to the colleague who started stalking me online

this is my safe space, but you’ve ruined that.

i write freely here. and i know it’s not a private space, it’s on the fucking internet after all, but it was my safe space.

i realised recently that you would have found this blog with a quick google search of my name, and even though i don’t use my real name to write here, i guess you connected the dots. well guess what, A? i am not ashamed. you are the one who should be ashamed. i am open about my mental health so that others feel less alone. so if it was your intention to vilify me, it won’t work. it will make me even more convicted that even though advocacy is hard work, it is work that needs to be done.

by the way, colleague is a strong word to describe the relationship we have in the workplace since we have never even fucking met. how dare you spread rumours about me when you don’t know a single thing about me, except what you have read here?

i am seething fury right now, blogosphere buds. and we all know how borderlines best manage fury.


it’s been a long time since i’ve written anything here. i’m still alive, by the way, in case that wasn’t obvious. and even though there aren’t all that many of you who read along, i thought about the few that do, and i wondered if you missed me.

i remember when i started this blog, in a haze of mania. i remember thinking i had finally out-witted myself: if rosie bogs could blog, then couldn’t rosie blogs?

but then i realised that i wanted to keep my identity kinda private, so the pun would have been lost on almost everyone.

i never thought i would ever find anything even remotely resembling happiness. i never thought i would survive 2020 – and i know a lot of people probably said that nonchalantly, as if it were no biggie, but to me, it was literal. i was unsure if i would survive 2020.

yet, here i am living despite it all. and it’s 2021, and i think, maybe, just maybe, things have stopped falling apart, and have instead started to fall into place.

there’s this girl i like.

she’s gorgeous. i asked her to be my girlfriend.

there’s this degree i finished.

it was tough, but i did it! i am now the proud owner of a double degree in science and arts, and in about a month’s time i will embark on writing my thesis.

there’s this dream i have.

in it, i’m a writer. i get paid to write poetry, maybe i even have a forthcoming collection, and the name rosie bee has the same effect on sydney stages that andi stewart or blythe baird or ren alessandra or arielle cottingham does.

and i don’t know how to be happy. i really don’t. i don’t know the meaning of the word.

but it’s been 63 days since i last severed skin from skin, since i last tweezed away stitches from the edges of a wound to reopen jagged pain in some vague effort to feel alive again, even though it’s all a front – everyone who knows me best knows that i’ve been dead inside a long time coming.

and i don’t know how to let my sadness recede. how do i accept the ebb and flow of my identity? i’m no ocean. i’m emotions.

this was never meant to be a poem.


for my final essay in advanced creative writing – my final essay i will ever write in my undergraduate degree, my final essay before i start my thesis next year – i am writing about bpd, which is number 301.83 in the diagnostic and statistical manual of mental disorders fifth edition.

this is how it starts:

To diagnose a personality disorder there must be significant functional disturbance of an enduring and inflexible nature of long duration leading to undue distress and psychosocial impairment. The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders Fifth Edition(DSM-V) classifies ten distinct personality disorders into three clusters based on descriptive symptomatic similarities: A – odd or eccentric; B – dramatic, emotional or erratic; and C – anxious or fearful.

Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) is a Cluster B psychiatric condition with difficulties manifest in persistent patterns of disturbed cognition, emotional experience, emotional expression and maladaptive coping mechanisms. The typical features of BPD are instability in the areas of self-image, personal goals, and interpersonal relationships. Characteristic dysfunction is therefore apparent in areas of identity, empathy, and/or intimacy with accompanying impulsivity, hypersensitivity, and/or hostility

In a clinical setting, borderlines are notorious for a pervasive pattern of abrupt mood swings and affective instability. Thus, extreme care should be taken when handling such patients, particularly during suicidal crises which are often both regular and prolonged. Implementation of the 2007 NSW Mental Health Care Act is recommended for treatment-resistant individuals who present as a danger to themselves and/or others. Physical restraint is preferable to chemical sedation when treating these revolving-door patients.

Ultimately, BPD is an emotional dysregulation disorder with marked impulsivity and instability across a variety of emotional and social domains emerging by early adulthood, as indicated by the presence of five or more of the following symptoms.

it’s supposed to be tongue in cheek but i don’t know if it’s quite tongue in cheek enough.

the rest of the essay is made up of memories / crises according to symptom. so i talk about my worst dissociative episode and that section of the essay is called SEVERE DISSOCIATIVE SYMPTOMS AND/OR TRANSIENT, STRESS-RELATED PARANOIA AND/OR PSYCHOSIS-LIKE EPISODES IN SITUATIONS OF EXTREME AROUSAL and i’m trying out a new style of writing and i want to know what you think of it, it’s inspired by a memoir i’m reading by james frey called a million little pieces and its un-put-downable.

today i drank coffee for breakfast and wine for dinner.

i’m going to be thin again.


stopped cutting; restarted drinking. except for tonight, when i have both cut and am drunk.

writers block. stream of consciousness.

critical essay for a creative writing course.

useless bitch.

can’t sleep. i go running in the dark, by which i mean to say, i go running in the wee hours of the morning and also i run on the unlit side of the footpath since i feel more at home in the dark.

i’m always running from something. when will i have something worth running toward?

i should probably go back to therapy, but things are fine, things are good – it’s all comparative, right? and i’m not suicidal, so things are fine? i’m waking up, i’m going to work, i’m not in the hospital, i’m safe. so why do i feel so bad? why don’t i feel safe? my own mind is a maze, it’s a trap. i don’t get it.

i don’t get it. idontgetit.

i read somewhere that for alt text and the visually impaired, capital letters are really important. so #idontgetit looks like gibberish but #IDon’tGetIt makes perfect sense. well, i just don’t get it; what about those of us who have eschewed punctuation and grammar for #theaesthetic?

i was hoping that some word vomit would kickstart my brain and i could get some essay done (i keep telling myself i’ll ‘smash it out tomorrow’ but i tomorrow keeps coming and and going and the due date just keeps coming and coming and coming) but it’s just making me sad instead. or maybe that’s the vodka. it’s hard to tell, tbh.

i wonder about being a lucid dreamer. i wonder about inception, remember that? sometimes, i can’t tell if this is real. i don’t know if this is real. idontknowifthisisreal. IDon’tKnowIfThisIsReal.

we’ll have to check. we’ll have to die, because then if i wake up, then i will know it was all a dream.

i don’t like being sick.

i wish i had some drugs.

i wish i had someone to hold me close, and snuggle me with their nose and their warm breath, nudge the hair from my nose, and whisper in my ear

it’s going to be alright my love.

i’m not sure where to go from here

this space doesn’t feel safe anymore, and that sucks.

here’s a life update:

my last few months of uni have begun. of the two courses i am taking (one in philosophy and one in english), i am most excited for advanced creative writing, even though it is not the creative writing of the type i had expected, but rather focussed on narrative non fiction / personal essays. which is nice i suppose, to move onto a different style of writing, after spending some time focussing on poetry.

speaking of, my poetry collection is almost complete and ready to send off into the publishing void. i want to get to 40 poems total, since a minimum of 60-80 pages is generally expected for a poetry manuscript.

ENID, the journalism platform i helped to revive, is doing really well. i am especially proud of this special article, which went live on R U OK Day (the 10th of September).

i finally admitted that i have spent the past few months amid a relapse into anorexia, which was a difficult fact to confront. when i moved house, my scales started going haywire, and it is giving my major anxiety. how can my weight have ‘gone up’ by x number of kilos, when my size x jeans still seem to fit the same? i’m trying to remember that the number on the scales is nothing more than a reflection of my relationship to gravity, but far fucking out, ana loves to remind me of how much of my worth fits onto that tiny screen.

so yeah, i moved house! for the first time in almost three years. i now live directly across the road from campus, which has been a blessing, since my licence was medically revoked for 6 months after complications from one of my attempts earlier this year. i get my licence back on the 22nd of october – not long to go!

i had a decent clean streak, and was self harm free for almost 6 weeks, but relapsed pretty bad. i hit beans (that’s fat, for all of you non-self-harmers) but i didn’t get it stitched. i’ll probably regret that later, but after my recent experiences at emergency / the local psych ward, i don’t trust them to protect me anymore. they don’t have my best interests at heart. also, they almost always schedule (involuntarily detain) me, and i’ll be fucked if i’m going through that nightmare of a situation again.

my most precious houseplant, philip the giant syngonium, has started to damp off, which is affecting me more than it probably should. i’ve had philip for a really long time and when i got him from a friend, he was just an itty bitty cutting. since then, he has more than tripled in size, i reckon. hopefully with a haircut and some fresh soil and fertiliser he’ll come good.

i think i’ve accepted that i don’t have any friends again, and that’s okay.

my favourite colleague (not the one who was stalking me lol, but the one that warned me about said stalking) has had an offer for her dream job at a vet practice, so i probably only have a couple more weeks left to work with her, which i am very sad about.

this guy at the climbing gym (and in his defence, i don’t think he was inherently an asshole, just ignorant) implied that i needed to ‘even up’ my arms, since all my scarring is on my left. well, duh, i’m right handed. so next time i see him i will make sure to have done that. i’ll wear shorts and a singlet too; if my left arm was a shock, imagine how he will react to the rest of my disgusting body.

anyway, i’m trying to do more writing. go check out enid, and have a look at what i’m doing over there.

much love, my lovelies.

well, i want to die

i can’t stop eating.

i can’t stop exercising.

i can’t stop thinking.

i can’t stop this.

which means i can’t do this anymore. i shouldn’t have to do this anymore.

i’m under no illusion that self harm will kill me. i know it might, if i hit the right spot deep enough. but it’s unlikely, and humans have this nasty self-preservation instinct that always stops me from bleeding out, even when i have hit an artery, even when it was on purpose.

so i need to get my hands on some good stuff, and i need to end this shit for good.


for the past week, couple of weeks, month, i don’t know, i have been restricting and exercising all day long, then eating chocolate or biscuits for dinner, and then doing it all over again to make sure i’m burning off all that disgusting fat. i’m losing weight again. i’m 1.1 kg from my first goal. and then 5 to my next.

i can do this.

we can do this – ana is my coach and she is damn good at what she does. we’re ready to evaporate again. this time, we want to evaporate so far that there’s no way to return. are bodies like rain? are disordered thoughts like rain? condense has so many more meanings than condensation.

i turn 21 on wednesday.

embracing english lit

disclaimer: i’m not writing about my mental health for once, lol

i have loved reading and writing and words for as long as i could remember. in fact, somewhere there’s a bunch of ‘books’ i made when i was probably around 3 or 4 years old, which have no words (just random letters of the alphabet, i had a particular affinity for zees and exes) just pictures and speech bubbles. when i went through my greatest traumas during middle school around age 13, i started to write novels. they seemed like novels at the time, but in retrospect, 45000 words is barely a novella. then i moved on to poetry once i moved to sydney at 17. and finally, i began to perform at slam and spoken word events, writing poetry that was designed to be heard as well as read.

but i was always told that pursuing english was wasting my talents. i was always told that as someone whose life would be open to so many other opportunities, i should instead embrace a degree in veterinary science or medicine or allied health. in fact, apart from wanting to escape and cut off ties to past traumas, the biggest reason i chose to move to sydney and chose the university of new south wales in particular was because they had one of the only undergraduate medicine programs in australia.

in 2017, my first year at uni, i shattered those shitty expectations that i had always felt i must follow. i declined my offer for medicine. i changed my degree from advanced science with honours, to advanced science and arts, and finally to science and arts, with honours in english lit. choosing to write a thesis on poetry was probably the first decision i made purely for myself. my favourite lecturer agreed to be my supervisor, and i’ve slowly begun exploring current literature to see what direction my own thesis might take.

i got an editor gig. an organisation i used to write for called the ENID network was passed on to a new group of editors, myself included. it’s a student-run feminist website focusing on intersectional issues facing young women in the current political climate and their representation in pop-culture.

i continue to write for them, here’s my favourite article, and i am incredibly grateful to have the freedom to write and write and write. i recently redesigned our website and upgraded our public server to one with a private name – our very own name!! i’ll keep you all updated as to when it launches.

it feels good to finally devote a decent amount of time to my true passions. it feels good to write about something that isn’t how shitty everything is, even though everything continues to be shitty fyi… if i can’t self-validate, i won’t get any validation at all.

love, your languorously latent literary,

rosie bee

ps you can find me on instagram! rosiebee.poetry

like a fool

she thought things were going okay.

i had a good week last week. and i don’t use the word good lightly. normally i say ‘okay’ or ‘alright’ because i’m always afraid that if i describe a week as good and actually think things might be getting better (as if) i will somehow sabotage things and crash. harder. and lo and behold, after a good week i had a really fucking bad one, and it’s only thursday.

here’s what happened:

  • i found out my service dog application has been passed to the next stage and that they are able to train a dog to my specific needs, which for me was to reduce socially unacceptable stims which generally piss people off (read: knocking, clicking, impulsive laughter followed by self-shushing, shaking my head to shake away thoughts, tapping… you get the idea. not super socially acceptable) and to recognise distress and panic attacks
  • i was able to see two of my friends, G and D for coffee
  • i spent another day with G, and we went to the park and there were so many dogs which made me really happy – dogs!
  • i started dexies (an adhd med. depending on where you are in the world this could be called aderall or ritalin or dexamphetamine) which have made my head a bit quieter. as a scientist (lol), i had to make sure it wasn’t a placebo effect and followed up my hypothesis by skipping the dose for a few days… in which my head got loud again and all the urges piled on top of me and i wanted to fucking die. seems like proof enough to me.

and here’s all the bad shit that happened:

  • i found out the service dog organisation i applied to is not a charity and it costs a ridiculous amount of money to have one trained to my specific needs
  • self harmed on campus. this is a big deal, since i used to sh exclusively at home. it’s part of the ritual, i suppose. but realising i can’t cope with anything anymore i’ve started carrying blades in my backpack
  • overslept too many times which disrupted my time which made me anxious which made me urgey which made me cut
  • my dr is disappointed in me. i am even more anaemic than usual, and my sodium is getting dangerously low. she’s threatening to admit me – FUCK that! and my doctor is great, and always finds time to see me, so i don’t like to disappoint her
  • after a really bad day, which included a fight with my mum about money and tattoos and generally how shit of a daughter i am, i forced myself to stick to my schedule and go to work. i tutored twins for two hours in english which made me feel a little better until i walked home and realised the ONE HUNDRED DOLLARS I HAD JUST EARNED somehow DISAPPEARED FROM MY FUCKING POCKET. so that was the cherry on top for a really shitty, shitty day.

so that’s me. glad to have a good vent.

peace out,

rosie bogs, lover of dogs.

starting stimulants!

here’s how i learned i had add (that’s adhd, but without the hyperactive part)


like most university students, i tried stimulants. not to get high, but because i had already received an extension on a final exam and had been struggling with my mental health so badly that i was constantly dissociating while trying to study. i took vyvanse aka long acting dexamphetamine but unlike most university students i did not get high.

not only that, but i felt like i could think. i felt calm.


generally, i’m not into any sort of street drug. i don’t even smoke weed regularly. but, i am also believe in trying everything once. so i did speed (aka ecstasy aka molly aka mdma) in a club and …

… had a nap. legit. i left the club after it kicked in because i wasn’t feeling it and then fell asleep on the train home.

if you weren’t already aware – only people without adhd can get high from stimulants, whether that’s ritalin / adderall or a street drug like mdma.

sub clue: mdma is an amphetamine, which is the same basic molecule for adhd meds.


some symptomatic things. i have no memory. i put it down to dissociating, until i realised i was dissociating less and my memory got worse (conundrum). it feels like i have sirens in my head. my thoughts are constantly bouncing off each other. i am generally very frazzled.

sub clue: adhd does not present the same way in males and females, just as autism presents differently in males and females. so sure, i wasn’t the typical naughty kid at school and i had top grades, but even at my lowest i have maintained good marks at uni. what i was guilty of was constantly interrupting people, saying inappropriate things impulsively and feeling constantly on edge which causes me to stim wildly.

note: people do not like it when you knock against a table very fast to calm down


i started stimulants and can actually fucking think for the first time in a long time

on another note, ana is loving that we are starting a medication which suppresses appetite, since we are so so close to reaching our gw. i’m at what i think is my set weight now but i am determined to push my body and lose these last _ kilos.


your blogger-in-chief who no longer feels foggy all the fucking time,

rosie bogs