Toilet Paper

Here’s me, needing to go to the toilet.

Get to the toilet, do what I need to do, only to realise I was a barstard to myself by not changing the toilet roll.

Here’s me, leaning down to poke a whole in the brand new 24 pack of toilet paper which is sitting in front of me in the small toilet room.

Yes, I am both too apathetic and poor to get a toilet roll holder, Karen.

So I leaned down to poke a whole in the plastic to get a new roll out, as you do.

I couldn’t break the plastic properly.

Here’s me, with my underwear around my ankles, crab-walking to the kitchen to get a pair of scissors.

I finally get the toilet paper.

A few weeks later and I can’t find the scissors.

It’s because they are in the toilet.

(Well not in the actual toilet, but in proximity to the toilet.)

Who the fuck leaves stuff in the toilet and then forgets about it?

Me.

Just kidding.

I only leave my phone in there…

Do Spiders Dream of Electric Webs

So for some reason I was thinking about bugs this morning.

I like bugs. I think they’re pretty cool. I’ve always loved observing them everytime I see one. But I have honestly been a bit wary of spiders for most of my life.

But that doesn’t mean I like killing them.

I mean, I really, really hate killing most things. I say most because there are some insects like mosqitoes that are just literally out to get you, and they spread disease so I do kill them when necessary.

But it’s different with spiders. It feels cruel to kill a spider, when all it’s doing is existing. Spiders are very small in comparison to humans, and they aren’t out to just get you. Why is it so hard for people to just move them out of the house? Just take a glass and piece of paper, no harm comes to you or the spider.

I obviously know that you shouldn’t fuck around with dangerous spiders. In fact, my partner had to help me get rid of a dangerous spider that was hanging out on my door. We had to spray it, since there was no way to safely remove it.

It was really fucking awful, I felt physically ill for hours afterwards, and so did my partner. Why the fuck did they invent a spray poison that just tortures the bug instead of just instantly kill it? I hate it.

I just don’t understand why people feel nothing when they kill a bug. I’m not a vegan, but I also don’t believe I am above any lifeform.

Now I’m going to go die on the don’t kill bugs hill.

She Lives

So where the fuck have I been exactly. I’ve kind of neglected the blog.

And to be honest, I don’t know whether I’ll be back on this or not.

But I guess for now this is an update.

I wish I could blame just the pandemic for my lack of writing, but I guess it started before that. I guess I just lost all will to write, like I had absolutely no inner monologue to go off. It wasn’t just this type of writing that was hard, it was emails and other stuff that required communication. I’ve just not been good at communicating for a long while, so I am really sorry to the people I was writing to.

I guess you could say I’ve been pretty depressed for a while, not even since the pandemic. I’ve been actually getting through that surprisingly well considering the extra pay from the government, and constantly being at least able to see a partner. I barely leave the house so the masks don’t bother me much. Not being able to see family sucks, but I’m honestly coping with it fine. I know I’m lucky because it’s been so hard on others.

But I’ve hit a wall with my mental health. I’m on one medication and it stops the anxiety, but not the depression. And adding on a medication would cause side effects of some kind that I don’t want to deal with, so I’m choosing not to do that. I have a counsellor that comes to the house, but he’s all about action planning then actual counselling, which would be fine if I actually had motivation to complete anything. It’s not like I’m sad.

Just bored.

So fucking bored all the time with no motivation to change it.

There’s no direction at all when I write. There’s so much nothing and then some words that come out but they don’t sound as good as it did in my head.

Wubba Lubba Dub Dub Part 2

So I thought I was being really witty with this title, till I realised I’ve already used this title for another blog.

Everything just feels hopeless at the moment.

There are some days where I actually do some things other then nothing, and it feels pretty good at the time. And I actually have a day or two where I’m somewhat satisfied and I’m not feeling trapped in my body or brain.

But then I get days like this, where everything just feels like it never gets better. I know logically that it does. But that’s why I feel like the depression just makes it heartbreaking. Because I so desperately want to feel good in these low moments, it’s upsetting when I can’t. I just want to hold on to any emotion that feels better than this.

When it gets this low it feels pointless to do anything, because at the end of the day its safer knowing there’s no where further to fall.

I hate falling.

I don’t know what to do in regards to my treatment anymore.

My doctor is sending me to a female specialist psychiatrist for another opinion, since I stopped taking the antideppressant.

Sure, I was doing better on them. I was also avoiding taking them unless I’d eaten and even when I had eaten they still made me throw up.

Do I have to endure all these side effects from medication just for a small chance to be somewhat functioning.

My counsellor doesn’t think the medication route is good. He’s more for the no drugs approach. And honestly, I do understand the logic behind it, it makes sense.

But my doctor thinks I should be on medication, and so does my mum.

But I’m also terrified to go off medication.

I don’t know if I’m ready to face myself like that yet.

But I also don’t want to feel like this anymore.

Blogging is Good, Actually

So you might ask what I’m doing up at 5.30 in the morning, or probably not because everyone that reads this blog is in a completely different timezone. Or you read this at whatever time so who the fuck cares when I wrote it.

But I’m a morning person anyway.

I honestly don’t have much ideas what to write, but I found that blogging was indeed good for my soul when I wrote one the other day, so I’m trying to pull all the interesting shit from my brain hole.

I have ideas for more posts but not sure if I’ll make it all work. I’m not entirely happy with some of the opinion pieces I have up on here, so I’m thinking I want to maybe challenge some of them. I’m constantly growing and changing my mind and opinions on things. So if anyone ever felt like trudging through my old posts and challenging me on stuff then I would appreciate it.

I know Ima have to do it myself though and not be such a lazy bitch.

I haven’t bought up the election for a reason. Mostly because I have nothing more to add to it, other than Tromp bad.

Anyway this has been a clusterfuck of a post. Wish I had something more interesting I could think of to write about.

Pacify Me

‘Apply for the NDIS’ they said.

They’ll help you’ they said.

And a year and a half later I finally get word that I’ve been REJECTED.

Just like receiving the word from the final psych that he also won’t see me.

‘Maybe you should just get the counselling then’.

You know what that comment feels like? Getting kicked in the guts repeatedly while you’re down then having some snide fuck offer you a hand up only to yoink it away at the last minute.

Yes, of course it’s the systems only answer for helping me, so I’ll be fucking pacified.

Guess what? I’m not fucking doing it.

The only other option I see is to get myself admitted and seen to there, anyone got any suggestions on what will get me into a ward and not jail?

Maybe I could shave my head out the front of Centrelink, or piss myself in the middle of a shopping centre Exorcist style.

What, does this talk make you uncomfortable? Is my anger too volatile?

Better just start those 10 magical free sessions that will pacify me, I mean, fix me enough to function like a normal person in this society.

But Kim, at least our system isn’t as bad as the US, you’ve got it pretty good.

Yeah, I guess the difference is in the US I’d be dead, but over here I’m only contemplating complete public humiliation to get me noticed by a system that thinks everyone on the disability is a fucking dole bludger anyway. See, how much fucking better it is over here?!

I’m so sick of using comparing how bad it is in other countries to justify how fucking awful our mental health system is over here.

But Kim, maybe if you just think positively you’ll be rewarded with more positivity. Just work hard all you’ll get there.

STOP TRYING TO FUCKING PACIFY ME!

Life is shit at the moment, the system is shit, and it has FAILED me. I REFUSE to sit by and PRETEND that I’m happy when I’M NOT FUCKING HAPPY! Maybe if I was sitting in a more comfortable position I could see the positives in my situation. But at this point in time there is NO HOPE. And guess what? If there’s no hope it means there’s NOTHING LEFT TO LOSE. So no, I’m going to kick and fucking SCREAM till I fucking collapse and maybe then they’ll help me.

But I will FUCKING NOT stay silent.

I will not be pacified with counselling sessions from a system that still thinks mental health issues is a sign of weakness.

Please…

Please.

Please!

Don’t tell me to calm down.

Just let me be angry, because I’m the only sane one here getting angry at this broken system.

 

Cunt.

No I don’t care. I’m done caring about what my words mean.

Dear Doctor GM,

Fuck you and your referral letter.

Part of me wants to link you this but that’s probably not the greatest idea. Not because I care that it will be taken out of context or I won’t be taken seriously, because I already know that’s a fucking given, I’m just a stupid little junkie woman that’s constantly ‘truculent’ (thanks for the new word by the way, I’ll use it whenever someone airs their frustrations to me and I want to be a patronising fuck about it). I won’t do it because I don’t think the gp I see noticed that there’s a big bold disclaimer on the letter saying;

Without prejudice. Not for release to Patient or Third Party.

So even though I want to link this hate filled blog to you in an email, I won’t because the gp actually gives a shit about me. Or he does a good job at making me believe that, like you did.

I don’t think you realise how important it is to get the information correct on a referral like this. Or maybe you do, but you don’t care. After all, I’m not a tax payer so I have no real value as a person in this society, not nearly as much as you being a ‘small town psychiatrist’ as you called it. A private one of that. Did you give yourself a pat on the back for waving my appointment fee, since ya’ couldn’t help me so it wouldn’t be fair to charge me. I would’ve been happy to pay the fee if you did your fucking job and wrote down my history correctly;

Getting a history from Kimberley was quite difficult because at interview she was quite tearful at times and truculent at other times : a comprehensive storyline was difficult to establish.’

It wasn’t comprehensive because you didn’t ask me any fucking questions! You let me ramble on about myself then spent 40 minutes talking at me about the fact that there was no hope for me or my generation to get a job and that Australia has a corrupt and fucked up government. You knew you couldn’t help me from the start so the whole session was just you fucking fluffing for most of the time. But I noticed you wrote down key factors to do with the drugs both illegal and prescription that I’ve taken. Autopilot, autopilot, keywords, keywords. That’s why my storyline wasn’t fucking comprehensive.

Cunt.

‘Medical history includes polycystic ovarian syndrome diagnosed recently.’

This pisses me off so much you have no idea. PCOS was diagnosed at 14. I’ve LITERALLY been telling doctors about this since then, but until I got another recent ultrasound no one took my word for it. THEY NEVER FUCKING LISTEN TO ME.

I believe she is on the ‘disability stream’ for the next 3 months via Centrelink.’

You really were a deaf old cunt weren’t you. I said I was EXEMPT from my stream for the next 3 months, the disability stream has been a permanent thing for years. What I was asking for was a letter from you helping me get on to disability PAYMENTS, which you declined because in your words it was ‘a pointless endeavour’ which actually translates to ‘filling out paperwork is tedious’.

She also mentioned suffering lifelong anxiety for which she had tried Xanax and Valium and about which she was enquiring in terms of further treatment.’

THAT’S A LOAD OF FUCKING BULLSHIT!!! This pisses me off so badly on so many levels! I also mentioned? Are you fucking serious, IT WAS WHAT THE WHOLE SESSION WAS ABOUT! I got prescribed Xanax and Valium at the same time when I first got diagnosed at 15, it was a completely bullshit thing to prescribe someone that young. I made a throw away exasperated comment about no one wanting to prescribe anything to help with my crippling anxiety and it’s not like you could give me Valium continuously even though it would be nice to have some relief from it. I NEVER FUCKING ONCE ASKED FOR THOSE DRUGS IN THAT SESSION! Do you even realise how much of a junkie you’ve made me out to be in this one fucking line?! NO ONE TAKES A PERSON ASKING FOR BENZOS SERIOUSLY, IN THE HISTORY OF FUCKING EVER!

You’ve branded me with the junkie label. You ignored the fact I’ve quit fucking cigarettes and haven’t touched had drugs in over 8 years to give me this fucking benzo label when I’ve never fucking once abused those drugs. And the other psych, the only one in fucking Melbourne that can help me, is immediately going to judge me like this because YOU are meant to be the credible source.

FUCKYOYFUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOU.

And there goes any hope I had in the system and for myself.

Cunt.

Scratched loop brain words

Why don’t I get it? Why don’t I understand how people work? Why don’t I feel close? Is any of it real? Why can’t I sense anything? Why can’t I feel properly? Why do I feel so much? Why does it hurt?

Why can’t I think of anything other then questions?

Why does nothing make sense? Am I going crazy? What is normal? Am I normal? If no one is normal then what is crazy? Why is nothing good enough? Why am I so angry? Why am I so sad? Why am I so confused? Why am I so bad when nothing is wrong?

Why can’t I think of anything original? Why can’t I create? Why are my ideas so boring? Why is everything I do awful? Why am I so intolerable? Why does it seem like everyone hates me?

Why is no one honest? Why is no one open? Why can’t I accept praise? Why is doing the right thing never enough? Why does it feel like everyone’s against me? Why do people keep yelling when they aren’t? Why can’t anyone hear how loud it is?

Why can’t I be an adult? Why can’t I function? Why don’t people get me? Why don’t I get me? Will I ever not be completely empty? Will the hole ever not be there?

Will I ever get it? Will anything ever be worth it? Will my brain ever not be a prison?
 Will I ever be truly happy? What’s the difference between happy and manic? How do people control their impulses?

How do people not overthink? Why do I overthink? How do I stop overthinking? Why do I care what others think? Why does not caring about appearance means not caring about yourself when caring about looks is narcissistic?

If you shouldn’t care about what people think then why do you have to care what people feel? Do I lack empathy even typing that? Are there unwritten rules that people just know?

Will these questions ever be answered in a way that makes sense to me?

Is peace different to happiness? Is happiness different to contentment? If no one takes words literally then what’s the point of using words at all? If body language explains more then why do we need to talk? 
Why are people mean? Why are nice people liars? Why can’t I describe the ache I feel?

What’s the point of my existence? Will I ever go anywhere? Will I ever not be terrified? Will I ever stop repeating myself? Will I ever stop asking questions? Will I ever stop over thinking? Will it ever stop being a circle?

When will it stop?

When will this stop?

When will I stop?

When will it end…

I Don’t Understand

I’ve had a while to think about the diagnosis, and overall I’m happy with what they said.

I was happy that they proved me right.

I was happy that I had something more reasonable to explain me as a person.

But I’m also starting to realise the extent of social issues I’ve always had.

There are some days where I just can’t function, usually they’re triggered by the way I sleep. I usually have a bad dream, and I wake up to something that I don’t want to deal with. These days are the days where any little thing can trigger tears, what am I saying, most days are like that, but these days are particularly bad.

Because when I start crying on days like this I can’t stop.

I get so overwhelmed. I can’t think rationally, and any outside attempt at trying to get me to see reason and logic will immediately be crushed by my mind that spins its way into a downward spiral, and it doesn’t stop until it reaches the very bottom. It’s hell for that time spent in the very blackest of these moments. Because all I feel is pain, and the scab gets unpicked and it feels like an open bleeding wound inside of me that will never heal, because I can’t remember where it even came from, only that it’s a combination of everything terrible way I’ve felt and been hurt.

My brain goes into full meltdown.

But then just like that it’s over. I pull myself out of the roughest of it, and I can think again. These meltdowns will always happen, and the pain always feels at the same level. The sadness always lingers for a while and I’m always exhausted, but then I start to reflect.

I thought I could read people, but I can’t actually read people at all.

I can’t understand the subtleties of conversation or people. I can only take people at their word, which is stupid because I take words literally and most people don’t. But I don’t have anything else to go on because I can’t read body language.

I’ll never understand people the same way normal people do, and normal people don’t understand me. I trust too easily, because I can only trust completely, or not at all. So it’s easy to fuck me over. And people sure have. I realise that now.

I thought I knew what loving someone meant, but I don’t think I even understand what love is, I don’t think I’ll ever understand. I don’t even know if I have the ability to truly grasp the adult concept of it, and not the ridiculous romantic thing it is in my head.

If only you knew how tortured I feel, knowing that I lack something that I don’t even understand the concept of. How do you learn something that’s supposed to be natural?

I’ll always see what people want me to see, but I’ll never understand if they’re being sincere or just polite.

I’ll never understand the difference between poking fun and bullying, because my sensitivity is so high.

I’ll always have to think about what I say because there are so many social rules that are just inherently known that I’m still learning.

I always felt like I was putting together a puzzle in my head, and for a while the autism diagnosis felt like a final piece to the puzzle.

Now I realise that the puzzle was fucked from the start, I’ll never piece it together because the pieces are abstract and don’t fit together.

I feel like an alien. Like there’s something that everyone else knows but I don’t. I feel like even though I’m starting to make friends, it makes me more self conscious and concerned then ever. Because I don’t know what I do to fuck things up. And I never see it coming.

And I’m scared that people just pity me, but I know that’s just due to how badly I see myself. It’s kind of weak in a way.

I’d rather beat myself down then acknowledge that I’m someone people want to spend time with, and with that comes the responsibility of being self aware and thinking before I speak.

I guess it is a trust thing too. I have to trust completely that these people are being sincere with me, it’s just really hard to trust when you can’t read people.

And I can’t read people.

I don’t understand.

I find myself saying that a lot lately.

One thing I know for sure is this; I’m a genuine person and I can say that for certainty.

So shame on you for using that to your advantage.

 

This Is Your Brain, On Kim

I was right, I was right all along… 

To anybody who follows my posts (which is a very small few but I love you guys none the less), you know I’m not mentally stable. You know I’ve been diagnosed with a lot of things, and you know I’ve been trying for a year now to get this Autism Spectrum Disorder assessment.

Well, today I had my final appointment for this whole ordeal, this whole year long process.

And they confirmed I was correct in my theory, I am on the Autism Spectrum.

I’ve been in the mental health system for 10 years now. I’ve seen everybody, psychiatrists, psychologists, general practitioners, counsellors, youth workers. I’ve had over 7 psychiatric assessments, and all of them concluded Borderline Personality Disorder. I’ve been seen as a problem. I’ve seen ‘arrogant’ written on pieces of note paper more times then I can count. I’ve been dismissed, and pumped with medication to shut me up. I’ve been told to grow up, I’ve been told that I’m wired wrong and that I need therapy to teach me all the basic human skills that I lack.

I’ve been made to feel like I’m an awful person, who is possessive and manipulative and terrible.

But none of those health professionals even considered this possibility, I MADE them consider this possibility. I DID. It was ME that knew that this diagnosis was correct.

And all this year I’ve been made to feel like I was wrong, that I was arrogant to try and diagnose myself. That I was just trying to find an excuse to justify all my problematic behaviour.

But if I hadn’t of put my foot down and fucking demanded they help me, actually fucking help me instead of going through the same thing and getting the same result…

Then I would still be in the system being pushed down and dismissed because it’s a lot easier to slap a personality disorder label on someone then actually think about it.

I lost my love over this… in all reality I most likely lost him before that but me searching for answers was the icing on the cake. 

It wasn’t for nothing though.

Part of me wants to shove this diagnosis so far down all those health professionals throats that it burns when they shit it out the other end. Part of me wants to jump up and down like a maniac screaming ‘I fucking told you so’ at the top of my lungs.

I am not stupid, and I am not crazy…

I thought this was a waste of time. I thought that I was just using valuable resources for the kids who actually need to use this service. Not many people my age get assessed for autism. It’s something that usually needs to be diagnosed in childhood.

I was prepared to drop this train of thought entirely and admit that I was wrong.

But I was never wrong. I was right.

Even though I knew this all along, I was still not prepared for this outcome. And I honestly don’t know where to go from here. I know that this doesn’t change who I am, and it’s going to take some time to put my trust back in the system that fucked me over so hard.

They should have never diagnosed me with Borderline at the age that they did, because they essentially created the disorder in me.

So what do I do now? Where do I go from here?

I guess I’ll start from the beginning again.

Hi, my name is Kim, and I have autism.