Category Archives: MY WORLD
My experiences good and bad.
The neglected child
There are many types of Child Abuse
Emotional Abuse can be hard to spot and is easy to miss the signs.
- humiliating or constantly criticising a child-
When my Mom was in a Domestic Violent Relationship with my ex step father he would constantly tell me I was chubby, too clingy.
- threatening, shouting at a child or calling them names
- making the child the subject of jokes, or using sarcasm to hurt a child
- blaming and scapegoating
My ex -step father would shout at me for wanting to be close to my mom. He would drag me into my bedroom -my mom would stick up for me and she would get the brunt of my tantrums, clinginess, my eating issues.
- making a child perform degrading acts
- not recognising a child’s own individuality or trying to control their lives
- pushing a child too hard or not recognising their limitations
My ex step father’s idea of teaching me how to swim was to grab hold go me, jump into the swimming pool and stay under the water until I thought I would pas out. He would do this as a joke in front of his friends and laugh at me for being so scared. I was 5 years old
- exposing a child to upsetting events or situations, like domestic abuse or drug taking
My ex step father used to beat my mom up regularly because she dared to challenge him for cheating on her constantly ,for getting a 15 year old pregnant. He was always high and there were always parties going on with strange men and women around. I used to try and defend my mom until I became too afraid. I used to barricade myself in my bedroom. I would wait until he came home from work and hide under the bed.
- failing to promote a child’s social development
- not allowing them to have friends
- persistently ignoring them
I felt like my life was irrelevant. I wasn’t worth anything. I remember having an argument with my mom. She was struggling with her Mental health and the abuse. She came home from work when I was 5/6 years old. I was dressed up in her wedding dress and having fun. She screamed at me to get out her room .She was crying, I didn’t want to be away from her. She locked me out of the room because I started to have a tantrum. I went to the kitchen and got a knife out of the drawer and went to her bedroom door and yelled I was going to stab myself if she didn’t open the door. No reply. I heard her crying. I felt alone and that I couldn’t help her.
- being absent
When I felt helpless and angry. I would act out. I would binge on food, wet the bed conrantly and go and sleep with the dogs in the kitchen. I recall one day feeling so worthless and useless that I couldn’t make my mom better or please my ex step father that I packed a suitcase falloff toys and clothes. I needed to get away. I walked down the driveway (to my child self -it looked like I was walking a long way from home), When I reached the end of the driveway I looked left, right, I looked across the road and I thought to myself: What do I do now? I prayed that a car with two nice people would stop and pick me up and take me away from where I was. That didn’t happen. I had to accept my defeat and I walked back up the drive way angry. No body knew I had disappeared and I didn’t get the attention I wanted.
- manipulating a child
Manipulation can be so subtle. I recall a time when my mom had found out about another affair that my ex stepfather had. He turned up from work with a puppy for me. I was over the moon.
- never saying anything kind, expressing positive feelings or congratulating a child on successes
- never showing any emotions in interactions with a child, also known as emotional neglect.
BEHAVIOUR PROBLEMS
- wanting attention or becoming clingy
I never wanted to leave my moms side. I refused to go to school. I would have tantrums and do anything to be heard.
- not caring how they act or what happens to them
I became a child who started walking home from school on my own from 5/6 years old. I remember a group of older boys pushing me about and touching my breasts and vagina.
- trying to make people dislike them
I didn’t feel very likeable or good about myself so I pushed people away from me. I didn’t feel Could trust people and even today I will show people the worst parts of me to protect myself.
- developing risky behaviour, like stealing, bullying or running away.
The first time I stole anything was a 5 rand note from my mom so I could buy myself and people in my class sweets at the tuck shop. My ex step father refused to allow me to eat sweets because I was too ‘chubby’. I ran away from home many times as a teenager to get away from my mom when I was a teenager and my Nan and my Dad who refused to acknowledge me. I didn’t want my family to dictate to me. I didn’t want them to tell me they knew what was best for me. I wanted to escape and drugs and being around strange men seemed like the right answer.
There are many types of Child Abuse
Emotional Abuse can be hard to spot and it is easy to miss the signs.
humiliating or constantly criticising a child-
When my Mom was in a Domestic Violent Relationship with my ex step father he would constantly tell me I was chubby, too clingy.
threatening, shouting at a child or calling them names
making the child the subject of jokes, or using sarcasm to hurt a child
blaming and scapegoating
My ex -step father would shout at me for wanting to be close to my mom. He would drag me into my bedroom -my mom would stick up for me and she would get the brunt of my tantrums, clinginess, my eating issues.
making a child perform degrading acts
not recognising a child’s own individuality or trying to control their lives
pushing a child too hard or not recognising their limitations
My ex step father’s idea of teaching me how to swim was to grab hold go me, jump into the swimming pool and stay under the water until I thought I would pas out. He would do this as a joke in front of his friends and laugh at me for being so scared. I was 5 years old
Exposing a child to upsetting events or situations, like domestic abuse or drug taking
My ex step father used to beat my mom up regularly because she dared to challenge him for cheating on her constantly ,for getting a 15 year old pregnant. He was always high and there were always parties going on with strange men and women around. I used to try and defend my mom until I became too afraid. I used to barricade myself in my bedroom. I would wait until he came home from work and hide under the bed.
failing to promote a child’s social development
not allowing them to have friends
persistently ignoring them
I felt like my life was irrelevant. I wasn’t worth anything. I remember having an argument with my mom. She was struggling with her Mental health and the abuse. She came home from work when I was 5/6 years old. I was dressed up in her wedding dress and having fun. She screamed at me to get out of her room .She was crying, I didn’t want to be away from her. She locked me out of the room because I started to have a tantrum. I went to the kitchen and got a knife out of the drawer and went to her bedroom door and yelled I was going to stab myself if she didn’t open the door. No reply. I heard her crying. I felt alone and that I couldn’t help her.
Being absent
When I felt helpless and angry. I would act out. I would binge on food, wet the bed constantly and go and sleep with the dogs in the kitchen. I recall one day feeling so worthless and useless that I couldn’t make my mom better or please my ex step father that I packed a suitcase full of toys and clothes. I needed to get away. I walked down the driveway (to my child self -it looked like I was walking a long way from home), When I reached the end of the driveway I looked left, right, I looked across the road and I thought to myself: What do I do now? I prayed that a car with two nice people would stop and pick me up and take me away from where I was. That didn’t happen. I had to accept my defeat and I walked back up the driveway angry. Nobody knew I had disappeared and I didn’t get the attention I wanted.
manipulating a child
Manipulation can be so subtle. I recall a time when my mom had found out about another affair that my ex stepfather had. He turned up from work with a puppy for me. I was over the moon.
never saying anything kind, expressing positive feelings or congratulating a child on successes
never showing any emotions in interactions with a child, also known as emotional neglect.
SIGNS OF EMOTIONAL ABUSE IN OLDER CHILDREN
use language you wouldn’t expect them to know for their age
act in a way or know about things you wouldn’t expect them to know for their age
struggle to control their emotions
have extreme outbursts
seem isolated from their parents
lack social skills
have few or no friends.
EFFECTS OF EMOTIONAL ABUSE
BEHAVIOUR PROBLEMS
wanting attention or becoming clingy
I never wanted to leave my mom’s side. I refused to go to school. I would have tantrums and do anything to be heard.
not caring how they act or what happens to them
I became a child who started walking home from school on my own from 5/6 years old. I remember a group of older boys pushing me about and touching my breasts and vagina.
Trying to make people dislike them
I didn’t feel very likeable or good about myself so I pushed people away from me. I didn’t feel Could trust people and even today I will show people the worst parts of me to protect myself.
Developing risky behaviour, like stealing, bullying or running away.
The first time I stole anything was a 5 rand note from my mom so I could buy myself and people in my class sweets at the tuck shop. My ex step father refused to allow me to eat sweets because I was too ‘chubby’. I ran away from home many times as a teenager to get away from my mom when I was a teenager and my Nan and my Dad who refused to acknowledge me. I didn’t want my family to dictate to me. I didn’t want them to tell me they knew what was best for me. I wanted to escape and drugs and being around strange men seemed like the right answer.
EMOTIONAL DEVELOPMENT PROBLEMS
feeling, expressing and controlling emotions
lacking confidence or causing anger problems
finding it difficult to make and maintain healthy relationships later in life
higher levels of depression and health problems as adults compared to those who experienced other types of child abuse.
MENTAL HEALTH PROBLEMS
mental health problems, including depression, anxiety and suicidal thoughts
I went on to develop serious mental health issues. I developed social anxiety from a young age. My first suicide attempt was at 12 years old
Eating disorders
I became obsessed with my weight. I couldn’t deal with my weight issues and I started taking diet tablets at the age of 15 years old. I abused cocaine and mandrax and ecstasy -any drug to stop me from thinking about food. I used to demand my mother take me to doctors to prescribe diet pills for me even though I was thin. I had huge problems and I eventually developed Chronic anorexia. I was sectioned twice in the U.K. In 2007 I developed Bradycardia. My BMI was 14. My weight was 39 kilograms. I wanted to die.
Self-harm
I don’t know why I felt the need to cut my legs in my Nan’s kitchen when I was 12/13. I didn’t know how else to express myself. When I lost my virginity to a guy who had left his ex and promised to date me and be with me. The next night his ex, myself and him were in his car and he chose his ex over me. I flipped. I couldn’t deal with the pain, the headache and I cut myself with a bottle neck and became uncontrollable.
language development
problems forming healthy relationships.
If you want to help someone who is being abused in all its forms or to help someone who is self harming.
Making friends living on an Acute psychiatric ward
I remember my first meeting with a mental health charity to collaborate and co-facilitate an anti- Stigma workshop/group. This is what I have been wanting to do for some time and here I am achieving my dreams. When I was back -institutionalised in an Acute ward with Anorexia and Bipolar in 2005. I think that the personality trait of helping others and organising groups has always been in me.
I am a nightmare patient.
I always refused bed rest and focused my time on doing things like raffles to raise money for a charity shop connected to the Retreat,in York. I ended up raising over £100 in a matter of days with a BMI of 14.5. so about 41 kilograms. , 90 pounds – I’m nearly 5.8.
In other clinics- I was tube fed and restrained -often by up to four nurses.
That is a whole other story and debate.
I met another man who is/was a barrister and he had a complete breakdown. His wife had been cheating on him. I met an artist who expressed her unarticulated pain by painting. I met a woman who had been fighting Anorexia and OCD all her life and who taught me how to put a Christmas tree up.
I had forgotten.
I didn’t know what life was and what it meant to live.
I met a few ladies, not on my unit -The Acorn unit ( the name pun has not gone over my head). They expressed their pain through cutting and self-harm.
Nobody played games. Although some of us, from time to time would get hold of paracetamol and other shit and overdose to liven the humdrum mundaneness of life in an acute ward. I once got caught out on weigh day with fishing scales attached to my paper gown. The staff was quite taken aback with imaginative ways we would come up with to avoid putting on weight. These girls were hardcore. I met so many people.
I met a girl who terrified me. I could tell she had been in hospitals all her life. Her family could absolve themselves of whatever guilt they felt towards their daughter by putting her in private clinics and the problem was dusted under the carpet.
I had started the process and recovery of eating again and putting on weight. I couldn’t cope. I developed another way to cope, for at least 4 months my day consisted of:
chewing gum
making a coffee
eating more chewing gum
make a cup of herbal tea
smoke a cig .
I was on this loop for24 hours /7 days a week -for 4 months.
I was driving myself crazy in a way that was unfamiliar to me. The nurses tried to lock me out of the communal kitchens and one night I flipped out when they tried to grab me so I started throwing stuff around.
I wanted them to help me. The girl who initially terrified me came into the kitchen and sat down on the floor with me and held me for over an hour while I shed tears for everything I can remember.
All the emotions attached to those memories I had pushed aside. None of these people was violent. We were trying to be understood and to understand ourselves.
I met a young girl with schizophrenia -she dressed like a Goth. Always had headphones in her ears. She was trying to silence the voices. She had been coping well up until her Mother passed away and like any normal person she was traumatised by it and her mental health went a bit off balance again. She was trying to make sense that her mother is dead. She was grieving.
One night a new guy arrived on the scene. I couldn’t take my eyes off him. He had that charisma of the kind of guy I always seemed to attract. His eyes were full of spark and mischief. A person you would want on your side. We became friends. We spoke a lot. He did a very Titanic thing and drew a picture of me. Fully clothed. I can’t find the picture to load up. He was still going through the DT’s. I will live with my memory of how the picture looked- possibly very trippy. Ha Ha.
Barry was only staying for 10 days before he went to a dry out clinic further up the coast. I don’t know what happened inside me but I didn’t want him to go.
He was a lot older than me but we did everything together.I got him to paint again. I know he had just got out of prison but he was so talented. I begged the nurses and psychiatrists to let him stay.
‘Look! Look! how talented he is! He needs help from you’.
Our last night before we parted ways. We sat in the smoking lounge and watched ‘Pulp fiction’. I know this may make some people reading this go .. erm………what?
I lay my head down in his lap and he played with my hair. For me, the act was more like a father gesture. I suspect for Barry it could have been different.
He wrote loads of letters and planned to come to visit me. The nurses censored my post and turned him away.
I often wonder what happened to him.
I get angry that just because he was in and out of prison for many reasons- he was denied the rehabilitation that I received. He had issues. I am not innocent.
I feel he could not have benefited from a recovery type community setting rather than prison. It’s not my place to say what he did, I don’t want to remember.
It would have ruined the fact that I found feelings inside me. I could laugh again, I could cry. I was real. I felt like a human being and not some freak with Anorexia. Anorexia took second place and I wanted it to always take second place. I felt real.
So back to the Anti-stigma workshop, I am doing. I can’t wait. I have a passion. I have the drive. This is my new chapter. I did have a beautiful picture Barry drew of a dragonfly but I guess moving around a lot means that I have lost other precious memories. I am finally in a position to help other people. I’m not letting this opportunity getaway.
The classic Mrs Thought bubble
This is a surreal piece I wrote about the cruelty of life and how the elderly are treated in Britain. It was inspired by the time I spent with my grandmother in her care home when she had Dementia and Alzeihmers. It’s a stream of consciousness borderline script.
MRS BRUISED : “I’m tired”
“I’m tired”
CARD SHUFFLER: (throws his voice from a table on the left)
tired too.”“I’m
MRS BRUISED: (Sitting upright like a majestic, beaten up old queen)
“I’m tired”
CARD SHUFFLER: “Aye? Go to sleep then”
The room fans out into a full house of insidious laughter.
MISS CARDIGAN: excuse me Dear, can you tell me where the toilets I’ve only just popped by
THE WEED: ( Looks around for sign of a staffed house)
Of course just follow me….
(The weed walks back from the toilets and goes to crouch down to hold Mrs Thought Bubble’s hand).
THE WEED: She has pissed herself. Can someone change her?
THE ROSE: No- she hasn’t.
GINGER: Here you go. Open your mouth?
(Shovels a hefty spoonful of what looks like boiled bagged food)
Lost in thought……
(The smell of piss can’t be worse than death’s kiss…)
GINGER: Here- wah la! open your mouth.
Listen to thoughts of an animated Mrs Thought Bubble.
THE WEED: Tu es Pleine?
Like an old coffin opening for the first time in a century;
MRS THOUGHT BUBBLE: ( creeks out slowly)
Pleine
THE ROSE: ( Comes back from the kitchen with another full beaker of red diluted kids juice)
You are thirsty today.
So so thirsty.
Three empty beakers all lined up in a row – My eyes rest and are ready to aim – trigger happy and ready to blow.
THE WEED: She has pissed herself, look!
THE ROSE: Oh you have made a pee pee Mamie- a pee pee!
BABIES ARE SO CUTE. LISTEN TO HOW REGRESSION SOUNDS
Nodding.
A skeleton- face grinning .
Bright light beams from Mrs Thought Bubbles eyes.
An Image.
A carved pumpkin with a toothy grin.
Burning away in a dark room: within.
More strained laughter churning out lactic acid.
MRS BRUISED : (on a loop)
Oh ,I am tired.
BRUNETTE: Fiddler! Stop putting your hands down your pants.
Maybe that is the only way she gets to feel something.
Legs splayed- FIDDLER’S fingers exploring her vagina hungrily.
MRS BRUISED: I’m tired
CARD SHUFFLER: Yeah me too! Shut up.
Eyes veer to the table on the left.
Dying flowers in a glass vase.
If I had to throw it would reality become what I once knew it to be?
Jeer me on, why don’t you?
Throw the fucking vase.
Throw it!
How long have those silver wrapped chocolates been standing there? This is not some fancy New York hotel.
If they are going to start leaving chocolates make sure you get Hershey’s kisses.
Brown as the shit underneath Mrs Thought bubble’s nails.
THE WEED: She has pissed herself!
GINGER: I will go get dessert.
Does it come in different sex positions?
Sweet Silence.
One of the toughest spells to break.
No one dares look at the other.
Carers go a drift.
Congregate to conflate into gossip office politics.
THE ROSE: Go and tell them to change her.
The weed creeps along the floor until it has found the right door.
THE WEED: Can someone change Mrs Thought bubble! She is in her own piss.”
MRS HEGEMONY: Where’s nondescript and the other one too?
Great big sighs. A room full of eyes wondering if the pay they get is worth the time.
Time finally has a stroke and then another and another.
The hoist in all its bluesy hues comes for Mrs Thought-bubble .
GINGER: I’m sorry I got called into the office.
THE WEED: Look it’s not you. It’s just.. I am sitting watching Mrs Thought bubble over here, shout out…. and “she is wading in her own piss!
THE ROSE: Let’s go outside
THE ROSE: ( turns to BRUNETTE)
Can we take her outside?
BRUNETTE: ( a voice rolls out like a plush red carpet)
Of course.
( BRUNETTE rolls out the wheelchair – )
She hasn’t been outside in over a year.
She shouts and protests.
Vintage sunglasses are placed on her to help process her eyes.
Flowers.
Bees.
Sunshine.
Colours.
More shouts and protests.
MAINTENANCE: Do you want me to take a picture?
(THE WEED and THE ROSE in unison) Oh yes please.
CLICK !
CLICK!
Mature cheddar smiles captured against the vines.
THE WEED: I love you Mrs Thought-bubble.
Muffled sounds.
Feral.
I’ll settle for that as an good enough au revoir.
Four doors.
Four Windows.
Four wheels.
Taxi take us very fucking far away from here ,please.
THE WEED: Did you notice that nobody came to clean the chair?
THE ROSE: DON’T TELL ME THAT?
EVERY NIGHT I CRY MYSELF TO SLEEP!
IF WE MOVE HER AGAIN(pause) SHE WILL DIE.
PLEASE LET HER DIE
WHY?
WHY?
IT IS BEYOND MY UNDERSTANDING.
Petals start to turn inwards – it’s a crying shame to see a rose start to wilt.
RED CAP: There was a sticker attached saying ‘TO CLEAN’
THE WEED: Oh.
I’m sorry.
I love you , Rose.
I can’t imagine what you are going through.
THE ROSE: (Wilts that tiny bit more)
She doesn’t even know who I am anymore.
THE WEED: I know who you are.
You know who I am.
It doesn’t matter if the sun is shining- water will always ignore the air around it. If it wants to pour, it shall.
Tears pour.
Tears break.
The weed reaches and creeps until it has a secure grip around The Roses stem.
Hands entwined.
The Weed .
The Rose.
Both look out their own private window.
Bee would have loved to see that cow…..
THE ROSE: ( watered and ready to pose)
So tomorrow is a busy day. We have to sort out the cake
THE WEED: The cake?
THE ROSE: Daisy, the wedding cake? And We need to find Mr. Thought bubble an outfit for the wedding.
THE WEED: (grapples for breath)
Is she actually allowed to come?
THE ROSE: Madam Hegemony, says it is fine.
THE WEED: (flat)
Oh,Cool. I wonder did we tell the cake makers that we have changed the theme from sun flowers to yellow roses?
THE ROSE: (exasperated)
YES! We are just having yellow icing on normal flowers..
THE WEED: Oh… like the colour on our invitations?
Stationary.
THE ROSE: See you tomorrow.
THE WEED: (as an afterthought)
Mint,yes, tomorrow.
THE ROSE: 10:30, Don’t be late. We are getting threaded first.
Have you got The Bees shoes?
THE WEED: Yes Mam.
THE ROSE: I swear if you had loads of money in this town you still wouldn’t be able to spend it.
It’s all bullshit
From the horse’s mouth – let him narrate for this bit.
And so the earth continues to travel around the sun.
The sun goes down.
The moon is full faced and all fluttering eyelashes.
And I still have a long face.
Nothing but everything changes.
Nay,
Neigh!
Horses don’t talk.
Neither do flowers
Horse manure.
Bullshit.
Jut another day in ‘I wonder what the fuck next land?
Just an average day in an average Care home.
Last night I called Samaratins
I’ve always been skeptical about accessing services such as Samaratins however since I’ve been actively trying to help myself become mentally well again, I reached out via email to find uot more about Samaratins.org and what services they can offer me – I thought I had to be suicidal to get in touch with them.
I’m currently building up a post crisis plan and contingency plan with the Mental health team – my psychiatrist, my Psychiatrist community nurse and support worker and other services in my community to get back on track. I thought I would share my experience on my website blog. This is how it went.
I emailed Jo ( all volunteers are trained and called Jo) to ask for further information. Jo got back to me to ask me for a bit more background and gave me a link to the samaratins.org website.This is what I had to say.
Hi Daisy
It sounds like you and your CPN are doing great work together.
Samaritans is a 24/7 listening service. We are currently available on the phone, email and by letter. Can I suggest for a more detailed definition of our service you visit our website www.samaritans.org.Is there anything you would like to talk about tonight, is there anything worrying you or is there something you would like to share with us about how you are feeling?
Hi Jo
Erm… well, I have been a long time service user with lengthy inpatient and outpatient stays in the hospital for bipolar, EUPD and chronic anorexia.
I tend to go in a cycle with how I escape from my thoughts and emotions instead of regulating them.
I’m in that place where I’m highly
Motivated to get to the place I was in from 2013- 2017
I achieved more in those few years than in my entire lifetime,
Apart from my career in travel.
I have a lot I want to do with my life and pass on what I’ve found out to help others.
I’ve volunteered my heart out up until 2016 because I was studying my BA at the time. I fought social services, my family and my 9-year-old daughter’s paternal father in court for 16 months. On the 05 may 2015 I addressed the judge myself and she was and is discharged into my care with full parental responsibility & she is a phenomenal child. I can’t believe she is my child.
I was never going to get married nor have children until I hit my 30′ s. Both just seemed ” to happen”. Many traumas and bad relationships, abortion and boom! By the age of 36 married and one 6-year-old.My eating disorder has always been a big problem for me.. I’ve been starving myself or self-medicating for most of my life.
In 2017 my body nor my mind could take on everything I set out to do. I was volunteering 5 days a week 9- 5 pm. I was asked to do my WRAP co-facilitator course to do workshops; I had completed the first year of my MA 60 credits and a post-graduate in the humanities with high merit. I had been married for a year. My gran died a horrible, drawn-out death over 3 days in March 2017. I had to decide to take my aunt off life support because my Mom didn’t know what to do. My aunt died in our arms( at hospital snowed under morphine a few months later). I had to support my mom who is ill at times and be “there” for her.
My weight was getting low and it gave me a huge buzz. It’s the best high ever. No drug compares in my opinion to feel my bones protrude or the scales getting lower or that power I feel.
Unfortunately, I started self-medicating with illicit substances and I ended up doing one of my worst suicide attempts in March 2018. I insisted on carrying on with the final year of my MA. I had split up with my husband ( we are back together), My daughter was more or less living at my mom’s place more than she was in her own home. Most of the time I didn’t want her to see me out of my head, or out of control.
I was a single mom & My mom reported me to social services in 2018 within two weeks and then went to Miami for 5 weeks for a break! I received my lowest mark to date and I decided to end it. My mom had a hunch because that night I didn’t want my daughter at home with me.
Anyway, 9 hours in ICU and my Mom ( who was once part of my daughter’s care support package that I discovered and used as to persuade the judge I could look after my daughter with the help I had my daughter to look after and I carried on self-medicating and I had to go through a core assessment with a social worker’s (alone this time and I reached out my child’s school for support stop my child from being thrown into a highly flawed social care system. Twice in that year. Mom rang them again when my daughter was at her home.I made an appointment with the doctor and I walked to the surgery. My mom was complaining about taxi fare etc.. I was hyper however the doctor ” made” my mom ring social services again. Back to 2018
My psychiatrist said I was in psychosis and I think the only reason he didn’t section me is that… I don’t know. He has known me for 15 years! I had my child to look after… I’m still not sure why he didn’t section. I think my then C.P.N. stuck up for me and I was put onto fortnightly injections to show compliance. The side effects were terrible. My mom took me to the hospital to take another medication to counteract the side effects before leaving to go abroad.
It was a rough couple of years from March up until 2019.
I was self-medicating daily I’ve (never been on heroin, or crack or ketamine.
I was in toxic relationships.
I didn’t care about my weight then. My nose was falling apart and I was losing my daughter to my mom at a fast rate.
I still wasn’t dead!I took a really big overdose in Feb 2020. My former care co-coordinator didn’t think my cries for help were serious. My friend kept me awake on the phone. He wanted to call the ambulance. I begged him not to because of my daughter.
I got back with my husband in early 2019.
We had to get an injunction on a guy I allowed into my life. We weren’t good for one another. I seem to attract men who need me for finances or something…
I need them to be assholes to me to make sure that I can never trust my husband. The one man who has never disrespected me in 9 years and I’ve done a lot of shitty things to him
In May 2020 I had had enough.I had been studying suicide manuals I found on the internet and decided to follow the overdose step by step guide. I ended up in a coma for 5 days and wired to tubes for a further 5 days in ICU.
For 2 months I was on a high. I was self-medicating on my Eating Disorder again. My mom and I have always clashed I was living with her trying to get away from a home with bad energy.
It didn’t work out with my mom and my daughter and my cat and my husband living at our current home. She threw me out in front of my daughter and as an excuse, I don’t know
I became stuck in my old habits. It was that or my eating disorder. My choice. My mom threatened to take me to court over my daughter numerous times for my drug use. I lost a lot of time with her my daughter.
I lost confidence in my mom Abilities again.I was spending crazy amounts and stopped caring again. I have reached out to every service in my area and say I’m too complicated. My issues are too ” complex”.
I asked for a new care coordinator ( June 2020) and she saw me in crisis mode for 2 months. In Sept 2020
I put on 1 kilo ( in my head or physically. I was self-medicating so I had stopped bothering about scales.
That day I did something I haven’t done since I wad 17 years old.
I’m 39 in November. I stabbed my right-hand breast repeatedly and my inner thighs. Then bought 2 scales.
I then tried to jump off a well-known bridge for suicide attempts the same night.
My psychiatrist sent two psychiatrists to assess me to under the mental health act section 2 1981. .I think.
Earlier that day,
I walked out of his office screaming at my psychiatrist to discharge me from the enhanced team for people with severe Mental health input.
What was the point in taking prescribed tablets alone when I have been knocking on every door for DBT and therapy?
I spoke frankly with the assessment team and I wasn’t detained
I had a massive blow out 6weeks ago..
My mom had taken my girl away 1 day after we had discussed a plan and strategy and the boundaries and goalposts were moved according to my mom’s mood and demands. I decided f *** it. I was in a bad way and then I fought my mom for my daughter. I got her CPN involved, school. I told her secrets to my family. I betrayed her because I wanted my baby girl back.
She’s been home with me for just over 2 weeks &our bond is good. She is back into a good routine. I’m loving our bond, her age, her interests and her love.
I’ve thrown me into various therapy apps to get better, recovery apps, happy apps, registered to do volunteering again. I’m writing on my website again.
I’ve added a music blog to my website -it focuses on music artists I find and interview them on their career, creativity and thoughts on Mental health and their own experiences. My next feature is ready to publish by early Nov.
I’ve signed up to do loads of volunteering skill courses – peers mentoring etc…
I’m redoing my WRAP (Wellness Recovery Action Plan
Learning DBT on my own.
. I haven’t used illicit substances for 8 weeks and I am higher than I have ever felt.
I’m starving myself again. I don’t like it, hunger, the dedication it takes. I do like the highs and my BMI is down to 17.1. I was living at a 19 – 20 BMI from 2018 until now…
. I’m happy because I’m investing my time in my family and buying us things. It feels good.I’m mindful of how much I drink because of calories and I can’t drink like I did when I was using. I become ill. I have a protein shake usually 2times a day.
. A few microwaved mushrooms, cucumber( not microwaved) and microwaved onions. And celery and herbal tea to snack on.
I’m very active. I love to keep busy.
Mentally and psychically.That’s a bit about me.
I don’t know what else to say.
I’ve managed to find a charity who let me have 10 zoom conference counselling sessions for survivors of rape, trauma and sexual abuse. My last session ends next Tues I have rescheduled 3 times!
I don’t feel suicidal and haven’t in 3 weeks.I don’t have time to ruminate or think about self-medicating in an illegal way. People don’t leave me alone for too long and at this point, I don’t feel suicidal. I feel insanely high on my Eating disorder I’m on a high because I am making positive changes & I have had to cut out my family to be the mother that she deserves and I deserve to be.
Best Wishes
Daisy
I received a lengthy reply with positive feedback back at 3 a.m. this morning. It was an email that served as a soundboard to affirm what has happened and what I am doing with my life. I found it a positive experience I would urge people to use this service even if they don’t feel suicidal .
The life and celebration of one Bella Bee
It was 13/10/2011. Icelandic temperatures in the U.K. We had zero cash and I was not afraid. Everyone around me; My Nan, my Mom and my Aunt were giving me advice and asking me questions.
“Have a bath. Have sex. Have a curry. Have a bath. Have a … inundated with many opinions and suggestions
My daughter was still not due until a week later. In one week I had had three stretch and sweeps. My Nan had to give us money for fuel to get back to the hospital. After my lovely bath, I went to lie down but I felt rather contrary and decided to check back into the hospital. The midwives said I still had at least 5 cm to go.
So we trudged back into our car for the seemingly long journey home. 10 minutes into the drive home, I felt something that I thought could be a contraction. It wasn’t painful but it was consistent. and it was a real ‘feeling’. I turned to my Nan and said I think I may be contracting. The car swerved and headed back to the hospital. At the hospital, the contractions started to pick up in intensity (not sore just an ‘alien’ feeling). The nurses led me to a room and said they would be back with all their midwifery gear. My Mom and my Aunt arrived.
By this time I was going into panic mode because I didn’t know what to expect. I demanded my drugs and started hitting the gas and air (That was all I asked for). If only I knew how ill too much would make me. I sat on this massive pink blobby ball, bobbing up and down like a confused Buddha. Mom was massaging my shoulders like I was in the wrestler’s seat ready for round one in the ring. DING! DING! DING!
Out of nowhere, I had the urge to get to the toilet. I don’t want to be vulgar though the feminist in me wants to flip the bird and give all the gory details. We need to get over the fact that birth can be ugly.
Moving on. This immense pressure hit me and it felt like I needed a shit. REALITY PEOPLE! Though, it wasn’t the same feeling like the usual order of the bathroom purge. I ran/made a move to go to the toilet and I sat down on it. My mom followed suit and said to me,
” No grandchild of mine is going to be born on the toilet” so she and my aunt took an arm each and propped me up and headed in the direction of the bed.
I got on the bed and screamed out what I needed to do. I wanted to push.
“PUSH” they cried.
Okay…. so I pushed really hard. I heard my Mom say,
” I can see her shoulders, push! “
I gave one almighty push that started from my head (with thoughts of ‘ ‘one more push’ ‘body will obey’) One more push and it was ‘SHOWTIME’, I felt her shoot out of me. A chill stirred by my snakelike placenta laying frigid in between my legs. No cry. The midwives burst in at this moment with a Spanish inquisition manner of urgency about them. All tooled up for their big moment.
“We need to pierce the placenta.”
My little girl was born in the full sac. My body didn’t even have enough time to send a message to tell my body ‘waters you may now burst’.
Still no cry. Then a tiny mew of a cry and they placed her on my chest for a nanosecond and then took her away to make sure she was in top form. They took my girl to another ward to observe her breathing and to make sure the medication I take had not affected her in any way. The midwives broke my waters!
My Mom and Aunt were clapping like a bunch of sea lions and then kissed me on the top of my head and dashed out of the hospital to catch a bus to London! I almost looked around for any discarded popcorn.
I did grab for the gas and air because my daughter had torn me and I needed to be stitched all the way around like a hem of a skirt. I needed some post-labour-pain relief. The whole drive back to the hospital and the labour lasted less than three hours. My baby girl was born on the 13/10/2011 at 03:15 a.m.
All the other Mom’s were super jealous. The easiest birth ever. The worst part was actually having to go to the toilet and not scream out in pain when my stitches had been so cruelly awoken. She has never been a hassle from her birth right up to her fourth birthday. She is such
a placid kid, she is always smiling from morning till night. She tells people they are beautiful and she comments on what people are wearing. She sings and dances. She shares. She is so courageous. There is an old wives tale that children born in the placenta sac are ‘special’. Centuries ago men travelling at sea would wear a part of the sac around their neck as a talisman – it was thought that it would give them protection and stop them from drowning at sea.
So much has happened in my daughter’s 8 years on this planet. People expected you to act like some feral child but no you are the most chilled, charismatic, hilarious, intuitive and smart child I know. I see you blossom and I blossom too. When I hug you to my chest that connection. That surge of emotion puts everything in perspective.
I LOVE YOU!
Our pinkie promise: I promise to love you forever and ever and I will never stop loving you and you will always be my baby girl, pinkie promise.
I know a special girl whose heart is full of sunshine She dances her way around the world to deliver her own special punchline She laughs so distinctly that people cannot help but become infected It is a sight to behold when this observation is detected She is gracious and kind and is delicately inclined the phrase 'she is an angel' are the only words that come to mind Her name means beautiful-that of body, mind and soul and to have her touch so many lives confirms her title role She is my modern day princess -so noble and full of grace I love her with all my being and she is a person that I cannot replace HAPPY BIRTHDAY, my sweet child. You are the true gift I found it in your innocent eyes and that was the day my world truly began to shift
Confessions about the illusion of class
Class is an illusion or an in trusion
Don’t mix your dish clothes with your serviettes
Ever heard of that one?
My Gran drummed that into all of us as much as she could.
She was born with money but lived the life of Cinderella because she was pretty and Grand Mamam remarried and acquired two not so pretty daughters.
She fell pregnant at 16 and was made homeless and went to work as a femme de menage and then trained to be a beautician.
She fell in love again and had my Aunt. Her Love left her like a stolen kiss and she then had two children to look after.
She had to put my aunt and uncle in a children’s home so she could work and survive and send money to them.
It’s not a train smash.
Ever heard of that one before?
My grandpa drummed that into all of us as much as he could.
His parents left Russia in 1918, took on a Polish sounding name and ended up leaving a good life for the slums of Paris.
Grandpa was born in the slums of Paris.
Grandpa took to cruising Paris with the other street kids, always hungry on the lookout for food.
One day Grandpa got a chance to change everything. He got a contract with L’oreal to bring the brand and introduce it to the dark continent that is Africa.
Always an opportunist he took the contract, found my Gran along the way, got married to her (much to the disapproval of my Grans family) and left for Madagascar, then Zimbabwe and finally South Africa.
My Gran couldn’t leave her children. She had to tell grandpa that she couldn’t leave France. He asked why and she only managed to tell him about her daughter – my aunt.
My grandpa took my aunt out of the children’s home and gave her his name that very day. My gran couldn’t bring herself to tell Grandpa about her other son. He would remain a secret until he wrote a salacious book about our family many years later.
Grandpa would have taken on my estranged uncle too if he had known.
They went on to have four more children.
Grandpa made a lot of money and finally got live the life of O Riley in South Africa.
The fridge was never empty again.
I got to live a pretty good life too.
Did having money and class make me a better person?
It got me into a lot of trouble.
I had far too much money from my Dad and my Mom’s side of the family.
I got into plenty of trouble.
I ended up living in squats and places of poverty. I was always more accepted there for wanting to get high than with other wealthy friends.
The reason: I didn’t hide who I was.
I don’t regret becoming a drug addict.
It taught me that just because I was white and privileged that didn’t mean I was exempt from getting hooked on the same drugs that only the poor and coloured ( is a race in South Africa and not a slur), Indian and black community did.
Class doesn’t buy you happiness.
Drug dealers hated me.
They didn’t get why a white girl with seemingly everything would be wanted to live a ghetto life – have black boyfriends and live in squalor.
One thing having class did help me with is get me out of a lot of trouble
Before you say money doesn’t buy class.
I already agree it doesn’t.
But have you ever noticed that some people carry themselves a certain way and others have an inbred look?
This is subjective and
Harsh, yes!
Don’t tell me you haven’t ever had that thought!
That person looks like …. (insert your thoughts here)
What I love about the Word Press community is I don’t have a clue who has money and who doesn’t unless of course, a person tells me.
It still doesn’t make a difference. All Good Writing is classy in my book.
What irritates me is even though I am living on the poverty line not because of choice but because of choices I have made – people who don’t know my financial situation assume that the reason I got my daughter back and managed to manage my mental health issues is because of how I present myself and because I look like I have money.
I communicate well.
Being privileged does not make me make better choices.
It doesn’t make me better in any way.
There are many people who live in poverty who just like me want to learn. crave to learn.
I truly believe ‘knowledge is power’.
I communicate well because I have educated myself.
Everyone should have this chance
I’m in debt because I wanted to study in higher education. I am willing to get into more debt to get my Masters.
The problem with the class is the privileged have a better chance at learning to communicate and getting their point across in a “rational” manner from an early age.
We are all born with emotions. It is as natural as breathing
For many reasons when we display our emotions in society, we are seen as bad and showing ourselves and our family and friends up.
People with mental health issues -Rich or Poor get outcast as soon as they start leading their life in emotion without knowing the rules of how to be “civilised” to try to get what you want.
I didn’t get lucky because of my background.
I got clever and I studied and I learnt. I watched people and how they interact. I went on self-discovery courses to find out what my priorities and beliefs and values were and what makes me tick.
I have had at least one chance to marry for money. A pity the person was double my age, got a great pension and couldn’t communicate unless in anger or affection and drunk.
I have never had a rich boyfriend.
I think the closest I had to a boyfriend with “Money” was a brief love affair with someone in the army who had so many issues that he accused me of only wanting him for his money.
Funny story. I actually crushed on him because he had travelled like me. He had opinions and ideas. He was creative and he made me feel special.
I am married for love.
My mom is not rich any more but she has a lot of class and really great taste in fashion.
She has been my wedding planner and if our day looks privileged: it is because she got clever
We got clever. We got our priorities right.
I am rich in love.
My husband to be was born in a place where everyone who hears the name thinks ghetto, drugs, inbred families and rough around the edges.
Granted Gaz looks like he may smoke a bit of the green stuff.
He has never smoked or taken drugs.
He doesn’t drink. Hasn’t done for nearly 5 years.
He does know how to communicate and get his point across better than a lot of the Rich people I have had the opportunity of conversing with.
His mind is open. He is not ignorant. I love him for that.
We get on so well because we try to put the world to rights, we are inquisitive, always ready to learn and find out about our world and even beyond it.
We laugh. A huge turn on.
Make me laugh or buy me diamonds?
Oooh, what will I go for?
Thoughts about Social services & Justice
*First posted 2015
Content: How I got my daughter back- and issues of control/being out of control
This morning I woke up with a feeling of loss and a heavy anchor weighing me down. I should have been buzzing. I was three hours away from meeting up with a girl who works with a mental health charity and to work together on a one off workshop to close the stigma between the volunteers and the people they help. Below is all I had to type this morning: warning alert: very woe! woe! woe is me !and not WOW WOW look at me go.
THIS IS WHAT I MANAGED TO WRITE YESTERDAY MORNING :
Why do I only see ugly? What is wrong with me.I can’t love my cat or daughter or partner cos I have trouble accepting me? Why is outer beauty so important to have when I see the beauty of people in all their different guises? My heart has been rung out . The salty ness stings increasingly as it courses through my veins. Pumping –you are ugly you are not good enough.Why now? Why these feelings now? My next challenge — like a bull waiting , snorting – A Red mist descends. Red mist that at the end will be.
I had writers block I couldn’t think of anything poetic to say. All words seemed shit and I felt shit.
So let me get real and tell you what is really on my mind My head has been doing 360 degree turns lately like that possessed chick in every movie about hauntings and possession. Except it has been me not some movie. My weight has been going up and up – I have had no control. Even with me eating healthily. The numbers have kept on going up. I have been getting a daily beasting from the Goddess of hard core exercises -Jillian Michael. No bullshit. No pansy-ing about. No quitting. I am no quitter.Not a sinker. No Titanic. Why is this fucker in my head fucking with me now? I’m finally getting somewhere with myself and what I want to invest all my working time in.
Yup, so I have really been struggling with my mind for a few months Isn’t that crazy? Me wanting to help people who are struggling? I’m struggling.
I had to let go of the figures on the scale. I’ve never done that. How did I do it? Well, I decided I like eating (yes, Anorexics can like eating) and I eat healthily already so, I was not about to go hungry and become ill again. No, this is my time. I wasn’t going to start taking overdoses to cope with the madness inside me — skewered. Grilling me .It was bedlam in my head. True bedlam.
I stopped weighing myself every day. I CAN’T BELIEVE IT EITHER. I carried on with 40 minutes of an intense cardio workout . I didn’t carry on doing 3-4 hour workouts like I have done previously. I did not start monitoring my fluid intake. In fact I did the opposite and btw my skin looks the best it ever has. I had to get moving. Get out the house and live. The critters inside jittering and chattering and fluttering chaotically in my mind could carry on.I carried on with life.
I got out there and I followed through on my next goal. I have my daughter back . I’m already a student with full BA(hons) in Arts and the humanities. I’ve booked our wedding for next year. The one I was never ever going to have. I am finally in a place to help people.
I don’t care if I don’t get paid I’m getting so much back from this.
You know what is even more chaotic than my recent state of mind? Okay -ready? The training I have been put on to do, is all stuff I worked out on my own and with my family when social services wanted to put my daughter up for adoption.
Why didn’t they get HOME-START in first?
Or THE FAMILY INTERVENTION TEAM?
How come they didn’t tell me about a 12 week course called called WRAP ( WELLNESS RECOVERY ACTION PLAN) that helps a person put together a support package if a person’s health starts to get distressed?
This is not some new concept or specialised training. It’s been going on for years and being taught in prisons and schools today. Why didn’t any of the social workers I know signpost me in these directions?
I stayed up into the early hours of the morning for weeks. Researching online to find an answer to convince social services that I could be a mom and have times when my mental health isn’t all that cracking. In my research I came across something called ‘ the circle of protection’ (very Lion king – the zulu bit -you know what I’m on about?) An epiphany or something.
Why had none of these highly qualified social workers, guardians of the court, these professionals but myself thought to put a contingency plan in place?
When my daughter was put under an interim care order. Obviously, I attended court. The letter for the court date arrived days after the court hearing. I was lucky that I had my family to give me the heads up. I didn’t know that the alleged assault charges against me , that had been dropped (because their was no physical evidence to suggest that I shook my 12 week old daughter) was only the beginning of an incredibly long f*ck*ng journey home. I was like Hercules and his 12 labours.
Back to the morning of 14/12-Confused, in a state of panic-The former manager of social services – I like to call her Miss Hannigan-you know from ‘Annie’ the movie? I swear she looks and acts like Miss Hannigan – every professional I described her too-could not keep a straight face.
They knew exactly who I was on about. Anyway, so after court, the wooly and rather snivel cardigan came into view-like a red flag. Her voice was the second thing I noticed ,she sounded like one of Marge’s sisters from the Simpsons.
I was like : Where is my daughter going? You can’t just take her from me!
She spluttered in that voice.
Stop the drink-stop the shit and sort your life out . I wish she could take her own advice.
I found out about a 12 week group called the FREEDOM PROJECT that was running in my neck of the woods. In a nutshell it is a 12 weak group that helps women understand why we enter and stay in abusive relationships. I took Miss Hannigans advice and self-referred myself to my LOCAL SUBSTANCE MISUSE TEAM and I engaged with a wonderful woman to work out what my drink issues were and how I could manage them. We tried various plans until we both agreed that whilst all this was going on, drinking was probably not going to be drunk for the ‘right reasons’.
I went to every mother-baby group I could could go to.
I could only see my daughter 10 hours per week. I missed 7 contact sessions in 12 months. There was a local contact centre only 5 minutes up the street from where I lived. I had no problems with anybody in that contact centre. Lots of positive feedback. The contact worker who had become emotionally involved told us she had been taken off as our contact worker. Social services and my ex felt that the contact worker was being biased. It is not my fault that every other person who met him thinks the same thing. Whatever that may be.
A new contact lady comes on the scene. We did not mix well. It happens in life. I can’t love everyone.
Next thing I know and I was now taking two buses to go and see my child — in a contact centre monitored by cctv like a criminal. This is how the dynamics of our relationship went. If I got on with spending time with my child and didn’t talk much with the contact worker-she said I was being hostile. If I did chat with her-she said I was distracted and not mentally focused on my child.
This contact person has no mental health qualification. Her job is to collect children from carers/family homes and take them to a ‘neutral’ meeting/contact centre and to make sure the child or children get back home safely. She is a chuffing human. All her notes ( she was a fan of all the Disney songs — those notes were just as agonising to hear) were being gurned into the social workers reports.This is one opinion from someone who was not even qualified. It felt like she was there to prod and provoke a reaction out of me.
I asked the court to authorise a hair strand test for alcohol and drugs to be done. The test was only done 7-8 months after my baby was taken into foster care. It came back negative that I was an alcoholic and drug taker. I am on prescription meds so that obviously came up. The non alcoholic levels of drinking found in my hair proved to them I had drunk alcohol but not at the levels they were making out.From the period I decided to go teetotal the levels had reduced even more. It all came back negative.
I was in a very violent and manipulative relationship. This ahem… man treat me like something he found in the gutter. He warped my mind. My mental health was exacerbated in that relationship. I dealt with this issue and I don’t want to say more on here out of respect for my daughter. He walked away when he lost control. When my daughter is at an age she can make and formulate her own opinions that will be the time I decide to give her the information about her paternal father and seek him out and ask him whatever questions she wishes too.
I paid nearly £400 to do a parenting course online because social services stated I could not do a certain group because my ex was attending it and my daughter had to be over 5 years of age. He got on it because he has two sons under 18. I got my daughter back under a full care order-on the 28/04/2013 . She was not even three years old and all of a sudden I could attend this 12 week government funded parenting course for free. I had THIS IRO ‘professional’ come into my home and threaten me. She tried to wind me up because I made a comment about her not even having met my daughter and she was the person to ratify the adoption plan. She sat on my living room suite and re-iterated that it was her that ratified the adoption plan and still held that view. If I had a problem with her then I could change IRO’s.
I looked her straight in the eyes and I said ‘NO, you and me are going to see this through to the end.-It was like something out of a western movie. Eyeballing one another.
‘Yes. we will’, she puffed out her chest and chuckled to her ‘henchman’ .The person she brought with her to intimidate me. What makes me want to poke out her eyehole is at the final LAC review meeting she was hugging me and saying I had taught her something about people with mental health issues and she realised how ignorant she had been. This woman works with dozens of cases like mine everyday. Mental health is not a new endemic in society. I hope ,you the reader can see why I am ranting at this…
I always say ‘I hold up my hands I am far from being perfect‘. I would actually like this to be engraved on my grave. I have said the phrase so many times. The thing is I put in the effort in and they did not want to own up that they screwed up and I wasn’t what they read on paper and what they thought I would be like. ALL PEOPLE WITH MENTAL HEALTH ISSUES ARE DELUDED RIGHT? HAVE NO SENSE OF REALITY…
Here is my point, It didn’t have to go straight to adoption but it was easy for them to place my innocent 12 week year old child. Blue eyed with blonde hair and not soiled and tainted from being ragged around a defunct system. No behaviour issues. An easy adoption case. They call it ‘twin tracking’
Ha , you should have seen the guardian’s face when I told her that the chances of my daughter being adopted after being told that mental health issues run in her paternal and or maternal family drops. She was 25% less likely to get adopted. Oh they loved me. My legal team were ace. I communicated and I asked questions and I researched.
As a volunteer I have a ticket to go to this PARENTING AND MENTAL HEALTH CONFERENCE
I hope a few social workers will be there to learn something about mental health .
I’m not angry. I finally know why I went through all this shit. Now I can do the professional training and help other people. I’m not bitter- AM I F*bitter-F*CK?
Thank you social services for giving me such a hard time. It has led me to take the actions to where I am in this new chapter in my life. I am strong and empowered and passionate and every time I have fallen in my life, I get up.
Every time.
These other less invasive helpful services should be taken into account and be brought to the attention of a person before they start taking kids off their parents and family without the full facts. I’m not talking about the families where abuse goes on. I’m telling you what I have experienced There is so much wrong with the system. I’m gonna volunteer my heart out.
Thank fuck for silver linings.
I not only have my daughter and my partner and my beautiful family and friends to live for but I have been given a gift of knowledge and I will be trained to help people who need some support and advice. I must share this knowledge of how I got my baby girl back and how much I have changed and how exhilarating and terrifying it is but it is worth the fight. I’m not the only one. There are so many more who are terrified to talk because they feel threatened and bullied by social services.
CHANGE must happen and I will do anything I can to be a part of that. If you have read this far. Thank You. Never give up your right to speak . I had a ‘gagging order’ imposed upon me when my child was a ward of the courts( This is the law in England) . I don’t anymore and I am well within my legal rights to post this. I want to use my skills and my creativity in writing and acting to help people remember how to communicate again and it is a right of theirs to have a voice…
P.S. I still am partial to a cocktail or two when I’m not looking after my health for one thing or another-usually for a dress to fit in to go somewhere.
P.P.S. I have written a stage play inspired by these events with a Brecht like influence. I wrote it for my final end of module assignment for my degree at the Open university and I got a 1st for it. I might put it up sometime . I might not.
Passed Humanities degree
I’ve finally received my results for my 1st year, doing my Masters, in Creative writing.
Drum rolls.
PASS-with merit. I officially can use more random letters after my name — ha ha!
I am now in possession of a post-graduate certificate in the Arts and Humanities!
Wow! Amazing.
How’s this going to help me with what I won’t do?
I have a dream.
I do. 😀
One of my goals is to move back to France. They love people with diplomas. I hope to get a well paid job there. I need to book a trip to The French embassy later on this year. My husband has decided he is going to take on my surname and become a French national. He’s English!
He’s not only English, he is Northern, from West Yorkshire.
I feel so uneasy about my family not having a passport. My entire life, It was drummed into me to always have my passport (in date)in case, we moved countries.
Which we did- a lot!
Moving on . ( pun unintentionally intended :D)
What’s happening in my life?
Loads of shit- ha ha! as usual.
I’m doing better – I keep making a come back. Oh, life – you little tease!
Dare me to live.
Dare me to succeed!
Challenge accepted.
MENTAL HEALTH UPDATE
Yeah, it’s been.
up and down,
down ,
down ,
down –
up again ,
very up –
insanely manic,
toxic,
low,
not quite sure
,emotional ,
aargh why did that and that and that and ..
did I do that?
Those kind of moments, really.
Surely someone can relate?
Not happy about a medication increase in my anti depressant.
I don’t of any person who is on (high/ highest legal doses) of
Two antidepressants
Two anti psychotics
Two anti anxiety tablets,
and sleeping medication.
I know my health posse want the best for me.
I don’t bullshit them.
I tell if I’ve been using shit coping mechanisms, good ones. Thoughts ,feelings…
I made my psychiatrist laugh.
Go me!
He offered me psychology therapy — again .
I was like:
‘Look Dr J, seriously every time I sign up to a pyschologist , they leave!’
All my psychologists have left me half way through doing whatever new pycho babble, current trend treatment , is used, to deal with folk such as myself.
One dude, fell asleep in a couple of our sessions.
So, I was like
‘ Listen, I know how to use CBT/DBT, I know how to communicate and talk. I know what keeps me well . I just want a cure’
Another laugh escapes from Dr J.
He is a legend.
A legend ? yes, but not a wizard 😦
He totally gets me and I feel I have a choice in medication changes etc..
I’ve asked to come off one of my meds because I don’t see the point of being on it. It hasn’t helped me.
These meds have affected my memory. I’m terrified of getting Dementia. I’ve been on (legal) tablets since I was 13/14 and I’ve never been off medication.
Never!
Talking about memory.
I’m using my creative outlets to start getting into the open mic poetry scene .
I love performing but my memory is really rubbish. I’m going to brave it by doing more live poetry next week. I’m excited. Nervous. It’s all good.
I have my final year of my MA to keep me — super occupied. There is a lot of work to do. For part of my thesis ( check me out)
I’m thinking of using my blog to interview creative folk who live in my community to talk about, their work, (durr!) Creativity and their mental health. My photographer mate is on board to take pictures. Some people have shown interest — yeah!
My heads occupied which is good.
Fab!
Awesome!
How will doing this help me with my thesis and final work?
Well, I am going to use this year of discovery and research on the link between mental health and creativity as an alternative form of therapy to cope with life’s unpredictable moments.
Then I will have loads of inspiration to write a film script (120 minutes) on a character ,who , is thrown back into society after a long stint in mental /prison institutions , and who is looking to find him/herself and another way of being and expressing him/herself positively, in society.
The opening scene will kind of look like this
I have an ending – (a bit abstract at the moment) – saying there words:
‘I look around for the first time with clarity. And see I’m exactly where I need to be. Around the misfits. The beautiful misfits just like me.’
DAISY’S UN NAMED CHARACTER
It’s all early days and I still have 4 scripts to write, a critique and a character analysis on a famous playwright to do before the final chapter.
All in all. I’m alive, optimistic-ish, full of emotion, drive, passion , a pain in the ass but just doing my thing.
All terribly boring really… 😀
So, I am back!
I can’t commit daily to blogging but I have joined a group on Facebook.
Shout out to Gary @ fiction is food for adding me.
It’s a website for us!
BIG UP YOUR BLOG!
Bloggers.
I’m a newbie, its good be around other bloggers again. I’m hoping it will keep me off Facebook and keep me connecting with people like yourself. People who use their time more productively. Doh, oh the irony.
One rant before I go : I wish people would stop leaving public posts about my appearance on my Facebook.
If you ever happen to read this
I know you are having a shit time dealing with your own weight issues. I’m well aware of mine. Please take a look at yourself. Look after yourself first. If you don’t – FUCK OFF!
That is a wrap. I know. Hilarious! ha ha!
Thank you so much for reading
Time to step out and live real life..
Catch up soon!
What’s everyone else doing with life? Blogging?
I’m genuinely curious to know.
Mr Tut Tut
I thought I’d succeed this time .
I’d die reciting poetry under my favourite duvet ..
Perhaps listening to music.
Nearly ended up sectioned .
Making the most of a new day.
No serious damage except to my ego.
I’ve never felt so ashamed at failing to take my own life as this attempt.
Why ? Cos I’m still fucking here.
Apologising to people for not wanting to be here.
Time to keep going.
Moving to a new home is a priority..
This house is a poltergeist.
It feeds my need to keep bleeding.
Tired now.
I love my husband
My mommy & daughter.
3 good reasons to state that I’m
Still breathing.
]
Thoughts about Suicide
A follow up to NEMBUTAL.
The man on the right loves me inside & out. My Boo . He has seen me in the best positions 😀 and seen me in positions that would make a man shake the rice out of his shoes quicker than a man walking on hot coals. He ain’t perfect.
He shows me my flaws & I struggle to accept them. I push him away not because I don’t love him.
I do.
I don’t/ refuse to understand how someone can love every part of me especially as I’ve got older and had darker moments than good moments of late.
How dare he love parts of me I’ve yet to love? Mentality 😂
He has brought out parts of me I didn’t know I have. I’m funny and smart and when.
I’m confident – there aren’t many people who can knock me down in a debate. I will state that I’m always willing to listen to other peoples opinions within reason.
I didn’t want to put this pic up on social media because of the way I feel.
The man on the right ( my husband) is justified to have more reasons to hate me than anyone I can think of. He puts up with a lot. He is not perfect. I’ll save that for another day.
I read something a person wrote about not wanting to fall in love but rather to grow in love with someone.
He is my best friend & hears me talk about whatever is on my mind. Even if he is breaking inside by my spoken thoughts and candour. I push him away & I’m learning not to.
Hope can be a tiny thought of ‘maybe.. Maybe I can be something more than what I feel right now. ‘ with hope comes the possibility of re-discovering one’s purpose.
I am that lady who fought death in the face multiple times. One example when I had a BMI of 14 & raised £ 100 for a small cancer charity shop in the retreat, in York ( in a mental hospital) in 5 days because I found another purpose.
To help others.
I won’t rule out looking at killing myself as an option.
I will be true to my character and rationalise as best as I can the pros plans cons of living life with my head until I can’t bear it any longer.
I think this line from fear & loathing sums up my over-analytical character. It’s genuinely hilarious.
There’s a big … machine in the sky, ….some kind of electric snake…. coming straight at us.”
” Shoot it”, said my attorney.
“Not yet, ” I said. “I want to study it’s habits”
I’m loving reading ‘Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas’.
Yes, it’s about the crumbling American dream & people becoming conscious about that reality.
It’s also an interesting paradigm & insight into Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.
Final words…
Write to recover or try living another day looking for meaning even if you can only see that hope in the eyes of another.
Daisy in the willows 