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Musings of the Misguided

Friday, 21 September 2012

Put some clothes on yo!

It's FFS Friday today so I have my ranty pants on.  Unlike the teen female population however, my pants are big, baggy and sufficiently cover my arse.

I got to my local shopping centre fairly regularly and my eyes are always assaulted with what seems to be the new fashion of leggings as pants and short shorts.  
The trouble is they think they look like this:
 When in fact 90% of them look like this:
 Girls, girls, girls.  
If you can't wear undies under your shorts because you are worried they will show out THE BOTTOM of your shorts, they shouldn't be worn in public.

If you can feel a breeze on your v-jay jay, they shouldn't be worn in public.

If your thighs have more cottage cheese than the dairy section in Coles, they shouldn't be worn in public.  

If you have to go to the plus size section to get your short shorts, they shouldn't be worn in public.

If your friends tell you, you look fine and sexy when you are unsure about how much arse you are showing, don't listen to them, they are arseholes.

If I can see the lace on your undies at the front of your shorts, they shouldn't be worn in public.

If you have to be anywhere that involves children, these shouldn't be worn in public.  Yes that involves picking up your kids from Daycare or School.  Your kid doesn't run out of the place because they're excited to get home, they want to get as far away from you as possible lest they be taunted for the rest of their school lives.

Please girls for the love of god, have some self respect. What happened to leaving shit to the imagination.  At least save the dental floss shorts for a night club where I'm not likely to be assaulted by them while buying a bottle of milk.

Need to get something off your chest? Head on over to Dear Baby G and let rip or read about other people's shit house days to know you aren't alone.

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Tuesday, 18 September 2012

Sure I'll talk, as long as it doesn't involve calling you

The only time I have absolutely no anxiety about making a phone call is when I am making drunk calls and lets be honest its socially frowned upon to be drunk ALL the time, as tempting as it is.

The trouble with being a grown up is that, well, you have to make phone calls all of the time.  Regardless of whether you want to or not.  Me, I try all other avenues of contact before making a phone call.  Even sweeping problems under the rug and pretending they don't exist.

My problem at the moment is that I want to try and find a private psychologist.  That involves using the phone.  I have found a group who treat self harm patients. I sent them an email on Thursday and haven't heard anything since.  My first reaction is to think that 'they are all the same' and ignore it.  My second reaction is to just keep waiting it out and hoping that I get an email or phone call reply soon.  Chances are the email has been overlooked and it would be in my best interest to just call them for the information I am looking for.

Chances are I won't do it.  It took me 3 days to call the social worker to reschedule my appointment for tomorrow.  Two hang ups before the call connected.  

The trouble is that I have bitten the bullet last week and went to my GP...who has referred me to the uselessness that is the public mental health system.  Chances are I won't get a phone call from them.  Chances are if I do it will only serve to piss me off.  Anger is something I have enough of. I don't need anymore.

I need to get better. Pure and simple. Right?

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Wednesday, 12 September 2012

Biting the Bullet

Shit has been hitting the fan the last 6 months. I've been a ball of fury that doesn't seem to have a way to unravel.  Everyone has been copping it. Left, right and center. Mostly those close to me though.

I think it's time I bit the bullet and talking to a 'professional' about it.  Every day feels like the worst day of my life.  I spend most of the day either in tears, sleeping to escape or yelling.  This is no way for DS to live.  I don't want him remembering his childhood as having been peppered with anger.

I just need something to take the edge off. The only time I don't feel on edge is when I am drinking. We all know what that can lead to.  

My jaw is constantly clenched and I am poised in flight mode instead of fight.  Not something that is helpful for a parent.  I think constantly about running away. Never coming back.  Self harm is always at the front of my mind.  This hasn't happened in over 3 years.  I feel in a state of constant crisis.  Shit is getting real.

It's time to get real about this shit.  It's time to get the help that I need and my family deserves.

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Friday, 7 September 2012

FFS Friday: I really could go on forever

On Friday I decided that DS needed new clothes for Daycare.  DS decided it was time to really extend his horns even further.  He screamed on and off for two hours. Head butting me a couple of times. I could feel the judgement searing my skin.  How about a little compassion FFS
On the way home I decided a carton of UDL was needed.  I turfed DS out of the trolley so that ther was room for the carton.  He repaid me by crawling along the ground and barking like a dog. So here I was pushing my trolley of grog while being followed by a barking toddler FFS
I got down to the taxi rank and thought I had hit the jackpot because there was already a taxi waiting and no one in sight who wanted it.  Turned out he was an arsehole with no common courtesy.  I get that he doesn't owe me, but after I just spent $10 for him to drive me across the road, the least he could do is give me a hand. No instead he sat on his arse tapping the steering wheel while I struggled out with my 5 shopping bags, oversized bottomless pit (aka handbag), carton and a still tantruming toddler.  I would have gotten out quicker if you helped arsehole. FFS
DP and his son went fishing.  DP got home at 530am.  He stripped off and threw his pants on the floor.  His smelly fish covered pants.  That wasn't the end of it though. The next night we went out for dinner. He riffled through the clean clothes to find something to wear.  The clothes fell on the floor.  Fast forward two days and I am folding up the washing.  What do I find? DP fucking smelly fish covered pants in amongst the clean washing.  I had to rewash the clothes.  My washing maching is tempremental and only likes to wash at half a load.  It's only 5kg to start with.  It took me all fucking day to wash clothes I had already washed on Saturday.  FFS
DP had the genius idea that it was my washing mashine being not level that was causing all of the issues.  I made it level and it didn't make a difference so I changed it back.  DP knew this.  He decided to ignore it and adjust the feet on the washing machine.  Feet that need a shifter to readjust. A shifter that I don't have.  I did a load of washing tonight.  I had to go in every 5 minutes during the spin cycles as the washing machine is so out of balance, the clothes kept gathering on one side and stopping the cycle.  Why don't men listen FFS
What are some things that have pissed you off this week? Check out Dear Baby G to see more FFS stories

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Tuesday, 4 September 2012

Death by sleep deprivation

DS has been sleeping like an absolute shit head for the last seems like forever few months.  Most nights I wonder if he is trying to kill me by sleep deprivation.

Some places have been known to use sleep deprivation as a method of torture.  Mothers everywhere endure it all the time. We're told to take a cup of cement and suck it up.  We have to go about our day pretending that we are functioning human beings.  

Before DS I couldn't sleep for 5 days.  5 days of utter hell. 5 days of sandpaper eyes.  5 days of snapping psyche. 5 days of writing.  The only relief was a dr who finally believed me when I said I wasn't a drug chaser, I was just tired and couldn't sleep.  It had taken me 3 nights of sitting at ED, only to be told you are a drug addict, go away, to get to that point. I was delirious and probably looked like I was high as a kite.  

I can sometimes find myself returning to that state when we are surviving on 6 hours of broken sleep.  My psyche seems so much more fragile now.  The smallest thing makes me snap.  I can feel myself spiralling. I can feel myself wanting to run away.

DP told me on the weekend that I just need to calm the fuck down.  He doesn't have a clue what the shit I put up with on a regular basis is. He sees a snap shot.  His idea of 'helping' is playing with Dyllan while I do every-fucking-thing else.  I can't even have a shower on my own, ever.  DP complains that I don't let him go to the toilet by himself while we are at his place.  After I death stare him into the ground I utter 4 simple words. Welcome. To. My. World.

We are seeing a child health nurse who I am hoping will help us with the sleep dodging.  I'm willing to try anything at this stage.  Absolutely anything.


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