It’s that familiar feeling again. The feeling that I can’t get away from the world and my problems no matter where I go or what I do. That the world is closing in on me. My holiday is turning to shit. The past two days I have been woken by noise outside. It is Saturday and at nine this morning, bright and early, some prick decides to roam about outside the motel with a violently noisy blower just like my neighbour’s electric leaf blower. Then later I was woken again by a chain saw. People think the hills would be quieter than the city, but in many ways it’s actually worse. Eventually I managed to fall asleep and slept the rest of the day. I woke up just before sunset depressed as fuck. I then got up and checked social media. That is when I found out some scum is trying to dump 400,000 cubic metres of landfill in the pristine valley behind my house. There are a few lakes here where I enjoy swimming. Local council knocked the proposal back, but now it is going to VCAT, a corrupt tribunal that has approved many environmental assaults I’ve fought against over the years. Looks like my holiday is pretty much ruined now. I had to cancel a Zoom meeting I had on this evening as I was so depressed. I’m running out of food and can’t even get to the shops. I have asked my dad to drop off some stuff.

This world has a disease and I have a disease. Every day my first thought when I wake up is “fuck I’m still here”.

Last night I remembered a picture of an old friend from high school and me. We were about 18. We were wearing masquerade masks which we had made ourselves out of white gauze bandage which you moisten and mold onto your face like a pinata (after covering your face with Vaseline). We were going to a party. This was about a year before the mental health system destroyed all that was left of me. I had already long been fading, a shell of the person I once was. I dragged myself to social events but I suffered a shyness that was “criminally vulgar”, as The Smiths, one of my favourite bands, put it, and they felt empty and torturous. The mental health system were waiting there like vultures. After entering the mental health system, I fell into such a deep depression that I withdrew from everyone and lost touch with this friend.

freya

Don’t tell me I wouldn’t be who I am today without all the struggles that I faced. I already know that. I could have been a girl who loved living. I could have remained the spirited child I once briefly was who had sunflowers for eyes and fireworks in her soul. I could have been a kid instead of seeing how ugly the world is at such a young age. I could have been a teenager, instead of being crippled by anxiety which stole my social life and turned me into a workaholic. I could have spent my 20s doing something with my grades, which I busted a gut for, rather than spending my young adulthood unemployed, suicidal, in  hospital and experiencing further harm from psychiatric medications and professionals. No one needs to suffer this much in order to become a strong and compassionate person.

I am still glad to be on holiday, even though I haven’t been able to completely get away from the world. It is nice being able to walk in the door and drop the mask, knowing I am alone. It is dark now and I am about to go for a walk in the forest. I never got dressed today, but it doesn’t matter that I’m still in my PJs as no body’s going to see me. These days I will even go to the shops in my PJs. I’m beyond giving a fuck what people think. But I actually get a lot of compliments on my strawberry robe, which people don’t seem to know are pyjamas (especially when I manage to throw a pair of leggings on underneath).