#normalize being unemployed it's healthy and cool and you can be happy

[fanmoose12]

it's okay to be unemployed 💖

[christophercori]

Starting Over (And over, and over)

03-06-17

It feels as if the last 6 years of my life have been narrated by the theme of “starting over.” As a hopeless optimist. I’ve always been inclined to look at my repeated run-ins with turmoil, both external and internal (but all largely self-created), as opportunities for new beginnings. At this point in the game however, I find myself coming to grips with a probably healthy dose of realism and I’m finally ready to admit how terribly fucked-up these past few years have been.

As I embark on this emotionally trying journey of reflecting back on all of the peaks and valleys which have lead me to where I am and where I may be going, I daydream of writing this as if from some point in the future-a successful and proud version of myself. But the “reality” of the situation is that I am incarcerated and more or less nerve-wrecked, awaiting the day when I am released to the “streets”, to start over once more. While I can’t wait to move on from this place, there’s no denying how nearly paralytic it is, processing multitudes of divergent visions of possible futures and how it’s all going to come together when I get to it. Sure, I’m very confident that it’ll all shake out in my favor, as I am very in touch with my talents and capabilities. I have a strong support network and some incredible like-minded friends and mentors, but still there is that element of unrest and uncertainty which, at times, can be absolutely suffocating Before we get ahead of ourself here though, we’re going to take a trip back in in time.

So where does the downward spiral begin? Somewhere toward the latter half of my teen-age years, I think. The year is something like 2011, but we could probably go back even further. I would have been about 19 going on 19, and this feel like a decent enough place to start our tale. By this point I’ve already had one stay in the Psych Ward at South Nassau Hospital in Long Island after an intense LSD experience, but I’d ironically classify that misadventure as part of the “good times” before things really started to go south for me. I’m not going to sit here and tell you that I don’t know what happened to me; how I “fell off”, or lost my mojo, but we’re getting to it, I promise.

So, it’s almost spring 2012 and we’re coming out of what was for me a very fun winter and holiday season (details to be added in the expanded version). In spite of my recent dismissal from a temporary office job at an advertising firm, which I was really praying would become permanent, I’m still having the time of my life, gallivanting out on the streets of NYC with an eclectic group of misfits like myself. After many nights of hard partying, dropping in on various “New Age” events and “breaking night” for days on end, it’s almost spring and I’ve been unemployed for a few months. I’m not totally broke, I’m staying with my father and he’s not putting too much pressure on me, but it all comes to a screeching bait as I come home at dawn after a long night of riding around in the back of what turned out to be a very expensive cab ride, over the duration which we made pit stops to visit various characters around Brooklyn and Queens while tripping on magic mushrooms. It just so happens that this particular morning I’m also to supposed to take a ride to Philly with my Dad and while he doesn’t comment on my 7am return home, he does make mention of my disheveled and fatigued state, being fairly exhausted and irritable from the comedown off the nights Indulgences. I somehow interpreted this to be part of one of his many efforts to control my life, and proceeded to fly into an impulsive, violent frenzy. My already fragile psychological state fertile ground plenty for any rebellious feelings I was already harboring and it probably did not help that only moments earlier I had ingested a synthetic stimulant, commercially known as Vyvanse, in effort to replace the sleep I had foregone. Needless to say, none of this did much to work in my favor, and in fact, I could not regret the proceeding events any more.

So, here I am delivering a swift “fuck you” to my Father, storming downstairs to the 2nd floor apartment; slamming the door and locking it behind me. Not after a beat or two, my Father is on my heels, trying to make his way in after me, demanding I unlock the door which I am refusing to do while simultaneously snarling, screaming and cursing.

Eventually, be shoves his way in with a few forceful slams of his shoulder, only to he met by me in the midst of a complete meltdown, kitchen knife in hand. I’m not going to sit here and try to convince you that I’m not “crazy”, but in the moment, I had formed in my mind that my Dad had become some major threat, some evil controlling extraterrestrial who I needed to keep from doing I’m-not-sure-what to me.

As he makes to cross the threshold to meet my psychotic knife wielding self, I find myself summoning strength from the depths of my being to toss this man, like a sack of potatoes and hold him up against the wall by the throat with one hand and the knife very close to his face with the other. Fortunately, he made a huge fuss and called out loudly enough for our tenant, at the time, to call the police, who arrived quickly due to the station’s location literally at the end of the block. As they were coming up the stairs to evaluate the situation, I released my Father, ran to the kitchen and turned up all of the burners on the stove, thinking I’d somehow go down in a blaze of glory or at least make a big enough mess in doings so, and that I most certainly did in the end the policemen got the better of me. Once handcuffed and after speaking to my father, they shuffled me into the awaiting ambulance and off to St. John’s hospital for a psych eval. There it was determined that I needed some time to cool off and be experimented on like a guinea pig, while the doctors gave me the privilege of sampling a whole Easter-basket of coma inducing psych meds. After a 72 hour hold I was transferred to Mercy Medical Center in Long Island where I’d spend the next 6 weeks fucking unappreciated suicidal Lesbians and mid-life crisis-ing housewives.

I connected with some other wayward youths and interacted with some true “crazies”, but in the end my Insurance ran out and my Father had to threaten to sue the hospital to get me released. Apparently, they were trying to push the Idea that I was a lot more ill than I actually was instead of acknowledging that I was, originally, simply freaking out on drugs, not hearing “voices” or receiving “secret messages in the newspaper”. My oppositional defiance at the time probably didn’t help, nor did my apparent anger and threats to the supervising “shrink” for keeping me locked up and experimented on, when all I really needed was some good sleep and sobriety.

Sadly, leaving the hospital was the real beginning of a decline for me, as those zombifying medications they put me on kick-started what would turn out to be one of the most excruciating and debilitating depressions of my life. This would go on to last for a better part of the remaining year and cost me dear friends, a relationship and a network of invaluable connections.

Soon, the summer came around and by then I was several months into sleeping most days away, avoiding eye contact and conversations about what I was up to and had pretty much resigned to burying myself under unanswerable philosophical questions, mainly to the tine of “when am I going to snap out of this?” and “will I ever feel happy, or even OK again?” I tried to find some work in my neighborhood and was briefly employed a hipster shit-head who thought he was the first cool person to ever discover my neighborhood (which had been amazing eons before he dragged his ratchet ass through) who happened to run on of the concession stands, serving food and drinks on the beach. Of course, the genius of this guy led him to hire way too many of his equally too-cool-to-fucking-exists friends and found himself having to make up some lame excuse as to why he had to let me go.

This did little to improve my condition or build my confidence and I walked away feeling burned and even more adverse to dealing with people; especially those who seemed to have no idea, sympathy or at least consideration for what I was going through. Much of the rest of the summer was spent on my porch watching happy people go by, longing to be in their shoes and envying them just the same; reading old paperback novels which I dug up out from underneath years of stored junk in one of the spare, unoccupied apartments where my father kept his tools. Somewhere along the lines I made an attempt to volunteer at a local outdoor “festival” at the marina in my neighborhood, but I was far from “in the right place” for it. I had been out of the loop with the cast of character who I knew would be there and the whole time I was working the grill to cover my mission I was sick to my stomach that someone would recognize me and try to start up a conversation, outing me as being less than my normally exuberant self. After my shift, I wandered down on of the “Boatel” piers to smoke some pot with the kids who were also volunteering and make an attempt at conversation. I was totally out of sync with these people. They were still flying high on the “magical mystery tour” and I was back down on earth, consumed by anguish and totally lost. “What’s happened to me?” I often asked during this period. At some stage I was passed a sandwich baggie full of what looked like some very ill cared for magic mushrooms (I knew what healthy ones looked like, having grown them myself), I decided to go along with it, in spite of knowing that I was absolutely not in a good place to be partaking in such indulgences.

Shortly after swallowing them, things got weird and I felt the overwhelming urge to get the fuck out of there. All of my insecurities about not really feeling like I should be there in the first place were now amplified a thousand fold and before I could run into familiar, now while super-fucked up, I knew I had to split as fast as I my legs would carry me. I staggered over to my bike and left behind the cambro I had borrowed from my grandfather without so much as an afterthought. Somehow, I managed to book it through a neighborhood which now seemed ready to swallow me whole, to the beach where I would fling myself down on the sand, hyperventilating and crying out to whatever God could hear me, to make it stop. Unfortunately, the feelings of absolute terror would not subside for several hours and when I did finally make it back into my house and up to my bedroom, I would spend the remainder of those horrific infinite hours jumping at ever creak and squeal of our ancient wood-framed house. At every slight tremor and strong wind, I was certain I heard my Father’s footsteps coming down the stairs to confront me and admonish me for some thing or other, only to discover me wrecked, yet again, and beat the shit out of me, or throw my ass out on the street This never happened of course (at least not on that night) but, over the course of those endless hours of inner torment, I was certain it was about to come to life at any given moment.

It could probably do without saying that I had experienced the worst trip of my life on that night and when morning finally came and things started to feel even a little bit “normal” I swore to myself that would never do even a little bit “normal”, I swore to myself that I would never do psychedelics again. While I haven’t since that memorable moment, my feelings have changed as I have found my way back to myself in recent times. I’m sure this may come off as a little confusing, but as we carry on, perhaps it will come to make a little bit more sense.

I don’t want to get too off topic here but, I’d like to clarify that I have a deep respect for psychedelics and have since concluded that they should he used very carefully as a religious sacrament, a tool for philosophical research, or scientific experimentation. I however, learned the hard way, in so much as they are not suitable for recreational purposes. There are other out there who may disagree with me and other who will also subscribe to this ideology, and I don’t want to paint the wrong picture here.

As a teenager, I completely and irresponsibly abused these sacred “tools “ Given the opportunity to do it all over again, or when I revisit these things again in the future, I’ll do things a lot differently from how I’ve done them in the past. I absolutely recognize who in my case, my impulsive use of psychedelics or any other substance for that matter, led me to some dark places and cause sometimes irreparable damage in my life or at least some great turmoil – Turmoil being a major theme of this body of work and something l’m trying to keep out of my life moving forward. All of this being said, let us return to the somewhat chronologized chain of events from the past, leasing up through to the now and possibly beyond.

So, I want to apologize in advance if this segment causes any confusion for y’all. It probably should have been placed before the marina festival scene, but hopefully some gracious editor will fix it all up in the final incarnation of this epic tale. Petitions for forgiveness aside, it’s still summer 2012 and I’m toiling in obscurity, barely keeping myself from taking a long walk off a short plank and at some point I’m in Brooklyn with my partner In crime Mike, who is attempting to snap me out of my funk by taking me out on the town. We start off at a warehouse living space with a couple of other cool scenesters who are “on the level” and end up on a quest to Bensonhurst to pick up mushrooms for everybody, from a deal who also attempts to sell us crack-cocaine, and proceed to spend the rest of the night having a hilarious and hallucinogenic time trying to make it back to the place we started out in, which lead us to spin circles around it, ending up in every other neighborhood than the one we needed to be in. Our travels consisted of a hodgepodge of foot and subway travel, and at various times we’d give up or stop to light a garbage can on fire.

Eventually, we post up in a perk to watch the sunrise and enjoy what’s left of our “visions quest”. I catch the tail end of some beautiful geometric visuals and I find myself wishing I were along so I can enjoy them in their entirety, instead of being strung along by my fiercely determined companion who can’t seem to accept that our intoxication is the cause for our inability to properly navigate. Just as I’ve nearly managed to convince my friend to just chill and “be here now”, we find ourselves walking through an industrial neighborhood whose street are lined with 16-wheelers. To me, they look like some type of intergalactic shuttles.

It’s then that I decide to become a truck driver. If I can’t do anything else, at least I can get paid to travel across the country in search of myself. Days later I announce this to my parents, sans psychedelic influence, and they agree to pay for me to take truck driving lessons towards my Commercial Driver’s License. When it comes to anything that might make me some money and keep me out of trouble or make me feel better in a healthy way, they can turn out to be very supportive folks, contrary to the enemy I’ve felt they’ve been at various points.

Now, before we get too far ahead of ourselves, or any further out of order, it might not hurt to mention that- somewhere between my psychedelic epiphany and the parentally sponsored truck driving lessons, I take a trip to Miami with my then-girlfriend of nearly 4 years. She was 2 years older than me and we started dating while she was graduating and I was still attending the same high school. We had been through a lot together and I guess after so much, she had more than enough of my wild and crazy antics, and contrasting deep, dark periods of hopelessness.

And so she waits until what couldn’t have been the most inopportune moments in history, to break my heart, tear it out of my chest, stomp on it, light it on fire, and then toss it into the river to shit and piss on it thereafter. I mean really, who in God’s name waits until they are on vacation in Miami to break up with their significant other? I mean, are you fucking kidding me? I don’t know what this girl was thinking, but it couldn’t have been in any more poor Judgment, or in the very least, bad taste. Mind you, she could have waited till the plane ride home, like any street wise floosy would have done, but no. She lets the cat out of the bag on the second night of what’s supposed to be an epic getaway where we fuck and party our faces off creating memories for years to come, or so that’s the fantasy I was always sold about “doing it right” in the sunshine state. Anyway, we’re two days into our beachy getaway, I’m already halfway to jumping off a bridge in my fragile state that summer, and she decides to not only hit me with “I don’t think this relationship is right for me anymore”, whining about how she’s never been with anybody else, but that she’s already got somebody lined up to explore with! Oh, the audacity! As if the news couldn’t I already be bad enough. Imagine that. You’re experiencing the most unprecedented depressions of your life thus far. you’ve isolated yourself from just about your entire social network and thus have no support system in sight to lean on, and you find yourself on the ideal dream vacation, miserable with the absolutely most insensitive and common sense deficient bimbo, who you thought was supposed to be your intelligent, compassionate girlfriend, but has now chosen to break up with you on day 2 of your 6-day long excursion. She carry’s on to make no effort to fake it for the rest of our stay and refused to cut It short because it would be a “waste of money”.

Jeezzus Christ! I mean I know that at the time I was a broken, sad little hitch boy, but come on! If I could go back, I’d slap myself. Why didn’t I “man up” (whatever that means) and get the hell out of there? Shit, if I was anywhere near as strong as I am now, I would have grabbed my things, found another hotel room and myself balls deep in some new broad, faster than two shakes of a lamb’s tale (how fast is that anyway?). But, no. That’s not how this story goes, I’m ashamed to say. Nuh-uh. This sorry motherfucker rides out the next days drinking himself into oblivion and having mediocre pity sex with a girl who’s made it clear she’s no longer in love with him. How pathetic. It’s here, at this point of out epic where I firmly believe we find one of the major influences for a following series of unfortunately catastrophic events which would also revolve around mtysle and other young women with increasing volatility and regrettably, violence.

I guess the trauma of being so violated by someone or anyone who I would make myself so vulnerable too, resonated deeply enough within me the first time around, that I would go on to not only promising myself I would never be so emotionally effected ever again (at which I failed), but would also respond to the disappointment, disillusionment, and general manipulations and trickery of women, specifically of the youthful persuasion with greater retaliation, each time. I want to make it clear that I do not intrinsically hate or have disdain for women at all. In fact, I can’t get enough. I may even be addicted, but I’ve found that I need to stay away from a certain type of whacked out, New-Age, “male-hierarchy” hating, so-called feminists, who love to be nasty sluts in the sack, but then think it’s OK to turn around and play the victim, as if the world owes them something for being born female.

No I probably shouldn’t be so harsh on the young and inexperienced. They, themselves can’t truly be held accountable because they’ve been brainwashed by this backward ‘‘politically correct” (excuses me while I vomit) popular culture, but damn, where have all the elders gone? Who’s raising these bitches? Ooh wait, I know: this is what you get when you cross an oversaturation of mass-media with the mind-control of the nauseatingly ultra-liberal universities who’ve overtaken our nation, who now apparently think they are above free-speech. All that however, is a can of worms for another day and we ought to be getting back on track. The short version of it is that these confused “young-ladies” can’t really be held to a fault because it’s society overall who has dropped the ball. This philosophical understanding though, doesn’t make their actions OK or the pain they cause any less real, but there’s more than half a chance I hurt them in some, or plenty of my own ways just as well. After all it takes two to tango, and it’s rarely that either party is entirely guilty or innocent. It’s usually a mixture of both on either end.

In my case, it’s taken foolishly repeated run-ins with toxic relationships and overboard reactions to finally “get it right” on some level. I may still have a way to go yet, but I can tell you how I handled each rejection or separation with increasing stubbornness and vengeful retaliation was exactly the wrong way to handle these situations. Does this make me a psycho by nature? Probably not. A little unstable. There’s a good chance. Or maybe I’m just an extremely sentimental and sensitive individual who processes emotion with incredible gravity and has a more difficult go of it, keeping them in check and mastering these aspects of my character in ways that work to my benefit rather than my detriment.

Had I a stronger network of friends to bounce things off of and let me know I was “buggin” or to help me see the “signs” and avoid a lot of sorrow, I probably would have saved myself a whole world of trouble. Unfortunately, this has not been the case during these years during which, for whatever reason, I had buried myself under a blanket of isolation. Whether it was a result of chasing people away, losing touch, or just dealing with shitty people who never cared for me in the same way I cared about them in the first place, I’m not sure. Another theory as conceived by my Father sounds something like me not slowing down enough to patiently let the right friendships mature and blossom at a rate which was comfortable for them.

After much reflection, I have come to see the truth to his words, insomuch that my hyperactive, lightspeed ahead nature can indeed work against me.  I’ve since come to see that it could be a combination of all of the above, and more influencing my social dysfunction, but I’ll have to favor my Dad’s assessment, complimented by a dash of my own summation of “caring for the wrong people’ or at least those who aren’t capable of reciprocating the depth of my love. This basically cuts out a majority of my self-centered materialistic generation as candidates, limiting me to the few select individuals who have been in my life through thick and thin. These folks are largely between the ages of 35 and 60, and while I’d be a liar if I didn’t crave some like-minded homies closer in age to myself, I’m at the point of just accepting it for what it is, while retaining a sliver of hope that my “peers” are out there somewhere. There’s been times when I’ve become very discouraged and have resolved to throw all expectations out the window in order to avoid further run-ins with disappointment, but I’m doing my best to maintain a more optimistic outlook; keep the dream alive, ya know? And speaking of dreams, I was just thinking about the irony of how I used to pride myself on “making dreams come true” and while this may have been the case at one point or other, it seems like my recent history suggests that I’ve been regrettably stellar at bringing nightmares to life, with me acting out as the main character, naturally. I aspire to break this cycle, and while I feel I’ve grown passed it, traversing as much ground as I’ve been, only time will tell.

Anyway, and all anecdotes aside, which I can almost guarantee we’ll come back to again and again as we go, I do believe there was some story telling afoot and I’m thinking that it may do us well to get back to that.

[terkaznebes]

2019 - the year of the Shrimp

Now that time is drawing near, I have decided to compile my thoughts on pregnancy. What I really don’t understand is that how come making babies is so much fun but pregnancy is such a drag? Talk about being played by nature. I found out I was pregnant at the beginning of July and few weeks later I had a beautiful photo of my uterus to prove it. Of course we wanted a baby, we just didn’t expect it would happen right away and when I travelled back home after year and a half of being away, there was a party or two, a wedding and a few gin and tonics. What can I say? At my first hospital appointment the midwife asked and straight away answered: “How many alcoholic beverages have you had since pregnant, none?” Haha.

I found out in Prague after a beautiful trip with my friends, I messaged in the group asking if everyone is feeling a “bit weird” after the lunch we had yesterday. No? Just me then? Confirmed with a big plus on a pregnancy test. Soon after I had every symptom in the book of “what to expect when expecting”, that’s the kind of good quality literature we have in the household now. It has a super healthy and happy expectant mother on the cover. I had the worst nausea, I couldn’t eat what I normally eat and I haven’t pooped in days. Except for that one time when I had an emergency when walking our family dog in the forest. I only managed to tie her to a branch and the whole time she was giving me judgemental looks. It’s not like she is the biggest lady when it comes to it. The rest of the time in Czech Republic was spent in haze, half sleeping only summoning enough energy to teach my yoga classes.

The flight to the Gold Coast was possibly one of the worst ones yet and I was so grateful for my packed lunch because airplane food is normally disgusting, but airplane food in your first trimester is hell. I had a never ending jet lag that felt like depression. Did you ever cry watching How I met your mother? The all knowing literature said this all goes away with the first trimester so at this time more often then not, I caught myself thinking: “Yeah if you could just go ahead and grow from a blueberry to a king prawn that would be great.” 

And away it went - thank god. I started teaching and practicing yoga as much as I could and I really feel like it was a very harmonic time in my life. I had way to much time on my hands, so I started painting, I decorated the nursery beautifully, I made homemade granola probably for everyone we know. It’s definitely not ideal becoming pregnant when you are unemployed because turns out, it’s not really easy finding a job in the first trimester when you feel like throwing up all day and not easier still when it’s visible that you probably won’t stay in the job for very long. And yes, it was fantastic being a yoga teacher, but as a person who is used to being busy and knows that rest is only great when well deserved, this was not ideal. Even still, even thought I am complaining now, I will be returning in thoughts to this time of my life as a very peaceful time. When I was painting the bunting in the next room and listening to Lukas working away in the other and thinking how happy we are, how harmonic our life is and how fantastic it is just to think about healthy food, our balcony garden, sustainable household and just really understanding the meaning of “life is a beach” not “bitch”. 

At seven months, I had to stop teaching yoga and stop practicing at eight and now in the ninth month, I was told I shouldn’t even swim. Hopeless. I think the reason I have only gained 10kg is because my muscle turned to fat and everyone knows fat is lighter than muscle.

To be fair ever since doing nothing, my pains have subsided. I had a horrible back and ribcage pain, which I thought was unbearable until the bruised/torn belly muscle showed up. I barely ever go to a doctor unless I absolutely have to, but when I do, I make sure it’s something super serious like a bruised muscle. This is the second time it has happened along with that bruised intercostal muscle back in March last year. I started laughing when the obstetrician told me, so I explained what’s funny and he said: Everything is serious when you are 36 weeks pregnant. So sweet! 

Ever since my sporting activities were banned, my friend Lucy suggested I should start knitting and damn I enjoy knitting. My former colleague Dean started calling me grandma and asked if I ever heard of Nintendo :D So for the last two weeks you can almost exclusively find me in my baby feeding chair watching Homeland and knitting. I guess I sound really boring to some, I even bore myself to be honest. I know one day though, I will think I wish I could just sit and knit and be completely at peace. 

Now before I move onto another episode of Homeland (highly recommend this TV show btw), let me just tell you about my birthday and baby shower weekend. I haven’t celebrated much in the last two years, even though I still got special surprises from Luky. That’s why this year, before becoming a mom (geez sounds serious), I really wanted to have a party just celebrating me. Luky went away around 5AM on the day of my birthday and I didn’t pick him up at the airport until 8PM that evening. So I really didn’t expect him to plan anything given how busy he has been lately. But guess what? He still keeps stepping up his game as the best events manager and boyfriend in the world. Once we got home he suggested a walk on the beach where there was the most beautiful set up with blankets, pillows, strawberries, heart shaped cake, fairy lights, candles and champagne on ice with glasses. We cuddled and watched the stars and the moon until late night. So cheesy, so corny so unbelievably amazing. I will tell you more about this night soon. 

The baby shower next day was supposed to be a casual BBQ, but when I have put all the things needed into one pile, it was more than 4 trips to the car and it started pouring down rain just as we were headed to the venue on the grass under the trees overlooking the sea. We had to find a last minute location but it still worked out anyway. And it was a great afternoon, my friend Eva bringing all the blankets and pillows, helping me out with the food, Lisa organised the most amazing cake and baby games and Luky surprised me with more flowers and a handwritten letter from my family. My Czech Friends gave me a yoga bolster that I have wanted for so long and everyone else brought beautiful baby presents and one Champagne bottle for later. Also from Lisa, Saga and Joel I got a bracelet with the Tree of Life and Saga singing hip hip hooray just made my morning. I was so touched, so emotional and grateful for everyone in my life, for all the effort that everyone has made, for all the flowers, just for everything, I felt like I can’t even deserve it. I couldn’t fall asleep until early morning hours because I just kept thinking. I must have been born under a lucky star. 

My yogi friends

The night of my birthday <3

The beautiful present 

Cake time! 

The set up on our beach with GC lights in the background. 

My project! 

All the flowers. 

Baby shower cake <3

All the amazing people. 

My favourite kids. Kids can be cool too you know! :D 

Kate and Maria <3 

And the playground gang. 

[caupronjackson-blog]

Get to Know me TAG

Get to know me tag: 50 questions

January 13, 2019

Since I am  making this new Tumblr, I thought it would be fun to do this Get to know me tag. Here are 50 questions about me, which I hope will give you a better picture of who I am.

1. FULL NAME

Caupron Jackson Sullivan “Kit”

2. ZODIAC SIGN

Leo

3. 3 FEARS

Not achieving my goals, Letting others down, abandonment.

4. 3 THINGS I LOVE

My family, friends, the smell of fresh laundry

5. My best friend

My best friend will always be my childhood friend Will.

6. Last song I listened to

 High Hopes- Panic at the Disco

7. 3 Turn ons

Good Communication, respect, being present in the moment

8. 3 Turn offs

greediness, wastefulness, disrespect

9. What colour underwear I’m wearing right now

red/blue

10. How many tattoos/piercings do I have

my ears used to be pierced?

11. The reason I started blogging

For years I have been blogging on and off. I have always enjoyed it, taking photos, editing and writing posts. 

12. How I feel right now

I just got back from a trip to New Orleans, so I am pretty exhausted and Jet Lagged but other than that I am feeling decent. 

13. Something I really really want

Understanding, and acceptance also to discover who I am.

14. My current relationship status

I don’t even know how to answer this. 

15. Nickname?

Kit- When I was a kid I was convinced the kitkat bar was named after me...i was sad when I found out it wasn’t. 

16. My favourite movie

The Blindside- I watch it everytime it is on tv, and every thanksgiving.

17. My favourite song

this is so hard...it fluctuates from time to time, currently I really like High Hopes by panic at the disco, and my friend, and try by son real. 

18. My favourite band

Twenty One Pilots

19. 3 Things that upset me

-when someone scapes their silverware on their plates or bowls.

-talking about someone behind their back, or texting about them when they are in the room.

-sandy feet.

20. 3 Things that make me happy

-waking up refreshed drool on the face from a great nap.

-Sheep.

-seeing others happy and healthy. 

21. What I find attractive in other people

good communication, how they treat others, respect

22. Someone I miss

My Mom, she just passed away on October 16, 2018.

23. Someone I love

My parents

24. My relationship with my parents

Non-traditional. Not the worse, not the best, but wouldn’t trade em.

25. My favourite holiday

Not a big fan of holidays or parties, but this past thanksgiving I enjoyed having a traditional picture perfect thanksgiving like you would see on a magazine or tv, and it was super cool. 

26. My closest online friend

This person I call lil otter, he is from California. 

27. Someone famous I’d date

Never thought about this.

28. A confession

I still watching kids cartoons. 

29. 3 Things that annoy me easily

-People who chew with their mouth open.

-forks scaping against the bottom of the plate

-rooms that aren’t well lit

30. My favourite animal

Sheep.

31. My pets

4 dogs (border collie:Casper, huskies:Sadie, Maya, Coonhound:Cooper) 1 cat (dwarf tuxedo: August)

32. One thing I’ve lied about

I am terrible at lying, but sometimes its just hard for me to keep my commitments, so I am the friend you have to say an event is at 6 when it really starts at 8 so I am ready in time. 

33. Something that’s currently worrying me

My future. 

34. An embarrassing moment

Where do I start?

35. Where I work

Currently Unemployed, due to dropping everything and moving from Asheville NC- Raleigh NC to help care for my mom before she passed away. However I was working in Foster Care previously. 

36. Something that’s constantly on my mind

Ummm....hehe....pass...

37. 3 Habits I have

I have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder with poor insight as well as tourettes, so I have a lot of habits, which one is intrusive thoughts, so my habits are silly sometimes.

38. My future goals

Be happy, fruitful, and to be able to provide. 

39. Something I fantasise about

teehee...

40. My favourite store

I like kmart but i guess they are closing...so maybe american eagle? well I like eddie bauer a lot. 

41. My favourite food

Pork chops or recently I really like Pho a lot.  

42. What I did yesterday

It was a travel day. I flew home from New Orleans...also never fly frontier. 

43. Something I’m talented at

I think I am pretty good at languages. I speak English, Hebrew, ASL.

Also I am pretty talented at instruments.

44. My idea of the perfect date

Talking of coffee, and a nice walk. 

45. My celebrity crush

I don’t have one. 

46. My favourite social media

ALL OF THEM!

47. Number of kids I want

maybe 4, but I would be happy with any. 

48. Do I smoke/drink

Yes I drink socially, and I sometimes partake in ganja. 

49. One word that describes me

Responsible.

50. My favourite quote

I have three:

"I'm an orphan. But the public has adopted me, and that has been my only family. The biggest family in the world is my fans." - Eartha Kitt "Here's to the crazy ones. The misfits, the rebels, the troublemakers, the round pegs in the square holes, the ones who see things differently. They're not fond of rules, and they have no respect for the status quo. You can quote them, disagree with them, glorify or vilify them. About the only thing you can't do is ignore them. Because they change things - they push the human race forward. And while some may see them as the crazy ones, we see genius. Because the people who are crazy enough to think they can change the world, are the ones who do." ~ Steve Jobs "Basically, we are all responsible for the preservation of our personal joy; but happiness is different. Joy is not circumstantial, happiness is. You can be depressed and still have joy. You can be suicidal and still have joy. We all stop thinking and we all stop talking and we all stop sharing and we all stop creating, because by doing any of these things we quickly find out just how unhappy we are. But that's okay. That's normal. Don't let the fear of unhappiness cripple your pursuit of finding what it is you believe. Since joy is found in belief, we all have to push through unhappiness to find joy. Basically." -Tyler Joseph |-/

Edit

[hellobarbarellauniverse]

Starting from scratch...at 31

When you feel like you’ve faced it all and it can only get better from here. But it doesn’t.  I was fully aware that all new beginnings are hard but I was not ready for this. The months of July and August had me bent over, staring blankly at walls in rooms that were not mine to keep, crying, wanting to give up and go home, not knowing if I have enough money for food, wanting to keep fighting because I have always pushed through no matter what, feeling alone, feeling thankful for my friends and feeling hungry. But mostly, feeling depressed. After victoriously returning from my 4 months in Longreach thankful that I have made it back with no major injuries (well, I did loose a toe nail but that’s a small price to pay) I imagined that just like everywhere else in the world I was living before, I will land a job easily. Finally get this Australian dream going. Get a car, start surfing, live in a cool shack. After all, I did suffer enough, right? I have the motivation, I have the experience, I have the skills. Let’s do this. Man was I wrong. Noosa is a paradise. It is also a spot where everyone from Australia and overseas wants to live so the competition is crazy. If you don’t have your own business or a history here, your options are pretty much hospitality or tourism. If you are not a certified barista (like everyone beyond the age of 16 seems to be) or a knowledgeable cocktail barman, there is the option of waitressing (if you can gracefully carry at least three full plates and casually entertain your posh guests). If none of those apply, plus you are an immigrant (”What visa are you on? Oh, sorry, we don’t really like that.”), there are the options of dishwashing or cleaning the resorts. I shrugged at that thought, thinking never-ever-ever will I sink this low. I did not come all the way here to wash dishes or scrub toilets (which I will learn later is not all that bad when your account is cleaned out).

Long story short, I have spent two months looking for a job. It does have a (hopefully) happy ending, but I am certainly not there yet.

To avoid being too pathetic, these are just few moments and things I have learnt along the way. I thought it would be good to have them somewhere in case I should get too comfortable with life again. 

I have moved five times during two months. I was living with a girl that pretended I am not really there and watched cheesy American teenage shows and stupid movies way too loud. For someone who needs their own space to keep their sanity this was also the time when I got that psychically unstable that I made myself sick and ended up projectile vomiting a whole night through. Holding on to a glass in my bed at the end of that madness because I was too weak to run to the toilet and there was not enough liquid in me worth making it all the way anyway. I think I was suppressing the stress both from my living situation and being unemployed and running out of money.  I was told that I should stop hoping that I will get a normal job and should go stocking the shelves in supermarket. Apparently, that is the “price you pay when you’re living the Noosa lifestyle”. I would be spending hours filling in the applications for dream jobs in Melbourne and updating my LinkedIn. And 5 minutes later, I would be compiling an excited cover letter saying why I am the right candidate to clean rooms in resorts. Which never worked out anyway because I “don’t have the right resort cleaning experience”. I did not know that there is a special technique to scrub the toilet but OK, fair enough.

At one point, I considered packing my stuff and fleeing to Melbourne since I thought there must be more job opportunities, also in my field. I did not go through with it as I did not have enough savings to get me going not even the first month and I couldn’t go through this all over again. Plus Melbourne in winter is misery.  I received the best feedback from a dream job application to a conceptual design studio in Melbourne saying that “as we are looking for a candidate with around 5-6 years of experience, we did feel that your background was not yet extensive enough to fulfill the needs of this role, though given your enthusiasm and work history so far, I am sure in time you would grow into the perfect fit.” I did not get this job, but I was given hope that a) being foreign does not necessarily disqualify you b) I have got what it takes to apply for these kind of ambitious jobs. 

This made it so much harder trying to understand why none of my applications and walk-ins in Noosa were successful. Not even a freaking job in a shitty restaurant! OK, I was a bit selective but what’s the point of living in Australia when you slave away in an Indian joint? I basically begged for jobs, saying that anything would work for me. 

At this point, your whole persona starts to slowly fade. The self-esteem and believing in your skills are gone. 

I have spent a few nights on a couch with friends, depending on them to feed me, cheer me up and keep me going. Bless them. I have moved to another room that belonged to a surfer dad with a small child who is surfing in South America at the moment and was kind enough to rent me his own room. I have photos of his son next to my bed. I have shoved all toys, kids books, Lego castles and other random shit into shelves and under the bed, as I couldn’t see myself living 5 weeks in a room of a bachelor without losing my mind again.  The Lego castles went, the fleas came. The fat grumpy cat George infested the whole house with fleas. Me and the two other girls living here have dozens of bites all over our bodies as the fleas have spread from George to all the carpets and rooms and thrive. When I finally forced the girls to clean and flea bomb the whole house after days in agony we washed George and pulled (I’m not kidding) what would have been close to 300 fleas out of him. I fucking hate living with cats. And since I was the only one following the requested routine to keep cleaning for the next 14 days, they are back. I will be out. I got excited that I can exhibit my photos from Longreach during the Horizon Underground festival. I got so excited because I love this project and I want to go places with it. It’s the first project I truly believe in. Then the curator shut me down claiming that “ he thought that they were not significantly linked to the other material planned for display ”. The other material next door was an exhibition about how we perceive death. I guess my raw images of dead lambs and dingos hanging from sign posts are not a very obvious link. All right then, I will find a more suitable place. I don’t have the money for prints anyway.  I am an occasional babysitter. I am not that person who thinks kids are cute and uses silly kids language. I think I was not too bad with Izzie, she is a cool kid. Until her sleeping time when she realized both her mum and dad took off to Splendid in Grass festival and I was afraid the neighbours will call the child protective services hearing her agonised screams “Mommy! Mooooomy” for almost half an hour before I gave up and rocked her to sleep again (what killed my back a bit). Or that moment when aa old lady asked me on a playground “How old is your girl?” and I replied “Dunno, 15 months?” :D 

I can hardly talk about living healthy as I am far from buying all good stuff I would like to have including fresh veggies, smoothies, quinoa salads with feta and such. Meat-what? One positive thing is that I have hardly touched sugar as I’d rather buy an apple or bread than a chocolate stick. When you have budget of 10 bucks and are hungry, you weigh your options carefully. It’s actually fun looking back at my emotional rollercoaster. I am also surprised I am not in an institution yet. Here is where I would like to thank my loyal friends (you know who you are) that let me pour my heart out and keep me going. JULY 11 Homeless and living out of my suitcase again. Squatting at Anna’s before moving in to Andy’s. JULY 12

Hi Barbara yes I would like you to exhibit in the green room at the old Ambo and to be on our volunteer staff during Horizon. Publicity! Please someone buy my prints. I got invited for the interview from the mysterious graphic design studio in Noosa that had no info on who they are but their requirements matched my skills perfectly!

JULY 13

I think I can’t make it anymore. JULY 18

Interview with Jaxon and Megs from Clandestino Roasters. Not so casual as expected, they made me sweat with tasks questions and “tell us something about yourself” questions. Somewhere along 50 minutes into the interview I gave up and pulled out my Longreach card. I really want to work for them, such lovely people and such a cool company. JULY 24

I think I’m done. I have no money, I am in debt back home, I owe money to my friends. I have no job. I eat the same breakfast (on a good day it is the same ritual of adding a quarter of an apple, stolen honey and three almonds to muesli, on a bad day it’s a discounted bread with butter). I am not buying basic things. I have no insurance in case something happens. I have no car. I ride Anna’s bike. I take buses together with school kids that don’t have a drivers license yet and an old guy with a catheter coming from his private parts that is ducktaped to his thigh who smells like lemongrass air refresher (I’m guessing to cover the smell of urine). I think it’s time to think about giving up and flying back.

JULY 25 Jaxon called me and offered me the job! Starting August 14. Hallellujah!!! Things might be happening! FAKE IT TILL YOU MAKE IT. Happy but still broke. I went to a bottle shop go buy prossecco to celebrate it but then I realized I got no money. But I still wanted to celebrate. So I bought myself a body lotion instead, since I haven’t had one for a couple of weeks considering it a luxury. I might be broke but I’ll be smooooooooth.

JULY 26 The worst 8 hours shift at Skal cafe that left me thinking that hospitality (especially busy bistros) might not be my thing after all. Too many orders, zero training, too much stress and no lunch break. I was bugged. Since my first interview with Kelly, I had two trial shifts of 3 hours and this shift. I still don’t have a definite answer if I have the job. I am starting to think that building doors in a factory is the way of less resistance.  JULY 27 I might have a job on the horizon but it’s only 2 days weekly which will not give me enough to cover my basic needs. And I want the luxury to have the insurance if I ever go to the ocean on a board again. I keep looking.

JULY 28

I wrote my artist statement. It is taking shape. When does this end and I can finally eat like a normal person and sleep without having nightmares of how much money I already owe. JULY 29

Brankos B-day bonanza. Fun. Patrick told me that they hired someone for the factory job who had a forklift license. That’s out of the window too then.

...........

August is a bit of everything. I keep being broke, I need to move out by 16th (somewhere), I had to turn down offers from friends to rent out cool places because I have no idea if I can pay the rent. But I also started this job this week and some of it is just too good - I feel like a person again and I am doing what I love to do. I also have an occasional cleaning gig. It least Donna talks to me like I am a person and not just a cleaner. The highlight of this week was meeting that local who was sending me to go pack carrots at night at Cole’s and telling her how much I love working for one of the coolest family businesses in Noosa while she snorted that she has to go to a staff meeting at a bar.

[hamlettian-blog]

Rambling shit for no reason

Meeh the feeling though when you feel like shit, totally worthless waste of space which can’t do anything and will probably die alone in some trash can because you are literally trash.

I’m not sure is it depression or anxiety which keeps putting these thoughts in my head everyday, I don’t want to even label it because I will just be seen as some kind of attention whore who can’t get enough of attention. Which is probably true.

But the feeling of emptiness and being stuck, it drives me crazy.

The feeling that whenever I talk to anyone, I’m a bother. That I’m annoying them, that they would probably be more happy without me being around and trying to chat to them. It’s really annoying because I keep telling to myself that no, you are just overthinking it. That you are not bothering people with your existence. But it just feels like I’m lying to myself because always when I try to socialise people leave. They slowly go somewhere else, leaving me alone. I never was popular and probably will not be, I was mostly in my life bullied. A lot. Since kid I was the weirdo who tried to make friends and chat with everybody but they just left me outside because I was annoying, I was not cool and probably was boring as hell too.

I still wonder was it all just my head telling me the truth, that no, nobody wants to be with you. You are waste of space, you are just a loser who is so fucking annoying. Or is it my head telling me all these things which are not true? I don’t know. And which is why I am all the time in the ‘should I say something or not. Should I just leave so they can have more fun? Am I really needed here?’.

Then comes the bad feeling. I see families with kids, they have a puppy dog. I have puppy dog too. I see how much fun they have. I later get home and think all I have done. How I sometimes shouted at my dog because he was doing something bad. Am I bad owner? Do I deserve this dog? Am I really giving him the best home he could get? I think this a lot. During early hours in the morning I look at my dog and wonder am I the best he could get. He would probably enjoy more of his life in a family with young kids. Where they would give him more love, more attention. Why would he want an owner who is fucking pathetic? Who gets sometimes anxiety attacks during walks? Who doesn’t always know what to do?

Who can’t offer him the best life. I get so bad feeling of all that. Why would any poor puppy what an owner like that? Full of doubt, even thinking to give their dog away because not giving their best for them? Maybe others were right. That I was not ready to get a dog. Giving in seems so simply, so damn easy. That you don’t even deserve a dog so nice like him. He is the kindest dog ever. He never bites, behaves mostly kindly and has never been mean to other dog or parked at them.

He is a dream dog. So why did I deserve to have him? When I am myself like this.

What anxiety tells me in relationships. I always fuck them up. My latest one end up me telling them that it’s just better call it off and let it be. Because I saw it. I was killing the relationship. I was too needy. I wanted their attention 24/7. I wanted to hear about their day everyday. It’s not healthy at all. Everybody needs own space, some privet time where no one else is bothering them, not even their partner. But I was, I was bothering them, a lot. Even when they said that no, it’s fine, I knew it. I was bothersome, fucking needy whore wanting to talk to them all the time. Because I don’t have much friends. I have one, heck, and he is not even my ‘friend’. He is my brother’s friend. I own none. No friends at all.

It wouldn’t be that bad if I wasn’t extrovert. But fuck I am. I’m ENTJ, fucking ambivert. I need contact. I need people and talking to them. Alone one day without talking to people makes me paranoid. It makes me doubt everything I have ever done and it’s getting worse because I have no one talk to.

How to make friends??? I don’t know. I have aspergers. I have no clue how to make friends. I try and try, to chat to people but it seems so desperate, so pathetic. They have friends already, I’m just some weirdo who tries to force it. And I hate it because nobody doesn’t want to talk to me. Nobody doesn’t come to me and be like 'let’s be friends, you seem interesting’. Because that’s when I would know they want to talk to me. That I am wanted in someway, that I’m not just some loser chatting with them. That I could feel normal for once. Self-pity at it’s best, I can say.

And when I ramble in the therapy, my therapist always gives me this look 'I am so sorry’. It hurts because I know that they are seeing me as this hopeless idiot who will probably be unemployed for their whole life and never get friends or relationship. The lost case, my dad said. Always. I was and am the lost case, because I am not good in anything. My stories are weird, my art is a mess. Even my clothing style makes people laugh and stare. It’s stupid, why would anyone wear 50s clothes?? Right? I love them but I always get to hear that they are unfashionable and ugly. They probably are, I just love vintage but then again it’s me. My taste in things is weird anyway. I probably look like a walking clown when I go to food market, the cashiers always have funny looks. I can see that they are trying not to laugh, I would try too if a customer was wearing something ridiculous. In end of the day, I still wonder am I just paranoid, is this all in my head or is it true. Is it real? I don’t know. Is this all just my anxiety whispering in my ear, telling me things which are not real? I still don’t fucking know. Because I don’t have anyone who I could trust to hear their opinion, to see is it real or false. And that, the anxiety of just writing this. Am I sharing too much? Is this fucked up shit which makes people just avoid me more like plague? I don't know. I always question when I write something, about my feelings. I'm not good with them. I don't know when to stop. Then again I can be so damn cold and self-centered. Selfish. Writing about myself here when there's people whose have real problems. Whose don't have home to go, money to buy food and that whose live in abusive families or relationships. It's like those 12 years olds complaining about their nonexistent problems. I have own flat, I have a dog and I have money enough to go and buy food. And still I complain about things. How awful is that. All these things makes my head hurt. Because I can't know what to do or feel. Should I feel shame? Or guilt? Or just sad? 19 years old, almost 20, has never held anyone's hand. Has never kissed anyone. Only 'relationships' where long distance relationships which weren't long because I ended them very soon as they started. 19 years old young adult who still hasn't graduated while his classmates did in last spring. Because word anxious pathetic waste of space' has my picture under it. I just really feel like I am about to dropout and be that failure who didn't even get through school because of their anxiety. I had to stop last spring's finals and take a break from school because my anxiety was so bad that I couldn't even go out and take the trash. I was a total mess. Still am but I was even worse at spring. I just feel that this only is depressing whoever poor person happens to scroll by and find this. It's really depressing to read, I know. Which is why I don't even tell my therapist everything at once because I know that she will get worried. It's not like I would do anything to myself, I scare death a lot lmao. I scare it hella. Just that it makes other people feel bad and it's not a nice thing. So yeah. Sincerely, your anxious piece of shit.