The past few months have been difficult, I feel that goes without saying. My goal to post one thing a month hasn't been fruitful as September, October and November have been incredibly difficult in places that didn't make me want to create anything. Not even something short and simple. September, the announcement that my first out of two appeals for my preclusion was simply not accepted made just getting by with Uni even more difficult. I felt like I had completely failed my family, who are still completely unaware of the preclusion this year. I broke down, even though continuing University wasn't something that I actually wanted to do this year. I wanted to simply quit after the complete and total mental strain that I had last year. It has rather been forced upon me, University, with little reward (apart from a small Garfield figure that my mother got after finishing her University degree that she is handing down to me).

October saw the announcement that my show of inspiration would be leaving Australian airwaves possibly for good to go join Disney in its parade of owned franchises (If they have creative control over it in any way, they practically own it at this stage). That had put me in a very sour and depressed mood for a long, long while, especially after an episode that epitomises why I love Doctor Who, and what about it made it special to me. To simply having it cut from TV screens and streaming, both of which were for free, only for it to be taken away onto a streaming service that has... really nothing that interests me on it (apart from Get Back), it's not a great business decision, because it affects people who don't have that capacity to get a Disney subscription that now won't be able to watch it. There are fans who can't afford any sort of subscription to anything, regardless of how little it costs for people.

But in November, during the day of the Blood Moon showing, the worst out of all of the problems happened.

My friend died.

It was sudden for me. Anaphylaxis. Most likely caused by an allergic reaction with food. I didn't realize how close she was to me when it happened. Death of someone you know always brings doubts to bubble and surface in your mind. You ask questions whether or not you really counted as her friend, whether or not you have the right to mourn over someone you know, but didn't know as well as these other people who kept in touch with her. Whether or not you would have made it to see her in the city before the moment happened. I knew her during theatre productions, both as a stagehand and actor, but mainly a stagehand. She was wonderful, youthful, despite all the issues she had with her health. Funny as anything, so quick with her wit like an archer with a bow and arrow. She didn't care if she had to be silly, she would do it on stage without a doubt. My brother worked for her during his job in the radio station and she was easily the kindest soul there, especially when things got tough for the whole family. I can try and regret all the opportunities I missed with her, every possible call or message I could have gave out, but why would I do that to myself? Why live with the regrets instead of the memories.

Her sudden departure made things weird within my mind, as I was recently off my medication after being on it after nearly two years, so it became difficult to think about simply anything, whether positive or not. I went to seek comfort, and tried my best to hide behind jokes and other such nonsense so that people couldn't see how I was feeling about life. It didn't work out, as tributes and such were still coming through from people who, like me, dearly missed her and, unlike me, knew her a lot more.

And yet, 3 in the morning, lack of sleep from both humidity, thunderstorms and bugs, I got on the computer, simply to watch something.

That something made me realize something.



I want to live.



Recently, I've been seeing a psychologist. Yes, I've managed to see one after months of waiting, and she's been really lovely. I've been off my medication, as I have mentioned, but there have been so many more improvements of me being off it than me being on it that I've wanted to simply not go back on them. And knowing that the alternative medication apparently increases the risk of suicide is definitely a helping factor of why I don't want to return to medication. So far, despite everything thrown towards me, my mental health has been better. My body looks better. My confidence is better. Things can still improve, of course, still got issues with my arm and shoulder, but it looks alright so far. But after the death of my friend, things were stuck in this puddle of confusion. This feeling of unassured white noise.

But then Bluey came along.

Bluey is this kids show that I've been watching after hearing so much about it from my friend, who is around my age as well, and from someone who I watch on YouTube who recommended it after saying that it "makes him want to be a better father". I already knew how good it was from the first episode I watched, but during these weeks where I don't have a psychologist visit, I've been watching more. They've made me laugh and made me teary-eyed regularly, but this one episode had made me feel like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. A weight that had been pulling me down since I was very, very young. All it shown was just Bluey and her sister, Bingo, play around with the boxes of flatpack furniture. And as it continued from them playing as fish, to frogs, to lizards, dinosaurs, birds, monkeys, cavemen, the parents of the characters watched, happy, realizing that they had made them. These incredibly creative, fun characters, they had created them. And they were proud. And as Bluey and Bingo continued to play, they reached a point where one was an old woman, proud of her pretend daughter, and watched her fly away. At the end, the flatpack furniture is finished, and they sit and watch the sunset, as they say "This is heaven".

And it hit me.

It broke me.

Into tears.

And smiling so much.

Because I realized what it meant, and similarly what that whole message meant to me. They were watching her from above, they kept playing and enjoying things, and watching their pretend daughter keep going. Because they are so proud.

And from there, that fear of death, the one that embarrassed me throughout my life, it let go. It left. And I was crying as years of fear turned to potential years of longing for old age. With a family to be proud of.

I found purpose. To keep going, to keep living life. And it is so basic of a purpose, and I found it in an odd way, but I'm so happy right now. I don't know if it's the pent of fear of death that has just been released from me realizing it, but that episode made me realize how much I am looking forward to old age. And I have never, ever felt that way about being older. I've always been afraid of it, but I'm now longing for the journey of life.

I ended up, crying tears of joy, smiling on every teardrop as I realized for the first time, a genuine feeling, that I wanted to keep going. That I wanted to live. That I wanted to have a family. Something that I was so, so fearful of, since it felt like just a reminder of death, and yet now, I wanted to give them the happiness that I was feeling so much. It was the happiest mental breakdown that I have ever had.

And all it took was a cartoon blue heeler.

I don't know if the fear will come back. Knowing my track record, it probably will.

But I wanted to document how despite everything, I want to live.