Archive for August, 2013

I had an awesome post written in my head last night, and when I woke up, -poof- , gone.  I’ve been struggling cognitively a little this week, losing shoes, keys, what I was about to say. Something distressing happened and I’m still ok. That’s the first thing I just plucked out of the space above my head. The kind of event that would usually make me cut and run, because it’s what I do, but I’m not and I won’t.

I haven’t been around much lately, I’m two days into the week long treatment I’ve been waiting for, that silver bullet, and it’s working. I can feel it. I know it the same way I know the sun will set tonight, what cool sand feels like between my toes.

Even though cancer cells are being zapped into oblivion as I write this, I would appreciate anyone keeping their fingers crossed for me ūüôā

I have just enough hair to pull into a ponytail, and of course that’s when it starts coming out, my hands coated with dark strands in the shower, and instead of drinking half a bottle of vodka, losing my shit and shaving it completely I just go with it, trust the process, maybe I’ll lose it all maybe I won’t, but it’s actually not the most important problem I have, even if I feel like I’ve been punched in the stomach. I wish someone had told me that you can let yourself feel pain and loss, and that’s all you have to do, just feel it. Not drink through it, run from it, fight it.

Just feel it.

And it’s ok.

I got to thinking about why I decided to come here this year, and even though I had some vague ideals about homeschool and some mental space and recovery, it was pretty much an instinctive pull. The thing is, this year has obviously been absolutely nothing like I expected but thank God I’m here. If all this had happened at home, it would have been 200% harder to cope with. I still want to go back – no, I’ll be honest, I need to go back, to sort shit out one way or another. Either way, I was meant to be here this year, and I’m betting that next year I’ll either settle in up the hill or decide on another long term prospect. Bottom line, I usually end up where I’m supposed to be.

I wish someone had told me I could trust myself.

I’m learning.

Another thing I was thinking about (yeah, I tend to think really intensely while poisons are seeping into my bloodstream, and my iphone is taken away) was that ‘Bucket List’ I wrote, and how I’ve done exactly one thing from it.

It was the fun item, and it was excellent and I did do it more than once <grin>.

Anyway, I started a mental re-write, and if I needed anymore proof that I’ve changed, that was it.  I want to write letters to people, just in case. I want to explore a healthy, simple lifestyle. I want to nurture myself and Bailey.

I want to detox my life, cull my possessions, focus on relationships and experiences more.

I’d still like to fall in love with someone else, it hasn’t happened yet – but I have fallen out of love, and I think that’s step one.

Sad as it may be, it’s necessary.

So, that’s where I’m at.

How are you guys?


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That you’ll never be the same again.

Sure. If I keep on top of myself and I’m careful and I have a hell of a lot of luck I *might* be able to put our lives back together. For awhile.¬†Some bits. The important ones I’m hoping.

What’s important has changed. And that’s not all together a bad thing.

I’ve lost most of my friends, which I only realised today when I really sat down and thought about it. Some of the few that¬†remain are surprises, as are some of the ones who left.

I haven’t written much about it, but there are cracks in my relationship with Bailey now. At the start of the year I would have said we were bulletproof.


He’s over me being sick, and everything that comes with it, and I don’t blame him one little bit. I’m tired, on edge. Everytime I start to get on top of things, something happens. I love him more than life, but fuck this is hard to deal with. I’m failing him, doing heaps of things I thought I’d never do, just to cope.

He asks why it was his mummy who had to get sick, and I have no way to answer that.

He lucked out with me, really.


I’m having¬†a flat day, obviously, but overall I’m still doing ok :). I’m not getting a heap of sleep, because I was honest enough with my Doctors¬†to admit that I shouldn’t really be trusted with pills at this point, and it was one of the harder things I’ve had to verbalise lately. Of course, I want them badly and I’m kicking myself a little now, but I know myself, and unfortunately I think I’m always going to struggle a bit with things that can numb me or take me away.

Alcohol, sugar,¬†pills, cigarettes, sex, it’s all part of the same problem for me, and I’m committed to sorting that shit out. I’m not an alcoholic, a sex-addict, I’m¬†a chronic cope-r, and I just do anything in order to keep going and then to switch my brain and feelings off at the end of the day.

I think I’ll get to the point where I don’t need to, because I’m starting to notice the things I fucking love about my life, and building on them.


So Craig called me other¬†day.¬†He didn’t¬†have¬†Bailey the previous weekend so other than me texting him to say Bailey was sick, we hadn’t had any contact, and for a couple of weeks before that, it was very quick drop offs, no dinner, no chat. Basically because Fuck him.

It was awkward. Up until now, unless it’s been in the direct aftermath of a massive fight we’ve still been able to talk pretty easily. I mean, I could talk to practically anyone though.

‘Hey, I was just wondering how you were? What’s happening?’

‘Um, nothing much, you? Did you want to speak to Bman?’

‘No…I just wanted to know how you are? How’s treatment?’

‘Yep. It’s fine thanks. How’s work?’


-awkward silence-

‘I miss you’

-disbelieving laughter, massive smile-

‘I don’t really care’

You know those moments that make life worth living? Pretty sure that was one of them.



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This is my dog, Charlie. Well, technically, he’s Bailey’s dog.


Charlie enjoys trashing shit, running around the streets, digging holes and ‘has to be with mummy¬†24/7 omg’.

We love him anyway, and I think he might have saved my life this year.¬†He just adores me blindly, no matter what. Some of it may be¬†because his memory is roughly 3 seconds, so he doesn’t remember me¬†growling at him and waving the latest skylander, shoe, piece of couch he has rendered unusable. He’s hilariously dumb with no spatial awareness what so ever, he gets stuck in tree branches, under beds, coffee tables…he thinks he is a lap-dog.

He was one a few days ago. We got a puppy at the worst possible time. Because I am soft, I took a sweet little terrier type who was going to ‘get the gun’…had the perfect owner lined up, who on handover day ended up in an ambulance…I looked at the dog…she looked at me… ‘No Pepper. I want my next dog to be an Anatolian shepherd, and you kinda look like a mop’

At my dad’s with¬†Pepper in tow ‘Well you never offered me the dog. I can look after a dog, you know. Look, I have some steak for her.’

So Pepper had a home.

‘She’s getting a bit fat Ash, don’t forget you said you’d get down to take her for her sterilisation’

‘She disappeared this morning, I had to get the neighbour to come help…guess what…she was pregnant…’

I have a dog, Alex, and she is pretty much perfect. I kinda just assumed he would fit in with the menagerie, I am usually good with animals and they all tow the line, so to speak.

The first time I held him, I remember saying ‘This one’s special

He was the puppy I could have sold ten times over.


He’s a nightmare. I’ve become one of those morons I’ve always kinda internally rolled my eyes at, whose dogs run their lives. I don’t know what happened. Like I said, the other dog is perfect. When we lived up the hill, he fit in pretty well. He wasn’t overly bright, but he learnt to stay out from under the horse’s feet mostly. He didn’t leave the property. When we moved here it was like he went insane. Jumping out. He became insanely protective. And he kept growing and growing. Now he’s about 3 times the size of his poor Mummy.

He gets separation anxiety…it’s beyond frustrating. I have him on a tie out type system with a harness and he actually seems happier like that. Like it makes him feel secure? He’s happy, anyway, but I wish he was just a normal dog like Alex, who stays in the fucking yard without being restrained, barks when someone comes but doesn’t go insane, likes swimming at the beach but doesn’t start sinking, therefore forcing me to get into the cold water in jeans to drag her out.

He is what he is, and we manage him, and he is improving. Thank God. I’ve never rehomed a pet, and I thought about it seriously with him but then I just chose to love him anyway.

And I do. Very much.



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Because I absolutely must deconstruct everything.

A couple of the people that¬†I’m closest to atm, seem a little ‘wtf’ at my sudden change in demeanour.¬† And it really was that sudden. One day, I was the epitome of ‘not coping’. The next, I felt ok. Good, even.

Nothing changed.

I mean, I still have cancer, no savings, no job, no practical ideas of what I want to do ‘when I grow up’ or even just where to go next from here.

I still hate and love the father of my child in almost equal measure.

It maybe sounds a little trite, but it was hitting rock bottom that snapped me back to life I think. Let me just say, that in my moments of clarity while I was in that dark patch, I was very worried for myself and Bailey. I could hear the things I was saying and thinking, hated the person I was becoming, felt like a ticking time bomb really.

I’ve been through a lot, in my very full and intense life (see me owning that shit instead of minimising trauma into almost non-existence?) but nothing has ever kicked my ass like it did in the last couple of months.

Anyway. I’m rambling.

‘Rock-bottom’ for me, was a couple of things. The first, was realising that the sole experience I was looking forward to was being able to drink on my off treatment weeks. So yeah, instead of giving my body a break from being poisoned, and my mind some space, I would just abuse myself more and more so I wouldn’t have to think about anything except how crap I felt. I fucked around with prescription medication. Numbed myself. I’m so ashamed to be writing this. ¬†On the odd occasion where I made a concentrated¬†effort to just…be…I couldn’t handle it. I’d pop myself in a meditative mindset (something that used to take me roughly 10 seconds and that I can honestly say is the number one way that I have coped with everything up until this diagnosis) and be thrown out of it with a massive anxiety attack.

Being in my own head felt impossible.

Not having music, noise, facebook, being able to hear my own thoughts was actual torture for me.

Another thing, was finding myself doing something totally depraved and out of character, and instead of exiting the situation, I pretty much held myself in the fire, reached for the pills, turned the music up, and ignored my own feelings, my own standards, my own intuition.

I’m a good person, and I don’t deserve to be treated that way, especially not by myself.

I hope I’m not being premature, or arrogant, but I really really¬†believe the worst is over for me. I don’t mean this won’t be hard, I have a hell of a lot of work to do, and some of it is out of my control.

But I feel like I’m getting the hang of this ‘inner-ok-ness’ thing.


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