I just really hate everything and everyone right now.  Suddenly I understand why people choose retreat to a life of solitude in mountain caves.

I spent my first week in hospital being depressed.  I spent the second week being manic.  I will have the rehab diaries detailing both up soon, I promise.  But now things have come full circle and I seem to be the way I was when I came in.  Really.  Fucking.  Shitty.

I just hate humans.  Can’t stand them.  Don’t want to be around them.  Don’t want to see them.  Don’t want to hear or talk to or see any evidence of us sharing oxygen.

Oh I’m sorry, does that sound unreasonable?  Well I regret to inform you that this is a vent and if you have a problem with me sharing my pent up emotions on the internet I can’t help but wonder what the fuck you think people do on the internet between porn vids?

I have no tolerance.  None.  Can’t seem to open my mouth without effs and cees pouring out.  (Or type apparently…) The ward is closed over Christmas, they haven’t been admitting any new patients so you would think an easily socially exhausted person like me would be loving it.  A maximum 65 patient facility only housing 19 patients.  Actually I’m the only one on this side of the ward.  But am I grateful?

Ha.  Ha.  Is Pepsi a superior form of cola?

I’m hiding in my room all day because every time I see or hear people I get so annoyed I have an anxiety attack.

Think very, very hard about the implications of what I just said.

Not because I’m scared of them.  Because I’m scared of myself.  They annoy me SO.  FUCKING.  MUCH.  I just want to scream at them detailing all the ways they’ve failed at life that I’ve inferred from overheard conversations and them sharing at group therapy  (which I stopped going to because every time I try sharing these fuckers talk over me) and why it is totally their fault so stop blaming everyone else.  I’d do it too.   I’m smart, educated and much better at using these privileges for evil rather than good.

And yes, I do get the odd violent intrusive thought that I’m not detailing here just because my therapist may or may not be stalking this blog.

(If you are reading this, no I’m not going to act on them.  I am perfectly clear on what happens if I do.  But I am getting the thoughts.)

People with personality disorders are intrusive.  They have no boundaries.  They think they can just come up to their next victim you and start telling you about their lives.  I also have a personality disorder, plus I am on the spectrum which means that I have ALL THE BOUNDARIES.  I don’t give a flying fuck about your life and prefer to do as much interaction on the internet as possible, thankyouverymuch.

But apparently my Resting Bitch Face, which I got so much grief from the staff about on previous admissions has resolved itself and something about me says “I am a pleasant, non judgemental human being!  Please tell me all about your problems and why it’s everyone else’s fault but yours!”


I can’t deal, ok?  I can’t pretend to be annoyed because it’s nine and the nurses usually give you your meds at eight and don’t they know you’ve got places to be.  Well you’re still in your fucking nightie so those places can clearly wait.  My meds are late too, but I’m trying busy myself until they arrive by showing some compassion to the understaffed nurses who are fighting an uphill battle to satisfy both management and 19 dickhead patients who all think their needs are above the other 18.

I can’t pretend to appreciate being looked to as the diagnostic authority on autistic spectrum disorders, which as an adult with Aspergers comes up way more often than you’d think it does.  Even when you haven’t told anyone that you have it, apparently them opening that conversation is still ok Oh you think your four year old has Aspersgers, why is that…?  Because he’s, like, super into aliens.

…WUT.  That it?  Really?  He’s making friends at preschool ok?  His co-ordination and eye contact is good?  It’s just the alien thing?  Yes I suppose if all the other mums at play group are being asked for Ben 10 action figures for Christmas and you’re being asked for alien crystals that is embarrassing but hardly grounds for a behavioural diagnosis.

I can’t take any more stupid right now

No I don’t want to hear you bitch about your dopey husband, who is the saddest looking person I’ve ever seen by the way.  The whole hospital has had to listen to you bitch about your husband this morning, every morning actually.  Every part of every day you’re shouting, sorry talking about something because that’s just the way you talk.

Yeah, the way you talk?  Is shouting.  And jarring.  And the reason you clear the room faster than a fart in a crowded elevator.

The latter delightful human singled me out as her prey buddy this morning when I decided that I wanted to do a puzzle but was told I had to do it in the dining hall because SOCIAL INTERRACTION.  It didn’t matter that I was clearly absorbed in this task, that I had headphones in, unfortunately I was sitting on my own when she decided to come in and shout about her life for the next hour.

She does this every day at precisely 10.30 am until lunch time, shouting into the air, looking for someone to hook into and talk directly to while everyone pointedly avoids her eye line.  I pointedly ignored her when she sat at my table and let the shouting commence, answered her phone, shouted into it then shouted about the call afterwards.

After about ten minutes of this I could take no more and left my puzzle, asking a nearby nurse if it was time for my blood pressure to be taken.  Luckily she was so on the same page and whisked me away to safety.  My puzzle lies abandoned on the table hours later because I am not putting myself in that position again.

Now, more on noise.  I don’t know what it is with people in private clinics finding so fucking difficult to use headphones but it needs to change or some people are getting smothered in their sleep (Dear therapist, I’m exaggerating, obvi!) Currently I find myself exerting some serious self-control about some selfish fucking bitch who thinks it’s acceptable to wander the halls playing her terrible Jessie J music on her phone full blast and sing full blast, off key of course.  At first I thought she was having an episode but it’s become clear that she just doesn’t give a fuck.

Fuck her.  I intend to keep putting in noise complaints until that stops

I wanted out of the circus to clear my head, before I did or said something regrettable – like, say, any of the above – and so I went on leave for a bit.  My parents came to pick me up and on the ride home the conversation turned to my recovery over the last few years.  Well, at least I think that’s how my mother would remember it.

What I remember is being blithely reminded how the whole family’s lives sucked five years ago and it was 100% all my fault.  When I tried to point out that yes, while behavioural therapy has done a lot for me, the family has also made headway in being understanding of me and my boundaries, I was told NUP.  Definitely you.  All you.  You were the problem, you’ve been mostly fixed.  As usual, my dad was notably silent.

These talks happen regularly and I do believe she thinks she is doing me a favour.  She keeps asking “remember when you used to tell me there’s something wrong with me?” one day I’m going to snap and go “well there is, it’s called a victim complex.  YOU NEED THERAPY”

But there’s no fucking point.  I’m the one with the personality disorder, I’m the one that likes to blame everyone else for my problems.  I don’t deny that I was a miserable piece of shit as a young adult but them admitting that there was at least a 95/5 percent contribution ratio to household drama between me and the rest of the family would be supremely validating.

Oh who am I kidding, I’m still a miserable piece of shit.

Are the drugs not working?  Do I need more therapy?  Is this just my personality?  My current tactic is still avoid, avoid, avoid.  I’m wearing noise control headphones to shut everyone out.  I stopped wearing bright colours because people were using my clothes as an excuse to talk to me.

I can just avoid people forever right?

Are those crickets?  Am I hearing crickets?

Damn, that’s what I thought.




Mac’s Christmas Favourites

Christmas isn’t as triggering for me as some, but it does tend to be an general overload on the senses.  When I’m feeling overwhelmed to the point that I can’t even open my mouth because I know my barely verbal 12 year old self will come out, I take solace in these cult Christmas classic tunes.


  1. Mean girls – the jingle bell rock dance

Ok if you were a kid in the 2000s you know you tried to learn this dance, guys and girls.  And maybe still do it in front of the mirror after too much moscato.  You may have even performed it at a talent show like these babes did.


2.  The school concert in Love Actually

This moment where little Sam gets his chance to impress Marceline the vampire queen Joanna by learning the drums so he can perform with her before she moves to the USA is the only part of the film I remember clearly, even though I watch it every year.  That and a twerking prime minister.


3.  The Tweenies – I believe in Christmas


Ok it’s hardly a cult classic but this song makes me happy, all right? Don’t judge me.


4.  The Glee Cast – You’re a mean one, Mr Grinch

I suppose it’s not exactly joyful as such.  But it’s sung by K.D Lang and Matthew Morrison.  They make me joyful.

This song is fun to listen to, not just musically but for the lyrics, with the last line being the cherry on the top of the linguistic glory:

“You’re a three-decker sauerkraut And toadstool sandwich with arsenic sauce!”

How can you not freaking ADORE that?


5.  Team four star: 12 Days of Abridgemas

It’s a dragonball Z themed 12 days of Christmas parody of course, which pertains to Team four star’s abridged dragonball z parody series more than dragonball z but would still be relatable.  Although if you’re a fan of DBZ and haven’t heard of Team Four Star, WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH YOUR LIFE?



6.  Yamcha the scarfaced bandit

Another parody by one of the creaters of Team Four Star, to the tune of Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer.  Basically it’s a song that sends up Yamcha, the most hard done by character in the show.  You don’t have to follow Team Four Star to appreciate that.


7.  Futurama – Santa claus is gunning you dowwwwwwn!




51 Things that Mac really wants for Christmas

Because I’m pretty sure I’m getting a doona set.

This article is a response Elite Daily’s article 51 things a single 25 year old single girl really wants for Christmas.

Ms Martin, I regret to inform you that this ache in your soul that can only be soothed with a hefty dose of body positivity and addressing those dependency issues.  If you bring a man into the mix right now you’re just going to create a host of new problems, take it from someone who knows.

You want a ‘man to blow my mind and a suppressed appetite to fit into those jeans you should have bought me instead.’  Speak for yourself, missy.

These are the 51 things this 25 year old really wants for christmas.  However note that I don’t disagree with her on all counts:

  1. My 12 year old ability to feel refreshed on three hours sleep
  2. Dudes who message me wanting to hook up to be both upfront and polite
  3. To feel comfortable wearing ass hugging pants
  4. MOAR money, less effort
  5. For my mother to not act like my adventure time t shirts are the sole reason I’m failing at life
  6. Netflix.  In Australia.  Yeah its coming but will it be without limitations?  Doubtful!
  7. To not be made to feel more disposable with age
  8. Acohol that makes my ex boyfriends grovel to me more often
  9. More travel
  10. Appreciation for my sparkling porcelain complexion instead of being shamed as ‘pasty.’  Why glow when you can sparkle, amirite.
  11. Being able to feel bad about how that dick from high school died of rapid ALS
  12. To be able to unfollow my 14 year old cousin on instagram so I could stop being unnerved by the borderline soft core lesbian porn she seems to think it’s cute to re-enact with her friends.  So not worth the drama though.
  13. Guilt and consequence free sex with that dickhead ex-lover who was amazing in bed
  14. For shanking street harassers to be legal
  15. To have the pelvic strength to fire blood clots ping-pong balls at people who don’t unserstand why my periods make me miss work/school/parties/sport.  It’s called endometriosis, assholes.  Look it up.
  16. Pain free tattoos
  17. For people to stop trying to make ‘superfoods’ happen.
  18. For people to stop asking me to like fanpages for their dogs.
  19. To be able to eat a nutritous balanced diet by only eating cake
  20. For my married friends to not turn into the pillar of relationship knowledge as soon as they have a ring on their finger.
  21. No writer’s block
  22. Guilt free torrenting
  23. To be able to change my hair colour at will
  24. For my boyfriend to respond to my efforts to teach him massage skills
  25. To wear scene hair without worrying whether or not I’m too old for it
  26. To be able to work through my angst by belting out related songs glee-style
  27. For my grandmother’s dementia to go away
  28. Neck down alopecia, not because I buy into letting porn stars direct my hair styles but because the horrors of the sudden intense itch prompted by being stabbed in the labia by a rogue pube which only ever happens in a public place is a situstion I’d really rather not deal with ever again
  29. Not crying and fainting every time I have those regular blood tests I’ve been having for years
  30. A blog following like Amanda bynes on twitter to appreciate my crazy
  31. That rubix cube hand bag I saw at supernova 2011 and didn’t buy for some reason and haven’t been able to track down
  32. A jumping castle bed
  33. For my man to be able to grow a luscious ginger beard
  34. Unlimited travel sounds good actually…
  35. Being able to attend One Direction concerts a) without shame and b) with a 2 metre personal space bubble that repels crazy twelvies
  36. Bacon every day
  37. Relationships without WORK
  38. One week where carbs didn’t make it impossible to poop
  39. cheese that goes to my boobs
  40. All the guac in the world
  41. All the moscato in the world
  42. Culinary skills
  43. Green juice without the work
  44. Squats without pain
  45. Heels that don’t wreck your feet
  46. To undo the damage 10 years of caffeine addiction has done my bladder
  47. Hair that is both naturally voluminous and flippy
  48. Being able to apply winged eyeliner and false eyelashes without a freaking meltdown
  49. To be able to transform into either a sailor scout or a super saiyan
  50. A spacious home like mum and dad’s without the decades of hard work to afford it
  51. A swimming pool sized spa bath

Merry Christmas


The Rehab Diaries: Getting the Referral

I had an appointment on a Wednesday.   The sole purpose of this appointment was to get me a referral to this private rehabilitation clinic which I’ve been umming and ahhing over whether I should go to for a few months.

It occurred to me that if I’d been thinking consistently for months with no signs of stopping, it was time to cut my losses and go.  My depression was intense for that whole time it felt like, and then I’d gone the other way and was a mess of raw nerves.  The mood stabilisers clearly weren’t doing their jobs.

So I had my appointment.  Then on Tuesday afternoon, the receptionist called me to say that my doctor had cancelled all her appointments, and would it be ok if she scheduled me with someone else?

Well, FUCK.

Continue reading

Kitty Flanagan Says Santa Isn’t Real, Enrages Lying Liars Who Lie

After a bit of ad- libbing on The Project from comedian Kitty Flanagan,  thousands of enraged parents have taken to twitter to demand that she apologise for being an honest, trustworthy human being. Here’s the offending clip:


The cat’s out of the bag.  How are we going to convince our children to behave if they don’t believe that creepy old stalker isn’t watching them around the clock?


Here’s a novel idea… how about we STOP FUCKING LYING TO OUR KIDS?

Because if Santa is reduced to just a legend like, say the Grimm fairy tales have been in this day and age, none of this is a problem.

Parents, those of you who have young kids may be under the illusion that you can keep this convenient Santa story going forever.  Newsflash:  you can’t.  Kids are often more intuitive than we give them credit, they do figure out that you lied sooner rather than later.

And let’s not pretend that there’s no benefit for you to keep the ‘magic’ alive for as long as possible.  No I’m not going to make any more cracks about lazy parenting – heck I’m not Mark Latham – but I think it’s a bit rich that mums and dads are getting their panties in a knot in the name of maintaining innocence when they should be calling it maintaining the ability to be manipulated.

“Mac, seriously you need to chill out.  I don’t appreciate being called a bad parent because I’m just trying to make Christmas fun for my kids!”

Hey now, when did I call you a bad parent?  I called you a liar, sure.  Because you did.

I don’t doubt that all these parents have the best of intentions but I think that all too often we avoid thinking about the possibility of a tradition perpetuating terrible life lessons because, well, TRADITION.

My parents certainly never meant for our personal Santa palava to go as far as it did, and in the end I don’t think the heartache – yes, heartache – for me was worth it.

So, like most children on the spectrum I was on the naive side.  The Santa facade went on way longer than in the average family, until I was ten, nearly eleven years old.  The other kids at school had long cottoned on and teased me mercilessly but I just laughed them off.  I pitied them and their fickle, easily swayed nature.  After all, how dreadful must their parents be if they could believe that they’d lie to them so maliciously?  My mother would never do such a thing.

But eventually, despite my willingness to believe, the words of my classmates, every single one, started to get to me.  My sister, two years younger started to disbelieve as well which well and truly planted a seed of doubt in my mind.  I plaintively asked my mother a couple of times and she encouraged me to keep believing.  Looking back, I realise that she sensed the inevitable meltdown and needed time to mentally prepare for it.

The tipping point came when I was rummaging through my mother’s wardrobe for hidden chocolates when I happened across a bag of wrapped presents, tagged for my sisters and I from Santa.  My stomach knotted as I tried to make sense of what I was seeing.  Presents are kept at the north pole.  How could they be there, and in mum’s wardrobe at the same time?

My heart raced as I scrambled to find my mother.  When I told her what I found she went deathly white, and I pleaded with her to give a plausible explanation. I don’t remember what she said except that she made it clear that the illusion had to end then and there.

I was distraught.

As I raced into my room and threw myself onto my bed in floods of tears, Mum followed me and assured me that we could still make Christmas magical. And she was right.  We did everything we usually did.  We exchanged gifts.  I had fun picking out something for my family members that they would enjoy.  Mum took us shopping to pick toys to donate to less fortunate children.  We went to church with Nana to sing carols and make christingles.  We had our extended family over and ate more food than was good for us.

I learned that Santa was completely unnecessary for what Christmas is about.  Appreciating family.  Enjoying giving to others.  Celebrating the birth of Christ.  If I have children they will be celebrating all these aspects of Christmas with me but they will not be lied to.

Because what else did I learn from the Santa experience?  My parents don’t always have the best intentions.  Sometimes they just enjoy fucking with me for their own amusement. I learnt that this so called maintaining innocence is not a wonderful thing after all.  It allows you to be taken advantage of.  If my parents are so invested trying to keep me innocent, who knows what else they are trying to pull!

Standing firm in what you believe in used to be an admirable quality in my mind.  In this situation it lead to humiliation.  Now I get insecure over opinions that a lot of people disagree with, which is a problem because this applies to pretty much all social justice concepts.  I’m afraid to stand up for myself, or others, because I’m terrified of the possibility of being wrong!

Just…don’t fuck with your kids, ok? There is no need.  None.

So please stop blaming Kitty Flanagan for ripping off this unnecessarily placed bandaid that was slowing peeling off anyway.

Or you are so going on my naughty list.


All About That Parody

As I’ve been binge watching Bart Baker parodies lately, when he mentioned that he was going to be doing this one, I was beside myself.

“Wow I’m just playing, don’t hate me ‘cos I’m fat!”

“You’re actually normal, every inch of you is perfect stop acting like a victim!”

“yeah my mama she told me that being big is sexy

And it turns on men which totally validates me.” (“makes me feel pretty!”)

“I thought this song was supposed to be about loving you for you…” “It is!!!”

“So why are you basing your self worth off of pleasing dudes?” “…”


Totally on point.

Of course I still enjoy this song, and I don’t think that’s wrong but I’m not going to back off it because OMG SHE REALLY TRIED OK.

Yes she did, but Meghan Trainor is a product of her upbringing and cultural background, which as far as I can tell is very similar to my own. This song is an embodiment of all the verbal microagressions that we have come to accept as acceptable when talking about body image, to say nothing of the problematic mixing of body image, self worth and pandering to male approval.

When I was younger I probably would have died on a hill defending All About That Bass just because I see so much of myself in Trainor as she presents herself relating to her body in the song.  By calling Trainor problematic, you’re calling me problematic because that’s how I talk about myself, and that’s how all women around me talk themselves so how could we all be wrong?

These days I’m not in a hurry to run from that label.  Hells yeah I’m problematic.  I only said those things because I hated myself and was trying to convince other people not to.  The other women say that because they’re insecure.  Besides if I’m not problematic, what am I instead?  Someone who is completely devoid of any prejudice and societal programming?

That would be thinking far too highly of myself