The strangest thing just happened... and I can't tell what's more distressing to me right now: the thing that's actually upsetting me or the fact that I don't have the type of friend I need when I need a friend to talk about the thing that's upsetting me.

Somebody asked me recently what my regrets were, and refused to accept that I didn’t have any.

When it comes to decision-making, and I make the ‘wrong’ decision, I find that things tend to either come back around to the decision I should have made and I’m presented with another opportunity to take that path, or I find it easy to accept the outcome of the decision even if I didn’t necessarily get what I wanted.

I find that I don’t seem to regret the outcomes of decisions when I am the only person affected. When I make decisions that negatively affect others, I tend to feel guilt, which breeds regret. I am a stubborn jerk but I am not too proud to apologise for my mistakes. I’m just grateful that I can recognise them quickly enough to still have time to make amends.

Also hey, I'm still here, a bit.

Also I’m probably just angry and internally taking it out on small and unsuspecting costumed children because I tried to reach out to someone for support, someone who’ve I’ve been supporting for nearly six months about something that I can barely take seriously anymore, and that person completely ignored what I’d said and began talking about themselves and their own problems and like okay cool no biggie I get it. Like please do not ask me how I am if you aren’t going to bother to acknowledge it, not even with a dismissive “oh that sucks” like cOOL.

Also I have too much work to do for uni to be spending time being fucking irritated.

Look, I probably don’t know anything because I’m not a parent nor carer of a child and so I don’t know the intricacies of trying to convince a child to do something that isn’t what they’ve already decided they want to do but for some reason my eye twitches so hard every time I see a friend’s kid via facebook post dressed up for Book Week as a character from a TV show/movie/something was not a book before it was on a screen. Like, the whole point of Book Week is to promote Australian children’s literature so your Ben10 costume is a bit... not any of those things. 

Sometimes it will be late at night and I will randomly think about how I'm probably never going to jump an apex again and then I push my face into my pillow really hard in the hopes that my bed will eventually give in and finally just swallow me once and for all.

I can feel myself teetering on the knife edge of relapsing or not relapsing and I don't have the time to deal with this.

"Okay I'm gonna go back to our room, I need the toilet." "You can shit here...?" "Yeah but I'd be shitting and leaving, that'd be rude." "I'd shit in your room."

So strange are the things that can trigger old grief. My family uses laughter and dark humour to combat the feeling of loss, but nothing really does prepare you for that rude awakening you receive when you think you are "over it". A photograph happens to cross your path of your brother at four years old, laughing and playing with someone who only ever gave truthful and unconditional love, for example. Only it's not a photo of the both of them: it's a photo of your brother and someone's hand. But you know it's not just someone's hand, you know that hand, you know that familiar shape and the strength that was never misused. You know that skin, the colour and the freckles, the scratches from the garden, and you can feel it on the tips of your fingers right now if you close your eyes. You can feel it graze your cheek with gentle affection. You breathe in that familiar smell of hand soap and black coffee, and then the timer on the oven goes off and you open your eyes and you're standing in your kitchen in your pyjamas by yourself, struggling not to cry and desperately resenting your dinner for snapping you back to reality. Strange, the things that can trigger old grief.

when you’re like: hell wanna know, hell don’t wanna know

“University hasn’t changed me,” she said, as she calmly added two separate works by her lowkey fave academic into her book depository cart.