When A Born Communicator Has Gone Quiet

After being the Director, Editor, Executive Producer and Starring Role in my own painfully public nervous breakdown (and the sequel Dee’s Behemoth Breakdown V.2.0), I decided to (or was forced to) take a colossal amount of quiet time.  

Nearly two years into meticulously observed and strictly imposed safety and warmth of the chrysalis that has been created for me to heal in, I have hit a wall. Upon reflection, on balance it has been, brilliant…


And doesn’t there always seem to be “however”.  Many, perhaps most of life’s learnings seem to be wrapped in ribbons of “however” and the simplest and clearest accounts and content are actually sometimes the background and “however” is the subject.

So, life’s been safe and serene and simple for quite some time.  Allowing assholes, agendas and vampires to steer my boat has all but ended.  Assuaging guilt and shame by embracing some ridiculous messiah complex has taken a back seat to self-care and reflection.  Busy has been bounced from the venue of my life and rather than a booze fueled rave or being securely strapped tight to a roller coaster I never really understood or felt in control of, I am recently feeling sorta stranded.  It feels lately like an incredibly boring health and wellness retreat.  Or a waiting room.  With calming guided meditations and Enya music playing in the background.

I mean, booze fueled ranting and raving and manic screaming into the abyss while on some terrifying rollercoaster doesn’t interest me in the slightest… It didn’t even while that was the scene I manufactured. To be fair, I am plagued by the fallout from being on that wild ride for so long, but somehow I feel out of sorts and adrift.

There was a genuine comfort in being an oversharing hot mess.  I felt comfortable in the role.  Like I was meant to be the warning to others so they could watch from the safety of their vantage points and shake their heads think “whoa, at least I’m not quite as fucking out there as that Dee…” and save themselves some level of self-loathing as I’d busy myself rolling down the cliff of self-destruction.  I felt seen.  Terrified, vulnerable and lonely but also… helpful?  Authentic?  Sincere?  Noticed.

After landing with a mighty thud (twice) at the bottom of that cliff and being safe in a proverbial padded suite in some metaphorical five star resort where my absolute cunt of a mother can’t derail me and people who have not proved their salt as steadfast and supportive friends aren’t even allowed access to the lobby has been pretty fucking sweet actually.

So why am I so angry?  Why am I so sad?  Not depressed… not stressed.  Just… pissed off.

Here’s what I reckon triggered this.

  • Seemingly inconsequential teenage tantrum as I asked for a coffee (it wasn’t the coffee, it was grace I was pleading for)
  • Sharing a very sweet and uplifting memory from 9 years ago on a page I admin for that got virtually no traction, while the whole admin team has to manage trolls and flame wars on that same page daily… I mean honestly, WTF!
  • Limbo (waiting for things to be finalized and the future to start unfolding)
  • Hope being tested. The world is again (still) in a terrifying state of being simultaneously on fire and under water. Climate change deniers, anti-vaxers and lockdown protestors have taken to the streets
  • White privilege guilt. It’s heavy and while mostly I choose to manage it by trying to be a decent and active advocate for justice and change… a couple of spoiled middle-aged billionaires burned up countless tons of kerosine to jack themselves off racing into space…

Holy shit. There’s heaps there. And my heart is heavy with so much more. I’ll spare you and move this blog closer to its wrap though.

But I feel better.  Just writing it down.  Writing it down and thinking maybe someone somewhere is going to read it and glean some comfort or wisdom that’s only made possible by me being the hot mess that I have been subverting for some time.  I feel better thinking someone might be pissed off or triggered by my rage and maybe think about who they are and what they can and should be doing to make the world better not worse.

I am in a safe, Loving, healthy and communicative relationship with both my former and future husbands. I make (mostly) good decisions and am the kick ass consistent and impressive kind of parent I was too strangled, neglected, and gaslighted to be with my asshole mother telling me I was crazy and useless and sabotaging every imaginable aspect of my life she could get her fat lazy fingers on. I am healthy. I am safe. I am brave. I am surrounded by Love and support in a way my traumatized inner child could never possibly have imagined.

However… I have been keeping it all to myself.  

My fiancé and b’ness partner for the next chapter in my narrative is a distinctly private, aloof and stoic creature. He equal parts struggles and admires my desire to shout and share and connect with people and situations. He rarely makes rash decisions and almost never looks the fool. His ability to be bubbling over internally and appear to be the king of calm to the untrained eye is staggering and I respect and admire it. I’ve learned a shitload about making decisions in a state of calm and acknowledging when the ego takes over. He’s caught the brunt of my wrath and juggled full time work, sorting our lives and future, keeping my divorce and our farm on track and every day… I MEAN EVERY fucking day… he holds my face in his hands and tells me I am beautiful and he Loves and appreciates me. Often through tear filled crystal blue eyes shining from his ridiculously handsome face.

Seriously.  Who wouldn’t be pissed-off am-I-right!  

Clearly I jest.  He saved my fucking life.  He gets along with my ex, the kids adore him, and he champions every part of my chaotic being.  All this as he balances his own deep-seated desire for anonymity with my almost manic desire to share, feel, hear, be, say and do things loudly and with reckless abandon.

He followed my journey for years from a distance, and cringed and cried along with everyone else at my frequent blogs and my journey into madness.  He was only romantically interested in me some time after his relationship dissolved, it was a picture of me in a cosplay corset that tipped him into romantic curiosity.  Now he’s poised on the precipice of our nuptials and for the most part he’s pleasantly surprised that my chaos and crazy is actually quite manageable as I’m self-aware and only a fraction as fucked up as I may have portrayed myself.


(Here comes the denouement)

However.  I need to reach out and I need to write.  I need to be seen.  I’ve been protecting myself and everyone else for fear of offending or opening up old wounds.

But I have so missed it.

I think you’ll be hearing from me more often.