All that I am, all that I ever was…

I am more than my mental health. I am more than my homelessness. I am more than any one aspect of me. I am Addy. And this is…


25 Songs, 25 Days: Into My Arms

Day 18: A song that you love but rarely listen to

Into My Arms | Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds


Before I met Louise, the only music I really listened to was film soundtracks, Bryan Adams and Meatloaf. Music was something that hadn’t really entered my life, not in the way that film had. Years into our relationship Louise surmised that film was to me, what music was to other people. When I felt depressed, down, sad, stressed, upset, rather than slip on a CD to ease the pain, I would slide in a DVD. Film was something that offered solace, comfort and happiness in times of great, overwhelming sadness. Film had, after all, seen me through my depression filled teenage years – something music had not.

But after meeting Louise, after learning of the extent music played in her life, I began broadening my musical horizon. Where once I would walk into a shop and buy a movie, I would now walk into a shop and buy a CD. Runrig, Ani DiFranco, Martyn Bennett, The Walkabouts, Jeff Buckley; music was now beginning to play a major role in my life.

Of all that artists Louise introduced me to during the early months of our relationship, one stood out; Nick Cave. I fell in love with not only the man’s music, but the man himself. I loved his wit, his intelligent lyrics and soulful, haunting voice. I loved his compositions, his melodies and overall demeanor. From album to album I fell more in love with the man until, sometime in mid 2003, I pronounced him one of my favourite musicians.

Of all his songs there is one that stands out to me. Not only because it is one of his best tracks, but because it was Louise’s favourite. Like Hallelujah, this piece of music defines my relationship with Louise, which is why I rarely listen to it. I love the song. I love everything about it. But it’s too triggering, too close to my heart for it to be any comfort. It reminds me of Louse and everything we had together.

But every now and then, when I feel strong enough to deal, I play it.

And fall in love with Nick Cave – and Louise – all over again.


25 Songs, 25 Days: A jaunt into three parallel worlds…

Day 14: A song that reminds you of your boyfriend/girlfriend

Wow. Today’s prompt is single-friendly, isn’t it?

What if you don’t have a boyfriend/girlfriend? What are you to do then?

*puts thinking cap on*

*assumes thinking pose with hand on chin*

*spends several minutes pondering this complicated dilemma*

Ok. As I am not fortunate enough to have a boyfriend/girlfriend, as I am destined to spend my life alone, with only my voices for company, I’ve decided to share three songs; one for each of my parallel world girlfriends. For as long as I can remember I’ve believed in parallel worlds. Worlds that are created out of our decisions, out of our choices. For every decision we make a world is created for each of the possible outcomes.


Parallel Worlds Theory

So, for example, if you choose to ask someone out on a date there are three possible outcomes: (1) They will say yes (2) They will say no (3) They will knee you in the groin for being a moronic fool. At that split second you make your choice to ask the question, three worlds are created, one in which you end up on a lovely, adventurous date, one in which you spend the night alone, mourning your loss and one in which you end up in hospital for a displaced testicle. Understand parallel world theory? Good, we shall continue.


Champagne Supernova | Oasis

My first parallel world girlfriend is Natalie Skippington, a girl I had an immense crush on in high school. At the time, in my reality, I was too nervous, too shy and too anxious to ask her out on a date. But parallel world Addy was able to ask her out on a date and they have been together ever since. And in that parallel world relationship, one song reminds them of their youth, of the heady days of their teenage lust.


Little Plastic Castle | Ani DiFranco

My second parallel world girlfriend is Annie Johansson, a woman I  met whilst backpacking across Canada. We met in a backpacker hostel and bonded over fire-toasted marshmallows and a shared love of adventure. For seven long days we laughed, sung and bathed our way through the wilderness of the Rocky Mountains. Then it came time to say goodbye. But our friendship burned bright, and it wasn’t long until we were reunited in Vancouver for another week of mayhem, fun and frivolity. Unfortunately I was too anxious to share how I really felt, so our relationship was never anything more than friendship. But in a parallel world I told her. And we’ve been together ever since.

Obviously ‘our song’  is one that reminds us of our initial time in Jasper; and Ani DiFranco sung it.


Many of Horror | Biffy Clyro

My third parallel world girlfriend is Samantha Campbell. When I met Samantha I was still heavily traumatized by my abusive relationship. I didn’t trust anyone, so was unable to make the moves required to transform our relationship from platonic to sexual. But, in a parallel world, I was able to make the transformation; and our relationship has flourished ever since.

Our song, that one tune that defines our relationship, is by Scottish rockers Biffy Clyro; Samantha’s favourite band.

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25 Songs, 25 Days: White Noise

Day 02: A song that reminds you of your most recent ex-boyfriend/girlfriend

White Noise | The Living End


The first woman who took my fancy in Alice Springs was Rochelle;
a French backpacker whom I pashed in an alley (she was tasty!)

The second woman who took my fancy in Alice Springs was Sophie;
an Australian firecracker whom I spanked in my office (she was naughty!)

The third woman who took my fancy in Alice Springs was Kellie;
a shy Brit whom I got to second base with (she was perky!)

The fourth woman who took my fancy in Alice Springs was Diane;
an Australian Goddess who stole my heart (she was breathtaking!)

Once I met Diane my hypomanic self didn’t need to trawl the bars for fleeting sexual encounters anymore, because everything I craved was before me. A stunningly beautiful woman with a magnetic smile, magical eyes and magnificent posterior. It wasn’t one of those love-at-first-sight unions. It was a relationship born out of mutual loneliness; two isolated souls adrift in the middle of Australia, longing for love, longing for companionship.

Our flirtation began at the Camel Cup, an annual event that stops the town, and carried on through numerous evenings at the backpacker hostel where I worked until, finally, we ended up sleeping side-by-side. The next night we fell asleep in each other’s arms. The night after that, the same. We were a couple who hadn’t embarked on any dates, but had found ourselves drawn to each other regardless.

Over time we learned more about each other. Diane; with her love of takeaway food, Family Guy obsession and sociable nature complemented my lack of cooking ability, Family Guy naiveté and quiet confidence. We formed a unique bond. One that erased our loneliness and allowed us to feel connected to that strange, bizarre, town in the middle of the desert. We regularly visited the video game arcade to hone our shooting skills, debated the merits of takeaway pizza and embarked on camel riding adventures to thrill our bored souls.

But my hypomania wasn’t to last. When it ended, when my mood collapsed into depression, I wasn’t much fun to be around. I was tetchy, I was cranky and things that had once brought me pleasure now provided me nothing but pain. My mood, it goes without saying, dented our relationship. In time Diane began looking for other, more positive and exciting, people. I tried to remain the person she had fallen for, the person who had caused the magnetic smile to widen across her face, but the depression was too ingrained, too imposing. Throw in the ramifications of my rape affecting our sexual life and my time being stolen by my demanding, management job, and it wasn’t difficult to spot our relationship was in jeopardy.

When it ended, seven months after it started, it was painful. Tears were shed. Hearts were broken. But we knew it was for the best. We had sated our loneliness for a time, but knew deep down that this wasn’t enough to maintain a healthy relationship. The attraction wasn’t as intense as it should be. The love didn’t run as deep as we wanted. I miss Diane. I often think of our time together, the laughter we shared and the adventures we had. I often remember the smiles and the joy that marked the early months of our relationship rather than the pain and isolation that marked the end of our relationship. And during those early days, during those heady days of laughter, smiles and excitement, one song scored our love.

And whenever I hear it, whenever the rhythm takes hold, I am transported back to that time, and her magnetic smile that filled my heart with joy.

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{NSFW} 22. Trust, communication and individuality

This is the twenty-second day of the 30 Days of Kink Challenge, as such it contains adult (and spankolicious) content.

What do you think is important in keeping a BDSM relationship healthy?
How does it differ from a vanilla relationship?

Because it is taking me so long to complete this challenge (it began in November 2012!) and I’ve vowed to finish it before the end of 2013, I’ve decided to freewrite the remainder of the prompts. As such, please excuse any spelling and/or grammatical mistakes that may occur for they are all part and parcel of this form of writing.

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Day 08: Love, lust and lots of kisses

It’s been so long since my last kiss I don’t remember how to do it any more. But as my abuser (always the most trustworthy of sources) described my kisses as “atrocious”, “sloppy”, “cringe-worthy” and “worst ever”, perhaps my lack of lips to lock is for the best.

Today, for your amusement, and in no particular order, I present eight of my more memorable kisses.


“Unless you were born on another planet, have a bizarre hatred of Spider-Man and/or suffer from an allergy to water, you will have re-enacted this scene.”

1. The last time I kissed someone…

The last kiss I received was on 4 February 2009. It was one of those bitter-sweet, over-flowing with emotions kisses that come when you know it’ll be the last time you see someone. The sort of kiss where you lift the woman into your arms, cradle their posterior as they wrap their legs around you and nearly topple to the ground through lack of oxygen as neither of you want it to end. But, of course, it must. So you tear your lips away and utter a pained ‘goodbye’ before watching them walk out of your life, leaving only memories and vanilla lip-gloss to remember they were ever there in the first place.

2. Homage

Unless you were born on another planet, have a bizarre hatred of Spider-Man and/or suffer from an allergy to water, you will have re-enacted this scene with someone you love. How far you go will depend on how authentic you want the experience to be. Fortunately for me, given I don’t look all that hot in skin-tight spandex, I didn’t have to wear the full costume. I did however have to hang myself upside-down from a wall, in the pouring rain, whilst being blinded by a mask (which she ordered me to wear!)

Sure, I nearly broke my neck, but goddamnit I’d do it all over again for a kiss as spectacular as that! :p

3. What the hell am I doing?

We hadn’t exactly chosen the most romantic of movies for our first ‘date’, so perhaps it was the months of boiling over sexual tension that fuelled Kathy and I’s first kiss minutes after leaving the cinema. On some random Fitzroy street we stopped, stared at each other for a few heartbeats and then, whilst fighting back insane anxiety, I cradled her face, leant forward and kissed her. I was shaking. She mistook my chin for my lips (and she had the gall to say my kisses were ‘sloppy’!) I seized a surreptitious butt squeeze in case I never had the chance again. She nibbled my top lip. Then I lifted her off the ground in one of those ‘what the hell am I doing?’ moments.

Regardless of what Kathy did in the following months, including giving me a complex so severe I doubt I’ll ever kiss ‘confidently’ again, I’ll always cherish this beautiful memory.

4. “You taste like cheese,”

The first time I kissed Samantha was in July 2007. In my post One Night in Adelaide, I described it like this:

Given all that had happened, given all the alcohol flowing through our system, given all those pheromones and chemicals, it wasn’t long before we were lying beside a bush with lips locked firmly together.

Courtesy of her orange flavored lip gloss, the ice-cold air and the vodka she’d been consuming all night; kissing her was like taking a long, slow drink of a perfectly brewed alcoholic beverage. As she pulled back, her eyes lingering in the empty space between us, she whispered “Cheese,” and returned for more.

It was me who came up for air next, cradling her head with my left hand. “Cheese?”

“You taste like cheese,”

“I haven’t eaten cheese for days,”

I went to kiss her again, only to have her pull away with a sudden, drunken laugh. “Fuck, why do you taste like cheese?”

Given I still can’t explain why I tasted like cheese – though I suspect alcohol played a part – it’s a good thing Samantha didn’t have a lactose intolerance. We remained in that state of perpetual kissing for a good half an hour until neither of us was feeling the cold around us.


“On some random Fitzroy street we stopped, stared at each other for a few heartbeats and, whilst fighting back insane anxiety, I cradled her face, leant forward and kissed her.”

5. “You taste like hash browns,”

The last time I kissed Samantha was in April 2008…but I won’t tell you about it just yet for I’m writing a post about that day and don’t want to spoil the surprises :p

Rest assured, hash browns were indeed involved! But what did we do with them? And do you really want to know? :p

6. German lessons

Normally I’m an exceedingly dutiful employee. Under normal circumstances I wouldn’t even consider bending the rules or using a position of authority for such illicit gains, but when presented with a woman as beguiling as Annalisa, even the most straight-laced of managers can find themselves doing things they would later never regret.

Six days after arriving in Alice Springs during a period of hypomania, I was, of course, feeling hypersexual. Thus, it comes as no surprise that the rather hot German backpacker Annalisa caught my eye. After hours of flirtatious conversation washed down with copious amounts of the amber liquid, she and I found myself in the only place I had to be private at two in the morning; my office.

Cue hours of exceedingly naughty kissing that would make the current manager want to scrub their office down with hospital grade disinfectant!

7. That’ll show ’em!

Louise and I shared so many incredible kisses that picking out one or two from the tens of thousands we shared is almost impossible. ‘Firsts’  aside (first kiss, first kiss in Australia, first kiss in the shower, first kiss in public, first kiss used to dislodge a rogue piece of spinach etc…) one of the most memorable occurred in early 2001, not long after we met.

I was filming a short film as part of my college course when Louise came wandering to the set to have a peak around. After greeting her with a bashful peck of the lips my cameraman (and fellow film student) urged us to kiss with a little more ‘oomph’. Given we were still in the early days of our relationship I was somewhat nervous when it came to PDAs so hesitated; knowing full well this kiss would be recorded for all eternity and no doubt played for my entire class several (dozen) times.

Louise, however, didn’t hesitate. She grabbed my shirt and yanked me forward, immediately planting a kiss that wouldn’t have looked out-of-place in an R rated movie. Hands were grabbing body parts, teeth were biting lips (and necks), blood was flowing to various body parts and if it lasted a few more milliseconds nudity would have been involved!

Minutes after sending me into a tizzy and steaming up the lens of the camera, Louise broke away from the kiss with a naughty grin, turned to the cameraman, and said “did you get all that, or do we need to go again?”

We did go again, only this time we waited until I returned home several hours later. For obvious reasons! :p

8. The first time I kissed someone…

My first kiss occurred on the 30 December 2000. In a Sunday Stealing post, I described it like this:

I was twenty-two (yeah, I know…it’s all part of the perils of being socially anxious!)

Whilst studying at Inverness College I decided to visit the island of Berneray (in the Outer Hebrides) for a quiet, uneventful New Year. On my first night there a woman named Louise appeared out of the darkness and I was immediately enchanted by her hypnotic eyes, heart-warming smile and excellent posterior.

After a fair amount of flirting throughout the first twenty-four hours we found a drinking game stashed away on the hostel bookshelf and began playing. Somewhat tipsy we took a break and I went outside for a cigarette (at the time I was smoking cherry menthol rolling tobacco with liquorice papers) and she stood there staring at me with a cheeky grin on her face.

“Could I kiss you?” She said, awaiting a response.

Nervous to the extreme – but desperately wanting to lock lips  – I nodded yes and she took a few steps closer, tossed the cigarette to the ground and threw herself upon me as if suddenly possessed by a voracious kissing demon. After a few uncertain moments she pulled back and looked at me, completely aware my entire body was shaking uncontrollably.

“You’re shaking,” She whispered, rubbing my arms.

“Sorry, it’s…I…well…I’ve never…kissed anyone…before,”

She smiled sweetly and started kissing me again, much more slowly, not caring one bit that I was doing my best vibrator impersonation.


“As she pulled back, her eyes lingering in the empty space between us, she whispered “Cheese,” and returned for more.”


Day 07: Cheating on someone is deeper than you think


Life Lesson #34: If you’re going to make an internet meme, remember to spellcheck!

This is a rather personal topic for me as two out of the three serious girlfriends I’ve had cheated on me.

The second person who cheated on me decided to sleep with someone on Christmas Day while I was busy cooking us dinner. When they returned home they expected me to cheer them up as they felt they’d been ‘used’ by this person. Suffice to say, given I’m way too nice (and was bound by the expectations of my abusive relationship that dictated if I didn’t focus entirely on her, chaos would ensue) I spent the evening trying to make my girlfriend feel better whilst bottling up my anger, hurt and pain. Every Christmas since has been affected by bad memories of this betrayal and is one of the many reasons that I hate the holiday period so much.

However, this pain pales in comparison to that inflicted on me by the first person who cheated on me.

After nearly eighteen months of living together she decided to travel to Europe. As I couldn’t afford to go with her and (for unknown reasons) she was unable to wait for me, I had to move back in with my parents. So for three months I was bombarded with bad memories of my teenage years whilst she gallivanted around Europe; all the while expecting me to book accommodation, send care-packages ‘poste restante’ and research her destinations online.

After a brief return to the UK she left almost immediately for Australia. For several further months I lived in my parents house until (a) my confidence had been reduced to that of my thirteen year old self and (b) I could afford the expense of emigrating to the other side of the world.

Flash-forward three years – three years of intense stress over multiple residency applications, debt, building a life on the other side of the world, trying to deal with being so far from home and constantly being made to feel like a bastard for suspecting she had been sleeping with her ex-boyfriend – and she sits me down and informs me that, shortly after she’d arrived back in Australia, she’d begun a relationship with her ex-boyfriend and had been sleeping with him after all. In fact the relationship had continued for many, many, many months after I had moved to Australia for her.

To say I felt betrayed was an understatement. To say I felt hurt doesn’t even come close. I had sacrificed my family, friends, country of birth and home to move to the other side of the world where the only person I knew was her; all because I loved her and genuinely wanted to spend the rest of my life with her. My girlfriend however, had not been sure. So instead of having a conversation with me, she allowed me to make these drastic changes to my life whilst continually seeing, sleeping with and maintaining a relationship with her previous boyfriend.

Ultimately it wasn’t the affair that caused the end of our relationship, there were other issues bubbling beneath the surface that this revelation set free, but it sent my mind spiralling back into depression and it’s safe to say that the years of lies and betrayal were a major trigger toward my suicide attempt in 2006.

Both of these affairs – in combination with the abuse I received – have rendered me incapable of being in a relationship. I no longer trust anyone (not just women) and the impact to my self-confidence/self-belief these betrayals caused were immense, to the point that I cannot imagine opening up to anyone, ever again. Why would I when all it will bring is such pain, heartache and agony?

I can understand reasons for cheating on someone.

I can accept that in certain circumstances it can bring positives to a relationship.

But personally, based on the damage cheating has wrought on my life, it’s not something I would ever do.