black hole sun

I’ve drafted a resume, but I feel trapped. I cannot, really, begin looking for work right now, not yet, it would be unfair on any new employer I managed to convince to hire me to take the job and complete the training and then fuck right off for five weeks to have a major surgery. So for now I just work on making my resume as great as I can possibly make it – I will polish this turd till it sparkles guys. I have no qualifications, next to no references and no skills applicable to the fields I want to move into. Fantastic! Should be fine. Employers eat this shit up.

Who knows where my head will be at on this shit by then anyway…hell, who knows where my head will be at on this shit by tomorrow. I feel bipolar. I can’t afford to keep doing my job, my lead foot is costing me money and points I do not have and the realities of my job necessarily exacerbates that a hundred hundred fold. But I also can’t afford to not keep doing my job, because the life I have constructed about myself requires very precise levels of constant income and I cannot sustain it on anything less than what I am being paid now, not really – I have exactly $80 a week I could spare, and then I would have exactly $0 to myself after everything else. This is the trick, the trap my boss has set – pay the bitch more and more for an unskilled job until she cannot afford to walk away to a job more fitting to her skill levels because the pay cut would be too painful to her quality of life. He did that. I’m sure it wasn’t malicious but sometimes it feels it. Sometimes like right now, when I’m feeling especially hurt and vulnerable.

I don’t want to go to work tomorrow and I don’t want to go the day after or for the rest of the week. I want to stay in bed and cry hot tears of embarrassment and shame but I don’t get that luxury. I have to go to work tomorrow and tell them to pay the fine I received in the work vehicle out of my holiday time because it’s the only way I’ll ever afford it, and when they look at me in shock and worry that I should make such a choice I will just smile and say ‘yep’ and leave it at that. I’ve really made a mess of it all, huh? Just after a got the loan and everything, damn. Guess my luck couldn’t run forever.

A Dumb Post About Food

The following is a list of the ten foods I eat the most according to My Fitness Pal, an app I have been using every damn day for most of the last year of my life to track what I eat in an attempt to lose weight. And I have lost weight! Kilojoule counting has worked for me in both losing the weight and (mainly) keeping it off, and I could not be more pleased. Recently I acquired an exercise bike so now I am even more proactive than before and the need to be as picky about my food has lessened, but I daresay I will be counting kilojoules for a long while yet. The facts and figures and statistics of food are basically my life now, and I cannot even begin to imagine how I got by before hand. Anyway, have a listicle about the food I eat all the time and why it’s great.

Wholemeal Toast: I have this every morning for breakfast, and rarely eat any bread that is not wholemeal if I can help it. I buy Homebrand because I’m cheap, but sometimes when I eat out I am not given much choice and get to eat something really nice and flash instead, and then I feel guilty for a while because I cannot be sure what brand the bread was and I know that from that point on my kilojoule counting for the day is almost certainly inaccurate. It’s hard work being me, seriously. You have no idea.

Low-fat Cottage Cheese: I have this with the toast (which explains its prominence in the list at number two), sometimes with an additional topping but usually just with a bit of salt. Being the sort of person who does not eat meat cottage cheese is actually the largest source of my protein for the day. It’s also crazy low kilojoule for something that tastes roughly like heaven would. Can’t go wrong.

Skinny Mocha (with Native): This is what I buy at The Dale and I buy it fucking constantly. For a while I called it chocolate milk but that is wrong, it is so much more than that. It is the magical elixir that keeps my head from exploding in a fine mist of blood and gore and viscera when I’m feeling good and the only thing keeping me from murdering all of the people in the world when I’m feeling positively wretched. If it is made correctly, of course, and it usually is.

Regular Chips from Red Rooster with Extra Salt: This is my fast food weakness, hot chips from Red Rooster just fucking drowned in salt. So much salt, more salt than anyone would ever ordinarily need but I am far from ordinary, and my doctor actually told me to eat more salt because one of my medications just loves turning the stock I’ve got into potassium so like…it’s medical salt. That makes it okay.

Promite: Look, if you’re gonna eat any yeast-extract based breakfast paste, you might as well do it properly. Accept no substitutes, and under no circumstances accept Vegemite because that shit is just awful. Promite is umami but also a little bit sweet and goes really nicely with cottage cheese or cheddar cheese or tomatoes.

Frosty Fruits: Our office manager buys these for us at work because at our core we are just small children with big clumsy heads who like ice lollies after a day out in the field, and that is by no means a bad thing. She has been away for a month and I have not had one of these in weeks and yet this entry is still here, at number six, which speaks perhaps to the frequency with which I eat them.

Tomato: I eat these by themselves, just like, unprepared with anything (though halving them and drowning them in salt is good too). Tomatoes are the best fruit ever. I really like using a whole bunch of them to make a cold salsa, and also on toasted sandwiches! Sandwich presses were probably only invented to more easily facilitate the making of tomato and cheese toasted sandwiches, I reckon. They are that good.

Dijonnaise: I’m not sure this foodstuff needs much explaining, but just in case – it is mayonnaise mixed with dijon mustard. I’ll let your imagination do the rest.

Sweet Mustard Pickles: This is a spread technically designed for use with cold cuts and stuff, but like to have it on my morning toast all the time instead, all mixed in with the cottage cheese and being delicious. It has a sweet and sour kind of taste, and if you get a big bite of pickled onion at the same time as you get a big mouthful of cottage cheese it is just like…the best. So good. Breakfast of champions.

Sweet Chilli and Sour Cream flavour chips from Red Rock Deli: The best chips in the world. Everything you need to know about them is in the name, and it is as good as you’re imagining – if not better (almost certainly better, actually). I could eat these for days on end without stopping but then I’d get fat, so I just have one or two packets a week and call that lunch because they are not exactly low kilojoule.

Late Post by Late Girl

I liked The LEGO Movie right up until the last act, when we learn that the whole film to that point, hell, the entire fictional universe in which we have been enthralled, is just a kid playing around with his dad’s dioramas, it is not real at all even within the context of the film. And while is is technically true that all films take place in worlds which are not real, fabricated sometimes from whole cloth, finding out that the characters I just invested an hour of my life into do not have any agency of any description kind of breaks my suspension of disbelief, you know? “Oh, this isn’t a self-contained world of cool talking LEGO people, it’s some guy’s basement and his son is teaching him a moral lesson about playing with toys and imagination and junk. That’s…good I guess?” Blech. Killed it for me. Could not reinvest myself in the film after that point.

I’m tired, so damn tired, if I let myself I could very easily fall asleep on this couch right now. I don’t of course, because that would be dumb and I would only wake up again in four or five hours, freezing cold with all the lights on and unable to get back to sleep, but you know, I could if I wanted to. As it stands I am already writing most of this post with my eyes closed because the alternative – keeping them open – seems so damn oppressive right now. It is probably a good thing that I am a fantastic self-trained typist otherwise this paragraph would’ve come out as unreadable and undecipherable garbage and then I wouldn’t know where to start editing and at that point you might as well be writing the post again and really why would I double my workload like that for no good reason? Years of typing have trained me well for this moment. Hallelujah.

I have trouble with commas when I write; I tend to write like I speak, with lots of pauses for effect and whatever, and the way to portray that in text is usually like, a comma! But sometimes I feel I am abusing commas, and try to shoehorn a semicolon in instead, or a dash, or even a plain-old vanilla colon, but it never feels right. Unfortunately the extravagant usage of commas doesn’t feel right either but how the hell else am I supposed to express myself? I scored top marks in my english classes in high school consistently but man, it never prepared me for this. Maybe this is something they teach in university instead, Commas 101: How Not to Abuse Commas and Also Probably Avoiding Run-on Sentences in General. That sounds like it could be a university class where very grim old men teach very bored and disinterested young people about commas, and it is a class whose wisdom I am missing out on. Damn my short-sighted dropping out. All four times I did that.

Dudes if I yawn any harder I’m gonna dislocate my jaw. I’m going to bed.


Thank fucking god it is finally the weekend. I have not felt so relieved to be at the end of a working week for a very long time, and it is a massive weight off of my shoulders to know that in less days than I have fingers my boss will be back in town and calling the shots and making me enjoy my work again. I think everyone is feeling it to be honest, even the interim management crew upon which so much ire I have heaped recently, and it showed today. The place was relaxed, and people were joking again. The end of this period of adversity is in sight and we are all looking forward to the day when we can breathe easy again and the boss will be there to make the hard decisions and restore the status quo. It’s gonna be good, cannot wait.

My weekend promises to be kind of lazy, I see the doctor tomorrow and beg him with eyes wide and fearful and wet to replenish my prescription for Endep so I never have to hurt myself again, and also ask him to maybe like, investigate something for me that has been kind of scaring me today. After that I’ll probably go see dad, and then I’ll come home and make a weak, token effort to clean my home and do my laundry. Then I am thinking I’ll just have a huge nap on the couch all afternoon, avoid the red wine (because I am beginning to black out on it which is kind of terrifying) and just drift through the rest of the weekend like a leaf on the wind; no plans, no final destination in mind, just going with the flow man. Life’s too short to be stressing out all the time.

I am still kind of angry at the surgeon’s receptionist, it is an anger that lingers on inside me like a festering wound, but I am sure it will pass. I just feel like she was very rude to me, and while I am aware that I might seem like I am rushing the process, or overly-excited, could you fucking blame me? I’m sitting on my couch now checking for lumps in genitals I do not like because they have spent all day aching for reasons unknown, and this is a universe I am so close to escaping I can taste it. Of course I’m excited! I’m so excited I would rip the heads off of babies to make the day come sooner and not feel even a single drop of guilt for my actions. Maybe the woman is always icy though, and it’s just all in my head, but I don’t know…I’m in an emotionally vulnerable place right now, anything that upsets the balance has potential to be seen as a person slight. I’m sure everything will be fine in the long run.

I ate pizza (made the family way) for dinner and stopped counting calories around lunch time when I realised there was no way I was going to survive within my diet today after eating a potato and eggplant curry and just like, the best fucking naan bread in the world. Tomorrow I start anew, and it should be easier because I now live in a world where I will be perpetually broke forever so I will no longer have any money to spend on dumb food purchases. Goodbye Red Rock Deli! Goodbye Sour Squirms! Unfortunately however I learned today that on Monday a new Pizza Capers opens up the road from me and that will probably service my area, and because of this I am afraid. I grew so tired and weary of all my pizza choices that I almost shook my pizza-delivery-addiction and now this happens. I’m fucked guys, ruined. Don’t cry for me, I’m already dead.

A Short History of Self-Harm

I missed my dose of antidepressants last night, and my dose of hormones this morning, and what this basically means is that today I was riding high on a dangerous wave of unmitigated testosterone and fucked up chemical imbalances. It was not going to be a good day no matter how you cut it, but when I tried to update my phone this morning to iOS 8 and that process failed, for reasons unknown, I just kind of lost it, and began hurting myself, over and over and again and again until I was just too damn sore to go on. That is a thing I did to myself, in that horrible hour-ish no man’s zone between waking up and immediately taking my antidepressants and the antidepressants beginning to work, and I feel ashamed for it. Welcome to my life: this is why I am medicated.

To answer your first question I didn’t get any relief from the actions, and never have historically either, self-harm to me just seems to be like a release-valve response for when I am under huge amounts of stress or frustration. I have parts of my body that I have beat so relentlessly over the years that they no longer bruise. My arms and hands are covered in scars from punching things that shouldn’t be punched and scratching at my arms in impotent rage, and for a long time in my life it was not uncommon for me to have bruises in the exact shape of a bite mark around my wrists because you guessed it – I’d bite myself too. I have never tried to break skin or cause bleeding and I have never kept a ‘kit’ of implements because that is a kind of self-harm that requires a goodly amount of planning and forethought, and when I lose myself and begin to punish myself I am not operating on that level anymore: I am as a beast, wild and vicious and (ultimately) very scared. If reading this sounds scary trust me, writing it is even scarier. I lived with this shit for years before the little blue pills, and I am kind of terrified to ever forget to dose again if this is my body’s natural immunological response.

In answer to your second question, this has been happening to me as long as I can remember. I’d begin to lose at a video game, or I’d be embarrassed or made to feel ashamed, or I’d even just be stuck on a particular sticky programming problem that I just could not wrap my simple head around and the stress of it all would mount until I was just so angry, so full of rage, that I would feel the need to lash out at the source of the stress and frustration – and as the source was always (to my perception) me, well…you can see where this goes. The thing was though, because I wasn’t cutting and causing scars (not noticeable ones at least) this behaviour went mostly unnoticed and unchallenged for my entire life. I would also only ever do this to myself in private, also, so combine that with the lack of scarring and obvious bruising and how was anyone to know, really, that I was crying in frustration and scratching at my arms and legs until they were as red and raw as an open wound? I had a cousin who was more into cutting and the scars and obvious implements she had in her room made her a target of concern and scorn in equal measures. No one knew what was going on in my room though, so no one knew to intervene.

Would I have admitted to them a problem even if they had intervened though? I don’t know. I was a closeted trans kid, lying to the people around me about what I was and who I was and the problems I was facing in my mental life were just part of the fucking territory, you know? I presented such a convincing face of normality that for the most part I even managed to convince myself, right up until I could not because of the obvious fact that I had just beat my arm with a television remote until it was hot to the touch. Combine that with anxiety issues that caused me to want to kill myself and erase myself from history every time even the most minor things went wrong and add in my untreated and repressed transgenderness and you had a very potent recipe for trouble. Thankfully, largely, those days are behind me now. I no longer live in a world where daily beatings from myself are something I have to worry about or anticipate, this has all been fixed with a minor amount of therapy and an appropriate amount of medication – except for when that system fails of course and then you get moments like today. Don’t worry, todays are much rarer than you are probably imagining – for the most part I’m pretty good at taking my pills, and this is the first time I’ve forgotten my antidepressants ever. But still, todays do happen, and today one happened. This is a real and true fact of life in the murky, twisted corridors of my diseased mind.

I’m not sure why I am writing about this except, perhaps, to let people know that it happens at all. A lot of people associate self-harm with penknives and scalpels and drug abuse, not clubbed fists and jagged fingernails, and that I have a history like this at all will come as a shock to a lot of people I’m sure. But I do have a history like this, and I just wanted to be honest. I forgot my pills last night, and tortured myself in a blind rage this morning. That happened, and might again in the future but don’t worry too much – I’m on top of the situation, and have already taken steps to resolve it. I love you all, thank you for reading.

© 2014 Molly Speechley