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.

 

The Bridge People.

I'm sure a lot of my friends and family have already read "The Bridge People", however I've decided to make the ending a bit more...morbid.  The old ending came off just a tad too "tacked on" for my liking, and I think this new ending packs a bit more of a punch, if not a bit more of a message.  But that's up to my readers to decide.

So I now give you "The Bridge People"!

I don't remember how long I've been here, standing on the Bridge, watching the water below. I can hear the sounds of the rushing cars behind me, and sometimes someone will walk past, but they seem so much like echos that I usually don't bother to look anymore.
There are others like me. In fact, there's one about ten metres from me. I sometimes chat with him. There's about ten others on our side of the Bridge, but there are about twenty on the other side.
We wait. We watch.
And when someone comes to join us, we cheer.
He's pretty young too, like me. He's about fifteen metres away on our side of the Bridge. He looks drunk, and I daresay he's been crying. Probably girl trouble, that's why a few of them have done it.
"He's up on the banister! Give us a big swan dive!" The old man yelled.
"Nah, he's going headfirst!" The businessman, about twenty metres away replied.
"Whoa up, he's hesitating, he might not do it!" I shouted with a giggle. Most of the time they chickened out. Or someone came and got them.
"You hesitated love and look where it got you! Go son, big jump for the old man!" The old man ribbed me. It's true, I second-guessed myself before committing.
Then we heard it.
"Mate, don't do it, you have your whole life ahead of you!" Someone behind us called.
"She's not worth it, come on home and we'll talk about it!" Yelled another.
Thought so.
"Boooooooooooooo!" A young woman from the other side of the Bridge called. "Don't listen to them, big bomb jump down!"
"Give us a belly-flop, haven't had one of those for years!" Another one of us called.
"I don't want to..." He mumbled, swaying dangerously.
"Mate, come down. It's okay." One of the others tried to reach out to him.
"I don't want to, I don't want to...No!" He screamed as he lept from the Bridge.
"Mate!!!"
We cheered. What started with him heading feet-first into the river ended up with him landing on his side. We didn't even need to wait for him to drown, he must've snapped his neck.
He stood with us as the cheering died down, and we all returned to staring forlornly into the distance, thinking of our old lives, and what had driven us to jump. Because while we cheered when someone new took their lives on our Bridge, we all wished we hadn't done it.
The old man had jumped after his wife died. The businessman had lost everything in a bad business dealing. The lady across from us had lost her baby. There were a few divorcees, an old war veteran, and one man with his two tiny daughters. There was the abusive couple, the bloke had thrown his girlfriend over before jumping himself, and a few teenagers who came from broken homes.
Myself? I was mentally ill (as were a few others). I was deeply infatuated with a man, everything about him made me happy. But no matter how many times we chatted and got along, he still dumped me, due to his "issues". He was a dear friend. Then my rival took the credit for all my hard work and got my promotion. To make it worse, she made a move on my ex-boyfriend. I was so angry and upset. Then my parents split, my brother turned on me and my sister and I grew apart. I needed my man, but he would never come back to me. Sure, he would always give me a bit of a hug and a pep talk, but he was never truly there for me. Even the one night we spent together, playing video games and making love...it wasn't enough. I felt like a cheap toy.
I supposed I should have spoken to him, but he was always so good at what he did that I felt I could never be worthy of having him back. Long nights I spent yearning for his touch again, crying because I was alone.
So, I went with a swan dive, breaking my back but not quite killing myself. I drowned. Not the nicest way to go for someone who's claustrophobic, but I went.
I often wondered if they missed me. Sometimes one would come along and throw a white rose (my favourite flower) off the side of the Bridge.
I'm lonely. So lonely. I have nothing, nothing except this view of the river and the city, and if I turn around the cars speeding past, people walking past laughing, focused, alive. I wouldn't wish this upon anyone. Nothing has changed, I'm still hurting, my past life replaying itself in front of my eyes unless I'm on my guard.
Don't let any of them come for me. Don't let anyone join me...
I don't know how much time went by, day and night are the same for me. But he came. He came for me.
He was drunk. So drunk.
He stood almost exactly on top of me. He was crying.
"I wish I had said something to you. You were my closest friend. I still remember the night we spent together. You were the only woman..." He sobbed. "I'm so sorry I left you."
So lonely...
"Come on mate, just drop off the side now!" The old man cackled.
"I just want to see you again." He got up on the handrail.
I'm so lonely
"Looks like he's just gonna fall with no help from us!" The businessman laughed.
"Put some effort into it mate, even I went with some dignity!" The drunk chimed in.
“Come on ya jerk, I bet you're too much of a coward to do it!” I cheered.
Please stop my loneliness!
"Good-bye..." He gave one last whimper and dropped.
"No!" I screamed as he fell and landed with a splash. I sighed.
"Forgive me. I'm so sorry." I whispered.
It took a few minutes, but soon he was standing with me, looking out onto the water.
"Well, that was smart." I snapped.
"You did it first." He replied, hugging me from behind.
"There was no need for you to jump!"
"There was no need for you to jump either!"
"Will you two shut up? I don't want to put up with your bickering for the rest of my unlife." The lady from the other side yelled, to much loud agreement from everyone else.
I frowned, and we both continued watching the water, waiting for the next victim of the Bridge People. All of us lonely. All of us reliving our past pain.
All of us wishing we hadn't done it.

Overreaction much?

If you believe social media (hardly a reliable source) or even the regular media (even less reliable) then the bad news is that Aussie Rules is dead as a sport.

Wow.  Really?  A game over 150 years old can be killed because one idiot from the demons gets suspended?

Yeah, no.

For those who are unaware, here is the incident for which Viney was suspended:



I'm flabbergasted with the overreaction to him getting suspended.  Players get suspended for stupid shit like this all the time and the bump has died so many times it might as well be a character from Dragon Ball Z.  Apparently it died last year too, and that didn't get nearly as much of a reaction as this has.

Is it because Melbourne-based Clubs and their supporters are so precious? If a Brisbane Lion, geelong cat, or sydney swan got suspended over a bump like that, the world certainly wouldn't be ending - if anything, they'd probably deserve it if you ask the Melbourne fans!

The fact is, we are only given one brain each (some people don't get any!) and we know so little about it.  What we do know is that damage to the brain can be long-lasting, hard to heal and have devastating effects on the life of the victim and those who care for them.  I fully agree with the AFL doing what they can to protect the interests of the players. Accidents happen in a contact sport, sometimes bad things happen, but if we can minimise that risk to our fellow human beings, then surely it's the right thing to do.

Poor management of satalite Clubs will kill the AFL long before the MRP and the Tribunal will.  Let's try to keep some perspective can we?