When enemies are at your door I'll carry you away from war

Sometimes I lament the fact that I don't have a lot of friends. But then I realise that I have a few amazing friends, which make me so freaking lucky.

And they are friends that I believe are meant to be - they came about out of circumstances that weren't common or normal or usual for me.

First is EG. She and I met at my first time at University. We were in the same tutorial class for Psychology. As we were leaving class one day, we were at the same traffic lights waiting to cross the road. And I spoke to her. Something along the lines of "Hey I think we're in the same Psych class/tut". This is something I don't do. I am shy and terrified of new people. Especially my first time at Uni. I was shell shocked and so scared in this big new world. But something about her made me approach and establish a connection. And it has been one of the best connections ever. She has been with me through some of my very toughest times, such as losing Jeremy, and just general life crappiness, and knows me so much better than I know myself. I would do anything for her, and believe the vice versa is also true - which makes me thank my lucky stars on a very regular basis.

Second is HS. I met her cousin on a Foo Fighters noticeboard - we talked a lot about opening our own music store, which would also be a cafe and vet clinic? Somehow it was going to work. Through her I then met HS through online blogging and then we all met for a drink at a Wellington pub one day. Again, I don't like new people. And in fact, all three of us are quite similar like that, which I guess is how it worked. When I moved down to Wellington, and was stuck for a place to live, she offered me the spare room in her flat. And the rest is pretty much history. She is amazing and lovely and someone else I am very lucky to have in my life. She accepts me, and even loves me, with all my flaws and imperfections, and perhaps even because of some of them.

Last, in the timeline of meeting these lovely ladies, but definitely not least, is AB. She is my sister from another mister. I don't understand how I have not known her my whole life, but I can't imagine not having her in my life for a single minute. She moved into a flat that I was already living in. Have I mentioned yet that I am not good with new people and making the first move with people? Well maybe her second day in the flat, I got up and I don't remember which of us was in the lounge first - but I was tired, and she was hungover, and we managed to bond over the Home and Away omnibus. It was the start of something amazing. We are so similar, that it's actually surprising that we don't ever really fight. Somehow we complement each other beautifully and, without going all 'Jerry Maguire' on it, she completes me.

I sometimes think that if I won one of those competitions where you can have a private screening with 20 of your friends, that I would struggle to come up with 20. And life can get lonely once in a while. But I have a few very close friends, who are the very bestest ever, and I would not change that for all the friends in the world.

You drove me nearly out of my head while you never shed a tear

So today was my very very first time using a ride on lawnmower (other than a short tutorial in how to use it). And so you'd think I'd be forgiven for not being perfect at it first time out. Instead, I berate and belittle myself for not being amazing the first time out. Just little things like not being able to get the catcher to work properly (which I did manage to rectify), and the engine cutting out on the slightly too long grass in some areas, and then getting a flat tyre. So then I am convinced that I suck and am no good at anything.

Thanks mum.

I do recall my mum's favourite saying to me (or at least the one that stands out most) was that I was "useless as tits on a bull". Even if it was my first time doing something, if I wasn't great at it straight away, she would get frustrated and speak the above golden words. Which is why now, I hate trying new things, mostly because I'm worried that I won't be perfect at them. And nearly no one is perfect at anything the first time they try them out. But yet, I can't seem to give myself a break.

I do think about if it was someone else in the same shoes. I would tell them they are being silly for expecting to not make any mistakes the first time they do something. But we are our own worst critics, especially when you have been brought up with that same criticism by one of the people that is supposed to love and support you unconditionally.

I know that she had the shittiest upbringing with way worse parents that I have ever known, but that still doesn't make it okay. At some point, someone needs to break the cycle. I promise I will. First I just have to start with myself, and forgive myself if I make some mistakes along the way...

It'll leave you breathless or with a nasty scar

When I had a talk with Jo the other day, I realised that the thing I most want in this world - more than polar bears and travel and to work with big cats, is to have kids. I knew they were high on my list, but if I could only do one thing, it would be to be a mum. Crazy huh? Surprised me....

I have to stop thinking of wanting to lose weight as actually losing weight, or generalising getting healthier, or less specifics. At this point, even if I had a man, or a turkey baster, I don't think I could actually get pregnant. And even if I could, the extra weight could potentially kill me. And cause gestational diabetes. Etc etc.

It's not about getting fit and strong to make work easier, or to make travel more adventurous (although it will definitely help). It's so I can get pregnant, safely have a baby(ies), and be a good mum who can carry her kid(s) and run around with them and set a good example.

So maybe my vision board needs babies? Or at least motherly related things.

Currently watching One Tree Hill and the little kid on there is so cute it makes my ovaries hurt. Someone gets an ultrasound and hears their babies heart beat for the first time, and I dissolve into tears (and not for the first time). 

And here I was thinking I was content enough with fur babies.....

There is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin

I had this discussion with my "mum" a few years ago, about how could never commit suicide, because of the pain it would cause to those that I love, especially my Dad. After going through that with a wife, plus a parent should never have to bury a child. I saw a colleague go through that and I would never wish it on anyone.

But she did also tell me that even if I didn't blatantly commit suicide, I was still killing myself because of the fact that I do not take care of myself well - my obesity and that I do not much to combat that, at least not long term. I still eat badly, and I both punish and comfort myself with food. At the time, I got what she was saying, but I guess I didn't feel it.

At the end of 2014, I "got" it. I went to the doctors and for the first time in my life, despite years of being grossly overweight, I had high blood pressure. Admittedly it was a small cuff, so gave a higher reading than normal, but at the same time, I do not want to defend the fact that my arm is so fat that I need the bigger cuff.... I wasn't really shocked. And I didn't really care. And it was then that I realised that Jo was right - I really was slowly killing myself with food and self-neglect.

So we had another talk about it, and got to the nitty gritty. Turns out that all the stuff that I like least (or hate) about myself, are traits in myself that I associate with my mother. And not even traits that are apparently that major in me, but that I make bigger because of their association. So it turns out that, in a very simplified nutshell, I am killing myself (albeit, slowly) so that I do not turn into my mother, who also tried to kill herself (but in an abrupt hurtful instant manner, which is apparently worse). It's still a bit complicated in my tiny little head.

Ensue some tears and some light bulb moments that I am NOT my mother, and the things she said to me, that I still repeat to myself, are not actually true and I no longer have to believe them.

There are also issues with the fact that everyone has a primal need to be loved by their mother. And while my mother might very well love me in her own way, it's not really the way I need to be loved, which she is not capable of due to her own screwed up upbringing. On a conscious level, I really don't care. I have Jo and my Dad, and other people in my life to give me that love. On a subconscious level, apparently that is crap and not enough. Gah.

Anyway, over Christmas I got sad. Not only because I really do feel like the only alone person in the world - everyone is loved up and whatnot. And I only get to spend part of the day with Dad because he spends the other part with his new family... I digress. But also because it is the main time of the year when my desire for children really kicks in. I want to start fun traditions, and leave out food for Santa and his reindeer, and make Christmas fun again. So then I realised that if I do keep slowly killing myself, then I won't get that chance, and worse, that if I did, I would leave my kids motherless, or at the very least, screw them up just like I was, with harmful attitudes towards food and all that jazz.

It's all a bit confusing and hard, and frankly, it hurts my head. But I must make baby steps (excuse the pun). Small goals, slow sustainable progress.

Friends of mine are moving to Canada for six months, and I am supremely jealous. But also fortuitous as I am moving into their place for that time - to look after the house, the cats, and to live on my own but with considerably cheaper rent than usual. I am looking forward to having my own space, and my own proper kitchen so that I can take care of myself better. A 6 month project if you will. Ready, set, go. I must remember that the tortoise did beat the hare in the end.....

They are the hunters we are the foxes

Been a very exhausting couple of weeks, without much forward progress in anything other than being shattered and overworked.

I think I prefer working night shift to day shift in ICU at work - mostly because you only have a couple of you on and you can run things your way. During the day there is certainly too many chiefs, and with everyone wanting you to do everything at once, you feel like an Indian who is due to be scalped - and almost welcome it. The day nurses are almost like a mafia - they are all lovely on their own but intimidating as a group. It is going to take me a while to settle in and get used to it I think. One more week of day shifts and then back to nights so that will be nice.

Weeks start off with good eating and then that falls by the wayside as I get more and more tired. I don't have the energy to cook when I get home, which of course is a catch 22 because better quality food would make me feel better, but it just takes more effort.

I am still trying to decide on a gym to join. It seems almost impossible to find one with classes that work in with my work hours - which is a pain. But then our roster should change early next year and things might work out better. I just feel lazy and unproductive and want to make that different.

Any other 80s kids (or older adults) out there that ever experienced Rawleigh's Anti-Pain Oil? Dad and I were discussing this today. It was total false advertising. I think the stuff was about 98% alcohol and it induced the most pain ever. Whenever we had cuts, scrapes, scratches, bites, etc, out came the "anti-pain oil". It got to a point where if you hurt yourself you hid it as best you could to avoid the burning pain of this so-called remedy. It doesn't appear you can buy it in NZ anymore thank goodness. I wonder if there were child abuse claims brought around because of parents torturing them with this shit. It wouldn't surprise me at all....

Like a termite that's choking on the splinters

We have these two weight bags at home - one is just 5kgs and is easy to lift and do things with. The other is 25kgs and I struggle to pick it up at all, let alone hefting it around. But it occurs to me that I carry around two of these bags every day in the form of extra weight, and it is horrid to think of the amount of stress and damage my body is under just having to live with this constantly.

I really am tired of feeling like shit every day. I am sick of constantly knocking stuff over because I am wider/bigger than a lot of spaces allow for, or than I calculate for.

I know I go through this phase of being sick of it every few months, but I really am aware now of the damage I am doing to myself. My joints hurt, my digestive system sucks, I do not sleep well, I have bugger all energy, and the list goes on. It's not going to be fixed overnight, but I CAN do this. I just have to want it enough for myself.

There is the added bonus of having recently seen people that I don't see very often, so I want to do it to get a 'Wow' the next time I see them. I don't even care how narcissistic that may seem....

Small steps. I am on night shift for the next few nights which is not the ideal time for making changes, but I can at least make sure that I eat better than I did during my last night shifts, and make small improvements to better myself each day.

I will try to post regarding this more frequently, to keep myself accountable. Please feel free to kick my arse if I seem to be regressing or giving up.

I hope that heaven is your resting place

Today, I attended the funeral of my (second) mum's father, Jacko. He was such a kind and gentle soul, who had an amazing sense of humour, and plenty of time for anyone and everyone. He was 89, so he got to live a full and long life, but that does not make it any less sad when you lose someone you love. And Jo is a daddy's girl, much like I am, so I could only imagine the pain and loss she was feeling. She herself thought she was prepared for it, as he has been in a home for the last five years, and she believed she was somewhat at peace at the idea of losing him, but it hit her harder than she expected.

As I was driving down to Otaki, I passed the hill where Barry's (Jo's first husband) ashes are scattered. This brought on my first tears of the day - it doesn't seem fair that Jo's husband should be gone before her father, and while I cried I told Barry to make sure he is there waiting to greet Jacko along with Mamma, who passed away just two years ago.

What made it worse for me, was that Dad didn't make it today. Him and Jo have been friends forever - their families grew up together on the same street, he was best friends with Barry, and so much more history than I care to go into, or I would be typing all day. When I saw Dad yesterday he told me he couldn't take the day off, and might not make it. I then asked if he had rung Jo at all since Monday and he replied "No but I did text her". Cue a small amount of rage. When Jo's mum passed away, he did the same. I think his reasoning was that he didn't want to ring her and bother her when she was going through so much. If a loved one of mine dies, and my closest friends only text me, and not ring or show up on my doorstep, I will be greatly hurt (and likely later pissed off, but definitely upset). So that fact that this time he didn't ring, and also couldn't organise a couple of hours off from work to come to the funeral? So mad on Jo's behalf, and on mine since I then had to pass on his "apologies". I never want to cause a look on someones face again like the look on Jo's face when I told her that Dad wasn't coming today. It almost broke my heart.

However it was a lovely service. A couple of Jacko's great grandkids were present, and they were playing with toys and generally being cute during the funeral, which was just perfect, and exactly what he would've wanted. It was nice to see everyone too. It definitely reminds you to make the most of your time with your loved ones, since you never know when it might be too late. And to spend time with family at happier times, and not just catching up with everyone at such a sad occasion.