6 am Melbourne fog.
Crumpets with raspberry jam ~ Miss Jackson, St Kilda.
Mouth thanked me.
Slightly odd shaped base, little worn but only $8 buckaroos. This lady shoe was going to make the several hours wandering the isles so worth it.
I took two steps. My left foot slipped off the side, into a strange slow motioned ankle roll. I ain’t got time to be risking a slow roll! It was decided, the shoe was a no go.
But like most Savers troll sessions, I walked out empty handed yet extremely satisfied.
Oh the places we’ll go !
My vehicle - Specialized Ruby Compact Sora WSD 2014.
Short Round - Thornbury
Usually I’m against ordering muesli at cafes, but after eyeing another lady’s bowl, I just had to.
It was heaven. Light, delicious and filing to the point of “just right” rather than “holy shit, so bloated with so many miscellaneous grains”.
Also highly recommended - the crisp potato rosti with poached eggs, pancetta, beetroot puree, creme fraiche, kale chips and carrot salt. Yup all on one plate.
This tracks’s on repeat of late.
My hands are up in surrender. From beginning to end, you’ve got me.
Last week, I thought fuck yeh. I had my entire life all figured out. The desired destination, the path I would take.
Yesterday, there was an emotional setback of sorts. There I was again, a place too familiar. Unsure, doubtful, self loathing, laden with regrets, sinking.
Yet after yesterday’s episode of gloom and doom, today, somewhere in the messy aftermath, surfaced an affirmation.
As much as I feel like I’m sinking deeper in quick shit, God I AM TRYING. Trying to seek answers, trying to ask the right questions, trying to wriggle my way out.
And if tomorrow is another repeat episode of my yesterdays, I have to remember this.
I went to a refugee panel on the weekend and one of the speakers was an Indigenous man who worked on one of the onshore detention centres up in Queensland. In between detailing the horrors that refugees faced he told me the story of one of the white security guards telling off a refugee for…
I took this picture of myself at the end of a day I spent in bed, scared and crying, feeling alone and hopeless and completely desperate.
This is the face of my mental illness. This is the face of my sadness when it is at its most inexplicable and its most pronounced.
I am not ashamed of it.
Some days I’m whole
Then, pieces scattered
I’ll go this whole life, piecing myself together.
I have been feeling like shit (on and off) of late.
In high school, I was a high achieving, tenatious extrovert with potential. That was 10 bloody years ago.
Then straight to university, cultivated by big dreams, a degree which I loathed in its entirety. I stayed at it for all the wrong reasons, not one my own.
I could have been anything, anyone, but now even with a professional title, I feel like not much. Potential that once was, is dormant, a constant reminder.
My recent rescue efforts have involved complete silence on my part, avoiding all my truths until they sink to greater depths, only to resurface with a vengeance, bringing with it self doubt and judgement. I’m left so incredibly defeated, lost, back to square one.
It’s obvious. I need to change my self rescue approach.
I need to write. The good, awful, scary, overwhelming, confronting. It doesn’t even have to make any sense as long as I’m engaging in words that are my own.
I fear that further ongoing silence and dishonesty will only result in a lengthy, bitter, and resentful self divorce.
The question was posed by a donor representative speaking at the Girl Summit 2014 this week in London. The speaker’s answer to his own question – that smart girls can change the world – matched the mood of the event, which was upbeat, energetic, and ambitious in its goals.humanrightswatch)
Detaining immigrant families is unnecessary and cruel. Instead of funding additional detention beds, Congress should be adding immigration judges and improving access to legal counsel to make the asylum process fairer and more efficient.
Clara Long, US researcher at Human Rights Watch.humanrightswatch)