Category: Family

Sensory Overload

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I am utterly blessed. In the midst of an overload of senses; no, through them; God has blessed me.

I have a hot little hand on my face as I try to read. It pokes me and twitches at the entrance to my nostril, making breathing odd. If I turn over, I’ll have, instead, little untrimmed toenails in one of two choice spots: kidneys or buttocks.

A short reach away, I hear the thunderous roll of snoring. I prod and suggest turning over and for a moment, the storm abates. But only for a moment. Without any lightning to warn of its advance, the long drawn in breath offers new meteorological mysteries.

Further distant still, the irritating whine of machinery. It’s monotony is broken only by the insidious, regular alarm throughout the night.

Dogs, ours, bark at intruding nothings. Loudly.

If I leave this horizontal plane and venture out, I will likely find lines of light break through the darkness. Here and there, I will hear more cacophony to interrupt my rest. From one doorway, little light accompanies the pings and whirs of levels unlocked by a well known Italian plumber in overalls. From another, brighter light pops out, as unyielding as the so called notes screamed by a boy-man wearing more eyeliner than I ever have as he bemoans his newly single state.

Should I turn and retreat, my hapless tarsal structure is likely to be assaulted by weaponry at floor level. Possibly this time, I will encounter the string of a cheap bamboo bow. As I lightly sidestep the threatened trip, my other foot may find the arrow; or Danish building materials with spiked edges; or an assortment of miniature bovines cavorting without care near an enclosure of even smaller dinosaurs; or a shadowy feline hoping for food.

But despite this risk; this riot; this rude interruption of horizontal calm that I say I’d prefer; I am utterly blessed.

Little fingers and toes are not a blessing all who wish it share.
Snoring means he’s here with me.
The whir of machinery speaks of luxury others do not have.
Lights and music mean my children are home safe. They can be and do just as they wish without fear of persecution, despite my musical preferences.
Even the scattered hazards of a family hall shout freedom, safety and luxury.

I am utterly blessed.

Veritas, Eski

May I buy a vowel please?

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I’ve been discovering that my anti – depressant medication is working well – That is:
I’m not crying all the time;
I’m not a screaming fish-wife;
getting out of bed is not ALWAYS as difficult;
I have interest in life;
I’m doing creative things for myself;
I recognise the goodness in my life;
I can get out and do the things that seem like a good idea in my head most of the time…… and much more that has previously been in the too hard basket.

However, I’m finding I’m still not as ME as I want to be, or think I ought to be. There are things I want to achieve; things I want to do each day that do not eventuate. And it causes me to question: Are these still symptoms of depression or am I just inherently lazy?

For such a major part of my life; for the past 22 years; I’ve been misdiagnosed and mistreated for depression. I have struggled with all of the symptoms above and the guilt of being ‘wrong.’ Finally, last year, I referred myself to a psychiatrist who properly diagnosed me and I have been properly medicated and improving since. As I said, though, I have certain expectations of myself and my accomplishments that are as yet unrealised. Is this normal? Does everyone, especially those who are NOT depressed, feel like this? Is it just me? Have I always been a thinker and NOT a doer of my wild and wonderful ideas?

I don’t have all the answers to the above. My hypotheses so far are: yes; yes; no and probably a bit, but I hope not.

So now, further experimentation is required.

May I buy a vowel please? I’d like an E. Are there any spare Es out there willing to be my friend?

In case it sounds like I have actually lost it, I’m talking about Extroverts. I’ve been undertaking MBTI personality testing with one of my senior classes and in teaching them have learned a bit more about myself. I’m an extreme extrovert.

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This comes as no surprise to those who know me, but perhaps very few realise how far I swing in that direction. When I’m really ME, I need literally no alone time. During my serious bouts of depression, this flipped to barely wanting to see anyone. I would work when I had to – and ‘play’ at being my general happy self – come home and go immediately to bed. I would often pretend to miss phone calls so that I could either text people or call them when I could cope with it. This is NOT the real me. Nowadays, I ask my family members to follow me to the shower to continue a conversation in case I miss out on company time.

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Back to my experiment. My hypothesis is this: My motivation to do more will increase with the acquisition of an E friend who likes similar things and has/makes time for me. So I need an E please!

My family love me and do spend time with me, but all 5 (actually, uncertain about Theo) of them are I people and, after a day at work or school, scatter like cockroaches under kitchen lights. They know who I am and do spend time, but, short of a roster, there’s not enough company for me.

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All of my close friends are I people. That’s always been the case, now that I think about it. I make plans and my friends enjoy coming along, but they don’t NEED me like I need them. Not need like clingy for emotional support, but need in terms of time. I’ve always had I friends and they don’t think of inviting someone (specifically me) every single time they think of going somewhere. Not out of spite, you understand, just because they are happy to do things on their own.

So, I’d like an E friend who’d like to spend loads of time with me.

The idea I have is that I will have more E time and therefore more energy. More energy equals more things achieved.

What are your thoughts? Any other experiments? What’s your personality type and how has it affected you?

Tattoo – Semicolon Project

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It’s here! My semicolon is now permanently inked to the inside of my left wrist. 

  
I’ve attached the video I took of the whole process. I had the opportunity to share the story of The Semicolon Project while he tattoo’d my arm, so I’ll let it tell its own story. Aron from “Gothic Realm” does an excellent job,of both tattoos and listening! 

My Tattoo (This is the link to the video)
Please read back over my blogs to see the rest of the story and feel free to share.

As always,

Veritas – Eski!

Choices!

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Here are my final 4 options for the tattoo I will have by this time in 7 days:

1

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2

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3

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4

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See HERE for more details on why I’m choosing a semicolon at all.

I’d love to know your preference. Comment below with your favourite number and tell me why if you’d like to.

Veritas, Eski

Tattoo for the soul

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In just over a week, I am going to a tattoo parlour with three of my friends to be inked with my first tattoo.

Since writing this post, “Permanent Ink,” I have found, once again, that people need someone to talk to. Sharing such a tiny part of my story has opened the gates for friends and acquaintances to ‘feel ok’ to talk about their own emotional story.

So, for those of you who still aren’t sure why I would choose to get a tattoo; I, who change my mind about what I like more often than others change knickers; I, who have a needle phobia; I, who do not have a style and if I did, it wouldn’t be a tattoo that was the symbol of it; here’s why.

Today, I read this article and last fortnight I read this blog post and in between I’ve read about The Semicolon Project.

I want to start a conversation with those who need it; I want to let people (including me) know that it’s ok to not be ok and that you are loved; I want to remind people (including me) to “pause and keep going.”

And that’s why, next week, I will be voluntarily extending my hand for permanent ink.

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Creative Writing – A Journey Part 5

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Write a letter to an agent, telling her how wonderful you are.

Dear Ms Stomar,

Thank you for giving me the opportunity to give you the opportunity to represent ME!

I’m awesome. I’m honest to a fault and definitely the sort of person you’ll be keen to represent. I describe myself as an outspoken, honest, drama queen. 

I’ve heard of your excellent work and am keen to discuss possibilities for furthering my career with you.

Instead of writing the above, I’ve been distracted by the noise outside:

The excessive testosterone could be measured in the gruff notes of verandah karaoke and the vibrations of the floorboards beneath my feet. Assassins Creed references flew through the air, as did the impromptu parkour efforts; and failures. Occasionally, the roar dimmed to a murmur of one upmanship with spikes of attention grabbing falsetto. Despite both obvious and subtle attempts to the contrary, the girls present remained unimpressed and left without falling for the somewhat dubious charms of their male peers. Slowly, the racket subsided to a rumble, punctuated by growls and grunts whose use in communication seemed apparent only to the participants.

Write a 20 line poem about a memorable moment of your life.

I was born, I know that much

But the event itself, well, I’m out of touch.

I am sure I felt; I believe I’d cried

But I don’t remember being inside.

My mother does, at least somewhat

She was the one who was “on the spot”

As it were, when she had me

And because, as you know, I’m the first of three

The experience can’t have been ALL bad

For with my mum or my dad.

Since then I remember many things

Chasing butterflies; twisting on swings.

I remember the birth of my own babies, four

I remember deciding not to have any more.

I remember the pain of unnecessary death.

I remember the first time really noticing breath.

I remember the joy of finding direction

The smarting sting of all correction.

I even remember things I’ve been taught;

But of my birth, I remember naught.

Steampunk Names

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Just for a little fun this afternoon, I have used this highly official name generator on our family. Henceforth, I shall known as, Professor Josephine Wraithwaddle.

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My husband is: Lord Roderick Wraithhold
Eldest son (and heir to all our debts) carries the dubious title of Lord Wilfred Roth stone.
My daughter, my princess: Chief Inspector Henrietta Supperwaddle.
The two younger children have clearly tested our ingenuity as they clash on several points of unoriginality:
Earl Archibald Clankingfield and Earl Archibald Clankingchild.
Our visiting guest goes by Chief Inspector Percival Knightchild.

Clearly the steampunk community are only original when it comes to style of dress, not naming conventions; in our household at least.

Comment with your new Monicker!

Permanent Ink?

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I have never considered getting a tattoo before. This has been for two main reasons:
1) Apart from God and my family, I’ve never stuck to one thing long enough to warrant contemplating having it inked permanently onto my person.

2) I have a relatively severe needle phobia. This is self-explanatory.

This afternoon, I came upon this blog post:

The Semicolon Project

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And I felt a blast of decision. I will do this. I will tattoo a semicolon on my inner wrist to:

1) Remind me to take a pause and keep going. When I struggle with my depression, I need this. Life throws all manner of things at us and we all need to pause and keep going.

2) Start conversations. When I’ve shared my experiences of depression on Facebook, I’ve been whelmed by the conversations that are ignited. People vent and share and feel they’re not alone. I’ve had some people say that they’ve been on the verge of taking their own lives and, having seen my posts, have felt less alone and kept going.

One woman, hearing me describe my decade at a ladies’ conference, came up to me afterwards and said that her grown up daughter felt the same way as me and they’d never understood each other.  She was going home that day to apologise and help her seek help. I’ve seen her since and apparently all is going much better.

During times like this, when I feel like my depression is somewhat sorted and under my control, I often forget to share and the world sees me as ‘normal’ me. I’d like to remind others and myself that depression is often ongoing and the need to support each other is also ongoing.

If experiencing some little pain will help even one person, it’s enough. I’ve been through much better and much worse than an hour or so of needle pricks; I can do this.

I will do this. Who would like to join me?

Part 2 – Creative Writing – A Journey

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Create a character with personality traits of someone you love but the physical characteristics of someone you don’t care for.

I’ve chosen to use my mum (whom I love dearly) and a man I knew when I was about 13.

Renee is tall and wiry. She has is muscular to the point of thick, ropy cords of muscle rippling under her leathery skin. She looks old. Her skin is far to tanned and is beginning to look dehydrated. Her hair is also wiry and the white grey of the not-quite-old. She is decidedly unattractive in a conventional sense, but when you know and love her like I do, looks are no longer important.

Renee is generous to a fault. She is sometimes so concerned about the feelings of others that she apologises for doing something nice for them. Renee will do anything for her friends and family. Sometimes, this has backfired and she has been hurt, but family always wins out in the end. She seems incapable of being still for very long, finding jobs and activities to keep her hands busy and help others.Renee enjoys nice things like clothes and food, but mostly she enjoys sharing these things with others. She has been blessed with a reasonable wealth and is now intent on bestowing that blessing on others. She is love in action.

Mummy Win!

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“Mummy, I love you so much!”
“Thanks darling. I love you so much too.”
“And Mum, I love you sooooo much!” With all accompanying squishing of face that we do to little people sometimes.
“That’s lovely, Theo. I love you too.”
“Mummy, you are my best friend!”
“Oh thank you! That’s beautiful.”
Daddy asks, “And what about me?”
Serious thinking face followed by, “Yes…………..

You love Mummy, too.”

Brilliant!

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Love from Eski 🐛