For a Friend

Sitting in her art space at Curtin University, she is a poster child of an alternative generation. Blazing red hair, facial piercings, amazing art work surrounding her and an increasingly common sight adorning her skin, self inflicted scars. As she takes another brush from the table she stairs at the empty canvas and knows that within the next few hours she will transform the blinding white surface into a piece of art that her peers will applaud, her audience will admire and her friends will be proud of.

Anti psychotics are fresh in her system and she will feel them running through her veins until evening, just in time to dope herself up again before bed. This morning when she woke up she didn’t have any new plans to paint, she barely had plans to arise. That’s nothing new though; she had given up on planning long ago. Stability is one of the first things to go when it comes to mental illness. How can one be expected to make plans for Thursday week when she has no idea where her headspace will be at on that day?

I ask her is she feels understood. She pauses for a long minute and then looks at me,

“No” she says.

“People try to understand but sometimes I wish they wouldn’t because they just get it all so wrong, you can’t understand unless you have lived it.”

Her list of diagnosis’ read like a run sheet of modern day mental health; Depression, anxiety, bulimia, post traumatic stress disorder, borderline personality disorder and Poly substance abuse, to name a few. With over 50 visits to the emergency room and at least 10-15 admissions to mental health clinics, she knows all to well the labels she wears to warn society that she is not one of them.

The nurses always ask the same questions and make the same assumptions, an overdose on pills is written in her notes as a “suicide attempt” but She tells me they have got it wrong,

“It’s just a rest” she says.

“I don’t want to die, I just want to sleep for a while until it doesn’t hurt anymore” She has known the awful touch of naked men. Wondered aloud and in silent if “no” ever really means “no”, and watched as she slides blades against her skin and blood streams down her arm taking her to a state of euphoria where she can be cleansed from her transgressions and numbed to her loss of innocence. But they don’t ask that question, they don’t care if she said no, she watches time and again as they look through her charts and scribble the word “promiscuous.”

I watch her as she continues to create, to paint, and to inspire. Her work is mostly autobiographical and writes a story that words could never do justice to “If people can walk away from my art work connected to it in some way than I have done my Job. I will know that my experiences haven’t gone to waste.” And as I look at the painting before me, I assure you, one cannot help but connect.

Take 400?

You lied

I believed

I broke

You lied

I believed

I broke

You lied

I believed

I broke

You lied

I didn't believe

I still broke

Thankyou

Within moments of pressing "publish" on my last post my side table was already lighting up with Text messages. (and that's saying a lot, it was 1am)
All through the next day I was inundated with texts of support, hope, friendship and love, my facebook inbox wasn't safe either, my Iphone was vibrating the crap out of my boobs as it sat in my bra at work.

As people came from the woodworks to hold my hand through this time, i realised a community I had long forgotten existed. It seems the saying is true, its the ones you least expect that step up in times of need.

In the beginning I was sad, afraid to do it all alone. I suddenly felt my singleness a lot, no boy to hold my hand or dry my tears. I felt lonely in the midst of it, but after the last 2 days and the love that has been showered upon me I realise I don't do this alone, I do it with an army of people armed with ice creams, words of encouragement, prayers and laughter.

The world goes on and mine will to.
It must.

A broken heart isn't always metaphorical.

I sat in the doctors surgery as I had done many times before, smilling and chatting as he poked and prodded and asked me how I felt. Everything was normal, just a cardiac checkup I've been having for years until he told me to take a seat.

The look on his face changed as the words streamed from his lips. Everything became slow motion and I tried desperately to follow along..

"Obviously you are not showing any symptoms... yet.. its not good news... new tests... I'll discuss with colleagues... heart has failed... this never normally happens... OPEN HEART SURGERY."

..my eyes welled up with tears, alone I came to this appointment and alone I left, crying, confused, in shock. The next two days were a blur of tears and my attempts to push away everyone I held dear. Sadly in some cases it worked.

Today, a week and a half after the news, I went for my first lot of tests. Needles, drugs, a scary machine and lonely rooms filled with nothing but radiation and my fears. I watch as the all to familiar scene begins, everyone walking on egg shells so as not to disturb the dance we all take part in, the steps that tell us it isn't really that bad.

In the midst

Sometimes the reality of everything hits me like a tone of bricks.
I feel as though I cannot breathe. I shake. I stop. I wonder what it all means.
I doubt.
I doubt my abilities. I doubt my looks. I doubt my personality. I doubt my future.
I fear.
I fear my inadequacy. I fear my insecurities. I fear my weaknesses. I fear my future.
I cry.

I know this is the part where I'm meant to tell you something amazing happens and I realise that I have to believe in myself and hope for the best and love with abandon, because that's how it goes right? Every story has a lesson. Every fable, a moral? Every fairytale, a happy ending?

Sometimes though we forget to document the journey. The story in the middle, before the climax. Before the hero shows up. Before we feel better.

I so believe that these secrets are walls that keep us alone. We fear the vulnerability. We dont tell the story until it is resolved. We don't speak in the midst.

Tonight I am in the midst. Tonight I don't have all the answers. Tonight it is dawning on me that this is not a dress rehearsal for my life. This is my life and I only get one.
What am I going to do with it?
What am I already doing with it?

I know deep down that tomorrow the sun will rise and I will feel OK again. I know that the worries that tend to fill the room at the wee hours will fade into the background as the noise of the morrow keeps my fragile mind occupied.

I also know that there is more. That the world does not change because I chose to see it one way or the other.

I know all this but tonight I'm in the midst and you know what? That's OK.

smile often
x

close your eyes and dream

Sometimes I feel as though I'm watching the world pass me by..
Waiting. Always waiting.
Eyes set on the horizon searching for my white horse to come and take me away.
Hoping I'll find solace in words, ink, music, money, networking, romance.

But after just a moment when the new becomes old and the excitement fades away you still close your eyes every night to the same person.
The same thoughts. The same memories. The same insecurities.

You can change your clothes.
You can change your job.
You can change your significant other.
You can change the size on the back of your jeans.
You can change WHAT you are.
You can change WHERE you are.
But none of that matters unless you are okay with WHO you are.

smile often

A reminder

"Dear Beth,

21 years down... many more to go hopefully. I'm not one to make a big deal of milestones, and I reckon you're similar to me, but think of it this way - you've got 21 years of experience at this thing called life. You may not realise it but you've got a lot of accumulated wisdom.

I encourage you to share it with others.

I like you because you're a thinker. You think for yourself. Sadly, there aren't many like you these days, especially inside the church!

So I encourage you to share, speak, blog, write a book.. Do all the those things. And may you inspire others to think for themselves, and most importantly, to discover God for themselves

Happy Birthday
From Grant"

I found this card today, it made tears come to my eyes, I'm not going to lie.
It reminded me of my goal, my future, what this blog was always meant to be about in the first place.
How easy we get lost. How easy we forget the calling of our hearts.

This was never a popularity contest.

So thankyou to one of my oldest friends Grant.
Thankyou for seeing something in me and for bothering to write it all down in a card.
Thankyou for being a true friend. Even if you're not an "everyday" friend.

I will return now to write of things that stir my soul, even if it doesn't involve fashion pictures.

smile often
Beth