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adverseverse
Below are the 25 most recent journal entries.
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2007.12.18 00.31
The mask is slipping again. The 'everything is alright, but boring' mask is losing the hold in its elastic and is slipping.
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2006.06.18 21.00
Catharsis
My name is Stuart. I have a mental illness.
It's taken me years to write those words. For all the long-winded prose, all the hours of thought put forth for that one, perfect, sentence....it took thousands of hours more for me to write those words.
It's difficult for people to understand why I am the way I am. It's lonely in here.
I live with depression borne from a sleep disorder I've had since I was born.
I take drugs and drink to take the edge off the sadness that permeates every facet of my life. I have no source for the depression, I have great friends, family, a job I like and dreams I hope one day to accomplish, but the depression is there all the same.
Like sunglasses welded to my face, everything bright is dulled to one grey mass.
I don't want sympathy, but I'd kill to have people understand.
I've spent so long hating myself, being bleak and seeing the dark side of everything. It's not who I am. It's not.
I'm entering treatment for the condition, which will in turn cure up the symptoms, the depression, the fatigue, the irritability and swinging moods. I'm scared. The success rate is high, but I'm scared because the depression makes me wonder if I'll be one of the unlucky ones the treatment doesn't work for, that i'll be one of the unlucky ones that has to live with it. I'm scared because I wonder just how much of my dark side is me and how much is caused by the disorder. Maybe I'm just an arsehole.
I've never been so scared in my life, I've never felt so alone.
No more hiding behind words.
I love people that I cannot get close to because I'm trapped inside myself at this point. I hope that they will wait until my chains can be broken, that together, we have not burnt bridges that cannot be rebuilt.
The appointment is on the 3rd of July, treatment should start within days after. The changes are almost immediate.
This is the last entry I'm making here. One last cathartic motion to expel what I find inside me. No codes. No hiding. Just words. Plain.
And as for you, you fucker. You've taken too much from me. I'll be glad to see your back. These last few weeks together with you, depression, will be the quiet end to an ongoing battle.
I will not miss you.
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2006.06.06 15.37
It gets me everytime.
I wandered the city for most of my lunch hour. The morning coffee buzz had long since worn off.
My throat's still raw from the vomiting this morning. I felt a bit stuffy so I took some psuedoephedrine to balance out in the vain hopes it would get my voice right for the radio show. As soon as I'd woken from a restless sleep my stomach had begun its tormenting revolt against my body, but I tried to swallow the pills down anyway, to no avail.
Steadily the vomit was cleared up, but it made me late for the radio show.
The show itself was alright, our interviews went well (considering we only found out about them last night) and we did everything we were going to do. Throughout the show I was finding small chunks of psuedo tablets in my throat, not pleasant.
Tickets for Robbie Williams went on sale at work today, so it was a busy morning. Most customers were happy, some were not. Such is the way of it.
Walking back to work I saw the ambulance helicopter fly over and realised what a lucky son of a bitch I am. But that's not enough to get me out of this hole.
-------------------
I've been feeling pretty out of it recently, I haven't given sleep apnea the respect it deserves and it's come back to kick my arse from here to Paris and back. Cattle Class.
I'm like a bucket for emotional outpouring, I take on too much guilt, pain and anguish and eventually the bucket overflows. It doesn't happen too often, there's not usually anything big enough to take the levels beyond anything manageable, but sometimes these things happen. Combined with the apnea-laced depression and, with the frequency of the planets aligning, things get a little bit crazy for me.
I've been struggling to keep myself in line. I'm good now. I wasn't before.
I've been stupid. I should do something to cure this condition. I could stand to lose kilos. Losing weight won't cure it, I've had for as long as I can remember thin, fat, mid-ranged, but it might improve it.
What I really need to do is get that god-forsaken machine. I don't deserve to be unhappy. This condition makes me unhappy. I'll make the calls.
I feed my body caffeine, sugar and glucose to get enough energy to maintain a reasonably normal life. Medicating without medication.
I could sleep on broken glass. I have previously.
I'm going to hold this fucker down under the water until it struggles to breathe like I have. I will simultaneously slay the twin demons of depression and exhaustion.
I have high hopes that I pray will not be dashed.
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2006.06.05 09.29
In which the words wear the Emperor's new clothes
Martyrdom is not self-love.
These words have lost their leaden nature.
Tight, concise and sharp as they are.
I'm shedding skin
Not tears
Taking form and remaining functional
Strong
Together
Boundless
Happy
This cloud I'm on is self-propelled and requires no fuel.
Not you. Just me.
I will float forever in this moment
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2006.06.04 04.26
Beautiful people surrounded by others that make us feel ugly.
Brutally disconnected, stretched beyond capacity.
A knife twisted considerately. Cleaning the skin before slicing it open, stitching up the wound and kissing it better.
A thunderous voice to break the sky in two.
The echoes, in my head, of memories.
Standing after crawling because I had to.
The swift and irrevocable delivery of one last feather-touch sentiment.
Still running, but I don't know what for.
--------------- x ---------------
I was found-out as a writer tonight. I'd entered a discussion about some such thing, when my partner in conversational-crime relayed this to me. "Nobody" he said "makes observations about people like you just did, without wishing to write about people".
It was good to hear. I hadn't felt like a writer in an age or more. I guess it's still in there somewhere.
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2006.06.02 17.20
"Codes, but not cryptic enough. I'll rework and rework until there is nothing left but meaningless, flowery eloquence. Maybe that is all I need. Eloquence to fill me up while ketosis eats me away from the inside out, making me hollow and brittle and cold, cold, cold."
- Not Me
So here we are. Words on screens like brushes past paper.
Thoughts allowed to run rampant by a mind too fearful to accost them
Too fearful? Am I?
Am I anything? is the whole world watching? is no-one?
Railroaded, or free to make my own mistakes?
They make their way in like the cool experienced hand of someone who knows better. Who should know better.
I work hard to appear as though I don't work at anything
my words are disjointed and fractured like my thoughts
my body is young but my soul feels old and tired
I work hard to appear.
I fumble through my foibles, push-on-through-paranoia
On the knife edge of psychosis, I am
A ball of pent up energy
Ready to explode upon the carpeted sky with the colours of a thousand dull rainbows.
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2006.05.28 18.45
Manifesto
Things happen irrespective of your involvement within them. There are some things you cannot control. Do not be angered by them.
This does not mean everything will fall into your lap. Some things must be pursued.
You work hard to remain balanced. Do not allow yourself to be compromised.
There are people who love you. Do not keep them at the gates.
Guests are gifts from the Gods. Embrace them.
You are not your past.
You are brilliant.
You cannot carry the world on your shoulders. Prioritise.
Situations in your mind are often less worrisome than they appear.
Stop running.
Let's make this work.
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2006.05.25 14.53
Getting away for the weekend. Disconnect. No phones. No reception anyway. No pens, no papers, no music.
Just Me. My head. My space. Me. Me. Me.
"All that's sacred" he drones "comes from youth"
Eyes pulled away from a microscope after hours of searching the stained slide for a cure to my disease.
The needle presents itself to me, the torniquet rustles a vein from its hiding place in the crook of my arm. The flesh pierces easily, new rabbits down old holes. But no more.
Getting away for the weekend. Disconnected. No distractions. Well earned rest for weary thoughts.
"I still remember" he continues "why don't you?...don't you...?"
The words fall away....silently strangled by thought....
"This is not for you."
This is for me. Freedom. From me.
I felt so militant about it, so strong in the rebellion against myself, but at my full height I find myself melting down again....
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2006.05.23 10.16
Discontinued stock
We find ourselves bound by ties that seem strange. Simultaneously cutting each other out at the knees, mutual homicide. Fraternal fatalities on the rocks of our words. Grotesque mirrors to stare into longingly. Cold streets to walk lonely upon. Brief moments of tenderness swapped out seamlessly for senseless suffering.
Perceived perpetually we fall paralytic through pristine pictures painted with the innocence and fear of a life less ordinary.
I found myself walking through a forest distracted by the beauty and ambience of all that surrounded me. Remaining focused my feet tread a steady rhythm with my heart, firmly entrenched in the cavern of my chest.
A twisted root from the most beautiful tree in the forest caught my unsuspecting left foot and I found myself falling. My arms thrown back in surprise, my neck snapped back by necessisty, it left my chest to take the full force of the pointed rock rushing up to meet me.
My chest split open like a walnut. I am left vulnerable and stunned. Shock takes hold but I can pull myself together, moving ever closer to the tree. Leaned against its trunk, its leaves and branches blanket me with warmth. The initial feeling dissipates and is replaced with a flood of belonging.
Sun light filters through the forest and people walk by. Some enquire as to my position.
I dare not speak.
Only smile.
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2006.05.22 14.46
The world stops briefly for a moment the rolls on smoothly.
Friday started with work and ended with bed. In between I sat sullenly and ate paella with friends, I took some enhancement and went dancing, by 2am everything had sunk back to cruising speed. Outside the police had cordoned off the area, someone had been hit by a car. When were finally allowed to leave I drove past the scene of the accident to find a wet patch of road where they'd washed away what remained.
For moments, one after the other, the world stopped dead.
Saturday morning got me a call from Luke, he was trapped somewhere he didn't want to be and I couldn't help him get out.
Saturday night I drank and fought bitterly with a friend.
Sunday morning I felt terrible and drank.
Sunday evening and everything was fine.
Monday is Monday is Monday, everything steadily rises til we're floating.
The rest of the day looks bright and cheery, but we'll see how it all goes. Can't pull this cloud from under me, can't melt the wax that holds my wings to my body.
Need some footing or i'll start slipping.
Back down the rabbit hole.
-------xxxxxx--------
Polly says her back hurts, she's just as bored as me.
She caught me off my guard, it amazes me, the will of instinct.
-------xxxxxx--------
"I'm not growing up,
I'm just burning out
Apathy has rained on me
Now I'm feeling like a
Soggy dream
So close to drowning but
I don't mind
I've lived in this mental cave
Throw emotions in the grave
Hell, who needs them
anyway
So close to drowning but
I don't mind
I've lived in this mental cave
Throw emotions in the grave
Hell, who needs them
anyway"
-------xxxxxx--------
Oh what you do to me....no one knows.
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2006.05.18 10.18
1.Who was your first prom date?
Rheece Tunnell, we went to an all guys school and rocked up to the thing an hour late.
2. Who was your first roommate?
Sarah
3. What alcoholic beverage did you drink when you got drunk the first time?
Beer, I was young, very young
4. What was your first job?
Delivering newspapers for Fairfax
5. What was your first car?
I don't have my license. My first bike was a Honda XR 100
6. When did you go to your first funeral?
I was 5
7. How old were you when you first moved away from your hometown?
14
8. Who was your first grade teacher?
Mrs. Eddie, or Mrs. Grills (we had a pre-first grade)
9. Where did you go on your first ride on an airplane?
Tasmania
10. When you snuck out of your house for the first time, who was it with?
It was by myself, I went to a friends place
11. Who was your very first Best Friend and are you still friends?
Sean, no, we're not, I moved to Sydney and he had his house taken by the bank
12. Where was your first sleepover?
One of my sisters had one, I would have been about 8?. I crept in to hang out with my sister and recognising her blanket I came up to her, only, it wasn't her, it was one of her friends.
13. Who is the first person you call when you have a bad day?
Nobody really, sometimes my parents
14. Whose wedding were you in the first time you were a bridesmaid, groomsmen, flowergirl, usher?
I've never been any of those
15. What is the first thing you do in the morning?
Check my Jonathan stars.
16. What was the first concert you ever went to?
By myself? The Living End, I was 13
17. First tattoo or piercing?
Tattoo still in the works, never getting any piercings.
18. First celebrity crush?
Samantha Fox back in the day
19. Age of first real kiss with tongue?
Early teens, heh, it was terrible
20. First crush?
I was realllllllly young she was a family friend
21. First love?
Words. Me.
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2006.05.18 09.27
I was tagged by ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) sticky_toffee to do this:
Explain your LiveJournal name and its meaning. When you're done, tag as many people as there are letters in your name.
I had an old journal, audibleink and needed a change. Adverseverse was initially a place for poetry, but quickly slipped into a usual run of the mill angst machine.
I'll need another change soon. Stay tuned.
S = I'm
T = Not
U = Tagging
K = Anyone
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2006.05.11 14.07
Bullion - made relevant
Twenty two, feeling down
I tell you nothing with a thousand words
and I weaker get with every step
I waste my time on compact disc's and staly fish
I can't remember the last time I did something
that made me feel all right longer than a few hours
if I only had the time to make some muffins
then I swear that I would share them with you now.
- Millencolin - Bullion
-------
What a crazy 24 hours or so, I went to the pub last night to catch up with Rob from work and Radio Tom. Radio Tom was ill so I ended up drinking with Rob and Stacey from work, Ash came down, Rob and Stace left, so Ash and I played trivia. We didn't place but we did win a free jug. We were joined momentarily by a French girl, travelling through Melbourne, then later by some middle-aged women who'd just started working in the same company as us.
No other incidents though. Much vodka. I got home too late, I was planning to be home by 10:30 so I could make some calls and organise Splendour.
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2006.05.08 10.33
Yesterday (Today Part II)
Richard arrives in a taxi and I jump in, we slowly make our way down to Southbank to the rental car place and walk through the rear entrance to avoid the rain. The ute we're hiring sits there shining, its tray a giant mouth waiting to accept our load, two corduroy couches.
Richard looks and sounds terrible, he tells me that karaoke went until 3am, then there was a late night meal at Hungry Jack's before he ended up back at my house, in my bed.
His voice sounds like he's swallowed glass, due to his dedication to the grand art of karaoke, he says.
We get our car, complete with extra cover for any damage that we might incur. Richard complains about the design of the car (it's his engineering head) and we head down Clarendon street for coffee and muffins. The first place we go to has an image of a naked woman straddling a chair painted on it's front window, not something I noticed until Richard considerately pointed it out, whilst my mouth was full of coffee. My best effort to swallow gracefully proves a winner and we leave with dignity in tact.
We arrive at the address, the rain buckets down and mattes my hair across my face. I pull out my phone to call the couch owner. After about 20 seconds I realise I'm not speaking to Sarah, but Claire, who's number I took from the same envelope I'd written Sarah's number down on. Awkward.
I find the envelope and confirm the address with Sarah, then tell her we're right out the front (it's a hang up from the days in the Middle East, nobody used doorbells, you'd always just call to say you were out the front).
Thankfully her house is a single storey affair, the couches come out with little fuss and we manage to wrap them up tightly to avoid them getting soaked.
The drive home is a bit of an adventure, the rain continues to pour. Richard decides that we couldn't have picked a worse day to do this sort of thing, I kind of agreed.
The Richard attempts to make the ute jump through flaming hoops and get it into the backyard by way of the back alley. No luck. A quick lap of the block and we're parked a few metres from the front door, we get the couches inside and the rain stops.
Bec jumps on the first one, Richard on the second, I sit upside down in my reading chair, head supported by a beanbag.
We're all tired. Bec starts interrogating me about the night before, then suggests we make a start on breakfast.
La Luna is famous for its aged beef, but I sate my desire for meat with homestyle sausages and a bloody mary.
Blush-inducing conversations ensue. Bec's always been far more....open about her feelings and thoughts than I have, I'm slightly more reserved, particularly when these things concern me directly. Richard is fuel to a fire of depravity.
Bec pays for breakfast, at her behest, so we saunter slowly back home, filled with the delight of alcohol and warm sustenance.
Back to our former positions, the sun streams in the loungeroom door to warm the top of my head.
Richard leaves to take the Ute back to its home, Bec goes upstairs and I press the couches together to make a nest for the afternoon, where I stay watching films for the seeming eternity of the afternoon. I get up to make dinner, a vegetable curry of sorts.
I eat and then get to bed early.
I wake to the familiar croak of my phone as it wakes to alert me to its presence. I have a feeling it'll be one of two people, if it's James from Sydney, it gets silenced, I need my sleep. But it's not.
My phone dies so I rush downstairs to find a charger, nearly destroying myself in the process (Me & stairs do not mix, usually). I call Ab back and we talk for a little bit, before realising we need sleep.
Snuggled up in my bed, warm and now happy, I decide I should probably check the laptop for any messages left for me. One from Tom. One from James (from work). One from Ab and some others. The one from Tom is the one that interests me:
"Wanna hit the slurps one night after work next week" it says
'Heh, sure' I think to myself....
"Remember" it continues "We're on the radio next Tuesday morning"
Too much joy for one man. I explode out of my skin.
I try to sleep. Smiling.
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2006.05.07 15.03
Today part one.
Some days are easier than basic arithmetic to a savant child. Some are harder than the heart of a cynic, celebrating 40 years alone.
I wake, as usual, three minutes before my alarm, 6:57. I grasp my phone, lying awake with my eyes closed waiting to stifle its screams with a swift depression of my thumb. I open my eyes to find two friends sleeping beside me. Outside, through large glass doors, rain streams steadily along an unpaved path.
I gather my belongings and leave a note with my thanks scrawled delicately across the lined page.
Five past seven and the sky is a thick sheet of grey steel. Outside my stomach stages a painful revolution, I take long strides, it's all I can do to keep the nothing in my stomach from becoming the painful heaving I know it can be. My fingers lose sensation, freezing for the 200 metres I walk before realising I'd packed gloves the night before.
Ashburton slowly wakens, fruit stores, bakeries and a lone milk bar great the lonely wallow of a swallow left alone through lack of insight.
Ashburton station is empty, trains have been replaced by buses. An Englishman occupies the ticket booth, he grumbles as I purchase a ticket with a fifty. As I put my wallet back in my pocket I catch a glimpse of the smile that occupies its photo window. It fills me with warmth for the seeming seconds of eternity and it seems at that time that even the clouds try to break apart to let the sunshine through.
The reality doesn't change though, the grey is still grey. Trudging back up to street level and the bus stop, the sight of a fellow traveller heartens me. It gives me some faith that the bus will arrive and that I will be at Flinders St by 8am, as promised.
Moments later a cab pulls up, my ally in bus travel gets in and disappears. As he disappears around a corner I begin to wonder if he has the right idea, before too long I find myself thumbing my phone in my pocket, dialling the numbers for salvation from the public transport hell I'd found myself in.
Within five minutes I'm heading down the road to Glen Iris station. The driver, Tomislav, jokes about me getting wet
'You don't have umbrella' he says, a smile spreading across his tired face
'No' I reply a small laugh escaping from my mouth
'I wasn't expecting rain' I say 'Though, a lot of things I haven't expected have happened recently' I finish.
He smiles like he understands.
His car is soft warm and delicate like the remembered embrace of a forgotten lover. So much so that I debate internally whether to have him take me all the way into the city. Today will be expensive enough so with sadness I leave the security of the car.
As the train leaves the station my mind wanders. I begin to wonder if the train is moving and the world is stopped, or, if the train is stationary and the world is moving at a furious pace.
Am I moving closer, or further away?
I seem to be asking that frequently.
Closer now? Further away?.
The train trip is quick and uneventful. The steps at the front of Flinders St station are cold, hard and uninviting like the cynic's heart. But the day, today, is looking up.
Music: High Fidelity
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2006.05.04 15.50
Something wholesome. Washing clothes with hands. Warm water.
Soap to soak sullen words left writihing on withered hands.
Effervescent ecstasy.
Time to chill, time to Kill.
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2006.05.01 12.02
One Show Only
He walks in with his grey eyes speaking the words his mouth won't
My heart swells with the arrival of all those missing years
Missing moments lost to the pursuit and eventual arrival of
security
The wine flows and so do the words
A dull light for the morning
Wayward travellers without compasses
Words trickle until one and one are one
We talk silently of paths least travelled
Decisions to be made
Choices that affect
Everything
As soon as he arrives, he sets off further down the path
I search for his footprints
but find none.
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2006.04.30 20.53
"The boy with the world in his eyes.
He seemed totally aware of everything around him and to everything he took a gentle fascination, I say gentle what I mean to say is that he was affected by a nature scene the same way he would be affected by a multi car collision. He saw death as part of life, interwined and beautiful. People thought that he was odd and disturbed, the way he would smile when someone would come to him with their problems. I never thought him odd at all, I saw him more as an open door, a man at one with the elements. On some days, I could look into his eyes and I would swear I could see all the way into his soul. On other days, his eyes were clouded and dull. It was on days like these that he spoke of feeling old inside himself. He told me that sometimes he wished he could get out of himself for awhile. I never really understood him. I would ask him what he was about, he would smile and tell me I had someone a lot more important than him to learn about. When I would ask him who that was he would laugh and say nothing, it took me awhile, but now I see who he was talking about."
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2006.04.21 17.32
Behind me sit a group of girls with thick australian-ethnic accents, a few rows ahead of me sits the loud-speaking, awful sounding HellSpawn that is Amanda. She was party to the recent troubles that plagued my life.
I wouldn't be completely unhappy if a truck fell on her head right now, I mean, at least it'd make the last fifteen minutes go quickly, so that I could then leave.
I sit here on the edge of sleep, waiting to wander home to the warmth of a blanket and something soft.
It has been a long week, but worthwhile.
Mood:  tired
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2006.04.21 12.37
Music: Millencolin - Bullion
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2006.04.20 15.15
Music: Tool - 10,000 Days
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2006.04.16 22.15
Well, the party was a riot. Best one we've had in a long time, though, there were a few things I'd rather forget.
Wrestling drunk with Gab II led to me being covered in orange juice, which, whilst kind of amusing, really wasn't all that pleasant.
Han was excellent value and Letitia too. Ab was on fire, though, I'm still cleaning up her chewed millions. As an explanatory thing, James wore a shirt that had hundreds of 'million dollar' notes stitched into it, which Ab would chew, then spit out.
Dick was in fine form, nearly breaking me on several ocassions, before retreating to my bed to sleep the rest of the night away.
I wasn't going to drink, but did.
I was going to be true to myself, but wasn't.
I thought I had it figured.
I forgot to carry the one.
Music: Clap Your Hands Say Yeah! - Let The Cool Goddess Rust Away
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2006.04.14 16.25
Sleep and I aren't agreeing. I don't know what's wrong with me. I can't shake this stupid feeling of insecurity. I drank too much last night, much too much. If things don't work out the way I hope they do, it'll be the same fate tonight.
I'm feeling anxious and, given the opportunity, I might have pulled the plug.....
Mood:  uncomfortable
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2006.04.01 11.24
Dad said never to get jobs for friends, or lend money to friends. 'It complicates things' he says.
I have since learnt that one should never lend money that one is not prepared to lose, therefore, lending money to friends is fine, I never lend anything I'm not prepared to lose, it's just money after all.
The job thing I've done, and that smart bastard was right, it does complicate things. It has complicated things.
When all is said and done, when every light in the street extinguishes itself and the sun rises, the rains will appear to wash the blood from the concrete, the sun will warm the birds and release them from their slumber, the sky will brighten slowly & the soft breeze will dry my skin.
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