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Thursday, July 7, 2011

Roller Derby; something of an essay

"Roller derby saved my soul". Almost any derby skater you speak to can admit to uttering this at least once. We were all drawn to this amazing sport for different reasons, be it the sexy ladies in fishnets, the skill of the skaters, the culture and community, the biffo, the underlying feminist feelings...whatever it be, we all ended up in the same place and can all agree derby has changed out lives somehow. At the moment there is a huge debate over whether derby should stop being a spectacle and start holding its own as a legitimate sport. Some people who are pushing for the solely sport idea are suggesting dropping alter egos to with real naames, while on the other side, the spectacle crew are all for a bit of glitter, a mascot or two and enjoy putting on a good show.
In my opinion, we should be able to do both.

Over the past 12 months or so, roller derby has boomed in popularity. There are new leagues popping up all over the shop. What was once an underground culture, requiring frilly knickers, fishnets and the promise of girls knocking the piss out of eachother to draw a crowd, fans are now drawn by the strategy, the toughness of the girls and the intense battles between skilled players.

Rules are being changed at a pace faster than even the speediest jammer can barely keep up with. (Come to think of it, what IS rule anyway?). New strategies are seeing less biff and more 'flying V' types of plays. (Don't judge me, I just watched the mighty ducks, it was all I could think of!) Teams that once had cute uniforms, matching but still unique to each skater, a little bit sexy and generally themed and trading their garters for basketball jersey styles of shirts with compression shorts as pants. Not to mention every other skater seems to have a degree in fitness and/or nutrition.

Go ahead. Watch this video.

Here we see two teams, standing around for an entire two minute jam in the name of strategy. What fun! A fellow skater watched this and quite aptly said "Whilst 'strategy me' appreciates this, I feel like the rest of me just witnessed the death of Roller Derby". Who want's to watch 10 girls stand around doing nothing? I'll come back to this later.

For me, roller derby really did change my life. I was going through a breakup with my partner of nearly four years, I was in a relatively new town with no real friends, no hobbies or pasttimes. I was depressed and would probably have just fallen off the earth if I hadn't of found derby. In a short period of time, derby helped me in so many ways, I made new friends, it got me fit, it helped me realise my sexuality, it gave me confidence to wear short shorts, it made me feel cool, sexy, tough...empowered. Thing I haven't felt, well, ever.
I admit, I was initially drawn to the girls being able to hit eachother with full contact (anger issues, anyone?) and the sex appeal these girls had. These women, who were mums, teachers, nurses, grandmothers even, were so full of confidence and attitude that just made anyone in their path swoon.

I have witnessed both extremes of the debate. I have seen leagues with costumey uniforms, a bit of sex appeal, mascots, the girls having fun; win or lose, maybe some face paint and a bit of showboating to boot. I have also seen leagues who have skaters use their real names, use the compression shorts as part of their uniform and use strategies that although effective, are boring as hell to watch (and play). I have even seen a skater penalised for flashing her knickers at a crowd in fun, and another for cheekily flashing her bra at another jammer.

This might feel like a bit of a tangent, however I feel as though it comes to a valid point, so bare with me. As well as the sport versus spectacle debate, there is also a huge stir with the cropping up of male leagues and teams. Alot of women feel as though this is almost blasphemy, and roller derby is something of a feminist movement, men should be secluded to reffing and volunteering only. I won't touch on this any more than to say, maybe the 'sport' crew are trying to legitamise our beloved sport so it doesn't get taken over by men? Maybe they are feeling as though our sometimes showing our frilly knickers, that people will never take us seriously, as if maybe a bit of cleavage and lipstick makes us not acceptable athletes? How is that a positive attitude to have as women? Should we not be encouraged to be the best we can be, as a team but also as individuals...whether we be most comfortable in fishnets and garter belts or otherwise.

The girls I have spoken to who skate with their own names have said they don't want to have to pretend to be tough, they already are. That is a great point. But what about the rest of us who ENJOY creating a new persona? Those women who get confidence from the extension of their personality. At work they're jane blow, mother, daughter, student, nurse, librarian, barista, bill payer, rule follower, wife. For a few hours a week, they get to be whoever they want to be. Eventually, they might even incorporate this new found confidence into their regular life too. And anyway, who didn't like playing dressups as a kid? That's all I have to say about costumes!

I don't know if this is ready for a conclusion yet, but we'll see how I go. I fear as though my fellow skater is right. The way the derby world is going, it is becoming something of a statement to prove how the sport is legitimate, we are super athletic and strategic and whatnot, the death of the spirit of modern roller derby is iminent. Soon, our beautiful women of all shapes and sizes will be replaced by athelic machines, just like every other sport dominated by people needing to win. The tongue-in-cheek-ness, the sex appeal and general fun will be lost to the need to win, to prove something (to who, I don't know). The misfits who once had a place to come and be someone valued and challenged will soon be shunned, because 'legitimate' sports are clearly only played by 'real' athletes. The people who wanted a way to get fit and have fun will be lost to those who are able to dedicate their lives to fitness and sport.

I guess my point is, to keep the spirit of derby alive, we need to take a good hard look at our values. What's the harm in dressing up a little, putting on a little show? The sport is already taking over, fans are loyal as it is, a little cleavage and face paint isn't going to make people stop watching. What will make them stop coming to bouts is 'strategies' such as the above video, where nobody is having fun.
Women are tough and diverse. Why can't we be legitimate athletes AND be sexy and have fun with our sport?

As I've said before, if I'd wanted to play netball, I would have started playing netball.

Thursday, June 16, 2011

I'm just a sucker with no self esteem

“I took everything so personally as a child. I felt everyone was always laughing at me and thinking I was stupid. I remember one time shouting out ‘Look Dad, there’s the Waverly Munchpickle (municipal) gold course.’ It brought a round of laughter, which, to me, meant that I was laughable. Frightened of failure, I stopped speaking in public and began to withdraw from anything involving social activities. Life had, quite simply, become too risky. Failure and not fitting in lurked around every corner.

Girls, as I knew, could be very bitchy so, feeling frightened of not fitting in, I alienated myself. My reasoning was that if I was inaccessible to others, then I couldn’t be rejected. I cried almost every day because I felt like I didn’t have any friends and that noone liked me.

At school I was always afraid that even if I did try I would fail and that would really mean that I was more stupid that I thought I was, if that was possible.

I can’t always see my good qualities and talents, although I seem to find it very easy to find bad ones. I have intense feelings that can be both positive and negative. I tend to take everything said to me far more personally than it was meant and overanalyse things.
My sensitivity is misinterpreted as snobbishness when really all I want is to be accepted for who I really am. I say sorry all the time for things that aren’t my fault. I have days when I loathe myself, I hate my reflection. I have days when I feel I will never be right for the world. I have days when I think everyone hates me, that I’m a burden to my family and society and that life wont get any easier.”

Those quotes are from Bronte Cullis' biography, describing her life and growing up to be plagued with an eating disorder. These quotes, I may have written them myself.

So what?

So, today I had an epiphany.

I was wandering around the floor at work, looking a little lost, trying to locate someone who turns out, had gone home. Walking back to my desk, my name gets called out. My heart starts racing, I start blushing and I turn around in shock and awe. It was nobody special, just a very-possibly-gay team leader from the other side of the floor checking in to make sure I was okay...I did look a little confused.

When I'd sat back down at my desk, I stopped to question myself why my body had illicited such a bizarre reaction to someone simply calling my name. After a few minutes of contemplation (my computer was being painfully slow, thus plenty of time to ponder the deeper meanings of life), it hit me. I have really, really low self esteem. My body wasn't blushing from a crush, I wasn't having random heart palpitations, I was simply in shock...my body was reacting in a 'fight or flight' fashion.

You might say 'No shit, I coulda told you that you had low self esteem'. Well duh, a girl who self harmed and made herself sick after every meal isn't a candidate for 'confidence of the year' award. I knew I was down on myself, but to realise the extent of my opinion of myself did shock me a little.

Now, when I say fight or flight, I don't mean I was getting ready to go some fisticuffs with a boss...I mean I realised that I am so sure that I am invisible to the world, that someyone knowing my name, who I don't interact with on a regular basis, shocked me to the point where my body didn't know what to do with itself. I guess I'm just lucky I didn't wet myself.

When I realised this, I was a little bit in awe. How could I be so shocked by someone knowing my name? Most people would assume that work colleagues would know their names. Why am I such a crazy person?

I tend to blush when people are nice to me. I am obscenely shy, and when someone compliments me or is simply nice to me, I assume sarcasm. I struggle to hold conversations because I am always positive that the person is hating every moment of talking to me, that they are simply praying for a way to get out. I have such a fear of rejection, no, I am so certain of rejection, that I push people away before they even have a chance to get to know me. This obviously leads to a big painful circle, I come off looking like a cold, rude bitch who nobody wants to talk to because I'm so sure that nobody wants to talk to me.

I know I have rejection issues, I know where they stem from (but that's another blog altogether), and as I said earlier, my low self esteem is not a big shocker, what got me today though, is that I never realised how invisible I thought I really was...or...how invisible I actually feel I am. Just because I can recognise the issue, does not make it fixed.

I am slightly sleep exhausted, so I'm not entirely sure where I am going with this, but basically I just needed to get this little shock out of my system. I guess it makes sense now why I blush every time someone is nice to me (though it may come across as flirting, playing coy). It makes sense why I don't put myself out there to talk to new people/train harder in derby/do something amazing at work/foxy myself up too much when I go out. I knew I did these things, but I thought it was just because I didn't care, people weren't worth the effort, they aren't going to notice anyway.

I guess I'm a little confused, as typically people with low self esteem tend to have the belief that they don't deserve certain things, or that they aren't good enough. Don't get me wrong, I have these feelings too, but generally I DO feel like I deserve those things, or I AM good enough. It's the invisibility, the averageness, the forgetability of myself that is the problem. The fact that I can do something great that nobody will notice, leading to the classic, why bother?

I want to love myself. I want to see what people tell me they see? Why am I so sure of this mediocrity, this invisibility, this godawful forgetableness that I am in awe when somebody remembers my name?

Do I actually dislike these people, or is it just that I am shutting them off before they have a chance to judge me first?


I'm just going through my external harddrive, and stumbles upon this. I wrote this in year 12. I believe this essay is what scored me dux of english for the year.



When you’re young, you think your grandparents are going to live forever. You don’t take the time to appreciate what grandparents provide you with; love, comfort and a happiness that nobody else can offer. It really does take losing a loved one to understand that grandparents aren’t invincible, no matter how much you wish they were.
The last good memory I have of my Grandpa, is sitting at the kitchen table with my cousins, playing ‘cheat’. Grandpa cheated every turn! The next day, I went home. He had a seizure that night and was taken to hospital. He died a few days later. I remember seeing him in the hospital bed, looking paler than a ghost, surrounded by flowers from friends and relatives. Devastated, we went back to Grandma’s house to give her the news. Grandma was incredibly strong after losing her husband of fifty-three years.

I admire my Grandma, Jean. Even after losing her husband, she managed to remain strong. She always makes us laugh, whether it be from a lame grandma-joke or making silly mistakes like calling ‘Kardinia park’ ‘Chlamydia park’, which of course, she will never live down. She knows it’s all in good fun. Before I was born, Grandma gave my mum a bear for me, which she named Jean-bear. When I was young I took jean-bear everywhere. Now, whenever I see jean-bear I think of the times I spent with my grandma and how special she is. My grandmother is an amazing woman. She lives alone after spending more than three quarters of her life as a wife. She rarely sees her family due to living interstate or work commitments, and one of her sons is autistic. Though, with all the troubles she has faced throughout her eighty years of life, she is still willing to help me through my troubles, and is always there to talk to.

My Grandpa was never a lovey-dovey man; He kept to himself a lot, by reading papers and watching the ABC news. Not many people knew, but he had a wicked sense of humour and had some very witty comebacks. When I was little and he took me for walks, mum would tell him to keep me awake, but he would sit in the park for hours letting me sleep in the pram, just so I would keep mum up all night. I don’t know how he did it, but he could walk for days! He once walked from Essendon to Northcote and back to return a pair of socks. Apart from walking, his mode of transport was his bike. He rode everywhere. The thing about grandpa was, he loved his independence. He didn’t like taking advice; he believed he could do everything himself. It was extremely amusing watching grandma stress over grandpas latest project.

When I was little, my grandparents loved me unconditionally. Even when I was a little brat, they would put up with me. Grandpa even called me Horrible Horace. Whenever I went to stay with them he would make me throw Horace out the car window before I got there. Once I went to stay at their house for six weeks straight. I forced them to play board games the whole time. The best ones were mastermind, which grandpa dominated and ludo, which we won fairly equally. We would also work in their huge garden and go for walks to the park. We went to the park with the giant slide, which took ages to walk back up the top. Grandpa would stand at the bottom and catch me. On some occasions I got grandma on the scary rope climb. That was an effort. When they weren’t taking me for walks, trips on the o-barn or feeding the ducks, they were reading books to me. Little miss and little mr books were my favourites, though they always compared me to little miss naughty for some reason. They would also take me to church every Sunday, where during the hymns grandma would sing over everybody else. She had the most beautiful voice!

The night my grandpa died will be in my memory forever. We had been at the hospital all day and my mum decided to stay back at night too. We had a call to go pick her up from the hospital as the dreaded time had finally come. My grandpa had died. We walk in and I say my final goodbye. He looked horrible in that hospital bed. Just skin and bone and white as a ghost, he wasn’t my grandpa at all. When we headed home to comfort my grandma, it was so hard to try and be strong for my mum and my grandma. All I wanted to do was go back in time and give him a huge hug. Instead we spent the night reminiscing. We spoke about the quirks grandpa had, for example how he pulled he pants up at the knee every time he sat down, sometimes to the extent that the cuffs would be just below his knee. We also spoke about how he would do anything for his family and how he was just a genuinely nice person.
The next night we were all obviously upset, but also somewhat relieved. It was finally over. Grandma had taken a sleeping tablet when we took her for a drive through Glenelg, and she fell asleep. I had to help her to bed. She was acting like she was drunk and tried to climb into bed headfirst while telling me how ‘shickered’ she was. Again, something she will never live down.

In all honesty, I have probably taken my grandparents for granted. Knowing that many of my friends don’t have grandparents, I consider myself pretty lucky to have had some of the amazing experiences I have had. My grandparents have put up with me since I was a screaming baby till now, a screaming teenager, which I will be forever grateful. Although I have some wonderful memories of my grandpa, which I will always cherish, I still wish he were here to see me turn 18, graduate, and meet my boyfriend. I would love to take him for a drive in my car. I’m ecstatic that my grandma gets to see these things and I’m sure she is proud of me, just like grandpa would be. Losing my grandpa has made me realise just how I must take advantage of the time I have with my grandma. As I have already established, grandparents don’t last forever, no matter how much you wish they did.

Thursday, May 26, 2011


This is a thing I wrote a few months ago. I have saved it up until now, as I thought it was too personal. Today, though, this has been on my mind and I just got the sign I needed that it was time to write it out.


Here we go:

It's times like now, when sitting alone in my car pondering, that real epiphanies happen. Sometimes those epiphanies are direct, others indescribable. Todays epiphany is the latter; unable to pinpoint the exact discovery, but more able to come to terms with whats inside my head.

As one may have noticed, I recently broke up with my partner of nearly one year. My heart is in pieces, but I know that it is for the best. I feel as though if I put my thoughts on paper, I might be able to make sense of it all and thus be more able to move on.

So, what happened?

Basically, the story goes a little something like this. As I was discovering and embracing my blatant lesbianism, I met K. We flirted for ages, had mindblowing sex and quickly became a couple. After a few months, K backs off a little. I was worried that she was bored with me, so obviously I tried to find out what the problem was. After much persuading, she admits to me that she thinks she is transgendered, via text message. She left it at that and didn't speak of it again until months later. I had no idea she was being serious. She never changed or brought it up again.

I don't need to go into the process of the transition, but I do need to document the breakdown of the relationship. It's what I do. Hopefully, by doing this, my brain will see that it wasn't meant to be, and thus will stop my heart from trying to explode out my mouth whenever I see her, him, anywhere.

The relationship started to fail when K accused me of not being supportive. I had no idea of what I was supposed to do, or how I was supposed to feel. The whole concept of being a lesbian was still new to me (well...not the concept, but the experience).

After speaking to some distant friends (nobody who knew K personally) who had experienced transitioning and dating a trans person, I managed to gain a grasp of my feelings. It took a while to begin with, K would ask how I felt, and to be honest, I couldn't answer. My mind just turned to what can only be described as white noise. As I said, lesbianism was new to me, the idea of trans relationships had never even crossed my mind.

When I did figure my mind out, it was hard. K was so secretive about everything. Almost like she was cheating on me, in a way. On more than one occasion I considered maybe there was someone else. I guess her heart may have been with me, but her head was all about becoming A...or vice verca. My feelings were a mess, but I knew that I was completely in love with K and I would do what I had to to make us work.

Once, I borrowed K's computer, with her permission. I went to log into facebook, and there was an account already logged in. K's picture, with a different name, a male name. She didn't tell me straight up, it took a while, but eventually she mentioned she'd chosen a name, and would like me to refer to her as A, and use male pronouns. I was okay with that, I slipped sometimes as expected, but as you can imagine, it was hard, especially considering he was still 'closeted' so to everyone other than the two of us, he was still she, K. It made the habit of saying 'A' hard to get into.

After the name decision, things changed. My friend assured me I was allowed to struggle. To him, I am the same, to me, he was changing. I know I loved him, but his whole personality changed. Everything, the way he acted toward me changed, he became attracted to men. He was moodier. Our sex, once incredible, became awkward and forced. It became more 'I do you now you do me now we're done'. Oh, not to mention the fact that I had to dirty talk to the best of my ability. You try getting turned on while licking a clit but saying it's a cock.

On more than one occasion he told me not to interfere, it was 'his thing'. (Committed relationship, not an 'us' thing? No? OK). He told me he didn't want my 'second hand trans friends'. When I eyed an ftm guy at a pub, he begged me to go and get his details. I was not allowed to speak to pub-guy again after that. He complained he knew no other ftms, but when I offered my internet to find people, or speak with my friend who was friends with heaps of ftms. He flatly refused. I urged him to go trans events that I had stumbled upon, to start a tumblr (trans central). He told me to back off and to stop controlling him.

He yelled at me for not being more supportive, but attacked me if I tried to contribute. He wouldn't talk to me, and when he did, he said I was belittling him. He'd ask for advice, then tell me not to interfere. I didn't know what to do. I gave him a disturbingly real-lookng vibrator I hated so he could cut it up and use it to pee out of. I dealt with the cock-talk in bed. Is that not supportive?

To make things worse, his new/old friend a trans girl was in his hear, trying to break us up. A would disappear off the planet for days at a time, while I tried to find him, this friend would abuse me. While they were hanging out. A said nothing. His friend was telling A I was bad for him, regularly asking him for sex or nudity (oh, of course it was just a joke....right) and generally trying to ruin our relationship.

In the past, we had had a fight because K had a crush on another girl, and told her housemate who said I 'needed to be dealt with first'. As A became more comfortable with his masculinity, his 'thing' for men grew. I was terrified he was going to leave me for a guy. He does turn into a flirty whore when he drinks.

The biggest issue, I think, the one that I couldn't get past, is the fact that I had fallen for K. K is the one who I'd had my relationship with. K is the one who took my heart, we were happily in a lesbian relationship. Yes, A is still technically K, but in reality, they are different. I was losing K. All the little things I took for granted, ogling her amazing boobs, holding her hips, her perfect legs in tiny shorts, photographing her naked, eyeliner on her eyes not her jaw, brushing her hair, teasing her for being girlie. All those things were gone. If I did any of those as A, I could expect to be abused for a few hours...or silent treatment.


It has been a couple of weeks since I wrote this last. I didn't realise how much I needed to get this out. I feel the need to point out the fact that I am by no means judging A or K. I don't want people to get the wrong impression. I am just lost, I lost my girlfriend. I gained a person who, even though technically the same person, is completely different to the person I fell for. I think if I was to meet A now, I would probably fall for him. But I was in love with K, and A came along after I'd established that adoration for K.

Recently I have been pondering our relationship. The classic 'Did we do the right thing?' and 'Have I just thrown away the best thing in my life?'. I hurt so much that I feel physically ill. I love A hard. I just love K more. I can't deal with A's secrecy and moodiness when K was so sweet and fun. I know we weren't happy, I think we had both just become so comfortable with eachother that we couldn't admit that. No couple should be arguing on a daily basis. We had become a running joke to our friends, never going out, and when we did, we fought. What makes the decision to end it so hard (apart from the fact that I hate change) is that nothing felt better than making up after a fight and snuggling to 6am in bed.

I think, to summarise, I really needed to get this out, for my sanity, but also to give my side of the story. A wrote and has said some hurtful things since we broke up, and I cannot have that out there without my view expressed too.


The other night I was at a trans event with some new friends. I was terrified of bumping into A, I even thought I did at one point. A girl there was spitting image of A/K. Same clothes, same look, same walk, same attitude. Bizarre. Anyway, I was outside heating myself on the heater making more new friends. I got talking to a girl who name I forget. It turns out that she is in a relationship with a trans guy. I explained my situation to her, and she was so kind. I told her how guilty I felt for the relationship ending, I told her about how A said I was unsupportive, I told her everything I had done throughout the relationship. She told me her story. Two completely different outcomes. Her boyfriend has been on T for 12 months. We talked for ages, then, when she saw that I was so lost and confused (and somewhat upset, what can I say, I don't get my heart back together too easily) she introduced me to her boyfriend, C. C was simply amazing. We talked about him, about A and I somewhat rambled on to him about what had happened. He reassured me that what I had been doing was good. My urging A to go to to trans events, my researching. He basically confirmed what I had felt the entire time; A's transition was not only about A and it was selfish of him to shut me out. We were in a relationship, it affects me just as much as him, thus I should be looking at things online and finding out as much as I can. A wanted it to be his transition. In reality, it needed to be our transition.

Talking to C meant so much to me. I left with a weight lifted off my shoulders. I regret not taking their details, because C and his girlfriend were two beautiful people.

I just got a text message off A saying I disrespected him. I feel as though he disrespected me by not trusting me enough to allow me to go through this with him.

Until next time.


Thursday, February 17, 2011

I'm alive!

Just busy and going through a rough patch that I can't write about online.

I will be back soon, with some witty and amusing anecdotes...hopefully.

A quick update:
Single. Mingling. New job. New friends. New hurt. New start. Old hurt. Old pain.


Saturday, January 8, 2011

Possible Side Effects.

NB: This post is personal. If you are gonna judge, kindly fuck off. Thankyou for your kindness.

I am addicted. I don't want to be. It is one of the most addictive anti-depressants around. It is one of the most loathed anti-depressants around. It is commonly known as the worst around. People in-the-know hear the name and cringe. Many people have been on it once or twice, but shun it quickly. Unfortunately, when I started taking Efexor, I was sick. Very sick. I needed all the help I could get, and it was the only medication that didn't make me violently ill.

I have been taking Efexor XR for over 6 years now. To begin with, it helped. It took the edge off my anxiety and depression. I was young, and my doctor was doing his best to help me out of a black hole.

The side effects of Efexor include nausea, dry mouth, sweating, sleepiness or insomnia, and diarrhea or constipation, weight gain and loss of libido. Most people only get one or two, if any, of these. Others, like myself, get bouts of every single one. The sweating is obsurd. If you have ever seen me out, you understand. I get anxious that I'll sweat, so I sweat. A vicious cycle. Weight gain was drastic, I was once flat stomached and boney. Insomnia is mind-blowing, but in turn becomes hypersomnia.

Once or twice, years ago, I cracked the poops with the drug and stopped taking it for a week. I thought I was going to die. I looked like a junkie withdrawing from heroin. I was vomiting, shaking so hard that it was almost convulsions, so dizzy that even thinking about standing up sent me spinning. I was saturated with sweat and struggling to string together a coherent sentence. I now know that cold turkey is not the smart way to quit, especially not when on the 150mg dose (or the 225mg as it were at one point).

Every now and then, mostly when I have had a particularly bad sweaty experience, I get angry and decide I will go to my doctor and wean off the bastard drug. Problem is, my GP lives an hour away and requires appointments three weeks in advance. I cannot afford a regular GP where I live, I'm all about the bulk billing, and coming off Efexor really needs to be a closely monitored experience.

Just three days ago I (again) had a moment of stubborness and decided that I'm over it. I realised that I am a crazy person. I am going to need to learn how to deal with that. I can't keep bandaiding my emotions for the rest of my life. It is more logical (and cheaper) to simply man-up and find ways to cope with my instability and craziness. I don't want to be popping pills until I'm old and grey. I NEED to do this, I need to figure out who I am without the Efexor buzzing around in the background. Depression and anxiety are seemingly going to be facts of my life, might as well work with them rather than try to unsuccesfully hide them away.

I have moments like these, then I have a breakdown. The reason I'm not at Uni is because I couldn't cope. I tried to write an assignment and I would find myself wrapped up in my blanket lying on my couch for days on end. I can barely muster up the energy to get out of bed, let alone do anything productive. Not working has made it much worse, I need to get into working full time, so I can occupy myself, rather than lie around all day analyzing every little detail about everything and making myself crazy. Anyway, as I said, I have moments like these, then I break down. After I had my little burst of motivation the other day, I had a fight with my woman. After a very long day of arguing, being ignored, yelling and toxic friendships not helping the anxiety, I found myself sitting in a park, with a bottle of passion pop and a stanley knife. Nothing serious, just some chicken scratches, nothing that will scar, but enough to make me stop and slap myself in the face and say 'what the fuck are you doing?'. Firstly, I never drink to drown my sorrows, I talk about doing it all the time, but actually following through rarely happens. Secondly, except for one slip up recently, I haven't done that to myself in so long.

The other night begs me to ask the question, am I ready to stop pill-popping, or should I keep bandaiding my mind for the rest of my life? I know dealing with this will take work, and deep down I think I am capable. Is it worth risking a handful of rotten days to potentially create a more fulfilling emotional state? My concern is that if I am still this bad ON drugs, what lies beneath? How bad could this get if I stop? I guess the only way to tell is to try. Surround myself with supportive, positive people. Find a worthwhile, time consuming job. Look into actual counselling, rather than just thinking about it.

I'll be okay.

Don't you know that you're toxic?

I have just experienced a falling out with a person who, for a long while, I considered to be my best friend. I have mentioned her before. She is the one who broke my heart by leaving me for another woman. Not that we were ever together as such...but you get the point. We have never really got past that. We tried, but things have never been the same since she disappeared into her new relationship.

Just recently her partner broke her heart. I shall not delve into detail as it is not my place, and frankly, I don't give a shit about the situation. My sole involvement was to be an ear for my heartbroken friend (Let's call her A). The point of me bringing this up is to give a slight introduction to this mornings rant.

The girl who broke her heart (we'll call her B) is the one who A left me for. The same one who was snide, rude, smug and sometimes vicious towards me when I was nursing my heart. Most people who know B, think she is the bees knees. They adore her. This is because she is a fabulous actor and grade-A kissarse. I have experienced the cruelty and dishonesty lurking beneath, I have witnessed the power-tripping callousnes and am starting to understand when other 'in-the-know' people speak of her being a compulsive liar.

B has been lying to A about her actions and other peoples actions. She has left her relationship shattered and, I guess her vengefulness is coming out here, it seems as though she doesn't like the idea of me and A being close while A is vulnerable (never mind my being in a relationship). Thinking about it, maybe B is the reason why A and myself were never the same... So, to cover her own trail of lies, B told A that basically I had been sticking my nose in their business and concocting stories to a third party. In reality, I was an innocent bystander who still barely knows the full story.

A now doesn't trust me, cannot believe B is that shit of a person (rose coloured glasses anyone?) and, due to her notorious craziness, won't listen to reason. This upsets me immensly. First, I fucking HATE people telling lies about me. If I fuck up, and I get pulled up on it, yes, it stinks, but it's called for. If people lie about me to cater to their own agenda, and make me look bad. I see red. I become a savage, scathing, cruel person. I think of nothing other than how to give this lying sonofabitch their comeuppance. Nothing infuriates me more than blatant dishonestly like that. The legal term for these lies is 'slander'. I'll leave it at that.

Anyway, this is not meant to be a blog about my anger with B (although there is plenty of it). No, it is to examine my relationship with A. As I said, I am upset that B had to interfere in my life in such a way, leaving A thinking so low of me. But, I have been pondering this for hours on end, as only a real crazy-person would, breaking down every aspect of everything, and maybe this is a good thing. It's a shame that we are on such strained terms, but in reality, looking at our relationship, A could be considered to be a toxic friend.

*cue dramatic narrative delay*

*cue fuzzy flashback to the way things were*

Once upon a time, when our friendship was in it's prime, so to speak, things were dandy. As all friends do, we had our quirks, our tiffs, but in general we got along famously. As I have said, A is notorious for her craziness. She is a nutter. Simple as that. Anybody who knows her would agree with me wholeheartedly. Which is possibly why I have been overlooking any toxicity in the relationship for so long.

Simple things, such as seducing me at night, then in the morning announcing her crush on B. Going from divulging everything to suddenly 'oh, I didn't think you would be interested'. Calling me to look after her after an incident with some sleeping pills, me driving for two hours, only to be made to feel like I am intruding. Things that are, I guess, understandable, like insensitivity to my feelings when beginning the relationship with B. A made me feel like a terrible person for not being able to show proper enthusiasm at their instant loving, for not being able to be the third wheel to their outings. Small words, that I doubt she even knows cut deeper than any knife. On a 45 degree day she says "I don't think your medication is what makes you sweaty, I think you'd just be a sweaty person". Out of the blue. It hurt, as she knows I am overly self-conscious about my sweat, and it is a proven side effect of my medication (and hey, she didn't know me before I was on it), so why she felt the need to mention it is beyond me.

Since her relationship with B began, A stopped being available for anything other than B. They merged almost instantly. When I tried to extend an invitation to spend time together, she was rarely interested. This is all understandable, it happens in new relationships. What is not understandable is the guilt being forced onto me for not putting in enough effort. I hurt when during a bout of illness, she shied away from a hug from me and told (yelled at) me to stop judging her when I suggested she should take a rest, but went and snuggled into someone else a second later.

Always playing the devils advocate, I have often said sometimes a person simply needs someone to nod and agree, for humours sake, just to feel better. A never gives me that satisfaction. She is always siding with the other person or coming up with ridiculous reasons for a situation, just so she can argue with me, when almost in tears, it is clear that a smile and nod is all I need. She has been mad at me for the most obscure things, yet I feel guilty for feeling the same thing over her actions. She once left me hanging in another suburb, waiting for her to arrive for 3 hours, until B finally informed me that she was ill. No message. No phonecall. Nothing. Yet I am made to feel guilty for...shit, I don't even know.

I would like to go into detail about the other night, it is a perfect example, making me feel guilty for simple human emotions. Mocking me about our short-lived fling in one breath, then explaining that she can't stay at my house for comfort as she 'might not have the strength to keep my hands off your parts'. Confusing? Mind boggling? Judging me and guilting me and being rude. As someone also pointed out to me, she really only comes to me when B is unavailable anyway...thus me being her fallback, but as soon as B is there, I'm gone, again.

Basically, as these are only some examples, and even though I know these are only parts of the story, she is actually a good person for the most part, I am starting to realise that being so close to her hurts me. Alot.

I don't want to have to do this, but I think I am going to leave her not talking to me. I am currently not seeing the point in fighting for something when I am sure to be ditched as soon as someone better comes along anyway. It's not good for me and my state of mind to be letting little things hurt me so frequently.

I hate that the above portrays her in a bad light, but as I have said, I don't think she even realises she is doing it. She is just a little crazy, and possibly just doesn't know how to deal with me or our past or something. I do love her, I just think it might be healthier for me to leave the relationship as it is, and keep it business-like in future situations.