Daily Archives: March 8, 2015

#Mental Health Art Day

I Don’t Understand What’s Going On

I just can’t seem to get any motivation to do anything at all. I don’t want to exercise or play. I don’t want to sort laundry or watch TV.

I do want to crawl into bed. That’s about it.

I am managing to fight going back to bed though it is really hard to do.

Tomorrow hubby goes to work, then Tuesday it is my birthday. We’re not celebrating it. Though our washer and dryer and fridge will finally be here so that I can at least shop for some food. I’m tired of take out big time.

I tried painting last night but I just have no mojo. *sigh*

I hope this gets better soon. It always feels like you’ve been depressed forever when you are depressed.



total sense of humour failure

Triggers: sh/si & anger.

I’m beginning to get nervous every time I start feeling anything vaguely positive. It wasn’t always this way. I used to be proud of myself, for getting through the stuff I did and still being able to love and trust. I used to be proud of my battlescars. I used to think that actually that whole journey was alright, because I lived. No, I Lived. I’d have defined myself as someone who could roar across her own terror to grab life by the throat and make it my own. I thought it all balanced out – the black despair and the intense joy. It was the maximum possible goodness that I could wrestle from the fragments. I kept headbutting through it all somehow and carried on feeling good about some things – as good as I ever felt bad.

There are things that generally get said first during adolescence, that I never did.

You can’t trust anybody.
Love is a lie.

Emo stuff like that. I’ve always maintained that love is the most important thing in the world, and that trust is a choice. Those are perhaps the things I cling to most fiercely. I still believe them. I do. Feeling them has become difficult. It never was before. Never … and I am really struggling with the change. Who the fuck am I? I know the things about me that deserve my own respect and love. I just can’t reach them anymore. I feel broken beyond repair and I’m tired of pretending I don’t.

I believed in checks and balances, now it’s chaos theory. It’s a crisis of faith, isn’t it? One day you wake up surrounded by the goddamn bomb blast debris of your own existence and bam, life and time and the world suddenly have absolutely no meaning at all. I try to focus on other people’s happiness, try to be community focused in a mostly virtual and sprawling way. It works, it really does, but it doesn’t stave off the loneliness and alienation for long. It doesn’t stop those old, old feelings my abuser taught me – that I am definitely worthless and unwanted. A goddamn sodding fucking poxy leper.

If sheer force of will could have overcome things … well it did for a while. And now I’m sitting bleeding in the rubble and oh fuck fuck FUCK but I am miserable and exhausted and pissed right off. Life … world … fuck the both of you, fuck all of it fuck raging because the tears hurt too fucking much fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. Endings are rarely happy, everything is not always ok. It isn’t always a choice. We just apply clichés like bandaids to try not to tumble into the gaping, howling maw of the abyss.

The moment I start feeling quietly slightly positive, something sneaks up and makes me feel raped, filthy, deathly. And that motherfucker is a pretty new thing. I don’t like it. I want hope back.

There is no fucking hope.

None. Not for me.





Mental Illness makes you feel every emotion in one sitting

monkey minded me

I have a severe case of monkey mind at the moment. Can’t read, can’t settle, can’t hold a thought for long, I just can’t focus. In Buddhist terms, the polar (ha not very ha) opposite is the forest deer and the route from monkey to deer is meditation.

All of you mindful monkeys know this already (and no insult intended, the alliteration was irresistible). Bipolar Lessons has some simple and approachable posts on the subject; googling buddhist view of bipolar will get you a whole lot more, at whatever level you want.


Meditation is good and of course, you don’t need to be a Buddhist to get into it. You can be as secular or as spiritual as you like. Me – I have a right royal bastard of a monkey in my cranium. It may even be a baboon. When I cant get anywhere near the usual forms of meditation, I can at least do a walking meditation. I am very, very fortunate to live so close to such a quiet beach. My mother taught me to do it in about a minute’s casual chat, when I was 11 or 12 (yep, I’ve always been off my head). It’s simple and makes very solid sense, no matter who or what you are. On the page I linked, point 3 is really all you need – the rest is spoonfeeding. And obvs that’s fine too.

(If I was a psychiatrist, I’d hunt for and offer free therapy to someone called Violet, so that I could say shrinking Violet as often as possible.)

See? Monkey mind.

And despite the fact that it’s in Afrikaans, a song by Chris Chameleon called Apie will give you a clear illustration of the concept. I heard it first at a gig and it almost sent me under the table. Toooo much monkey. Apie means little monkey and Chris Chameleon is lovely (and a good follow on twitter, if that’s your thing). And I’m going to translate it just for the hell of it (it’ll also help focus my mind). I’ll try and kick it into something vaguely resembling song shape rather than do it verbatim. Lots of liberties taken and apologies to Chris Chameleon for abusing his song in the name of blogging *grin*



daar’s n apie wat nooit slaap nie
wat heeldag en heelnag in my kop rondbons
en hy hou my dikwels wakker
hy’s n nikswerd bakoor rakker
as hy so bons

there’s a monkey that never sleeps
he spins around in my mind all the time
he never ever lets me sleep
(he’s a good for nothing big eared brat
when he bounces around like that)

en ek kan hom nie keer nie
hy wil hom nie aan my steur nie
kan my apie nie beheer nie o wee

and I cannot control him
he just won’t listen to me
I can’t control my monkey, woe is me

almal het n apie
dis daarom dat die plek lyk soos hy lyk
almal het n apie
en niemand kry sy apie om te wyk nie

everyone has a monkey
that’s why the world looks like it does
everyone has a monkey
no one can stop the buzz

daar’s n apie in n hokkie en daai hokkie
is my koppie wat soms bons
en daai apie speel toktokkie
tokkel heeldag met sy klokkie
as hy so bons
en daai apie hou nooit op nie
om my wereld om te dop nie
kan daai apie net nooit stop nie
hier gaan ons weer

there’s a monkey in a cage
and that cage is my head
and the monkey knocks and runs
all day cos he thinks it’s fun
and he never ever stops
turns my world the wrong way up
no he never ever stops
(here we go again)

almal het n apie
dis daarom dat die wereld lyk soos hy lyk
almal het n apie
en niemand kry sy apie om te wyk nie

everyone has a monkey
that’s why the world looks like it does
everyone has a monkey
no one can stop the buzz

daar’s n ou man by
wie ek altyd goeie raad kry
hy se vir my
as ek daai apie stil wil kry
hoef ek nie verder te soek nie
vir n apie muti nie
want apie sal verdwyn
as ek tyd maak vir stiltetyd

there’s a wise old man I know
he said what’s this all about?
If you want that ape to go
medicine won’t get him out
(he’ll stop being violent
as soon as you are silent)

almal het n apie
dis daarom dat die wereld lyk soos hy lyk
almal het n apie
en niemand kry sy apie om te wyk nie
almal het n apie
niemand word nie gepla nie
niemand het nie n apie nie
wat nie amok wil maak nie
almal het n apie
moet my nie so aangaap nie
jy het ook n apie
kom bring gerus jou apie
ons hou n apie paartie

everyone has a monkey
that’s why the world looks like it does
everyone has a monkey
no one can stop the buzz
everyone has a monkey
but nobody gives a fuck
nobody has a monkey
that doesn’t run amok
everybody has a monkey
don’t look at me like I’m a junkie
cos you have a monkey too
come bring him to the zoo
and we’ll throw a monkey party

Many years ago, on a blog host far away, a blogger translated a song verbatim from Mandarin and I did my thing and made it into a song in English (the lyrics, I mean) and kept pestering her to do more till she was finally all erm it’s very nice but I don’t actually want to do this. LOL! Surprised I wasn’t charged with lyrical assault -.-

I really can be a pain in the ass.

The other song that I think expresses mania and monkey mind beautifully is Robbie Williams – Me and my Monkey.


Writing can be meditation for me, when I am not thinking deeply, but just sitting describing a sunset, or something like that. No question more complex than I wonder what birdcall that is. There are times when it hurts not to write and times when it hurts very much not to be read. Those two things turn easily into a sort of horrible Groundhog Day of an Ouroboros*, with added Catch 22. It’s the best catch there is …

How many times have you been called crazy? Eccentric? Too intense? How often have people just stopped listening, because it’s all too much? How many people need a therapist, because their own circle doesn’t feed itself in terms of talking, listening, caring? How many people feel huge relief when a good friend listens and when strangers online understand?

It’s all rhetoric.

*Poor Ouroboros is not even slightly as horrible as I implied. I should probably have used Jörmungandr (one of Loki’s brats) instead, but eeeeeeeek!

Date Rape is Rape

Twice in one year, her senior year at UC Berkeley, she was raped by men she knew. One was a friend of a couple of her housemates. He wanted her and pursued her relentlessly. She finally aquieced to a date.…