Saying goodbye.

"How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard."
~Annie

I leave for the UK in barely over a week. I will be gone for at least four months. So I have to say goodbye to a number of people. But goodbye seems so final, so inflexible. So one thing I make a point of when bidding farewell to people I know and love is to always say "see you later." If you know me in real life, it might be something you've noticed. And if you haven't, you probably will now.

I do this because I need that person to know I want to see them again. It is more a promise than anything else. Maybe a request or even a demand. And I do this fully expecting to actually see that person again.

I have said 'goodbye' twice, knowing full well it would be the last time I saw that person. They knew it too. One was my 80+ grandfather. The other was a two and a half day old baby. There was tears, heartache and a most surreal type of grief. It is something I wouldn't wish upon anyone, though I know it to be a stark reality of life.

But how do you word your goodbye when there is hope but you still know it may very well be the last time you ever see that person?

"Fare thee well! and if for ever,

Still for ever, fare thee well."
~Lord Byron

Tomorrow, I have to say goodbye to someone I know and have come to love and expect to be in my life. While I hope upon hope that it isn't the case, it is quite possible this person may pass away while I am overseas. I am devastated at the lack of support and hands on care I can offer. Together we fought this situation over the last year and we were told it was beat. And we rejoiced. But now, barely a week before I leave, we have been dealt the harshest of blows and the fight is back on. This time, with one less person to carry the burden.

A kind word and wishes for a speedy recovery mean a lot. Sitting by a hospital bed and being the smiling to face the greet the emergence from an anaesthesia means a lot more. I considered staying but it has been expressly forbade. Saying 'goodbye' is my only option.

But I've thought about it and I think the best thing I can do is to stay true to myself. Tomorrow I will say "see you later".

I request to see you later.

I demand to see you later.

I promise to see you later.

Miss SAMawdsley xx

Questions

• Have you ever had to say 'goodbye'?

If all else fails, read the instructions...

A Gummi Bear gave me some very good advice today.

Gather round and let me tell you a tale. Dad and I were reregistering my brother's car because I forgot to pay the rego. I'm clever like that. Dad was attaching the new number plates when I leaned in the car and realised it smelled damp. You know that wet dog smell? There was a Super Cheap right there so I decided to buy an air freshener in the hopes it would mask the wet dog smell. There happened to be one there called Cotton Candy and despite my car having having a completely neutral smell (except when 20 footballs are in the boot) I bought it for my car. I put one called Energy in my brother's car and Dad drove home. I put my cotton candy one in my car and drove to work.

To say my car smelled of cotton candy would be an understatement. The smell was overwhelming after one minute. I wound down the rear windows. I tried to focus on the rainbow road ahead of me and avoid the gumdrops cars. I was still in Candy Land when the Gummi Bear hitchiker I picked up back on Lollipop Lane asked if I was sure I had installed the air freshener right. I was offended. I may not have used air fresheners before but come on! How hard is it open a pack, take out the air freshener, hang it in your car and drive and enjoy the cotton candy aroma with your Gummi Bear hitchhiker passenger? (I believe he said his name was Cyril).

I humoured Cyril anyway, and looked at the directions. It turns out there are instructions for using an air freshener. You only take the air freshener out of the packet a tiny little bit more each week. This avoids potent hallucinations in which you're trapped in Katy Perry's California Gurls film clip.

This isn't the first time I've been caught out like this, either. Just this week I made my dad tomato soup (from a can, because Lord knows I am not a domestic goddess). At the shops, I bought him the single most expensive can I could find. After all, he was sick! I got it home and heated it up in a saucepan. So far, so good. When Dad began eating he said "Wow, this is really thick soup!" I proudly explained that I bought him the most expensive soup I could find! Nothing was too good for my sick father! He then asked me how much water I had to add to this brand of soup. ... ... ... err... none? Yeah, turns out soup is actually what is known as 'condensed'. This means "Just add water". One direction. It was right there on the can. "Empty can into saucepan. Fill can with water and add to saucepan. Heat." That was it, all I had to do. And I failed.

A few weeks before that I was at a party. A girl was drinking Ribena and adding tonic water to it. I asked her why she was doing that. She explained it was just like adding water but fizzier. I asked her why she would ever add water. She looked at me like I was idiot (fair call) and slowly explained "That's how you drink Ribena. It's like a cordial. You add water." Want to know why I stopped drinking Ribena? Because I thought it was so ridiculously overpriced when you only got two or three cups out of each bottle. I never actually read the instructions...

So my new motto! No matter how self-explanatory or obvious it may seem, I am going to start reading the instructions on absolutely everything!

Cyril the Gummi Bear agrees.

Miss SAMawdsley xx

Questions:

• Have you (or someone you know) ever ignored instructions?
• What are some stupid instructions you've seen?

"911, what's your emergency?"

Have you ever found yourself in an emergency situation? One that you can't handle yourself so you need to call the professionals - ambulance, police, fire brigade?

I have, but because I was alone with my older brother, he was the one to call the authorities. We were home alone and suddenly I looked up and saw a man covered in blood standing in my hallway. My brother had let him in because he had come to our kitchen window begging for help. The people trying to kill him were outside and started banging on our windows, screaming for us to let them in. Seamus called the police (although an ambulance arrived too) and instructed me to run around the house making sure every window was secured. I was terrified, naturally, but my brother was the one to deal with the emergency and I just followed his orders.

Tonight, I faced an emergency situation on my own. I went to get chicken nuggets for dinner - because I'm 8 years old - and on the way, saw what I thought was a fender bender at the roundabout ahead. I moved into the right hand lane to go around but the two cars in front of me didn't move. The drivers were watching the activity beside us.

Two guys were standing at the driver's door of a Commodore. I watched as the two guys sauntered back to their car when suddenly one guy bolted back to the Commodore and tried to open the door. The driver reefed it closed again but didn't get it locked in time and the young man leaned in and started bashing the driver. Immediately, my brain screamed at me to do something! I picked up my phone to call '000' (the national emergency number here in Australia. Suddenly, and I wish I was making this up, my brain frantically argued, 'no, no! Call 911!! This is a real emergency!' Well done, Hollywood. Well done.

Thankfully, common sense prevailed and I called '000'.

As the phone was ringing, I got out of my car to go intervene. I don't know what I intended to do. I'm 5'6" and around 60kg but I couldn't do nothing! All of a sudden I noticed that the ringing phone was getting quieter. My fancy car's bluetooth phone system had my call and if I left the side of my car, I would not be able to summon help. So I began screaming: "Stop! Stop hitting him! Leave him alone! Just stop!!"

Finally a calm voice on the other end asked, 'Police, fire or ambulance?' I forgot they would do that. I thought the person answering would be immediately able to help. In a panicked voice I hope to never hear again, I pleaded for the police and gave her the suburb and state I was in. She put me through. By this stage, the man from the Commodore had half been dragged, half got out to defend himself.

The phone rang. The operator said she'd try another number. The phone rang again. The operator tried another number.

I watched helplessly as the attacker started sparring towards the Commodore driver. He raised his hands to defend himself. Then the attack got more vicious and he lunged towards the driver, punching wildly. The driver, panicked and trying to back away, tripped, landing on his back beside his rear tyre. The phone continued ringing. I continued screaming at him to stop! But he didn't. He leaned over the driver and began punching him repeatedly. The phone continued ringing. I tried again to make my way towards the incident, thinking I could run back to my car or scream my location to the police officer when they finally answered.

Finally a man from one of the cars that had obviously began to build up behind us came to the rescue. I couldn't hear him but I continued screaming, urging him to stop. I realised I needed details so I took this opportunity to take down the number plates of both cars using my phone. The attacker eventually let up and sauntered back to his car. Then seriously, both cars drove away. I know, right? Madness.

I considered telling the operator I didn't need the police anymore but I decided I should at least report what I had seen. And I was connected. The police officer I spoke to said I did the right thing. She insisted it was better that I wasn't able to leave the side of my car to intervene as much as I wanted to. Despite her assurances, I feel like I was useless. I know it could have been very dangerous and I could have been hurt but I really wish I was able to have done more. The officer was also impressed that I had taken the details of both cars. Unfortunately, due to the dark and the positioning of the cars, I wasn't able to identify the make or model of the second car. It was just a black 4WD that I didn't immediately recognise like I could with the Commodore.

So all things considered, did I do the right thing? I know what I did was right, per se. Sitting back and doing nothing would be wrong. But how did I really handle the emergency?

Firstly, I momentarily went to call '911'. That shows a clarity of thinking and presence of mind, right? Can you say 'panic'?

Secondly, I couldn't make my brain work enough to turn my car's bluetooth system off to enable me to make the phone call while simultaneously breaking up the fight. Between three huge men. But still! It's the course of action I wanted to take.

Thirdly, was that desire to intervene a mistake? If I was able to run over like my instinct demanded what would have happened to me? The likelihood is nothing other than some choice insults but the possibility ranges from damage to my property to serious injury to my person.

Fourthly, I thought about gathering evidence. I had my iPhone - as does much of the population - and what tools did I choose to use? The notepad. Seriously. I typed the number plates of both cars as a note.  When I got home, after I finished crying and blubbering about how much I hate the world, shaking and trying to ease my headache, Dad asked me if I'd taken any photos. Err... no. Why not? I clearly remember thinking 'Take note of what these people look like. Remember the scene. Focus on as much detail as possible." Or... I could have taken a photo. Why didn't I think of that?

Just take a second to consider how you should react in an emergency.

Remember to stay calm, make keeping yourself safe your main priority, focus on getting help and concentrate on obtaining and/or remembering as much as you can for future reference.

Miss SAMawdsley xx

Questions:

• Have you ever had to use your national emergency number?
• How do you think you have previously coped with an emergency?
• If you've never been faced with an emergency situation, do you think you would be ok?

#WBFM Are dogs really man's best friend?

Do you remember in high school when you got an assignment and you would scan the task sheet for the essay topic? If it was hard you would feel yourself drown in a pit of despair. If it was easy, you would casually drop it in the bottom of your school bag to be completely ignored until the night before the due date. Come to think of it, that's what I did even if it was hard. Maybe that's just me. But this little task comes courtesy of one of the sweetest benefactors of my campaign, MK13.

Well this topic for my #WBFM campaign (which you can still donate towards) isn't either of the those things. It's a little bit painful for me actually. My family has always had two pet dogs (with occasional weeks of having one dog). In fact, this is the first time in my life we haven't had any dogs. Dogs are awesome. Our main reason for owning dogs was the security. Not that any of the dogs we've owned have been terrific guard dogs. The best one we had was Sasha, a poodle x cattle dog who would bark incessantly at any stranger but would do so while backing up and remaining a few metres away. For that purpose, we could have got an alarm system. Or a 6' razor wire fence. The dogs were of course wonderful company who we loved dearly but as far as best friends go? No. No, not really.

Well in 2006, for the first time ever, I got my own dog. I wanted my very own pure bread tri colour beagle. I had saved up a lot of money to buy a Mini and I had a little bit left over. I decided I wanted a little boy puppy and found a breeder. My best friend and I drove out on Valentine's Day and I had my pick of the litter. But instead of the little boy puppy I had wanted, I fell in love with a gorgeous little girl. She rode home on Jess' lap and on the drive home, I decided to name her Luna.

Luna and I were inseparable. I took her everywhere I could. She would sit on the passenger seat of my Mini and we would listen to Michael Buble on the old school tape deck. I would sit on my back step and she would come bolting towards me and just leap, with absolute faith that I would catch her so she could settle into my lap (see photo). I bought her everything she needed in red - collar, leash, bowl, toys. She had a little bunny that she absolutely loved. I would even take her with me to Hervey Bay - a five hour trip one way in my Mini and she would sit patiently, even as a little puppy and watch the world go by. I would talk to her or I'd sing and sometimes, when we got settled on the highway, she would crawl over on to my lap.

I may make this sound like a long time but it really was only the space of twelve weeks. Because one day, she slipped out of the fence and was hit by a car. She didn't survive. I was at work. When I got home, I walked into the garage where Dad was and asked him where Luna was. The look on his face. I couldn't describe it but I know he spent the whole day dreading me coming home. I collapsed. I literally collapsed. I screamed. I howled. I became so hysterical that I became allergic to my own tears and my whole face swelled up. The only other time this happened was when my uncle died. I don't remember a lot of the time after this. I have a vague memory of sobbing in my work lunch room. I thought things I'm not proud of and showed weaknesses I wish I didn't have.

She was everything to me and I had so carefully thought about what my life would be like with Luna. I would have her when I got married. My children would have her as their first pet. She would grow up with them. I would always need to live where I had a yard for her. I made those decisions and was prepared for them. But it never happened. She would have been six now. And while I have a best friend, a best friend #2 and a best friend #3, Luna would still be a special kind of best friend. She would always be there for me and I would always be there for her. It's a different kind of reciprocal friendship to my human friends but I can't deny, Luna was one of the best friends I have ever had. When I get back from England, I plan to try again and find myself a new furry best friend, but there will never be another Luna.

Miss SAMawdsley xx


Questions

• Do you think dogs can be man's best friend?
• What was the best dog you ever had?
• Do you prefer cats or dogs?

Honestly, I just have thanatophobia & OCD

I am an honest person by nature. I mean that in the sense that I am not deceitful or deceptive. But I also mean I am forthcoming and open.

Sometimes I worry that I am judged negatively for my honesty and that, in the eyes of an extremely negative or jaded person, I could be viewed as attention seeking. I like attention, yes. I am human. But that is not my motivation behind my honesty - especially in regards to my mental health.

People view the mentally ill in a negative fashion. They just do. They're seen as a little bit scary, unstable and weak. Depending on the type of mental illness, this attitude can vary but it's never exactly positive, is it? I don't want to have people feel that way about me. I don't want them to be on eggshells, wondering what is happening inside my head. And aside from that, I don't want to hide. I am not ashamed of my mental illnesses. I didn't choose them and I refuse to be ashamed of something that is outside of my control.

There is another reason for my honesty too. I want to help people. When I told my psychologist about my attitude towards my mental illnesses and that I refused to be ashamed or hide them, he told me he wished he could bottle my attitude and give it to his other patients. I want people to see that it's OK to be honest. It's not OK to be mentally ill in that you don't need to seek treatment or try to get better, but it is OK in that you shouldn't need to hide or pretend. I think this helps with recovery. I know it helps me with mine!

I also know that my thanatophobia is rare. And if it is not rare, it is rarely spoken of. And one is as bad as the other for a sufferer. So I talk. I share my experiences and my thoughts. I tell my story in real time. And I am honest.

And sometimes, something happens that makes me realise I am doing the right thing. Don't get me wrong, I have detractors. I've heard myself referred to as a narcissist, an attention-seeker, a liar and just a good ol' fashioned nut job. Everyone is entitled to an opinion. I am very slowly developing the thick skin needed to carve myself out a corner of the internet for projecting my voice from. And I don't feed the trolls.

Yesterday, an article was written about me in the Sunday Mail. I was interviewed about my job running the 100+ Club and the book that I have written (which you can purchase here) when the conversation turned to my thanatophobia. I believe the journalist had checked out my social media presence. Anyway, she was so fascinated by our brief conversation that the next day she asked if she could do a whole story just on me and my mental health. This would never have happened without my trademark honesty.

Well a flurry of people sought my Facebook page and in turn, joined my little support group, The Safe Space. They told me they thought they were alone - the only sufferer in the world - crazy. But reading my story helped them. Some, profoundly. And none of this, none, would have happened without my honesty! And my favourite comment is this one, from a lady named Narelle: "I was in tears when I was reading the write up in the Sunday paper this morning. When I started to read other people's messages and their own experience I couldn't believe there were other people going through the exact same fears as myself. It was almost a relief knowing I wasn't alone in this."

So judge away, world. Whisper behind my back, call me crazy and call me a narcissist. But I am making a difference in this world. I am helping people and I am damn proud of who I am and what I am achieving. Honestly.

Miss SAMawdsley xx

Questions

• Do you ever hide who you are?
• Under what circumstances should someone hide their true self?

Happy birthday, BFF

This is a love story. Plain, simple, pure. A story of the person in my life who out of pure choice, I love more than any other.

Her name is Jessica. I know that now but when I first met her, I kept forgetting her name. My forgetfulness was so persistent that Jess wore a black jumper with her name written in glitter puff paint and fireworks. I still remember that. But there's a lot I don't remember. You see, we were very young when we first met. In fact, I was five and she was four. It was early 1991.

Both our dads played football and were on the same team. At the first game of the season, Jess' dad said to her "why don't you go play with that little girl in the park?" So she did. And other than the fact it took me a while to learn her name, we soon became inseparable. Our families became friends and we soon spent all the time we could together. I wish I could remember what we talked about. We went to different schools but I came to learn all about her life outside of the time spent with me. I knew all her school friends' names. She would talk about Jason and I would talk about Thomas - our "boyfriends".

For a while, every year we would go to the Lord Mayor's Christmas Carols. I would bring my school best friend and she would bring hers. The four of us would dress up like idiots and sing all the carols. We made up "Daddy-Daughter Ekka Day". That's how we pitched it to our dads and they totally fell for it - taking us to the Ekka, handing over money and rolling their eyes as together we yelled "Thanks, Dad!" and took off, leaving our fathers to wander the Ekka together. In 2001 we made going to Leyburn an annual tradition! We actually spent a lot of time at motoring events with my dad.

We made up our own secret language. We wore matching clothes - but with Jess in purple and me in blue (Glitter fairies?). We learned how to put on make up together. When Dad taught me to drive, I taught Jess to drive.

"Sam, you're going to hit that tree."
"No, I'm not."
*hits the tree*
"I told you so."
"Uh oh..."

We started a band called M & M (we can't explain it to this day, but it was before Eminem) and wrote our own song...

"I work on a milk run for $12.10It don't but much but it pays the rent.I work all day and I work all night.Trying to make a living, it's an endless fight. 

It's liiiiiiiiiiife! It's liiiiiiiiiiiife! It's liiiiiiiiiiiiiiife. It's life! 

I work as a babysitter, minding someone's kidby the end of the night, I've flipped my lid.I work all day and I work all night.Trying to make a living, it's an endless fight. 

It's liiiiiiiiiiife! It's liiiiiiiiiiiife! It's liiiiiiiiiiiiiiife. It's life!"

Lyrical genius, right? Yeah, we were like 12. We knew nothing about life.

In 2001 Jess' family decided they were moving to Townsville. To say I was devastated was an understatement. I cried. I told Dad I was moving to Townsville with them. Jess cried. She told her family she was staying in Brisbane and living with me. Neither plan eventuated and they moved anyway. She came down to visit me in the school holidays - her flight was booked with Ansett (remember them? But they collapsed just before she left!) Then we caught the Sunlander to Townsville. It ended up being over 24 hours on a train. Super fun! But for us, it really was. We rocked Townsville.

Her family moved back to Brisbane before school went back in 2002 and her family said she could go to any school she wanted. She chose mine! I could not have been more excited but Jess is almost a year younger than me so while I was in grade 12, she was in grade 11. Naturally we sat together at lunch time and my friends all became her friends. Sadly, that meant the grade 11s assumed she was snobby and did what bitchy teenagers do.

We'd always planned to live together in an awesome unit in the city and have awesome city jobs. That... never quite happened... But we worked together at two jobs. Jess got me a job as a waitress at 'The Tavern'. I got her a job as a waitress at 'The Hotel'. 

In the ultimate demonstration of our love for each other, we got matching tattoos. We have four leaf clovers. Jess has it on her left hip (as she is left handed) and I have the mirror image on my right hip (as I am right handed). How do I know Jess is my BFF? She volunteered to go first. a) She was 100% on board with the idea and b) she trusted that I would do it after her.

We've been on holidays together. She came to stay with me in Bundaberg when I moved there for uni while she finished grade 12. We've shared almost every birthday with each other. I threw her a surprise sweet 16 birthday party. We've even spent Christmas day together.

Today is Jess' 26th birthday - the 21st birthday I have shared with her. I have a million stories I could share - the time we went to Rainbow Beach and watched the sunset from the dunes. And the dolphin jumped over the sun. Oh, wait. That was a dream - the time I had a grooming and deportment photo shoot at school and I convinced the teacher to let Jess come even though she went to a different school - the time we went to a movie marathon to watch three movies we had no interest in just to watch the fourth movie, Harry Potter, because we got into Harry Potter just after the first movie finished screening - "Hey there good looking!" "What?!" "...Want some chicken?" - the time we nearly lost my puppy down a storm drain and Jess, quick as a flash and with no regard her her own life (and the fact it was a gross storm drain) leapt in after him and saved Cujo - the time we were part of an actual world record breaking game of 'cram people into a mini' - the time we went to Goomburra for two nights and got completely lost and then when we finally found it we had no food and the lady who ran the place had to give us her own frozen steak and the next day we stole a sunflower to thank her and then proceeded to melt her tupperware while trying to cook microwave popcorn - but instead, on this auspicious occasion, I'll tell you about the time we went to Toowoomba.

I was meant to be on the absolutely compulsory senior camp. So naturally I didn't go. Instead, Jess' parents let her have the week off school too and we went to stay with my mum in Warwick. Mum had an appointment in Toowoomba so she dropped us off at the local shopping centre. We watched Dracula 2000 and wandered around the shops. When we finally got bored, we decided to explore Toowoomba - a pretty small little town. We ended up at a school.

Now remember, we were meant to be at school so students were there and we were dressed for shopping. At 15, 'dressing for shopping' meant tight jeans and tiny, sparkly tops. So there we were ambling around this school when we saw what looked like the office so we brazenly decided to go in. With much flourish, we pushed open the double doors and took a step in. Only it wasn't the office. It was a classroom. Full of students. Many startled, staring students.

We hightailed it out of there. We were giggling and breathless when we saw a very determined and official looking person. And he was clearly looking for us. We decided to face him. I mean, we weren't students, what could he do? We hurriedly chose our cover story.

"Can I help you girls?"

"Yeah, hi! Um, we're new to the town and Mum told us to go have a look at schools we like the look of. So maybe we would like to enrol here?"

The man, who we figure was the principal, looked us up and down.

"Well this is a grammar school. And it is an all boys school. I suggest you leave and enrol elsewhere."

I've known you for 21 years and you have been there through
absolutely everything. When I say you're my best friend,
I'm not just stating a fact, I'm not just shamelessly bragging, I'm
making sure everybody knows that they better not encroach on
my territory - that you are my best friend and I am so proud
and so thankful that I can say that.
Happy birthday, Jess! Love always & forever, Samantha xx

Miss SAMawdsley xx

Questions

• Do you have a best friend?
• How did you meet and how long have you known each other?
• What is your favourite story you've shared with your best friend?

<3 Happy birthday, my Adam. Eight years old. Gone but never forgotten. <3

Relapse.

It's back. With a vengeance.

I haven't blogged about my thanatophobia for a while because it has been at a manageable level. For me, that means only occasionally being unable to sleep, slight yet persistent anxiety and sometimes waking up screaming.

But a lot is going on in my life right now. My childhood home has sold and we are looking for a new place to buy. Dad and I have to be out of this house by September 1. I leave for England on September 2. So no pressure but it's kind of all happening at once. On top of that, I am terrified of flying. Absolutely terrified. There is a story there. There are other things. You know, those little things that add up to huge things?

Well lately I have been absolutely exhausted. Sleep is becoming more and more difficult. When I do finally sleep, it is fractured. I am waking up screaming. It is less intense, but it is more frequent. I am finding myself on the verge of a panic attack more frequently and while sitting in a well lit room. Normally this only happens when I am in the dark (such as in a cinema) or when I am trying to sleep.

It happened again tonight. There was an identifiable trigger. I was talking about Halley's Comet. I thought it came around once every 34 years, so I googled it to fact check. I was way wrong and it's actually every 74 - 75 years. It was last here in 1986 when I was not yet one. I will see it once in my lifetime - in 2061. I will be 76. If I am alive. If I am still alive, I will not be far from death. If I am not, then I will be dead. Just typing this out is making me physically ill.

My mouth feels like cotton wool and I can't swallow.

My breathing is laboured and my chest tight.

My extremities have a numb, tingly sensation.

There is a very low ringing in my ears as if I am about to faint.

My Halley's Coment episode happened in the lounge room. Dad was there too. But I didn't say anything. I stopped talking. I focused intently on my breathing and I tweeted about it. But I didn't say anything to Dad. Why not? Because I've had thanatophobia since I was 11. Dad has been listening to me scream, cry, question, lament and rant for 15 years. I have nothing new to add. I know he doesn't mind listening to me but I feel exhausted. I have sobbed until my eyes burn and my chest is heaving in great, racking sobs. I have screamed until I can't talk for four days. I have talked until the sun comes up and left Dad shattered.

I promised to blog honestly so here is some honesty. From when I was 11 until I was 15 I slept on a mattress on the floor beside Dad. Every.Single.Night I ran into Dad's room, hysterical, terrified and shaking. It would take hours, many hours, to calm me enough so that I could return to my own room. Eventually, this complete lack of sleep began to affect both Dad and me. So I just dragged my mattress into his room. I would try desperately to fall asleep before he went to bed, so I could look at the crack of light from the lounge room under the bedroom door. Like I said, I lived like this until I was about 15. That's grade 10. Nobody at school ever knew.

So I am returning to that level of anxiety. I still sleep in my own room, and I am proud of myself that I am still sleeping with the light off. That's a huge deal to me and something my friend Chris helped me start doing in 2010. He did this from Sydney with lots of talking, messages, cajoling and by establishing my own personal radio station so I never felt alone in my bedroom.

But a consequence of my heightened thanatophobia is I am also tweeting about it more. My friends insist they don't mind and think it's healthy for me to vent my feelings and not bottle them. But I don't know what to say. Like the conversations I've had with Dad a million times, I don't know what to say anymore. I've said it all before. And really, there's nothing they can say to help. They care, I know they do, but there are no words to help me. Dad, friends, therapists, psychologists and a psychiatrist have all tried. I haven't killed myself (yes, it's a very real risk, even with thanatophobia and I will have to blog about it soon) but I don't feel any better. And while I do feel the release of verbalising my thoughts or feelings, I am so conscious of emotionally exhausting my friends. I know I did it to someone I valued as a friend and now they no longer care for me. I guess I just sucked every last bit of sympathy out. I am so scared of repeating this.

(This is where I have trouble verbalising everything I am thinking. This is my blog and this is my safe space. But I am still scared of judgement. I am not saying this for attention, it is just a fact of my thoughts. I also hate that I feel I have to reinforce this disclaimer.) This careful consideration of other people's attitude towards me is a double edged sword though. Because if I don't feel I can express my terror and my pain, the suicidal feelings start to creep up. I don't want to hurt the ones I love and I don't want to lose them in any capacity so my logical mind rationalises that it is easier for me to just die. I feel alone. This terror consumes me. Why would I live with this constant dread only to one-by-one go through the emotional torture of losing my loved ones until eventually it is my turn to die? I am so exhausted. Why wouldn't I just kill myself now?

No, seriously. Why wouldn't I?

Miss SAMawdsley xx

I don't have any questions. I think I just need to sleep. I didn't mean for this blog post to turn out like this. I just verbalised. I am sorry if I have upset anybody.