Winding down

12 11 2017

I feel that time is running low, that my energy is less abundant than it used to be, and that life is becoming harder to sustain.

My bed is my keeper, I’m here most of the day. I mostly rest and sometimes sleep. I keep in touch via my tablet and watch Netflix at night.

My home remains uncleaned although I make sure the laundry is done and I am washed.

The cats and dog are fed, but I mainly live on coffee and snacks, I might have a meal in the evening which comes out of the microwave.

I’m not sure if it’s my body or spirit, or both.

I cannot call myself depressed, but I am unhappy.

If I die, and it could happen, my only concern would be for my companions, I am disposable.

Any talk of me being “too young” at 52 is bollocks. I had a very good life compared to many, and a good family. I regret nothing.

I write this not because I may take a dive off the West Gate Bridge, but because it could happen, it nearly happened at 39.

I know I go through cycles where I consider mortality and then come out the other side again, but I’m tired and have had my fill.

If there is life after death as some say, and reincarnation as others say then my plan is to go up and out into space, not dally around here. 

Many of you have found a place where you fit, I never have, but I look up and know I have friends out there, it’s where I most want to be.


6 11 2017

Now and then I have a big think about things, I think sometimes I’ve written about these ideas before, but perhaps getting them down again is a kind of therapy, which might help others too.

Those who experience panic attacks are asked to look for triggers, but it’s never that simple. If we were arachnophobes then we could blame our terror on out eight legged friends, the problem though is not singular, it’s a fruitcake.

As a small boy I was asked by my dad to get his pills from a narrow container for him as his fingers were too thick.
I thought it was just medicine, but later I learned that they were to calm him down.

He stopped taking them at the request of mum, who was concerned that he might be becoming addicted.

Then I in my twenties suffered from panic attacks. There were days I could venture into the city, but could not go into certain shops or cinemas.

There were weeks when I couldn’t go anywhere at all.

I had professional help, it helped a little.

One day I watched my sister have an attack in our car and then heard that my niece was having trouble driving home from work.

And later that my nephew was also having problems.

I wasn’t alone as I had thought.

All of this came down from Dad, who had Aboriginal blood.

Our brains did not evolve for today, but for thousands of years ago.

I noticed that I felt at peace in a forest, or a quiet beach, places we evolved to be, but modern places were the reason for my mental strife.

Walking through city streets, the people, the cars, the bass vibrating through the footpath, the horns, the smell of sweat mixed with aftershave, hair products, nail varnish. The fresh scents of fruit, the smothering heaviness of fried food. Signs, adverts, pictures everywhere, the contant input of information, spaces closed in or open, jagged lines, too much.

I cannot ride on trains, trains are the worst.

I wondered if it was just my Dad’s genes, could it be something to do with his Koori bloodline which caused my distress? Could I feel my connection to nature and my need to be a part of it more than others?

Do I simply feel more of an animal than others do?

Others hate seeing themselves as animals despite being mammals. 

Eating, sleeping, seeing, hearing, tasting, fucking, breathing, peeing.

Calling criminals “animals”, lowering something honourable to an insult.

I was proud of my animal side and encouraged it, had I the technology to alter my form like some alter their sex, I would take it.

Even as I lay here at ease, I am aware of my jagged breath, my heartbeat, I am on edge. 

I would like to exhale, to finally feel at peace.

But I doubt this life will offer me that luxury.