Your Garden of Welfare

Your personal welfare is like a garden. 

Different aspects correspond with different breeds of flowers, plants and insects. Happiness, family, love, passion, mental health and so on. Lastly and most worrisome of all – weeds and pests. All those icky things in life that you’d rather not creep up, yet manage to persist any way.

When weeds and pests pop up, you would want to use weed killer and pesticides to keep them from taking over your garden. 

Sometimes you can use too much or not enough. 

Use too little and the weeds and pests devour your garden. 

Use too much and you rid the garden of not only the icky things.. but you could also risk stunting or halting the growth of everything else that’s important. Or, you’ve used the wrong type of weed killer or pesticide and you harm your garden without harming all those bad things you want to get rid of.

Possibly leaving your Garden of Welfare almost barren.

You know the thing about gardens though, if you give each plant the right amount of nutrients that it needs, they can survive. 

Even if your garden is withering – even if plants have died, you can replant new ones. You could even replant stable plants. Change the set up. Move plants around. Rotate plants. Put plants that need shade to flourish in the shade. 

Feed the right plants the right nutrients and the right amount. Know how much pesticide or weed killer your garden needs.

Everyone has different sized gardens with different sorts of flora, placed in different assortments. 

What your garden needs will be different to what someone else’s needs. 
 

Uncharacteristic

I’ve been very up and down lately. Mostly down. My mood most definitely is not stable.

I just growled at a lady in the corner of my eye whilst looking at my phone, she was attempting to push her way in front of me in a line.

That was very uncharacteristic of me. It was like a primal growl. “Get the fuck out!” Sort of growl. Usually I’d just let them go, I’d get on when I get on.

The first ever time I realised I was unwell, at my lowest, I looked at myself and thought.. This isn’t me. I’m not that person. I feel like that today. I’ve been taking my medication every night but I haven’t been able to shake this feeling.

This hurdle is made of thorns and they’re morphing into glass.

I’m wondering if I need to see the doctor or work it out within myself… With help of course.

Impulse

Sugar, spice and everything nice. Oh, and a few buckets of evil.

We all have those voices. That doesn’t make you crazy… Does it?

Less people like to admit it than most.

The other day I was in the car with mum. She asked me “Do you ever want to kill yourself?” which I replied with “Do you really want to know that answer?”. She did. So I said yes.

I explained to her that it’s not something I ponder about, It’s not something I’m planning. I don’t know if this is a suicidal tendency or not. I don’t want to die. I want to excel in life.

For several years (maybe longer than I’ve noticed?) I’ve had this voice. Impulse. It’s menacing and whispers, never yells.

“Jump in front of that truck, do it”
“Throw this through that window, go on”
“Drink more”
“scrape your key all the way along that car”

It’s here.. then gone. In a flash. Like lightning without the thunder.

Sometimes I wonder if I will act on these sinister impulses.

When they’re gone, I forget about it. I put it out of my mind. It’s like it speeds back into the inner depths of my psyche.

If I were to try and think back… think back to the birth of Impulse. I would place it at the age of 12. That’s when I started self harming. I even attempted (feebly) to hang myself. I think I was curious about how it feels. It was the Impulse that I acted on. I didn’t like the choking feeling and I guess I didn’t actually want to die. Or else I wouldn’t be typing this out.

This is probably something I should delve into with my counsellor. I always forget about it because there are bigger, more superficial things going on in my life.

I don’t like digging into my mind. When I dig far enough it feels like I’m clawing at the ground. Trying to scrape through a layer made of broken glass, my nails starting to break off. My finger tips raw with blood and bone.

It’s a feeling I prefer to avoid.

Impulse.
Sometimes the whispers speak louder than yelling.

My mind is an orchestra

Imagine that your mind is made of several instruments, a mini orchestra of sorts. Working cohesively. Keys are pressed, strings are plucked and air is exhaled, all iminating sound. The universe is the composer and you are the Conductor.

Now imagine the feeling you get, when you stand in front of a huge and loud speaker. Think of how the bass feels when it moves through your body.

This is what it feels like in my mind, when I’m listening to classical music. My favourites are romantic nocturnes and ballads. Allegro makes my mind feel chaotic and that’s not the result I’m aiming for.

As the music plays, it uses my mind as an instrument. Every time a significant note is played, it feels like my mind is reacting. It feels as if the notes are using my illusive synapses as strings to pluck, the neurons move in time with the speed. When a key is struck it feels like my mind expands gently with the note being played.

This is how I get to sleep. It puts my mind into a state of utter rest and relaxation. My body melts into my mattress and I dissolve into slumber.

I’ve been meaning to write this for a while.

Meditation is important.
I wake up feeling very refreshed the next morning when I do this.

It’s my new tool of self care.
I’m learning as I go.
Shifting from one end of the universe to the other.

I’m convinced I’m stunted emotionally and mentally. A year ago, mentally – I felt and acted as if I was 16 years old.

With the changes that have occurred over time, my mind has moved from feeling as if I’m 16, then slowly to 18. Right now, I feel like I’m 19. Mature but not just independent enough. I have 4 more years to catch up to.

It’s okay to be a late bloomer.
Work on it.
It just means that you’re going to peak a bit later in life.
And that absolutely fine.

Work on yourself.
Love yourself.
Heal yourself.
Care for yourself.

Aiming for A’s

After making myself feel horrible all week, I feel good right now.

One of my tutors keeps drilling “attendance = achievement” into our heads. He also says that’s only part of it. Attending the classes will help you pass… With C grades. All of my tutors remind us that we have to make the effort in our own time. To study at least 4 hours a week for each class. I’ve been doing exactly that.

Today I realised that I’ve made the commitment to aim for A’s.

I’ve had two tests this week, one last week. The one from last week hasn’t been marked. I got 80% on the second test (worth 10% of that class’ grade overall) and I got full marks on the third test (worth 20% of that class’ grade overall). I’m really stoked with those grades! I know I aced the first one too.

Attendance equals achievement.

Making sure I motivate myself enough to get out of bed each morning, means I will attend my classes.
Making sure I attend my classes means I won’t fall behind.
Keeping up means I can aim for A’s.

Attendance equals achievement.
Achievement can equal A’s.

Priorities

Sorting and allocating priorities has never been a forte of mine.

As my week gets busier and my responsibilities grow, I’ve had to decide what to do and when. Sounds easy but what order do I give them?

On the weekends I go away to a home away from home. This is a place I go to unwind, relax and heal. There are no obligations down there. Just me, my mum and WiFi lol

I’ve started a new job today and I don’t have a set roster yet. Like most weeks before, I would travel there on a Friday evening. Work has asked if I want to go in tomorrow and possibly Sunday.

I know I need the money, although what I have earned today will get me through the week.

The rat race feels like an obligation. In a sense, it is. Some of it is essential. Money. How much money though? I know I don’t need to work a crazy amount of hours to get by.

Part of me tells me I should go, I’ll get more money for the week and be trained faster.

Part of me tells me that I don’t have to. I can make up for that in the coming week. I won’t have another weekend away if I work tomorrow. I need that time to heal and being able to savour it one more time would be good for me.

Sounds like a silly question.

What do I put first? The money? Or my well-being?

I know what I’m going to choose to do. I’m not going to work Saturday and Sunday. If I do then that I will have studied and worked 7 days straight by Sunday. Add on another 4 days at course and that will make 11 days. Thinking and writing it out is making more sense to me.

This weekend I will bid farewell to my home away from home.

I will recharge for the week ahead and get ready for what’s to come.

I’m going to put myself first.

Maybe my managers might not be impressed, I’ve proved that I will be a good worker though.

Why didn’t we just leave straight away?

In a south Auckland suburb lived a family of three. A mother and her two children. A son and a daughter.

They lived in a humble unit, down a long driveway. Three units lined up beside each other, like plastic monopoly houses. At the bottom of the driveway, three more. Theirs was the third. Smack bang in the middle. One side of their unit sat flush with the second, whilst the other side was lined with grass and an overgrown lemon tree.

People were coming. A group, but why? To ransack? To kidnap? For a cup of tea? No one knew. But they prepared themselves. For some reason they didn’t leave as soon at they were ready. They waited til night. They lay in their beds, all in one room. For some reason they had a visitor. They sat against the window. Their head in full view. Why the fuck are you here?

Night fell. Flash lights lit up the Windows. Darting down the side of the house.

Off they go. Out the front door. With their visitor in tow.

Visitor behind.
Imposter behind them.
No one looking back.
While the rest followed.

Down the long driveway.

——-

This was a dream I had night. The visitor was one of the siblings I mentioned in the previous post. The imposters, they reminded me of door to door sales people. You just want them to go away.

With that death looming, one of the sisters has been in contact with my mum. This makes me feel uneasy. What if they find out where I live? What if they try to weasel their way back in?

For years, the two sisters have tried to get in contact with me. They want to make ammends. I will not forgive. I will not forget.

They trail behind and I don’t want to look back.

My mum gave them a donation to help with preparations. She said it was from her and the kids. This irked me but I know she did it with good intentions. I don’t want them to think they are in my good graces. I want them to know I loathe them.

I want them to stop trying.
I want them to fuck off.

I forget about the darker side of myself when I’m feeling so stable. Seems like a figurment of my imagination.

It’s not though.

I mostly blame them for being the root of my lack of mental well-being. Each one sowed several dark seeds in pivotal times of my life. They broke me as a child. No child should have “role models” like them growing up.

I hate them for that.

World eater

Just like Galactus from The Fantastic Four comics, hate feeds on energy. Draining our souls and eventually consuming it.

Hate is a word that I seldom use to describe the way I feel about people. Unfortunately, this is a lie I tell myself.

There are few people in this world I hate. I can count them on one hand. They hurt and fucked me (and my close family) over when I was younger, for lack of better words. They are all siblings in fact. These are feelings and memories I keep locked away, in a box labelled “DO NOT OPEN! DANGER! TURN BACK NOW” These feelings are frozen in time. They have stayed the same, never changing, never turning. Even rocks can be smoothed into stones over time. Mountains shift as techtonic plates move about beneath our feet. This though, is unnatural. Unworldly. Unruly.

I keep things locked away to keep myself safe. All I want is to feel safe and keep hold of that feeling.

The issue for me is that these people have old ties, with one I hold dearest. She has a history with them. An era in her life that significantly involved them. She put her life and energy into them once upon a time. They are family or at least, used to be part of her family. I refuse to acknowledge them though.

I feel guilty for turning cold and ridged at the mention of them. My soul turns around, like a sleeping child having a nightmare. It unsettles me. Rattles me.

I respect and acknowledge her history with them. I don’t want her to feel as if she can’t relive her memories around me or reminisce. I want to be supportive.

One of them commited suicide last week. I was not shaken by this news. Not feeling shaken is what shakes me. I feel no compassion, no sympathy. I don’t care about the death itself.

Part of me feels like they deserve what ever the universe throws at them. That they have accrued the cruel hands dealt to them.

What scares me most, is myself. This isn’t normal right? I’m supposed to at least feel sorry for them. I don’t.

My brother says I have every right to feel the way I and that he understands. He says it makes him sad to hear the way I feel though. That hate is so consuming. He told me that he feels sorry for them. That he holds the way he feels in, in respect of the history she had with them. I can’t find it in me to do this. But for her I will try.

This feels confusing and conflicting. My thought process has changed. I think from every angle and of every variable, when thinking about people like them. I know that the cards people like are dealt, are shit ones. That they had no control over that. I feel sorry for people like that. I want to help them. But not these people. Oh no. They can rot for all I care. And thinking that way scares me.

Everyone is a hypocrite.
I am no different.

In an alternate universe

In alternate universes I’m many things. In one I’m a young mother with children in primary school. In another I’m married to my first love. In another I’m a newly graduated nurse.

All the people I started my nursing degree with are all graduating. They’re uploading their photos in their gowns, putting up posts about passing their state exam.

I feel left behind. I know that path wasn’t for me. I can’t help but feel like I failed at going through with it.

I’m being too hard on myself again.

Stunted

I started this post a couple months ago. I never finished it so here goes..

~~~

Since high school I’ve noticed that every 6 months, I’d have… I guess a mental lapse. Back then it looked like an uninterested teenager. Looking back, I see the pattern. Every year I’d start out well. I’d get good grades. My concentration would slip though. I’d drop off after 4 months or so. Get behind in work and studying.. and then give up. The rest of the year would be spent skipping school, staying up late with my noisey mind and sleeping most days. When I did go though, I wouldn’t do any work unless it interested me, if I did I would still lose concentration and the will to try pretty fast.

~~~

How appropriate that I should choose to finish this post now.

Full time study can be rough, depending on the circumstances. Draining. I know this myself, from past experiences.

I don’t feel like this will be the same as before. I’m really excited.

When I was studying to be a Nurse, I often found myself feeling out of place and disinterested.

“Why do you want to be a Nurse?”

I honestly did not know the answer. I still don’t know the answer to that.

“Why do you want to work in IT?”

I don’t have a specific answer to this. In comparison to the first one though, I can talk a lot more. There’s a seed here, that was never sowed in my nursing studies.

Interest? Fascinatination? The unknown?

I’ll admit I don’t know a heck of a lot. I will learn it though, and that excites me.

I know little bits and pieces but not a lot about those bits and pieces. It’s like a Jackson Pollock painting. Different splishes and splashes gliterred here and there, making a cohesive and colourful mess. Art can be interpreted in many ways, depending on how you decide to let yourself think about it. People can see that those tiny splashes are of paint. How is it that these blobs work so cohesively?

I totally got sidetracked just then lol

Anyway, I think.. I will do better this time. I will look at these splodges as a whole network. Being interested and fascinated is part of keeping my concentration. My own efforts will determine the rest.