Thursday, 17 July 2014

When did I become sane?!

No, seriously, when the hell did I stop doing crazy shit like jumping out of a train 4 stations early just to get a photo?

Although to be fair, it IS a nice photo.

I used to do things like that a LOT.  I used to walk 14-15kms every Sunday because it suited me.  I used to add 30 minutes to my walk home every day because I wanted to walk through South Bank and walk past the Gabba.  My Twitter feed was full of random thoughts and lyrics to songs I was listening to, and people liked it.  Facebook was just as full of randomness.

I loved living in Kangaroo Point.  Because it didn't matter that I wore dorky bright blue board shorts or ratty old Lions polos walking home.  It didn't matter that in the middle of the pouring rain I'd rush out to get a photo of the Brisbane River.

But it got taken away when I got stuck in poopy old New Farm.  Where people DON'T wear daggy polos and rush out in the rain to take photos.  I started to stack on a bit of weight, but nothing too serious.  I still had my Twitter feed, which was growing a bit more angsty seeing as I wasn't getting the exercise I was used to and was slightly embittered by my exile from Paradise.

Then there was an incident (which I won't go into to protect innocent parties) which seriously hurt me, and had me completely disappear from social media for a month.  Things were resolved, and I tentatively made my way back onto social media, but I was definitely too scared to ever use Twitter again except to advertise my blog and Instagram (plus it tends to crash my browser) and I've locked up Facebook a bit too.

It didn't do my anxiety any good, plus my physical health has deteriorated too.  I've become lethargic and miserable, and almost tempted to get back into my shell and stay there.  Until a couple of nights ago as, like I said, I decided to get out of my train at Newmarket to take some happy snaps and wait 15 minutes for the next train.  This evening, instead of going to Central and grabbing the bus home or walking along the Riverwalk, I got off at South Bank station and walked my old path again, including past the ruin that was my old home.

Sad face.

I even took my old mate Rog the Camera (yes, I named my camera) and took a photo or two from my old vantange point.

Paint Shopped for ease of viewing

And then had a stop by the Story Bridge too.

Also Shopped for your viewing pleasure.

When you're diagnosed, whether it be Aspergers, Anxiety, Depression or any other mental illness or personality disorder, you're whacked with a very uncomfortable truth - you are so different from the rest of the world that they see you as having something wrong with you, and while you can learn to cope with your condition, there's really nothing you can do to fix it.  It comes with a harsh choice - you can go on the way you have, you can try to assimilate, and then there are those of us who try to do both.  Doing both isn't really working out for me at all, and assimilation would involve the use of drugs that wipe out my entire personality, so it looks like I'm going back to being a looney.

Which you all love me for anyway.

1 comment:

  1. The only thing wrong with you my dear is that you might have forgotten who you really are for awhile. You're coming back stronger and more beautiful than ever, you are my daughter after all!