Wednesday, March 30, 2011


It has been a tough few days. Tough doesn't quite do it justice.. It has been a FUCKED few days.

*clears throat*

Things were good, I had a sweet day at the races on Saturday, then BAM! Rick's car broke down.

Sunday night we chilled on the couch after a visit with Rick's dad. Dozing off to sleep together, BAM! The dogs have a massive fight resulting in a $2200 vet bill.

Monday morning Rick has to drop me off to work in my car so he can take the dog to the vet, BAM! My car decides to die after we stop to fuel up.

Seriously, rough few days for our bank account and for our stress levels. I can only hope these things know that old adage "all things happen in threes". Unfortunately for me, it feels like the three thousands. For one, my problemo el wisdom teeth is building. And two, I am on day four of my third attempt of antidepressants. I've been so nauseas. I am feeling very negative about going back on them which makes me wonder if negativity will stop them from working (because at the center of all of this, I still think it's all in my head). But whatever, we'll see. I guess for now I should just go with it and be pleased that I don't burst into tears at weird intervals for no foreseeable reason.

Anyway, whatever. For now it's heads down as Rick and I work our butts off to pay for the vet bills our furry children have caused. We used our wedding funds, so we have a bit of a way to make up now to pay for our reception and celebrant (yay us!). My lovely bosses gave me a bonus this week to show their appreciation for how awesome I am, which really brightened my mood at work. So now I'll just shut my whiney mouth and do some work!


Friday, March 18, 2011

The lowdown

I got flowers delivered to work yesterday. My man is so sweet. I accidentally gave him a peak inside my crazy brain the night before and I think he is genuinely scared for me. He got really sick last night, fevers and chills and shivers. The whole shabang. I was up and down all night feeling helpless, fetching him water and my secret stash of the really good cold and flu pills. I feel guilty that I'm adding to his already bread-winning-man-of-the-house sized stress load. He's at work now but I'm expecting a phone call to pick him up any minute. Axel is going bat shit crazy over a bunny cartoon on the tv, apparently he's been waiting all morning for this one. The dogs are whining for attention on the veranda because it's raining and I won't let them inside. The dishes aren't done and the sheets are in the dryer and that's the end of my interesting life.

I went to the local Irish pub with my sister in law on Thursday night. One of the girls from work left her husband the day before so we jumped on that excuse to act like complete fools. I am embarrassed, and still paying for it today. It's probably about time I recognise that I am developing a bit of a reliance on booze. Time for a break me thinks; not having a drink until I go home to ma and pa's for Easter. Let's see how that goes.

And I'm outey!

Wednesday, March 9, 2011

This Is Not A Stick

Axel has this book that he really loves. He asks me to read it all the time, so much so that I sort of hide it under other books to avoid it. Easier books to read. Ones where the emphasis is obvious and preferably rhyming. This Is Not A Stick. It's not a long book, but it's sort of difficult to make it interesting. Well obviously that's only my adult ideal anyway because if Axel sees it he demands I read it.

These last few days I've been bobbing in the waves of stupid depression. I hate saying the word. But I can't really avoid it when I know it. The interwebs are at my fingertips. I have a brain. I know I have depression. I have tried to seek help, honestly. I have seen a few different doctors, spoke to my partner, my mother. The very first time I brought it up to my GP was at Axel's 10 day check up. She told me it would pass. Even before that, when I was pregnant, the midwife doing a checkup at the hospital picked up that there was potential for problems, but all she needed to hear was me saying I felt fine. Anyway, back to the bobbing. Sort of out of nowhere this week I had a jolting realization that as bad as I feel, as much as I loathe myself, I really, really love my kid. It's not like I didn't love him already, or didn't know it, but just this week it struck me that those feelings are there. The ones of complete amazement and adoration, as opposed to the ones of necessity and biological expectation. The ones whose absence haunted me when he was a tiny baby. So why do I still feel so shitty? Does this mean my brain is just generally fucked, instead of post-partum fucked?

I was laying on the lounge this morning at the crack of a sparrow's fart watching Angela Anaconda with Axel (lately sleep ins aren't the in thing in his world, it's cartoons as early as he can get me to open his door). He got up off his Lightning McQueen couch and asked me if my ear still hurt. I said "no baby, not hurt, just annoying" on account of my stupid ear is still blocked up. He looked at me with this expression far beyond his years, then climbed up on the lounge chair, kissed my ear and said "this is not an ear".

What do I do now?

Sunday, March 6, 2011


I'm feckin stressed. It's been a difficult few days, starting off with some petty fights and culminating with me sitting alone all night beating myself up about this and that. Just when I think I'm good, I'm on top of things, something really insignificant sees me tumble down and split my head open on the floor. It's such a cruel, bitter cycle. The lower I go, the more I loathe myself, which sinks me a little bit lower than I thought there was.

Meanwhile, my motherfucking ears are still blocked. I'm going to have to find time this week to see a doctor and hopefully get a referral to an ENT specialist. Because doctors in Brisbane are so helpful. I'm sure that'll go to plan.

At the forefront of my mind today has been the feeling of ultimate failure. I can't tolerate anything Axel does because I can't speak to him without the right side of my head slitting open and my brains falling out (it feels). This is followed by that familiar Sunday afternoon mama guilt; back to work tomorrow and I don't get to spend a single day with my son until next weekend. And I haven't done anything for him all weekend. I've sat in a pool of self pity. Something has got to give.

I could bitch and moan all night, but instead I'm going to play solitaire.