Shapeshift

 It was six weeks after my last breakup that I realised something. I realised exactly what I had been looking for all along - and it wasn't exactly what I had realised. I know for a fact that I like to look after people - as a woman, and especially as a woman who has experienced trauma in their life, it comes naturally for me to look after people around me, especially people that I care about. And even sometimes people that I don't even really care about that much, or know very well - I suppose that's empathy. But regardless of having this naturally nurturing quality about myself, I don't really want to be looking after a fully grown man.
I spend my entire working day looking after fully grown men. I tell them where to go, what to do, what to wear. I drive them to site if they can't get themselves there, I listen to them and support them through their own private battles even. But - I don't really want that in my private life. Not anymore. I don't want to take care of a fully grown man in a relationship. I want to get to be the one to get looked after. Of course, I'll be a pilar of support for them, I'll care about them, I'll cook and clean and do all the things - but only if it's reciprocated. I don't want to chase, I don't want to beg, I don't want to try and convince somebody that I am enough, I don't want to have to try and do more and more for them to try and get them to stay. I don't want to have to tell them how to look after me, or be the one to be initiating everything all the time.
I just want to have somebody else take the lead for once, please. 
I've come to realise how unattractive it is to me, a man that is not a man. By that, I don't mean not manly, per say - I just mean secure, stable, consistent, steady, supportive and generally interested. I just mean present. Mature. Knows what they want. I don't want to play games, I don't want somebody confused about what they want, I don't want somebody confusing me.
I don't want a situationship that turns into some kind of confusing relationship that tests my patience and my trust and my instincts for years, just to turn into a giant mess.

Basement

Draft from 02/07/25

There’s always been a secret in the basement. Dirty, ugly, unseen, slithering beneath our bed, hiding. Always hiding.

To wake up every day next to someone you love, someone you want to share your life with, your failures and your wins, make your own family with, support forever… when that person tells you that they have had a secret life behind your back, whether that be sexual or an addiction or whatever - it’s like your entire world is blown up and everything you thought you knew is no longer.

And then you forgive that person and choose to move on. And then you get worried sometimes and you ask them if it’s happening again and they say “of course it’s not! How could you think that!?!” and then you start to think something is wrong with YOU because YOU must be crazy, of course they’re not doing it, they learned their lesson they wouldn’t do it again!

And then eventually you find out that they were lying and you can’t trust your intuition anymore. You can’t trust yourself OR them. What do you even have left?

They promise that they can change and they ask for one last chance. Alright. You give them that chance, and an entire year passes and so much love and memories and happiness and you almost completely trust them again and you’re so happy you went against your better judgement and you gave them this chance! 

But alas - this time they even went a few steps further, and the world that you rebuilt brick by brick has now collapsed, and it’s crushing you, it’s crushing your ribs and your spine and your legs and you can’t run and you can’t breathe you’re just broken and crying and they just shrug and say “leave me then.”

And you want to want to. But you don’t want to. You don’t. You love them and you’ve build so much over the years but they are promising different things this time and they are committing to things they never have before. They are taking it more seriously, but what if - what if this is just another thing to look back on in a years time and regret falling for? What if this is just another nail in the coffin of the inevitable disappointment?

It hurt like hell to rebuild that world together, those bricks were heavy, and now they’re on top of you and you don’t have the energy to get up. It’s just not that easy this time. Too much has happened.

And he’s standing there, begging you to help him rebuild. “I can’t do it myself!” He barks. But you’re bleeding. And you’re hurt. And sometimes you get angry when you’re hurt because you just don’t know where this energy to rebuild is supposed to come from this time. You found it last time, and the time before, and the time before that, but this time is harder. Where is it?!?!? You can’t find it so easy this time. But he is sensitive, and he’s hurting that you’re not helping him, and you’re hurting that he’s not helping you. Stale mate.

You need more help this time. And the only person that can help you is him. Because why should you believe it’s different this time? There have been so many times. There have been SO many times.

You need him to come over to you, even if you are angry, and hold your face in his hands and let you know that everything really is going to be okay this time. You need him to help stitch and dress your wounds, even if you squirm and kick and resist. You need him to stay calm and strong and stoic - a man who knows what he has done, takes responsibility for it and knows how to fix it. But he doesn’t.

You need to know that the secret life he has had, the secret version of himself he has kept hidden, is not hidden anymore. You need to know that he has integrity. You need to know that he respects you enough to be honest even about the hard things. Even about the things that will hurt. But he doesn’t.

At the very least, you need to be able to be worried sometimes, and ask questions, and ask for reassurance, and be afraid it’s all happening again and be supported in your fears. Maybe you’re even mean sometimes but it comes from a place of fear, and have him know it. Have him hold you and tell you that your fears are valid, but they’re not true. It’s not happening. It won’t happen again. But he doesn’t.

You want it to work because you see this man - he’s almost 28 now but he was only 23 when you met - and he’s grown so much as person. He knows how to do silly fun better than the rest. He’s made you feel sexy in your mid-30s even though you have gained weight and don’t feel it at all. He’s embraced your family. He would do anything for your niece. He has an awesome family himself. He’s from a beautiful part of the world but chooses YOUR beautiful part of the world. You want it to work because you truly love him, and know you could love him at 50, at 60, at 80. You know you could still love him then. 

Could he still love you? Maybe. 

But could he love you the way you need him to? Could he make you feel seen, and appreciated, and cared for, and loved, and understood? Could you decide together rebuild your world, brick by brick all over again, and have it stand the test of time?

Could you feel like it’s the two of you against the world, or will there always be something beneath the surface, waiting to be uncovered? Will there always be a secret in the basement? Hiding. Always hiding. 

August, and Everything After

 I can tell you one thing for free. Never in a million years, did I imagine that I would be two weeks out from my 35th birthday, single, childless, never married, don't own any property.
Never in a million years, did I imagine that I would spend four years with somebody who apparently I never really knew at all. Never in a million years, did I think that I would invite somebody into my life, my family, my world - defend them viciously to anybody who could see the red flags that I was avoiding, make excuses for them to those that just didn't understand him, encourage him to grow, forgive him for his mistakes and short-comings, give chance after chance, again and again, knowing full well that he would do it again. And he did. But the biggest lie of all - the real cherry-on-top of the whole ugly saga, is that he lied to me about who he was.
Because this person, this man, that I was with for four years - he is gone. I don't recognise this person any more. The way he has treated me in the end truly is a force to be reckoned with, in the sense that I have never seen anybody single-handedly bring down their entire life and then turn around and try and blame it on me.
Despite all his downfalls, I still stood by this man - and that's the real lesson here. Why did I feel like I needed to stay? After the first lie? The second? The twelfth? Why did I continue to cling onto this man, hoping for the best, believing him when he said he would do better, encourage him to get the help he needed, praise him for every new win. That's my lesson to learn. What is it within me that doesn't feel good enough, that I had to settle for the absolute bare minimum?

Why did we fight over meaningless things like who was taking out the rubbish and who was cooking dinner? I know the answer to that now. He was constantly in a state of anxiety, wondering when the next argument would come, and for some reason I just couldn't put my finger on why I felt the need to argue with him. Why did it matter who cooked? Why did it matter when we took out the rubbish? I know why, now. Because I never trusted him. Because every time he would forget, or refuse, or spin something - I knew. I knew that he wasn't actually going to change, that no change that ever came from this man would be anything other than temporary. The fights were just my inner-dialogue coming out, screaming to be heard. "You deserve better than this! He can't make you happy! He may love you, but he can't love you in the way that you need him to! Leave him!"
But I ignored the voice, not only because I truly loved him - because I did - but also because for some reason, I didn't want to start over again. I wanted to twist, and bend, and break - hang on tooth-and-nail to the very end, to prove to myself... what exactly? That I was worthy of a future that I wanted and I was going to make it happen with this man. Even if it killed me, I was going to force the future that I wanted with this man. I know logically that this is unhealthy - I know that this isn't sustainable. And it wasn't, obviously.

I told him once, that throughout all the lies and betrayal we had experienced in our time together, it started to feel impossible to fix. And I think he knew it too. I told him that the first time he lied, it was like he came to me with a broken plate and asked me if I thought we could fix it. I said "Sure! We can fix it! Just a little glue and it'll be good as new!" But then a few months later, he came back to me with that same plate again, and it was broken again. We glued it back together again and kept using the plate. Until one day, finally, he came to me with shards and dust and I just didn't even know where to begin. How do you turn shards and dust back into a usable plate again? He believes he had figured it out by then - how to be honest, how to stop being afraid of his truth - but I was still cutting my fingers on the pieces that I was trying to put back together. And he never really helped me. He belittled me, he judged me, he got frustrated with me that I didn't know how to repair it. He would say, "Well, I'm doing the work now! You should just be able to forgive me and move on! Let's just fix this for real this time and it'll all be better!" But how was I to know that it was real this time? After years of hard times, lies and betrayals, how was I to know that truly letting go of the pain and the anguish and the resentment was going to get me anything other than what it had been getting me year after year. 

I don't know how to be alone. I've never been alone. I've gone from relationship to relationship for my entire adult life. The longest single period that I've ever had was only about two years. And even then, I was looking for validation in every attractive-enough man that I came across. Why can't I just validate myself? I'm more than happy to spend days alone - sleep in as long as I want, go for a walk, get breakfast, take myself to the nursery, have a nap in the afternoon - I love those days. But I only seem to love them when I know that there is somebody out there that loves me, that is my person.
And now I'm 35, that clock is ridiculously loud, and it's ticking in my ear and I can't even take all that much time to be alone. I don't really want to, either. I want to find my person, I like sharing my life with somebody. It feels like it's just how I'm built. But I don't know if that is okay - I am not sure if I seek out partnership for the right reasons.

I know that I haven't been perfect. I self-sabotaged the relationship a lot in the end, relying on unhealthy coping mechanisms to self-medicate and see myself through, to not have to FEEL the things that I didn't want to feel. To give myself the liquid courage that I felt I needed to speak my truth. And ultimately, that was the downfall of the entire thing. I just could not let it go, and I think I knew in my heart of hearts that he simply wasn't ever going to be the man I needed him to be, so what do you do when you feel like that? You self-medicate, you avoid, you keep on keeping on. 

And now I'm 34, and overnight, I have been left in the wreckage of the life we built together, barely hanging on by a thread emotionally and financially, and this man has just moved on with his life. 
The real tragedy here is the years that I will never get back by choosing to trust somebody who showed me time and time again exactly who he was and allowing myself to stay in that situation. Even in the end, he showed me exactly who he was - just a selfish, self-absorbed person who didn't have the decency to show any support at the demise of our relationship. Someone who still refuses to take accountability for the madness, for the financial, for the sake of our four years together. For the sake of his ability to look at himself in the mirror. For the sake of anything at all. 

I say that the biggest lie of all is that he lied to me about who he was. But he didn't, really. He was a figment of my imagination, and he had been telling me so all this time. I just wasn't listening.

A Trite or Obvious Remark

 I'm on draft one of my first novel.

I was about to write "never in a million years did I think I would be saying that". But it's really not true.

The correct sentence is "never in a million years did I think it would take me this long to get my shit together and write it."

It's not my first attempt. I wrote around 35,000 words of something many years ago in NaNoWriMo. If you know anything at all about NaNoWriMo then you will know that I completely failed, because the point of it, being short for National Novel Writing Month, is that you complete a novel in the month. 50,000 words. You hear me earlier? I wrote 35,000 words. Fail. 
But that was my first attempt.

NaNoWriMo sadly doesn't exist anymore. Did I let that stop me? Yes. 

Well. Honestly yes, but no. I did in fact start my novel in November of 2024, and here we are in September of 2025 and I am currently at... *checks notes*... 62,897 words. That was from scratch. Why am I bragging? It took me almost a year to get to 50,000 words outside of NaNoWriMo. The point I'm trying to make is I wrote a different story than those 35k from years ago. That was probably back in 2017 or something. God knows what I was on about back then.

But the truth is that I am about to turn 35 years old, and as somebody who has been "a writer" since they were a kid, I am definitely not amused by the fact that I have only now somehow found the strength and the energy and the motivation to actually fucking do it. When I sit down and think about it, I mean really think about it, I suppose all of my ramblings and thoughts that I have put down on some kind of metaphorical or literal paper in the last 35 years has been me working toward this. But not in the sense that I wish. This story that I'm working on, it's so deeply ingrained in me, so utterly, beautifully flowed out of me, that I wish I had started it years ago. I wish that I had the courage to start it years ago. Although I barely have the courage to continue with it now, to be fair.

It hasn't been easy. Some days it flies out of me like last night's curry (Christ, what a horrible image) but some days it is like trying to draw blood from a stone. But the story, oh my fucking god the story, it is so, so important for me to tell.

Well, here we are, I guess. Over 80% of my way to my word count goal to try and write the story that I have always wanted written, but this time, I'm the one at the keyboard. Wish me luck, I guess.

Vinyl Sticker #2

Here's something that I wrote on Wednesday, May 19th 2010. I was 19 years old. Now, 15 years later, I am 34 years old. Let's see what's changed, shall we? My 2025 responses will be in red.

Wednesday, May 19, 2010

Vinyl Sticker

I raised a question recently asking "Do you know who you are?"

I know who I am. But explaining it is something that everybody struggles with. You can write out aspects of yourself or your views, opinions, hopes, dreams etc. but does that really EXPLAIN who you are?
Not really.

But as far as I can describe, this is me.

I’m only nineteen but I often feel much older. I don’t like it when people put me down because of my age – I’ve been through a lot in my nineteen years and don’t appreciate people who can’t or won’t see that. I'm 34 now and I feel for this girl. She had been through a lot, but she had a lot more to come. She thought that having lost her Mum at 13 years old would be the worst thing that had ever happened to her and that she was bulletproof from here on out. How very wrong she was. 

I feel lucky to run out of fingers when I count all the people that I love. Still agree. My circle is small, it was always small, and maybe it's not the same circle, but the people are still fantastic and I'm happy with that.

I think that everybody really does know who they are and people who say they don’t are simply in denial. I’m the only person I know who actually knows and admits this. People are always taught to accept people for who they are; learn to accept yourself for who you are, too. I still agree with this, however I think that people need to change as they grow older, too.

At any given time, if I could be anywhere in the world, it would be drinking beer in the sun somewhere. I really am that easily amused. Still live for this part of summer.

I cry in war movies. A lot. I don't watch war movies anymore.

I always manage to stretch my pay right out to an empty bank account by pay day. I have got much better with this, thankfully.

Anzac Day and Australia Day make me happier than Christmas. I think that the allure for this was the tradition of getting together at Narrabeen RSL which has since closed down. Not sure I feel the same way anymore since then.

I often wish I lived in the country. I think I’d like it better there. I still wonder about this.

I don’t mind being independent but it’s nice to be able to depend on somebody every now and then. I've basically been very rarely single since I was 19.

I’ve never tried to quit smoking, and I’m not sure I want to either. I quit smoking in 2023. I do vape though.

Men don’t look like they used to anymore. They all look like they’re straight out of Kings of Leon or something. 19 year old me was NOT ready for concrete cowboys.

I have a strong hate for the expression “Murphy’s Law!” It makes me cringe. Oh god, I say this now.

I like smoking weed, but I’ve seen how it changes people so I never push my own limits. I have a prescription and I have some every now and then. Still never too much.

The smell of bushfires makes me smile. For such a terrible natural disaster, it somehow reminds me that everything is okay. I'm an RFS volunteer firefighter since 2017.

I didn’t like high school and have no regrets for leaving at sixteen. I think it was the best thing I ever did. I don't really have an opinion on this anymore, to be honest.

My favourite people in the world are people I have only met once. I really don't know what I was romanticising here.

I trust everyone unless they give me a reason not to. Still true.

I don’t know what I’m going to do when my Dad dies one day. I live in fear that it will happen before we’re ready. My Dad just turned 68 last week, and we go for coffee and breakfast every couple of weeks.

I stopped eating meat when I was sixteen but couldn’t bring myself to give up seafood. I eat all food now. Even steak, although I don't really like it. If it wasn't for my boyfriend loving it, I would happily live without it.

Sometimes I wish I was alongside Sal Paradise in “On The Road”. Travelling around America in the 50’s and eating apple pie. Still sounds pretty ideal.

I sometimes secretly think that people walk all over me because I’m too understanding. I can’t help it if I really do understand and accept other’s decisions. Have been burned in relation to this still all these years later.

I live for Mexican food. Anybody who knows me today knows that this is a fact.

I cry sometimes, but I’m strong. Just tell it to me straight. Yep.

Sometimes I wish I was a gardener. I think it would be nice to work outside with plants. Ha! I've been working for a tree services company since I was 20, and now I am studying to be an Arborist and spend 50% of my work hours driving around looking at trees. I also have 30+ houseplants and many propagations and seeds / corms growing. How funny.

Nothing irritates me more than when people speak to me in broken-English. I’m not trying to be racist, but I just really can’t stand it. I've grown up a bit here, but I understand what I was getting at.

I’m the ‘go-to’ person in my social and work life. Whenever somebody has a problem, they tend to come to me for help or advice. And I don’t mind one bit. Still true, in my work life at least. It's exhausting but it's an honour. It has burned me out before though.

I think I could very easily be an alcoholic. It worries me sometimes, but not as much as not being able to drink. I've had a problem with alcohol on and off for about ten years. Maybe longer, apparently, based on this comment.

I read the news every morning and regret it straight after. Sometimes it’s best not to know. Definitely don't read the news every day anymore. But due to the absolute explosion of social media, you tend to find out the news against your wishes anyway.

Anxiety gets the better of me sometimes. I’m scared of everything. I have learned to control my anxiety pretty well in the last few years since being diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder. It was an eye-opener as to what was causing my anxiety and then therefore much easier to manage. Plus, medication of course.

I love pasta but hate spaghetti. I’m not sure why. Still not a fan of spaghetti.

I would put avocado on everything if I could. Still addicted to avocado.

I think I like the idea of writing more than I actually like it. Around about 60k words into my first novel. I still like the idea of it more than I like it, though.

I’d rather keep my mouth shut than argue with somebody. Sometimes the extra stress is just not really worth it. Definitely not true when it comes to romantic relationships. But everything else, pretty much can't be bothered.

I don’t think that ANYBODY deserves to die. Unsure.

I don’t really like NRL very much, but I pretend to because it’s fun to watch. Still true.

And finally, I’m very well aware that I am a hypocrite, but so are you. Probably!

Beneath the Permafrost

I'm trying to find a way to express this without having to say the actual words, but I've come to realise that the actual words are important. The actual words are the only way that I can get this across - to myself - without confusing myself even further.
I've posted on this blog for half my life now. Just for me. The only reason it's public is in case anybody finds it one day and assimilates to anything I'm saying. But it's mostly for me. I know who I am, and why I do it, and that's all that matters to me.

But the fact of the matter is, I've never been this hurt before. I wish that I could find some artistic or beautiful, romantacised way to explain it, but there's no better way to get this across to myself, as I said earlier, other than I am just really hurt. It doesn't matter how many ways I twist it, how many ways I can remind myself that I understand why this has happened, and it doesn't matter that I can relate to it in some way, and it doesn't matter that I have sympathies towards the whys and hows. The bottom line is that I have been hurt. The bottom line is that I dug inside myself time and time again to offer forgiveness and fight the repeatitive, relentless doubt that crawled through every corner of my mind. I chose to believe this time would be different. I chose to try, time and time again, to allow him to change, and he never did. We sobbed together and wished things would be different, but patterns kept repeating. Secrets kept from me. Actions hidden. Addictions or compulsions shrouded in shame. And the gaslighting - oh, god, the gaslighting. Once everything is back out in the open again, going to sleep next to that person for the first time and realising that you have done this hundreds of times before, not knowing that they were living a secret life behind your back? It kills me every time.
And now, something new is happening to me. I'm not sure who I can trust anymore. The thought that somebody I am so close to can continue to lie to me and get away with it - how much of a fairytale am I really living, in other areas of my life? Do my family not really like spending time with me? What about friends? Collegues? What if I am just really, truly that horribly naieve. What if everyone I know is taking me for a fucking ride. How could I possibly know?
It feels like a horrible, unwelcome paranoia that penetrates my brain and I am so tired of it. I have always been a relatively confident person - I have my insecurities like anybody else - but I have never really questioned my friends or family's love for me, or whether or not they want to spend time with me, or anything like that at all. But suddenly, all these thoughts are clouding my brain. And I am not stupid - I know that it is irrational, I know that I am experiencing this because of something else that has been happening to me, but I can't deny that it doesn't effect me. I am tired of it, and I just want to be able to trust the person that I am supposed to be able to rely on more than anything.

I used to describe it like this; he came to me one day with a plate he broke, and I said, it's okay, we can fix it. We glued it back together. There were still a couple of cracks where the glue held it, but it was together again, maybe even stronger than before. A few months later, he came back to me again and the same plate was broken. We repaired it for a second time, a little harder to achieve as we had those original cracks to repair again but we did it. And as time has passed, he's now come to me for the fifth time and this plate is basically just a pile of shards and dust and I honestly just don't even know where to begin.

I know where the door is, and maybe I really am just fucking stupid. Maybe I should have ended it three years ago, two years ago, yesterday. Tomorrow. Next week. But I don't. Why? Because, sadly, I am just as broken, just as emotionally unreliable. Just in a different way.
But hey. Maybe this time it'll be different. No?

Words of an undetermined nature

I don't know how I feel today, or this week, or this month - or at all, really. I know what I want - I think I do, at least - but I'm not sure that this is it. For the first time in a long time - perhaps in forever - I feel like I have the strength and the understanding within myself to know what I want. It's not a fairytale and it's not unachiveable. It's not some crazy, out-there fantasy of desire, either. It's pretty simple, and it's fairly normal, at least in my eyes. But I'm not sure that this is it. I don't think that it's too much to ask for - it can't be, can it? I wanted to come on here tonight, and get alot of stuff out. I wanted to write about it, and let my true thoughts and wishes come out through my words. I wanted to spew it out, sit back and sigh, relieved.
But I'm just too tired.

Even in Arcadia you walk beside me still

I've been thinking alot about anonymous bands and why this is and isn't a great idea. I imagine that the absolute freedom that would come with wearing a mask or costume on stage would be completely freeing. Especially if nobody knows your identity. Do they love it? Great. Do they hate it? Oh well, it's not personal.
On this surface level, it seems brilliant, doesn't it? You can still live a normal life in one respect and have your potentially high-profile life be seperate because nobody knows that you are them.
As I said, on a surface level, that seems brilliant. But, if we get a little deeper, what about the rest of the story? What about when you start to become more well-known, and you still can't take the mask off and show the crowd who you really are. What about the part when everyone is relating to you in this parasocial relationship, and loving you, and buying all your shit, and they can't even see your face. Do you owe them anything? Of course not. But I'd imagine it would keep a sane person up at night with guilt from time to time.
Or maybe it doesn't make you guilty but maybe it makes you wonder if they would even still love you if you did take off the mask. Or maybe you're completely overwhelmed with the idea of the mask and you want to show everyone who you are - but how will you dance? How will you cry in front of thousands of people? How will you sing, when everyone can truly see you? How can you even explain that it's impossible to be your absolute complete self when they can truly see you? How can you explain that you need the mask to feel safe but the mask has now become what people think of when they think of you.
Maybe you're just sick of hiding, sick of not being able to go where you want and do what you want in fear of being found out. Or perhaps you just live in quiet fear of the day that it all breaks apart.
Maybe you have been studying music and trying for years and years to break into the music scene, and finally, here you are, and it's as if you have tape on your mouth now. Maybe you feel like you have created your own hell because you want to be free but then everything will be different.
I can't imagine what it must be like as you get more popular, and win awards and bigger venues and not be able to thank people with your voice.

I can only speculate, and I know many bands have done this in my time, some have come out and some still haven't and some never did and are long gone now. One thing I can certainly relate to though, is to dig deep into your soul and find your deepest and darkest demons, and turn that into music that some people will turn their nose up at, and passionately perform that at an arena or stadium or festival... I would want to be wearing a mask, too.

Chokehold

I haven't written in a month. Again. I am just using this as an exercise to free-write before I get back into my novel. It's been almost a month since I last contributed to it. I'm 63% of the way to my word-count goal. The only reason that I have a wordcount goal is that I know that I will end up under-writing it if I don't give myself a limit to reach for. I already know that I have so many plot holes and so many unexplained parts that need to be sorted out, and knowing me, I would probably just end up giving up if I didn't have some sort of end goal to reach. If the end goal is too open, too flexible, I won't get there. I just know myself. At 34, I have luckily learned from my quirks and short-comings - I don't expect to be able to change these things after all this time, however I can definately ride the wave by recognising my own signs. I feel like I was never really very good at that when I was younger. I used to just sort of go "oh, well, it is what it is, I am what I am, that's how it goes". I knew then that I knew myself and I couldn't change very easily - but once I got older I did start to realise that you can always recognise your own patterns and stop it in it's tracks. Life has been... busy. Full time work including a promotion, study, class, assignments, writing my novel and a new full-blown hobby of caring for and propogating houseplants. Imposter syndrome is pretty real for me at the moment, as far as work goes, but I've been trying my best to ignore it. I feel like I really don't even know what I'm doing but I am certainly trying. That's what matters, right? I like to believe so. I've had a circumstance of some people trying to tear me down, and that was quite a difficult thing to deal with for a while there. I just don't understand some people's thought pattern sometimes. I just want to make a good life for myself and my partner. Isn't that what we all want, ultimately? I am genuinely quite happy with my life at the moment. There are some pretty major things bubbling beneath the surface that is coming up regularly, but they are being worked on. I am trying to be understanding and forgiving, but I really am sick of riding the rollercoaster of deciet and lies. I know that the lies don't come from a place of malice, but it's bloody hard to fight your brain when it knows better, but wishes it didn't. I hope that this time round, something really will change.

If You Keep Losing Sleep

I want to talk about individualism and change in humans. However, I want to start with mentioning an interview discussion between one of my favourite artists and another incredibly talented artist talking about the future of music. The future of music is something that I can't say I have given alot of thought to - I have always kind of lived in the past with music, in the way that I see it progress and change, but I don't really have much of a history of going along with it. It's a shame really, I do wish that I was more progressive with my musical tastes and interests, but I do find it difficult to sway too far from the "genres" of music that I grew up with and resonate with most.
In the conversation between these two artists, they discussed the "old days", so to speak, of when if you had a particular interest in a band, the way people would know about it would basically be only if you spoke to them about it, or if they came to your house and saw the posters on your wall. These days, if you like a band or an artist or a group of any kind, then it kind of becomes your personality, and you can delare that to the world if you so please, via social media. Social media has allowed us to be individuals in a way that nothing ever has before - all the algorithms that are created from what we watch and click, and suddenly we have this app on our phones that is feeding us advertisements and content that we are, as an individual, interested in. If you handed your phone to somebody else, and they scrolled through your Shorts, it would not be as captivating to them as it is for you, because it was created for you and by you.
Only 20 years ago, we all sat around in the living room and we all watched one screen, and we were all encouraged to be individuals back then too, but we were also forced to just watch one screen. We all either had to take turns to choose what the whole family had to watch, or we just simply didn't get a choice because Dad had the remote - or whatever it was in your family dynamic. Computers too - if you were lucky enough to have a computer in 2004, it was a family desktop computer and everyone in the house shared it. Suddenly, and I mean suddenly because 20 years really isn't a very long time in the grand scheme of things, we all started having our own screens. And I remember writing a post on here back in maybe... I want to say it was 2009 or 2010, and I was sitting in my room and I had my desktop computer, a small TV and DVD player, and my flip phone. And I remember thinking that I was just truly so, so bored. I was bored because I had such a number of options to choose from - did I want to call a friend? Watch a movie? Go on Twitter? Tumblr? MySpace? MSN Messenger? Chatrooms? - so many options, leading me into some kind of decision overload that I ended up just feeling completely bored. The concept of that really got to me back then. Imagine it now. We don't really get bored anymore, we just get numb.
Moving on to individualism in the relm of music, my favourite band of all time is an Australian band called Silverchair. I love Silverchair for many reasons, but one of the main reasons is because Silverchair is absolutely not your regular band that allowed themselves to be pigeon-holed into a specific genre or style. Silverchair released five studio albums between 1995 - 2007 and every single one of their albums is different. I would like to believe that other bands have done this too, but none that I can actually think of - not to this degree anyway. Not as progressively as Silverchair. Maybe the 1975 however they never really pigeon-holed themselves in the first place.
Silverchair were 17 years old when they released their first album, Frogstomp (1995), and they were well into adulthood by the time Young Modern (2007) came out. They matured and grew up over that time, and their music changed with them. The fact that they allowed their music to grow and change as they grew and changed as individuals and as a band is truly inspirational.
Their first album, Frogstomp (1995), was a grunge-Nirvana-inspired-alternative-metal kind of masterpeice really. Everyone in Australia at least has definately heard "Tomorrow" but I do encourage you to listen to "Israel's Son" or "Pure Massacre". Their second album, Freak Show (1997) they started to become a little more refined however still had that grunge or perhaps post-grunge style to their music as they reached adulthood. By the time Neon Ballroom (1999) came out, we had some much more artsy and emotion-filled songs from Daniel Johns as he publicly struggled with his mental health. This album is (quietly) my favourite of theirs. Daniel Johns' lyrics by 1999 were incredibly heart-breaking and devestating - see "Do You Feel the Same?" - "Would I be read, if I was see-through, or would you just read my spine?"
Diorama (2002) came out three years after the previous album, breaking their habit of bringing out an album every two years. This album was really their first step into a more pop-inspired style to their sound, but still with a grittiness to their lyrics - see "The Greatest View" - "You're the analyst, the fungus in my milk, when you want no one, and you got someone. Through the wind you crawl, and laugh and burning dunes."
By the time Young Modern (2007) finally came out, five long years after Diorama (2002), their sound had entirely shifted. Their music by this time really was more about catchy hooks and very polished, and a very far cry from the three boys from Newcastle that brought out their first grunge album in the mid-90's. But you know what? That's perfectly fine. They changed as they grew, they changed with the times, and they somehow - somehow! - remained relevent when so many bands that they toured alongside back then are simply considered one-hit-wonders.
Interesting that this rant of mine started talking about a conversation between Matty Healy and Josh Citarella and turned into some kind of argument with myself about how fantastic and relevent Silverchair still are today even though they went on an indefinate hiatus in 2011.

Anyhow. I hope that the younger generation today start to take some of the individualism that their apps are spewing at them, and see it change over the years, and realise that it is OK to change and grow as a human. And I hope that they learn to be curious about other peoples interests and not just their own FYP because although we are all encouraged to be our own person, sometimes we are not always right. Sometimes it's okay to learn from others. Sometimes it's okay to still allow somebody else to choose the channel and watch it together as a family or a couple or a bunch of friends, because connection is dying due to the birth of something that is actually built on connection - social media.
And above all else - stop pigeon-holing yourself. Who you were when you were 17 won't be who you are when you're 27 - I promise. See: Silverchair. And me.

Heart Out

He was a spilt bottle of red wine,
broken guitar strings,
the end of a joint,
the sun hiding behind the clouds.
He was the unravelling of a wool jumper,
torn and yellowing pages of your favourite book,
a dulled tip of a knife,
a crack in the limb of a Eucalyptus.
He was chipped nail polish,
he was knotted hair,
he was a ruptured spleen.
He was a beautiful, profound, chaotic mess.
And now he's dust, lingering gently and settling in the distance, unseen,
forever.

Looking for Somebody (To Love)

I am feeling a little blocked. I haven't written in about three weeks - I was really on a roll there for a bit. Sometimes, I wonder when I find myself blocked whether I am actually blocked-blocked or whether my subconcious just doesn't want me to delve back into that world again. It's probably a bit of both. The intense period of writing that I did - 25k words in 3 weeks - really did send me into a bit of an episode of resurfaced grief that I didn't see coming. I know that I need to go back to that world soon, though. I owe it to myself to continue with the story and finish my draft. Sometimes I have dreams that are so vivid, I can't tell what was real and what wasn't. I recently had a dream that was so vivid but also so fuzzy at the same time. I didn't remember the exact words exchanged between myself and this person, however I knew the feeling that I had. The feeling that I had was worse than anything that probably could have been said. If this particular dream was reality, then there was a very good chance that I was going to lose my relationship, dignity, alot of people's respect... I was really quite truly afraid that something had happened. And the more that I thought about it, the more that I was kind of able to "make up" scenarios or "fill in gaps" where I couldn't remember, and I was really starting to obsess over it. I was almost positive that it was a false memory, but I was really scared to find out that it actually may have happened. Turns out, it must have been a false memory or a strangely vivid dream as I spoke with that person today and there was no indication that anything was amiss. I don't understand how I was able to convince myself that my false memory/dream was true. I have a long, long past history of making similar mistakes and I guess I am afraid that I'll do it again, when I'm inebriated and vulnerable. I honestly wouldn't put it past myself to do something like that again, however I really do hope that I am able to manage it so that it doesn't. I have been in that position way too many times in my life, and the feeling of knowing that you have really, really fucked up - like truly fucked up so badly - and there is nothing you can do to 'undo' it. There is no undo button, there is no backspace, there is only the guilt and the shame and the fight & flight mode continiously switched on, waiting to be found out, waiting to be ripped apart at the seams, and know I deserve it.