Secrets never stay secret forever. 
One day, 

the cat will wriggle out of the bag,

the bird will fly the cage, 
Loose lips sink ships

but you can’t sink a ship that had never been afloat.
Trying to make secrets, especially those of the type I’ve had to have sewn shut (metaphorically and literally), seem beautiful, mysterious, elegant and somehow magical:

The magic is breaking the silence. Like the seal on an envelope. Or the ribbon on your birthday present.

Don’t let secrets stay hidden. It only causes more suffering, more secrets and more pain.


Of shoes and ships, and sealing wax, of cabbages and kings!

Hard to see, my cavernous room lit by my Disney Princess – pink of course – nightlight that my sister gave me many years ago.

Today has been hard. Nothing to do with TMS, the other treatment I am here for: trauma. 

Again, I did not go into details, I can’t, but my doctor asked yes/no questions, which I couldn’t look him in the eye when I nodded or shook my head. Words aren’t always necessary to convey pain and fear.

I have found a chatartic release in making jewellery with curse words in them. Trying to think of the best name to call the type of style: it’s little kid (usually associated with girls) plastic jewellery, in pastel, bright and glittery stars, hearts and round beads. The current stash of letter beads I have access to are missing ‘e’ and ‘a’ beads. So most of the jewellery is currently using ‘u’ and ‘r’ as ‘you’ and ‘are’, BUT I have three different types of letter beads so things will be back to proper grammar and spelling soon.

I made a bracelet that says ‘fuck off fuck off’ so I can wear it and let people know how I feel.

So pretty plastic jewellery with curse words. ‘Mature Unicorn Jewels’? Any suggestions.

I am unable to stop crying.

I’ve had all the PRN.

Some wounds will never heal, some pains won’t be helped with medication, or time or speaking or anything. Something’s just are. And will be the way they are forever.

I am so tired. I am so tired. And I am in such fear for my innocent nephew. Secrets, secrets have a way of coming out.

Please can someone tell me things will be okay? I don’t care if it’s a lie. I don’t care if it’s an emoji or smiley face. Just please, kind people, tell me everything will eventually be okay.


Because I had only half a treatment session, I had to stop midway, an extra session is being added and I will be having 21 treatments in total instead of 20. Which according to my very very bad maths, means another two weeks here.

I am trying to write a post explaining TMS further, but it’s tricky.

Everything is ‘tricky’, everything is difficult. 


I don’t know what to say

Pictures are worth a thousand words.

So, since I can’t speak or write, here are some photos.

One is the loneliest number.


I’m battling for my life

I’m battling for my life. Against myself.

It seems easy to think that an illness of the mind can be cured, because it’s in the mind, so does it even exist?

There are some people who believe that the mind and the brain are one. That the thoughts whirling around my ‘mind’ as I attempt to lie down to sleep, as I try and focus on something outside of my ‘mind’ and make necklaces with the swear words in them, as I try try try to tell myself that I am a good person. And not go over and over and over in my ‘mind’ the things I’ve done wrong or blame myself for everything bad that happened. These thoughts are simply electrical currents in the brain. Synapses firing off like so many guns at the shooting range.

So, according to these people, I simply need to change the way my brain fires the currents across. Perhaps the parts of my frontal lobe that supposedly control my emotions and thoughts, have stopped working and need the correct treatment to ‘hit the reset button’.

And maybe I need medication to replace the neurotransmitters that my brain has some how not been able to make enough of to function correctly, medication to build that up again.

I don’t believe the brain and mind are one. I follow Descartes belief that the brain and mind are separate from each other. This idea is referred to as ‘Dualism’.

I may be able to correct the ‘mechanical’ imperfections of my brain, make sure my neurotransmitters are flowing and plentiful, make sure my frontal lobe has had all the reset buttons pressed and rebooted, but if I don’t fix the other half of the equation, I won’t ever be free.

That’s just the physical part of my illness. There is no MRI or any other scan to show how my mind looks.

This did not make much sense.


No easy way around it: trauma & child abuse*

*There will be NO GRAPHIC DESCRIPTIONS OR DISCUSSIONS OF ABUSE. Just how I feel about having these things dug up out of my murky dark swamp-like brain, into the light. I will mention the types of abuse, in words only, I will not describe any experience or event. This post may be triggering though it’s written in a clinical sense.

So. Part of the reason I am here, in hospital, is to deal with some (well it WAS just ‘some’ but as time has gone on, more are surfacing) of the formerly repressed memories of my childhood trauma.

 (It was child abuse from my ‘father’ who is hence forth forever and always known as either ‘Assface’ or ‘Shitface’. The abuse included the following: physical, emotional, sexual abuse/assault and extreme control. Everything was covert, nothing was ever overt enough for someone to report/realise what was happening. My siblings are in different states of acknowledgement about what happened. Some completely deny it, some acknowledge but will not speak of it even if directly asked for the purposes of helping anyone/thing, for example me in my recovery. I have varying amounts of contact and relationships with my siblings. The ones that deny it outright I have very little if anything to do with. I am the only child of my family who has sought ongoing treatment for the trauma. It has been discovered that my trauma experiences began at a very early age and I was potentially a common/main target for a lot of what went on. This is not easy for me to discuss, with anyone, even my own family. Do not suggest that to ‘heal’ I should ‘forgive’ my abuser. Also do not use the ‘but you’re family/blood is thicker than water’ line, you do not know what happened and are not my therapist and so if you wish to support me in my recovery path, which involves dealing with this trauma, then please only do so in positive ways with kind words etc.)

I have seen many therapists and counsellors over the years. Some for the sole purpose of ‘trauma therapy’. The psychiatrist I am seeing at the moment is the first male therapist I have seen in a very long time, I do not see male doctors of any kind if I can avoid it. I have tried so many different styles of therapy, different ways to deal with this trauma. Even attempted to not deal with the trauma directly, but just the stuff that came up because of it (things like the self harm and the like), which did not work.

For a long time, most of my memories of this unpleasantness were repressed by my subconscious to protect me. Some of it I won’t ever remember due to my age at which it occurred.

I never wanted to remember anything. I never wanted to acknowledge any of it. I never wanted to know what happened. And I got my wish, for the most part. Until I was 21. I knew there was something there, but not anything more concrete, until: my first toe in the waters of ‘adulthood’ (aka ‘intimate relations’ – not ‘intercourse’, just silly stuff, kissing and such – this is really awkward as my family may read this!) triggered a ‘flesh memory’. And then I spiralled down a very dark hole it has taken years and years to even begin to reach the top again.

And then earlier this year, something happened, I don’t know what, it was just like a feather touched an already straining barricade, and that was just enough to break it and on came all these memories – some whole, some still fragmented, some from my eyes and some like I was looking down on myself from above.

More are resurfacing as time goes on. There is nothing that I can do to alleviate the pain caused by these memories, other than to speak about them. Wasn’t it Dumbeldore who once said ‘fear of the name encourages fear of the thing itself’? A fictional magician has more knowledge, kindness and care, than many therapists I’ve seen.

I have not written down the memories in any kind of journal or book. They are still in my head. And maybe one day I will be able to speak the words that are the most frightening, and not just in the clinical way I have in this post, maybe one day I will be able to tackle the biggest and scariest one of them all – I cannot speak the name. I could not even admit what it was until recently, even though I knew what it was for so long.

I cannot say more. I need to go do something with my hands to get out of my head. Thanks for listening anyway.


Where has the week gone?

So according to my calendar, it’s Thursday! And for us Aussie folk, it’s heading towards the late afternoon! I honestly have a very skewed concept of time at the moment. And it’s not anything to do with the TMS, it’s a ‘pre-existing’ condition, so to speak.

Since I’ve been having all this anxiety stuff (call it what you will: agoraphobia, social anxiety, bitch, whatevs) my concept of time is almost non existent.

Before I came into hospital, I knew when it was:

Monday – because Mr Hippo had to go back to work.

Friday – because Mr Hippo comes home early on Fridays, finishes work early.
Weekends – because Mr Hippo was at home and we would do things (grocery shopping, etc)

And I also knew when to take my medication, because of the alarms on my phone.

But between those days, I couldn’t tell you what the day or date was. And I still can’t. I have my phone to tell the time and a calendar on my wall to tell the day, but I’m still struggling with the whole concept.

I have asked my psychiatrist if I should be concerned by this issue, and that I have some short term memory issues – again, not a result of TMS, again pre-existing – and he said not to worry too much but to ‘keep an eye on it’.


Oh also! I am getting into beading and necklace making. I’ve just ordered a bunch of supplies, I’m going to be making ‘kid-style meets foul-mouthed-adult’ necklaces with plastic beads in the shapes of hearts and stars (and simple round beads) and alphabet letters spelling funny phrases which will most of the time include some kind of swear word.


‘Be your fucking beautiful self’ and further along the other side ‘cray cray in the best way’ (which is my new motto).

This necklace shown above was made with the materials from the art rooms here at the hospital, my ones will look different once I get the supplies.

Anyway, off to make another stupid necklace!


20* Followers!

*Apparently I’m considered a ‘follower’ of my blog, so my total follower amount is 21 apparently :/

So! Just wanted to take a moment to say a really big THANKYOU to everyone who has followed me, it’s super sappy but it does mean a lot to me that you all are ‘coming along for the ride’ so to speak.

So thankyou!

Also today has been a day of more ‘good things’, I managed to tolerate 80% of the TMS (I’ve been on 75% since I started. The aim is 120% by the end of the 20 treatments! I will write a post explaining more of the actual process because it’s a tad confusing :/) and also I changed my bedsheets (it’s actually a big thing for me) and I’m following my ‘doctor’s orders’ of being outside – as in not just ‘outside my room’ but actually OUTSIDE, with the sun and fresh oxygen and whatnot – and so that’s a good thing too.

Anyway, many thanks again to all of you lovely people!



Brainwave: Mania + Sleep

Super attractive lol.

Okay so I have just realised something relating to Bipolar Disorder, specifically mania and the symptom of ‘decreased need to sleep’.

So I have Bipolar II, there are quite a large range of mood disorders that run along a spectrum, which is something not well known. I will go into detail about the differences between type 1 and type 2 Bipolar in another post.

So okay. We have all heard that people with Bipolar who experience mania (or ‘hypomania’ in the case of type 2) have a ‘decreased need for sleep’. I, like a lot of people, thought that that meant the person did not feel tired and was the Energiser Bunny and could stay up for days and not be tired. I have realised, that’s not always the case.

As a person who has not only Bipolar which includes manic episodes, but also a chronic insomniac – not related to any illness, mental or otherwise, it’s a family thing – I am used to nights of little to no sleep.

I take a large dose of Seroquel, melatonin and phenergan to help me sleep. If I don’t take these meds, I just won’t sleep and I will be a wreck the next day.

But I just had a brainwave because I realised I am currently manic and even though I feel ‘tired’ I also don’t feel the need to go to sleep.

It’s not a case of I ‘don’t want to go to sleep’ which I have sometimes if I’ve been having bad nightmares. 

It’s not a case of I ‘can’t sleep’ due to insomnia.

It’s not because I’ve built up a ‘tolerance to my medication’. 

I am tired. Sleep would be nice. But I don’t feel like it. I feel like I could stay up all night, still be tired, but not have any issues and also I would be able to do stuff I’ve been neglecting.

‘Decreased need for sleep’ and ‘feeling tired’ are not mutually exclusive, you CAN have one AND the other at the same time.

Now, pardon me while I go get some attempt at sleeping!


Magic & a Thankyou

So a beautiful magic fairy named Britt came and granted my wish: a fresh hair colour and cut.

Beautiful Britt is a certified stylist (heehee just like to sound all professional!) and very kindly came to the hospital and created simply magic. 

I feel amazing with my new hair! Thankyou so much love. ❤️

As a small token of my appreciation, I made her a card:

Just a small way for me to say ‘thankyou!’.