Christmas Contemplations

How do you be a loner? Like. How do you maintain relationships that inevitably require an amount of output that is inconvenient to yourself while also prioritising your own need for isolation and self-care (your own relationship with yourself) as Priority Number One?

When you’re a person who, nine times out of ten, prefers your own company to that of anyone else, how do you let your loved ones know that their demand for your company, attention, and emotional energy is draining you to the point of physical exhaustion and mental instability? How do you reconcile that with your own demands for attention from people whose company you do desire? How do you explain that out of all the interactions you’ve ever engaged in 90% of your mental capacity was devoted to meeting the expectations of the other party for fear of offending them or hurting their feelings or having to engage in an exhausting discussion about a basic difference in taste? (And because you’ve developed a survival mechanism that forces you to subconsciously mirror the people you spend time with and give them the reactions they want so that they’ll like you, but you know, how do you explain any survival mechanism developed from traumatic conditioning without sounding like you’re playing the victim and making excuses for yourself?) Why is it that, despite my not wanting to be around other people all the time, I still want to share exciting news with as many people as possible?

Would it be rude or in any way unreasonable to develop a manual to help users better understand my operating system? That way, whenever I meet a new person or come across a persistent misunderstanding with an old companion, I can simply direct them to the manual and they can learn what they’re doing wrong and determine what input I require for best operating experience. I just feel like this would help to clear up so many misconceptions about myself that I’ve never been able to articulate because I didn’t want to seem selfish or demanding, or hurt anybody’s feelings because I can’t make them understand that my wanting to be left alone has exactly nothing to do with them and everything to do with my own requirement for isolation and private reflection to “recharge my batteries”, as it were.

And this concludes my Christmas contemplations for the year. I’ve learned a little more about myself, gained something of an understanding regarding what I want from life, and am now faced with a new personal project in self-care and relationship management. When all I really wanted was cash and weed. Go figure.

Surprise, bitch.

I am once again making my return to the world of blogging. I’ve got no fucking clue what direction this is going in, or what I’m hoping to gain from all of this, so stay tuned while I try to figure it all out on a public platform!

Follow my social media accounts for additional and varied perspectives into the mind of a real life internet stereotype. 🙃

I made myself do the right thing and once again regretted it immediately. 

Guess who overcame all of the excuses and went to the gym on a Sunday morning! 

I was so close to not even going, I nearly talked myself out of it like six times in the few minutes it took to pack and rip a cone, and then I was like fuck, stop talking to yourself and just brush your hair and go, and I fucking did! It was awkward as fuck since the only other person in the whole gym (which is the size of Harry’s cupboard under the stairs) was my cousin, Dayle, who I do not get along with. Despite that totally valid reason to just leave and call it a bust, I stayed and did a full 30 min cardio session and stretched afterwards. 

Oh! And I put laundry on before I left! I’m such an accomplished adult! 

Conversations with friends reveal more than expected.

Reclaiming My Bragging Rights

I just read this article and it was like someone explaining my entire life in a way I didn’t even realise it needed to be said. It seems I’m currently being bombarded with these kinds of “women’s issues” in every aspect of my life, and with Donald Trump and whoever else bragging about their sexual assaults on women I’ve decided fuck it, I’m going to “brag” about the sexual assaults against myself, because if anyone has the right to discuss these events it’s the women who survive them. And really, why shouldn’t we brag about what we’ve survived? A person can brag about surviving a shark attack and display their injuries with dignity and yes, even pride – why should it be any different a person surviving assault? I’ll be damned if I’m going to live by the double standard that people can laugh and joke about something so heinous as assaulting another person with complete ease but to casually or socially discuss being assaulted as a victim makes people uncomfortable or isn’t appropriate or is seeking attention or sympathy. So here I’ve compiled my list of “bragging points”, just the few that stand out in my memory. 

When I was about three or four my mother took me to the doctor after I had complained of a sore vagina. After a physical examination the doctor reported to my parents that I had sustained bruising in and around my vagina conducive with attempted penetration by a penis that was too large to achieve full penetration of my infantile hole. I was questioned as to the identity of my abuser, but was apparently too afraid of punishment to say who it had been. My family speculated and investigated but had little evidence to go by and without my cooperation the whole event was eventually forgotten. I didn’t even find out about it (having no memory of what transpired myself) until I was about 12-13 and it happened to come up in conversation with my mother while watching an episode of Law and Order: SVU. 

When I was about five or six I was at a friend’s house and we were being babysat by her older brother and his friend, boys around the age of ten or eleven. There was nobody else home so the boys decided to sneak and watch some of the father’s porn videos, however, not wanting to leave us unattended, they decided to lock us in the bedroom with them, despite our protests. While watching the movie the boys compared penis sizes. I sat with my eyes covered for the most part, opening them only long enough to see a shot of a several men holding a woman’s butthole open while trying to retrieve a bright pink dildo. After a short time the boys decided they wanted to try out what they’d seen and took my friend into another room. After a few minutes they came back and my friend’s brother boasted to me that he had fucked his little sister in the ass. When I told him I didn’t believe him he instructed his sister to show me how she did it, but she refused saying that she didn’t want to pull her pants down again. At this point the brother’s friend told me that it was our turn, and I of course refused and attempted to leave. He threatened me with a rubber band gun, but I said that I didn’t care, he could shoot me if he wanted, there was no way I was doing that and I was going straight home. My friend’s brother told his friend to leave me be and said they could share his sister. I don’t remember anything past this point. 

On another occasion at the same friend’s house and within the same timeframe we were awake late at night with a different friend of her older brother and he spent an amount of time laying between the two of us, under the brother’s bed while the brother was a sleep, rolling back and forth between us, taking it in turns to make out with us. 

When I was 14 I was drunk at a house party with a bunch of other kids from school. At one point I was in a very intoxicated state and somehow found myself way down the back, in the dark, away from everyone else, with three guys I’d gone to school with since preschool, and one of them was trying to convince the other two to help hold me down so they could take turns in raping me since I was too drunk to remember it anyway. The other two turned down his offer saying that the risk wasn’t worth it if I did remember.

At another party, this time in the middle of the bush, again when I was 14, I had been making out with a guy I’d only met the weekend before (at a similar event). I was wearing a pair of satin boxers and knickers and an open jacket but no shirt or bra as people had been telling me to get my tits out all night. The guy was 19, but other than that I didn’t know much about him, and he couldn’t even remember my name and called me “Sexy Ass” when he wanted my attention. At one point he was in his tent and told my friend to convince me to go inside it and talk to him. When I got inside he proceeded to undress me and I was too afraid to resist and figured I had already got my tits out, I couldn’t say no to taking off my pants as well. But then he just pushed me down and started eating my pussy and when I told him to stop he pulled me up and made me suck his dick and when I pulled away from that he started kissing me and laid on top of me and started fucking me and I said no, and I said stop, and when I called out in pain he put his hand over my mouth and told me to shut up because he didn’t want people knowing what we were doing and I tried pushing him off me and he asked if I wanted to go on top and I said no, I just want to get dressed and he let me get dressed and I went to find my friend and I had uncontrollable tears spewing out of my face despite feeling an almost serene empty nothingness. And the guy came out of the tent and made us walk away from the rest of the party and sat me down and told me he really cared about me and he couldn’t have just done that if he didn’t care about me but it was really important that I not tell anybody what had just happened because he could go to prison even though it wasn’t rape, just because of how young I was. I told my mum anyway, and then my dad, and my dad went to his house and yelled at him for not using a condom and told him he’d be paying for it if I got pregnant but I didn’t get pregnant and we all just moved on. 

Another time when I was 14 I was at a high school disco and as I walked by a group of boys sitting in a circle one of them slipped his hand up my dress and grabbed my vagina. I spun around but couldn’t tell who it had been, so I just left it and quickly tried to catch up with my friend’s in the crowd and told them about it. 

After it became public knowledge that I’d lost my virginity there was a guy in my social circle who would call me a slut or make degrading comments whenever I contributed to the conversation. He thought it was hilarious, especially if he could tell that it had upset or angered me. Even before losing my virginity this guy singled me out in all of his jokes and bullying attacks. Once he repeatedly flicked a lighter flame at me (a once great fear of mine) and I screamed at him to stop. A friend asked why I’d screamed and this guy showed him what he’d been doing by again flicking the flame at me and I panic-reacted and stabbed him in the leg with a fork. He was wearing jeans so I didn’t break the skin but he still called me a psycho. 

From the time I was about 13-17 my mum and sister played this game when we went out in public where they would count the number of men who openly ogled me as we walked by. 

When I was 15 a friend and I went to a party in the bush with a bunch of guys. We had to meet at the bank of a massive dried out river and then the guys doubled us on the quad to get to the actual party site. The following morning the guys bailed and left us to walk kilometres back to the road to be picked up by our family. And one of them accidentally emptied my wallet into the sand and couldn’t be bothered picking it all up losing like $18 in coins. And they threw my shoes in the fire. It wasn’t a sexual assault but still a cunt thing to do to a couple chicks. 

When I was 16 I had several male friends nag me to give one of my friend’s a blowjob. I was told I had to do it because it was his birthday. I kept trying to refuse but was eventually guilted into saying yes. He wasn’t able to cum from me sucking his dick so we ended up having to have sex so he could orgasm. As I was getting dressed and he was leaving the room he made sure to confirm that I’d get an abortion if I ended up pregnant. 

From the ages of 16-18 I was in an on-again/off-again relationship with a girl who was abusive in every sense of the word. She controlled every aspect of my life including what medications I took, how much contact I had with friend’s and family, whether I went to school. She physically restrained and beat me on several occasions, and was emotionally manipulative. She almost drove me to a psych ward. It was textbook domestic abuse. 

When I was 19 my ex-boyfriend at the time beat and strangled me during a fight we were having because he was angry that he’d seen me kissing and dancing with someone else. This was the first of many more instances of him smacking me around and physically abusing me over a two year period. 

When I was 19 I had casual sex for the first time with a close friend who I’d had a very sexually tense relationship with for many years. We briefly dated early on in high school but it ended quickly and we stayed best friends who flirted (and sent nude photos) for the rest of school life until this one day when we finally got together and had sex. A week or two later I had sex with another longtime friend after having recently struck up a flirtatious relationship, also including the sharing of nude photos. When the first guy found out about the second guy (small friend circle & boys gossip) he stopped treating me with any shred of kindness and instead spoke over the top of me, yelled slut when I tried to speak, and went out of his way to be as degrading and humiliating as possible. 

When I was 20 I was at a party and a friend kept forcing me to sit on his lap, and he would keep pulling me closer when I tried to get away. He started trying to kiss me and I said no and tried to pull away and he grabbed me and said he wouldn’t let go unless I gave him a kiss, just one quick kiss. So I kissed him and he tried pulling me in closer again and I pulled away and he relented and let me go. 

When I was 22 I was trying to leave a very crowded bar when a group of large men circled me. One of them grabbed me and pulled me close to him and invited me back to his place. I explained that I was just trying to go home with my boyfriend and friends who had been ahead of me in the crowd, but he refused to let me go and said he thought he might have to make me come home with him, then all his friends laughed and he let me go. I didn’t tell my boyfriend when I caught up with him because I knew he’d go back and try to fight them and I didn’t want the drama or hassle. 

When I was 22 I became friends with one of my very close friend’s ex-boyfriend. I was living alone in a bad area and he lived close by so we hung out a fair bit and he helped me out when I needed it. Throughout the course of our friendship he asked if I’d like to engage in a sexual relationship and I declined the offer and we remained just friends. Then I lost my job and house in the same week and was homeless with a dog and no savings and nothing. I stayed with some friends while I tried to make alternate arrangements but I needed a large sum of money to make it work and I had no way of getting it. This guy messaged me one night asking if I was still in desperate need of financial assistance and what I was willing to do to get the help I needed. He then proposed an ongoing sexual arrangement in return for the money I needed, since I had already turned down his previous offers I guess he figured this would be one that I just couldn’t refuse. 

And on Wednesday 12th November 2016 (the day after International Day of the Girl) my ex-boyfriend beat me up. But that’s a story for another time. 

Living at Home 

I’ve been awake for about an hour. 

Mum and dad are both in shitty moods and aren’t speaking to each other, so the house is just all tension and bad vibes. And I’m stuck being the person in the middle who has to deal with everything because they’re both refusing to do anything to spite each other, but really they only end up spiting me and making my life even more uncomfortable. 

Like, I’m 23. I’m simultaneously too old and too young to still be dealing with this shit. 

So I kinda just wanna bail and take Murder to the beach or something, because I’ve seen a lot of happy dogs at the beach stuff on Facebook/Instagram this morning, but at the same time, if I’m not here to deal with this shit then it just doesn’t get dealt with and eventually mum and dad end up in a big screaming match and the kids get upset, and Nia gets upset, and stuff gets broken, and it’s just this whole exhausting thing that I also, inevitably, have to deal with. 

But I was just thinking that I’m going to have to cancel shopping with Jaimee today because I’ll have to stay here and deal with my family, so it would be pretty dickish for me to then bail on my responsibilities and go hang out at the beach.



It’s 8:05pm on a Tuesday and I’m eating dinner, alone, watching Parks and Recreation. Dinner is two small corn-on-a-cobs and a piece of gum I was chewing earlier but got sick of chewing. Also, I have lemon lime and bitters cordial which is nothing like the real deal.

While I eat my glamorous meal I’m also fending off a weird giant bug thing that keeps settling and stirring over and over again.

An hour ago I was crying and texting my baby sister because I’m convinced my mother hates me after my ex-boyfriend dobbed on me for smoking weed. I was watching Sex and the City while this happened.

This is what living on your own in your 20s looks like. Believe it or not, this is actually better than most other nights.

I’ve Failed as a Parent

It has become apparent to me that my dogs, Brutus and Murder, have separation anxiety. Brutus has always been an anxious dog, and I put that down to his inconsistent routine. He’s been through a few different living arrangements over the past three years, and it’s easy to see the toll that all of the moving around and uncertainty has had on him. Murder is barely a year old, so I know that his anxiety is entirely my fault for being a terrible pack leader and raising him completely wrong. I’ve already achieved my all-time greatest fear of screwing up my kids, and I haven’t even had real kids yet. This fills me with confidence for the future.

I’ve decided to do some research into curing their separation anxiety, but so far all of the solutions seem to demand weeks of daily obedience practise to train these behaviours out of them, and I don’t have that kind of time. I’m out of the house from 7:30am – 6:00pm, and I’m in bed by 8:30 for my 5:00 start the following morning. With grocery shopping, cleaning up after the boys, cleaning up after myself, and maintaining personal hygiene, I really don’t have that much time to spend hiding on the other side of a door, trying to encourage my boys to behave like normal people when I leave. But I know that’s just a poor excuse for being a negligent parent. I could easily make the choice to spend even half an hour training with them, rather than watching eight episodes of Sex and the City, but I don’t, because I suck. It seems to me that changing my behaviours might be the biggest struggle that I face in overcoming my dogs’ borderline retarded tendencies.

Training Brutus and Murder to cope with my absence is made all the more difficult by the fact that there are two of them. Brutus on his own is a cinch – he’s intelligent, eager to please, intuitive and loves doing the right thing. Murder on his own is also easy – he doesn’t pick things up as quickly as Brutus, but he’s clever, and once he’s been shown the right way a few times he excels at obedience. Brutus and Murder together are a nightmare. Murder won’t allow you to show any attention to Brutus – he tries to steal the treats as you’re rewarding Brutus, and he’s a horrible distraction, always demanding to be the sole focus of your attention. Brutus is reluctant to follow instructions in case Murder gets a treat and he doesn’t, so he just dances around in circles, trying to sit closer and closer to you, but further and further away from Murder – while Murder follows him and stands in front of his face – and it’s just chaos.

Another problem is Brutus’ aggression toward other dogs. At first it was only black and white dogs (which has always baffled me, since Brutus is black and white himself), then any dog that threatened his territory/family, he only ever seemed to have an issue with male dogs, getting along with females just fine, but after introducing him to the female dog I pet-sat a few weeks ago I have discovered that he doesn’t particularly care for any dogs, regardless of gender. It has gotten to the point where he approaches every social situation with aggression and hostility, always attacking the other dog/s immediately, without even a tentative sniff first to assess the situation. This is a problem in itself, but it’s made worse by the fact that I’ll be moving to a new house, with a new roommate, who also has a dog. Murder isn’t particularly aggressive, but he follows Brutus like he’s god, and copies everything his big brother does, which makes intervening in a conflict situation difficult and dangerous, since Murder is twice the size of Brutus and weighs about 50kg. Trying to restrain two dogs – one huge and clumsy, one small and quick as a fox – is no easy feat, and I’ve received my fair share of cuts and bruises for my efforts. That being the case, I’m sure you can understand my lack of enthusiasm to introduce these two to another dog built similar to Murder.

I’m hoping that if I make a start on obedience training immediately I’ll be able to make enough progress to avoid a bloodbath once we’ve moved, and to prevent them from destroying the new house the way they’ve destroyed the current one. In this interest, I have also decided to transition them to outside dogs, which was my original intention when I decided to take Brutus on, but he was just so happy to be in the house, I didn’t have the heart to kick him out, and once Murder came along (and spent all night crying) they were inside dogs, on-the-bed dogs, do-what-they-want dogs. And now here I am, one year later, tearing my hair out with frustration. Sigh. I’d had such high hopes. I thought I’d practise obedience training with them all the time, and they’d sit and stay until I said they were allowed to eat dinner like those dogs on all the Facebook videos. I thought we’d go on walks, and puppy play dates, and trips to beaches and parks, I thought I’d take them to the Pet Expo and they’d have so much fun! Thanks to their humiliating behaviour, of course, none of that has happened, or if it has, it only happened once and ended badly and we’ve never tried it again.

As much as I love my dogs, I do sometimes regret taking on so much responsibility. I really do have the worst tendency to make my life so much more difficult than it needs to be. And I feel guilty that they aren’t getting the most out of their lives, even if it is kind of their fault for being psychopaths that can’t be taken out in public. Perhaps a little responsibility will be good for all of us – the boys will have defined boundaries and won’t stress whenever I leave the house, and I’ll have a healthy relationship with my companions and won’t have to deal with the constant destruction of my belongings. At this point I remain cautiously optimistic.

Welcome to the Hustle

What Beyoncé said is right: ladies, it ain’t easy being independent. I’m a single female, in my early 20s, living on my own in the big city. Well, actually I’m about an hour and a half on public transport from the big city, so that’s less impressive. I’m single because I chose to be when I decided to move from my home town, and I live on my own because I’m stubborn and insist on doing everything in the most difficult way possible. I’m finding that young-adulthood isn’t as fun as I thought it would be when I was 12. It’s hard, and stressful, and exhausting, and downright depressing. It feels like everything is a constant struggle, and I know that I’m not the only one experiencing this phenomenon, but I feel like I great number of 12 – 18 year old girls probably still have the same fantasies about life that I had at their age, and I know that there are plenty of older people who have either forgotten what it’s like, or never had to face the same struggles and don’t realise what’s going on with this generation. That being said, I have decided to devote this blog to providing an inside account of (barely) surviving life in your early 20s.

I suppose a little background would be appropriate and provide some context so here we go. I’m 22 years old, from Townsville, Queensland – I lived there my whole life and have never travelled further from my house than Brisbane, which is where I moved to in May this year. I made the choice to move to Brisbane after spending a three week holiday here in February when my best friend had her baby. As soon as I met this wonderful, little boy I knew that I couldn’t watch him grow up in pictures, and so when I got back to Townsville I told my boyfriend, who refused to move, and handed in my resignation at work. The boyfriend handled things very admirably, and we discussed the matter at length – I admitted that I didn’t actually want him to move with me, I had been thinking about ending the relationship for a long time – and we’ve remained close friends. A week after I moved my terminally ill Nana passed away, so I returned to Townsville to take care of the family for a few weeks. I had no savings when I moved to Brisbane in the first place, and what little money I did have was spent on the flights back to Townsville. Mum supported me for the three weeks I stayed there, but when I returned to Brisbane, with no job and no Centrelink payments I was truly fucked. I spent every day applying for jobs, I signed up with two different employment agencies, I applied for Centrelink and joined with one of their employment agencies as well, but for weeks I had less than no money; I couldn’t even pay rent where I was staying at my friend’s house. It felt like complete shit, and was probably the lowest point in my life so far. By the end of July I got a job, and in August I moved into my own place in a wonderful suburb called Slacks Creek. I had some people come to deliver furniture and when they discovered that I was living by myself in this suburb they were horrified and urged me to leave as soon as possible. This made me feel super relaxed and secure during the weeks that I lived here without my dogs, listening to various domestic disputes in my street. I have only the bare essentials in my house, having not been able to afford to transport my belongings from Townsville, or to buy new furniture. I own a fridge, washing machine, mattress and two bedside tables. One of the delivery people stopped by and gave me a box full of useful stuff like blankets, towels, sheets, cutlery, pots, etc. which I was/am super grateful for because it has saved me a lot of discomfort.

I suppose that about brings you up to speed – there have been a lot of absurd, hilarious, shitty events throughout the past six months, however they’re all stories for another time. This has been the official introduction to/explanation of my blog, stay tuned for more.