Mark Latham: Mentally Ill and In Denial

Mac the Disordered depression, mania , , , , , , ,

Wow. I go away for a week and come back to just about ten things I personally feel the need to address, but anyway.

I don’t know a whole lot about this guy except that he tried to be prime minister that one time when I was a kid and it didn’t work out so well, which he blames – repeatedly, even ten years later – on everyone else in politics. Apparently he’s fallen into the role of a stay at home parent since then, and has been writing the odd column on the side.

So I guess that means Mark Latham is a mummy blogger now. And it seems that he’s discovered the click bait staple of those mummy bloggers that give the genre a bad name – establishing superiority over other mummies. Especially those who work, what up Lisa Pryor?  His titillatingly titled column for the Australian Financial Review “Why feminists don’t like children” has caused outrage due to his character assassination of the poor woman over her admission to taking anti depressants.

Well I’m not a mummy blogger but I can point fingers and cast shade with the best of them. You want to give out unsolicited parenting and medical advice, Marky-boy? You see nothing wrong with that? Great! Let’s see if you can take what you give.

Mark Latham, you are overwhelmed. You are depressed. You are grieving your lack of relevance and lack the distress tolerance needed to process that grief. You clearly hold sexist views so being a man taking on a stereotypically female role must make you feel inadequate. You want us to believe you are unemployed by choice but are you really? Who will give Mark Latham, best known for a spectacularly failed political career, a job? Getting Mrs Latham a job was probably easier.

You are not well and you NEED TO GET HELP. For the sake of those children who you apparently take such delight in. Will you ‘cop out,’ give up the ghost and sort yourself out to be the best parent you can be for those precious boys? Because people like you, people with issues who refuse to get help for reasons of ego tend to produce some fantastically fucked up children. A lot of people I’ve been in hospital with have fathers who talk like you do.

How do you think the boys will feel when they grow up, Mark? That they weren’t worth you getting over your misguided sense of pride and getting help so they could have had an emotionally stable father? Surely that’s worse than finding out that your mum relied on antidepressants so she could be that loving, present parent that you remember so fondly.

I suppose I should explain what led me to draw this conclusion.

Like most privileged humans you not only have trouble admitting that you aren’t bulletproof, you also feel the need to demonise those that do and maddeningly seem to win at life doing it. Unfortunately unlike most privileged humans, you an available platform to spew misinformed hate to the masses.

Let’s talk about Lisa Pryor. Respected journalist turned doctor? The woman is an achievement machine. And while I’m not familiar with what Mrs Latham does, I think most Australians are familiar with the works of Pryor’s husband Julian Morrow. Despite being having such a busy partner the baby maker has the cheek to pursue not one career, but two!

And you?  You’re unemployed. A house husband. A stay at home parent. For someone who is apparently so content and proud of your position in life, you were oddly vague in describing exactly what that position specifically entails.

Haven’t we been calling you crazy for years? Forgive the ableism, that isn’t the word I would use. But as a fellow ‘crazy’ I’ve noticed there are certain…behaviours that you have in common with the average left feminist behavioural therapy patient.

You were left angry with everyone after your exit from politics, even with the discipline itself.  Intensely so, years later. To the point where you allow your personal agendas get in the way of your career, when you might have had one. Does the word devaluation mean anything to you, Mark? How about dysphoria?

But let’s face it, escaping federal politics with your sanity intact seems to involve interpersonal skills that you don’t have.   For example: something you seem to struggle with a lot? Distress tolerance.

A lot.

Yeah. A lot.

That’s not normal, Mark.

And let’s talk about where you tried to create some precarious argument as to why Pryor’s depression is proof of a feminist conspiracy theory to destroy the family unit…um, that’s called paranoid delusion. Characteristic of a manic or mildly psychotic episode. Don’t worry Mark, we can fix that. Maybe you’ll find mood stabilisers more acceptable than anti-depressants?

I didn’t want to make this a feminist issue, Mark. I know you find such debate tiresome and it’s obvious that on an academic level you are out of your depth there. Let’s face it, that word was only thrown in so that you could do this:

He can’t stop, no he won’t stop

And hey, it worked. You’re bigger than Superbowl! But at what cost? Do you really belong in the public eye while your personality disorder is running out of control? Boundaries, Mark. They matter.

You can feel better, if you choose to. If you choose, your anger will disappear. You could stop feeling like everyone is out to get you. If you choose.

And no, by choosing I don’t mean just ‘getting over it’ or changing your attitude. I’m asking about committing yourself long term to questioning everything you’ve accepted as appropriate and necessary interpersonally. If that means picking up a diagnosis of clinical depression or a cluster B personality disorder along the way, so be it. Anything to be the best father you can be, right?

Ok, that was far too politically correct for your liking. Let me put that in a way that you can understand, Mark.

WON’T SOMEBODY THINK OF THE CHILDREN?!??!?!?!?!1Eleventy!

 

Mac

What I’m into this week #2

Mac the Disordered Uncategorized , , ,

Watching: Paranormal activity, oooooo!

It was Halloween, this is what we chose as our spooky movie. This movie could have been terrifying if my friends weren’t offering ‘hilarious’ fandubs of the demon all the way through. Seriously though, for a film that must have cost like ten dollars to make, it was very well done.

Working on: nail art.

If you’re following me on Instagram (and if you’re not – why? BE MY FWEND!) or if you just take a cursory glance to the right side of this page you can see that I’ve been painting my nails a lot lately. It has been my favourite mindfulness activity for over a decade and the quality of my mental health is inversely proportional to the quality of the nail art. When I’m doing well, I have no time for anything but plain colours. Last week I sat down to do an adventure time test wheel. It took ages and I’m not sure I would ever do it on my hand but it still looks good I think.

Following: The Honey Boo Boo drama.

Uggggggh.

I said last week that reality stars gone rogue was my favourite topic to read about but this has gone beyond trainwreck into truly upsetting territory.

For the uninitiated, the hit reality show “Here Comes Honey Boo Boo” was abruptly cancelled when the show’s matriarch was snapped hanging out with a convicted child molester. Who molested a relative of hers. That relative being her oldest daughter who came forward and identified herself, because really it was only a matter of time before she was outed by a tabloid journalist after Radar Online got hold of the police report.

The pictures of Mama June with this man keep coming, often with the titular Alana ‘honey boo boo’ in tow. First June was saying that he was just her friend, then she was saying they were photoshopped but it wasn’t adding up. Anna did a tv interview talking about the betrayal she was feeling and then had her 14 year old sister call her a liar. More digging into the background of these characters was done.

It’s been known that the Shannon/Thompson clan had a shady past – personally I’ve reserved judgement until now because to me it speaks of a class based culture I’m not informed enough to comment on – but what I didn’t know was that a pregnant Anna only returned to the Thompson household for the sake of the show. I’d always thought Anna looked healthier than her sisters and no, I don’t mean because she’s not overweight. She just generally looks brighter and not totally exhausted all the time. Which is funny considering she’s the one running around after a toddler.

As I said it’s truly upsetting. I was amongst those that used to defend these people as harmless, fun loving rednecks but it’s now obvious that this family has some deep rooted demons.

Youtubing: Bart Baker parodies

I just discovered these and I’m obsessed. These are my two favourites:

“What rhymes with funny?” “A LOT OF STUFF, IDIOT!”

Bart makes a great Robin Thicke actually. Much better singer too.

I don’t know if it’s because I’m not 12, but I find these guys so much cuter than 1 D. And fangirls don’t bother getting riled up, I have a feeling that if 1D did see this they’d find it hilarious.

Next week…hopefully I’ll be reading/watching something more intellectual.

Mac

Topamax. It ain’t tops

Mac the Disordered anxiety, depression, mania , , ,

Ha…ha…punny.

Things haven’t been great for awhile, so my doctor decided to mix up my medication.

 I’d been subsisting on a mood stabilizer and melatonin antidepressant to regulate my sleep. She was iffy over the melatonin and suggested removing it. I cried. She changed her mind.

 She did decide to supplement my mood stabilizer with another one – topiramate, or topamax. I take an extra pill, tiny pill that must be no more than three millimeters across, every morning and evening.

 She took me through the potential side effects, of which one really stood out –

 Appetite suppressant.

 See, in my experience that should read as:

 Heinous nausea.

 I wasn’t too worried otherwise, because my current mood stabilizer didn’t give me any side effects even in the beginning worse than some broken sleep and mild constipation.

 The day after the night I started, we had a party in the evening and I was running around trying to clean the house in dreadful heat. If I was feeling washed out that day, I put it down to that.

 The next day though I hit the wall hard. Well, I would have if I’d been able to get out of bed. Heinous nausea did indeed make an appearance. After the first few days it’s reduced to being around only three hours after I take it but trying to fall asleep feeling like I’ve just downed a three course meal is a challenge.

 My mood was stabilized all right. Stabilized in a very bad place.

 My depression over the past two weeks has been dreadful. I spent hours in bed staring at the ceiling, with even my thoughts slowing to a plodding pace. Plodding over things that happened ages ago that are suddenly at the forefront of my mind and I can’t get them out, trying just wears me to tears.

 On top of that I’ve been getting headaches. Which is ironic because as well as mood stabilization topamax is supposed to stop migraines. I’ve never had a migraine in my life and I hardly think that these are as bad but they’re still nasty. Paracetamol and ibuprofen don’t help. And funnily enough it’s localized to where that bloody Frisbee attacked me…

 I saw my GP a few days after I started and as soon as I slouched into her office she told me she was concerned. The fact that I was low – more specifically that I hadn’t showered in some time – was clearly evident.

 I told her I had started topamax and she looked surprised. “Topiramate? I’ve only ever seen that used for seizures” – I raised my eyebrows – “but these psychiatrists always find alternative uses for drugs in practice I’ve found.” She added quickly. “come and see me in a week, if you’re still feeling gross I’ll give Dr *psychiatrist* a call”

 I continued to be low with bouts of irritation that haven’t gone away. I can’t leave the house, except near the middle of the night to do my grocery shopping. I can’t stand the sound, sight, touch of people. I fought off intrusive thoughts compelling me to commit violent acts toward my self and other people. This is a symptom I associate with a manic episode.

 I’m not sure if my out of control moods are as a result of the meds not working yet, of them not working at all, or of them interacting and cancelling each other out. After a particularly violent episode of intrusive imagery I left a message for my psychiatrist asking for emergency advice. I will put up with a lot while adjusting to new meds but being bombarded with violent imagery isn’t something I want to deal with for too long if I possibly don’t have to. As yet, I haven’t heard back from her.

 I saw my GP again yesterday and happened to have the first good day I’d had in two weeks. So she’s decided that I’m doing better. Now I’m back down again and no idea where this is going.

 I’m still certain that this is going to cumulate in a hospital visit and I’m ok with that. This medication business needs to be sorted out…not once and for all because it doesn’t work like that but at least for a long stretch.

 

Mac.

Update: Turns out you can be both depressed and concussed

Mac the Disordered depression , ,

If you recall, about three weeks ago I had an unfortunate altercation with a Frisbee on a morning run.

I was wondering if the abnormally low mood even by my standards that resulted was in fact a concussion symptom, or purely coincidental.  Not that it was overly serious but still, it bugged me.

Last week during a routine visit to my GP I casually mentioned what I had been speculating and she confirmed that depression after a concussion is, in fact, a thing.

Welp.  There you go.

A fairly insidious lesser known concussion symptom, depression can apparently appear even in patients with no prior history with mental illness.  Something to keep in mind if it happens to you, I guess.

Mac

How not to argue against rape culture

Mac the Disordered Uncategorized , , ,

Oh Women against feminism, you.

Look, I’m not going to talk about rape culture all that much, just because I’m just not educated enough about it to do so.

But this appeared on my facebook feed today, and I’m appalled.

waf

Oh geez I haven’t seen an important argument derailed by tone policing that badly since I stopped posting at wrong planet, but that’s beside the point.

Threatening to slash the OP’s throat definitely falls in the territory of overreaction but my word, what a problematic post.

The problem is this:  the OP is trying to argue against the existence of rape culture by condoning unwanted sexual advances by men as normal ‘male heterosexuality.’

ERRRRRRRRRR no.

Feeling all bent out of shape because you can’t walk down the fucking street without unwanted sexual harassment?  Well toughen up princess, this is just straight men expressing themselves sexually. STAHP repressing poor misunderstood menz lyk OMG!!!!!!

So we’re saying that unwanted sexual attention is something that feminists need to get over because, well, it’s just the way men are.  Men are born sexual harrasers.

Women against feminism thinks that it is the nature of men to harass women.  It’s just male heterosexuality!!!!!  Reducing you to an object of sexual pleasure is just, lyk, finding you attractive!!!!

And then they have the bloody cheek to turn around and accuse feminists of hating men.

…

#fuckmysoul

The men in your life deserve better than to be reduced to out of control sex maniacs.  Even if you don’t consider yourself a feminist, even if you don’t believe in rape culture, how can you not be disturbed that?

More importantly, we as women deserve better than to be told that submitting to unwanted stares, touches, and words is necessary to accommodate male sexuality.

They keep looking.  They keep touching.  They keep harassing.  Why?  Because people condone it.  Because they have the power to do so and that power continues to be reaffirmed.

Mac

What I’m Into This Week

Mac the Disordered Uncategorized, what I'm into this week , , , , , , ,

Because I don’t want this blog to be all wahhh woe is me I suck at life.

I’ve decided to do a series of weekly posts talking about what interests I’m fixated on this week.*

(Dear NT world, just because I have Aspergers and am interested in something, DOES NOT MEAN THAT THIS INTEREST IS FIXATED so please stop asking! I’m allowed to make this joke as an insider. You are not.)

Ahem. Where was I?

Oh yes. Here’s what I’m into this week.

 

Reading:

Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban.

I’m not sure how many times I’ve read the Harry Potter books but they’ve all lost their covers, I’m going to have to invest in more.

Anyway, JK Rowling has a knack for storytelling and creating universes that are just as compelling to me in my mid-twenties as they were when I was ten. Much time has been wasted over the past fifteen years waxing lyrical with other members of the fandom.

And fyi, I still ship Harry/Hermione.

Recently though the rest of the world had been alerted to this:

 

 blowjobsinthedungeon

BLOWJOBS IN THE DUNGOEN!

BLOWJOBS IN THE DUNGEON!

Thought you outta know…

Bitch please, we hard core potter-heads have been sniggering over that for…I dunno, at least five years. Since Tumblr became a thing probably.

 

Watching:

veep

VEEP.

I randomly recorded this show off studio but when I watched it I was instantly hooked. For those who don’t know, VEEP is a show centred on Selina Meyer, a potty mouthed, neurotic, borderline narcissist workaholic who has just been sworn in as vice president. Throughout the series her team is in constant damage control as she tries to present as a likable character that Americans can relate to, with laughably disastrous consequences.

I always enjoy shows with flawed but successful females as main characters – maybe a projection of what I hope to be one day? But I guess if Meyer was able to fall into her role as vice president flawlessly I guess she would be hard to relate to for most women.

 

Eating/drinking: Infused water

 2014-10-21 17.28.50

Pretty!

Infused water because hot property amongst fitness bloggers about 18 months ago but it’s not new for me. My grandma has always done it, mainly with lemon and mint. I took to doing it as well, but have been trying to mix up the combinations lately. My current favourite is, as above, oranges and blue berries.

Although putting dried fruit in there is good too, because after the water’s all gone you can eat the plumped up fruit. Amaze-balls.

 

Wearing:

This.

 2014-10-22 16.17.26 (1)

Best. Shirt. Ever.

The print is Sailor Moon perched on an iron throne made not of swords but of the various transformation sceptres used in the show. Brilliant.

I ordered this shirt from Teefury, a store that sells fan art tshirts for only 24 hours, so you have to check regularly to be sure to get what you want. I actually ordered this about five or six weeks ago and it showed up this morning after I had forgotten about it. Totally recommend, as long as you don’t need the tee in a hurry.

 

Following: The Bachelor AU drama.

dirtystreetpie

I think everyone is sick of this except me, but I just can’t stop clicking on whatever story I see. Reality stars gone rogue is one of my favourite things to read about. I didn’t even watch the show, I just read Rosie Waterland’s recaps at Mamamia, but what unfolded after the show ended was worthy of its own reality series

So, for my non Australian readers (because they’ve all just fled to the hills screaming ‘for the love of God, NO MORE!!!’) here’s what went down in a nutshell: Bachelor Blake, or Dirty Street Pie, or Blake the Fake depending on who you ask, proposed to one of the top two girls, Sam Frost, in the show’s finale filmed in south Africa.

Then as soon as the show went to air we found out that all of the interviews and appearances with the happy couple had been cancelled. Next week came the inevitable announcement: Sam and Blake had split. Much sads, love is dead, etc. Except there was never love – Sam alleges that they never even slept together, in fact when they went back to the hotel after the proposal he wouldn’t talk to her and just cried all night. Awks. There was talk of Blake being given a money incentive to propose for ratings, and to Sam because she was judged more likely to say yes.

Blake then went and contacted Lisa, to see if she was interested. She rightfully told him to GTFO. So he moved to the next on the list Louise. She said yes and they fled to Thailand together. Makes you wonder how far down the list of girls he would have gone if they kept saying no!

Blake and a very fragile, medicated looking Louise sold their story to Woman’s day and the project. Meanwhile the original fiancé Sam has been talking to the media non-stop. At first I felt sorry for her – she had been royally screwed over – but after a few weeks it is getting a bit much. For a guy that she apparently never even slept with she sure is hung up on him. It is truly entering train wreck territory.

That was a very long nutshell, as you can see this is a story that just keeps giving. Blake has obviously gone into this looking for a media career and it has backfired in a big way.

 

Youtubing:

OH MY GLOB!!!!

You know LSP rolls with some badass *BADWORDS*

I think I’m responsible for about 1000 of those views.

Keep calm and dirty street pie

Mac

Aspergers and Familial Embarrassment

Mac the Disordered Uncategorized , , ,

I’ve complained about feeling like a target of disdain from my family but the truth is, I’m not the only one.

I have this uncle on my father’s side who probably has Asperger syndrome but I don’t believe he has ever been officially diagnosed. He has trouble reading social cues and empathising with others so overall his capacity to function in mainstream society is very low. He lives with my grandma and has been unemployed for at least ten years, possibly longer.

And yes, he’s the one that my mother holds over me whenever we’re having conflict. You’re the one with the social dysfunction, and that’s obviously what any conflict we have is based on. You need to apologise and accept that you’re just a shitty person compared to the rest of us. If you don’t, you’ll end up living in the basement like him.

As far as I know, he’s not there because he refused to lie down to his mother’s emotional blackmail. He’s there because he’s tried to live independently in many different contexts – as a bachelor, married, as a Buddhist monk – and it’s all gone to shit because he can’t empathise with others and live under anyone’s rules but his own. Maybe he could have if he got the same kind of support when he was younger as I did.

Not that my grandparents didn’t care; it was a different time where there were no behavioural disorders, there were just bad kids who were socialised into a lifestyle of ostracisation that would be so hard to escape.

He presents as what you would call an oddball but he’s harmless unless you’re the type of person who is distressed by conversations dominated by talking about chewing tobacco and tarot cards. My mother would appear to be one of those people.

He embarrasses her. I came to understand that very early on in life, I didn’t fully understand why until my understanding of adult interaction developed later on. I knew there were tough times. He’d been married twice, to the same woman but both marriages were short lived. He’d attempted suicide a couple of times. His life seemed far removed from my own until I started struggling myself in my early twenties and the similarities became frighteningly clear. Looking at him can be like looking into a possible dismal future of wasted potential and suddenly my mother’s threats developed a powerful hold over me that still keeps me wake at night.

It makes me sad, thinking about how things could have been different but I don’t know if my mother feels that way. She never lets on if she does. She just gets embarrassed. Every time we have a family get together, she can be heard bemoaning his presence afterwards. He makes her uncomfortable, and dislikes the way he dominates conversations.

Last weekend we had a party for my grandma’s 80th at a nice restaurant. I brought my boyfriend with me, this being the first time he’d met my extended family. As soon as we walked in my uncle came up and thrust a packet of tobacco under my nose, joking that it would enhance my sports performance. I had to politely decline a couple of times before he got the message but by now I’m used to his manner; this interaction didn’t bother me at all.

Out of the corner of my eye I could see my mother looking alarmed as she does whenever he talks to one of us children but no drama ensued and we got on with the party. All was forgotten and my strongest memory of the day was the look of pure elation on my grandmother’s face when the waiter placed her birthday cake in front of her.

My mother however was still bothered by the interaction between my uncle and I today when I went to her house to do some work. She stood with me as I typed away and asked me fretfully,

“Did I imagine it or did he try to make *BF* take some chewing tobacco?”

I assured her that he was offering it to me and tried to laugh it off, but she wasn’t done.

She vented at me for a while about how embarrassed she was. She asked me if I could see that the chewing tobacco represented a destructive fixated interest. I shrugged.

I wish I could pinpoint why this makes me so uncomfortable.

Maybe it’s just as a fellow aspergian I feel uncomfortable hearing him described as an embarrassment. My view as an insider is going to be different and my mother has made her feeling over some of my less than genteel behaviours abundantly clear. She doesn’t like me ‘engaging’ him. I talk to him but I’ve become good at keeping our conversations being derailed by fixated interests. I don’t see why I should pretend he doesn’t exist but I feel like the rest of the family are on a different page. Mother got annoyed when she found out that I’d been interacting with him on facebook. By interact I mean that he comments on my status, I reply to him. That’s as far as it goes

Is it just my non-NT status that makes me sad, rather than embarrassed? I can see that his behaviour is often totally inappropriate. It’s not hard to see how his life ended up as it has and while I struggle to accommodate other people in my life, it’s something that I consciously work on because life is impossible without some form of coexistence.

It’s also interesting that he’s my dad’s brother, the closest one to him in age but I don’t recall him ever giving his take on the situation. I feel like I’m going to have to ask him about it at some point just to make sense of it all. Right now though the thought is too upsetting, I have the feeling that at least it would make him uncomfortable.

In the mean time I can’t stop wondering, how long until my family start pretending that I don’t exist?

Mac

Should I accept that I will never be ok?

Mac the Disordered depression ,

It’s one of those nights. It’s midnight, I’m cradling a jar of Nutella, bawling my eyes out because my life has gone nowhere.

And wow, people love to point out that my life if going nowhere. Just in case I never noticed.

It does cause people pleasure to see someone that was once so high functioning being unable to get it together.

My life story in a nutshell was that, despite being a mixed bag of issues from birth, I was a fairly high achiever until my late teens, when I cracked. All the horses and men of every monarchy in the world could not put me back together.

I’ve never worked full time. Never been able to live independently without some form of government assistance.   And despite working on my health consistently for years, none of that seems likely to change soon.

Reading that back makes me cry. It’s just so fucking sad looking at it.

It makes me wonder if all my therapy has been worth it. What’s the point of spending all that money if life just doesn’t get better? If I don’t get better? Is it a waste? My family will quickly point out that it is. I’ve wasted their money, my money, wasted their time visiting me in hospital because I ‘refuse’ to get better.

My sisters both have jobs, I am reminded. One of them is looking for a house with her boyfriend, a house for them, not one with housemates.

They say they like to remind me of my shortcomings so I don’t become complacent. Because I’m always thinking how fucking wonderful sharing a house with other students in a shitty area where people have knife fights in the streets is. How great it is that my friends go shopping for furniture at brick and mortar stores, while I’m scavenging it from the side of the road. How despite my private health insurance, I can’t go to hospital when I need it because I can’t afford the gap.

I could ask my parents for it I guess. But I just can’t give them the satisfaction.

It doesn’t matter how well I’m doing, the conversation always comes back to that. I continue to be defined by my failures.

They say it gets better. But I’m just too smart for my own morbidly low-functioning good. I know that it’s a completely hollow statement.

Sometimes it doesn’t. People just don’t ever manage to get it together. I’ve seen them, in my family, in my boyfriend’s family. People I met in hospital. It just never works out.

After six years of no improvement, it looks like I’m headed the same way and it’s devastating me. Should I just give up, accept my lot, be one of those people on the DSP in the housing estates, compliant enough on their meds to not cause anyone trouble but not benefiting anyone either. It’s a miserable existence. Fifty or so more years with nothing to show for it except being a handy tool for my family to boost their self-esteem whenever they feel like they might not be getting anywhere in life.

I could be a cautionary tale but against what? I never abused drugs or alcohol, or skipped school or hung out with miscreants. My problems are largely genetic which points to the uncomfortable idea that having this relative who is getting so far behind in life is actually no one’s fault. She can’t be fixed, but she couldn’t have been prevented. Where’s the closure in that? Blaming me is so much easier.

I can tell them to stop but, ya know, what right do I have? Do I not realise how hard their lives are because of my illness? The embarrassment of having a partially employed daughter in her mid twenties who is apparently so bright? Of having to deal with the embarrassment of her being in hospital? What would the neighbours say. And bailing me out of debt. No that wasn’t pleasant at all but how could I appreciate that. I was the one having fun spending.

And let’s not forget, I’m on the autistic spectrum. If we’re having a disagreement, obviously I’m the one in the wrong, and I don’t admit out loud that I’m a shitty human being I’m going to end up living in mum and dad’s basement like my unemployed uncle, now that would be embarrassing.

I just need to talk to someone to tell me that I’m not a failure. That I will get there one day. That I won’t end up living in mum and dad’s basement. I texted my boyfriend and told him that I’m struggling but the fucker fell asleep.

Just tell me it will get better.

I don’t even care if it’s not true. Not right now.

Mac