to focus on the positive my mind automatically flicks to the negative "what if" scenarios in life. I've been learning to challenge my negative autopilot way of thinking but it still needs a lot of work. Must get stuck back into to mindfulness meditation... if only I had the motivation!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj__dvVbzcsSwcC24r01z2-iE7Qxv8Q7sobk-4NXy4R2zhhD474PQkwXervLgPKGqhMXjIsGbJGoK3DKzQf4jHxsk1-KgWhKVwTuwjOQfPpSnl-AzqiqEt-uYbINUFOz5CELxd9AgzE6us/s1600/babblingbandit.me-jfdi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj__dvVbzcsSwcC24r01z2-iE7Qxv8Q7sobk-4NXy4R2zhhD474PQkwXervLgPKGqhMXjIsGbJGoK3DKzQf4jHxsk1-KgWhKVwTuwjOQfPpSnl-AzqiqEt-uYbINUFOz5CELxd9AgzE6us/s1600/babblingbandit.me-jfdi.jpg" height="400" width="400" /></a></div>
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Now here's an inspirational quote that I can live by! Or at least keep me in my rut that half of me wants to stay safely cocooned in. There's no guilt attached to it because it probably isn't inspirational at all.<br />
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Just fucking do it, or whatever.<br />
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V.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12862647761810468815noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7958829718723459845.post-69286008924639221072014-05-30T11:14:00.000+10:002014-05-30T11:14:55.581+10:00Laying blameMy laptop and I are going through some serious relationship issues. He's too slow, too noisy, too demanding. Rather than try and fix him, I'm doing what I do best in these situations, I've been avoiding him. <br />
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I'm what psychologists might call a "black or white thinker". An "all or nothing" kinda gal. When I was right into my blog about a year or so ago, it was all I could think about. Now, not so much.<br />
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Recently I blamed my blog apathy on my want to avoid my own self analysis (which I usually do a lot of here) as well as my <b><a href="http://www.babblingbandit.me/2014/03/writing-as-therapy-fear-and-judgement.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">fear of judgement</a></b> from others. I've even <b><a href="http://www.babblingbandit.me/2014/05/zombies-ate-my-blojo.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">cast the blame on zombies for my blog absences</a></b>. Today, though, I'm blaming my laptop. He's getting on in age. His third birthday is rapidly approaching. While three years might not sound like a ripe old age, in technology terms this piece of machinery is gaining on geriatric status and has been flagged for the old folks' home, aka my junk drawer.<br />
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As I sit here attempting to write a readable post, the fan in his posterior is whiring loudly and the software attempting to update in the background keeps flashing with threats of "not responding". Every fibre of my being wants to slam the screen down, walk away and go back to what I've set up as my new point of obsession: good ol' fashioned domestic arts and crafts.<br />
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You heard me. I've been crafting. Oh, and cooking!<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiekRqdpfvO2N02ZiqBMWYa8CgMe88MZH3hnHEA00S1YY-AlRuY3-3B5w7xMwWvwAF9_TPzz1Cz-ymfFnsp0uYFco-MZQZaiW9XzzbOHKZX8x5_UGpNNwKD_XBaklaNASJwu2Gv46Ajt1s/s1600/babblingbandit.me-roast-chicken.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiekRqdpfvO2N02ZiqBMWYa8CgMe88MZH3hnHEA00S1YY-AlRuY3-3B5w7xMwWvwAF9_TPzz1Cz-ymfFnsp0uYFco-MZQZaiW9XzzbOHKZX8x5_UGpNNwKD_XBaklaNASJwu2Gv46Ajt1s/s1600/babblingbandit.me-roast-chicken.jpg" height="320" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My attempt at <b><a href="http://www.businessinsider.com.au/weekend-cook-roast-chicken-beetroot-brownie-by-colin-fassnidge-2014-4" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Colin Fassnidge's Roast Chicken with Famous Chicken Bread</a></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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If you're a friend on Facebook or you follow me on Instagram you'd know I've been spending time sitting on my arse knitting my little fingers to the bone! Except not really to the bone because this skeleton of mine remains amply covered because of all that luscious cooking I've been doing between knit ones and purl ones.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8fll-54IH-IWg3zxOfLfK43ggVf4VgeO0EOwkpHIakfzj0nLLcx4Mx9MoRk3JjS-Gq2X_uTrbUXDLSghHcvxt3et-Z6xkK-GNLeES_p9bQzDHl5s58lwYc_H8HqrOGqvvvBeLXFtc59A/s1600/babblingbandit.me-knitting.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8fll-54IH-IWg3zxOfLfK43ggVf4VgeO0EOwkpHIakfzj0nLLcx4Mx9MoRk3JjS-Gq2X_uTrbUXDLSghHcvxt3et-Z6xkK-GNLeES_p9bQzDHl5s58lwYc_H8HqrOGqvvvBeLXFtc59A/s1600/babblingbandit.me-knitting.jpg" height="320" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><a href="http://www.auspinners.com.au/sites/auspinnerscomau/assets/public/File/Free%20Knitting%20Patterns/Cleckheaton/Cleckheaton%20Website%20Pattern%20W473%20Long%20Vest.pdf" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Click here for the free Cleckheaton pattern I'm using</a></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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I've been parenting too. Ha! You might say. Vanessa, you've been parenting since the day your bubba was born nearly five and a half years ago. I see where you're coming from, Dear Reader, but I've been sticking to a routine. Getting that kid of mine to do his homework and reading, feeding him proper food, bathing him, reading to him and getting him asleep between 8.30 and 9pm. Every. Single. Night.<br />
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And I've discovered I can do this parenting business by myself while still being a "Cool Mum".<br />
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Speaking of being a cool mum, a PR recently sent me some product to flog on my blog. I've been ignoring most PR correspondence but this lovely lady said she'd like to send me something for my kid. I was skint at the time and thought, what the hell, let's see what this freebie is all about.<br />
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We got a delivery of some <b><a href="http://www.thermos.com/product_catalog.aspx?CatCode=Foog" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Thermos Foogo</a></b> products. In the bag was a <b><a href="http://www.thermos.com/products/blue-foogo-vacuum-insulated-10-oz-food-jar.aspx" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Foogo Stainless Steel Vacuum Insulated Food Jar</a></b> which keeps food inside nice and warm for up to five hours or cold for seven hours. And, which was was Noo's favourite, a <b><a href="http://www.thermos.com/products/blue-foogo-vacuum-insulated-straw-bottle.aspx" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Foogo Vacuum Insulated Drink Bottle with Silicone Straw</a></b>. These products are probably aimed at the younger end of the market, but my five year old loves a sippy cup, especially one that keeps his water cool throughout the day while he is at school. What I love about this sippy cup is that it doesn't leak. If you look closely at the picture below on the right, you can see Noo's nanna in the background, watching carefully to make sure that nothing drops on the freshly laid sisal beneath where he is sitting.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu15h5_agZQEA_-KZr6KWqQPF2aj4iIcpTmsKO9aSXGTuNvQ6z9-6jxxKtt48ldi4ckfdBGh-nzxbqQ2d8xpi75li6_Eoy-xVWNXWxzAOja6zpugUQuTDOahXufUZjaCjgqiUGfSuAPCg/s1600/babblingbandit.me-Thermos.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu15h5_agZQEA_-KZr6KWqQPF2aj4iIcpTmsKO9aSXGTuNvQ6z9-6jxxKtt48ldi4ckfdBGh-nzxbqQ2d8xpi75li6_Eoy-xVWNXWxzAOja6zpugUQuTDOahXufUZjaCjgqiUGfSuAPCg/s1600/babblingbandit.me-Thermos.jpg" height="320" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Noo loves his new <b><a href="http://www.thermos.com/products/blue-foogo-vacuum-insulated-straw-bottle.aspx" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Thermos Foogoo products</a></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Kicking goals all over the joint, I am. (We've been watching a lot of Star Wars. Yoda I am not.)<br />
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Yeah, I still have my woes. My mate Anxiety is still in residence. I need major surgery on my left knee and I need another iron infusion but, you know what? Today is a good day. Yesterday I could barely keep my eyes open for the anaemia related exhaustion, but today I'm feeling good about life.<br />
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Swings and roundabout, y'all. That's what life is all about.<br />
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See ya in a couple of weeks.... Maybe.<br />
<br />
V.<br />
<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Disclaimer: If it wasn't obvious already, I was given the above mentioned Thermos products. I was not paid any cash or under any obligation to mention them on my blog. But Noo liked them so I decided to give them a shout out. </i><br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12862647761810468815noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7958829718723459845.post-65331559926175059522014-05-13T13:20:00.000+10:002014-05-13T13:20:06.156+10:00Zombies ate my blojoHey Blogger.com! Hey Reader!<br />
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I'm here. Sort of. If you follow me on <b><a href="http://instagram.com/babblingbandit" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Instagram </a></b>you'll know I'm still alive and kicking. I've written heaps of posts. Heaps I tell you! But not down on paper or on the screen. In my head. Late at night. Then by morning light those posts have all been deleted. Cruelty, I know. For me and for you. Because they were brilliant bits of writing I tells ya!<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju8HTRS0Lf0FS8ru-oCsOSneaVNAlYwjGn_Tf_WLpLR75b0hZBdj607MVIi2D2WJUKHXVjYn8WWXtAZlWr5HhD69XuKdzIvPcnGyaLh_9n4hPKQcTpvXmEKCKJQDj-NXdt34Pb_Y1IWU8/s1600/The+Oatmeal+sleep+ideas.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju8HTRS0Lf0FS8ru-oCsOSneaVNAlYwjGn_Tf_WLpLR75b0hZBdj607MVIi2D2WJUKHXVjYn8WWXtAZlWr5HhD69XuKdzIvPcnGyaLh_9n4hPKQcTpvXmEKCKJQDj-NXdt34Pb_Y1IWU8/s1600/The+Oatmeal+sleep+ideas.png" height="308" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From the brilliant <b><a href="http://theoatmeal.com/">theoatmeal.com</a></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Noo (Mr five going on thirty!) and I have been pretty busy. School holidays were a blast. And we survived six whole weeks with my parents overseas. Sole parenting without extended family is hard but not impossible I've discovered. I cried a lot the first week. Worked myself into a bit of an anxiety induced fervour over how I was going to get through almost two months alone. There was a lot of catastrophising and gnashing of teeth and black and white thinking. Oh, the drama!<br />
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And then something happened. I can't talk about that event here. I was basically left with the option to fall apart or get my shit together for both me and Noo. I chose the latter and you know what? We not only survived - we thrived!<br />
<br />
OK, I'll admit that doesn't mean all my problems disappeared and there weren't any issues while I fended for myself. No, no. Of course there were ups and downs - I'm a single mum with an anxiety disorder! I spent way too much money for starters. Noo and I went out every second or third day and we probably over indulged by going to the movies four times and to the Royal Easter Show and we did eat out a bit.<br />
<br />
My sleep could be better, I'll be honest. I can fake it 'til I make it when I'm awake but at night the subconscious takes over and anxiety permeates my dreamscape. That is unless two little orange pills take the reigns and help ease me into a dreamless slumber that I only wish I could have every night.<br />
<br />
I'm still avoiding social situations unless its with people I really know well and who know me well. We had visitors from Brisbane and London come and stay in the city with us and we took friends to my folk's place in the Blue Mountains. I don't know why I always seem to forget how lovely real human contact is. Not that my online connections aren't lovely, but you know what I mean.<br />
<br />
Holed up safely in my beautiful home with all it's comforts really cannot replace being with other people one on one. There was one period during the holidays that I realised I'd gone ten days without talking to an adult who wasn't either a waiter or sales assistant. That kind of made me sad and also tremendously grateful for the visitors we did have.<br />
<br />
I haven't been spending too much time at my desk over the last few months. I've been knitting. It's my new obsession! Knitting and catching up on some of the most entertaining, bingeable TV series. They say mastering a new skill is great for mindfulness, positive psychology, anxiety, etc. I think <i>they</i> are right! Focusing on learning a new skill and completing a project has really given me confidence and helped quieten my chatty remunating brain. I highly recommend it.<br />
<br />
That's all I've got for now. Back to knitting and watching the season two finale of <b><a href="http://www.amctv.com/shows/the-walking-dead" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">The Walking Dead</a></b>.<br />
<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGkGSeflqOKiDyQ11aeDApt-MpYjG7mc4jLygpJ8Pgf8iJKqf5jfMAOcXaG0552eeyX-pW8TerfR8uqljwLgDtTGhL0nkvF9kUn5H5ZgILX2kYrE3KIih_jBdMYIf8vsLHTKjm_FaGRac/s1600/rick-grimes-the-walking-dead-s2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGkGSeflqOKiDyQ11aeDApt-MpYjG7mc4jLygpJ8Pgf8iJKqf5jfMAOcXaG0552eeyX-pW8TerfR8uqljwLgDtTGhL0nkvF9kUn5H5ZgILX2kYrE3KIih_jBdMYIf8vsLHTKjm_FaGRac/s1600/rick-grimes-the-walking-dead-s2.jpg" height="320" width="278" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhytIq2CECVnBidYUk5asueTxOPo7T7L-wT8gFe-R-8XypuwSXYV6wvCBbDArxgft3BI1btEW5HSPgQBOfK_rCVJdEbjFjV1qzL2Qa-Tug_k19a34QVznCSpQs1c-oG_-TX3jPpeXV1_-RJ/s1600/rick-grimes-the-walking-dead-s2.jpg" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Source</a></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small; text-align: start;"><div style="text-align: center;">
If you didn't already know, "blojo" is short for blogging mojo.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
And zombies ate mine. Rick Grimes, you can come save me anytime!</div>
</span></div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
V.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12862647761810468815noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7958829718723459845.post-51172593949078897302014-03-30T18:06:00.000+11:002014-03-30T18:06:04.813+11:00Face the fear and blog anywayLast week, for the first time since I started my blog, I felt I needed to defend my need to write and publish my story as if my life depended on it - like my blog's existence depended on it.<br />
<br />
Someone important in my son's life felt I was compromising Noo's (as my son will now be referred to) anonymity by publishing photos of him here. It was interesting timing for this comment as I'd just written about my <b><a href="http://www.babblingbandit.me/2014/03/writing-as-therapy-fear-and-judgement.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">fear </a></b>of such a challenge.<br />
<br />
When the words were first uttered I was completely taken aback. Not even my parents had said anything so bluntly even though I know they have their own concerns about this space of mine. I was devastated but I was forced to really think about, and write down, why I risk my own privacy as well as my five year old's.<br />
<br />
The two days that followed were surprisingly overwrought with emotion: fear, sadness, exasperation, indignation, anger. The crazy thing is, my passion for blogging has waned this year. I've wondered if <i>I </i>really am comfortable having all this shit on here for anyone to read. And I've been bored by my own voice and have avoided listening to it through this medium.<br />
<br />
So why did I react the way I did?<br />
<br />
I realise now just how sensitive I still am about my past. How desperately I still feel the need to defend it - to myself and to others. The things that have happened to me still have such an overwhelming amount of control over me. But if I shut the past out, lock it up and ignore it, I feel like I'm giving in to it. Like it will turn into the skeleton in the family closet. A dirty little secret.<br />
<br />
I also realised how proud I am of a lot of my writing here. Before I started this blog I had no confidence in my writing ability. I'd only ever written corporate correspondence and emails home while travelling. Through writing here I found something that I love doing. I found an activity that has kept my mind going and my computer skills current while I've been off work for the last six years. There's no way I could just throw it all away based on one person's opinion.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcxvDD7ET0dyYI69UD9j2v9p09I5hvFE_yGeOnS3WHLr_LPk-3YrLQgXxH8VZVqr99RFR9X-ci3m8bPSBaXeCm87b0hNBlWUH72dxHu2CkFjaCp8dXAfeYkwzAEbOzIRBzUTwG3_soOdw/s1600/babblingbandit.me-myspace.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcxvDD7ET0dyYI69UD9j2v9p09I5hvFE_yGeOnS3WHLr_LPk-3YrLQgXxH8VZVqr99RFR9X-ci3m8bPSBaXeCm87b0hNBlWUH72dxHu2CkFjaCp8dXAfeYkwzAEbOzIRBzUTwG3_soOdw/s1600/babblingbandit.me-myspace.jpg" height="400" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is <i>my</i> space</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
So defend my blog I did.<br />
<br />
Here is an edited excerpt from the email I wrote:<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<b>Why I won't delete photos of my son off my blog (until of course he personally asks me to) </b></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
I’m not ashamed of my past or current struggles.</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
The aim of my blog is to help kill the stigma of mental illness, addiction in recovery and of being a victim of rape. I will not hide from these facts about my life. Hiding implies guilt which implies blame.</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
My son will be told what I've blogged about as soon as he asks or is old enough to know. He already knows about <b><a href="http://babblingbandit.me/">babblingbandit.me</a></b> and he knows I don’t drink because it makes me go silly. When he gets bigger I will tell him of the alcoholism and depression that has plagued many members of his family.</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
When you google my son's name no pictures of him are found and no links to my blog are returned in the search results. However, I have completed a ‘find and replace’ to remove all instances of my son's name throughout the blog.</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Please don't get overwhelmed by the <b><a href="http://www.babblingbandit.me/p/from-rock-bottom-to-parenthood.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">“From Rock Bottom to Parenthood”</a></b> story. Yes, it is graphic and confronting. But it is MY past. I own it and will not be shamed by it. And my blog is so much more than that series of posts.<br />
<br />Some of my favourite posts I’d like to draw your attention to:<br />
<br /><b><a href="http://www.babblingbandit.me/2014/02/when-is-right-time-for-kids-to-try.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">When is the right time for kids to try alcohol?</a></b><br />In this post I discuss my belief, backed up by research, that children should not be encouraged to drink alcohol before the age of 18, despite many parents in our society thinking that allowing younger kids to drink at home is the way to avoid binge drinkers later in life.</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<b><a href="http://www.babblingbandit.me/2014/02/managing-mental-illness-self-care.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Managing mental illness: Self-care</a></b><b><br /></b>
In this post I talk about my experience with mental illness and tips on how to manage it. You can see from the comments on this post that many people found it extremely helpful. I have had so many people from all different walks of life either email me or comment on my blog thanking me for my raw honesty.</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<b><a href="http://www.babblingbandit.me/2013/07/sole-parenting-mums-raising-boys.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Sole parenting: Mums raising boys without dad around</a></b><br />I discuss my fears of raising Ned without his father. I then go on to say why I believe I made the right decision nearly six years ago to not have any contact with his father, as well as delve into some referenced research as to why parenting is “not anchored in gender” and that it is possible to raise a happy and healthy boy without a dad in the picture.</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<b><a href="http://www.babblingbandit.me/2013/02/the-bb-top-10-benefits-of-living-sober.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">The BB top 10 benefits to living sober</a></b><br />babblingbandit.me’s most popular blog post is <b><a href="http://www.babblingbandit.me/2013/02/the-bb-top-10-benefits-of-living-sober.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">The BB top 10 benefits to living sober</a></b>. In this post I write a list of reasons why sobriety is awesome. I was sponsored by FebFast to write the post to inspire those taking a break from alcohol. It has been shared widely around the web.<br /></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
My blog attracts approximately 900 unique views a month. In the grand scheme of things it is a tiny blog. I do however occasionally publish sponsored posts and have advertising on my blog which generate a little bit of spending money for me.</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
I am proud of my blog. I am proud of how far I have come as a person and as a parent. I am sure as Noo grows up he will be very proud of me as well. Everything I do, I do it for Noo. If he should get to an age where he is ready to learn about where he comes from and is unhappy with the story being online, I will remove it. But how he was conceived has nothing to do with who he is as a person and I will always reassure him of that.</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
I am raising my son to be a confident, happy child. I will advise him to stand up for who he is and be proud of it. I hope I will arm him with the confidence to deal with bullies should that become a problem in the future...</blockquote>
<br />
<br />
My email had the effect I wanted it to. Even though the whole experience was emotionally difficult, I faced my fear and won.<br />
<br />
Now all I have to do now is get on with it and blog!<br />
<br />
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<b>What do you think about bloggers using their kids' photos online and telling stories about them before they are old enough to consent?</b><br />
<br />
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V.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12862647761810468815noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7958829718723459845.post-39732384494698397482014-03-17T18:23:00.002+11:002014-03-21T10:32:48.854+11:00Writing as therapy: Fear and judgementI have writer's block. Again. This block is a big one with the label "FEAR" etched across it. And so I find myself again blogging about my fear of blogging.<br />
<br />
Makes for boring reading, no?<br />
<br />
It's not like I don't have anything to say. I've got a list of blog titles and even folders of photos to accompany some of them, but actually sitting here and writing it up seems like such a chore.<br />
<br />
I don't think I'm consciously worried about stats. In fact my unique monthly hits are higher than they ever have been, despite my slow blogging. And I'm pretty sure there's not too many of you (if any) out there hanging out for my next post. But I still feel that I <i>should </i>be getting my words out (<i>"Use your words, Vanessa"</i>). For me. For my son. Maybe. I don't know why.<br />
<br />
I'm going through a really blah period of my life. I have no real passion for anything. Of course, my five year old is everything to me, and my love and excitement for Noo will never cease. But the rest of life? Blah.<br />
<br />
Boredom makes me hyper-aware of all that ails me - my knee which needs surgery later this year, my coccyx which is arthritic and worn thanks to that fateful night way back in 2007, constant constipation thanks to psych medication that I just can't survive without, headaches, <b><a href="http://www.babblingbandit.me/2014/02/anxiety-out-of-financial-control.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">anxiety about money</a></b>, weight woes, loneliness...<br />
<br />
Truth be told, I probably have too much time on my hands. I know what I want/need to do but as always fear holds me back.<br />
<br />
Once again I fear the possible repercussions of my writing. Someone dear to me (who shall remain nameless) said by putting our (and by "our" I mean bloggers, Twitterers, Facebookers, celebrities, anyone on social media or in the public eye) life online we open ourselves up and invite criticism and judgement. That basically if you get bullied for what you've disclosed online, you kind of deserve it, because if you didn't expose yourself to the world you wouldn't have gotten bullied in the first place.<br />
<br />
Personally, I call bullshit. Because it's kind of the same as saying if I didn't go out on <b><a href="http://www.babblingbandit.me/p/from-rock-bottom-to-parenthood.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Friday 17 April 2007</a></b> and get drunk, then I wouldn't have been raped. This theory places the responsibility and blame for the crime on me, the victim, rather than on <i>he/she </i>the rapist/bully.<br />
<br />
I have never been trolled online which I'm so grateful for. I've read what some people say about some bloggers and it fills me with dread that anyone could possibly dissect my life like that. But I don't think those trolls or forums which facilitate them should be banned. I regard freedom of speech as one of the most important values in our society. Banning such sites would do more harm than good as a whole. But, what I don't understand, is how anyone could even <i>think</i> of those things to say about people, let alone publish them publicly in order to ridicule them.<br />
<br />
A lot of what I've published here has taken a huge amount of courage and a massive chunk of my heart and soul has gone into putting the words together. I told the story about my past problems with drugs and alcohol, about being raped, about my endless struggles with mental illness because I want to help people. I want others who may be in a similar situation know they are not alone.<br />
<br />
But I'm not just fearful of what I blog about, I'm scared about what people in the real world might say/think about me if they got to know me. I avoid social situations. I fear the question "So, what do you do?".<br />
<br />
I don't know what the fuck I do. I survive each day. Is that not enough?<br />
<br />
I stand by my belief that the only way to kill stigma is to talk about the things that some sections of society try to shame us about. For some reason I feel I need to reaffirm this belief to myself, and to you, so I can keep writing. Hiding in the shadows is only going to feed the fear. Standing up and declaring who I am and owning it should surely make me stronger.<br />
<br />
So here I am:<br />
<br />
Hello my name is Vanessa and<br />
<br />
I am a recovering alcoholic and drug addict<br />
<br />
I suffer from have PTSD, Generalised Anxiety Disorder, Major Depressive Disorder and ADHD<br />
<br />
I take various psychiatric medications<br />
<br />
I have a lap-band and weigh about 92 kg<br />
<br />
I have been a victim of violent crime on three separate occasions in my life<br />
<br />
I'm a single parent<br />
<br />
I don't have a job<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhX55hpCebXT7tDCnDOM9b4Z9_5GJ1Sdb741HnHnfUrB8XFAfsT05lF0FHI8spqPJXc7vioHxOCNpEqSmksMZZrW-dHV4JZLDBBp-frQxJBzK90ubIQhR9qusaiCAXthKrEUagNY7MFAE/s1600/babblingbandit.me-fear-kiss-my-arse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhX55hpCebXT7tDCnDOM9b4Z9_5GJ1Sdb741HnHnfUrB8XFAfsT05lF0FHI8spqPJXc7vioHxOCNpEqSmksMZZrW-dHV4JZLDBBp-frQxJBzK90ubIQhR9qusaiCAXthKrEUagNY7MFAE/s1600/babblingbandit.me-fear-kiss-my-arse.jpg" height="400" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fear and judgement can kiss my arse</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br />
I'm sick of living a fearful life.<br />
<br />
The truth of it is, the only troll in my life is me. I am my own worst enemy and most critical judge.<br />
<br />
Build a bridge, Vanessa, and get over it. Fear can kiss your arse!<br />
<br />
<br />
V.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12862647761810468815noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7958829718723459845.post-42508596969265209502014-02-23T22:36:00.002+11:002014-03-21T11:04:45.400+11:00Anxiety: Out of financial controlIt is Sunday afternoon and Noo and I have spent our third weekend in a row at home. That is we came home from school Friday and have not left the apartment since.<br />
<br />
Since Noo started big school he's turned into a boy who likes to lounge around and play with his screens all weekend. It's not really healthy, I guess, but with no cash in the bank it is kind of a relief for me. I don't need to deal with a kid begging to go out and spend money.<br />
<br />
All my life I've lived from payday to payday. I've never saved a penny but I've paid off tens of thousands of dollars worth of debt, which is kind of like saving but you get the goods first (and hand out a shit load of interest).<br />
<br />
I hate living like this but I don't know any other way. This pay, my dad and I are going to try a new system. One where he will basically hold my spending money and doll out a weekly allowance to me. I have my doubts, but I need to try something.<br />
<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSH9zTBM6I_-kKu_lb618TWa9KZMaNv98uhNICn7e4SysJeAl6YAdm2G2GMOk-hr5ny0Ci212ToHdWd7ePwKHOCOnKP02eeD5sYA9vjNVEc3po3KKLDt12sKwpep-DYfED-tBi7OXtIDk/s1600/Financial-Control-First-Steps_XS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSH9zTBM6I_-kKu_lb618TWa9KZMaNv98uhNICn7e4SysJeAl6YAdm2G2GMOk-hr5ny0Ci212ToHdWd7ePwKHOCOnKP02eeD5sYA9vjNVEc3po3KKLDt12sKwpep-DYfED-tBi7OXtIDk/s1600/Financial-Control-First-Steps_XS.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Out of financial control - <a href="http://sharonoday.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/12/Financial-Control-First-Steps_XS.jpg" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">image source</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
You'd think that a 39 year old shouldn't have the need to have her parents control her cash. When I was in hospital last year, spending five weeks in the depression unit, I met many others like me; grown ups who needed other grown ups to take care of their finances.<br />
<br />
I'm sure it is quite common for people with addictions to need help this way. I guess to stop them spending their money on their vices. I've also met people with bipolar who need help managing their money, especially when manic.<br />
<br />
Simply, I have little self control when it comes to cash. While I've been sober nearly six years, and I don't even crave drink, drugs or even cigarettes, I do love to shop. I have a wardrobe full of (cheap) clothes I've never worn. Some still have labels on them and some have only ventured out once or twice. I don't go anywhere so there's really no need to dress up.<br />
<br />
I don't work so you might be wondering why I have any money at all. I wrote a post about it years ago that you can check out <b><a href="http://www.babblingbandit.me/2012/09/life-aware-australia.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">here</a></b>. Basically I've been on salary continuance insurance since my breakdown in 2007. I have a very generous policy that I paid a premium towards during the seven years I was working with my last employer. This was the company from which I attempted to walk home one fateful Friday night before being taken, against my will (I assume - I have very little recollection of how I got there), to a stranger's flat and raped (you can read about all that <b><a href="http://www.babblingbandit.me/search/label/rape%20culture" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">here</a></b>).<br />
<br />
I'm still considered a 'low income earner' as far as the Tax Office is concerned but I don't qualify for a healthcare card or single parents' benefit. I get a tiny bit of Family Tax Benefit A and B (Aussies will know what I'm talking about here). I'm not pissed off about that because I know I'm very lucky to be in this position, unlike the majority of single mums unable to work for one reason or another, who are really doing it tough on just what the government provides.<br />
<br />
I live with my parents in a really nice apartment. It is so awesome now Noo and I have finally got our own rooms after sharing for the last five years. We are so lucky my parents are happy for Noo and me to live here for the foreseeable future. This is necessary for us both financially and health wise as I don't think I could cope with the loneliness of living by ourselves.<br />
<br />
I pay my father board and contribute towards bills. I have a personal loan and I'm on a rental plan for my laptop. My mobile bill is considerable because of the data allowance I use, as any blogger with Facebook, Twitter and Instagram accounts would understand. I have top private health insurance which is an astounding amount of money every month but with my health I would never give it up.<br />
<br />
I always pay my bills on time and Noo and I really do not need anything (except food) yet I always seem to be scrounging for cash.<br />
<br />
<b>Money </b>is one of the main fuels for my anxiety. Money and food, or should I say, my negative body image, are the areas of my life that I worry about most (other than being a good mother). The body image stuff I'm trying to get over using the <b><a href="http://www.haescommunity.org/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Health At Every Size</a></b> approach. It is working a little bit. That's for another post.<br />
<br />
At the beginning of the pay month, when I'm flush, I'm anxious to buy something nice because I've usually gone three long weeks without much cash to play with. I'm anxious because I know I shouldn't buy anything (like clothes or toys) but I desperately want something new. Often when I make a purchase, it is done with the same compulsivity that I used to seek out cocaine back in the day. The blinkers go up to block out all reason. <i>Fuck it</i>, I think to myself, <i>I deserve this [insert item here]</i>.<br />
<br />
But like when I eat junk, spending my money on unnecessary things just makes me feel worse. As my cash starts running out, and it's weeks until my next pay, my anxiety flares while I worry about how we will survive. I wrote about my <a href="http://www.babblingbandit.me/2013/04/writing-as-therapy-when-self-saboteur.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"><b>insufficient self control</b> </a><b><a href="http://www.babblingbandit.me/2013/04/writing-as-therapy-when-self-saboteur.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">schema</a> </b>(or my self saboteur) early last year. Living with a highly addictive personality in this day and age of want it/need it/have it now, I fall prey to cheap consumerism way too easily.<br />
<br />
I just want to snap out of it. Wake up and find that a frugal/thrifty/financially responsible grown up resides in my body. But that's not going to happen. I have to work at this.<br />
<br />
I wrote a post about <b><a href="http://www.babblingbandit.me/2013/03/spending-danger-zones-identify-and-avoid.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">money management</a></b> last year which won a blogging competition. Ha! I should follow my own advice. But why are the things that we want to change the most the hardest?<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Are you a spender or a saver? Got any financial advice for me? </b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>If you used to be a spendaholic like me but have changed your ways, please get in touch. </b></div>
<br />
<br />
V.<br />
<br />
<br />
PS If someone writes a comment like "first world problems" I might cry. Of course I've got "first world problems" - I live in the frigging first world. Which is lucky. In the Lucky Country, even.<br />
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<br />
<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12862647761810468815noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7958829718723459845.post-74603639054820109412014-02-17T13:00:00.003+11:002014-03-21T10:33:28.870+11:00Managing mental illness: Self-care<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The last year
has been one of the hardest since my first serious mental health breakdown in
2007. I’ve stood way too close to precipice of life and death on more occasions
than I think I ever have in my life – particularly midway through last year
when I spent five weeks in a psychiatric hospital. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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The only
reason why I haven't slipped over the edge is my son. Even when the battle
seemed too great I just had to think of him – my beautiful five year old boy –
and a little voice in the back of my head would tell me to fight on. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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It’s been nearly
seven years now since I first came truly undone. Over those seven years I have
had eight in-patient admissions to psychiatric hospitals, have done three out-patient psycho-educational courses over a 17 month period, had constant therapy with
either psychiatrists, psychologists or both, and have read a lot about mental
health. Crikey, you'd think I'd be cured by now!<br />
<br />
But it is not about finding the cure, it is about managing the condition, and I've learnt a lot along the way about how to keep my head above water,
even when I felt the undertow was going to beat me. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjohg7fiMh-OQ0JRBHh3baKGZmz_fZpnNCk8rYL3ukEp-yQm9tnG8IJGr5pZKkkw4JrTpQPvGdimJ4uVccCZ8BTirFbD1Zw7uwXEeED4I631y28_qAVrbavcefwVJY-k8xuIghJOSeuXYs/s1600/self-care-survival.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjohg7fiMh-OQ0JRBHh3baKGZmz_fZpnNCk8rYL3ukEp-yQm9tnG8IJGr5pZKkkw4JrTpQPvGdimJ4uVccCZ8BTirFbD1Zw7uwXEeED4I631y28_qAVrbavcefwVJY-k8xuIghJOSeuXYs/s1600/self-care-survival.jpg" height="320" width="316" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://attituderevolution.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/11/self-care-survival.jpg" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Image source</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I thought I'd share a few of my survival tips*:<o:p></o:p></div>
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<h2>
<b>1.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-weight: normal;">
</span></b><!--[endif]--><b>Maintain
a good mental health care team<o:p></o:p></b></h2>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I've been
going to the same general practitioners’ centre for seven years. I’ve changed
doctors but have maintained my relationship with the surgery over the entire
time. If you can find a good GP, stick with them. You don't have to keep
telling your story over and over and they can tell when you're not doing well
sometimes even before you know it yourself. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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I also get all
my medications from the one pharmacy. They keep my prescriptions on file and
can let me know when I'm due for more. I've built a relationship with a couple
of the pharmacists which makes it awesome knowing I've got more people on my
team who understand my situation. I went there once during a panic attack when
I was out shopping in the city with Noo because that was the closest safe place
I could think of. I was supported through the attack while another staff member
played with my son – definitely going beyond the usual pharmacy service!<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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I've had
numerous psychiatrists and psychologists over the years. Some I’ve been with
for two years or more, some for a very short time. It is critical that you bond
with your therapist. You have to trust them with your story and believe that
they offer good advice in return. If you feel you've outgrown your therapist or
that they have provided all the advice you think they can offer, don't be
afraid to move on. They won’t be offended. Your sessions are about YOU. Make
sure you control the direction your therapy goes in but be open to new ideas as
well. Seeing them regularly (I go once a fortnight) helps with the flow of the
therapy.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<h2>
<b>2.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-weight: normal;">
</span></b><!--[endif]--><b>Family
support, if you've got it, is critical – use it yet nurture it<o:p></o:p></b></h2>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I owe my
survival to my family. They support me, especially helping with looking after
Noo, but most importantly they listen to me. Especially my mum and my sister.
My mum, particularly, has been instrumental in keeping me going over the last year.
She lets me go over and over my thoughts and feelings as I try to understand
what’s going on in my head. I know it has an incredible strain on her but she
never tells me to leave her alone. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<h2>
<b>3.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-weight: normal;">
</span></b><!--[endif]--><b>Catch
up with your best friends and be social to meet new ones<o:p></o:p></b></h2>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Since my
huge lifestyle change from party girl to sole parent my offline social network
has diminished. I have a few key girlfriends, most of whom I've known for a
very long time. I can go weeks, even months without seeing them, but when we do
catch up it is like no time has passed. Maintaining social contact with the
world outside my family is sometimes hard for me because I don’t work and I
tend to shy away from extending myself outside my comfort zones, especially
when I'm unwell. I know, though, that it is good for my mental health if I do
get out and connect with people. Meeting people at blogging conferences has
been a great way to do this.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<h2>
<b>4.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-weight: normal;"> </span></b><!--[endif]--><b>Blogging<o:p></o:p></b></h2>
</div>
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Blogging has been a real outlet for me. Writing
the stories of my past as well as what I’m going through in the present has
been really cathartic. For some reason though over this year I've
stepped back from my blog. Writing has become a bit of a chore and I’ve become
wary of bringing my readers down with the mood my posts. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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I am trying to get back into the flow of it now
Noo has started big school. Having a project that is all mine that I can work
on at my own pace is really healthy for me too. It keeps me busy and using my
brain. Even though I don’t work, I can’t just lounge around and read all day or
watch TV – that just adds to my feelings of guilt and anxiety. Blogging is like
an unpaid job that I am the boss of. The blogging community also provides much
needed connection with the outside world and it is a source of support and
inspiration.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<h2>
<b>5.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-weight: normal;">
</span></b><!--[endif]--><b>Pampering<o:p></o:p></b></h2>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I’m not very
high maintenance but I do like to get my nails done every three weeks. I never
miss an appointment and have become good friends with the lovely woman who does
a great job on them. I love the whole process of deciding on a colour and
having someone fuss over me for an hour. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<h2>
<b>6.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-weight: normal;">
</span></b><!--[endif]--><b>Zoning
out<o:p></o:p></b></h2>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
When I can
watch the telly, after Noo has gone to bed, I love American shows like Girls, Game
of Thrones and House of Cards. I also love going to the movies on my own.
Watching the telly is such a great way to sit back and totally forget about my
woes. My latest thing is to work on a “paint by numbers” painting at the same
time. I started my first one last year and it is totally addictive but
relaxing! <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Reading
fiction is also a great way to zone out but when my anxiety is high I find it
very hard to focus. I used to read masses of novels as a way to escape reality
but since anxiety has taken over from depression, it is a little harder for me
to keep up with.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<h2>
<b>7.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-weight: normal;">
</span></b><!--[endif]--><b>Mindfulness<o:p></o:p></b></h2>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I've
recently spent a bit of time learning about ‘mindfulness’. I highly recommend
anybody, not just those with mental health issues, to look into it. I've been
following a great iPhone app called <b><a href="http://www.getsomeheadspace.com/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Headspace </a></b>that takes you through 10 minute
mindfulness exercises. I've also listened to <b><a href="http://pemachodronfoundation.org/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Pema Chödrön</a></b>’s book called Getting
Unstuck which made all sorts of sense about the way I can get myself so worked
up over things. It also gives practical teachings on how to let go of old shit.
<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
There’s
still so much I need to learn about mindfulness and I also need to dedicate
more time to actually practicing it. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
If you've
been reading my blog for a while you'll know I've suffered mental illness
throughout most of my life. I know it is something that I will never be cured of, so self-care is survival. Medications and/or talk therapy alone aren't enough. Eating
well and exercise are also important and are areas that I need to dedicate more
time to. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I believe
taking a holistic approach to mental health management is the best way to
having a fulfilling life, armed with the tools to battle the bad times, as well
as allowing the insight to acknowledge and embrace the great times.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
What do you
do to look after yourself?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
V.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
<br />
<i>*I am not a mental health care professional. These are my personal experiences and opinions. If you do think you need help with depression and/or anxiety, please seek help from a professional or call </i><a href="http://www.lifeline.org.au/" style="background-color: white; color: #991414; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15.199999809265137px; line-height: 17.24799919128418px; text-decoration: none;">Lifeline</a><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15.199999809265137px; line-height: 17.24799919128418px;"> 13 11 14.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15.199999809265137px; line-height: 17.24799919128418px;" />
<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12862647761810468815noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7958829718723459845.post-13661341991296944212014-02-15T22:34:00.001+11:002014-03-21T10:10:33.822+11:00Belkin: The lost review<div style="text-align: right;">
<u>Sponsored</u></div>
<u><br /></u>
Once upon a time, approximately 10 or so months ago, a lovely PR person got in contact with me about doing a review for the electronics accessory company <b><a href="http://www.belkin.com/au/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Belkin</a></b>. I was stoked to be asked because, as a bit of a gadget fanatic, I was keen to try some free products.<br />
<br />
Time passed. I received some parcels and then I got sick. I had a play with the products but was not in the headspace to write about them. More time passed. I continued to be unwell and spewed forth blog posts about how bad I was feeling and just felt throwing a product review into the mix would seem kinda weird and out of place.<br />
<br />
Now I'm feeling better I am finally ready to tell you about these products. I have now, after all, given them (one in particular) a pretty good workout!<br />
<br />
The first product I was sent was the <b><a href="http://www.belkin.com/au/F8Z753-Belkin/p/P-F8Z753/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">VideoCharge + ChargeSync</a></b> which you actually can't buy any more, going by the <b>Belkin </b>website. I couldn't use this at the time because it was for the iPhone 4/4s and I have an iPhone 5. Luckily though my sister had an old iPhone and was able to give the VideoCharge a go.<br />
<br />
The stand for the VideoCharge is excellent, with a heavy base and firm grip for the phone. This came especially in handy when FaceTiming with a grabby baby Mala wanting to get in on the call with her cousin Noo. Having the ability to charge the phone at the same time is also a good idea. We all know how fast iPhone batteries wear down!<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguBwygE4eb5AAG1PfFAFat58G4q1g2HZpiiLwTFXBtgcQxEjM1U8OZPi5FDIWfwsUirIMeK1I11zwzlJNRS8cMG77lyZMVt1m5PzjFF9a79pbzCGvCASShUVSX9Flcvm3zObH0fXhR8JQ/s1600/babblingbandit.me-belkin1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguBwygE4eb5AAG1PfFAFat58G4q1g2HZpiiLwTFXBtgcQxEjM1U8OZPi5FDIWfwsUirIMeK1I11zwzlJNRS8cMG77lyZMVt1m5PzjFF9a79pbzCGvCASShUVSX9Flcvm3zObH0fXhR8JQ/s1600/babblingbandit.me-belkin1.jpg" height="320" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Belkin VideoCharge + ChargeSync for iPhone 4/4s</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
When I told the PR company that I actually couldn't use the product they sent me, along came another parcel containing the <b>Charge+Sync Dock for iPhone 5</b>. I really like this dock. It is a great stand for my iPhone that I move around from my desk to my bedside table as required. I only had one complaint about it at the time. It didn't come with its own inbuilt lightning connector - you have to use your own. For the price it was at the time, I didn't think this was great value.<br />
<br />
Now, all this time later, <b>Belkin </b>have upped the stakes and lowered the price! The <b><a href="http://www.belkin.com/au/F8J045-Belkin/p/P-F8J045/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">MIXIT ChargeSync Dock for iPhone 5</a></b> now includes an inbuilt lightning connector and has come down in price to <b>$39.95</b>. Awesome! I want one.<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2o-IFx3UT8T4QEQcoKGMdgEoSdMcgGfMpbr2gvPnoeyD7iKQJzmaX8avmpF2N7ZmtV9mrdPdSYSbtSqQORZGV3vcmsPsgE0V0QxUhpeRTJyEC2K8DJkRHs14AQw3JrLSxXj9lAmj_W94/s1600/babblingbandit.me-belkin2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2o-IFx3UT8T4QEQcoKGMdgEoSdMcgGfMpbr2gvPnoeyD7iKQJzmaX8avmpF2N7ZmtV9mrdPdSYSbtSqQORZGV3vcmsPsgE0V0QxUhpeRTJyEC2K8DJkRHs14AQw3JrLSxXj9lAmj_W94/s1600/babblingbandit.me-belkin2.jpg" height="640" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Belkin Charge+Sync Dock for iPhone 5</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
So there you have it! I wasn't paid for this review but I was given the accessories shown in the photos above. I stand by my opinion and will most likely go out and buy the new <b><a href="http://www.belkin.com/au/F8J045-Belkin/p/P-F8J045/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">MIXIT ChargeSync Dock for iPhone 5</a></b> with my own money so I don't have to keep moving the other one around.<br />
<br />
And everyone lived happily ever after.<br />
<br />
The end.<br />
<br />
V.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<i>Disclosure: As previously mentioned I wasn't paid for this review I was, however, given the products shown in the photos above. All opinions are my own in accordance with my <a href="http://www.babblingbandit.me/p/disclosure.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">disclosure policy</a>.</i><br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12862647761810468815noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7958829718723459845.post-53664726526196884522014-02-13T12:34:00.001+11:002014-03-21T10:34:40.115+11:00When is the right time for kids to try alcohol?"Noo, have a taste of this", my mother offered kindly. "It's delicious", she promised.<br />
<br />
I was in the kitchen when I overheard this conversation going on in the hall.<br />
<br />
"It's pear flavour", mum explained.<br />
<br />
I looked around the kitchen and saw a half empty bottle of pear cider sitting on the kitchen bench.<br />
<br />
"Nooooooo!" I screamed, running into the other room. "Don't let him have any of that! It's alcoholic!" Fear drummed through me. It was if <i>I</i> was about to take my first sip of alcohol in nearly six years.<br />
<br />
"Oh! I'm so sorry! I didn't realise. I thought it was just sparkling pear juice, like apple cider", my well meaning mother apologised.<br />
<br />
The feeling in me was so irrational, I know, but I don't want Noo to have any alcohol until he is of legal drinking age. Not even a little sip. I know that is a crazy expectation to have in this day and age. I can't be with him all the time but I want to do whatever I can to encourage him to wait until he is 18 years old before getting involved with booze and booze culture, if he chooses to at all.<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1KTqaBED3pTXO1Hd7KNdGctSSAfVdE6aDsDMwCjhGV1ad7BoAB14Z5IkNETeD4aJCl7vy6K0AXmPa8y8NwOtZeguU3qGbFvthhOW1Z_cjD1zGqYUeTU8NSOnWEdF4c4sKNrRrmcOzFL8/s1600/LARGE+PHOTOS_ALCOHOL.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1KTqaBED3pTXO1Hd7KNdGctSSAfVdE6aDsDMwCjhGV1ad7BoAB14Z5IkNETeD4aJCl7vy6K0AXmPa8y8NwOtZeguU3qGbFvthhOW1Z_cjD1zGqYUeTU8NSOnWEdF4c4sKNrRrmcOzFL8/s1600/LARGE+PHOTOS_ALCOHOL.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Put it off for as long as possible - <a href="http://www.talktofrank.com/sites/default/files/drugs/LARGE%20PHOTOS_ALCOHOL.jpg" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">image source</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
I tried and got a taste for alcohol way too early. My parents took the "forbidden fruit" approach thinking it would be better to let us have a try of wine or beer at home rather than make alcohol forbidden, therefore allowing it to become more attractive to the naturally rebellious side of our teenage years.<br />
<br />
This is a common way of thinking for parents of teenagers. As reported by Ward, Snow, et al, in their report <b><a href="http://drinkwisewebsite.s3.amazonaws.com/2012/04/The-influence-of-parents-and-siblings-Monash-Newcastle-LaTrobe-2010.pdf" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">The influence of parents and siblings on children’s and adolescents’ attitudes and behaviours towards alcohol: A critical review of the literature (2010)</a></b> prepared for <b><a href="http://www.drinkwise.org.au/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">DrinkWiseAustralia</a></b>:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>"Almost half of Australian parents believe that they should teach their children to drink at home before they reach the age of 18"</i>.</blockquote>
I'm not saying that my parents giving me a sip of wine at the dinner table is to blame for me abusing alcohol for 12 years but it certainly gave me a taste for it. Research shows that the earlier kids are given their first taste of alcohol, and this is usually under their parent's consent, the more likely they are to increase their alcohol use later in life:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>"Longitudinal studies have shown that child reports of
parental supply of alcohol for their last episode of drinking are a strong predictor of
increased alcohol use over time. Overseas research suggests that when parents do not
supply alcohol, adolescents do not increase their consumption of other alcoholic drinks."</i> - <b><a href="https://www.blogger.com/The%20influence%20of%20parents%20and%20siblings%20on%20children%E2%80%99s%20and%20%20adolescents%E2%80%99%20attitudes%20and%20behaviours%20towards%20alcohol:%20A%20%20critical%20review%20of%20the%20literature" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">The influence of parents and siblings on children’s and adolescents’ attitudes and behaviours towards alcohol: A critical review of the literature</a></b> (2010)</blockquote>
<div>
Now I know my son is only five years old. And I really hope this issue is one I don't have to worry about for a while, but there are still things we, as parents, can do to help mould our kids' attitudes towards alcohol from a very early age.</div>
<br />
I've seen in my Facebook feed, and around other websites I haunt, a great parenting quote that goes something like this: "kids will learn more from what we do, than from what we say". The <b><a href="http://www.drinkwise.org.au/parents/parents-of-0-to-8/drinking-and-your-children/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">DrinkWise</a></b> website backs this up:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>"Through observing adults drinking, <b>children form their attitudes to alcohol early in life</b>. The attitudes they develop during their younger years will affect how they make a range of important decisions regarding drinking alcohol in the future, such as: underage drinking, pace yourself or fill-up fast, drink and drive or take a taxi, binge drink to get drunk or drink sensibly, drinking every day or occasionally and so the list goes on."</i></blockquote>
As I'm close to clocking up six years of sobriety from alcohol, Noo has never seen me drink, and I hope he never will. His grandmother drinks rarely and his grandfather is a moderate drinker but Noo has never seen these two extremely important role models in his life, drunk. And I hope he never will.<br />
<br />
One day I will tell him about the alcoholism that has plagued both sides of his family. One day I will tell him about my own troubles with booze. I will tell him that he has to wait until he is legally allowed to before he can have a drink. And I will hope that he will grow to be a self confident young person who will feel able to make healthy choices based on knowledge, rather than let himself be peer pressured into doing things he isn't comfortable with just to feel accepted by the crowd. My parenting choices, starting from the day he was born, will hopefully help him become that person.<br />
<br />
I know these are grand aspirations I have for my little boy and for myself as his mum. But, you have to be positive in life, set goals, reach for the sky. Sure, mistakes will be made by both of us along the way. If temptation does get in the way and, like a lot of teens, Noo does sneak a taste of booze before he turns 18, the sky won't fall in. We will deal with it. Together.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>How old were you when you first tried alcohol?</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>If you have kids are you going to let them try it at home first before<br />they turn 18 or make them wait?</b></div>
<br />
<br />
V.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12862647761810468815noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7958829718723459845.post-86714688613655104612014-02-10T15:41:00.001+11:002014-03-21T10:10:38.008+11:00Words don't come easy<i>Words don't come easy to me</i><br />
<i>How can I find a way</i><br />
<i>To make you see</i><br />
<i>I love you</i><br />
<i>Words don't come easy</i><br />
F. R. David, 1982<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/N3vnnc4XPAA?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
I know this is such a daggy song but it always comes to my mind when I go to write a blog post and nothing comes out. And this is how I feel right now: The words don't come easy. They are there. The words. My head is swirling with them. Getting them out on the <strike>page</strike> screen is just so hard at the moment.<br />
<br />
Maybe it is this new medication I'm taking for my headaches. It's called <b><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Topiramate" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">topiramate</a></b>. One of its common side effects is "expressive language disorder". It's brand name is Topamax which has been given the unflattering nickname of Dopamax because it can make some people seem a bit, well, dopey.<br />
<br />
I don't feel so dopey. I feel ok so far, just not overly motivated to write, despite my <b><a href="http://www.babblingbandit.me/2014/02/where-bloody-hell-are-ya.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">recent declaration that my blog was back</a></b>.<br />
<br />
One thing that I have decided is that I don't want my blog to make me feel guilty - I have so much guilt about other areas of my life. My blog is supposed to make me feel good. I don't want to fight for page clicks or Google rankings or comments or sponsors. I'll keep that little video ad on the right over there but I'm not looking for more advertisers.<br />
<br />
I don't think I want to write about products right now but if something really relevant comes my way and I can be bothered, maybe. But I don't want to be stressed about it. I've had a sponsored post hanging over my head since <b><a href="http://www.babblingbandit.me/2013/08/this-blog-is-going-on-little-ahem.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">before I went into hospital last year</a></b>. The PR person has been awesome in not pressuring me to get out a post, considering the brand did send me the product, but I've felt really awkward about how to deal with it now.<br />
<br />
Would it look and feel weird if I publish it now? I should, shouldn't I? Oh, I feel like a naughty school girl who hasn't handed in her homework. So unprofessional! But I've had other priorities, you know like staying alive and looking after my kid and getting my head in a functioning order.<br />
<br />
The update on that (my head) is that it is functioning (despite the topiramate) and my mood is definitely a hell of a lot more stable than last year but I'm still not 100% (whatever that looks like). I have good days, bad days. Some days the anxiety just overwhelms me and it hurts me in such a physical way. Like a block of cement is laying on my chest and the back of my eyeballs are jittering and I just have to wait it out until it passes.<br />
<br />
Yesterday was one of those days. I kept busy all day. I actually did housework. Vacuumed, cleaned the bathroom. For fucksake, I IRONED. I haven't ironed anything since 2007. I kind of understood why some people with anxiety, like my best friend, have to be doing stuff all the time. It sort of keeps your mind off the fluttering in your chest but it doesn't make it go away. I want it to go away forever.<br />
<br />
There's nothing to be worried about of course. Noo loves big school. I have a little bit of money in the bank. My weight is going down but I'm not really obsessing about that at the moment anyway. I'm sleeping ok. Walking lots. Reading book four of Game of Thrones before the new season starts on the telly.<br />
<br />
But that's <b><a href="http://www.beyondblue.org.au/the-facts/anxiety/types-of-anxiety/gad" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Generalised Anxiety Disorder</a></b> for you. It's GENERALISED.<br />
<br />
It's ANNOYING.<br />
<br />
Someone once told me "resistance is persistance". I just have to embrace my anxiety in order for it to go away. My current panic attack mantra is "I have anxiety and that is ok". I say it over and over. It works to some degree because rather than fighting it I'm learning to sit with it.<br />
<br />
Learning to stay, as <b><a href="http://pemachodronfoundation.org/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Pema Chodron</a></b> would say.<br />
<br />
And, would you look at that: Looks like I've found a few words to say too.<br />
<br />
How are you going today?<br />
<br />
V.<br />
<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12862647761810468815noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7958829718723459845.post-56829160345709193432014-02-03T07:53:00.002+11:002014-03-21T11:04:46.835+11:00Where the bloody hell are ya?<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
Wow. It's been three months since my last <s>confession</s> blog
post. I've been really looking forward to getting back into it but life has
been busy. And stressful (when is it not for this little stress-head?). And,
honestly, having a break from over analysing all my shit here has been nicely
refreshing.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
With Noo having started big school (that's right BIG SCHOOL!) last week, I'm so looking forward to having some time to myself so I can get back to
doing more of the stuff I love, like blogging. And spending time with grown
ups. And being by myself to do what I want to do. Oh, how I crave the ever
cliched "me-time".<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Here's a little catch up of what's
happened while I was away...<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<h3>
<b>I turned 39 years old</b></h3>
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
Truly amazing. And after enduring 2013, which turned out to be an annus horribilis to go down as one of the worst in my life, entering my 40th year is turning out to be pretty good so far.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
There's was a time in my life I thought I'd never make 40, and I was
proud of it. I was a rock star. Here for a good time, not a long time and all
that. Times have certainly changed.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf8h2u-hgrCOA205Kx1hnUzpVpCdosK5t_9rHHk9JgALHhf8pmFjl1vvKzRuLQe0SIiAY02kvbqF44job7bt5v-TlggCAYpIjCzK8SaOgKNdDDfwPiUB3X37WnTgsAFi3zXfgkTWwDAXI/s1600/babblingbandit.me-the-party-years.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf8h2u-hgrCOA205Kx1hnUzpVpCdosK5t_9rHHk9JgALHhf8pmFjl1vvKzRuLQe0SIiAY02kvbqF44job7bt5v-TlggCAYpIjCzK8SaOgKNdDDfwPiUB3X37WnTgsAFi3zXfgkTWwDAXI/s1600/babblingbandit.me-the-party-years.jpg" height="640" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The party years</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
I'm not nearly as freaked out as I thought I'd be about entering my 40th
year. I guess because I don't really feel 39. My body aches at times, yes. I
gained 20 kilos in 2013 through depressive emotional eating. But I've now lost
eight kilos since I joined the <a href="http://www.lindabacon.org/HAESCommunity/about.php"><b>HAES movement</b></a>. I'm learning to
love my body how it is right now, rather than waiting for some miracle to occur
that would magically turn my body into a socially acceptable shape and
therefore worthy of love. Surprisingly, by doing this, I'm treating myself a
lot better. And losing weight despite not being on a diet.<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTN9NmXARRjWWSRER1O1PqdzfC4G4n88oZHCxPRWMKOsewjxF_GqkFZxG0LhUA4bOlOJfnyjHeQg-g7iocrRxOUgL3qdNua6PZehcyi_zID_UOeOg88hgfIxhFUjD02fHFDhbXckcWiXU/s1600/babblingbandit.me-turning-39.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTN9NmXARRjWWSRER1O1PqdzfC4G4n88oZHCxPRWMKOsewjxF_GqkFZxG0LhUA4bOlOJfnyjHeQg-g7iocrRxOUgL3qdNua6PZehcyi_zID_UOeOg88hgfIxhFUjD02fHFDhbXckcWiXU/s1600/babblingbandit.me-turning-39.jpg" height="320" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On my 39th birthday heading out for lunch with the family</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<h3>
<b>Noo turned 5 years old</b></h3>
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
Another milestone birthday was celebrated. We went big for Noo's fifth
birthday party, celebrating with all his little preschool mates at Luna Park.
We celebrated not only his birthday but his graduating from the little daycare
he has been attending since he was only 15 months old. We were both sad to see
our time at Noo's daycare come to an end, but our family continues its
connection with the school as my niece will be there a little while yet.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixWkRK5ashRtoyWq1PfhBopx07Se0VttO0drBVTJ1osKKQ_-EJ2XFpVcfK9BjqBxPWDTl9idGXKMioE0tTYFOdIbdZ6AihHwMHXbVOP7zgULeB2rj-hL_NXhPESVh9N7dSMz_5CMJ4mtE/s1600/babblingbandit.me-ned-5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixWkRK5ashRtoyWq1PfhBopx07Se0VttO0drBVTJ1osKKQ_-EJ2XFpVcfK9BjqBxPWDTl9idGXKMioE0tTYFOdIbdZ6AihHwMHXbVOP7zgULeB2rj-hL_NXhPESVh9N7dSMz_5CMJ4mtE/s1600/babblingbandit.me-ned-5.jpg" height="440" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Celebrating Noo's fifth birthday at Luna Park</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br /></div>
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<h3>
<b>Our first summer school holidays</b></h3>
<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
Noo and I had five full weeks together. The longest time he wasn't in
any formal care since he was 15 months old. I was terrified I'd made the wrong
decision in not enrolling him for January care but thought it would be a great
time for us to hang out and do some cool stuff together.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
We sure did get around: Hanging out with my sister and Noo's cousin
Mala, Christmas, a couple of trips to the Blue Mountains, New Year's Eve with
friends, Noo jumped on a blow up <a href="http://www.sydneyfestival.org.au/2014/Family/Sacrilege/"><b>Stonehenge at Sydney
Festival</b></a>, <a href="http://www.darlingquarter.com/play/"><b>Darling Quarter</b></a>, <a href="http://www.anmm.gov.au/site/page.cfm?u=2164"><b>Vikings at the Maritime Museum</b></a>, <a href="http://australianmuseum.net.au/landing/tyrannosaurs/"><b>Tyrannosaurs at the
Australian Museum</b></a>, nearly every public pool in the inner Sydney region, contributed to
building a Lego art piece at the Opera House, and many other fun activities. We
had so many big days out that by the last week of the holidays my
self-proclaimed "go-boy" Noo said he was tired and wanted a few days
home to rest before starting big school.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9mfJfjen14-JbkaevO2Bb3tDSQapwm1tx3lMBTr9kpMx4iymK-oRBGGy7jUncTaONGq643cY3Q3XnwpIkI9sVxROKoXgXMbzDyE42PQJzATgGeF2GL1RW1ZPh3BXG2Y0XE9-1VXyUipg/s1600/babblingbandit.me-school-holidays-2013-14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9mfJfjen14-JbkaevO2Bb3tDSQapwm1tx3lMBTr9kpMx4iymK-oRBGGy7jUncTaONGq643cY3Q3XnwpIkI9sVxROKoXgXMbzDyE42PQJzATgGeF2GL1RW1ZPh3BXG2Y0XE9-1VXyUipg/s1600/babblingbandit.me-school-holidays-2013-14.jpg" height="640" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Summer fun filled holidays!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br />
<br /></div>
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<h3>
<b>Noo started kindergarten</b></h3>
<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
Noo's start to his big school life couldn't have gone smoother. He
was <i>excited</i> rather than nervous the night before and jumped
out of bed like Santa had been the night before when I told him it was time to
get ready for the big day ahead. I must admit that I was a bit anxious in the lead
up to the first day. More because we'd both gotten used to late nights and
8.30am sleep-ins than worried he'd be scared to go to school. He was so looking
forward to it after spending most of January missing his old preschool mates.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
Neither of us cried. Shock bloody horror. I've cried a few times over
the summer break, about things I can't write about, but leaving Noo at big
school for the first time was not one of those times. His Grandpa and I took
him on the bus into town. When we got to school there were so many big kids
around I was really worried he'd be overwhelmed by it all. But no, not my
confident little wonder-kid. He settled in just fine. Especially with his best
little mate Justine Stark always by his side.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIpoh0fgbI_Gxnwh4lFi50fc5FRPcyZy6fD1AzEggbk5M0CYYHAFbie9qTH3TJf3ix-XzMNT4cN9cxcpuAVhhsGHlL2utyia-aAA_jHTpJbAcS0X51htJ7qKg0om-cVmlTMSQ-vXt2nbc/s1600/IMG_8610.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIpoh0fgbI_Gxnwh4lFi50fc5FRPcyZy6fD1AzEggbk5M0CYYHAFbie9qTH3TJf3ix-XzMNT4cN9cxcpuAVhhsGHlL2utyia-aAA_jHTpJbAcS0X51htJ7qKg0om-cVmlTMSQ-vXt2nbc/s1600/IMG_8610.JPG" height="400" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First day of school</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
So there you have it! It's nearly midnight and I have to be up super
early. We have been renovating our new apartment over the last three months
too. I have serious reno fatigue. Sick of strangers in the place, the dust, the
moving shit around, blah. But let's not end on a negative note. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Here's to getting back to some serious blogging in 2014.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Hoping you all have had a great summer break as well.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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V.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12862647761810468815noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7958829718723459845.post-71567119925658773732013-10-31T11:07:00.002+11:002014-03-21T10:10:42.301+11:00Who am I?So my <b><a href="http://www.babblingbandit.me/2013/10/doctor-this-antidepressant-isnt-working.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">last post was a little rude</a></b>. Lots of swear words, lots of finger pointing, lots of anger.<br />
<br />
I really don't like being like that. Swearing? Whatever! I actually do enjoy throwing out the odd expletive, but I really dislike being angry. When I'm in that mood I become childlike. Actually, teenage-like.<br />
<br />
Angst ridden, emo, woe is me, everybody hates me and the world is working against me in a conspiracy to make my life a living misery.<br />
<br />
From my psych who won't seem to listen to me regarding the medication I know is not helping me, to the stupid blood taking woman who had to weave around my veins that morning looking for an entry point to get some blood to test the levels of the antidepressant I didn't want to take in the first place.<br />
<br />
To make matters worse, after I came back here to my glorious new haven (commonly known as MY room I share with NO ONE!), I wrote that anger filled post and then went to bed and sulked all day, fantasizing about my death that would cause everyone else all the misery I was feeling. You know, just to get all those conspiring against me back!<br />
<br />
I woke only to gorge on a whole packet of those overly delicious new Tim Tam Chocolicious Bites for lunch and then went straight back to sleep again.<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_clO_nJ11CkvkTEKEG-eIi5me0_0GSVN32iDGCnQuraSikE0X4mjrGRgz2EWhxlvOqh1FEDq0gJCUJp1fTbM_3CaP071trvk_N-UjHEYrOJstkTVGAtCTND_zNkEukNHQNYmi7Zrjhi0/s1600/IMG_6855.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_clO_nJ11CkvkTEKEG-eIi5me0_0GSVN32iDGCnQuraSikE0X4mjrGRgz2EWhxlvOqh1FEDq0gJCUJp1fTbM_3CaP071trvk_N-UjHEYrOJstkTVGAtCTND_zNkEukNHQNYmi7Zrjhi0/s400/IMG_6855.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yum! (unsponsored)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
When I finally did get out of bed it was only when my mum text me at 4.09pm with a "Where are you?". I was fuming! I'd been MIA all fucking day and only now they were looking for me? I could have been at the pub or lying in a pool of my own blood for all they knew.<br />
<br />
Ugh! No one takes my tantrums seriously these days!<br />
<br />
So off I storm, to the apartment next door, where my parents live (until we put the two apartments together and we all live in one apartment again). Cried my eyes out while dad hugged me as I wailed "There's something seriously wrong with me Daddy!".<br />
<br />
I then grabbed my iPhone and sent an email to my psychiatrist with a link to my abusive post and told my parents I was going off all my meds.<br />
<br />
"I need to know who the real me is", I cried!<br />
<br />
Because that is what it comes down to. While I can look back and write a mildly funny post about it now, at the time I was in a living breathing hell. Mental illness with all its ups and downs suck big time.<br />
<br />
<br />
<h3>
Who the fuck am I?</h3>
<br />
Pumped full of medication that alters my mood (<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nortriptyline" rel="nofollow" style="font-weight: bold;" target="_blank">nortriptyline</a>), my ability to concentrate (<b><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Methylphenidate" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">methylphenidate</a></b>), my ability to digest food without getting heartburn (<b><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pariet" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">rabeprazole</a></b>), handle anxiety (<b><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Diazapam" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">diazapam</a>, </b><b><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Seroquel" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">quetiapine</a></b>) and sleep (<b><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Temazepam" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">temazepam</a></b>), how am I to know exactly who I am?<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4YfXQASKvmE7w8rAb1_yjuPnSRRWBYDldgf5f-2tlhfIh2lhNqY28ivJw58TeFSRYCl-Q1p8C_t7sGbeocJBGchPiDDo_Q3d5wwGnqE7F9wQEWnW8lbUcXrdhUhFv5bHTL7LXo1ozyU0/s1600/babblingbandit.me-who-am-i.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4YfXQASKvmE7w8rAb1_yjuPnSRRWBYDldgf5f-2tlhfIh2lhNqY28ivJw58TeFSRYCl-Q1p8C_t7sGbeocJBGchPiDDo_Q3d5wwGnqE7F9wQEWnW8lbUcXrdhUhFv5bHTL7LXo1ozyU0/s400/babblingbandit.me-who-am-i.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Who am I? </b><br />
No filters, no make up (ok my eyelashes are tinted and my hair is bleached),<br />
and I'm cutting back on the meds. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
So I'm getting off all the drugs.<br />
<br />
Except the Pariet (rabeprazole). I've tried to get off that before and the old lady heartburn comes back with avengence! And it ain't pretty.<br />
<br />
I stopped taking sleeping tablets weeks ago so that is easy. I haven't had any Valium (diazepam) or a Seroquel (quetiapine) since the weekend and I've been going without the Concerta (methylphenidate or Ritalin (in slow release form) as it's more commonly known) since I ran out on Monday.<br />
<br />
Antidepressants should never been stopped abruptly so I'm slowly weening off that one. I'm down from 100mg to 75mg and will be down to zero by the time I have my next psych appointment in a week's time.<br />
<br />
Right now it is nearly 11am. I slept soundly from about 10.30 last night until Noo came and woke me at about 7.55am. The morning rush to get him to school was OK because his Grandpa is taking him down there in the morning which relieves me of a lot of stress.<br />
<br />
So far I feel pretty good.<br />
<br />
Yesterday I started an eight week <b>"Mindfulness for Stress Reduction"</b> course at the hospital I <strike>hang out out at</strike> get treated at. I want to learn how to find that window, or fork in the road, or whatever cliche you want to use, where I get to <i>choose</i>.<br />
<br />
I've lived most of my life from one impulse to the next. Blinkers are firmly in place as I reach for the decision that is going to make me feel good <i>right now</i>. The future doesn't exist in my world when it comes to making choices. That is until later when I worry about all the bad choices I have made and my anxiety flares out of control because I've paid no mind to the effect those choices have on the future.<br />
<br />
I'm hoping mindfulness meditation will help me find the STOP button which will in turn give me a look in the window of choice or down the forks in the road that offer different paths to choose from therefore giving me the wisdom to make better decisions.<br />
<br />
Crikey! Am I making any sense here?<br />
<br />
I'm not just talking about the impulse to buy another black dress or to eat that block of chocolate. I'm also talking about emotion regulation as well.<br />
<br />
I'm hoping mindfulness will help me find some inner peace.<br />
<br />
Fuck, another cliche!<br />
<br />
I'm getting outta here before I crack out yet another one.<br />
<br />
Mindfulness be with you!<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>What do you do to quieten your mind?</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Got any tips for this impulsive anxious little soul?</b></div>
<br />
<br />
V.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12862647761810468815noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7958829718723459845.post-14055638538802587512013-10-29T11:01:00.000+11:002014-03-21T10:34:57.433+11:00Doctor, this antidepressant isn't working - so fuck youI'm so fucking angry right now.<br />
<br />
Since my first outburst of tears on <b><a href="http://www.babblingbandit.me/2013/06/whats-wrong-with-me.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">10 May 2013</a></b> when I got the sign that my mood was slipping in the wrong direction, I have been on and off a shitload of medications.<br />
<br />
None of them have helped me:<br />
<br />
<b><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cipramil" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Citolapram</a></b><br />
<b><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cymbalta" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Duloxetine</a></b><br />
<b><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Prozac" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Fluoxetine</a></b><br />
<b><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lithium_(medication)" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Sodium Valproate</a></b><br />
<b><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Seroquel" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Quetiapine</a></b><br />
<b><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lithium_(medication)" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Lithium</a></b><br />
<b><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lamictal" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Lamotrigine</a></b><br />
<b><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Diazapam" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Diazapam</a></b><br />
<b><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nortriptyline" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Nortriptyline</a></b><br />
<br />
I've had side effect ranging from constipation, headspins, blurred vision, vertigo, dizziness, dry mouth, altered menstrual cycle, headaches, restless leg syndrome, depression, anxiety and now rage.<br />
<br />
I'm so angry right now I could punch my fist through this fucking computer.<br />
<br />
I'm so angry right now that I'm not getting better.<br />
<br />
I'm so angry right now that I have ALL THE THINGS an unemployed person could want but I'm fucking miserable.<br />
<br />
I'm so angry right now that I screamed at my son this morning because we were running late for fucking preschool. I pushed him down the hallway because he didn't do what I asked him to do the first time I asked it, or the second, or the fucking third time.<br />
<br />
I'm so angry right now because when my one and only child begged me for a kiss for forgiveness I couldn't even look at him because I AM SO FUCKING ANGRY!<br />
<br />
I'm so fucking angry because I keep telling my fucking psychiatrist that I'm fucking angry in the fucking morning and he just fucking tells me that I haven't given this fucking medicine enough of a go yet.<br />
<br />
Well I think three weeks of fucking anger is enough fucking anger!<br />
<br />
I'm so sick of being on this pharmaceutical rollercoaster.<br />
<br />
I just want to feel the way I did before this all happened. I know I wasn't 100% before this episode but it was a hell of a lot fucking better than this fucking bullshit!<br />
<br />
<br />
I'M SO FUCKING OVER IT!<br />
<br />
<br />
So, Shrink, fuck you!<br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12862647761810468815noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7958829718723459845.post-68193454126622463172013-10-24T11:17:00.000+11:002013-10-25T09:10:25.767+11:00Part 5: On being a victim of rape culture<br />
<i>TRIGGER WARNING: This post may be triggering to those who have been a victim of sexual assault.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>LANGUAGE WARNING: There is an excessive use of profanities thought this post. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i><br /></i>
<b>On being a victim of rape culture</b><br />
<b><br /></b><b><a href="http://www.babblingbandit.me/2013/04/part-1-rape-culture.html" target="_blank">Part 1: The day before</a></b><br />
<b><a href="http://www.babblingbandit.me/2013/04/part-2-on-being-victim-of-rape-culture.html" target="_blank">Part 2: Where am I?</a></b><br />
<b><a href="http://www.babblingbandit.me/2013/04/part-3-rape-culture.html" target="_blank">Part 3: The day after</a></b><br />
<div>
<b><a href="http://www.blogger.com/On%20being%20a%20victim%20of%20rape%20culture%20%20Part%201:%20The%20day%20before%20Part%202:%20Where%20am%20I?%20Part%203:%20The%20day%20after" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Part 4: Reporting the crime</a></b></div>
<i><br /></i>
<i><br /></i>
<br />
<h3>
Drunk or sober I am not to blame for being raped</h3>
<br />
I have spent most of the last six years blaming myself for being <b><a href="http://www.babblingbandit.me/p/from-rock-bottom-to-parenthood.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">raped by a stranger</a></b>. Why? Because on the day it occurred I had been drinking heavily. In fact, I was hammered. Like most Friday and Saturday nights and a few other nights during the week as well, I drank a lot.<br />
<br />
Of course it was my fault! I gave over all my rights to protect myself when I took away the ability to control my physical actions, mental cognitions, and the ability to verbally give consent or otherwise by drinking a shitload of booze with a group of work colleagues on a Friday night. I might as well have been wearing a sandwich board over my shoulders with the words "FUCK ME FOR FREE" printed on both sides.<br />
<br />
<b>WHAT A LOAD OF CRAP!</b><br />
<br />
Yes, there's a good chance that I wouldn't have been raped on <b><a href="http://www.babblingbandit.me/2013/04/part-1-rape-culture.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">19 April 2007</a></b> if I was sober that night.<br />
<br />
But there's an even greater chance I wouldn't have been raped that night if the man who committed the crime had any respect for women. Or the law.<br />
<br />
Mia Freedman published an article regarding the <b><a href="http://www.mamamia.com.au/social/sexual-assault-and-alcohol/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">correlation between sexual assault and alcohol</a></b> a couple of days ago. It's caused a bit of a shit storm around the interwebs.<br />
<br />
On one side of the argument is Mia, and a hell of a lot of her commenters on the post, saying that we need to teach our daughters, sisters, nieces, girlfriends to stay sober while out because if you get yourself inebriated some randy bloke might just come along and stick his dick where you don't want it.<br />
<br />
Mia says <i>"Some people are angry at the idea of highlighting the link between drinking and sexual assault. Some people insist that when we mention the connection, we are victim blaming."</i><br />
<br />
Mia, if what you say isn't victim blaming, why have I felt so responsible for what happened to me that night?<br />
<br />
And then there are other commentators (<b><a href="http://www.dailylife.com.au/news-and-views/dl-opinion/the-only-thing-common-to-experiences-of-rape-is-the-presence-of-a-rapist-20131017-2vp7n.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Clementine Ford</a></b> for <b><a href="http://www.dailylife.com.au/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Daily Life</a></b> and <b><a href="http://newswithnipples.com/2013/10/21/today-in-what-mia-freedman-has-done-now/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Kim Powell</a></b> at <b><a href="http://newswithnipples.com/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">the news with nipples</a></b>) who are crying foul on Mia's argument, saying women have the bloody right to walk the streets at night, drunk and teetering on sky high stilettos, scantily clothed should they wish, without the fear of coming to any harm.<br />
<br />
I think I, as a victim of drunk rape, sit somewhere in between the two arguments.<br />
<br />
Women should be able to dress up in all their finery, go out and get a little tipsy, drunk if you like, and feel absolutely safe from harm.<br />
<br />
But the reality is there are fucking arseholes out there that will take advantage of our drunkenness. There are fuckers out there that will see that lovely cleavage we are showing off as an invitation to sex. Some men will even buy us the drinks to get us to that state of willingness to leave with them. Hell, he could chuck in a <b><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Flunitrazepam" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">rohy</a></b> to make it a sure thing.<br />
<br />
While I was in hospital recently, a blogger friend posted on her timeline this image. It sent me into a spiral of PTSD flashbacks and depression because it brought all the memories back to the forefront of my mind.<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdDF09G1iYwiMugFbW-ewPzCO4fDITbBoOYtrRpbb2ekuin_esBeY3IxlG2It77wv7SEm56O29SVJX-Jx9xxmLOhvcht8hZcNbdKKmKR57fFt0HwCc-vKWLfbf25Bz1Y_pxjXRrsrFsGk/s1600/consent.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdDF09G1iYwiMugFbW-ewPzCO4fDITbBoOYtrRpbb2ekuin_esBeY3IxlG2It77wv7SEm56O29SVJX-Jx9xxmLOhvcht8hZcNbdKKmKR57fFt0HwCc-vKWLfbf25Bz1Y_pxjXRrsrFsGk/s1600/consent.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://img.gawkerassets.com/img/18ycz6s0ye773jpg/original.jpg" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Image source</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
And there it is!<br />
<br />
Victim blaming lies in the culture we live in that lectures women to prevent themselves from being raped but doesn't put nearly as much emphasis on teaching our men the meaning of consent and that sex without it is morally reprehensible and against the law.<br />
<br />
My right to give consent that night was stripped away from me. By alcohol, yes. But mainly by the man who coerced me by force to his filthy apartment.<br />
<br />
You would think waking up out of a drunken stupor while a stranger is violating you, and has been for hours while you were unconscious, is one of the worst things that could happen to a woman.<br />
<br />
I've only realised this recently. As bad as being raped was, and I still feel the pain of it every time I sit down on my permanently damaged coccyx, the actual act wasn't the worst part.<br />
<br />
The worst and most damaging effect of being raped, for me anyway, is the way I was treated <i>after</i> the assault; once I became the<b> </b><i><b>rape victim</b>. </i><br />
<br />
I've written all about what happened that night in detail which you can find under the tab above titled "<b><a href="http://www.babblingbandit.me/p/from-rock-bottom-to-parenthood.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">From Rock Bottom to Parenthood</a></b>". The last post that I wrote in the series, "<b><a href="http://www.babblingbandit.me/2013/04/part-4-rape-culture.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Reporting the crime</a></b>", is not the end of the story. I've been meaning to write that final chapter for six months but haven't been able to get my head in the right space to do it. I just haven't been well enough to go there. I'm probably not well enough to write it now, but I'll take the risk and go for it anyway...<br />
<br />
<br />
<h3>
The interrogation</h3>
<br />
Even before the night I was raped my life was a slowly, yet surely, moving train wreck in the making. Heavily addicted to cocaine, ecstasy and alcohol I partied hard and I slept around all while holding down a 9-5 office job with a prestigious investment bank. I never, ever blacked out and I never went to a one night stand's house. I always brought them back to mine where I felt safer because my flatmates would be sleeping in the next rooms and could come to my aid, should I need it.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
The last chapter ended with me being accompanied by two London Metropolitan WPCs and a friend through what would turn out to be a 17 hour interrogation of my story, my character and my body.<br />
<br />
Back in April this year I wrote:<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Fear returned to me then as I thought over my life and how by being there, at the police station, it could be put under scrutiny. I've watched a lot of Law & Order and countless other crime shows and I realised that my life was turning into an episode of Special Victims Unit or The Bill. If the cops ever got this guy and it went to court all my secrets would be exposed. All the lies I'd told to my family and my employer would be dragged out in court. Everyone would know about my addictions, my financial debt, my promiscuity. I had visions of my friends and work colleagues being questioned in the witness box as to my character: </i>"Yes Your Honour, Vanessa loves to party. Oh yes, she's known to have slept with a few blokes from the office..."<i>.
</i></blockquote>
<br />
At some stage in the evening the two WPCs, my friend and I were driven to a rape crisis centre in Whitechapel where I was prodded and poked by two nurses taking swabs of fluids and blood in the hope of finding some DNA evidence. I knew the exercise was superfluous because I'd showered several times since the assault two days before. This was all just routine. I knew I was being put through a series of procedures to be ticked off a standard "girl raped while drunk crime report" as we went from one examination to the next. I remember my friend pointing out to me, while they measured how tall I was and what I weighed, that I was shaking. I hadn't even realised until that moment that I was trembling. I was petrified and in shock. I still hadn't really grasped the idea that I was a victim of a crime. This was all actually happening to me and that my life had been changed forever.<br />
<br />
It was heading well toward midnight, if memory serves, when we arrived at what I remember to be a massive police complex situated north of the Shoreditch/Hoxton area I was familiar with. As my girlfriend waited outside I was escorted into what looked like a store room. The WPC asked me to take my top off so she could photograph the bruising on my right shoulder. Photos were also taken of my face from various angles. Instructions to move this way or that were given in cold, well rehearsed lines.<br />
<br />
I think it was not long after that the detectives arrived. A male and a female detective. The two WPCs that had been with me all day had done all the hard work now I just had to repeat everything I'd already told them to the female detective while sitting in front of a video camera. This must have been at about one or two in the morning.<br />
<br />
I sat there like a good girl, shifting from side to side to avoid sitting directly on my damaged tailbone, and repeated the story of what had happened on the day and night of Friday 19 April 2007. I think one of the WPCs was present as well as the female detective who was asking all the questions. She went over the notes that the WPCs had taken through the day, I guess looking for holes in my story.<br />
<br />
Exhausted does not even come close to describe how I felt in those early hours of the morning as they questioned me over and over again. I'd been interrogated for hours and I just wanted to go home. But the questions kept coming: How much exactly had I drank that day? How could I possibly drink that amount and remain standing let alone get myself where I ended up? Is it any wonder why I can't remember anything? What did the perpetrator look like? What kind of black man was he? African, West Indian, Arab? I don't know, I kept telling them. Can't we finish this another day, I asked. When I've had some sleep. No, it was better to do it while it was all still fresh in my mind.<br />
<br />
When the WPCs finally drove my friend and me back to my flat in the early hours of Tuesday morning I felt worse than I had before I went to the cops. All those questions asked over and over. The doubt in their eyes said it all: another drunken girl got herself into more trouble than she could handle.<br />
<br />
My friend told me that while I was being interviewed on film by the female detective, the male detective sat with her in the waiting area of the police station. He asked her all sorts of questions about my character. Did I like to sleep around? Did I have a thing for black men? Did I get drunk a lot? Had I made this sort of complaint before?<br />
<br />
If that line of questioning isn't pointing the finger directly at me, the victim, I don't know what is.<br />
<br />
Over the weeks that followed, the police would phone me with questions about everything I'd told them. From the description of the building where the assault occurred (taken from the drawing they'd got me to do from memory which apparently didn't match that of the building I pointed to in the drive-by of the crime scene) to my belief that my drink was spiked which was why I had no recollection of getting to where I did (the toxicology results, obtained from blood taken two days after the assault, came back negative of any stupefying substances).<br />
<br />
Learning that my blood was clean was devastating. Even though I knew the chances were slim given the time between the crime and when I was tested, I wanted so much for them to find rohypnol or some sort of date rape drug in my blood to give me a reprieve from the responsibility of the destruction of my life.<br />
<br />
Appointments with a counsellor at the rape crisis centre were made and on the second occasion I went the social worker told me outright:<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>"The police would hate me telling you this but do not go through with the complaint. If they do actually find the man who did this to you his lawyers will do everything they can to undermine your character. From talking to your friends and family, to getting information from your colleagues and employers. Your entire life will be dragged before the courts. They will find a way to say you asked for it."</i></blockquote>
<br />
I don't know why this warning from the social worker shocked me, but it did. I had convinced myself that my previous concerns that my private life would be made public was just paranoia. An overreaction from watching too many cop shows on the telly. But when the social worker confirmed my fears I realised that <i>we</i>, as a so called civilised Western society, had not progressed past the bad old days of victim blaming.<br />
<br />
To protect myself, I had to protect the rapist.<br />
<br />
I didn't even tell my parents back in Sydney what had happened for nearly a week because I thought they'd blame me too. I turned out to be wrong, but that was how deeply I felt responsible for what had happened to me.<br />
<br />
I felt like gutter trash. A drug-fucked whore who deserved everything she got. I stopped seeing the counsellor and started drinking from the moment I woke up through to the moment I went to sleep, if I slept at all. I had my hair cut short so the rapist couldn't recognised me should we have the misfortune of passing each other in the street and I was constantly on the look out for him. I tried to keep up appearances by turning up to work when I could because I was so scared of losing my job.<br />
<br />
The company I worked for sent me home to Australia for a couple of weeks so I could get some rest and see my family. As I flew back to London two weeks later I knew deep in my heart I should have stayed in Sydney. I was flying straight back into the path of self destruction. The burden of blame and disgust was so great that I wanted to die.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
There are so many messages out there for women to keep a look out for baddies ready to jump on them at any given chance. Just as <b><a href="http://www.dailylife.com.au/news-and-views/dl-opinion/the-only-thing-common-to-experiences-of-rape-is-the-presence-of-a-rapist-20131017-2vp7n.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Clementine Ford</a></b> puts it, us women are told:<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Don't drink. Don't walk by yourselves at night. Don’t wear provocative clothing. Don't flirt with men you don't intend to sleep with. Don't be rude. Don’t lead men on. Don’t accept drinks from strangers. Don't sign a check you don't intend to cash. Don’t go to parties without your boyfriend. Dress like a lady. Understand that the world isn't fair. Look out for evil monsters, but don't make normal men feel like rapists by avoiding their attentions. Smile. Don't imagine for a moment that you have an equal right to take up space in public without having to endure touching, groping, objectification and jokes at your expense. The world is what it is, yo.
</i></blockquote>
<br />
The message has to change from telling women to protect themselves to telling men that sex without consent is wrong. We must teach our sons, brothers, cousins, all men from all cultural backgrounds, that NO MEANS NO!<br />
<br />
Being unconscious and therefore unable to give consent, means fucking NO!<br />
<br />
From the time sex education begins, at home and at school, boys and girls need to have it ingrained in their psyche that non-consensual sexual activity of any type is unacceptable and is a crime.<br />
<br />
In an ideal world women should be able to go out and get pissed and walk home alone without fear of being attacked but until we ramp up the message directed at the perpetrators and would-be perpetrators of these crimes, we still must do whatever we can to protect ourselves.<br />
<br />
<br />
As difficult as it is for me to truly believe I am not responsible for what that man did to me back in 2007, I know deep in my heart I did not ask to be raped. An unconscious body cannot say yes or no. But when I live in a society that is constantly bombarding me with messages like one in Mia Freedman's article, it's a hard not to feel I am somewhat to blame.<br />
<br />
I chose to have a few drinks with some colleagues after work.<br />
<br />
I accepted the free rounds of vodka shots that were handed out in the name of lifting office morale.<br />
<br />
I am the one who must have followed that stranger back to his flat...<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
V.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12862647761810468815noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7958829718723459845.post-46826519122470130372013-10-05T10:46:00.002+10:002013-10-05T10:46:16.078+10:00The power of hairOn the weekend I wrote about my <b><a href="http://www.babblingbandit.me/2013/09/three-ace-ways-to-distract-yourself.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">three favourite ways to distract myself from my depression</a></b>. There's actually a fourth way I like to shake things up when life feels really shit. This method of depression distraction is so radical at times that I felt it deserved its own post.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
As a method of depression distraction, getting a new hairstyle can be a little high risk. Fuck it up and it could make you feel worse. Get it right and, I personally believe, it could be just the ticket to lifting the spirit. Even just a little bit.<br />
<br />
Mood reviving isn't the only good reason to get a change in hairstyle. I, for one, have used the ol' cut 'n' colour for a number of different reasons. Here they are:<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<h3>
Making a statement against authority</h3>
<br />
There have been a number of times when I've made major changes to my barnet in order to make a rebellious statement to the world. But mostly it has been to piss off my parents or to give a big "fuck you" to the private girls' school, and their strict uniform rules, that I attended.<br />
<br />
The photos below look pretty tame, but what you can't see under the top layer of hair in many of the pictures is a shaved undercut. These days kids get away with all sorts of hairdos at school but things were different back in the 80s and 90s. We had to wear our hair tied back with a regulation 2.5cm navy blue ribbon if the length of our hair was below the collar of our uniform.<br />
<br />
I wrote a post about my past <b><a href="http://www.babblingbandit.me/2013/05/day-10-embarrassing-hair.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">embarrassing hairstyles</a></b> back in May. For those of you who were lucky enough to miss the shocking photo evidence here it is! I'd hate to deprive you of a laugh at my expense!<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnNaQ8iucIgC4l-apvcelIdjds67zi02fAqB6vce785Y0PWh7ix-Wyjzc_vsJ1EvF-DJSmNbeH3zaShXdEN8DJ1yH-bFlG_rbF4zMzeFCuLPkmlMshNpWRVREoEtNma1Cll2X5sc50urg/s1600/babblingbandit.me-embarrassing-hair.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnNaQ8iucIgC4l-apvcelIdjds67zi02fAqB6vce785Y0PWh7ix-Wyjzc_vsJ1EvF-DJSmNbeH3zaShXdEN8DJ1yH-bFlG_rbF4zMzeFCuLPkmlMshNpWRVREoEtNma1Cll2X5sc50urg/s640/babblingbandit.me-embarrassing-hair.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.571428298950195px;">The school years: Never been one to shy away from a pair of clippers, scissors or a bottle of hair dye!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<h3>
The I can't be bothered with my hair phase</h3>
<br />
I also go through phases where I just cannot be bothered with my hair and I let it grow really long, don't bother getting it coloured (my natural colour is mousy blonde-brown) and just pull it back in a messy bun or a braid. It's that pulling back in hair elastics that I thought was contributing to my headaches (more on that later). I tried getting it chemically straightened thinking it would make for an easy to manage style but the straightening effect didn't last long at all.<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6SHfvBXiJ9sb5auO95kUKjdWpRIGgVwbaxnYmHOCEKBEgbzazaH7sy30JHW9SSYXWgHr66Dj0VQ1ycmCJsXPyJvJfaZq65RJgm3702oxKwsuHbgKQQ4oaOyfNMUtfTZKOb3yV_MeUDD4/s1600/babblingbandit.me-natural-waves-keratin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="246" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6SHfvBXiJ9sb5auO95kUKjdWpRIGgVwbaxnYmHOCEKBEgbzazaH7sy30JHW9SSYXWgHr66Dj0VQ1ycmCJsXPyJvJfaZq65RJgm3702oxKwsuHbgKQQ4oaOyfNMUtfTZKOb3yV_MeUDD4/s640/babblingbandit.me-natural-waves-keratin.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.571428298950195px;">My long natural coloured hair </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<h3>
The everybody else is doing it so I am too phase</h3>
<div>
<br /></div>
Pink, purple, orange, blue, green, yellow - any colour you can think of really. Permanent colour, semi permanent, hair chalk! Crazy hair colours have been all the rage for quite a while now. Earlier this year I decided I wanted to <b><a href="http://www.babblingbandit.me/2013/03/march-mini-goals-with-pink-hair.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">go pink</a></b>!<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH07zy_A8O9AhwraO09Dc7FkZ5pkPcRCYjAKiYqk6nZryjOqkubGxizjesaH7b-LqHvb9t05lbeis5aaR0pxvI9-pQsIdIHbT1aQcnsbWkKJFCq1KP1jm6I-8_c9UDABZQ0TVRlwXL2_g/s1600/babblingbandit.me-pink-hair-experience.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH07zy_A8O9AhwraO09Dc7FkZ5pkPcRCYjAKiYqk6nZryjOqkubGxizjesaH7b-LqHvb9t05lbeis5aaR0pxvI9-pQsIdIHbT1aQcnsbWkKJFCq1KP1jm6I-8_c9UDABZQ0TVRlwXL2_g/s640/babblingbandit.me-pink-hair-experience.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.571428298950195px;">Clockwise from top left: The photo I showed the hairdresser to illustrate how I wanted my hair done;<br />
how my hair actually turned out; big smiles as the dye goes on; worried look as reality hits; posing for the hairdresser;<br />
Bubblegum Princess from Adventure Time; a forced smile at home as I realise I look a bit like a cartoon character.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
Argh! I just lost a whole stack of work I'd done on this post when Blogger showed an error message and I stupidly closed the browser without doing a copy/paste of what I'd already written into Word. The paragraph lost was basically about how upset I was at spending 5.5 hours and nearly $400 at a hair salon recommended by the biggest hair blogger in Australia only to walk out of the place with a completely different 'do than the one in the picture that I showed the stylist.<br />
<br />
The pink did fade. I washed my hair nine times in three days desperately scrubbing out the dye that was going everywhere: on my pillowcase, clothes, towels. And when it actually got to a colour that I liked that only lasted a couple of weeks, but it never looked like the style I asked for.<br />
<br />
<br />
<h3>
Getting back to 'normal' phase</h3>
<br />
After a while the ends, that had been bleached to create that balayage effect, became so straw like that I had to get them cut off. I ended up going to a different hairdresser to get the good old half head of foils in order to restore any semblance of a decent hairdo.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirApGYTqCyf5XR5cIF98T8ws7UTdnUHhMBfwvtl86p449vtHwcc54pNLxxgjWHZze022CzQk21PxxcqPCsKE9Wn80yYsM68LBbqI6gJmbC3WDS_ALuApllWmUgrIs_S3QuP5RyfWkz46k/s1600/babblingbandit.me-pink-to-blonde.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="128" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirApGYTqCyf5XR5cIF98T8ws7UTdnUHhMBfwvtl86p449vtHwcc54pNLxxgjWHZze022CzQk21PxxcqPCsKE9Wn80yYsM68LBbqI6gJmbC3WDS_ALuApllWmUgrIs_S3QuP5RyfWkz46k/s640/babblingbandit.me-pink-to-blonde.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From pink to blonde</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<h3>
Let's go crazy!</h3>
<br />
My most recent hairstyle change is probably the most crazy. Ever. From long blonde highlighted hair to short white hair with a few greeny blue streaks chucked in for good measure I sure have made a statement this time. Like I said earlier, I've never been scared to make radical changes to my hair. In fact I get a bit of a buzz (no pun intended - ok maybe a little) out of it.<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTJPvSyFmLuKTDuhVRaIVxQvLpobuMUQQrpG1XA39g73a_ectRDwLIlubiRHZJRZMlO3LeT0FaD-DPRTZUux-QLOUSFIFTNFjitUPnbudnn27XDX9GnKWWmzA0b93_oQIzr8ar4Q8ToZM/s1600/babblingbandit.me-boring-to-brave.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTJPvSyFmLuKTDuhVRaIVxQvLpobuMUQQrpG1XA39g73a_ectRDwLIlubiRHZJRZMlO3LeT0FaD-DPRTZUux-QLOUSFIFTNFjitUPnbudnn27XDX9GnKWWmzA0b93_oQIzr8ar4Q8ToZM/s640/babblingbandit.me-boring-to-brave.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hair today, gone tomorrow</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<br />
There's more to the change in style than trying to cultivate a new look. I have been having headaches that start around my scalp and shoot down through my head nearly every day for the past two or three years. I wrote about these <a href="http://www.babblingbandit.me/2013/09/my-brain-is-driving-me-crazy-literally.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"><b>headaches recently when I listed all the symptoms</b></a> that have landed me here back in hospital. I also talked about my headaches when they seemed to <b><a href="http://www.babblingbandit.me/2012/10/droptober-return-cooking-mojo.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">disappear after I went 40 days without eating any sugar</a></b>.<br />
<br />
The pain always gave me this overwhelming desire to shave my head. As if my long, thick and heavy hair was to blame for the pain that's had me popping painkillers like lollies for years. Whether I had my hair back in a hair elastic or out falling down my back, my scalp still ached. Then last week, when I was readmitted to this psych hospital I've now been an inpatient at four times over the last five years, I decided: fuck it! The hair is going. <br />
<br />
Have I been cured of my headaches? No. They are still there, messing with me physically and psychologically.<br />
<br />
Do I feel refreshed from having a completely new look? Yes. I love that I have an actually 'style'. That I don't just wake up in the morning, throw my head forward, gather up my masses of hair and scrunch it into a hair-band. I love washing my locks everyday. Oh, the freshness of it all!<br />
<br />
The moral of the story? Hair is fun, can make a statement, but cutting it all off won't necessarily cure you of chronic headaches.<br />
<br />
Maybe I need to start thinking about cutting back on sugar again. Bugger.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Are you a person who likes to change hairstyles with your mood or<br />do you stick to the same trusty hairdo year after year?</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<br />
V.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12862647761810468815noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7958829718723459845.post-66263572122422297482013-09-29T21:24:00.002+10:002014-03-21T11:04:50.361+11:00Three ace ways to distract yourself from depressionIf you haven't noticed on my blog or on any of the other online places I haunt, I've been going through a pretty shit time. In medical terms I'm currently suffering from major depression combined with a shitload of adverse side effects from the medications I've been prescribed. Woohoo!<br />
<br />
My life has been like clenching onto the side of a cliff with white knuckled determination not to fall into the abyss. It's been fucking hard work, and my hands are cracked and bleeding, but there's way too much good shit on top of that mountain. So much to fight for. Everything to live for.<br />
<br />
I'm in hospital right now. At this moment I'm feeling ok but there have been moments in the last week where I've cried so much I've been almost inconsolable.<br />
<br />
"Why are you so upset?" the well meaning psych nurses ask.<br />
<br />
"Is there something your [doctor, family, group therapist] said to trigger you?" they want to know.<br />
<br />
"You're not going to hurt yourself, are you? You are feeling safe... right?"<br />
<br />
Yes! I'm safe from harm. This much I know is true.<br />
<br />
But no! Nothing has triggered the flood of tears. I'm just fucking crying! I want to scream it at the world. I just don't know why I'm crying. The tears come out of my eyes as my heart is squeezed by the black hands of an unnamed doom.<br />
<br />
The brain is a wondrous yet ill understood organ. My doctors don't know what's wrong with mine. They can't give me a neat little diagnosis. They don't know what pills to put me on so it feels like they are giving them all a go. One drug at a time, sometimes two.<br />
<br />
Over these almost five months since the Black Dog came to take residence in my soul I've found a few cool ways to distract myself from his howling. I thought I'd share them with you. Don't tease me because I've been partaking in a fair bit of low brow entertainment. It's just for cheap laughs!<br />
<br />
<br />
<h3>
<a href="http://www.bigbrother.com.au/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Big Brother</a></h3>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9GpqZXGxYztxid_85lhBkWs0xrdoeI9ZXZIJdjrUtf20AIt37FilPk8JMajO-N5hGts5r1YFxCAAlrF9-a7JX4Kj4uuvfd6zjGFduHDu88yRvaYsbenCTacj6WTfpeKjpiNdOdO99P44/s1600/BigBrother2013.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9GpqZXGxYztxid_85lhBkWs0xrdoeI9ZXZIJdjrUtf20AIt37FilPk8JMajO-N5hGts5r1YFxCAAlrF9-a7JX4Kj4uuvfd6zjGFduHDu88yRvaYsbenCTacj6WTfpeKjpiNdOdO99P44/s1600/BigBrother2013.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I love this show! (<a href="http://catchup.ninemsn.com.au/img/all_Show_section/BigBrother2013.jpg" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">picture source</a>)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
OMG! I love this show. I've watched every episode from day one and I can't get enough. Weekends are hell because the show doesn't air on Saturday and Sunday!<br />
<br />
Watching these Gen-Ys bitch and moan and scheme and backstab each other is so much fun! I feel so involved in their lives. I've cried at times while watching BB. I usually never cry at TV shows or movies! And how hot are Ed and Drew? OMG! Such eye candy. Some of the girls are pretty hot too.<br />
<br />
Even Noo has got into it. Although he doesn't really understand what's going on. Noo just likes the characters that are nice to people. Noo's favourite is Drew and my favourites are Tim and Ben. Tim and Ben are not boring pretty boys there to be ogled - they actually have really interesting personalities and don't feel the need to conform in order to fit in. I like that. Tim is a bit of a schemer and you could say he has a bit of a nasty side, but at least he tries to stir things up in the house. Makes for much better entertainment for us watching at home.<br />
<br />
I know the show is quite mindless but such a great distraction from the guilt and negativity whirling around in my head. It really is a worthwhile escape. I miss them all like mad on the weekends. Seriously. Noo says after the 6pm news every day "It's nearly Big Brother time!" and is devo'ed when I have to break it to him that it's Saturday so no BB.<br />
<br />
Goodness knows what we will do when the whole season is over. Noo and I wish we could go to the final eviction. Won't happen. Maybe next year!<br />
<br />
<br />
<h3>
<a href="http://www.king.com/games/puzzle-games/candy-crush/?language=en_US" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Candy Crush Saga</a></h3>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY7sAVL4G6_wqgSsgETMFXKxVszkBo1l_xf5E9OS5Yq9H6D1Q9Zfm7O38nPUirw13d59QX5SC-XuXqGWeHC3WbpkMiDBzd2UQRLm9C16VUphO9n0152VSk3e9tzrigEbcQU84XVKqkKBo/s1600/Candy+Crush+Saga.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="156" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY7sAVL4G6_wqgSsgETMFXKxVszkBo1l_xf5E9OS5Yq9H6D1Q9Zfm7O38nPUirw13d59QX5SC-XuXqGWeHC3WbpkMiDBzd2UQRLm9C16VUphO9n0152VSk3e9tzrigEbcQU84XVKqkKBo/s320/Candy+Crush+Saga.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So addictive! (<a href="http://goldgamehacks.com/2013/07/hacks/candy-crush-saga-hack-get-unlimited-moves-and-boosters/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">picture source</a>)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Talk about addictive! For a long time I saw Facebook requests from friends asking me for 'lives' or publishing notifications of how they'd cracked another level. I saw status updates from friends expressing their frustration at not being able to pass up to the next 'episode'.<br />
<br />
I resisted for as long as I could. Knowing my addictive nature I thought CCS could have the potential to take over my life. I've not been that wrong!<br />
<br />
It was actually my Shrink who said I should play CCS as a way to distract myself from negative self-talk. It definitely works but crushing those bloody candies can also distract you from other things like - blogging, household chores, sleep....<br />
<br />
<br />
<h3>
Cat memes on Pinterest</h3>
<br />
Even when I'm feeling 100% shit just having a scroll through Pinterest cat memes can crack me up. This sort of thing would usually not make me laugh but for some reason these days cats make me LOL!<br />
<br />
You can't tell me these aren't funny....<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPbhUmyWBRIag_nmoHjmpfFIRIHyndDQTP_yy9e92vMA3sjw9QIIs_w36QSXO8ZEwvbkR6kweQMkbZ8vBg1DnzxTFZPKs_7jyRAfEJwwbDUaxnQvn4PwsfgMEmPOkCBlaV8xkq7I5LOzc/s1600/babblingbandit.me-cat-memes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPbhUmyWBRIag_nmoHjmpfFIRIHyndDQTP_yy9e92vMA3sjw9QIIs_w36QSXO8ZEwvbkR6kweQMkbZ8vBg1DnzxTFZPKs_7jyRAfEJwwbDUaxnQvn4PwsfgMEmPOkCBlaV8xkq7I5LOzc/s640/babblingbandit.me-cat-memes.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hilarious... right?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<br />
So what do you think about my depression distraction methods? Funny ha ha or funny it's a good idea you're in the crazy house again Vanessa?<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>How do you cheer yourself up when you're feeling blue?</b><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
V.
<br />
<br />
<br />
<i>Disclaimer: Clearly I am no doctor! I have had no training in the treatment of people with mental illness. This is just a post about what helps me sometimes forget my woes. I make no promises that anything I have said above will help anyone. In fact it could hurt you. For all I know you may be allergic to cats. </i><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12862647761810468815noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7958829718723459845.post-12815034961700454402013-09-20T07:27:00.001+10:002014-03-21T10:10:48.590+11:00My brain is driving me crazy... literallyI've been going over and over in my head various topics I want to write about. I don't know about other bloggers but my mind is in a perpetual cycle of blog titles. Like when I'm in the shower I might have some brilliant blog topic going around in my head: as I'm standing under the warm water the first para is written, a witty eye catching title has been formulated. But then I turn off the shower, grab my towel, get on with the day and the thought is gone, laid to rest in the black caverns of my mind along with the bones of other awesome ideas.<br />
<br />
The general theme of course is me. I don't ever forget that. This is my blog after all. This virtual dumping ground for the ideas that actually make it into coherent sentences in my little corner of the interwebs. Because of that it disappoints me that my posts are so negative these days. But, as I've read a million times around the blogosphere, we must write "our truth" in order to be authentic. My truth is pretty shitty right now and I apologise for that.<br />
<br />
This post has been written for about a week. It's been sitting here in draft on an open browser tab. I've been umming and ahhing as to whether I should bother publishing it at all. Who benefits? Me? I don't know. I'm certainly not writing it in the hunt for sympathy. Maybe my motive is just to document this supremely shit emotional and physical state I'm in. I guess I could just copy and paste it into a Word doc and save it on my hard drive should I ever want to be reminded of this time of my life again. Because this too shall pass.<br />
<br />
Maybe there's someone else out there that has similar symptoms. Mental illness sucks hard. The doctors don't know how each medication is going to work on each patient. Or which <i>cocktail</i> of medications is the right one. It's a game of pharmacological hit and miss. Quite frankly I'm sick of riding the pharmacoaster!<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4zf4oR917ALYIDxylPcGI7uos2pME530TlOoIwZR3W-iMNXfRBWYJDIQw78H1PUxGTfuHrozfrbbaKHtY_91wfcSaV43FpMR227ea3U0mIjWV0jE8aWb4N4ZM_CK1C9ahk3Csd8hW14s/s1600/Confusion_by_thiagolooney.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4zf4oR917ALYIDxylPcGI7uos2pME530TlOoIwZR3W-iMNXfRBWYJDIQw78H1PUxGTfuHrozfrbbaKHtY_91wfcSaV43FpMR227ea3U0mIjWV0jE8aWb4N4ZM_CK1C9ahk3Csd8hW14s/s400/Confusion_by_thiagolooney.png" width="350" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.deviantart.com/art/Confusion-108252927" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Source</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
Ok, so without further ado, here my list of complaints or symptoms which both my GP and psychiatrist think are probably caused by the meds I'm currently on in combination with clinical depression.<br />
<ul>
<li>Headaches that are mainly around the top of my scalp. To touch my scalp is very uncomfortable. To move my hair around sends shooting pain through my scalp and into my head. I feel like I'm wearing a skull cap lined with spikes.</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>Brain buzzes. Last time I had these symptoms I was on a massive dose of the antidepressant Effexor while suffering acute postpartum thyroid disease. My thyroid was processing the antidepressant so fast causing withdrawal like effects. Back then the symptoms eventually stopped once I was taken off the Effexor. I haven't taken an antidepressant for four weeks so why have I got this very unsettling sensation every. single. day? Every time I move my head it feels like a Star Wars light sabre has passed through my brain. I got that analogy from a medical forum from others suffering similar sensations. None of them had received an adequate diagnosis from medical specialists.</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>Dizziness, vertigo, nausea. The brain buzzes make me very dizzy if they happen while I'm walking/standing. It's getting worse every day. I feel like I'm walking on skates almost 100% of the time. When it's bad it's terrifying. I can feel the ground move beneath me in a sideways and up and down motion. It's freaky and completely unnerving.</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>Sensitivity to loud noises. Not ideal when you've got a almost five year old boy!</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>Jumpiness. Feeling on edge all the time. I flinch at loud noises, people touching me unexpectedly, that sort of thing.</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>Anxiety. I've always got that at some level it's just worse right now.</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>Aggression. Outbursts of screaming and crying so fierce I think I might pass out from the pressure it creates in my head. Poor Noo has been the receiver of such bad behaviour from me which makes me feel extremely sad and guilty.</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>Loss of sensory perception. I am not allowed to drive a car at the moment. I had three really close calls in the car over the weekend that scared the crap out of me. I vagued out and almost didn't brake in time before hitting the car stopped at the lights in front of me. My sense of distance feels warped. Things, like cars, seem further away than they really are.</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>I'm still extraordinarily emotional. This is why I went into the hospital six weeks ago. Even with the change of medication I'm still crying at the drop of a hat. Or at watching with pride as my son makes friends so easily at his new big school open day. Or in fear as I watch my 21 month old niece negotiate the steps in her backyard. Hell I bawled when Ben from Big Brother got to re-enter the Big Brother House!</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>My weight has ballooned out and I've gained 10 kg since May. That's 50% of all the weight I lost since having a $9,000 lapband installed in 2010. Let's talk about some of the emotions around this: failure, fear, defectiveness, disgust... </li>
</ul>
<div>
<br /></div>
That's about it, I think. Awesome, hey. My psychiatrist is baffled. I've started seeing a new psychologist that works with people with eating disorders and body image issues. I know I've got to address the deep dislike I have for myself and my body as well as find out what the fuck is wrong with me physically. What I'm feeling can't be a case of the moody blues! My doctors know that.<br />
<br />
The next step? It's back to hospital I go where they'll keep juggling the chemical cocktail that is suppose to fix me. I'm waiting for a bed. Monday is the likely admission day. The hospital I go to is quite a nice place, considering. Going there isn't what makes me sad. Leaving my son is. I know that I have to get better so I can be a better parent for him but still it breaks my heart.<br />
<br />
There has to be a turnaround soon.<br />
<br />
V.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12862647761810468815noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7958829718723459845.post-6317588134305107962013-09-11T22:55:00.001+10:002014-03-21T10:35:10.467+11:00I haven't really been OK since 10 May 2013. What about you? RUOK?<i>Trigger alert. For crisis support click <b><a href="https://www.ruokday.com/resources-for-you/crisis-support/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">here</a></b>.</i><br />
<br />
Yesterday marked four months since my first anxiety induced crying attack. Since then I've been on an emotional rollercoaster with way too many ups and downs at a speed even I didn't think I was capable of.<br />
<br />
Tomorrow is the annual suicide awareness/prevention event known as <b><a href="https://www.ruokday.com/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">RUOK? Day</a></b> where people are encouraged to asked friends, family, colleagues, anyone if they are ok.<br />
<br />
Last year I wrote about a <a href="http://www.babblingbandit.me/2012/09/ruokday.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"><b>time in my life when I was really not ok</b></a>. Last year, as I typed up those words, I never thought I'd feel that kind of not ok again.<br />
<br />
But here I am. Twelve months later and I have dipped back into that place. Well, I go in and out of the black hole. It's hard to explain.<br />
<br />
I guess the difference between this depression and my 2007 depression is that now there's hope. Being a parent is what keeps me fighting. I'm also way more knowledgeable about depression and anxiety than I was back then. Six years of constant therapy has made sure of that. I know both those bitches lie. They make me feel and think things that aren't true and as convincing as they might be, it's hope (Noo) that keeps me from believing them.<br />
<br />
Knowing the signs of when my mood started to change also allowed me to get help sooner. And I guess the spontaneous bursts of tears made it pretty bloody obvious something was not ok.<br />
<br />
Having an excellent support network of family, friends and medical professionals is also critical. Just showing up to my psych appointments keeps me accountable. Like seeing a personal trainer for my emotions. Even if I don't work really hard during a session at least I'm there.<br />
<br />
I know <b>RUOK? Day</b> has been getting a lot of flack because we should ask our friends, family, colleagues, anyone if they are ok every day of the year if the signs are looking like they are not. But I think <b>RUOK? Day</b> isn't about one day of the year, it's about general awareness of mental illness. It's about getting those crisis support numbers out in the media, and on posters in workplaces and schools, where maybe just one person notices them for the first time and thinks, hey, I could actually use a bit of help.<br />
<br />
I really don't think people involved with this initiative will just switch off once the sun sets and the day is over. The conversation has been started and that's gotta be something. It sure beats silence. The more we talk about mental illness the more we will hopefully remove the stigma attached to it giving more people the courage to come out and seek help. And yeah, maybe even save a life.<br />
<br />
Whether you've got a lifetime's history of mental illness like me, or you're having a really bad time for the first time, I think <b>RUOK? Day</b> has it's place.<br />
<br />
I think we all like to feel supported on any day of the year.<br />
<br />
So don't forget to ask: RU OK?<br />
<br />
V.<br />
<br />
For help please use these helpful resources:<br />
<br />
<b>Call: </b>1800 RUOKDAY (1800 7865 329) to connect with crisis line<br />
<br />
<b>Visit:</b> your doctor, a counsellor or trusted healthcare professional
<br />
<br />
<b>Access:</b> <a href="http://www.ruokday.com/">ruokday.com</a> for tips from their information partners<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.lifeline.org.au/">Lifeline</a> 13 11 14<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.suicidecallbackservice.org.au/">Suicide Call Back Service</a> 1300 659 467<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12862647761810468815noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7958829718723459845.post-81191814850718158582013-09-09T22:40:00.001+10:002014-03-21T10:10:52.523+11:00FreedomMy inbox and social media news feeds have been awash with disappointed bloggers complaining about the new government that was elected by the overwhelming majority of Australians. I wonder if they had their posts drafted up last week, or maybe even last month? The writing has been on the wall for a very long time that change was about to happen so Saturday's result surely wasn't a surprise.<br />
<br />
A well known blogger recently said on national television that, as bloggers, we have to have thick skins in order to deal with trolls and other nasty travellers on the information superhighway. Right now, my skin is paper thin. Look at me sideways and I'm likely to burst into tears. This is one of the reasons I've been avoiding my blog.<br />
<br />
I want to write about the election like any of the other bloggers who shared their opinion with their readers but I'm scared. You see I sit on the other side of the fence to what feels like 100% of the Aussie mummy blogosphere. And going by some of the posts I've briefly scanned I'm a fucking uneducated idiot for being there.<br />
<br />
Maybe my current depression is blindly throwing me on a blog suicide mission but what the hell. I voted for Tony Abbott and the Liberal Party team and I'm overwhelmed with joy that they won. Yep, I cried as Tony made his victory speech and they were tears of joy. Six long years of living through one of the most wasteful, shambolic and vindictive (and that was just to each other) governments finally came to an end on Saturday and I applaud the Australian people for making it happen.<br />
<br />
I don't agree with all of Abbott's values particularly marriage equality. I believe love is love whether you're gay, straight, bi, transgender. I would march side by side with Labor voters, Green voters, anyone for the law to change and make marriage equal.<br />
<br />
Anyway, I'm not going to nitpick over every single policy that I agree with or don't agree with. I'm not going to try and sway you (if any of you read this far down the page) to agree with what I believe. But I did just have to write and publish this. Because I'm entitled to my opinion too.<br />
<br />
I'll leave you with this little note I typed up on my iPhone while catching the ferry to Manly a couple of weeks ago. Noo and I were sitting up the top of the ferry inside right at the front. I overheard two men unknown to one another talk about the upcoming election. This is a little of what they said:<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"Australia is a great country", said the Chinese man to the bloke sitting next to him who later explained he was from Sri Lanka. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
They don't know each other, they are just having a friendly chat while taking the ferry from Circular Quay to Manly on a stunning Spring day. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"We can call Kevin an idiot and it's ok. Not get in trouble like in China. We have freedom here." </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"Yes, everyone wants freedom", replied the Sri Lankan. </blockquote>
<br />
Says it all really: You have the freedom to be pissed off at the change in government. I have the freedom to be stoked about it.<br />
<br />
Let's agree to disagree and be happy neither one of us will be shot for saying what we believe.<br />
<br />
V.<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12862647761810468815noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7958829718723459845.post-3287059274680147862013-09-04T15:09:00.002+10:002014-03-21T10:36:11.824+11:00Busy bodies/healthy mindsIt's been about two and a half weeks since I discharged myself from the psychiatric hospital where I was in being treated for depression. I thought I'd give you an update of how I am feeling and how Noo and I are getting on with our new regime. Writing it down helps me to consolidate and understand my feelings as well.<br />
<br />
I am definitely a hell of a lot better than I was before going into hospital. The proof is in the fact that I'm not crying every day any more. Sometimes I can feel emotional tears start to well at the back of my eyes but they mostly quickly subside. I've been using mindfulness techniques to ground myself back into the moment rather than letting my mind go off in emotional tangents that just look for evidence of reasons to cry... if that makes any sense. I'm getting better at reigning those emotions in but they are still there.<br />
<br />
Noo and I have been keeping super busy. In two and a half weeks we have been to <b><a href="http://www.sydneytowereye.com.au/?gclid=CNSZrdT5rbkCFYpcpQod41cACg" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Sydney Tower</a></b>, <b><a href="http://www.madametussauds.com/Sydney/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Madam Tussauds</a></b>, <b><a href="http://www.wildlifesydney.com.au/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Wildlife Sydney</a></b>, <b><a href="http://www.manlysealifesanctuary.com.au/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Manly Sea Life Sanctuary</a></b>, the <b><a href="http://www.powerhousemuseum.com/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Powerhouse Museum</a></b>, <b><a href="http://www.darlingquarter.com/play/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Darling Quarter Playground</a></b>, and the <b><a href="http://www.mca.com.au/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Museum of Contemporary Art</a></b>. The weather has been gorgeous which helps both my mood and my willingness to go outdoors.<br />
<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFODIIMGyhs-KPxZbCd5eCgX3ui_XqZ7u9HOXy-fRISikGGAfBFrkbD-NueJoSf5jMisWz5FZLC9Ohansh3HnVeTP3vfC9banoc7GlWzZc8C8xr0Szyhb34DpGjgb42Yaw_TzibaHzDdI/s1600/bablingbandit.me-ned-me.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFODIIMGyhs-KPxZbCd5eCgX3ui_XqZ7u9HOXy-fRISikGGAfBFrkbD-NueJoSf5jMisWz5FZLC9Ohansh3HnVeTP3vfC9banoc7GlWzZc8C8xr0Szyhb34DpGjgb42Yaw_TzibaHzDdI/s640/bablingbandit.me-ned-me.jpg" height="640" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Before I went into hospital I was so anxious about going out with Noo that the thought of it filled me with dread. I felt completely out of control of myself and of him. I wrote about my <a href="http://www.babblingbandit.me/2013/05/my-favourite-photo-is-breaking-my-heart.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"><b>fear and sadness</b></a> in late May which I just reread and it made me cry all over again. That post reminds me how lonely sole parenting can be, especially when I'm unwell.<br />
<br />
I was so petrified I was going to breakdown in public in front of Noo. I felt so incredibly anxious all the time. I actually didn't realise just <i>how</i> anxious I was and how constant it was. It's like when you've had the radio on for ages and it's just off the station. The static becomes white noise because you've become so used to it. That is until someone moves the dial to the correct frequency and you can't believe the clarity of the sound. That's how I've felt for four months. Constantly off frequency with spurts of static so unbearable that I just want to throw the damn radio out the window.<br />
<br />
But now, finally, Noo and I are back to being a partnership. Well, a partnership where one partner is more senior than the other, but a team of two nonetheless. The static is still there but it only comes in and out quietly, like my emotional aerial is blowing in the breeze and sometimes goes off station for a moment or two.<br />
<br />
There's still a lot of work to do for my wellness and, of course, parenting is a job that never ends. I just have to be as strong and vigilant as I can to ensure I stay on top of my therapy and I keep up with our new routines in order to maintain a healthy, happy home for the both of us.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>How are you feeling today?</b><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
V.
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12862647761810468815noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7958829718723459845.post-28077714967216044572013-08-29T13:09:00.002+10:002014-03-21T11:04:51.193+11:00I'm a big boy now!When I was a little girl through to my teen years my family and I lived in a terrace house in the Sydney suburb of Newtown. The house was on a leafy street that leads down off the main road and continues through to the railway. I always loved this house and I think I still do because I miss it sometimes. Some of my best childhood memories come from the home we had there.<br />
<br />
One of my funniest memories from when I was a little kid was brought back to the forefront of my mind when Noo, who is fast heading towards his fifth birthday, did something almost exactly the same as my sister did at around his age.<br />
<br />
My sister was a feisty, vivacious little girl who pretty much always knew what she wanted and knew how to get it. She had blonde ringlets and beautiful blue eyes and an attitude that could even make adults doubt their position in an argument with her. And this when she was only a preschooler!<br />
<br />
I clearly remember the day. My mum had filled the bath and left us to our own devices to wash and play in the water for a while. I was already undressed and in the tub when Yolanda stripped off her singlet and declared it was for babies so she didn't want to wear it any more.<br />
<br />
The offending singlet had a little blue pony on it, if I recall correctly. Yo held it ceremoniously above the toilet, dropped it in and flushed, declaring: "I'm a big girl now!"<br />
<br />
Unfortunately for Yo, and more so for my dad, the singlet didn't make it too far passed the S-bend and clogged up our toilet pipe. I remember dad having to hire special plumbing equipment to stick in through the pipes to find that pony singlet and remove it. As you can imagine my dad was not happy about Yo's way of showing us she was over with being the baby of the family.<br />
<br />
Noo made a similar declaration with one of his material possessions just a couple of nights ago. Thank goodness it wasn't a singlet flushed in the toilet! Instead Noo found his Thomas the Tank Engine spoon, held it up to me and said "I don't like Thomas any more because I'm a big boy now!" and proceeded to chuck the spoon into the bin with a clang.<br />
<br />
Well I'll be. My boy is no longer a baby.<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTbiH1fO91qkh6Jz4pIRZYNFvsg_5H1vwqjRsHzJNVhy1b2uoCfLKuWNwmPqWljGfe4dS3JiBmdoLcdmmk6LxDhyWPWDsOg92cT_VJoEm9xShwGPUFJTO2-82LnzvpQ-7VSBOAa3K6yvU/s1600/babblingbandit.me-thomas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTbiH1fO91qkh6Jz4pIRZYNFvsg_5H1vwqjRsHzJNVhy1b2uoCfLKuWNwmPqWljGfe4dS3JiBmdoLcdmmk6LxDhyWPWDsOg92cT_VJoEm9xShwGPUFJTO2-82LnzvpQ-7VSBOAa3K6yvU/s640/babblingbandit.me-thomas.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our Thomas days are over!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
Maybe that was what <b><a href="http://www.news.com.au/entertainment/music/oh-miley-god-viewers-left-feeling-8216violated8217-after-cyrus8217-xrated-mtv-vma-performance/story-e6frfn09-1226704142661" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Miley Cyrus</a></b> was trying to tell the world the other day when she made <i>that </i>performance at the VMAs a couple of days ago? If only she'd just chucked out her baby clothes or cutlery to show she was moving on to the next stage of her life. Surely there could have been a more appropriate way to make such a statement.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Have your kids made any grand gestures to show they are growing up?</b><br />
<br />
<br />
V.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12862647761810468815noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7958829718723459845.post-37062990348540385382013-08-29T08:37:00.002+10:002014-03-21T11:04:52.816+11:00Recipe: Pressure cooker lamb raguSince getting out of hospital I've started cooking again. Part of my depression recovery plan is to make sure Noo and I eat better. We all know it's critical for good mental and physical health whether you're a late 30s mum or an almost five year old boy. Hell, we all need good food and exercise.<br />
<br />
So far we've had chicken sticks, spagbol, tuna rice and veggie patties, and cottage pie served with salad. Tonight Noo and I made ham and pineapple pizza together which was delicious. But the recipe I wanted to share with you now is for a dish I made a little while ago while we were up the Mountains, before I went to hospital. I took all the photos as I was cooking but somehow life got in the way of me publishing the recipe.<br />
<br />
Earlier on this year I was the lucky winner of a <b><a href="http://www.tefal.com.au/All+Products/Cooking+Appliances/Multi-cookers/Products/Cook4Me/Cook4Me.htm" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Tefal Cook4Me</a></b> pressure cooker. I entered a competition on <b><a href="http://www.katesaysstuff.com/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Kate Says Stuff</a></b> and was so stoked when I was notified by Kate that I'd won. The massive box arrived soon after and both my parents and I were amazed at its size. Where the hell would we fit this appliance into our already stuffed apartment?<br />
<br />
The obvious solution was to send the Cook4Me up to my parents house in the Blue Mountains. We have a bit more space there and it is the perfect place to cook and eat hearty food like lamb ragu.<br />
<br />
I must admit I had doubts about the appliance. Why? It looked too good to be true. I recently bought a slow cooker and I didn't like it at all and actually gave it away to Noo's day care. The Cook4Me however is awesome. So good I'm thinking we've got to get it back to town so I can use it more often!<br />
<br />
I got the recipe from my favourite recipe website <b><a href="http://taste.com.au/">Taste.com.au</a></b> but I adjusted it for the pressure cooker. The original recipe can be found <b><a href="http://www.taste.com.au/recipes/24791/slow+cooked+lamb+ragu" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">here</a></b>.<br />
<br />
Without further ado - my first go of the Tefal Cook4Me...<br />
<br />
<br />
<h3>
Cook4Me Lamb Ragu</h3>
<div>
<br /></div>
<b>Ingredients</b><br />
<br />
2 tablespoons olive oil<br />
1 kg half leg of lamb<br />
1 large brown onion, finely chopped<br />
2 garlic cloves, crushed<br />
About a 10 cm chunk of bacon speck cubed<br />
2 medium carrots, peeled and cut into 1cm pieces<br />
2 sticks of celery, cut into 1cm pieces<br />
1/2 cup fresh herbs (rosemary, thyme, sage, parsley - whatever you've got)<br />
1/2 cup red wine<br />
2 tablespoons tomato paste<br />
2 x 400 g cans diced tomatoes<br />
2 cups chicken stock<br />
<br />
Pasta of your choice<br />
Parmesan cheese to serve<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Method</b><br />
<br />
<b>1. Prepare</b><br />
<br />
I like to take out all the ingredients I need and prepare the veggies, herbs and meat so everthing is laid out ready to go. I didn't read the recipe correctly and so cut my lamb into large chunks rather than cooking the 1 kg half leg as a single piece, as you can see in the picture below. I highly recommend <u>not</u> doing what I did because you don't get that really tender melt in your mouth thing happening with the meat if you do.<br />
<br />
Also have the Cook4Me out and ready to go.<br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
<b>2. The Browning</b><br />
<br />
Add the olive oil to the bowl of the Cook4Me. Using the manual setting, brown the lamb using the 'browning' function on the Cook4Me for a couple of minutes on each side. You can set the timer on the machine but I just went freestyle and used my noggin to determine when the meat was browned.<br />
<br />
Remove meat from cooker and set aside.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>3. Sauteing</b><br />
<br />
With the Cook4Me still on 'browning' mode, add pre-prepared onion, garlic, speck, carrot, celery and herbs to the cooker. Saute, stirring occasionally, until onion has softened.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJaz93qZz3APDb7JfJTt3nHXeekYlvnjl-2kfCphP7T-dKs-dMj-lXKHQhP2OxE-J5Mn62wThxa85FJ6RV2S7y82RQOrMDMqKKfmgRsyOXVgwEmvFoO9mgx9D0I_oVRJIRW6l2BzjlknU/s1600/babblingbandit.me-lamb-ragu-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJaz93qZz3APDb7JfJTt3nHXeekYlvnjl-2kfCphP7T-dKs-dMj-lXKHQhP2OxE-J5Mn62wThxa85FJ6RV2S7y82RQOrMDMqKKfmgRsyOXVgwEmvFoO9mgx9D0I_oVRJIRW6l2BzjlknU/s640/babblingbandit.me-lamb-ragu-2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<b>4. The Saucy Bit</b><br />
<br />
Add wine and cook for 1 minute. Add tomato paste, diced tomatoes, 2 cups of chicken stock. Stir to combine.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>5. Introduce the Meat to the Sauce</b><br />
<br />
Return meat to the Cook4Me and stir to combine or if using a whole piece of lamb ensure meat is covered with the saucy bits.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcAgFHRk56XiVNfryYmpreElEhi7rJ1w0oswKnUpjMHecC4niFolJiVE9AhI7yKCt6kso7xl1aN7Z4wKMHh_-IZ7u322I1RnkXu-RrOco6elt9wyIfrLZe1vwvIepx6g4B0n6hSER4EVM/s1600/babblingbandit.me-lamb-ragu-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcAgFHRk56XiVNfryYmpreElEhi7rJ1w0oswKnUpjMHecC4niFolJiVE9AhI7yKCt6kso7xl1aN7Z4wKMHh_-IZ7u322I1RnkXu-RrOco6elt9wyIfrLZe1vwvIepx6g4B0n6hSER4EVM/s640/babblingbandit.me-lamb-ragu-3.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<b>6. Speed Cook</b><br />
<br />
Batten down the hatches! Close the lid on Cook4Me following the instructions. It's really super easy compared to our old pressure cooker which is now doomed to be heading for the garbage bin, if it hasn't already been let go of it's old duties thanks to a younger, smarter worker taking its place.<br />
<br />
Set the Cook4Me to 'quick cooking' for 20 minutes. The cooker will tingle with a bell sound when it has completed the 20 minutes and steam will shoot out its rear. It is all rather exciting! I just couldn't wait to see what the end result was inside.<br />
<br />
If the ragu needs more cooking you just need to shut up the pressure cooker again and set it to cook for a further 10 minutes or whatever you think it requires.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhY-6ifLW4TF2XpMgkqEByUW9_Et3IFpPEfaWVuR5kYlstvi_0zoArHOiVB9S4duDjJfS1n6CjFsTki3jZA6cPL4YambwCzWz2uzpSbOu-1m4praHGv6j6GRJD5uaNV4WkNqiARFYFbio/s1600/babblingbandit.me-lamb-ragu-4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhY-6ifLW4TF2XpMgkqEByUW9_Et3IFpPEfaWVuR5kYlstvi_0zoArHOiVB9S4duDjJfS1n6CjFsTki3jZA6cPL4YambwCzWz2uzpSbOu-1m4praHGv6j6GRJD5uaNV4WkNqiARFYFbio/s640/babblingbandit.me-lamb-ragu-4.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<b>7. Finishing Touches</b><br />
<br />
Shred the lamb with a couple of forks. Remove any fat or bone from the ragu.<br />
<br />
Cook whatever pasta you wish to have with your lamb ragu. Chop up fresh parsley and shave up some parmesan.<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOPr3C8IgJaUqLzNJKsJN2LHbaToFcxYiDuGMYeoEVqiYmhTi0D_DgIO_4B3HLcyZiSG4iSRKim04cUo2A22wyuaqzqE7JUFN1jS_yVJHm6gTbhy1A4RSAUSJEHusb7wzAPhXc-GWEc_o/s1600/babblingbandit.me-lamb-ragu-5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOPr3C8IgJaUqLzNJKsJN2LHbaToFcxYiDuGMYeoEVqiYmhTi0D_DgIO_4B3HLcyZiSG4iSRKim04cUo2A22wyuaqzqE7JUFN1jS_yVJHm6gTbhy1A4RSAUSJEHusb7wzAPhXc-GWEc_o/s640/babblingbandit.me-lamb-ragu-5.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yummy lamb ragu with pasta</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
There you have it! It actually took way longer to prepare all the ingredients than it did to cook the ragu. Writing this post took double the time of all of it (gosh I'm slow!).<br />
<br />
Everyone in my family loved this recipe and even fussy eater Noo gave it the tick of approval.<br />
<br />
I would highly recommend the Tefal Cook4Me. I'm so glad I won it! Can't wait to get back up the Mountains to try other recipes in it.<br />
<br />
<br />
V.<br />
<br />
PS. I was under no obligation by either Tefal or Kate Says Stuff to write about my prize. I just felt like it. So there.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12862647761810468815noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7958829718723459845.post-90611851101560074862013-08-24T22:43:00.001+10:002014-03-21T10:40:14.258+11:00The drugs don't workI'm eight days out of hospital and I feel like shit. Four days ago I was feel bloody fabulous. I went on the longest walk I think I've ever done. The energy, clarity and freedom I felt was amazing. Now, I can't seem to get that feeling back. My brain is playing tricks with me as usual.<br />
<br />
The dizzy spells started around three days ago I think. The ground has been moving from under my feet - sideways and up and down. My head feels foggy and I can't really see clearly. I'm anxious and depressed at the same time yet I'm able to have spontaneous fits of giggles and bursts of happiness. I imagine my psyche sitting at an old one armed bandit poker machine. With each yank of the arm, the reels turn and I score a different emotion to contend with. I wish it would stop at happy and walk away from the machine. Enough is enough.<br />
<br />
My tear ducts are ready to give forth salty streams of water down my face at the push of a button. Any one of my current sensitivity buttons will do: crowds, blogging, Noo not doing as I ask, Noo being noisy, Noo being messy, Noo being gorgeous, politics, thinking about my parents and wishing they were back home. Yep, anyone of them can start me off.<br />
<br />
Combine the wrong spin of the pokie with the more dramatic button being pushed and bam! It's a recipe for the proverbial disaster.<br />
<br />
But this too shall pass.<br />
<br />
This too shall pass.<br />
<br />
Yesterday started like the rest. Woke up....<br />
<br />
Ah, fuck it. Was going to tell you about this huge public breakdown I had in the middle of Pitt Street Mall, no less, but I'm going to spare you the details. It started with the dizziness. Poor Noo had to endure the whole thing. It really was terrible.<br />
<br />
I'm suppose to be getting better! That's why I'm home from hospital. I can't go back. I just can't leave Noo again. Not until my parents get back at least. He needs the familiarity of his own home rather than being shunted around.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
This morning I broke down crying but I decided that rather than hide from Noo I sat with him. I tried to explain my tears and how I was feeling. We were getting ready to go out and he just had his undies and singlet on as he crawled up onto my lap. He's so small with no clothes on. My baby again.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
He kissed my hands as I cried and told him how much I love him. That the tears were not his fault. They are no one's fault. Mummy's brain chemistry is just a little weird right now. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"You need to go back into hospital and get better Mummy", Noo told me.</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"No way! I'm not leaving you again. I'll be ok."</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"Don't worry about me, Mummy. You have to get better."</blockquote>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
My four and a half year old is so brave! Braver than I am that is for sure.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5Yi3oi1HorGXpQZ-m8MTYgELHGU3Za0-mg30-4fyE-huCFU78IyMv6O0fK0-2pSf6FzjBsrOAHmswwe5ANCc6q1nn2KIOcmzCL7Z7J71DK7yw2yZpL4bQAITBcJLGcac_ST1Yx-61v8A/s1600/babblingbandit.me-ned-ferry.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5Yi3oi1HorGXpQZ-m8MTYgELHGU3Za0-mg30-4fyE-huCFU78IyMv6O0fK0-2pSf6FzjBsrOAHmswwe5ANCc6q1nn2KIOcmzCL7Z7J71DK7yw2yZpL4bQAITBcJLGcac_ST1Yx-61v8A/s640/babblingbandit.me-ned-ferry.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The brave and the bold</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
I can still feel the dizziness come in waves. It makes me feel out of control physically as much as I've felt out of control emotionally for months now. I think the problem is that I'm having serious withdrawal symptoms from discontinuing one of the medications I was on. Well, I'm pretty much 100% sure.<br />
<br />
I was only on <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fluoxetine" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"><b>fluoxetine</b></a> (also known as Prozac, Lovan) for about two months and it has been about ten days since my last dose. Prior to that I was on a different SSRI antidepressant called <b><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Citalopram" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">citalopram</a></b> for about four years. Citalopram is supposed to be quite hard to come off. The dose has to be tapered down so withdrawal symptoms are minimised. In the switch from one to the other, my doctor had me on both citalopram and fluoxetine at the same time for weeks to help avoid any withdrawal symptoms from the citalopram. I haven't had any citalopram now for about six weeks so it should be completely out of my system. Even though I stopped taking fluoxetine abruptly 10 days ago (as directed by my psychiatrist) it is not supposed to have the same withdrawal problems as the other because it has a longer half life which means it stays in the body for longer therefore naturally tapers off slowly.<br />
<br />
Phew! Did you get that?<br />
<br />
Basically, if none of that makes any sense, my bloodstream should be completely free of SSRI antidepressants and I should be feeling a lot better than I do.<br />
<br />
So why am I feeling all the textbook symptoms of <b><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/SSRI_discontinuation_syndrome" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">SSRI discontinuation syndrome</a></b>? Brain zaps, dizziness, nausea, vertigo, tremor, confusion, anxiety.<br />
<br />
I guess I'll have to wait until my next doctor's appointment to find out.<br />
<br />
Dr Google can't tell me everything.<br />
<br />
It sure can't tell me when this shall pass.<br />
<br />
V.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12862647761810468815noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7958829718723459845.post-62005757476685176202013-08-23T09:21:00.001+10:002014-03-21T10:40:14.247+11:00Mental illness: Coming home from hospitalIf you follow me on the social networks you'll know I'm freshly out of hospital. I was an inpatient at a psychiatric hospital for two weeks being treated for depression and anxiety. Or maybe it's bipolar II. My shrink can't put me into a <b><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/DSM-5" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">DSM-5</a></b> box yet.<br />
<br />
I've been back out in the big bad world for a week. Well, it isn't that bad, but it is full of new challenges as I try to adjust to life on a completely new family of medications with a son who has gone through a behaviour training program of sorts while I was away.<br />
<br />
This is an excerpt from an email I sent my parents earlier this week. Actually, it's most it. There's not much I don't share on here! It explains what went on and how I was feeling in those first three days out of hospital without me having to write it all up again.<br />
<br />
<br />
<h3>
19 August 2013</h3>
<br />
Dear Mum and Dad<br />
<br />
The last four days have been quite strange in both good and bad ways. Nothing seems ‘back to normal’ but it’s not all negative, there’s been a lot of positive change, which we were all hoping for I guess.
I've only been out of the hospital for three days and I still feel really fragile.<br />
<br />
While the medication change has been worth it there are some side effects that aren't great, the worst one being that lithium causes a slight tremor so I'm kind of shaky all the time. Sometimes it isn't noticeable, eg when out for a big walk (which I've started doing regularly) or watching telly (rather than staring at my laptop being unproductive I've been getting back into my shows), but typing on this keyboard or texting on my phone can be quite challenging at times.<br />
<br />
Like I told you in my text message Saturday was the hardest day so far. I was so shaky and nervous about seeing Noo after a week of not seeing him that when I arrived at Yo’s house I burst into tears. Noo was so happy to see me. You know how chatty and happy he is normally, well times that by 100 and you can imagine what he was like.<br />
<br />
We hung out with Yo and Cal for a little while as Mala had her midday nap. Noo was constantly asking for food to eat. It felt really strange. Callum made him a ham and cheese toasty which I shared with him. Noo's aunt and uncle are very stern with him and he is not allowed to leave the table when eating. Even fruit comes after main meal because it is considered a sweet treat! Seems to have worked, whatever they have done, because the kid has got an appetite and he's stopped being such a <a href="http://www.babblingbandit.me/search/label/fussy%20eaters" target="_blank"><b>fussy eater</b></a>!<br />
<br />
Yo had promised Noo that I would take him for a chocolate shake at the café around the corner and then to the local playground. Noo scooted while I walked along. He was just so happy. Oh my god, the talking! He’s language skills have improved ten-fold as he relays stories of what had been happening while I was away.
When we got to the cafe we shared a banana bread with Pepe Sayer butter and strawberry jam and Noo had his shake and I had a coffee. He said please and thank you and was just lovely to be with – just so different with me from before I ‘went away’.<br />
<br />
I was still so shaky and nervous about doing the right thing though. I don't want to fuck up all the good work they've done by giving Noo more structure and routine to his life, something I've always struggled with.<br />
<br />
We went to the park and Noo enjoyed a huge turn on the swing and then the slide. I sat and watched and tried not to be over anxious about him falling or whatever. There were a lot of other kids in the playground and it took an effort for me to not stress about them being mean to him. Of course they weren't going to be, it was just my own fear from when I was a child. I didn't realise just how much of my own childhood anxiety I have been transferring on to him. And anyway, if they had been mean, Noo probably would have handled it differently to me because he is such a confident kid.<br />
<br />
When we finally got back to Yo’s place I was worn out. I just needed to be alone for a bit and so had to say goodbye but Noo kept trying all these distraction tactics to keep me there. I felt so bad leaving. He was crying with his little hands reaching out of the front gate but I just had to get into the car and not look back. It was a hideous experience.<br />
<br />
Saturday night, back home alone, I was determined to pull my shit together and get him back the next day, despite having said I'd take another week off to be alone to sort out the apartment and work out our new routine. I'm so glad I made that decision! He is just amazing. I'm so happy we are back together and so is he. And he keeps telling anyone who will listen – “My mummy and I are back together! Isn't that great?”<br />
<br />
On Sunday I met up with Yo, Cal, Mala and Noo at Marrickville Markets where the sun was shining and we all worried about getting sunburnt. We are having the warmest August which is lovely. We hung out on the grass near where the pony rides are until Mala started getting tired.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0J66fSr-lja-Z-zPFnO4VeDiWhkYWp1Y8ynHmoPT9o95j5MpO9aFDUbmBr-E7EEQbxL1ja4JsnX8YSLPY8Dz-aIIYa3wSwFbSJbzjN57FmDCOHPThHE_mpg8RPO_FzxC6hDGBReFPIto/s1600/IMG_5777.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0J66fSr-lja-Z-zPFnO4VeDiWhkYWp1Y8ynHmoPT9o95j5MpO9aFDUbmBr-E7EEQbxL1ja4JsnX8YSLPY8Dz-aIIYa3wSwFbSJbzjN57FmDCOHPThHE_mpg8RPO_FzxC6hDGBReFPIto/s400/IMG_5777.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small; text-align: start;">“I'm just so glad we are back together Mummy!”</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<br />
Next job was to transfer the car seat from the Volvo to the Subaru with Noo and all his clothes. Noo and I then headed back to the apartment and he was happy to be back in his own home. He chatted non-stop all the way, saying “I'm just so glad we are back together Mummy!” over and over. My heart filled with so much emotion it was hard to not cry - for the joy of being back together and for the sadness of having to leave him in the first place. I am still so emotionally sensitive that it doesn't take me much to start crying. I have to use all the skills I relearnt in hospital to distract myself in order to stay in control of my emotions.<br />
<br />
We hung out for a while and Noo ate all the sandwich he requested: Ham and American mustard on sourdough while watching <i>Escape from Planet Earth</i>. I’d already had the most delicious pulled pork with coleslaw and crackling roll at the markets. Only $9 and oh so good. I hadn't had breakfast so got the roll when I arrived at 10.30am and there was no queue. By the time we left at 11.30 people had already queuing for it. Noo and I will have to take you there one weekend when you get back. I'm salivating just thinking about that thing!<br />
<br />
We went back out to the shops later in the afternoon. When we arrived at centre we jumped on board the lift heading for level 2. I said the usual “press number two, Noo” but the other person in the lift had already pressed it. Rather than crack it and give the angry look, Noo said to the man, “thank you for pressing two for us”. I was fucking gobsmacked! Talk about manners!<br />
<br />
We checked out the new frozen yogurt place and shared a huge yogurt, trying all the flavours. Then we went into the arcade game place and played air hockey and it was a draw. Noo then said he was hungry again so I said lets go for dinner on the sushi train. I was hungry too as it was 5pm by this time and I had not eaten anything since that delicious roll at 10.30.<br />
<br />
We sat up on the train and Noo ate his whole plate of tuna rolls, some raw salmon from my plate and most of the edamame with piles of ginger and soy sauce. He even tried a little wasabi!<br />
<br />
Next stop was BiLo and we each had to have a basket with identical contents. I said he could get one Kinder Surprise Egg for his dessert and he also got a small chocolate milk which he finished in the car on the way home. There were no arguments trying to get more treats than were already offered.<br />
<br />
By the time we got home, with shower and dinner already done for the day, Noo enjoyed some time with his own iPad while I did a few jobs around the apartment. I’m telling you mum and dad, the happiness emanating from this child is amazing! He was a bit wound up so getting him into bed at the time Yo was managing just wasn't going to happen. Instead of 7.50pm bedtime he was in bed by 8.20 and lights out at 8.35 with only a few arguments. Can’t complain about that! So much better than his old 9.30-10pm bedtime, that is for sure.<br />
<br />
Getting ready Monday morning was also pretty easy. He was up before 7am and asked to watch a movie while eating the breakfast that he made for himself (nutella on sourdough with a bowl of strawberries). I resisted the movie as Yo had said no screens in the morning. After a while I thought, fuck it, and told him he could watch some cartoons but no long movies or iPad. I had to shower and wash my hair so I had to give him something.<br />
<br />
We got to school by 9am. Before we left, when we got to the lobby Noo says “Hello Terry and Joel! Look! Mummy and I are back together again!” It brings a tear to my eye just thinking about it! Actually, I'm bawling, but don't be alarmed. Joel and Terry were really happy to see us and Terry high fived Noo for us being ‘back together again’.<br />
<br />
At preschool, it was the same thing from Noo. As soon as we were through the gate he was telling everyone. I stayed for a little while because Noo just wanted to show me off because I was home from hospital. One of the boys asked why I'd been in hospital and Noo answered that it was because he didn't go to bed early enough. I was really surprised and tried to say no way was it his fault! He changed the subject pretty quickly but I will have to address that with him later. I do not want him thinking it is his fault that I am unwell.<br />
<br />
Mala heard my voice from the nursery and was trying to get my attention. OMG! She is so funny. She’s lost that baby look and has started to look more like a toddler. She’s started to get quite long. She'd dragged herself to the gate, had her legs all the way out pointing over at us. I went over to her side and gave her a cuddle but she kept pointing at Noo saying “Neh, Neh!”. The both of them are so gorgeous together.
Noo really didn't want me to leave but I didn't want to be disruptive so by about 10am I was finally out the gate. I then went for a big walk around the Harbour which will brighten anyone's mood.<br />
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Well, that’s enough for today. Not much else to tell you. Hope you are having a wonderful holiday.<br />
<br />
Love<br />
V.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12862647761810468815noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7958829718723459845.post-47890955961168100272013-08-13T22:23:00.002+10:002014-03-21T11:04:56.320+11:00Putting the pieces of me back together<h3>
Saturday 10 August 2013</h3>
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So I don't know what to write or even why I should but my fingers are so shaky it just feels like they need to be doing something. How many times can I tidy up my room? I could go for a walk on this beautiful sunny day but my legs aren't shakey, its my hands and my wrists. They need some action. My brain is a little hesitant though. The meds are making it difficult for me to write coherently but I'll do my best anyway.<br />
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I've been in hospital for just over a week now. I still feel really weird being here even though I've been here before so the surroundings are not new. My meds are changing all the time which causes all manner of confusion. The first couple of days I was in I just slept. I was admitted on the Friday and weekends are really quiet in psych hospitals. No group therapy just time and lots of it.</div>
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The kids were kind enough to pass on their cold to me (sarcasm) so spending the first couple of days sleeping on off without too much disruption didn't bother me at all. I do feel so guilty about what impact my breakdown has on my family. Everyone of us has had to shift around responsibilities in order to make it work for me to be here to sort out why mood has become so erratic. </div>
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Noo has moved in with my sister Yolanda, her husband and little Mala. Yo and Cal's family has grown from three to four over night and Noo is living in a "normal" family unit for the first time. There are rules and routines at Rancho Relaxo and I've heard that Noo is responding really well to the new regime.</div>
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Routine reigns here in hospital as well and I really like not having to think about what comes next in the day. There's no one really to pester me about what we are going to do today, when can we do it... all those questions kids ask all the time. I want. I need. Mummy. Mummy. Mummy. Ad nauseum.</div>
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Still I've cried a lot in here. The different meds, the different surroundings, sights and sounds all add to the whirley burley going on in my mind. I'm shaky then agitated then bawling my eyes out. Sometimes I feel like I can sleep forever, others I feel like I could run a mile.</div>
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I miss my boy so much. The umbilical cord has remained firmly attached for so long that not being with him for such a long time is so difficult yet this break is just what I have needed. I have to keep reminding myself that I'm doing this not just for myself but for him. I was not being a great mum before I got to this point where I find myself an inpatient for possibly five weeks my doctor has warned (<i>since I wrote this my time has been reduced to two to three weeks. I'm getting better baby!</i>). I worry about what the long term absence has on little Noo. My parents have also gone away for a long time so there have been a lot of changes for a little boy of four and a half to process.</div>
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Noo has come to visit a couple of times already but the goodbyes get more painful each time. Today we were both crying on the street, unable to let each other go. How can you explain to a kid that this isn't forever? A day, a week, a month... are such long, long expanses of time for a preschooler.</div>
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On the flipside I've got my own room for the first time in nearly five years. I didn't realise how sharing a little room with my kid (and twice a week my niece as well) was having an impact on me. This room I'm in has an ensuite and a larger space than our room at home. It has a flatscreen TV, plus I have all my iGadgets and laptop with me. I keep tidying it and straightening things up before sitting down in the bed to watch TV or read or snooze. Having my own space is wonderful despite nurses popping their heads in every so often to check I'm ok.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuSlQ2aCYulXn3emeHQZBb0kQJYfAXaL5IorFz5OQwizNZplrUQkbSq6EqePadg6r5-JmQHe27NESJXHQaWiZSVvKg6WlAnp74-tBEZDTLl-YGU3Bc2NpBtVQTOR9fLVAVRTO6YKc8f9I/s1600/babblingbandit.me-hospital-stay.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuSlQ2aCYulXn3emeHQZBb0kQJYfAXaL5IorFz5OQwizNZplrUQkbSq6EqePadg6r5-JmQHe27NESJXHQaWiZSVvKg6WlAnp74-tBEZDTLl-YGU3Bc2NpBtVQTOR9fLVAVRTO6YKc8f9I/s640/babblingbandit.me-hospital-stay.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cluttered room/cluttered mind - a single room for 10 days is just what I needed <br />
- not enjoying the shared situation but it's nearly home time</td></tr>
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There's only been one rainy day since I've been here which is great. Nothing better for the mood than a walk on a sunny day. There's a huge community park right by the hospital which is a lovely place to walk around and also has a playing field and kids playground. </div>
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My goal while I'm here is to find my peaceful mind again. I also want to regain those life skills from previous in- and outpatient group therapy programs that I seemed to have forgotten along the way somehow.<br />
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I want to learn, and have the confidence to, set goals that are achievable and give me strength. I need to find the capable mother within me that doesn't bawl her eyes out at being asked "can I've a lollipop" for the fiftieth time and then begs her own mother to deal with it; the Vanessa whose heart doesn't start pounding with fear at the thought of a whole day out in public with kids in tow.</div>
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I know I'm in here somewhere. It's now just a matter of wading through the facts, thoughts, emotions and chemicals to find the real me again.<br />
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Finally, I want to thank those of you who wrote lovely words of support and encouragement on my last post. They really mean a lot to me so thank you.<br />
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Here's to the future!<br />
<br />
V.<br />
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PS: I wrote this a couple of days ago. I'm feeling better with each day that passes now my medication has settled down. Even made that little picture for you! The next couple of days will be more group therapy and more planning my return home. I'm feeling really good about the future again and getting home to my beautiful boy.<br />
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