2002-12-13

I haven’t been able to write much this year, and frankly, I still don’t have the desire to write, but I can feel myself dying off. I think writing helps me. Writing it down makes it true and right and clear. Many years ago, I had to get me some therapy cuz I didn’t think I was speaking English anymore. Just now, I was standing at my front door, looking out and I felt that feeling again. Hardly anyone understands what I am saying, or what I mean. I think nice things, I like people and want to help them. I can’t understand why I am commonly considered a bitch. Why don’t people like me, basically? Its freaking me out, and I just cry about it all the time.

Love is throwing me away without giving me a fair chance. I never had a fucking chance from the start as it was all fake from the start. How can I be true to myself and love, when love isn’t giving me the whole picture? Or if someone keeps changing the picture every five fucking minutes.

I have so many issues at the moment, I really don’t know what to do. So I write it down, like this makes it true. For when I speak the words all wrong, I can point to this and grunt, cuz if I could speak properly I would.

I walk around saying under my breath “I am so fucked”, I am sure my neighbours all hate me, my love thinks I suck and I am increasingly having trouble keeping up with my job, through all the crying and anxiety and addiction. Today I can’t move properly cuz of my back, so I just took some pharmaceutical remedy (something I rarely do), which always make my head feel crap and now I am just crying more. I am so anxious about love.

I’m scared about everything, I don’t feel I can leave the house. And fuck it, I don’t want to.Writing this makes me exist and my thoughts don’t get misunderstood.

I’ll try and write something people might want to read, rather that using this as a tool to make me survive better…

Suppose I should update all on what has happened the last 7 months…or this is going to be a very thin volume of Laura Panic.

When the Young St house sold, it was pretty much downhill from there. I had lined up a house in the East End (beachville) but it fell through with only 2 days left on my lease. I had nowhere to live!! So I packed up the house and prepared to move all my things to Damian’s house, which was soon full of all my possessions. On the last day at Young St, the new owner repeatedly came over to ask what time I would be finished. Despite me giving them a time each visit they made, they decided to come 4 hours early. I was away doing a load of moving shit, but when I returned, the new owner and about 6 of her cronies were inside my house, where many of my things still were. And she was yelling AT ME!! Very stressful, being abused as you load the last of your things out of the house. She abused my boyfriend as well, I was crying and it was heinous. And I was homeless.

I went to stay at Simi and Jlo’s house for a week or so, as Simi was away so I could camp in her room. My cat was with my things at Dame’s house, I had to find somewhere to live and I was stressed out. Oh! And I was also organising a National festival. It all sucked, and by this time I was hating every day. Each day would just mean 14 hrs of work, no house to live in and just shit. I can’t go into it, but there was just shit.

I finally found another house, with a lovely flatmate, CC. Cheap, airy, clean and we were ready to set up a lady-house from hell. It was all going fine until they decided to put the house up for sale, 6 weeks after we moved in. This would be the third house in a row to be sold under me, and I found this news very stressful. I tried not to care, but my life has been in transit for two years now, and I’ve been dealing with all this SHIT that I can’t write about, which I find very frustrating. So I yet again found a house, and moved into it, this time alone. I figured I had worn out most of my favours in the last 12 motnhs. I have no favours left with anyone and I should really just stay in for ages and maybe folks will not be so sick of me.

I tried to move in very quietly, not hassling anyone, lay low, be the nice, quiet girl who just moved in. But no, that has not been possible. The first time one neighbour spoke to me, it was in yelling form, from behind her front door. She told me in no uncertain terms that my cat was not to be on her property and she didn’t care how I remedied the situation. So, now I am scared of the neighbours on one side, even though I have made reasonable effort to keep my cat in (shadecloth in the backyard is basically it). I have waved, said hi and smiled at the neighbours on the other side, but they aren’t so responsive. I imagine word has gotten round about me….

Anyhow, I should stop, I am a bit too fragile to write good stories that aren’t sad and fraught with fright.

I love you.