A very small snippet of this period of my life…

RS had been sick again for a while. If you’ve known someone with severe mental illness, sometimes it’s hard to convince them to seek help. I’d spend nearly all our time together suggesting that if he didn’t feel good, I’d drive him to talk to someone. I wasn’t a hypochondriac/paranoid girlfriend. There were obvious, disturbing, scary and sad signs he was not okay…but they’re not for this blog post. I offered to drive him/suggested talking to someone as an option at intervals, between tv shows etc as if he wouldn’t notice…and, tbh he didn’t notice it was a roundabout repeat of something I’d just said earlier. It wasn’t me who took him when he ended up in the hospital again. His mother had actually found the time/way to force him. He was a big guy at the time, it could not have been easy.

He’d only been admitted there a few hours when I went to see him, the ever-dutiful, trying to impress his mother but genuinely worried about him, girlfriend. The facility had four wards dedicated to housing someone experiencing a mental episode. One was upstairs (and I’ve never seen it,) one ward allowed patients out for cigarettes or to sit in the courtyard, they even had a day-release option. The one RS found himself in this particular time was the locked and involuntary ward. This ward locked patients inside their rooms at night, they were only allowed to watch TV between certain hours (apparently) and you could see other patients who had obviously tried to hurt themselves walking around with bandaged limbs, scars and vacant stares.

I’d never been inside one of those places before. I asked the main reception where the ward was. I think I’d called earlier and asked if RS was admitted or his mother or someone had called me to inform me where he was. That afternoon I walked to the ward’s door, confused and very nervous. I walked through the courtyard and small garden, past the overpriced vending machines preying on people’s desperation for sugar in a highly stressful setting, and at least a couple of patients sitting around watching. Patients are zero fucks given. You can walk past them and give an obligatory smile and they will stare ahead, or worse, stare in your face and do nothing – and the look on their face is not friendly in the slightest. I understand it now that I’m older. At the time, it was confronting and uncomfortable feeling the stares of overweight guys, barefoot and sitting on a bench in the courtyard with their guts hanging out, literally drooling down their chins.

I was buzzed through and I asked where I could find RS. They confirmed he’d been admitted earlier but they didn’t know if he was awake or able to see a visitor. They confiscated my bag. They made me give them anything they considered a “sharp.” Things like keys, pens, earrings etc.  It’s probably a good thing, I was carrying a weapon that I’d forgotten I had. I was only allowed to keep my phone. I’d heard jokes about not being allowed to bring certain things into a mental ward but I never thought that I’d have to do it.

When I saw RS, we couldn’t get the TV room because there were people watching some mid-afternoon show that instantly aggravated me. I knew he wouldn’t want us to be around anyone else anyway. We moved to a side room with dull aqua/green walls, a long white plastic table and bad lighting. He was across the table, blankly staring through me because they’d drugged him up to sedate him and get some coherent conversation. I could tell he was trying, but he was deflated, melting ice cream- like someone tried to make a pile of soft serve and lumped it on the chair. His eyes were still green and pretty. But they were a little vacant and glassy.

I asked the obligatory questions: “Are you ok?” “Do you know how long you’re here?”        I’m glad you decided to get some help…
We spoke normally for the most part but his answers were slow and so was his sideways glance when some other guy came in noisily.

The other guy was skinny, floppy dark red/ brown hair and a wide mouth and spotted chin. His gangly limbs were pale and he took a seat on a backwards chair and started spreading out a thin piece of paper with a wonky grid drawn in biro and small scrunched pieces of paper. He explained it was a chess set he’d made and RS had played with him earlier. RS gave me a “this guy is crazy lols I humoured him earlier, now we are ‘friends,’ sorry,” look but it had a slow, dazed glint riding it too. I nodded my pleasantries and waited for this guy to set up his…chess set. He told RS that he had to be the black pieces (NOTHING he laid out was BLACK though!) and that he would be the white team. It was a battle of good and evil, right here!

I watched RS slowly move pieces of paper while the other guy leaned forward so his face was practically on RS’ hand while he watched. I started to feel uncomfortable and noticed the time; visiting hours were almost over, we didn’t have long even though I’d just arrived. I wanted to leave. I wished RS could leave with me but I knew if he did, it wouldn’t be good. It had been so dramatic and stressful in the lead up. My attention went back to the board and these two drugged up twenty-somethings pushing around paper chess pieces. RS, confused by the new rules the other guy kept adding when his lead dipped, just carried on and resigned himself to likely losing. I could see relief when the game was lost and RS sat back and said “Ahh well, you won!” (still humouring the guy.) The end of RS’ sentence was cut off as the guy screamed “NOOOOO! I DON’T WANT YOU TO GO DOWN TO HELL!” then he clumsily grabbed up all the paper quickly and ran from the room scattering “pieces” in his wake.

RS and I just looked at each other.

After that, the days were filled with visits, calls and letters/notes. His were always quirky and short, scrawled on scrunched papers he smuggled out. Thankfully none of these were “chess pieces.” heheh

Silver Wing was not based on the place I visited, but it reminded me that some places don’t operate the way we take for granted. Some people don’t operate the way we think is acceptable or what we’re used to. There is a story in every moment and a reason why.

 

 

 

 

 

TLDR:

*This was a short version of one of my asylum/mental health facility experiences

*Chess sets made out of paper SUCK 

*You can’t humour crazy.

*Get help if you are struggling, before you are involuntarily admitted.

*RS and I grew up, grew apart. I wish him well, and I know I have his support with all my creative endeavours.

*sign up for the eventual newsletter

 

 

 

Cowboy.” 1, Traditional animal herder who tends cattle on ranches usually in the North American region.

2, Derogatory term describing someone who is reckless, ignores potential risks, irresponsible or who heedlessly handles a sensitive or dangerous task.

 

 

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All content is no copyright infringement intended. All posts are opinion only and are subject to change due to experience, kicking ass and learning how to adult more effectively. If you don’t like it, don’t let the door hit ya where the good Lord split ya. Elements of original content may be reproduced with expressed permission from Ever Eden.

 

 

 

 

 

 

My friend bought a card game

– one of those you play where you’re drunk and you ate a huge meal with your friends…and you’re hoping to sober up so you can GTFO and drive home to bed. It’s icebreaker stuff, questions to find out the inner workings of your peers. The type of questions she and I ask directly and then get shocked when people are taken aback. I can tell a lot about you from the time you drank too much and lay in the road, or the time you wished you could fly. Small talk = meh.

We were in a shop she likes that sells ugly clothes for hundreds of dollars. I finally saw something that looked okay, after following her around and complaining about all the products. It was a dress. It was plain, white linen with a couple of large tortoiseshell buttons on the chest. The style was cute. When I turned the price tag over…it said $329. That’s it, I was done trying to be open-minded.

I found my friend and she had found the card game. She grabbed a card from the display set to ask me a question; “Have you ever been asked what you are thinking by someone you were thinking about getting away from?”  The answer was yes. I was surprised I was able to answer right away and tell her the story.

Maybe because it happened about 13 years ago and I still feel terrible about it. I’m sorry, Vivek! (*will write about that another time.,)

This was the question she sent me when she went home…

 

The answer is yes.

IKR. Me…thinking about being athletic in any capacity.

Before kickboxing and jiujitsu, I was content with books, writing, art and sitting around on my ass, eating chicken. But when I was young, I HAD DREAMS, MAN!

The last couple of years since meeting CC, I came to realise that ICE hockey is (apparently) just called “HOCKEY.” And what we played in school is “Field hockey.” When I was a lot younger, I was into hockey. We played Minkey, a modified version of hockey, made for kids. I’ve read it’s for very young kids but we played it all through to high school. I fucking loved it. And I was, to my surprise, actually good at it. We had a steady rise to the top of the local school hockey battles and our team composition was great.  I was always on the field and never a “reserve,” unless I got injured or was told to rest for a few mins. Other school girl’s teams were scared of me, my reputation preceded me because my defence was usually impenetrable! Muahahaaaa!!

We played all the riff-raff public schools in the area (like our own) but there was one school that was a little more classy. I don’t know how or why but maybe because their school was actually named after the suburb we were in and their uniform consisted of blues and calming colours…whereas ours was “Gold” (shitty warm yellow) and Maroon, which everyone (including teachers) used to call MARONE. Maybe because of the accent? I think the aforementioned school was as classy as you could get in a rundown, ghetto-like area with a bad reputation.

They practically always won. And when they didn’t win against us, (RARE), by the time our teams both played everyone else at the carnival/game day, we would be head-to-head in the final and then they’d kick our ass. They were difficult to play. They were fast, up around midfield, so by the time the ball came down my end, it arrived with a lot of confusion, bodies, sly passes and more.  My mistakes were silly and few, and whoever my defence partner was usually not as invested as I was.

The next Olympics were a few years away. My fitness had increased, my confidence (still minuscule) was slightly better because I knew people were relying on me and I could handle it. I was one of the best on the team! I thought it would be fun and also a challenge to become good enough to make an Olympic team. It would come out of left field (haha where I used to play) and probably surprise some people that I was able to do a sport well, and that I really liked it! I had a few years to get to a high level and I’d scrape through to be old enough to compete by then.

I don’t know what happened to that particular dream. I was very serious about it for a little while. I wanted to join hockey clubs and train hard, and start my climb. I think it’s amazing that some children are given the space to believe they can become anything if they put in the work and really want it. I didn’t think about the cost etc, the way an adult would weigh up the details. I thought I’d figure that part out along the way. What a lovely way to think, and one that has only slightly left my thought process lol

I can’t remember when I changed my mind or thought that it was too hard to achieve. It would have been around the time I wrote my first trilogy called “To the Woodshed.” Maybe I found something I liked more. Who knows?

 

 

TLDR:

*I used to want to play hockey at the Olympics.

*My friend bought an icebreaker game that doubles as a writer’s block crutch.

*Sign up to the eventual newsletter!

 

 

 

 

 

 

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All content is no copyright infringement intended. All posts are opinion only and are subject to change due to experience, kicking ass and learning how to adult more effectively. If you don’t like it, don’t let the door hit ya where the good Lord split ya. Elements of original content may be reproduced with expressed permission from Ever Eden.

Rant incoming.

 

I know what “water cooler” talk is. And I fucking hate it.

I hate it

I hate it

I hate it

I hate it

I hate it

And if you do it first thing in the morning, I hate you too.

I don’t watch tv, so I don’t care about the latest fake “reality tv,” depraved wedding/dating show. I don’t have anything to add to a vacuous conversation, except maybe a comment that sounds cynical and annoyed because I’m not awake enough yet to pretend I’m a normie. It’s the same as walking into a breakroom and hearing them talk about the biased and hysterical news screening in front of them while they flex their knowledge of the Coof/Rona…The only fact they don’t seem to regurgitate is the 99+% recovery rate. Oh. They didn’t know that one? Of course not.

I was at my slave gig. Early, because it gives me time to work on other things. Unfortunately, others seemingly had this idea too/or wanted to kiss ass and look industrious because they’re relatively new employees. Today I was overhearing people loudly discussing the fact one of them is receiving “reply all” emails. He had eleven! Omg, it was so funny! That silly person emailed so many people, wow! Come here, ____ (floor manager) look at this! They were supposed to only reply to one person. This is crazy!

Welp, not really. It happens. Figuring out some of the emails and codes can be difficult for new people. Yes, it’s annoying. Yes, it happens. Yes, you should get the fuck over it.

The discussion moved to the staff newsletter; some new wet dream idea to make everyone feel included as it runs alongside every other email we all get to be able to do our jobs. It will never pass my gaze. (In fact, I’m deleting it from my inbox right now.) The know-it-all guy sitting in front of his computer started saying “blue and green should never be seen” commenting how some people are going to find it difficult to read because the font “should” be a different colour. “Do you have any idea how hard that is going to be for some people to read?!” 

Then he announced, very loudly, that he drank a whole bottle of rum last night, 750mls.

“Wow, that’s a lot! Were you with friends or alone?” 

“…Define alone. Was I in the room alone? Yes, but I was with friends.”
“Oh, online?”
“Yes, we were playing an action game.”

No. One. Cares.

I only care if you were playing Fortnite…because, ew.

Then the loud woman next to him, who walked in complaining someone shorter had used her desk in her absence (then swore and said Jesus a lot like it was his fault,) told the floor manager that she’d watched a football game on the weekend. She talked about how great it was to be there in person. The crowd did a walk/march thing from one stadium to another across the city and she was excited to be a part of the experience. The floor manager asked the obligatory questions about which team she supported etc. And then it turned into fake-sympathising with the floor manager because they were sick. “Oh, you poor thing, you should be at home!” etc.

Nah, they have to be at work to tell you idiots that it’s okay to get a “reply all” email.

And don’t even get me started on the angry old woman who –always- complains about everything immediately like it’s a way to assert dominance. If I write about that special unit, I’m either going to throw a banana at her head or get her some new glasses so she can take a good look at herself and her shitty behaviour.

I’m underslept, angry, hungry and my soul is tired on a level I can’t reach with a nap. This week, it’s not wise to get in my way. I feel stifled that I can’t (*ahem) shouldn’t just tell these people to STFU lol.

 

 

 

TLDR:

*This doesn’t make me look likeable.

*Fuck it.

*No, wait, I’m nice! Love me!!!  LOL

 

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All content is no copyright infringement intended. All posts are opinion only and are subject to change due to experience, kicking ass and learning how to adult more effectively. If you don’t like it, don’t let the door hit ya where the good Lord split ya. Elements of original content may be reproduced with expressed permission from Ever Eden.

 

Randomly choose any four pictures stored in your phone’s “FAVOURITES” folder and explain.

 

Deceased Raven

I was walking home and I saw a dead Raven on the side of the road.

It was perfect. No visible injuries or decay, maggots, ants or anything. It looked like it had become tired and fallen out of the sky right before I saw it. It looked like it was sunbaking and just chilln. The feathers were very surprising – a great shade of navy blue with an almost-metallic sheen. When we see these birds, we say they have black feathers. Maybe some do and some are blue? I thought it was very pretty and I wished it was still alive. There is art in almost everything. And I have no problems expressing that I enjoy its many forms. The good thing is that now I’m older my mum has realised I always have been and probably always will be offbeat and a little strange. She’s gone from asking why I have to be so morbid etc to just a simple,

“You didn’t touch it, did you?”

No, mum, I didn’t.

 

Va vooom!

This was a little less than a year before the Coof hit and the world went crazy. I like this picture because it shows I was singing to a decent-sized audience, I was happy, dressed up, and working with some talented people. It was a fun time. It had been a little while since I was in some sort of stage show at that point (about 3-4 years.) Being involved in a production with a large cast/many performers was fun. This was a sort of variety show and the theme was “Songs from Movies.” There was a large group of people spread across groups, working on their respective parts and the group numbers where we all performed together. I liked the spectrum of ages across the cast and the friends I made. I was challenged by some people and I was challenged by songs that I didn’t gel with. To deliver a song that you don’t identify with, but still perform technically and with feeling/enthusiasm, is not hard for me anymore but, depending on my moods or other things going on in life, it can use a lot of focus. One of my favourite parts was being in the chorus for “This is Me” (The Greatest Showman soundtrack)  and the Blues Brothers medley. I fucked up steps every night but it was so much fun. The hardest part was the steps that were made up to get us to the real stuff. I grew up singing that soundtrack and the easiest part were the lyrics and the parts in Shake Your Tail Feather” where the actual dance moves occurred eg:

“”Do the twist
Do the fly
Do the swim
And do the bird
Well do the duck
Aaah, and do the monkey
Hey hey, watusi
And a what about the food
Do the mashed potato
What about the boogaloo
Oh, the bony marony
Come on let’s do the twist”

There is nothing that I know like standing in a group singing and it just comes together...your voices, the vibe, all of it – and you have a great rehearsal, you feel energised, accomplished, excited …and something you can’t put your finger on like there was a muse or something else unseen in the room. There was even one part during a song (I was usually in a group with 2 other girls for some songs) where the melody/harmony split and it gave me goosebumps every time and made it difficult not to laugh because it sounded amazing and I was contributing to this thing! Every time I performed it – rehearsing or live on stage- I had to really concentrate on delivering the notes because I’d just want to giggle.

 

The brothers I chose.

I’ve known these guys for 20 years and “grew up” with them. We weren’t kids when we met but we were close enough, experiencing life, going to goth clubs and supporting local bands together, having fun when life was getting everyone down, going to dinner and sending each other inappropriate jokes in poorly-run chatrooms on the internet.  This picture is from a BBQ we had in April this year. It had been a long time since we all did anything together as the three of them moved to the other side of the country, one at a time and then back and forth over the last few years. One had lived there for ten years, sporadically visiting, until recently. He told us he returned for good because his city had become even more frustrating. The Coof virtue signals and police state rules, snap lockdowns, by a tyrannical state government who only catered to an overly-vocal minority had finally done his head in.

I was a little surprised by their maturity on this occasion, there were still jokes and messing around…but I barely did anything. They cooked it, prepared all the food, divided things out and cleaned up. I wanted the day to last longer but, as adults, we all had other things we needed to attend later and left after a few hours. We’ve done a few more dinners and catch ups since. I can’t wait for the next one, these guys are always hilarious.

Mei Smells

 I play Overwatch. A lot. Still. One of the online friends I’ve made over the years shares the same views as me on a character in the game. I know she has fans, but to me, she has always looked like she stinks. She wears thick coats because she is travelling the world and going to freezing regions. I currently live in Australia, seeing anyone dressed like that makes me feel stifled because I’m sitting here getting 46 degree CELSIUS days sometimes. The look on her face annoys me, and I know the voice actor did a good job saying the lines in a language that wasn’t her first etc etc etc but I can’t stand her lame lines! Whenever she is selected as a character, my friend and I groan because that means we have to hear and see her for the next 20 mins.

I was going through a crappy time and my friend lives on the other side of the country in a different time zone (about 3 hours ahead at that stage.) He likes taking care of his garden and made me a present. It was taken at the end of 2019 and is still one of my favourites. 😀

Btw, if you don’t know what I’m talking about, this is Mei:

 

Feel free to show me your random 4 favourites!

 

 

 

 

TLDR:

*I showed 4 random pictures and gave the story behind them! You should do this too!

*Life is the special occasion and so are your random pictures 🙂

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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All content is no copyright infringement intended. All posts are opinion only and are subject to change due to experience, kicking ass and learning how to adult more effectively. If you don’t like it, don’t let the door hit ya where the good Lord split ya. Elements of original content may be reproduced with expressed permission from Ever Eden.