Wonderland Wanderess

It’s been months since I last blogged.   I’ve been so caught up with my university studies and home schooling my kids in this strange new Corona World. In fact, I probably should be working on an essay right now but I just needed to write freely today; to express what is in my heart and on my mind right now.  So come, buckle up, and step into the darkest corners of my mind with me. Below I have copied and pasted a dated e-journal entry.   I wrote it in November last year during the most crippling low I have experienced since I was pregnant with my now almost 6-year-old daughter.   What is a low you ask?   It is a depressive episode.   You see, I suffer from Bipolar Disorder, Type 2 (BPII), differentiated from Type 1 by significantly more lows than highs.   The rare highs of BPII, referred to as  hypomanic episodes do not reach the full-blown mania and psychosis commonly associated with Bipolar Disorder, Type 1 (BPI) and could instead...

The man I am writing about passed away many years ago. Out of respect for his family, I will not disclose his real name; I'll refer to him only as *Simon.   *Simon was like a father to me and I loved him dearly... eventually. For the first few months, my hatred burnt with the fire of a thousand suns. *Simon had just been released from prison for heroin trafficking, but before you judge my mother for allowing him into our lives, you must first understand that he had just served a 5 year sentence. Theoretically he should have been clean for half a decade; a reformed member of society, if you will. We would later learn just how readily available heroin had been to him in prison. My mother was put through hell by my father and then along came a good looking, kind-hearted man. *Simon fell in love with Mum and was even willing to put up with her emotionally unstable little brat (me), who never missed an opportunity to tell him how much she hated him. *Simon was patient with me...

Dear Younger Self, Forgive yourself. You are brave and you are smart and I know you don't know what to do with all of these things that have happened and are still happening to you. But you will get through them...all of them, and you will be okay, I promise. Right now, you are doing what you have to do to survive and you lash out at everything and everyone around you because it's the only way you know how to deal with all of this rage consuming you from the inside out. But the day will come when you won't have to fight anymore. The demons that have overrun your scared little mind will be banished to the furthest corners of the realms.    I won't lie to you, it's going to get worse before it gets better... a lot worse. It's going to hurt like hell and you are going to need to call on strength you don't even yet know you possess. But when that day comes, as hard as it will be to let go of everything you thought was meant for you, know that it wi...

Valentine's Day ⸺the epic day of love, originating in the year 496 in memory of the Roman priest, St Valentine.  Marriage had been ruled illegal but Valentine cared not. He was a champion of love and married couples regardless—a bold act which would cost him his life. Upon learning of Valentine's disregard for the laws of his land, Emperor Claudius II sentenced him to death. He was executed on February 14th but not before he'd fallen in love with the prison guard's daughter, whom he wrote his last words to — a love letter signed, 'Your Valentine' And thus, the tradition of Valentine's Day came into being. What a beautiful legacy to leave behind, born of equal parts love, death, grief and courage, not unlike my own Valentine's Day tragedy. February 14th, 2012 was the day my boys and I buried their Angel Daddy and one of the greatest loves of my life — Chris. Little Lachlan not even yet 2 years old, Christopher Jr. barely the size of a cherry in ...

No parent signs up for children with behavioural or emotional disabilities. Heck, if it worked that way, none of us would. But oh, what a gift would be lost to this world. Difficult children grow into strong willed adults, champions of the causes they believe in; dream chasers, peacemakers, and driven entrepreneurs.  They are worth all the tears, sleepless nights, judgemental stares, and specialist appointments.   I was a difficult child; now I am raising one. I know you are exhausted, Mumma, but to your little boy, you are Wonder Woman , battling his demons and bringing calm to the chaos of his overwhelmed mind. Breathe—you've got this.   Dad, I see you struggling with the weight of working hard, only to come home to World War III in your living room, when all you want is peace and quiet.   To the single parent weeping in your car, after your daughter threw the mother of all tantrums in the supermarket, I think you are a rock star. ~  ...

People say, " you don't know what you've got until it's gone" but the truth is, with Brad, I always knew.  The statement,  "True friends are like diamonds, precious but rare..." is so, so very true and it was never lost on me, that Brad was one of my diamonds.    2012 was, undoubtedly, the worst year of my life and the final kick in the guts, just one day before it ended, was a phone call during which I learned my best friend had left this world.  I will never forget the crashing in my ears, the sinking pit in my stomach, my knees hitting the floor as my legs gave way, the unshakeable belief that every person I loved seemed cursed to die.  Life seemed hell bent on slamming me back to the floor again, every time I found my feet. ~ To go back to where it all began, Brad was originally close mates with Dean, the biological father of my eldest son.  Early on in my pregnancy, when Dean and I were still together, Brad often looked out for me, ensuri...

My dark passenger.  That ever present voice, quiet and gentle as a whisper at first, 'til it spins dread and fear like spider webs throughout every happy moment.  Then it crouches in the shadows, in the wake of its deception, waiting to pounce and sink its claws in for the kill.  My heart rate increases, my breath falters, my body shakes and sweat pours from my palms.  I'm now in fight or flight mode, in response to whatever situation, place or environment I've found myself in.  My body wants to run and my brain is preparing it for just that, pumping adrenaline through my veins.   I've lost count of the amount of times people have made ignorant comments, all to more or less the same effect- anxiety can be conquered with something as simple as mind over matter ..... but when half of me wants only to run and hide, while the other half  is gearing up to stay and fight the generally non-existent threat, to battle for rational calm amidst ...