I am still in the countryside, staying in a friend’s caravan/annex. It’s not the most luxurious accommodation. There is no toilet, so I have to pee and shit in the bush, though that doesn’t bother me. Animals get into the paint stripped walls and make an awful racket. The other week I heard something behind the curtain by the door. Whatever it was, it was big. I slowly pulled back the curtain and a fat rat leapt out and scurried across the room! Today I found a cockroach on the bench, though it probably doesn’t help that I don’t clean up. A bull ant landed on my puffer jacket while I was sitting on my bed. I have also had to remove two big huntsmen spiders from the place. I am becoming an expert at removing huntsmen, putting a plastic container over them, sliding cardboard underneath and taking them outside. Perhaps it was the same huntsman who found his way back into the caravan.

For the first week, I was super itchy. I didn’t know if I was allergic to something here or whether the caravan was infested with bugs. I woke up one night too hot so climbed out of my alpine sleeping bag. I then got what felt like pin pricks from the mattress I was sleeping on, so am now sleeping on a different mattress in a different spot, which seems to be better. I have marks on my skin, and developed puffy scratches after walking through the dry ferns in bare legs one day. I don’t even remember getting scratched. The scratches stung and itched. My itchiness seems to be settling down now though, which is great. Maybe I am adjusting to the new environment.

There is no heating or cooling in the caravan, which makes summer and winter quite unbearable. It is autumn right now, so it’s a good time to be here, though it can still get extremely cold at night and during the early morning, even in an alpine sleeping bag and doona. It can be hard to get my temperature right as the nights are cold, so I need to sleep in an alpine sleeping bag. But when the sun rises it can get too hot for the sleeping bag. I may have to start using my hot water bottle, which thankfully I packed. But I cannot use the kettle at night because there’s not enough power (the caravan is run on solar power), so I will have to boil water on the gas stove. These are small things that city folk take for granted. I don’t mind it, though. Minimalistic living close to nature is good for me. I was a hoarder in the city and had so many clothes I probably would never be able to wear them all in my lifetime. Now, I only have a few changes of clothes. Most are pretty ordinary, though I did pack my crimson red, witchy dress for when I want to feel more beautiful. I don’t have any accessories to wear with it though.

The other week I had a nightmare about being stuck in a house with my family who insisted on using Bluetooth. Then two days ago I discovered the solar system here uses Bluetooth. I was shocked: here I was thinking I was in a pristine environment free from radiation. My friend said she would replace the part of the system which uses Bluetooth with a non-Bluetooth version. She’s given me this heavy copper cylinder to keep next to me in the meantime, and suggested sleeping at the end of the caravan, which is where I had moved to anyway as I found I slept better here.

This isn’t a holiday for me. This is a desperate search for a new home, as being in the city with its frenetic energy was driving me to the ground. I needed my own space and somewhere that is quiet. I do have my own space here. I am fairly self-contained. I have a stove which runs on a gas bottle. I have a fridge. I have water, though the caravan is not plumbed so I have to fill a big plastic bottle with water from the tank outside and pour from the bottle instead of using taps. As for the noise, I still get sensory overload here. There are all these planes which fly around the place all day long. They make the most annoying noise, like they’re doing nose dives. I can also hear a pack of dogs barking at night. While they are not close (the property is 800+ hectares and there are no neighbours nearby), the noise carries. I hear other noises such as chain saws and people shooting. There are no words for how disappointed and hopeless I’ve felt. But I love the land and the space. Staying out here is helping reset my body clock too. I would still rather live here than Melbourne. That’s why I was shocked and devastated when my friend told me the other night that she wants to sell the place. She said she’s struggling to manage it on her own and is sick of being so far away from everything. Even the letterbox is so far away you have to drive to it. The nearest town is half an hour away. You can’t just pop down to the shops here like you do in the city. You are in the middle of the bush in the middle of no where. She’s also scared every summer because of the bushfire risk, and this is only going to get worse with climate change. Rural communities seem to be feeling the impact of climate change the most. I remember when I stayed on a farm up near Castlemaine, the owners had to buy truckloads of water for their farm as there wasn’t enough rainfall. If there was a bushfire here, my friend would probably be trapped. That is why she’s built a fire bunker.

I can understand the bushfire risk, though it is a dream of mine to live somewhere so remote. Unfortunately I’m far from a millionaire. I’m on social security and can’t afford to buy the place. Silent tears slid down my cheeks when my friend told me she wants to sell it. Even though I still can’t completely get away from the world here, this place has become my refuge. I feel safe here in the middle of no where behind a locked gate with my friend. I had a shower up at her house as I hadn’t showered all week. I then started my onslaught of texts to my therapist Peter.

“My friend told me this evening that she wants to sell this place. I’m guttered. Yes it’s not perfect. All the planes and bugs or whatever it is making me itch all the time. But I still prefer it to Melbourne. I wanted to live here forever. I’m sick of drifting around like a fucking dandelion seed in the wind. I just want to settle down somewhere and finally begin to live and heal. I can’t do that in Melbourne. I hate Melbourne! I don’t want to live right next door to cunts with fucking chain saws, dogs, electric leaf blowers, wifi etc. I don’t want to be in the Eastern Health catchment or the catchment of ANY mental health service. I don’t want to have to pass all the schools where I was bullied at all the time, and have people in the post office recognise me because I went to school with their fucking son, the Catholic school I was abused at. I don’t want to live with my fucked up family who caused so much trauma growing up. Ever wonder why my sister and I have the same mental diagnoses? It’s no coincidence. What’s the common denominator? Growing up with a pedophile, surrounded by domestic violence, a mum who’s a control freak, won’t give you space, won’t let you be your own person and who’s taken their anger and unresolved trauma out on you your entire life. It’s like walking on egg shells around her, you never want to open up as you’re afraid of the next judgemental comment or criticism. I’m done with the place! I need space! My life would have been better in many ways if I was born in a third world country.

I lose everything! I lost the beach house at Phillip Island and now this.

I don’t hate my family, but I don’t want to live with them and I don’t want them knowing where I live either.

I don’t want to be part of society

I feel so fucking hopeless, like there’s nothing I or anyone can do to fix me. This is something all of us will probably feel eventually. The realisation that some health conditions are incurable. The realisation that we’re going to die, that is a given, and there’s nothing anyone can do to stop it. It’s a terror I’ve already experienced too many times in my life. The time I nearly drowned in a surf beach, even with people around me. They struggled to reach me given the conditions. My drug-induced psychosis where I was so far gone in such an altered state no body could reach me. Some people actually never come back from that. My sleep paralysis and false awakening dreams where I’m stuck in some other realm and can’t wake up. Government corruption, the exploitation and abuse of the planet and there’s not a thing we can do about it. Stuck in such a horrible situation growing up where home was shit and then I’d go to school which was shit too.

I would stand between my parents when I was kid to try break up their fights. But it was the times I did nothing that were the worst. The guilt still eats away at me. Dad would get so angry he’d threaten to kill my mum and other family members. I don’t think I could live with myself if he did. He didn’t just go off at people for no reason. He usually had a reason to be angry but still it was pretty scary,

I often wonder why it is that I have been the one left to suffer the most. Even though we have similar diagnoses my sister copes a lot better than me. She’s no where near as depressed. She doesn’t have all these physical issues. She’s able to travel, she’s a lot more social than me and enjoys living with others, she’s able to be in the world. Maybe she’s found a refuge in her furry fandom. Maybe it’s because she wasn’t also bullied at school, so has learnt there are some people in the world who are safe. She didn’t move schools all the time like I did. Everyone liked her, unlike me. People hated me and just wanted me gone.

My sister didn’t have birth trauma either. My mum had a caesarean with her after my horrific birth and it went a lot smoother. I think this is something I’ve grappled with my entire life. When I was little I would open the family photo album and show my friends all the bloody pics of the birth when they came over. My mum ended up removing the pics. I had nightmares all the time too about  being dragged into an underground camber by a sadistic dward who would test and torture me. Only in recent years I’ve realised that perhaps the dream represented being dragged out of the womb with forceps. There’s not enough awareness of the impact a traumatic birth has on the baby. My mum was crippled after the birth. People had to pick me up and bring me to her as she couldn’t walk, and she couldn’t feed me enough. I feel lie such a burden just for existing and always felt my mum loved my sister, who had a more placid temperament, more than me. But my sister did have to live with the pain of gender dysphoria all her life.”

This was Monday the 14th. I always seem to be in a particularly bad way on Mondays. Even before my friend told me she wanted to sell the place, I wanted to die. I had emailed my physio earlier that day, who was also away.  

“Ok, I’m out – taking the family away for the next week so I won’t be responding for a bit,” he told me the previous week. “Reach out to my team if you want to see Alysia and catch up with Lani as soon as you can.”

“What do you mean you’re “out”?” I had asked him. “Was it something I said? Are you going to get notifications when someone emails you while you’re away? I don’t want to bother you. But I’m scared. My pain is getting really bad and I’m out here in the middle of no where and it sucks cos there’s still noise here. There could be something really wrong with me medically, I don’t know.

When do you get back?”

“Just a turn of phrase, like “over and out” signing off effectively,” he said. “Feel free to email me, but I’ll not be checking it every day. Remember you can journal some of the stuff as well and we can discuss next time, that can be really helpful too.

Back working probably Thursday lunchtime next week. 

I don’t think there’s anything medically wrong, other than you’re pretty wound up and stressed right now. The idea of getting away was to try to relax, see if you can find that head space.”

“So yeah it’s really not working out here,” I wrote to him Monday morning. “On top of all the planes I think I’m allergic to something here or the caravan is infested with bugs. I’m itchy all the time. Last night I woke up hot so climbed out of my sleeping bag. Then I reacted to something on the mattress. Got these weird skin pricks, which my friend with all these allergies talks about all the time. I also started coughing. Apparently there’s been mould in the caravan, so I’m not sure if I’m reacting to that. Yesterday I also suddenly got all these puffy scratches on my leg after I walked through some ferns/bushes outside. I don’t even remember getting scratched. They really stung and itched and it looks like I’ve been attacked my a cat!

Also still in a lot of pain and discomfort down there. I don’t know what I’ve done to myself. I suspect I have hemorrhoids as well. 

This is all so shit. I feel so much despair. How do you get away from your own body? It follows you everywhere.

My sleep is still shit. I’m still waking up breathless and nauseous, so I feel crap all day because of that.

Hope your accommodation right now is better than this!”

I wrote a second email:

“Now I’ve done something to my ear forcefully laughing through my nose, because everything is funny when you’re sleep deprived. If I could take a pill that would put me to sleep and never wake up I would.”

The suicide threats increased:

“Back in Melbourne I bought all this stuff for a proper suicide attempt. And I want to do it. But I’m scared I will fuck it up”

“Call life line again,” he wrote back within an hour.  “It’s not worth trying and then screwing it up – being a vegetable would be worse than everything you’re going through. 

Just sounds like a shitty holiday, put it in perfective. 

Maybe mushroom rocks next time.”

“Ok,” I said. “Wasn’t expecting to hear back from you so quickly….. very nice of you, thanks 🙏

It just feels like I’m doing everything right yet I still can’t get a leg up”

“We’ll chat when I get back,” he said. “You need a better plan of attack going into to that sort of experience to get the best out of it. 

At least it was a change of scenery, that’s something.

Speak to you Friday probably.”

I remained in a terrible state on Tuesday. I thought I’d let my physio enjoy the rest of his holiday and continued messaging Peter instead. 

“All these fucking planes are driving me insane. They make the most annoying sound, like they’re doing nose dives. They completely ruin the place! Not even the wind or music can block them out. I don’t know where I’m going to go. I’m honestly over it here as well. I’m having a meltdown here. I fucking hate this world. There is no escape anywhere. I’m sick here too. I woke up today with 10/10 pain in my abdomen, but thankfully it went away when I did a shit. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.

I don’t have my car on me so it’s not like I can even go somewhere else to get away from them. So now I’m starting to have a panic attack.

I’ll be so glad to die.

I actually don’t know where’s worse: here or Melbourne.”

Tuesday afternoon the messages continued:

“I’m in agony physically. I did something to my ears forcefully laughing through my nose yesterday, because everything is funny when you’re sleep deprived. Now my ears hurt. My body doesn’t recover. Even that ear examination left me with long term pain in my ears. I’m over everything. I’m not worried about killing myself and ending up in a hellish realm because I’m already in one. I just need a guarantee way of ending it… I don’t want to survive it. I have stuff sitting at home in Melbourne for a proper suicide attempt. I just have to make sure it kills me. If I had a pill that I could take to put me to sleep and never wake up I would.”

A friend sent me an audio message of him swearing and hitting things, as though he was trying to break out of jail.

“Fuck yeah!” I replied. “Lets stab the shit out of life. I wish I could link your audio to all these fucking planes that keep flying around here and blast it to the pilots.”

“I’m guessing you’re at home?” I asked in another message. “Is your mum home?”

I wrote an email to Peter, to give his phone a break. I titled it, “heroine”.

“Any idea where I can get some? I’ve been to the neighbourhood druggie, they offered me weed but they just looked super uncomfortable when I asked for heroin.”

I sent another text to my friend.

“What happened?”

I started to freak out when I didn’t hear back.

“I’m sorry if I offended you,” I texted. “Of course it’s horrible that we’re both suffering so much and at our wits end, but I think it’s better to get anger out than bottle it up inside.”

“I liked your response no need to apologise at all, you’re a good friend anyone else would probably block me,” he said. “I just don’t want to explain/justify/detail atm I know why and that’s enough. I’ll talk about it another time.”

“Thanks for your reply,” I said. “I’m relieved you liked my response. I was scared I was going to lose you next. I would never block you for sending me something like that and i think that’s horrible that other people would. I guess a lot of people have an unhealthy relationship with anger, or can’t handle intense emotions like that.

That’s perfectly fine. You don’t have to talk about  it, only when/if you’re ready.”

That night things escalated into a nasty meltdown. Anyone with autism knows this is not a pleasant experience.

“I can’t stand it here any longer,” I emailed Peter. “ALL DAY LONG planes fly around. Then at night dogs start barking. I don’t get any relief day or night! I’m fucking sick of this shit. I just want the world to SHUT UP and FUCK OFF!!!!!!!!! And if they won’t then I will! I’ll fucking kill myself!!!!!!!!! This world is driving me to the ground! I don’t want to be here! I don’t even know if I can last the night here. I might have to sleep in my friend’s house where the window faces away from the dogs and hopefully it’s more insulated. Then hopefully tomorrow I can get an NDIS worker to pick me up and take me back to Melbourne. I think I’ve found some emergency accommodation. It’s a caravan in somebody’s back yard, but I’m not sure if it’s going to be all that great either. The lady says they hear noise from the nearby sports oval. This world is just fucked. I can’t wait until I die. I’m not ready to go back to my dad’s house. I couldn’t stand having him in my space. And my mum’s place is simply not an option. I’d rather sleep in a park.

I’m not sure why you are not replying to me today. I don’t know if I’m overwhelming you, or you just have a lot going on at home still.”

Peter finally replied. He left me a voice mail saying he was busy all day and waiting for a good time to respond to me.

I texted my disability worker later that night asking her to pick me up ASAP. I texted my friend asking if I could sleep in her house that night, but she was asleep, and I didn’t want to wake her coming into her house unannounced. I thought about reaching out to Lifeline and telling them I was going to overdose so they would send emergency services to the place and I could spend the night in the regional hospital, though it would have taken forever for them to arrive. They also would have had trouble finding the place. There was an interval when the dogs stopped barking that night during which I knocked myself out with sedatives just to get through the night. I took enough to knock me out, but not enough to cause damage like last year’s overdoses. My disability worker then came to the door at 2pm the next afternoon and called my name. I was still in bed coming to after having taken so much medication. I couldn’t decide whether to leave or stay. I wanted so bad to make it work here. My disability worker told me the dogs I could hear at night might be wild dogs. This helped a bit. I thought that if I saw the dogs as part of the bush, rather than belonging to some prick who won’t keep their dogs quiet at night and lets them disturb the whole area, then they may not bother me as much. My disability worker did the dishes and kept asking where things were. I was so overwhelmed I could barely respond. I lay on my bed a heap.

“What’s wrong?” she kept asking. “Have you taken anything today?”

“Just the sedatives last night,” I told her.

“Have you taken an antidepressant?” she asked.

Her question surprised me, as I thought she was anti all medication. I found it nice that she saw I needed some help, though unfortunately antidepressants have never brought me any relief, so I no longer take them.

I ended up staying, with the back up plan of sleeping in my friend’s house if the dogs bothered me again. My friend said she can’t hear them in there, perhaps because it’s more insulated. I’m also hoping I can get used to the planes. There are some breaks, and this Easter weekend has been lovely as there have been no planes at all!

Despite the peace and quiet, I have still been depressed. My physical pain is not getting any better. It has been weeks! I don’t want to live with this forever. I’m in grief. I also don’t have any internet, which is how I usually cope, anymore. I can’t blog, listen to music on YouTube, watch movies or chat to people online…. Not that there’s anyone I really want to talk to anyway. There’s nothing to do here and I’m just stuck here. There’s a bicycle here which I rode this morning. I sat on a hill and tried to access the songs I had downloaded from YouTube, but I couldn’t find them anywhere. Frustrated, I returned to the caravan and ended up crawling back into bed. I wished I had a partner or somebody caring with me who would stroke my hair and calm me. I thought about the man I had been speaking with on FetLife, met up with one time and was going to meet with again. He hasn’t replied to my message but I know he’s still browsing the site looking at other baby girls. Why does he say he wants to be my daddy and then keep looking at other baby girls? For a while I felt like used like a piece of trash, like he wasn’t committed to me at all, like all he wants is to shove somebody in nappies and if he can get his sexual pleasure from someone else he will discard me. I felt like I’m not enough for him. In the end I gave him some slack. I concluded he’s probably just a horny man and it’s not like we’re officially in a daddy/baby girl relationship yet anyway. But I recon even if we were he’d keep looking at other baby girls because I will not be enough for him. I can’t promise I will use nappies and let him change them; I’m not sure I will ever feel comfortable with that. He will probably want to see me more than I will want to see him too.

I’m finding a lot of grief is coming up today. I miss my old disability support worker Damien, who I haven’t heard from since December last year. I don’t know if he’s back at work or what. He was there during some of my worst moments. He was there with me in the emergency department on many occasions, the only person who could calm me down. I didn’t see this rupture coming with Damien. He would offer me additional sessions during the week. I didn’t take him up on it. Then out of no where he accused me of being too dependent on him and wanted to WITHDRAW our sessions, making it once a week instead of twice. Now I don’t see him at all.

I’m lonely but I hate being around people. I want to blog but have no internet. There’s internet at my friend’s house but I don’t want to see her. Her house is like a cobweb and she’s the spider. If I go up there I will be trapped. She won’t let you just go about what you need to do. Even when you say you’re tired she doesn’t listen. Right now I am sitting in her driveway on my laptop in the dark getting bitten by mosquitoes. This is as far away from the house as I can get and still get a wifi signal. 

Maybe I could do with a digital detox. I’m grateful for the peace and quiet this weekend, though the dogs have started barking again this evening. Even knowing they might be wild dogs, I don’t think I can deal with this. I really hope they don’t bark all night.