Inadequacy amongst other things

I was talking with some random person I met while I was gallivanting across the interwebs the other night and it both concerned and disturbed me to see myself in this person. We discussed our experiences at length and the similarities overwhelmed me. Basically, this person is everything I am, or was. They have become deeply disturbed by their life thus far. They are where I was only a couple of years ago. They feel, so intensely, the grief of a perceived lack of care from family and friends and the despair and gravity of their medical problems - both mental and physical and it is utterly destroying them and robbing them of their capacity to live, in any sense of the word. So consumed by their own grief, I was unable to offer any words of comfort.

Even though I knew only too well how they felt. 

They had wandered so far down that dangerous and treacherous path that nothing I said, despite my wealth of knowledge garnered from similar experiences, was able to break through into the monotony of the dread of their thoughts. And I really felt for them. And they dragged me a little way down that path too. They insisted that the pain was too great. And I believed them. They told me that they didn't know what would happen after they died, but they had the sneaking suspicion that it would be a whole lot of nothingness. To this I said that I hoped it would not be a whole bunch of nothingness, else I would be severely disappointed. 

And I got a little bit worked up annoyed thinking about this. It's a horrible thing to think that all this struggling could amount to nothing. I have expressed previously my fear of taking my own life away. I am even more worried now that I realise, properly for the first time (if you can understand what I mean there), that there may  just be nothing after this. And it annoyed me to be able to look at my life and realise that it could all amount to nothing, and to be able to grasp the fact that I may have been born simply to die. 

That is certainly not what I wanted to be thinking about. I'm not even sure how I allowed myself to be dragged down that path. But I'm glad I was able to walk back up it swiftly as I know now better than ever, that it is the wandering down paths such as these that leave me in places of decay. Such places are the reason I'm as addled as I am and I try valiantly to stay away from them as much as I possibly can. Which, by now, you all know isn't always how things work out for me. But I do try. And have relished in the success I've achieved.

So I'm talking to this random person, who crossed my path purely by chance and here I am talking to a mirror of myself. Or, as I mentioned above, what I was. That was the most striking thing. This person was everything I was. It was not long ago that a wealth of experience greater than mine is now would not have penetrated my  darkest thoughts. I would have and did, on countless occasions, reject the advice and help of those around me. So much so that many people could no longer deal with me and as the years went by have let go of me altogether. As a consequence I have trouble telling you exactly who these people are, to be perfectly honest. Ejected from my mind for all eternity apparently, and probably a good thing to. I remember a few of the better people who've let me go, but largely I choose to let go and forget. It does not do to dwell on what I've lost, I don't think. I mourned one friendship for a long time, and it did me no good at all. 

I keep getting side tracked. I was talking to a mirror of myself. It was scary, to say the least. It was absolutely terrifying to see into this person and understand them. And then to realise that I was -- and probably still am to varying degrees -- this person. This person clouded in darkness who is hard pressed to hear, really hear, those around them, and take on board their advice and try to heal. The difference between me and them now is, that while I'm still shrouded in some darkness, I do hear people. I hear them clearly. And while I do not always agree with or follow their advice/suggestions and other associated things (forgot the word...), I most certainly hear them.

That and I have a desire to live. Else I would not be writing this.

And that desire to live lead me to make the monumental choice to push back Roaccutane another few months. After a lengthy reflection I realised that I was unable to give away my summer. As much as I hunger the death of my acne so that I can finally let go of that chapter of my life, I was not prepared to lose a summer in order to do so. I realised that this summer is my final chance to relax and gather myself for the gruelling year ahead and that I needed to be naughty, do silly things, go out in the sun and see my friends and the horses without fear of the Roaccutane imposed consequences. And so I announced my decision to the necessary people. I did also meet with the necessary psychiatrist so that he could evaluate my mental state to ensure it was proper to handle the more scarier side effects of this drug. He deemed that it was sufficient and it's all good to go, when I'm good and ready. However, I truly believe the biggest victory lies in the fact that I didn't bite his head off. But I think my lack of bite on this occasion was more that he was not really asking me to face my demons and kill them, or at least shackle them, but just to recount them so that he might be aware of their existence, less they lull me into a false sense of security that allows them to freely congregate throughout my mind once more while I lie unaware until it seems too late.

Though, waiting out the summer adds another two-three months of treatment time that I would already have done by the time the summer ended. And seeing as the acne will only get worse before it gets better, being those few months up might not have been such a bad thing. It's as loving as ever my acne. Rearing its ugly head at the most inopportune of times. Confidence shattering prick of a thing.

And my shattered confidence and self esteem only adds even more heavily to my discontentment when it comes to boys. I do genuinely perceive myself as ugly at times. Some days I see the beauty I'm promised is there, but I just as quickly lose it to the acne and ever present worrying (for no good reason, let me be the first to admit it) over my weight. My best friend and I have been spending increasing amounts of time together lately and I adore her company. We have fun. We both share that love of horses and racing that I don't get from my school friends and its been a godsend to be able to share these aspects of my life with her. I'm having a great deal of trouble bringing myself to admit to the next part of this discussion. I guess that I'm ashamed, on some level, to admit to it, own it, let its existence be known. 

Boys have started to become somewhat of an interest, if not a concern, more so recently than ever before. My best friend has been receiving copious amounts of attention from people I know lately, and its not only a sense of jealousy, its a feeling of complete and utter inadequacy. It even worries me that these people that we don't know very well -- who still knew me before her -- are chasing her. And chasing her again and again and again. And we laugh about it. Because boys can be silly. Some of these boys not thinking with their heads, have become easy to laugh at. She's more or less enjoying the attention. Copious amounts of attention. And I am receiving none. Jealousy and inadequacy. I can't tell you which I think is the stronger of the two emotions. Perhaps it doesn't even matter, the point is they're there. And they're causing some serious misgivings that are offsetting any peace I had attained in recent weeks. I'm jealous of the attention, yes, of course I am. But seeing people I've known for so much longer chase her... well. What am I supposed to think? Clearly, I am inadequate because I'm clearly not good enough. I realise I'm wandering down on of those treacherous and dangerous paths now, I can feel it. But I don't care to stop. It's not just the attention, but I sometimes feel like she's stealing some of my friends out from under me. Especially people I was once close to. And yes, I'm kind of hurt. And no, I would never be able to bring myself to say these things to her. And yes, I would be mortified if she stumbled across this particular blog.

I feel silly. I really do. But I just can't contain this jumble of feelings. It just irks me. I sound so petty, I know I do. But what else can I do? I only seem able to let depression's familiar grasp sink my old pal negativity back into my mind and push me gently down this path. 

Rightly or wrongly.

- Sky

Would you want to see the future, even if you couldn't change it?

Yes and no I guess. I mean, it would be perfectly nice, for me, to see how much more suffering I am to be challenged with. How many more tribulations will beat me down. How many more afflictions I will have to grapple with. How much more of my own sanity I will have to fight for. How much more testing my armour, soul, spirit, heart and mind will endure. How much more of everything, I guess, will I have to take before I get to be - without a shadow of a doubt - okay.

If I should be so blessed to ever be okay. I was going to say "ever be okay again", but I cannot recall ever being okay before, and as such it would be remiss of me to make such an outlandish statement. But yes, If I should be so blessed, I would like to be okay. And in a round-a-bout way, I'd like to know if I would ever reach such a happy medium. I don't want to spent the rest of my life treading water if it comes to no fruit. If I could see my future, I could make the conscious decision to die. Not like have a plan or anything, but just be okay with it. Welcome the eternal rest, that gentle slumber.

If [let me stress that that is indeed an IF and by no means a conscious decision, or even a subconscious one] I should ever go down that path [you don't have to read very far into CFJ to find the last account of a very near decision] I would hope that you would all respect my decision, maybe pray for me, and hope that I find the peace I didn't find here.

I know that on the outside I'm flying high. I purposefully work myself into that state so that I can face a day without questions. To fit in. Avoid that gazes that follow me on a terrible day. I work up so that I'm high as a kite and as long as I concentrate I can hold it. You might catch me, retreating into my thoughts, and losing my grip. That's how you know its an act. If I was as okay as my pretence suggested, I doubt very much that I would ever return to this blog. My posts are infrequent, but there is always so much to digest I'm sure. I actually spend most of the month starting and deleting blogs, agonising over every word, phrase, sentence, paragraph. Is that too much information, was it too vague. Is it better not to say that at all. Should I censor for the benefit of others or show them the cold side of the world. Apparently, I spend a lot of my time considering the opinions of others. I'm not sure why to be honest. I guess I just don't want everyone to know. Everyone to see. People to fear, to hide away. Remove themselves, run. I couldn't do that again. Even now I don't understand the last time, nor will I pretend to. I just allow them to pretend that it's happy families and that it's all okay and never happened. I am, without a shadow of a doubt, over it. I just never got to understand.

I spend my whole life keeping people out, I scarcely know how to let them in. Time and time again they say "you can talk to me about anything", but I wouldn't know how to say I needed to take them up on their offer, let alone to start. And even then I don't think I could scare anyone with my never ending depression. But, at the root of my reluctance to share and seek help, is my confusion as to how. I spend all that time and energy keeping people out, and reshuffling my inner workings to suit my new "defences" that I don't want any of it to be upset. I often wonder if I could handle the shattering of my balance. This is, of course, a relatively new realisation for me. One that came out in a recent conversation with the person who is probably my most trusted friend. Obviously, I am going to ultimately have to seek help, but this inability to operate in a way that encompasses sharing - face to face - is a foreign concept I cannot open myself to. Just now someone I've known awhile inboxed me on Facebook, and we are both feeling crap. But neither of us can concede ground. We cannot share. My pretence is "I don't want to fill your head with my crap", but it is my fear of letting people in that is stopping this. I wonder if it is the same for them.

If I could look into my future, even for a second, I wouldn't want to spoil the probable good times. I wouldn't want to be warned of that. I'd want to experience those experiences for the first time in their exact moment and not before. To be filled with that adrenalin, happiness and excitement. I do not want that diluted, ruined or  refined. The desire to decide life or death is a strong one, but to ruin what good I am yet to discover, if it does actually exist for me... I would rather it encompass me as it occurs. Because in my darkest moments, though they are fleeting and difficult to hold onto, I want all that raw emotion available for me to hold onto for dear life and wish my depression away.

- Sky

As time passes...

I'm more in control now. I went to sleep shortly after I posted that and awoke in tortorous pain that saw me lie awake from 4.30am til 6am, hoping the painkillers would kick in. When they didn't I got up and watched TV, waiting for everyone else to get up. The painkillers kicked in at 8am which is absolutely disgraceful. I never bothered much with the directions for use on the packets, but I bother even less now. If they poison me they poison me. How can my body possibly be harmed more than it already is?

The weekend got better after that. Aside from the near death of my computer that is. I hope to eventually get the damn thing back sometime, hopefully in working order. There's only so many times I can deal with the blue screen of death. Five times in one day is too many. Eight times overall is too many. Hopefully it'll work when it comes back. It's been nothing but trouble the shit of a thing. Bloody Toshiba's...

But yes, the weekend did get better. I slept better Sunday night. Played N64 on Monday afternoon, worked Tuesday for a few hours before making my way to Flemington at the beautiful hour of 8.20am to strap a horse. Biggest day of my strapping career, was awesome, had a blast, wouldn't trade that experience for a thing. And I mean that. Because you know I live for racing. If I had my way my life would revolve around it. And the fun and games rolled over into Wednesday when I took my special mare to the races for her to run fourth.

And it was back to school today. Back to the high stress, high pressure environment I loathe so much. I've discussed my feelings in this particular area at great length recently and I do not feel compelled to go into any further depth as there's only so much one can say, but the way the weekend went only reinforced my hate for school. I'm done. No more. Can it just be over now? Please?

I really have, without a question of doubt, had enough. Completely and entirely had enough of school. Well, of nearly everything, but mostly school. I'm also starting to worry. Roaccutane is right around the corner now. Have I made the right choice? Why am I doubting now? I suppose it has a bit to do with feeling unstable enough as it is. But why do I doubt myself so now? Surely after the year I've had I could hold it together better than I currently am? Am I just run down and tired? I'm hoping that that's it, that that's the reason and that when I start resting again it'll all be okay. I can hope right? Everyone can hope, but hope can be deadly when its dragged on too long.

I guess I'm just scared at the moment. There are never any guarantees in life, but the future I can guarantee less than I could ever guarantee before. That just seems scary to me.

- Sky

No more joy - No more sadness - No emotion - Only madness. I can't see. I don't feel. I can't touch. I don't heal.

I'm sitting here feeling shit right now. There's only so many times one can say no to cutting, and even then I don't even really want to do it, I don't think. I just want to feel a bit better. And yes, I think that that will help. I just want to feel different from the way I do now. I want to be different from the desolate emptiness that is eating me inside. There can't be much more inside left to eat, surely? Yet there always seems to be a little bit more, and a little bit more and yes, a little bit more. All the time things are changing, I'm changing. Yet I'm the same. Different, but familiar. Empty, buyt somehow whole.

How? I don't want to feel. I'm tired of feeling. When does the healing start? When do I forget? When does it hurt less? When do I smile? When am I free? When can I finally say that I'm free? How much longer do my demons get to hold me captive in their cage? Why are there no answers to these questions?


People always say to me "you know you can talk to me, if you want". They say that because they can see a little bit. There's something in my manner, my eyes, the way I talk, feel, the attitude I carry into a room on bad days that people feel confident enough to, you know, guess. They're expecting something little. Nothing of the gravity I could tell them. Oh no. In their little bubbles its all good and well, they don't get touched by these demons. These creatures of hell. Nothing tortures their brains like this, compels them to contemplate life and death, self mutilate in the hope that it makes it better -- even if its only for a time. No, nothing like that.

And I wouldn't do it to them anyway. They can't understand. Try as they might, they can't. They don't live the nightmare. They don't see the world the way I do.

So yes, I'm sitting here. Alone. The TV is on, its playing Grey's Anatomy. I know its an earlier season because Burke is still in the show. George's Dad is a day away from surgery. Izzy has an $8million cheque. Such small insignificant details. Not even distracting. Barely detracting from the whirl of thoughts that are circulating inside. Threatening to overthrow whatever sanity I have left.

What even brought this on? What tipped me over? What if I've been tipped over for awhile, I just haven't noticed because I've muted it. How did I mute it? I know I muted it. I didn't hear. I didn't hear the hate. I didn't hear the doubt. I didn't even hear the disapproval. My mind said nothing. The silence was almost comforting. Distracted by trivial issues. So what switch was tripped to wake the dragon?

More questions, no answers. More pain, nothing to sooth. Just me. Just my mind. And the demon. Depression. Anxiety. So many more. Maybe I should refer to it as Legion. It seems to be many.

I'm quite lost in it all. It's scary. Where's the comfort? I want to talk to someone, but who? I don't want to feel guilty by waking someone up. People need to sleep. I need to sleep. But I'm in overdrive. Flitting around my brain, working on compromises. Trying to sooth. To smooth. To settle. Failing. I'm just lost. I am so, so lost.

I don't want to do this anymore. This is ridiculous. Why am I still here? Why can't I die? Fade away. Cease to exist. Stop causing myself and everyone else pain. It's like living in a pressure cooker and not knowing when its going to blow. I can sense my desperation, because I'm thinking it. I don't know if the writing reflects it. The writing is just mumbo jumbo anyway. All the mumbo jumbo that crosses the forefront of my mind and ends up on this screen.

I'm too scared to die.

That's it. That's all that stands between me and that. Fear. Fancy that, I'm human. I'm scared of something. A fatal chink in my armour. Though, not fatal enough to kill me. Disappointing. Of everything I could fear I fear the act. Second biggest fear? Living forever. In seventeen years I've run intro countless dilemmas, imaging what the next x amount of years will bring? No, don't imagine that. Anything but that. Maybe I'll die anyway. Each new condition bring me closer, does it not? Oh I am a sick, sick person. Tired, lost and confused. Stop the world, stop it. I want to get off. I want to get off now. I've had enough, I'm done. Game over.

- Sky

Nobody said it was easy

No one ever said it would be this hard.

If anyone had told me just how hard it would get, I don't think I'd have stuck it out this long. But no one did tell and here I am writing this now. I cannot count the times I have started and deleted this particular post. There is so much I want to say and yet I find myself quite unable to express it. I currently feel like an unsettled ball of emotion who will explode sooner or later, the great mystery is which emotion will burst out dominantly. I don't suppose it particularly matters to me which emotion leads the charge, but it probably matters to everyone else. But I'm not everyone else and as such I return to it not really mattering.

I am quite over school. Term four has only gone for two weeks and I've decided that I just want it to be exams so that its all over already. I no longer have any desire to be there and I just want it to be summer to I can do whatever I want, and more importantly, when I want. I think that largely thanks to my school holidays experience, I'm missing my time with the horses more than ever. I ended up working consecutive days for three quarters of my holidays and as tiring as it was, I loved every second of it and in hindsight would not trade that experience for a thing. It wasn't about the money, it was about being closed to the animals I love. They become such a huge and irreplaceable part of your life that you miss them very quickly. It was wonderful to speak to a friend of mine who also works in the industry and hear that he had sentiments that equaled mine. He ensured that I feel somewhat more normal than I did before. Racing may be foreign to my school based friends, but to my friends across the racing industry it is everything. And everything because we love it. He told me that he couldn't go two weeks without them and that the day after he graduated high school he was at track work. That is exactly what will happen to me this time next year when I graduate. I will be up bright and early the next morning at track work doing something I enjoy. He couldn't imagine not being around the racers and frankly, neither can I.

You have no idea how amazing it was to hear that. For such a long time I've been made to feel weird. On some level I've always known that the strappers and riders are in it for love, but to hear someone so close to my age voice it was something else entirely. We live and breathe it. We cannot walk away. We got hooked in every sense of the word.

And as such, I am quite unable to put up with school. It bores me to tears. Especially with coursework winding to a close and revision becoming the mandate I cope less and less. You either give me direction or let me idle. Obviously, I will choose to idle, so the ball is definitely in the court of everyone else. As far as I'm concerned the sooner exams roll around the better. But of course, just before I start exams I'll start roaccutane. The closer I get to that time, the more I start to wonder if I'm doing the right thing. But right or wrong its the only option I have left. I'm not doing another fourteen years of acne, that's insane. I couldn't do it. That might actually be the last straw. So right of wrong, I'm going to go through with this one and hopefully stick it out to the end provided the side effects don't get my first.

And of course, there are no guarantees in life. Why should there be? Life is its own comical genius, toying with us at its leisure. Torturing the seemingly strong. Straying the good from their paths. Causing chaos as it pleases. A stage perfectly prepared for disaster. So what is one more life lost.

- Sky

Roaccutane

I was very upbeat on Thursday night after the appointment. I had been anticipating this appointment for weeks. However, in the day or so before that all important visit I began to have serious doubts. Call it a bad feeling, if you like. I was nervous more than keen. I worried. And I still don't know now whether these worries were unfounded or not.

I got what I wanted. On November 8th I will receive the prescription for Roaccutane, the med that could finally and permanently remove my acne. I dearly love what this med promises, I have longed for the results it will provide for around ten years. So why am I baulking?

It is not in my makeup to fear a med. Why should I fear a med? Surely if it's being prescribed then it should be safe. And if it's being prescribed then it's been legalised. And if it's been legalised then it's been subject to any number of trials to test it and work out its kinks. In a perfect world, Roaccutane would have no kinks, but this is not a perfect world and the med's track record is patchy -- with results! -- at best. Unfortunately, this med holds a long list of potential side effects which include

• Depression
• Tendonitis
• Arthritis
• Neurological symptoms
• Vision problems
• Joint pain
• Bone, tendon, and ligament calcification
• Hearing impairment
• Respiratory symptoms
• Rapid breakdown of muscle tissue
• Rashes
• And the list goes on (seriously...)

I've opted to list the ones that bother me the most, in no particular order. So, Roaccutane was originally developed as a chemotherapy medicine, due to it's design to find and destroy rapidly dividing cells (which cancers are comprised of). It is still used for cancer treatment, as well as for acne. Which I think is interesting. And I think that it's targeting of rapidly dividing cells makes the side effect list make sense, to varying degrees. It's also non-selective -- which I have very little doubt is it's major pitfall. If it were developed to target specific cells I can see it being a hell of a lot safer. But it has not been developed in that way and I'm not a scientist, I'm a seventeen year old girl with issues and a lot of time on her hands. Knowledge helps me feel more secure. Initially I was somewhat put off but I'm starting to calm down about it again.

It's really not that bad. In all seriousness it is unlikely that I'll experience many of the side effects on that list. And in reality there is only a minute chance that something irreversible will happen to me. If the chance were high it would not have been legalised. Obviously the depression element is my chief concern with this med. Now, I have done some legitimate research into this and there have been a number of studies done over the years. All of which have proved inconclusive as far as to whether or not Roaccutane is causal to depression. Obviously, there are reported cases and as such the producers have added a depression/suicide warning to the med's label but there is no clear connection. So, while I'm going to have to be monitored due to the pre-existence, it's no guarantee that it gets worse.

And that is something I will cling to.

Next up is the respiratory factor. That's an interesting one and the internet is non-specific on what exactly it can do to my respiratory system. It's thrown up respiratory tract infection, voice change and tightness in lungs. I don't know what any of this means for my pulmonary hypertension, but it should be an interesting question to ask. Now the final thing on the list of side effects that really stung me were the ones that concerned my joints. I'm a little bit shaky on this one. My joints aren't great as it is and I'd hate for them to deteriorate further as I don't think I could cop that. I've had to give up the exercise bike because of the intense pain it's causing the top of my tibia or fibula (can't be bothered distinguishing). Structural damage that's simply not worth exacerbating any further, I don't think. So yes, I would be absolutely horrified if any of my tendons, ligaments or bones calcified, and I would be horrified if I got to be on the receiving end of any more tendonitis. I would be in fact horrified if my joints caused me any more pain at all. I'm starting to think, as I type this, that it worries me more than the depression does. My ongoing difficulties with my joints are part of the reason my depression has continued to exist. Increasing these problems are essentially an invitation for the depression to resume a more stricter regime. 

I guess, categorically, you would call it the fault of the med. But you and I both know that the depression never ceased to exist. So the med alone hasn't invited it back into my mind. It's more or less a permanent resident. I simply have marginally better control of its influence, at the moment.

So that's me dealing with Roaccutane. Evidently, it's pretty scary stuff. But then, what med isn't? At the end of the day they're all volatile enough to permanently maim, if not kill you, if you're unlucky enough. Look what the pill did to me. No one expected that. But I'm still here, still here with limited options, and I'm now very prepared to take my chances with Roaccutane. You will not be able to sway me otherwise. 

The other interesting thing to come out of Thursday was that between the March and August exercise stress echoes, the pressure in my lungs actually increased slightly. Very slightly, I'm assured, but nonetheless increased. Now, while I can see why the cardio hid this from me, I'm not quite happy about it. I feel like I had a right to know. And of course, I do have a right to know and that's why I know now. The premise is that the pressure should have decreased from its March reading. When I ran that stress echo in March I was pill free. In August I was still pill free. So I don't know what the go is there, but I'm not happy and kind of stressed about it. I'm being told again and again and again not to worry until April. If it's still increasing in April, then I get to worry, which is just common sense. But naturally, I'm kind of worried now anyway. I, despite my pessimistic nature, thought that it would all go away just as it had at other times. Apparently not. I also thought it would be a much quicker process, as it usually is, but apparently not. And now that seed of just how bad it could be has been well and truly planted. I'm quite nervous about having to deal with this forever. Of course, I have acknowledge this concept of forever before, but I didn't quite think it would happen. Prepared for the worst, but not really, you know? I guess what I'm getting at here is that it's a little bit more real now that it's doing the opposite to what it should.

It's suddenly quite real. It all is. It's real and in my face. And outwardly I'm cool with this. You won't catch me cursing anyone or threatening to incinerate them quite as prolifically as you might here because on the outside I am long practiced in staying in control. 

And I have to be in control. That is pivotal.

- Sky

Damn logic, damn it

I made a very conscious decision yesterday to actually get fit. Now, I'm sure you're all laughing, but I'm being deadly serious. I am going to get fit. Why? Because it's something that nags at me constantly, I figure its going to be a good way to help me keep tabs on the improvement (or lack thereof) of my pulmonary hypertension, keep my weight down -- because we all know that that is a concern of mine that torments me mercilessly -- and it's a good way to work out anger I'd otherwise carry around with me for an indefinite period of time. And I can carry anger for a long, long time if I so choose. And even if I don't choose. It just hangs around because I have this amazing ability to get angry for a bit, and squash it down into a box for a few days, weeks, months as long as I need. Foolproof right? Yeah, um no. Unfortunately its just one of those things that stacks up to unbearable proportions and comes out all lethal and deadly like.

Which is certainly not ideal. And certainly unideal for a person such as myself who is... I've forgotten the word, which is a shit because it was a good one... it was to do with unbalanced, easily upset, fragile isn't the right word either. GOD DAMMIT! This is frustrating. I'm just going to drop it. Where was I?

Anger, exercise. Okay. The other really brilliant thing about getting on the exercise bike is that I don't really think much either. And the beauty of cycling out the anger, through the pain and working out the other emotions I'm carrying at the time is I feel so much less inclined to cut. Which is amazing, and unless you're like me, you cannot begin to comprehend just how amazing a revelation this is for me. Of course, naturally, there are drawbacks -- as with everything -- and it's only a small portion of my day that I do this and as such there is still copious amounts of time to cut.

I feel kind of guilty touching on my cutting all the time. It's pretty confronting, but its unfortunately quite a significant portion of my life. Some days I'm a winner, not cuts ladies and gentlemen, and other days I'm a loser and it plays on my mind and I engage. And I like it. Embrace the scars. But this is where I get a bit iffy, you know. Embrace the scars, it's all fine and good. Just don't ask me about. How conflicting is that?! I'm not concerned by my scars until they're seen. Not concerned until you are. Don't care until you do. If it bothers you, I'm uncomfortable. Ridiculously guilty. How COULD I ever do something like that. But at the exact same time I want to indulge.

So this is pretty much where I realise that I'm suddenly not as okay with myself as I previously thought. Damn logical thinking, damn it. I guess I'm kind of stung by this realisation. It's a massive change of tune. I was okay with it, I was perfectly happy. Well not happy, that's a lie. But I think you know what I mean. It's like, one day I'm perfectly okay with what I've, well, done to myself. And the next I've sat down and had a two second think about where everything is going and suddenly I'm turned on my head. Everything I've believed is a facsimile of a sham. Damn logical thinking. Damn my logic. Damn my brain.

Do I just over think everything? Is that what's happening here? Do I simply confuse myself at every turn or is life legitimately this confusing. I cannot decide. Speaking of things I cannot decide, everything above was not what this entry was going to discuss. But alas, I have wandered off topic again. Why is it that I can spit out copious amounts of crap when it doesn't matter, but when it does I am rendered mute? I had hoped racing had cured this, and more or less it has, my confidence is extreme -- so different to what it once was. But I guess it couldn't have been a miracle cure.

I'm not sure there are miracles in life. They don't cross my path. Just like helpful, no strings attached, meds don't cross my path. They are all conspiring to maim me or on a much more extreme level, kill me, you know, plot my death. So Thursday is the big day and I was pumped for Thursday, I was. 'Ready for it' I said, 'come and get me'. And now I'm hesitating. A little bit worried. I woke up with so many whiteheads this morning that my face actually hurt. Yes, that's right, it hurt! It hurt even more popping them and I'm going to lose my shit severely if this doesn't get resolved on Thursday. There will be drugs, it will go away. I'm done, I'm over it, I want to be pretty too. Is that too much to ask?! It better not be.

But as such, until all this is resolved, I'm just going to cycle through the pain. Cycle through the pain because its easy. But knowing that this is a false replacement for cutting, I'll be doing that too. There's no way to sugarcoat this stuff. That's just how it is.

- Sky

Sometimes I Question my Humanity

(This blog gets a little bit candid and extreme as it reads down, which oddly enough was not my intention when I begun it. But God it was good to get some of my thoughts out. Consider yourselves duly warned)

Like today, for example.

Mum walks in and tells me a family friend has just found out she has breast cancer. Yep, breast cancer. That cancer that is suddenly prevalent, but strangely has never crossed my path. And yet now it has. But how do I feel? I don't. I am indifferent. It has no direct impact on my life and as such, no effect on my emotions.

Has my empathy died? Am I a horrible person? What does my indifference mean? Have I really steeled myself to the horrors of this world so well that I can take all curve balls in my stride? I'm almost nervous as I ponder this. I wonder if I'm just storing the feelings. Storing and storing and storing until I reach capacity and fall apart in a most spectacular way. Having depression is like sharing your mind with a separate entity. Depression influences my thoughts, my choices the way I see things and how I react. It doesn't dictate which parts I listen to, but it certainly plants the seed. I just have to choose the easy road or the hard road. The easy road is allowing myself to become immersed in the negativity depression feeds my mind. The middle road is recognising it. The hard road is beating it. I can't beat it. 75% of the time I tune into it, listen to it, believe. 25% of the time I recognise it and consciously acknowledge it before redirecting my thought.

I guess what I'm getting at is that depression has adjusted me. Now, whether that adjustment is for better or worse remains to be seen. Evidently, I am no longer as easily wounded by emotion as I once was. But does that mean that I am less likely to notice when emotion threatens to destroy me? It could be acting to destroy me now and I could be blissfully unaware due to my steeliness. I feel powerless to change this. I am powerless to change this. Depression is governing and I am working around it, as best I can. Which is actually pretty frustrating considering that my mind is mine and not the depression's. I'm not schizophrenic in case you're wondering, nor do I have any kind of personality disorder. 


Having just read over the above paragraph, I'd like to expand on the "easily wounded by emotion" remark. Obviously, I do get wounded by it. But in case you haven't noticed, I deal with it much more subtlety or better, if you like, than in previous years. Just as your body adjusts to pain (for better or worse) so does your brain. Mine has. I hide behind predicting the worst. And as such, am less affected by such a negative outcome because I was expecting it regardless. I make no apologies for my negativity, I never asked to be this way. I didn't ask for any of this. I'm just subconsciously adjusting to the cards I've been dealt, for better or worst. I suspect its the latter. Not that I'm into freely admitting that. It's pivotal that people believe I'm okay.

People have to believe I'm okay in order for me to move forward effectively. My narrowmindedness, as far as where can I go from here is concerned, is my strongest ally. I believe that there is no other way to do things than to just get on with it. Sometimes I hate myself for it, but I do it. There is no alternative. I cannot sit something out. Life is too fast paced. I get affected by stress inwardly in such a shocking way that it's ultimately safer to press on no matter how hard the battle. Call me stubborn, but that's just how I've worked out. Trust me, it's for the best.

I feel like I've now gone full circle on that branch, which now brings me to the next item on my agenda. The next thing that makes me question my humanity, and wonder if I am more deranged than I perhaps initially thought, is my tendency to cut myself. I have a friend who engages in the same behavior -- that's a lie, I have many friends with the same tendency, but I'm referring to a specific friend -- and we have pondered together, on a handful of occasions, what kind of sickos we are. We asked ourselves, what kind of freak does this to themselves? And I have no answer for it. Because I don't know what kind of freak. Obviously, I am such a freak, but I don't know what kind. How does one go about intentionally harming themselves? So of course I'm sitting here questioning my own humanity. I'm lacking severely in the empathy department and I'll lay into myself, physically, when it all goes to shit. And even when its not going to shit -- well it is, you know that because you read this blog -- I feel compelled to cut. Never listen to anyone who says cutting is not addictive, because it is. It is a closet addiction and does not receive the attention it deserves. One day I want to dazzle you all with a story about me going clean, but at this point I do not for see such an occasion.

Stupidly enough, I read about people who attack their stomach areas. And I find myself wondering how anyone could do it there! I just couldn't. I don't know why, but I just couldn't. It would never cross my mind to cut there, ever. Too easily exposed, I fear. You absolutely cannot deny them if they are there. You categorically have to admit the truth. Which I cannot do. After three years I cannot categorically admit the truth. I would rather die than own it. I am an inhuman freak who is willing to maim themselves, of their own accord, and I would not dare own this beyond the pages of this blog. I am slowly becoming okay with depression, I can talk about that freely and I hope to be able to help people openly with it soon. But, I am a closet cutter. I will categorically deny it if you ask me. What? Me? Do that? I would laugh in your face. Except in the faces of a handful of people who have proven to me that they are worthy of such a truth. You are, more or less, included in that handful if you find yourself reading this because I've handed you the almighty link.

And this is why I question my humanity. This poor woman has breast cancer and I simply feel nothing for her. I cut myself and I am not appalled. How you would categorise me is entirely dependent on what you know and how you feel, but I for one, would be leaning towards weirdo, if not something more extreme.

- Sky

I Had a Kick Arse Post but Blogger shut me Out and I Lost it...

And I am NOT HAPPY ABOUT THIS AT ALL! It was very heartfelt and interesting and now I don't feel like writing it out again so I'm going to bullet point it for my own convenience...

• I saw my cardiologist on Friday. Of all the doctors I have come across through the duration of my life, he is my favourite. He's interested, he cares and he genuinely wants to find answers. It makes me sad that he's leaving the practice and is thus unable to see any patients for six months. But I highly recommend him to everyone in six months time from November. Seriously awesome doctor.
• The pulmonologist hinted that my visit to see the cardio would be a "see you in six months to run an exercise ECG". Naturally, after waiting one hour and twenty minutes, this was not the case. My blood pressure is of concern, as it is always higher than average when measured and as such I will have to wear a blood pressure monitor for twenty-four hours so they can get a correct measure of it. I also have a tentative exercise ECG scheduled for April with the follow up review with a new cardio. 
• The real news out of this visit is that he (the cardio) thinks that the meds unmasked a condition I was already prone to/was going to get anyway. This is, in a sense, much brighter than "you're allergic to the pill" but the outcome does not change. It is still not safe for me to take the pill, which is majorly frustrating. As such, my cardio has also decided that he (and the pulmonoglist, who apparently quite enjoy discussing me behind my back) have reached the extent of my knowledge and they're looking at sending me to see some associate professor, who, in the opinion of the cardio, is the best in Victoria. It is not set in stone, but I'm almost interested to hear what he has to say. Mind you, there is also a very real chance that he won't know what to do either.
• Now, this leaves me in a most interesting position as far as my meds go. Seeing as I am no longer able to take any meds that contain oestrogen or progesterone due to the fact that they exacerbate my pulmonary hypertension, the only real option (that I am aware of, and this could change on the Sept 22nd) seems to be roaccutane. Now, if you're not familiar with roaccutane, I'll fill you in a bit. This med has been linked to depression/suicide in the US. Not quite safe for someone like me, right? Right. That's why I haven't seriously entertained it before now. But with my options direly limited and everyone else convinced that I'm 'better', I think it will be okay. And in a perfect world, I won't be any worse than I am now. But I want to caution everyone now, in the event things do go wrong, that I need you to watch. Because I, if I even notice it at all, am unlikely to point it out. I'll suffer in silence before I dent my pride. So, as my trusted friends, you have been warned. 

That was basically that highlights of the original post. And seeing as I'm back into the writing mood, I'll keep talking for a bit, because I know you're all just so starved of what I have to say!

I feel like my moods have been really shifty lately. I'll snap for no reason, or burst into tears without warning. But in saying that, I feel I've been quite stable as well. Which is not new. I do go through these periods of stability before one thing or another upsets my tedious balance. I work hard to keep this balance, I'll have you all know, it's not simple. It's very, very tedious and easily knocked. And this is why I know I'll be unbalanced again sometime and things won't be quite so pretty for me. But I'll savour the calm before the storm while I can, because that's all I can do.

And try not to cut, because my thigh looks spec-fucking-tacular. Not that I hate it either. I am at peace with my scars and I always have been. They're the only sign of an inner turmoil I'm surviving, day by day.

- Sky

I woke with this fear, what am I leaving when I'm done here?

I've had a pretty rough few weeks. I'm all fun and games on the surface but I've actually run myself into the ground and was just envisioning myself blowing up school.

Ain't that a pleasant image!

On the surface, I'm getting along okay. A few cracks here and there. Otherwise happy, involved, on top of things. On the surface. If I could be the person the world sees on the surface I would be the perfect person. Going great guns at school, on top of the work, managing work and a social life, friends, family. Everything. But I am detached.

I bawled my eyes out no less than twice last week. Evidently my own physical exhaustion makes it difficult to stay in control. This does not sit well with me. Especially given the chinks were exposed in public - first at school and then at work. I can't hide behind tiredness forever - though I will try. Why? Because it's half the truth. Between school and work I don't sleep much. I can't cut school due to my mother and for my own wellbeing I won't cut work. Both are, essential. Which is unfortunate I guess.

I don't know what to do. I can accept that I need some serious help, but am indecisive about taking the next step.

Just keep trying to get on I guess. Wish us luck.

- Sky

I used to be a fortress

My armour is my life. Without it I’d have imploded, exploded, become completely unhinged and given up many years ago. 

But the chinks in my armour have become exposed.

It’s penetrated and I’m wounded.

Shaken to my absolute core.

I don’t know how to fix it.

I no longer have the tools.

I don’t know what to do.

People are always asking me about my future and once upon a time I had it loosely mapped out.

But now, I’m lost in the sea of indecision and in the middle of cyclone torment and I don’t know what to do about ‘tomorrow’.

I’m scared of what it brings.

I fear it.

I don’t want it.

I have no need of it.

It only ever has bad things to say, and I can’t handle anymore bad things.

No more life changing experiences.

I am ill-prepared.

Shaking.

Fear.

The lung man is the ultimate bearer of bad news.

Worse then when the pain people told me all my pain was in my head.

I cannot deal with the things he has to say.

I don’t have that impenetrable strength anymore.

Not while I’m wounded, and scared. 

I no longer want that future.

I don’t think it’s worth it.

Not when I have to suffer this never ending pain.

I’m shutting down.

Shutting people out.

I’m so scared.

I cannot explain how scared.

But I am terrified. 

It’s eating me, laughing at me, hanging off me and consuming me.

I don’t know which way to look.

Who to tell.

Who to trust.

Which walls to rebuild.

Which to tear down.

Where to confide.

To give up, or to battle on.

But, to battle on for what?

Or Maybe I'm Just a Dreamer

Ran my excersise stress test. Predictably it went rather badly, lets be honest. I didn’t even manage ten minutes on the treadmill and the attending cardio tried to get me to admit that I’m just horrendously unfit, but seeing as this is simply not true, I will not answer to such a claim.

I mean, I work in racing, I walk nearly 2km’s, at least five times throughout the morning. I am not that unfit and I will not be forced into admitting it.

Anyway, somehow my knees didn’t bust - which is nice - but I did get off the treadmill all light headed and the like, nearly didn’t make the two steps from the treadmill to the bed so they could ultrasound my heart! They said to me “that’s pretty normal” to which I thought “shit, I wonder why!” You are not permitted to eat or drink two hours prior to doing the test. Dizziness is normal… no, really!?

So, my heart function is normal, surprise surprise, but then that isn’t the problem. The attending cardio also noticed that the pressure in my lungs was off - but I knew that - that’s the pulmonary hypertension. 

That’s why I see a pulmonologist.

But its how I got here that bugs me. I am so unbelievably angry. I refuse to accept that this anger is irrational because it isn’t. And I want to beat my head against the wall because I can’t get my head around any of it. I just don’t understand how and/or where everything went so wrong for me. Is it malpractice? I’ve seen so many doctors: GPs and Specialists, and all but one of them pressed on with this med time and time again. I understand that a tiny, tiny minority of people will experience the trouble I’m having with this med, but surely after nearly five years of this recurring symptom someone would have gone “now hang on a minute, this can’t be right?” before now? Guess not.

It’s really just scary to think that we put so much trust and faith into doctors and look what can happen! Sometimes they just get it wrong, and their mistakes change lives - and not for the better. There’s every chance I will have this condition for the rest of my life, and it’s just not fair.

Whatever I did in a past life must have been pretty evil.

- Sky

I Miss You

It's not the same anymore, and I miss you.

Forgot the title, again.... Have nothing, again...

Confession #12: I know longer trust the people around me. I feel like there's no one to confide in. I am acutely aware that there is a high possibility that this is untrue, but in my mind I don't feel like I have a single friend that I could unhesitantly confide in. I always think twice, always say "what if?", always hide the important fragments of the truth.

People are like, "you should talk to a counsellor" And you know what? I've seen as many counsellors as I've seen doctors and they are egotistical, self invested people and I do not believe that they care and they're games will not and have never convinced me of anything as such. I mean, what would I say? "Hi, I have clinical depression and I get a kick out of cutting myself"!? I won't even talk to my friends, like I'm going to walk into a room with a stranger and blurt that out. Let's be fucking real about this.

- Sky

Forgot to add a title... Still have nothing

Confession #11 I feel better after every cut.

Sad truth.

I'm so tired and so looking forward to the holidays, not that it will be much a holiday with work and all that.

I'm such a terrible blogger, it's taken me an hour to write this much. Got sidetracked by this (very funny, I recommend reading)

But really, because my attention span is SHIT and I really want to write this I'm going to dot point it [step back everyone this could get crazy]


- Saw the lung man
- Ran the second EST complete with ECG
- Was breathing like a smoker and my ECG indicated something nasty
- Have to wait til 26th July to hear verdict
- Meanwhile have face full of acne from having no drugs
- Mum's trying to veto netball
- Knee is fucked
- Face planted twice
- Passed exams
- Passed Texts and Traditions 3
- Had a mental breakdown
- Cut waaaaaaay too deep
- Cut again anyway
- Felt better
- Feel like shit again anyway
- Probably do it again
- Have an infection that isn't an infection

So, now that I've bulleted it and Facebook is "temporarily" unavailable I may have to discuss my inner workings in regards to a few of the more serious issues on my list: The lung man: aka the Pulmonologist

So I did his exercise stress test (EST) and echo cardiogram (ECG) and I've realised that I really am far too unfit and happily for me, not through any fault of my own. So, my lungs and/or heart is/are not very happy. And the fact that all this came up after I finished the meds... not so good, I don't think. But you know, I don't really know that because I'm not a doctor which makes waiting until July 26th a real pain in the arse. Why? Because now I know nothing and it's all really just very uncertain. And I hate not knowing. I'm going to be kind of annoying if I land myself back in the cardio's office, because you know, I just want to be done with it all and just be perfectly normal, happy and healthy.

Haha.

Normal.

Happy.

Healthy.

Three things which I will never be. Which is unfortunate, I think. Maybe not for the happy people because I seem to have stolen all their bad times from them... Lucky me. Lucky, lucky me.

So, I'm perfectly addicted to cutting. Perfectly unaddicted to life. I think that about sums up the point of this post.

- Sky

Confessions pt1

Confession #1: I have found a better tool for cutting.

Confession #2: I am addicted to cutting.

Confession #3: I feel that every time I get close to Mum I manage to fuck it up.

Confession #4: I feel that every time I get close to people they end up leaving.

Confession #5: I actually enjoy cutting.

Confession #6: I'm somewhere between thinking I'm "fat" and knowing that my brain is shit talking, again.

Confession #7: I'm scared because I don't know what tomorrow will bring and I don't know whether it will be life changing or minute. And that scares me because I'm so sick of life changing surprise, that inevitably threaten to kill me one way or another, that I could just go ahead and do it myself to save everyone the slow, long, painful elongated process.

Confession #8: I don't know who I am anymore or where I stand with anyone.

Confession #9: I don't even know why I'm writing this.

Confession #10: I don't like it when you talk to people about the monumental things in your life that are killing you on the inside and they say nothing.

I'm sure there will be more to come in later posts. I'm feeling quite tired and spent right now and everything is just a little bit fuzzy and I'd kill for a holiday, but you know, I go to school and even though I just did exams, there is absolutely no chance of that, which is just far too high and expectation and very, very cruel and I'm very upset and I don't think I can cop another two weeks of school with their expectations of work ethic and high standard of work because I can't be bothered and I don't care anymore I just want to sleep and pretend that the real world doesn't exist anymore because I can't be bothered partaking in it any longer because it's all a bunch of painful experiences that I haven't learnt much, if anything, from and if I am learning anything it's to treat life and the people in it with absolute contempt and I'm fairly sure that that is not the lesson life should be teaching me but there you go, life's just a bitch like that and I feel like I get to say that because for as long as I can remember it's done nothing good to me, everything I had turned to shit and I have no doubt that the things I have now will turn to shit if they're not already crumbling at the present time and if they are and I haven't noticed yet, then I'm realising that I'm actually a really stupid person and stupidity will kill me in the end, if the doctors and their drugs don't get me first or I don't get me first not that I'm contemplating that, or am I, because I really don't know, I don't know what I want or where I'm going or how things went downhill so badly or why all this is happening and it really doesn't help to know that no one can give me on good god damned reason that explains all of this, everyone's just so wishy washy and let me tell you right now that being wishy washy with me is not helping my mental state, especially when each fucking day brings me that little bit closer to self destruction because I swear to god if they find one more thing wrong with me I might actually explode and no one wants that, you may think you do if you're one of those people who hate me, but rest assured this may actually happen and while on the subject of people who hate me: I don't care, so fuck you and fuck all your mates, I'm not interested in your bullshit, so go play your games with people who care because I don't have time for your crap in my life at the moment when it's so chock full of everyone else's shit on top of mine and it's really, really hard to deal with all this and I don't even know what I'm going to do about anything anymore because my thought processes have become that retarded that they're just not helping me out at all and I don't understand why I couldn't have just been a normal person whose biggest problem is that my nail just chipped, because if that was my biggest problem, then I would be loving life and possibly worshiping it, but in my current state I have nothing but contempt for this hazardous construction they like to call a life.

I feel like you deserve a prize for reading that paragraph, because right now I'm not game to read it, especially because it's just a stream of nonsensical thought that just came gushing out as I started explaining that there would be more confessions.

You're not getting a prize. But if you want a high five, I can do that. Or I could organise some virtual cookies. I don't know. I'm getting severely off track here.

I think this whole post has been a severe waste of time, I mean, it started out with the best possible intentions but then WHAM and the whole thing is just... wow.

But rather than delete all this I'm going to post it anyway, so if you're still reading my crap right now at this sentence, then congratulations, but you're not getting a prize.

- Sky

I realise it has been quite some time

I was consistently weighing in at 73-75kg, and you know what, I cared but I didn't. I cared but I certainly did not care enough to do anything about it. So this is why the exam period has been a blessing. I do not have scheduled meal times, I thus do not eat as frequently and I just weighed in at 71kg.

I also saw the lung guy (and by guy I mean specialist) (and by specialist I mean pulmonologist). He was quite cool for a doctor. Unfortunately I now have to run another exercise stress test, except this time it's not running I'm cycling and I have to have an x-ray of my lungs. the x-ray is a piece of cake, but the exercise stress test, I'm not looking forward to that. I don't know which outcome I want, to be honest. But we shall wait and see, next Thursday's the day.

Exams have been a pretty relaxed couple of weeks. I have spent more time out of school than I have in and it's been pretty good. Plenty of sleeping, reading and no stress. So overall I think my mood has balanced out. I was genuinely okay with everything. Exam alleviated the school based stress. Everyone tried to tell me that exams were stressing me out and that was definitely not the case. I have never stressed about something so trivial and I never will.

The thing is though, with all this lung business, that all my acne is coming back, now that it's not being regulated by the meds I love to hate. I understand that I could have potentially killed myself by taking them, but I feel like I'm dying anyway by not taking them. It's killing me to see a new one every morning, which, just three weeks ago did not exist. They told me a long  time ago, that this would have relented well and truly by now. But they lied. Surprise, surprise.

The other thing is that Blake turned up, out of the blue, on MSN last night. And as much as I was glad I also got thrown way off balance. I think I had finally accepted that that was it and then he just appears out of nowhere and I just don't know now.

It's really not okay, any of it.

I even re-aggravated that frustrating left ACL of mine. And just so it could show me how pissed off it is with me, it gave out this morning when I got out of bed and yep, I face planted.

- Sky

I will be chasing the starlight, until the end of my life, I don't know if its worth it anymore

So.

I think it's fair to say that the stresses of life are pressing down on me, hard. I don't particularly like what I'm hearing from the doctors at this time, but, they are the "experts".

So, now that I know that the pill can increase my pulmonary pressures so much that I could die, I've stopped taking all my meds. This tiny part of me was like "WOO" because the spiralactin tastes feral. Like, it's awful, I want to gag every time I put those in my mouth. Anyway, that's completely beside the point. The fun part is they wouldn't give me any other meds until the lung specialist decides what is safe, and what isn't. I have to wait until the 9th of June. Between now and the 9th of June, I'm going to get a lot of pimples.

This does not make me happy. I'm SICK of having pimples. Why won't they just fuck off!? My next appointment with the gyno isn't until the fucking 22nd of September so no joy with meds until then.

Like, FML.

I started cutting again. They look really crash hot next to my burn scar. Anyway, Mum saw them. Happily, this induced no dramas. Except that she thinks we should do yoga.... okay. Maybe. Probably not.

Going to bed now. Will try to write more.

I have this distraction issue at the moment, it's not cool.

- Sky

So how come when I reach out my fingers, it seems like more than distance between us..

Dear Blake,

I sometimes wonder what happened to us and how I suddenly became so unimportant to you.

I know that message I sent was rude, but I feel it was justified and everyday I die a little more inside when I see you haven't responded. I want to believe that you just don't have the time, but there's a tiny, tiny, part of me that won't stop doubting.

And so I've drawn the conclusion that you, like everyone else, have gotten sick of me and moved on without so much as a goodbye.

I always enjoyed our 4am conversations. It's funny how open we can become. I was secretly overjoyed when you apologised for treating my like shit. I secretly loved that you cared and asked how I was day in and day out. I adore your patience and wish I could tolerate people the way you do.

You know more about me, the real me, than anyone else in this world. In a way, I think love you like a brother and I'm sorry I don't have the courage to say that to your face. My nights are empty without our conversations and it's taken losing you to realise just what I had.

What did I have? I had a real friend, a best friend. I've thought I've had best friends in the past, but I've never had a friend like you. I'm almost quite certain that I will never have a friend who'll mane what you did, and still do to me.

I'm very sorry for the way I've treated you at times. Upon reflection, I think the best way to describe my actions and words at times, is to label them as bitchy. Because that is precisely what they were. I feel like I'm about to try and justify my behaviour, but what I'm really trying to do is help you understand why. Sometimes, I just don't know how to be nice. I don't know how to be nice in the same way I struggle to accept a compliment. I learn, like everyone else, from other people. For a fair portion of my life, I was treated with contempt, and thus my immediate reaction, or defence, when I'm not sure how to act, is to out out with contempt. And I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry for each of the times I've treated you with contempt.

I miss you more than words will ever be able to describe. It saddens me that we've grown apart. I just can't seem to move on, Moving on is letting go, and believe me, I am far from ready to do just that.

I wish I'd seized the opportunities to tell you that I care and that you were/are important to me, bust as they say - it's no use crying over spilt milk. What's done is done and apparently that opportunity has long passed. I am ashamed to say that my fear of rejection has stopped me from making further contact. However, my fear does not change my feelings and perhaps one day I will find it in me to try again - and who knows, you may just find yourself reading this letter.

My desire to respond to the division between us with anger has long since passed and i now quietly mourn and regret it. So I have the following to say:

I hope you are happy. I cannot express that hope enough. If you're not happy, I hope you find a way to achieve happiness. I hope you achieve your goals and reach your dreams. I hope you marry the love of your life and meet incredible people along the way. I hope that you'll look upon our friendship fondly and remember me kindly. I hope that you're doing okay and that you are okay.

I know I showed you the deep dark world of mental illness and I know you once worried a lot, perhaps you still do. But it's okay now, you won't have to worry anymore. I won't put you through anymore pain like that.

I really hope you are okay and that you are happy. I do really miss you and will probably continue to do so for quite a time yet. I will always think of you fondly and remember our friendship kindly. Though, I'm not sure whether to accept that it is over or believe that there is still hope.

I am, in all honesty, unsure how to end this. I have no parting advice, or happy memory. I can only say that I miss you that one day I hope we can be close once more.

- Sky

My Perpetual Circle

I'm tired. I'm tired and I have a headache. I'm tired, I have a headache and I'm completely over this perpetual circle you have me walking. I'm tired, I have a headache, I'm completely over this perpetual circle you have me walking and I don't understand why my only question is 'why?'

So tell me. Why me? Did I do something to you? Is that why all this is happening to me? Is that why I can't feel better about myself? Why I can't be happy? Why my body can't function normally? Why?

No answer? Yeah, essentially what I thought.

Because I'm going to the doctors on Monday and have to sit a SAC and a SAT I can't go with Toby to what will probably be his last race. Because I'm going to the doctors on Thursday I can't go see DeeDee race. I hate the doctors! They can all just go fuck off for all I care. Because it doesn't matter what they say, my life just HAS to get worse before it gets better. And you know, how much worse can it actually get? How.much.worse. I'm done. I've had enough. I'm done. I don't even know anymore. Why do I get up? Clearly, I'm getting nowhere. I feel the same shit everyday, deal with the same shit everyday and do all the same shit all over again each following day. How? Why?

I feel detached. There are two parts to me. One set on being as detrimental as possible and the other is dedicated to pushing the limits and thus I am broken. I disagree with myself constantly. I have these little arguments in my head and if I ever spoke them aloud you'd think I was even more neurotic than you'd previously estimated. The internet tells me that talking to myself and releasing that inner voice promotes good mental health, but I'm more inclined to believe that it means I've reached that point where everything's fucked and no longer worth it because hey, I'm done with all this pain and stupidity. There seems to be no reason for it, so I might just casually walk away from it all now.

Haha. If only.

Not going to lie. I just lost all interest in this entry. May or may not continue in the near future. We shall see.

- Sky

Why can't my brain be this awesome all the time?

I stopped checking my weight obsessively. I've been eating normally and thus weigh 71-73kg, depending on the day. I have had a chat with myself (I have these often apparently) and I've decided that it's best not to check my weight quite so often. It's just depressing. And I don't need help feeling that way. Trust me.

So, once again a considerable amount of things have happened since my last post. I don't have a ton of time, but I'll write what I can in the time I have, and if I feel so inspired tomorrow, I will continue.

I last wrote on the 27th of April. I mentioned that the doctors had decided that nothing too sinister was going on, but they were going to run x amounts anyway just to be safe. So, the good news is, the ultrasound revealed nothing sinister, and on Monday I'm hoping the blood and other related tests reflect that ultrasound results. On Thursday next week I will be visiting the professor lady so she can change my meds. I can no longer take the pill and spiractin as the pill has become very dangerous for me to take. The aforementioned meds have been controlling my acne, quite effectively might I add, but now it seems I cannot take them any longer. My one remaining option is Roaccutane - this one has been linked to depression/suicide. I'm not thrilled, but it's a six month course and it means clear skin (well, that's what I'm hoping). Now, one Friday evening at approximately seven pm the cardiologist rings us to say that he's had a chat with his mate the lung specialist (I assure you I'm paraphrasing and that this is not what was actually said) and that his mate the lung specialist had said that there were reported cases of the pill affecting pressure in the lungs. Yay, we have a cause. But wait, there's more. The effects the pill has on my lungs are terribly damaging and permanent. So... this is all fun to be hearing when you've been taking variations of the pill on and off for the last five or so years.

It does explain my inexplicable lack of fitness. Even I can't believe how unfit I am. But now I know I'm not, my lungs just won't help me. So now I have to visit the cardiologist's friend the lung specialist. And that's on the 9th of June. So it's suffice to say that I am very, very unexcited about this whole medical deal. I have more problems than ever before and it doesn't site terribly well. I'm scared and nervy because I feel like they're going to tell me things I don't need or want to hear. What if my lungs are wrecked? What will I do then? They're already making it difficult to play netball, it hurts to breathe. It hurts to breathe. My throat and chest ache. I get in enough air but it hits my chest like I just breathed in a lungful of razors. Highly unpleasant.

I just wanted it to all be okay, you know? I just wanted to be happy and have a working, functioning body that didn't go off and do things as it pleased. It's really not comforting to know that your own body doesn't want you to succeed.

I'm also feeling really tired, really sad and really defeated. I shall write more tomorrow, because there is so much more left to tell, ponder and discuss.

- Sky

Hi ho, Hi Ho, its off to school we go

Day One: Term Two

Weight: 69kg

Oh look, there's that weight thing again. I'm telling you I am freaking obsessed. I got to 72kg midway through the holidays and I think it's needless to say that I was absolutely mortified. But clearly its been rectified and thus I am feeling much better about this.

I am however, not feeling much better about my relationship with the medical world. Obviously the various heart and lung related tests revealed nothing sinister (except my soft heart murmur LOL). So, today the cardiologist decided that we should re-run the bloods and do a lung scan and then repeat in six months to make sure the pressures aren't changing. And of course between this six months there is at least one more trip back to see him. And, and, it doesn't even end there - because the previous set of bloods revealed that my kidney function was abnormal. YAY! And this is really, really exciting because Mum tells me that I had kidney issues when I was two. So you know, now it's a whole new set of bloods, a new test and a new scan. Oh, and a new specialist. Jesus fucking Christ. This all better make sense one day.

I've been quiet over the holidays, as I have no doubt you've noticed, and it's not because I don't care it's more that I just wasn't really home to write. But I am now, thanks to school, so never fear, my nonsensical ramblings have returned.

Mum has stopped talking to her Mum, for various reasons I now understand. I didn't think she would tell me and she said she probably shouldn't have, but why shouldn't I know what my family is like? How dare my Grandma have dinner with that "bitch" who cut Mum off for reasons I don't pretend to understand. The bottom line is, they weren't there for Mum when the bitch had her fit, so she's decided enough is enough and that she will not be having anything to do with any of them any longer.

Which is cool, I guess. Well not cool as in awesome, cool as in whatever. I should care, but I don't think it will make a huge difference to my life. We haven't associated with said bitch for years and Mum will just have time do more work without having to rush to their doctors appointments, or help them fill out forms.

No judgement here.

I'm also facing losing Toby. Although I am quite optimistic about my chances of buying him when he retires. Toby has elected to race poorly, despite being spoilt rotten, and in racing a no talent horse is just not worth having around. But he is very cute and he loves me dearly (just as I love him), so I'm not prepared to lose him the way I lost Justice - because whether you recognise this or not I still miss that horse and didn't bond with a horse the way I had with Justice until I got my favourite reject Toby. Like Justice, he gets narky when I leave, narky when I talk to Snowy (who is his neighbour and not his friend) and narky when I don't pay him any attention. He loves cuddles when no one is looking, he loves it when I give him attention and brush his face, he loves it when I take him out on Sundays and he loves it when I take him to the races. He also loves it when you pull his ears.

I'm not ready to say goodbye. I need him to race well next time. What will I do when he doesn't hang over the yard fence waiting for me to come get him, even though I'm meant to be taking another horse. It's funny how one insignificant horse can keep me in touch with reality, long after I've decided I no longer want to partake in it.

I house hopped for the most part of my holidays and I realised something. I realised that I was correct about school and my home life being the core of my issues. Once away from home and school my stress and bad feelings alleviated and I felt better, things made more sense, I became untouchable. And I liked it. Happy times are hard to come by and a found some. And lost them again just like that. But I had them and I know how to get them, where to find them. And I want them back. It's torture knowing, but being unable to grasp. The holidays, for me, were a whole different world. Far away from the places and people who made things hard. I slept, I saw the horses, I went to the races and reconnected with old friends. I even started playing netball again, despite the cost to my knees. It's worth it, I think.

For now, George the butterfly keeps me safe from cuts. It's comforting to see him there, watching me, making sure I don't go down that stupid, scary path. But for how long George will keep me safe, I don't know. Lets all hope its for a long while to come.

- Sky