So. Life goes on.
Life goes on, the earth still turns, people are born, people die.
The sun moves across the sky, the moon chases.
Day turns into night, which turns into day, which turns into night, which continues to day.
Monday comes and goes, the next moment it’s Friday and then Sunday and then Wednesday and before you know it the year is half gone.
You wake up, you go to sleep.
Body processes food into waste.
Humans process life into waste.
Waste becomes waste.
Life becomes waste.
You end up wasting your life.
Day in, day out.
Lungs take in oxygen and exhale carbon dioxide.
Carbon dioxide is taken in by the trees, and they give oxygen.
Circle of life.
The Lion King.
Life begets life.
Death begets death.

This is what has happened to me. I have died, in a sense. Physically I am in one piece, inhaling and exhaling, oxygen to carbon dioxide, sleeping and waking, eating and wasting. I even started volunteering at a local cat rescue group once a week. I am alive. But at the same time, I’m not.

I think back on everything that has happened in the last three months. I lost two of the people I love most in the world. I have taken on the care giver role. I am (in conjunction with Mr Hippo, of course. That goes without saying) taking care of Beatrix, mum’s cat. I care for her. I care for Levi. I care for Tiffy. I care for Mr Hippo. I tidy and clean the house, to the best of my abilities (hello old/new friend, CFS). I volunteer at a cat rescue (I will not say where right now, I am fearful of people knowing my location too much) which is wonderful but also soul destroying. I care. Except for myself.

It will seem strange – because you (if you follow my Instagram account or Facebook page) you will see photos of me, selfies, dressed in nice clothing and pretty makeup – that I don’t care for myself, or of myself. But it is true. I pretend to look together. I pretend to look fine, normal, happy. But I’m not. I am in love, for certain. I love so many people. And I know I am loved. Hence why I am still here. But I don’t care about myself. Not anymore.

I live. Because I must. I exist, because I must. But there is no happiness to my existence.

I am tired of condolences. I am tired of telling people WHY. Why I will need an extension on my phone bill, why I can’t pay the insurance, why I am not working, why I am sad, why I am crying, why I can’t see the light to anything. Why. I am tired of people saying “I’m sorry for your loss”. Say it what it is: shit. It’s shit. It’s shit that my mum died and yet evil people live. It’s shit that the place she is now, according to particular people, is HELL because she didn’t “repent her sins” on her deathbed. Because she didn’t believe in some imaginary person, she is in HELL.

I know people mean well. And I am sick of it. I am sick of the “well intentioned” people and their “well meaning” words. Most people don’t know what to say, so they say the same thing “sorry for your loss”. “Sorry”. Sorry for what? Sorry that my mum died? Sorry that I – and my family – are suffering? Sorry that I have lost faith in everything? Sorry that you don’t know what else to say because you haven’t experienced the horrible sight of someone you love deteriorating before your eyes turning into the baby and you the mother and watching them die in your arms because their heart couldn’t keep going? Are you sorry? Are you really sorry? Are you sorry because you know it hurts, or are you sorry because you don’t know what to say? If you don’t know what to say, say nothing.

I don’t know what to do with this blog from here. It does nothing. I do nothing. I am thinking of deleting it. Or letting it sit, sit and fade, gather dust, put up a “CLOSED FOREVER” sign, setting it on fire and walking away from the flames.

One thing is for sure, it is no longer a place that I can be happy. It is no longer a business. It is no longer my life. My life is not what it was, it won’t ever be the same. I need to walk away.


Being Sick is A Full Time Job (but without the perks, like money and friends)

So this May, I will have been unemployed for two years. I did not choose to leave my job, the company terminated my casual employment contract, which can be done with almost no notice. I however, did not know I had been “terminated”, until September of that year (so about four months). I do not like being unemployed. I hate being unable to provide for myself and my loved ones. I know a lot of people who read this will be thinking “yeah right!” and when they see my social media will think I enjoy being unemployed and taking handouts from other people. BUT I REALLY DON’T. I WANT TO BE A CONTRIBUTING MEMBER OF SOCIETY.

Casual employment was not the work I was wanting nor looking for. It still isn’t. I was employed on a permanent part time contract (which a minimum of 14 days for termination of contract was required, as well as when I quit) at a company I had worked for, for the longest period in my working career. I left because of the fellow employees, there was a lot of bullying going on, and I was having to take large amounts of time off to go into hospital for treatment for my mental illness, so you can imagine how bullying in the workplace was helping.

I applied for other jobs around Christmas that year, and got a Christmas casual position and was told I would be given a permanent part time contract after the season period ended.

Needless to say, that is not what happened.

And long story short, I got into a difficult situation trying to get out of a difficult situation. And then the difficult situation ended in a really bad situation, for me.

Bad, all around.

I don’t work. And I never know what to say to people that I meet out and through friends or family, the most common questions people ask when meeting someone new is “what do you do? Do you work? Are you a student?” and I have ….. nothing. I usually say (really uncomfortably!) “I don’t ….” and yeah it’s sooo fun.

I am unemployed and I hate it.

Another thing that really annoys me, is the belief from misinformed people, that the unemployed are on “benefits”. That we “benefit” from our unemployment. We “benefit” from the government and that makes us not want to work.

It is not that I “don’t want to work”. It’s that I can’t. At least, not right now.

I have trouble existing in the bizarre world that is my life right now. I don’t know what day it is. I don’t know what the date is. I don’t know how to get up and how to live. I don’t know how to be.

I struggle to make it to all my appointments. I attempt to arrange my week so that it is easier to accomplish everything I need to. I schedule appointments (I have three appointments in the same block of the same suburb) for the same day. But more often, I just cancel them. And the problem with that, is not only do I miss out on help, help that is in itself hard to get (the world of “Chronic Illness” is a frightening and difficult to navigate sea of disappointment and fear. And that’s not just the mental illness world! Invisible illnesses, be they physical or mental, are next to impossible to get help for) and that also has a significant financial penalty when I do cancel at the last minute. One of my doctors has a strict financial policy, if a patient cancels more than once at late notice, any future appointments must be “pre-paid”. And if the patient doesn’t go to the appointment, the pre-paid cost is forfeited. I can barely (actually, not really) afford the appointment costs and having my money then forfeit should I not be able to make it, it kind of is a bit of a kick in the teeth.

I try and take note of what days are better for me than others. What days I might be able to accomplish what I need to do, and I try and take notice of when my body and mind are telling me that I need to “stop”. And then the days that I am “normally okay”, I try and make those days the days I do things. But that doesn’t always happen. I often can’t do what I need to do and have to put it off. Somethings never get done because I just give up on them.

If you haven’t ever heard of the “Spoon Theory”, click this right now.

It’s hard to explain what it feels like to wake up with a huge list of things to do, and know from that second that you wake up, that you won’t be able to do any of them.*

That isn’t even taking into account my medications. And yes, I take medications, plural. I would love not to, but that’s not possible, at least not right now. And my medications aren’t always the most affordable (as with a lot of people who have chronic illnesses and need treatment for them).

* And now I need to do exactly what I’ve just written about. I need to go lie down, I’m too tired to finish this right now.


Where did I go?

So folks. It’s been awhile since I posted here. Life has been less than spectacular these last few weeks and I am quite honestly finding each day a challenge to get through.

A few things have been going on, some good and some bad. Some I implemented and others just happened.

– My sister and brother-in-law’s cat, Furiosa, passed away on Monday 29th January. It was very sudden and very sad for everyone involved.

– I started trying to do some “self care” things, I tried to do basic yoga everyday. And it was fun, I enjoyed it. But I’ve lost my momentum with it. I had a bad day, I was pretty fucking emotional for unknown reasons (I’ve been having nightmares about Bear) and I went to do my yoga (I can’t afford/aren’t confident enough for actual classes) and it was going okay, Levi and Bea were bugging me (Levi was chewing on my hands and fingers – attention seeking – and Bea decided it was the perfect time to sit on my yoga mat) and I ignored them, putting “thinking mind” away and focusing on the mindful activity. And then, I fell over. I started to cry. I wasn’t hurt, not physically. But I just cried. And cried. And cried. Don’t really know why, but that seems to be my life now. That was last week, I haven’t tried to do the yoga since.

– I went back to see my psychologist, which is good.

– Bear came home. On the 20th of January. He came home and it still makes me cry.

– I went to an induction for a volunteering position. It’s at a cat rescue charity store and I have my first trial shift tomorrow. I don’t know if I am going to be able to do it, I want to . But I don’t know. I’m scared.

– My anxiety is ruling/ruining my life.

– I have had Chronic Fatigue Syndrome “diagnosed” as the cause for my migraines and extreme fatigue. I think it’s actually been a problem for me for a lot longer than expected, but even having it “diagnosed” does very little for treatment. It isn’t curable (what is really?) and all we can do is symptom management. Which basically means strong pain medication and this fun medication to help prevent vertigo, BUT THE SUPER AWESOME LONG TERM SIDE EFFECT of that particular medication, is Parkinson’s! There is no way to tell how “long term” as in, how long I need to be taking the medication for developing Parkinson’s to be a significant risk, so until we figure out “WHAT DO WE DO NOW”, I just cross my fingers every time I take it.

I want so badly for things to be different. I want so badly for people to come back who have gone. I want to be able to hug Bear and kiss my mum. But I can’t.

The strangest things hit me about my mum. Because she had a chronic long term lung disease, everyone who spent any significant time with her had to get a flu shot every year, no exceptions. And while I will still get the flu shot, I realised that I don’t have to get it for her. Which is such a stupid thing, yet it makes me cry.

We had a house inspection today (yay renting). And my “studio” is messy. But I can’t bring myself to tidy it. There are things of Mum’s in there. Things from the hospital where she was, even one of those paper “patients clothing” bags. They have been there since the night she died. I can’t bring myself to move them. Or to touch them. My chest of drawers in the bedroom, has become a memorial of sorts for my lost ones. It used to hold my underwear, pyjamas, pants, shirts etc. I have moved almost everything out, to put in the things that belonged to my lost ones.

I miss them.


The end is near

Saturday 20th January is ‘Bear’s Last Day’.

I am heartbroken


Yes, I’m going to critique a dead woman’s farewell message.

*** NOTE: These are my PERSONAL feelings/thoughts on the topic. I am entitled to them, you are equally entitled to your own. I’m completely happy for a sharing of ideas, comment or email me all you want. But attacking me for sharing MY thoughts on MY blog, is just going to end up with them being deleted. So that’s a waste of your energy, go do something like eat cake. Cake is awesome. Go eat some cake.

Oh and I think it goes without saying, but I will say it anyway because some people may be concerned: I feel deeply for Holly’s family, I’m still struggling with grief myself and I can only imagine how they are feeling. I am not writing this to attack Holly or to muddy her memory. Simply something that has been on my mind.***

So this farewell note by Holly Butcher has been popping up over the last few days.

Holly lost her battle with Ewing’s Sarcoma on January 4th 2018. She was 27.

27 is too young. Too young to lose a life, because, whatever that decides who dies and who doesn’t*, she was given the heaviest burden.

64 is also too young. My mum was too young when she died. She was too young. Anyone who asks about her and find out she was only 64, every single fucking time ‘wow that’s young’. Yes, it is. Thanks for the reminder.

Now I’m going to critique Holly’s farewell message. She got the chance to write one, not everyone does.

It’s probably best if you go read it for yourself (link above) rather than me reposting it and poking and prodding it.

But to TL:DR it: life is too short. Don’t worry about the little things, enjoy the important things. Great advice sure. But I have a couple issues with some things she said.

‘Random rhetorical question. Are those several hours you spend doing your hair and make up each day or to go out for one night really worth it? I’ve never understood this about females’

Earlier in her letter she touches on not caring about your body not looking perfect and appreciating the body you gave, not desperately trying to attain that which you don’t have. Cool. But then this comment comes up. She talks throughout the piece about being true to yourself and doing what makes you happy. Well, what if that hour I spend doing my makeup and selecting my outfit DOES make me happy? What if it helps me be true to myself? To me, it is worth it. If I look good on the outside 9/10 times I will feel good on the inside. And that other time (the 1/10) is when I’m feeling utter shite but I dress nice because I can help me feel better.

‘Don’t feel pressured to do what other people might think is a fulfilling life.. you might want a mediocre life and that is so


Okay sure. I agree with this statement, for the most part. Except the little bit where it says ‘might want a mediocre life’. Cause that’s saying to me ‘if what you want in life is not the same as other people (say earn a lot of money, own a big house + have a family etc) then THAT’S OKAY but it will mean your life is not as fulfilling. Because it doesn’t look the same as other people’s‘. But the way it’s phrased makes it look like the end bit (in italics) is hidden behind the THAT’S OKAY bit. Like, shouldn’t a person be allowed to live whatever life they desire (so long as no one is being hurt) and it still be just as fulfilling as anyone else? Why does the word ‘mediocre’ even need to come up?

‘Try just enjoying and being in moments rather than capturing them through the screen of your phone. Life isn’t meant to be lived through a screen nor is it about getting the perfect photo.. enjoy the bloody moment, people! Stop trying to capture it for everyone else.’

Okay now this one is really the one I wanted to talk about.

Okay so I have a huge photo library on my phone, computer and an external drive. I have 3 Instagram accounts and 2 Facebook accounts. I take photos multiple times a day. Often the subject matter is different, sometimes the same. Currently I am running my phone battery down so quickly because of the amount of times I take a photo or video. Do you want to know why? Because I need a record. I want to remember.

Bear isn’t going to be around much longer. He has less than a week left. I want as many possible photos or videos or recordings of him that I can possibly get. The chances are high that a portion will be lost because we all know that technology is GREAT but it can also be SHITE sometimes and lose things.

I have photos, voicemails and other images of my Mum for the same reason. I want to remember. I want to remember what her voice sounded like, her laugh. See her smile, remember the way her hands moved.

I am not preserving these events or moments for other people, but for myself. And I share them with others (on any one of my social media platforms) in case they want to remember too. And I don’t see what is wrong with that.

I agree with pretty much all of what Holly wrote: let go of the small things. But there is one last thing I want to address (not a quote just a general theme or her message).

Yes, cancer is beyond terrifying. And to be told at 27 that you’re going to die, I can’t imagine. But she speaks about the small things in life, like not enjoying your job or fights with friends or similar. And while I agree there are things that shouldn’t be even something you worry about. But I don’t want people to feel that their lives and issues/difficulties/concerns/problems, aren’t important purely because they aren’t about ‘serious things’. You can not compare one person’s life to another. Even identical twins. Whatever two people experience are their individual experiences and shouldn’t be invalidated because it doesn’t fit into a specific category.

I don’t want someone to feel that their depression or other mental illness isn’t important because it’s ‘not cancer’.

Certainly I should be ‘grateful’ that I lived to be 28, that I lived beyond the times I almost didn’t, that I don’t have cancer and don’t have a prognosis of months, weeks or days. That, provided I continue the correct treatment, I can expect to live many, many more years. And in a way I am ‘grateful’ for that. But that shouldn’t make my issues and my illnesses – that impact my daily living – of lesser importance, nor should it mean I should just ‘let them go’.

Anyway, those are my thoughts. I’m not going to do the thing that I hate people doing to me (‘sending my condolences’), to Holly’s family. I will say that what you’ve all been through, what Holly went through: it fucking sucks and there is no other way to look at it sometimes. It fucking sucks and I’m sorry.


The news isn’t good

Bear my sunshine, his light is going out.

So Bear is 17yo now, and his heart is working overtime. His dumb, big heart. That silly, stupid heart of his. It’s going to be the end of him.

I’m going to be ‘responsible’ (I’m so tired of people telling me that I have to ‘be responsible’ as his mum/owner. Yes. I know. That doesn’t make it hurt less!) and I am going to make sure he doesn’t suffer. He isn’t in pain at the moment, but the vet said that he doesn’t even have weeks left. And I want to make his last moments with me, and mine with him, as peaceful and pleasant as possible.

It’s expensive though. I’m looking at a minimum of $700 Australian Dollars.

You can’t put a price on love. And there are cheaper options, but I don’t believe this is a situation that I should pick a ‘cheaper option’ merely because it’s cheaper. He deserves the best.

My mum is gone. And now my child is leaving too. My heart isn’t breaking, it’s been obliterated. It no longer exists. And my mind and body seem to be shutting down from fatigue and utter despair.

This must be what losing your mind feels like.


What happens when your heart has been split in two?

She’s gone. She’s gone. She’s gone.

She was not supposed to go, it was not her time.

She had so much more she was supposed to do.

We were going to go to Venice, she and I. We were going to go and walk the streets made of water, view the art and eat such delicious food.

she had so much more to do. She was so young. She was a miracle in that aspect. A ‘miracle’ is defined as an ‘act that goes against the laws of nature’. Most people argue that all miracles are good things, people living despite the odds against them. When I was at uni and I studied philosophy, I argued that a miracle doesn’t need to be always a good thing. By definition, a miracle could be a parent burying a child. By the laws of nature, a parent must never have to bury a child. But while my Papa was not at my mum’s funeral, the fact remains that he buried his daughter. That goes against the laws of nature. In that aspect, she is a miracle.

I was with her on her last day. She rang me on the Monday, she asked me to go up to her house, she needed my help. I said no, I said ‘go to hospital’ but she said no. Then, later that day, I got a call to say that she had gone into hospital. I could have saved her. If I had gone up when she asked, she might be alive now.

I could have saved her. I failed her. I didn’t do enough. I could have saved her. She might still be with us now if I had gone up sooner. I failed her. I watched her die. I saw her heart fail. And her spirit left her body before my eyes. She died in my arms, and those of my brother. Her bright, bright blue eyes were faded and dark. She looked so ill. She was so tired, I know. And I know that she can finally rest now.

But my heart hurts and I don’t know how it will ever be mended again.


That Mother of Mine


This was a “fairy themed” birthday party of mine. That’s me, next to her.



That mother of mine! She really made a mark, she left part of herself with every person she met, no matter if she was in your life for a moment or a lifetime. She left something behind in everyone. To say she touched hearts, is a huge understatement. She touched souls.

She was more than just my best friend. She was my soulmate and my favourite person in the entire world. As much as she pissed me off, I equally loved her just as much. We were, are, so close. Taken way too soon, but fuck did she fight.

That heart of hers, that huge huge heart. That heart that loved so many, it was her Achilles heel. Her greatest attribute and in the end, the thing that couldn’t keep going anymore.

I love you Ma. You have no idea. Words can’t explain or even begin to describe. No language in the world will ever be able to sufficiently explain my love for you.

Goodbye my love.


She’s gone

On Wednesday 13th December, my mother, words fail me to describe the person she was, she passed away. And she is at peace.

I’m hurting really bad. My whole family is. I can’t put words into sentences.

We love you Mum.


Stay calm

My mum is lying in the hospital, her liver and kidneys are shutting down. We don’t know what’s going to happen next. And I’m scared.