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.

Words

I don't think humanity will ever find a more effective means of communication than words, either written or spoken.  Sure, there's body language, but that's very imprecise, and there's pointing and grunting, which as most of us figure out by 10am each morning is also largely ineffective at communicating our wants and needs.

Words are probably the only way we can effectively communicate our wants, needs and feelings to the rest of the world.  Coupled with our actions, they are the best way of representing what we are, whether that is kind, deceitful, smart, hateful, whatever. So why do so many people choose to use hateful words?

I can't stand Adam Goodes, mainly because he plays for the swans.  But I can definitely respect what he does with regards to racism.  When you use hateful words, or even words said in a hateful manner, you are effectively firing a hate gun at someone.  No one likes to have hate shot at them.  It hurts.

"Oh but they're just words!" NO THEY AREN'T. They are a representation of what YOU are needing, wanting or feeling, and if you're feeling hateful towards someone, they're fully entitled to not like it.  Especially if they haven't done anything to warrant such hate in the first place.  Being of a certain race, sexual orientation, gender or religion doesn't mean that hate is called for. 

Think about your words before you use them.  They are your main way of representing yourself, and if you use those words to hate or mislead, don't be surprised when people then turn around and have a negative opinion of you.

Anxiety

"What have you got to be anxious about?"
"Look at everything you have going for you!"
"Get over it!"

Anxiety can be a good thing in small doses.  That gut feeling you get when something isn't quite right, worrying about an exam, angsting over a problem - these will make you anxious, but the important thing is that anxiety should go away after the problem is resolved.

For some of us, it never goes away.

What are we anxious about?  Things that everyone else takes for granted - going to the shop, going to work, ringing someone on the phone, opening the door when someone knocks on it.

If you don't suffer from anxiety, you're probably wondering WTF? But if you can tell me how I can stop my heart rate from doubling every time I have to go to the shop, if you can stop my brain from releasing the chemicals that gives me the feeling of dread every time the boss calls me into his office (I can't even remember the last time I got in trouble) then please, tell me so these horrible feelings can stop.

No one has full control over their mind.  Everyone has a sub-conscious that seems to have a will of its own. And for some of us that means everlasting anxiety, depression and for some a complete lack of control of their own bodies. 

You can learn to manage it.  You can learn to breathe deeply and calmly to control your bodies reactions.  You can avoid situations that you know will make the situation worse.  You can learn to avoid substances like alcohol or caffiene which have a negative effect on your health.

But it's always there.  And it builds.  And builds.  At least a few times a week I overload.  It's nothing drastic, and I usually calm myself.  Sometimes overloads can even be enjoyable, like at the footy where I'm allowed to be fully Autistic and scream and cheer and jump and clap to my hearts content.  Everyone once in a while I'll have a panic attack, usually resulting in a day off work and me being rather upset. 

And then, maybe once or twice a year, I'll have a full-blown Autistic meltdown.  It happens when I'm at panic attack stage, and something minute that I've built up in my head goes wrong and suddenly I'm in trouble.

It hurts.  It feels like an andrenaline rush right under your skin, so painful that any contact will burn.  Touch me when I'm in this state and you WILL get bitten (and I have fangs, so watch out!).  It gets into your chest.  You can't breathe.  It's in your MIND.  You have to get it out.  You smash yourself against anything, you try and crack your own head open to try and relieve the pressure.  You're confused, scared and hurting.  And then after a minute or two of thrashing, smacking yourself, attacking anyone who comes near, you're out of energy.  And you can barely move.  This is the worst part as you can still feel the pressure, but now you don't have the energy to try and get some relief.  You're scared.  Eventually, it all wears off, you pick yourself up and you move on.

This isn't all in my head.  This is a very real physical problem I have.  That many people have.  It's not rational.  We feel these emotions whether they're warranted or not.  We can't change it anymore than we can change our DNA.  Please, I know a lot of people are well-intentioned, but as irrational as it is our anxiety is real.  Please don't invalidate it because the situation doesn't call for it.  Be there, hug us, talk to us, be calm for us. 

To everyone out there like me who suffers from Aspergers and anxiety (and even depression), this is for you.  It's hard, but we can all get through it.

Kind of explains why I love Sonic the Hedgehog so much really...

"If you have time to worry, then run!"

Mining and Australias Natural Beauty

I was talking to my good mate Garry (with two "R"s) at work today and subject turned to one of my favourite places in the world - the Bunya Mountains.  Seriously, if you haven't been to the Bunyas you need to go.  My favourite place there is easily the Dandabah Picnic Area and Camping Ground, with its cute little corner store, museum, resturant, lolly shop and easy access to most of the walking tracks through the beautiful rainforest.  It's like something out of a Final Fantasy game (VIII and/or IX if you want to be specific).

Surrounding the Bunyas is gorgeous, scenic countryside, dotted with trees, homesteads, hills...it's an amazing trip.  Except for one thing - mining.

If you go the back way out of Oakey past the Army Base and towards Maclagan and Quinalow, it's a much easier and more enjoyable drive if you can just ignore the whooping big eyesore that is the Acland Coal Mine.  If you go via the dreadful Warrego Highway, you get to go through the very interesting Jondaryan - with whooping big hills of coal piled up ready to be shipped back through Oakey.  UGH!

Now don't get me wrong, I understand that mining creates jobs and brings money into a community.  But imagine you're walking home from work one day, and as you walk under the bridge a great big coal train barrels past, spewing dust from its uncovered load of coal (I bet that's doing everyones lungs wonders).  Imagine you're a farmer, fighting with these mining companies to keep land that's more than likely been in your family for generations, and that you've worked so hard to maintain.  Imagine you're the cops, arresting a miner who's gotten pissed with his huge wage and started a fight with the locals.  Mining could be a great thing for the small town of Oakey and its surrounds, but the mining companies aren't doing their bit.  The roads that their miners use to get to work are still rubbish, they refuse for some stupid reason to cover their loads (how hard would it be to throw a tarp or something over it?!) and they leave horrid eyesores all over the once magnificent countryside.  I'm sorry, but I can't support mining in the Darling Downs.

In other news, once-Lion now demon Mitch Clark has announced his retirement.  I really feel for the bloke and his issues with injury and mental illness.  Hopefully he can get himself back on his feet and start to enjoy life again.  Puts this mornings scare into perspective a bit.

If you want to visit the Bunya Mountains, information can be found here and here.  Please don't be put off by the mines, the fact is once you get past them then it's a gorgeous drive, plus towns like the aforementioned Maclagan and Quinalow are interesting stops too.

Men's Health - Why don't they do something about it?!

Saw this on Twitter today (I love George Takei):

And I immediately face-palmed.  That graffiti is a symptom of an illness - a stigma where men will NOT take care of their health, thinking they'll be OK

Us women have it pretty good.  We've managed to organise plenty of awareness for things that plague us like cervical cancer and breast cancer, and raise a lot of money towards research and caring for the sick.  What do men have? Movember.  That's all I can think of.

For crying out loud boys, you're more likely to commit suicide, you're more likely to have heart and bowel problems, and we won't go into prostrate cancer, why aren't you boys banding together like us women have done and start raising awareness?  For crying out loud girls, why aren't we kicking their arses into gear?!  We're talking husbands, fathers, brothers, sons, friends, that could be taken down by any number of problems, and it's a battle and a half just to get them to a doctor sometimes!  The thing that REALLY shits me is the number of males I see commenting on the Internet saying "Where's our day for our cancers?" WHY AREN'T YOU OUT THERE MAKING ONE?!

You know what?  I'm going to start.  So, to my brother, fathers, and other male relations - from now on for your birthday I'm paying for you to have an annual check-up.  You are getting nothing else, you're just having me pay for you to go on a trip to the doctor.  Especially my Dads, who are both in their 40s/50s and need to start looking out for looming health problems.  What do you say girls?  They can't really refuse if it's a birthday present - and for older males particularly, it could save their lives.

Now that I'm done ranting, it's on to a team I like to call the Scums.  They're that plastic mob down the road on the Gold Coast, and they like to try and big-note themselves.  Last year it was having a picture of Daniel Rich on their website that had been defaced, now they're running Facebook competitions to caption a picture of a Lion with its paw across its face.  Seriously, they shouldn't be starting crap they can't finish, and the REAL war is fought on the footy field, not on social media.  If you want to be Queenslands Team, you need to grow the fuck up.