Merry meet and blessed be

21 09 2010

Much ado has been made about Christine O’Donnell, the Republican Party’s nominee for Delaware’s Senate election in November this year, staunch Tea Party supporter, and Sarah Palin wannabe, in recent weeks. She’s drawn attention and mockery for her anti-masturbation stance, as well as being anti-everything else: abortion, premarital sex, stem-cells, gay marriage, and so on. You know, the typical conversative hate of anything akin to individual freedom and individual choice. But oh! the irony:

She opposes socialism because she believes in the individual. In her view, you should be free to live your own life, unencumbered by others. Except when it comes to touching your genitals…

Although, to be fair, the Slate article I just quoted goes on to mention that anti-masturbation is in the Catechism of the Catholic Church; O’Donnell was raised as a lax Catholic but identifies as an Evangelical Christian these days. The cynic in me suggests she’ll be whatever is most convenient and has the most religious influence in modern American politics.

In more recent days, other claims of O’Donnell “dabbling in witchcraft” have surfaced:

Talk show host Bill Maher revealed last night on his HBO show, “Real Time”, last night that Christine O’Donnell had reportedly “dabbled in witchcraft”. O’Donnell… has appeared on Maher’s show a reported 22 times. Maher played the video clip from his Politically Incorrect show in 1999 where O’Donnell describes a date she had where there was a satanic altar with blood on it. She went on to say in the clip that they “went to a movie and then had a little picnic on a satanic altar.”

Personally, I couldn’t care less what she “dabbled in” in her younger days; many of us have dabbled in something that no longer has any importance or relevance in our lives today. It’s part of growing up and evolving as individuals. I get that this is news, per se, because of O’Donnell’s current religious, conservative stances today — but I’ve seen around the place bloggers and commentators calling her a “hypocrite” for this history of hers.

Disagree. She’d be a hypocrite if she was still dabbling in witchcraft today while proclaiming to be an Evangelical Christian and anti-witchcraft. That’s hypocrisy. Something that she was briefly involved in as a young person and since has not been involved in does not make her a hypocrite.

What does make her a hypocrite, however, is decrying about socialism and calling for more individual freedom… while concurrently disrespecting an individual’s personal matters.

As for O’Donnell’s claims of witchcraft and Satanism, well, that’s all a figment of hyperactive Christian imagination and fairytale anyway:

Witchcraft is a word often used by those in the Christian faith to describe pagan religions, including Wicca. Wiccans most often identify themselves with the term, “witch”. Paganism, like Christianity, includes many diverse belief systems but the one thing it does not include is Satanism. Satan exists only in Christianity and, therefore, Satanists are believers of the Christian faith. One of the basic tenets of Wicca is to respect others and the environment. They do not worship evil beings nor even believe in them.


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Categories : Fundamentalism, Politics, USA

Midweek headkick

15 09 2010

This week has been slow and sluggish and tonight I thought I need something… something… to… something… feel alive, maybe. Not sure. It’s been a weird week. Anyway. This always gets me back in a good mood, ready to RAWK.

Fuck yeah.


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Categories : Music, Random

Things That Make You Go Owww…

8 09 2010

So, I start my full-time post-grad psychology studies very soon now. Until now, I’d been looking forward to, envisioning myself swotting away burning the midnight oil, hunched over hundreds of books delving into the human mind, looking studious in the romantic sort of way. Inspired. Intense. Serious. Intelligent. Full of knowledge. Oh so fucking SMRAT.

I swore that I won’t be slacking off at all in the next 18-24 months; that even during the more mundane or hard-to-grasp-immediately topics, I would persevere and stay studious and, more importantly, keen.

Then a friend posted this on her Facebook status update:

[So and so] is reading a big freaky library journal article about “aboutness.”

And all the harsh realities of studying inane bullshit came rushing to the fore, combined with my pathological hatred of what I call “stupid speak” (encompassing moronic corporate speak and the like). Suddenly, returning to studying and looking  scholarly didn’t seem so appealing anymore.

THEN! my friend emailed me with an example of this “aboutness” after I stopped short of leaving a full-blown ranty comment on her status. I present it to you with no further comment because I don’t think it needs further comment. Except maybe a “WHAT THE FUCK?!”

Maron (1977) tackled aboutness by relating it to a probability of satisfaction.  Three types of aboutness were characterized: S-about, O-about, and R-about.  S-about (i.e., subjective about) is a relationship between a document and the resulting inner experience of the user.  O-about (i.e., objective about) is a relationship between a document and a set of index terms.  More specifically, a document D is about a term set T if user X employs T to search for D.  R-about purports to be a generalization of O-about to a specific user community (i.e., a class of users).  Let I be an index term and D be a document, then D is R-about I is the ratio between the number of users satisfied with D when using I and the number of users satisfied by D.


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Categories : Random, WTF?!

Democrazy

5 09 2010

I had reason to be at Macquarie University recently. Being my first time on this campus, I had to have a stickybeak and marvel (read: shudder) at the architecture resembling the bleak and grey buildings reminiscent of the former Soviet Union. There was obviously a student union election coming up as there were heaps of flyers stuck all over the place, promising this and promising that. I may be left-leaning and pro-refugee/asylum seeker, but even I cringed at this poster:

I dislike Tony Abbott and his idea of what the Liberal Party should stand for — intensely — but it absolutely shits me when I see things like this; Tony Abbott’s Liberals ARE welcome, it’s part of what we call a democracy, for fuck’s sake. And I’ll bet on my copy of The Communist Manifesto that these lefties would be shouty about democracy and representation and the right to vote and all that jazz themselves.

Yet, here they are…

I can’t even imagine why the asylum seeker issue would be a student issue in terms of what student representatives are elected for — that is, representing university students. The other student group whose posters also littered the campus focused on the sort of day-to-day issues facing students: personal safety, student services, accommodation advice, career and academic advisors, and so on.

Quite frankly, that’s the kind of group I would have voted for. There are plenty of political/non-political groups students can join — or start one themselves — on particular social or political issues.

But that’s not what bugged me about “Left Focus”. It’s their arrogance in declaring Tony Abbott’s Liberals aren’t welcome. It’s embarrassing and self-defeating and myopic. It’s the exact same kind of attitude that come from the Young Liberals.


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Categories : Politics, Whinge

Somewhere down in Texas…

31 08 2010

Random thoughts:

  • You would think that, for me at least, reading my old diary and older posts on this blog would be encouraging and perhaps uplifting, because I’ve come so far. It’s not. It’s fucking depressing! I read back and I’m thinking, “Fucken hell, maybe I should have been or tried to be tougher, stronger, less whiney.” Then I kind of berate myself for being too tough. I have to remind myself that my depression has been very real and that I am still prone to what I call “mini-downs” (because in comparison to the past, they are mini and short-lived episodes of feeling blue). Yet, I can’t help feeling tough on myself. Anyway, I’m sure soon I’ll get over this weird sort of existential crisis or whatever the fuck this is! Just feeling annoyed with myself.
  • I realise that there are some people who are just incapable of the old clich: “walking a mile in someone else’s shoes”. Maybe I’m one of them from time to time. It’s just that sometimes trying to make someone understand how you feel or how they make you feel is fucking impossible — and it’s not because you’re not explaining it properly or clearly, but because they can’t step out of their own “me, me, me” mindset and at least consider what the other person is saying and feeling, considering someone else’s perspective.
  • I miss my cat. I very nearly bought a puppy the other day. Yes, I know a dog isn’t a cat. I just miss having a little animal to cuddle and care for. Soon. Soon I’ll get a job, a house and have a garden and get a cat and a dog.

  • Except first I have put my overseas travel plans back on the agenda. I’ve invested a huge chunk of my tax return so that’s something to be happy about. I’m excited. The name Truth or Consequences in New Mexico enthrals me. It might turn out to be disappointing, but at least I’ve been there. And I want to see someone attempt to eat one of these whilst in Amarillo, Texas.
  • Speaking of Texas…


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Categories : Depression/Anxiety, Mr Bean, Music, Musings, USA, Whinge

Julia isn’t the only one moving forward

31 08 2010

By chance, I found an old diary from 2004-2005 that I kept. Of course, I had to read it, and can I just exclaim, woah! Was I carrying a shitload of depression and anxiety or what? I knew I’d been less than ideally happy for a long time, but reading my old diary really brought out the bigger picture. I’m older now, have had a shit couple of years which culminated in finally seeking treatment for depression and anxiety, and have been on a self-exploratory path (and that’s not as rude as it sounds), moved up to Brisbane, discovered strengths I didn’t know I had, moved back to Sydney and went into a bit of a panic about being jobless, money-less (pro-tip: never break a rental lease 3 months before the lease expires no matter how much someone wants you to agree to it, it’s just not worth it) and, for a bit there, feeling like I’d achieved nothing.

But I have. I’ve achieved a new perspective, new outlook, new experience. And reading my old diary confirms that, just how far I have come, mentally and emotionally — the last 12 months notwithstanding.

No, really, it was a revelation. I knew I’d made progress, but still… wow.

It sounds superstitious but I’ve thrown that old diary away. I couldn’t bear to keep a book carrying vibes of so much sadness and despair in my house. I’m not erasing the past, but I just don’t need to have it there. It feels… wrong to hold onto such things. I don’t know!

Anyway. I start a postgraduate course in counselling/psychology in September. I’ll be a full-time student and I am anticipating actually going to study again, on-campus, surrounded by books and learning. It’s going to be fun. But it’s going to be hectic and full-on and I won’t have much time to do much other than study. For this reason (among other reasons) I decided to delete my Twitter account, culled my Google Reader and bought a new printer!

Bring it.

PS I am amused that I only deleted my Twitter account last night and there’s already been Google cache searches for it.


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Categories : Depression/Anxiety, Health, Personal, Progress

One year

29 07 2010

For days now, I’ve been feeling a sense of agitation and crankiness. I’ve been putting it down to the fact that my adventures in Queensland had to come to a premature end for a myriad of reasons and I’m now back in Sydney, bored, jobless, frustrated. Pissed off, even. Certainly a load of self-pitying has been going on.

But it wasn’t that. Last night, tossing and turning, I finally acknowledged what I’d been trying to ignore for days, what had been at the back of my mind: it’s been a year since my meltdown. My breakdown. My crash. Whatever you want to call it — it’s been a year this week since stress, anxiety and underlying depression turned me upside down, my heart smashed to smithereens, my sense of self-worth plummeted the lowest ever, and I couldn’t think straight, couldn’t emote properly, couldn’t deal with a damn fucking thing.

Normally, I’m not one for thinking of bad memories or bad times in terms of anniversaries or milestones. This, however, changed my life in so many ways that it has been hard not to think about it, no matter how much I tried to repress it.

It’s surprising to me because it has been the longest year of my life. It’s also been the shortest.

I know that makes absolutely no sense, but when you’re in the middle of so much pain and grief, it can seem never-ending; it seems like the sun will never shine again. You’re thinking to yourself, I can’t even imagine where I’ll be in one year! You’re thinking of the future and it’s so bleak with no end in sight. You can’t see the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel within the next five minutes, let alone the next 12 months.

Now it’s 12 months later and I’m feeling somewhat surprised at how quickly it feels it has been. That indicates that I am in a better place now than I was 12 months ago. Hell, even 8 months ago. This is good. I am glad for this.

To be honest, some of the memories of that dark period, of the emotionally exhausting and distressing relationship I was in that stressed me out to the max, have faded. So much has happened since then — namely my recovery and discovering myself again, dealing with my shit, making progress. Sometimes going backwards, but mostly going forwards.

So, it doesn’t make sense that I’ve been dwelling about that time and trying to remember details, things I said and did. Things he said (or didn’t say) and did (or didn’t do).

It was making me agitated and pissed off. I felt like blaming him. In fact, I felt like emailing him and having a go at him — about what exactly, I am not sure. Just that he caused a lot of my misery and I am angry about that! I am indignant!It’s been all his fault!

Then in the early hours of this morning, after not being able to sleep all night, getting more and more uptight, I found myself reading old emails between him and I. I’m not sure why I decided to torment myself by reading them, but I did. As I started reading them, I expected to get angrier, more self-righteous at the way I was treated: used as a rebound, an emotional crutch, pulled in then pushed away every single day, even from hour to hour. I expected… nay, wanted to be outraged at how he used me and confused me and left me more anxious than ever before.

But… wow… after reading some of my emails to him…

I can’t be angry at him (though I do reserve the right to be a little pissed off still about some stuff; it’s justified, I promise). I really did put far too much of myself into it. Reading those emails, I could see how I was getting more and more shrill, more and more anxious, more and more emotionally exhausted and depressed. I went so far out on a limb without making sure I wasn’t going to fall.

I’m not going to write about why he drifted away or became emotionally unavailable, or how we got together and why we subsequently broke up — there are many reasons and I know that he feels responsible for his actions too; but I will say that the tyranny of distance really did not help, hence the numerous emails. Hence my reading them this morning. It was often the only way I could get in touch with him. (OK, that’s what I’m still pissed off about. People who deliberately don’t answer phone calls SUCK, especially when they know you’re worried or whatever.)

After reading my own words, I am gobsmacked at how much I threw myself into him, into us. Into something that was, in hindsight, most likely doomed from the start. But most of all, I’m gobsmacked that I allowed myself to get so caught up in it all to the detriment of my happiness, sensibility and mental health. I found myself cringing; I don’t recognise that person — was she really that pathetic? That desperate? That unable to recognise the signs that it was over before it began, but was unwilling to notice or let it go? Getting more and more anxious and when it fell apart, she had to fall apart too? Couldn’t she have just walked away, for fuck’s sake, with her dignity and pride intact?

My God. That was me.

Yet, it wasn’t just the bad relationship that made me go bonkers. I had a lot of issues that I would have had to deal with someday — tendency to depression, low self-esteem, insecurity, unresolved feelings about nasty incidents from a while ago. The whole debacle just accelerated my having to grow up a bit. Learn to deal.

Of course, I would have preferred a more dignified way of growing up. Still, in the long run, it has been a blessing in disguise, in that it forced me go away, make some more mistakes, sort myself out, and come back stronger, less pathetic and less needy, with new strategies to cope with my anxiety and self-esteem issues.

I’m not perfect, not by a long shot, oh no. That’s just silly. But at least, for me, the sun is shining again.


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Categories : Depression/Anxiety, Musings, Personal, Progress

Lobuli auricularum — or fleshdrapes*

27 07 2010

What the fuck can I write about, I muttered darkly under my breath, while tapping out the same question on Twitter. I need to write but what to write? This writer’s block I’ve had for months now seems to be permanent, as immoveable as Blanche d’Apulget’s forehead. As stiff as Bronwyn Bishop’s coiffure. As stubborn as Piers Akerman’s skidmarks.

Unexpectedly, a  little possum tweeted back, “Earlobes”. Meaning, I should write about earlobes.

It’s not as random as one would normally first think. It’s all part of the Twitter craze/obsession about Prime Minister Julia Gillard’s earlobes. It was first commented upon during Sunday evening’s Great Debate That Never Was and it caught on fast.

Two things can be said here:

1. The debate between Julia Gillard and Tony Abbott was so tedious that it made people notice things like Julia’s earlobes. For me, personally, I spent most of the time thinking about what toppings I was going to put on my pizza after it was over.

2. People are easily distracted by the inconsequential things, like earlobes. Or pizza toppings.

Oddly enough, or perhaps I am utterly bored, I looked up earlobes on Wikipedia. Who would have thought that earlobes are actually rather interesting? Either that or I’m more bored than I thought I was.

Did you know that creased earlobes are associated with genetic disorders and an increased risk of heart attack and coronary heart disease; “however, since earlobes become more creased with age, and older people are more likely to experience heart disease than younger people, age may account for the findings linking heart attack to earlobe creases.”

I just found myself checking my earlobes. Smooth. Phew.

Earlobes are aslo an erogenous zone for some people. A quick Google search reveals many helpful websites suggesting that nibbling on earlobes can turn someone on, especially for men. Apparently.

A few slightly less obvious erogenous zones on a male are his neck, face and earlobes. A man’s ear is often overlooked. When a female slightly sucks on an earlobe, one can quickly envision her placing those lips somewhere else.

Ahem.

For women:

Some women’s ears are highly sensitive to touch… She will freeze with the sound of your breathing and a seducing whisper will doubly arouse her. Lick around the edges of her ear with the tip of your tongue. Gently suck her earlobes and begin the running commentary on what you are doing next. It produces an arousing sensation throughout her body and curls her toes.

She might curl her toes, or she might scream from being ticklish and sock you one. If you want to nibble on my earlobe, you have been warned.

Don’t be fooled by inconspicuous-looking earlobes. They can be indicators of death — amort or la petite mort.

* Gibbot wants to be credited for the nasty-sounding ‘fleshdrapes’ to describe PM Gillard’s earlobes. God only knows why.


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Categories : Dumb Shit, Media, Politics, Random

I would hurl words into this darkness and wait for an echo…

12 07 2010

…and if an echo sounded, no matter how faintly, I would send other words to tell, to march, to fight, to create a sense of hunger for life that gnaws in us all.

– Richard Wright, American Hunger

For weeks now, I’ve started writing and only got as far as one sentence or one paragraph. I know what I want to say. I just don’t know how to say it. Every writer and blogger, great and small, stumble on this frustrating writer’s block from time to time.

In my case, it’s been an internal struggle: do I keep on writing about where my head’s at now? This blog started as a therapeutic exercise when I was at my lowest, to spill my confused and hurting thoughts out as I struggled to regain control on my life and my depression and anxiety. It’s not for everyone, but for me writing was a beacon in  the darkness of pain and black fog.

The past few months I’ve realised I’ve come a long way from where I was a year ago. The URL of this blog is A Fresh Start in August, started almost a year ago — it’s been nearly a year since I cracked it from emotional exhaustion, depression and anxiety, and had to learn how to look after myself again and deal with unresolved issues that I’d been carrying around for far too long.

Some time ago, I was asked why I write such a personal blog. It was never a conscious decision. It was never intended to be a woe-is-me blog, seeking validation or attention. I was hesitant about being public but I soon realised that I had to write publicly because it was the only way I was going to be honest with myself.

By being public, I couldn’t whitewash anything this way. I had to be honest because I knew if I started making excuses or diminishing or justifying issues, I would feel like a liar or someone with her head buried in the sand, unwilling to be honest. I didn’t want that. I didn’t want to start making excuses and justifying myself to anyone, including strangers. I had this (probably irrational) fear that if I was public, I would be seen as a fibber if I started writing less than honestly. I just felt more compelled to be brutally honest with myself while writing publicly. I don’t know if that makes sense. I don’t really understand why it is so. It just is.

At my wretched moments, I would sit down and just let it flow. I rarely had to stop and think about how I wanted to write something. I hardly ever edited a post once it was written, save for correcting typos. It was all there, out in the open, all my hurt and sadness and despair. When I read back on those earlier posts the other day, it was like reading another person’s pain and misery and I could feel my heart breaking for her. Me.

Wow, that was me. That was when I realised just how far I’ve come. It’s taken nearly a year to reach this stage and I still have the occasional off-days but they’re short-lived. I’ve learnt how to stop dwelling and put things into perspective. There’s no magic cure, other than time. It took time for me to get here and realise that I always have to get perspective when I start becoming too self-centred.

In the past few months, I’ve had some really genuinely happy moments, for no reason at all. If anything, I probably shouldn’t have had much to be happy about: I was single (not that that matters, many single people are very happy, so I’m not sure why I include this point), I have no real assets to speak of, I was returning to Sydney because I had to (another story in itself but not an interesting one), I had no job, and I’d turned 35. Yet, I was happy. Happier than I’d been in years.

I can only suggest that’s because after learning a lot about myself, going to Brisbane and living there for 7 months and a series of incidents while in Brisbane forced me to open up my eyes and examine my behaviour, my reaction to others and how far I am prepared to go when dealing with robust and delicate relationships and acquaintances. I realised that I needed to put up boundaries for my sake and to never lose perspective. I now follow yet another motto:

Don’t make someone your #1 if you’re their #2

Simple steps. Logical steps. Common sense. I lost sight for a long time. I like to think I’m regaining it — or maybe even learning them for the first time.

I think this is why I’ve had trouble finding something to write lately,  because progress has been made. Is it because we’re at our most creative when we’re sad? That’s certainly a common theory.

Even so, I’ve had comments and feedback that have been wonderful and affirming, giving me a different perspective that I’d never have otherwise considered. I didn’t always agree but the beauty of it all was that it made me see things in a different light. I’ve been surprised by the number of people who have contacted me privately to tell me they could relate on some level. Others have told me that my writing has helped them, which has surprised me even more. I don’t know how it could have helped anyone because I was merely writing while I was floundering around in the dark, trying to find my own way. I really don’t understand that, I don’t understand how.

But all of you, every single one of you gave me strength in your own way. Some of you I know very well, others I know not so well — but (cue the maudlin violins) you’ve all helped me in some way.

Thank you.


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Categories : Depression/Anxiety, Musings, Personal, Progress

Where’s she gone?

16 06 2010

Still here. As stated before, no internets but that’s changing soon.

Most of all, can’t be arsed writing anything lately, despite (as usual) having plenty to say. Lots of introspection, reflection, observing and taking the blinkers off slowly.

Back soon with a farcical story about the time I became a short-lived born-again Christian. Yes, it’s true. It was a moment of madness.


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Categories : Larfs, Personal, Random

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