Posts Tagged ‘Addictions’

Something I started thinking about at 4pm on a random boring Tuesday. The promises we make ourselves. No. Not promises. More like contracts. Long running scripts, fulfilling expectations.

I promised I’d never be loved, or wanted or sexualised ever again. I was 14.

I pledged I’d never suicide, after seeing it up close, in high definition. The most envious I’ve ever been was when I realised I’d have to live through what he did, and that I couldn’t make the same choice, could never cause a fraction of that pain. And that he wouldn’t know any of it.

When I was 10, I was given a horse. I clung to him. I was focused. I managed his care, his diet, my life revolved around him. He was my safe place and I knew I would always need to have horses. I will forever be grateful for that all encompassing passion and commitment, it saved me through my messy adolescence, but I’m not really there now. Horses don’t serve me the way they used to. Still I hang on. Because that’s what I do. I have horses.

I knew I’d never be ok again, after my ex left, and its dawned on me that I sub consciously hold myself to all these contracts, expectations that I set for myself. It’s hard letting go of all this. If I’m ok, does that mean I didn’t try hard enough? Does it mean I think Bailey not having the ideal is good enough?

Growing up, I assumed that I’d end up being a single mother, living in a unkempt house with a menagerie. It wasn’t what I wanted, it was just what I expected. So here I am. I have been a cyclebreaker in other, arguably more important ways, so it stands to reason I should be able to break this one too, if I so choose.

We really do create our own reality.

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When I crash, it’s like this leaching hole of nothingness, and then frantic manic activity while I try to claw my way out. It’s cigarettes and beer and sedatives and sex. It’s sneaky and insidious and before I know it, I don’t want to get out of bed, the horses’ shoes are falling off and I don’t know what we’re going to have for dinner again. So much of this is internal, and well-hidden, but it’s seeping out, and people are actually noticing. I can’t hide behind ‘treatment’, or ‘just tired’ anymore, and I don’t want to be like this. No-one believes I’m mentally ill, just traumatised, but when does one melt into the other? Where is this blurred line?

Recovery is yoga, vegetarianism and writing. It’s light and warmth, friends and work. Quiet productivity. I just, I can’t keep this cycle going. I can’t get out of it either. It hurts. I got through cancer and separation and abuse and judgement, but this is fucking my life up. It doesn’t feel fair. Like I’ve said before, there’s no balance, there’s no ‘go through hell now and then things will level out’ trade-off.

I know I could do well at life, on my terms, if I could get out of this. When I’m well, I’m dynamic, I get shit done, I’m bright. When I’m not ok, I systematically destroy that, like knocking down sandcastles at the beach. I fought SO HARD for what we have. I took on someone I love when I wanted to just give in, and say ‘you know what? Have the house. Fucking burn it down’. I fought myself and I fought him. I sold things and took out loans and I neglected myself so my son wouldn’t have to see any more pain.

On the surface, it was worth it.

Dig a little deeper, maybe not.

I love this. When I get what I want, I never want it again.

Ash x

ps – if you like me – #cometothepartycourtneylove I have a significant birthday coming up and I can live in hope ūüėČ

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‘Who knows, and does it matter?’ I scratched a pattern on the sheet. ‘I don’t think I need to define it. I’ve been there. Straight. I’m straight. But then I’m not.’

She yawned, luxuriously, not bothering to cover herself as she stretched. ‘Maybe it doesn’t matter. I just think that I deserve to know. Is this real?’

‘It’s as real as anything else.’


All of my relationships have been with men. Nice, not so nice, tall, blonde, funny, smart, but all of them men. Writers and labourers and dealers and doctors. So would you assume I’m ‘straight’? Does it matter?

All of that, relationships and rules and limits, seems so far away now, almost alien. 

It took me so long to drop the labels. I wish they didn’t exist. Sexuality, to me, is gorgeous and intrinsic and can be so, I don’t know, fluid? It’s so hard to put what I’m trying to say into writing. I wish no-one had to ‘come out’, and we would just love who we love and that’s it. Isn’t it odd to have all these expectations and boxes and contracts. I understand the level of relief some people must feel when their sexuality has a name and is accepted. I’ve just always felt sort of…straight-jacketed, I guess… by labels, but it seems like society is so uncomfortable and overly invested in people not having one, and I’m insecure enough to let that bother me still.

Some experiences just are what they are, whether it’s a lasting enduring love, a passing attraction, or one intense night with someone. I don’t want to over-think and label everything. It truly doesn’t matter, and life is swirly and confusing and connections with people are special.¬†

I still can’t touch what I’m saying. I’ve slept with people I’ve loved and disliked and felt ambivalence towards. I change. It changes. Needs and wants change. Can your sexuality change? I don’t know. Do people have a true base sexuality that fits into one of five (? that I can think of) categories and are the layers on top a nature vs nurture type deal? Why does it matter? People do care who you sleep with. No one ‘comes out’ as straight.¬†

Freedom in all ways can be so intoxicating, and sometimes it seems like there’s no rules left.¬†

So beautiful.






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Ash, and I need an intervention.


Thanks to a warning from my in-name-only brother, I have become aware¬†of one in the planning stages.¬† My family don’t know I know.¬† Oh the FUN I could have with this.¬† I am not sure what they think they are intervening against as yet, possibly my hardcore drug use or pornography addiction.

I’d say it’s just because I haven’t been myself for so long, so they assume I’m ‘on the drug’ – quote from my evil grandmother, or drinking heavily, or something.¬† Not just that I’ve been through alot, and haven’t quite bounced back.¬† To be fair, they don’t know¬†all most¬†of it.¬† I guess this is the price I pay for being a private person, for not being handle them at the best of times, let alone under stress.

I can totally see the hilarious side of this, but I am also a bit upset.

I mean, fuck me.¬† I actually thought I was coping ok, considering.¬† I live an hour away from my closest family, so no I haven’t been down much.¬† But they haven’t been up either, and yeah they have their reasons, my Dad can’t drive (he’s blind, well nearly), and my older rellies aren’t really up for the drive.¬† They are suburban type drivers and it’s a windy fast drive up here, with trucks etc.

But I don’t judge no-one coming to see me.¬† They have their reasons.¬† And to be brutally honest, I don’t think it would have helped anyway.

It’d be nice if they assumed the same about me.

I don’t do drugs.¬† My child is always fed and loved and has everything he needs.¬† I’ve just started a psychology degree.¬† I go to therapy.¬† I clean my house.¬† I go to work.¬† They think I’m a non-drinker.

Of course they don’t know I’ve been through another battle with cancer, that I’ve started having awful flashbacks and nightmares, about random guy, that Craig and I have been on and off and that he’s been stringing me along.¬† They don’t know how my life feels to me, is what it comes down to.

And really, it’s none of their goddamn business.

So I could :

Totally nip it in the bud this weekend, by mentioning to my dad how busy I’ve been with Uni, that I AM going to therapy, that alcohol is the devil’s water, and that drugs are too expensive if I want to eat.

Play it up, find out when the intervention is taking place, and rock up AWESOMELY drunk, with assorted men/women hanging off me.  Because on American tv, interventions usually end with the person going to rehab of some sort, and I could use a motherfucking holiday.

Take the high road, just ignore it and continue trying to do the best I can for Bailey under the circumstances.¬† And just quietly deal with any accusations or questions that come up with dignity.¬† Because, really, I’m ok.¬† Not great, just ok.¬† Coping.¬† And that’s enough I think.¬† Yes it hurts, yes I’m exhausted.¬†

BUT.¬† I’ve kept it together, even when I didn’t want to.¬† I’ve used most of¬†my¬†energy to keep Bailey well.¬† Because he is the most important thing in my life and I love him.¬† Everyone else has gotten the scraps, what I have leftover after smiling and dancing, after being careful to run the shower so he doesn’t hear me vomiting, after¬†cooking him¬†a nutritious meal when any food smell makes me dizzy, after biting the inside of my lip to keep from crying when he gets another extra daycare day as a ‘special treat’.¬†Too bloody bad.

I guess what I’m saying is I’ve been surprised at what I can actually cope with, and this feels like being kicked when I’m down.¬† Really down.

But y’know what?

Fuck it.

This is my fucking life.¬† My opinion matters the most.¬† My child is well behaved, clean, and polite.¬† He’s naturally kind and caring.¬† I have so many other parents ask me for advice, because he is just a darling.¬† Most of it was just luck.¬† But I’ll take a little credit.

I have friends.¬† I’m a nice person.¬† I’m helpful, generally polite and I genuinely care about people.¬† I don’t judge people, I just try to help if I see something amiss.

Shouldn’t that be enough?¬† I know it is for me.


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Everytime I have this thought, I’m going to take the time to acknowledge it, think about it, write it down, and change it.

I don’t want to be an alcoholic.¬† I’m not one, I don’t think.¬† I don’t drink everyday. I don’t/ won’t drink in front of my son.

But I feel like I could have the capacity to become one.¬† Because I tend to rely on alcohol when life is tough.¬† Sometimes thinking about being able to write myself off Friday night is what gets me through the week, through treatment, through crying myself to sleep, through Craig acting like I don’t exist, through Bailey asking about Daddy.¬† Through saying goodbye to pets, through not being able to ride AGAIN, through nightmares, through saying goodbye to Bailey.

And I’m so angry at myself.¬† Because I am smart. I do know better.¬† I’ve seen the effects of dependency. I really truly believe that drinking is the biggest problem in australian culture.

But it’s so nice to just give myself a break from reality….


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