Category Archives: WRITE TO RECOVER

Write to recover.

The queen of my mind.

The queen of my mind.

Mar 4

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I’ve been meaning to do this for a while. Yes, it exposes my vulnerability. I am merely human. I have bad days and good days. This letter is to the so-called friend I’ve kept as consul for most of my life.

Dear Anorexia and all the other secondary mental illnesses

I always seem to put this post off. I usually come out with all these things I have to say to you at the wrong times. Like when I am having a bath.

Erm…inappropriate.

Okay, I sought you out. I did.

I begged you to be my friend and you eventually became the only friend I had. I didn’t want to lose everything. So, despite how I felt or how much pain I was in when I hurt myself, I did it. We had a strong bond. Bonds are not easily broken. Not even now, when I don’t want to be friends any more.

I thought you might be a bit more understanding if you understood what you took from me and what I allowed you to take.

You took most of my life experiences and made me put on a pair of your glasses so that I could only see life through your perspective.I didn’t have strong vision to begin with so I accepted your gift and I still wear them every now and then. I don’t know why you want me to hurt myself,

Life: everything I have ever seen and experienced has been through a filter of your making. You have had the final decision before I get to see anything, so I can then process it and carry on.

You encouraged me to self harm in so many other ways Drugs, cutting, taking chances, impulsive behaviour, getting into trouble. I don’t know if friends should really do that but I only had you. What did I know

You are jealous. I became your reflection..

Your reflection.

I had no life in me for many years. I was merely a toy- puppet of yours. Attached to strings to dance to your cacophonous melody. Sometimes I still feel you, hear you. Pulling me up. Making me go in a direction I don’t want to go in.

Every interest I had, be it watching a movie or reading or going to a rave and dancing or talking to people to try and make friends- you stole that from me.

I allowed it. I only see now, how awesome I can be without you. Fucking cool bananas.

You told me I was peculiar , not like other people, special, different.

You did a remarkable job of making me think that nobody understood the words, I spoke so I stopped talking. I let your talk for me- everyday, every living moment. Every tick of the clock. Your voice. Sounds so soft to others- barely audible- Invisible. To me it sounds more like a constant shriek in my mind, I feel anything but invisible – I feel I take up too much space.

Figure that one out? I can’t.

I lost my family. People thought I had an ego and thought that I was up my own fucking arse.

I only wanted to like myself.

I just wanted to feel good about myself. I thought you could help. If I was attractive to others people would get me and see all my awesome qualities and my true personality. You couldn’t stop at that.

You needed to coerce me into changing one small thing , then another small thing. You helped chip away everything that made me ME until I was lost and abandoned in the dark.

A vacant spot in a vast pool of darkness.A world of black and white. If people tried to talk to me you turned up the white noise. I sat there motionless.

Every person who spoke to me or who tried to be a friend to me -you would whisper they were lying to us, they don’t like us.

Always

be on your guard.

Your motto.

You taught me that. I was and I am still on guard.

You know what?

Fuck this ..I’m not wallowing in the past.

What I really want you to know is I don’t want you in my life at all.

I was wrong and made a mistake.

I know better now.

I have a choice – it is my choice who will be in my life. Yes, you are powerful enough to try and come between everyone I love. I won’t let you.

I won’t.

You want to be friends with my daughter.

NEVER WILL I ALLOW THAT.

I know your true face. There is nothing behind that mask. I rip it off and before I can see the true you you dissolve right before my eyes. You need me more than I need you,mate.

You still try to convince me that our friendship is a blessing – that you give me strength to live.

I’m pretty convinced if I could find the cord that links me to you, I would be brave enough to cut it and I would finally start breathing properly again. I would learn how to breathe again. I would succeed.

How many times am I going to have to evict you from my mind?

Why don’t you get it?

I’m done with trying to kill myself.

You have taught me one thing – I am not at your mercy to live or die. You don’t get to choose because : I. won’t. let. you.

You crept back into my life last year.

So cunning, so sly……

Look at you smirking -so sure, so smug.

Like a snake, you slithered and curled around my whole body. I remember the familiarity of your touch -cold. Cold means thin. This means I’m winning. Your charm nearly disarmed me again.

In what seemed like mere seconds,your entire body had coiled itself around my neck -suffocating me. I nearly lost my mind for you again. A couple more months and I could have been back in the hospital.

I’m not some new friend of yours that has to be emaciated to believe I have earned your undying friendship. Today, I live in a body and a mind I have created.

To try and cast you out. Of course you weren’t going anywhere. How naive I still can be after all these years.


Why would you go somewhere else when you have everything you need in me.

Today,

I am healthy.

You tell me I’m fat.

I’m not fat.

I eat and you tell me to pinch my skin, you tell me to loathe it. You yell at me , telling me to grip my bones.

You tell me the bones have been lost in my womanly body.

How dare I grow up?

How dare I start having periods again?

How dare I have a child?

How dare I put her first ?

How dare I empower myself……

Now,you listen to me. You can make me cry- you know you can.

You know that every living moment I know you are with me, in me.

You won’t even let me be touched and loved by my own husband.

I flinch when he touches me because you have convinced me that my body is wrong.

It has taken four years to get to the place where I am with my husband. You don’t want me to enjoy being loved.

You don’t like affection.

Affection means a chance to be loved.

Your kind of love is like boiling water and third degree burns – plastic melting and merging with my skin -never letting go ;forever scarred and deformed.

All this to make sure you have me forever. You feed on my thoughts.

Why won’t you let me watch a fucking movie with my partner without making me aware of my body?

You are sick. Contagious. A reoccurring infection.

I don’t want to be sick. I know I can’t just get rid of you. For a time I was able to shut you out and started living.

Oh, what a jealous friend you have been. You plotted and planned – ready for your comeback .

Always had to be the one who has to take the lead part.

You can’t have the lead part in my life any more. My life is my stage. I am a producer,editor, stagehand, actor, writer, graphics producer , costume designer, light technician . Your dear friend has been made redundant.

See ,The terms and conditions of our contract?

See this lighter in my hand? Flame jumps from container to paper – it can’t lick up the paper quick enough.

I’m the one who says what goes in the script and what doesn’t

No, I know you don’t like this. You are laughing in my face. What was that?

I have no confidence,

I’m needy, lazy, a failure.

You are right,I’m not fucking perfect. How many times have I nearly died doing your bidding?

I want to be happy.

No, not your idea of happiness.

I want to forget about being aware of how you want me to feel about my body. I want to enjoy each moment away from the knowledge that my body is just there.

Today, I respect my body. You don’t need a mask to cover up the fact you have no idea what that word means.

I had so many things I had in my head …. to say to you…

I feel you still don’t get it.

I know I eat.

I have to eat . Don’t put the guilt trip on me if I feel hungry.

Yes,I do. I love food. There are so many more types of food I want to try and I am still afraid to try . I am learning though.

Every book or film or conversation I have ever had was drowned out by your voice or because I couldn’t stand to hear your voice again , I drugged myself, tried to take my life

– oh so many times.

Yet, I still stand..

You won’t go because you love a challenge. you enjoy the struggle.

How boring would it be for me to just give up.

Oh don’t get me wrong, love.

I have nearly died for you and you happily appeared to allow it. We both know you became my friend because you knew I would fight you.

Still now, twenty odd years later I fight you.

No – you can’t have increasingly lower digits. I have set the bar for what weight I can live with. I’m not going to stop eating if I go over that weight threshold. – I will cope. I will get back to my safe weight.

You hate the fact I exercise to keep fit and on track-to focus -to keep me rational – I have found out the secret you have hidden from me for so long.

I’m not going to binge or take laxatives again. It fucking hurts. 100 laxatives a day for how many years. I’m not buying into that abuse any longer.

You are having so much fun with me at this moment. Forever toying…..

The scales have gone up. I should know I’ve only been there with you over 50 fucking times today on that scale. Willing that 1.5 kilo of weight to go down.

I am not having fun.

I am a woman not a child. My spirit is not a newborn. You can’t corrupt it like you did all those years ago.

I get periods. There is a lot of ‘I don’t want’ that comes with the power to create life.

Fluid retention is one of them. You want me to think that these laws of a woman’s body don’t apply to me. Your arrogance never fails to catch me off guard.

You want me to think I have lost control…….

I see all this and I hate you with every thought, every emotion, everything.

Yet, you still won’ t go away

You may be having fun but I’m not having fun and I don’t want to play.

You have brought many foes to my door- snuck them in. Bipolar ,a so-called personality disorder, the list goes on and on. All free loaders.

Remember when I was at the height of my career? You wouldn’t let me become more successful. It wasn’t your definition of success so you took it from me.

Remember when I tried to better myself and go to college?

You fucked with my head then too.

Yes, I got my degree, eventually. I nearly died getting it.

I nearly died getting my daughter back too.

You like the fighters. The ones that put up a struggle. The more I struggled the more obstacles you put in my way- one of your finest tricks was the abusive relationship act.

I finally see you are indeed a one trick pony.

Well done, a round of applause.

You are not the master of my mind any more.

You are a bully- deranged.

YOU CAN’T HAVE ME!

I’m getting married and you can’t stop that. Yes, I know I’m vulnerable because I need to fit into my wedding dress.

Guess what?

I am going to have another child and I won’t let you stop me. I am going to nourish life, nurture it like I should have done the first time.

I will be free of the medication I take to stop you from having the upper hand all the time . I don’t think you have realised,

the fight you have with me, does not just end with me alone any more. You continue to take me on -you are now taking me and my family on.

You are a threat to my life- no not a pathetic one,but one full of joy and love and respect. You hate it. I don’t know why you won’t allow me to love.

Where did you come from ? and what made you so malicious?

I can’t be your therapist and provider.

Yes, we are back to fighting again;

I don’t need tarot cards to know the ending to this.

I’m winning.

Yes, I am.

You are strong, I will give you that but I have had four years of some kind of freedom from you –

You ,dear friend, let your guard down .

Thank you, because you gave me another reason to live and want to be alive. The devil I know or the glimpses of joy I have found in living ?

you lose,

check mate!

I will continue to rise as the queen of my mind and your whole kingdom built on flimsy lies is going to come toppling down.

If you are going to throw a punch – don’t let your guard down.

Practice what you preach.

 

Posted in MY BRAIN -MY THOUGHTS, WRITE TO RECOVER

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Passions by a self -defined Humanitarian

Passions by a self -defined Humanitarian

Nov 19

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Write to Recover is an approved therapy called Bibliotherapy. It is used on people with Eating Disorders, PTSD, Depression and other illnesses. They are prescribed relevant material such as certain poems, novels and encouraged to write to find their inner being. Poetry as a form of healing dates back to Egyptian times in the 4th Millennium  BC. Shamans used to write words on bits of papyrus and get their patients to swallow the words on them for the most speedy effective result. 

In Roman times -A greek Born physician called Soranus of Ephesus was employed to come to live in Rome (in the 1st century AD) – to treat people with mania and melancholy with words. 

The word Mania originates from the Grecians. Melancholia is can be interpreted as meaning ‘black’, bile or gall. Whilst Mania is was broken down into two words Ania- is interpreted as severe mental anguish and the word  Manos is attributed as meaning a relaxed state  or an extreme  preoccupation of  the mind and soul. Soranus was the first person on historic record to suggest that mental illness of melancholia and Mania were separate independant entities – it makes sense to understand why in later years Bipolar was referred to as ‘Manic Depression. It is documented Soranus, treated people with Mania by prescribing Tragedies to read and conversely prescribed those displaying a  melancholic temperament with Comic works.

During the American civil war- American poet, Walt Whitman, used poetry recitations to treat the wounded before Morphine became the popular choice for pain relief. The humanitarian poet ( author of ‘Leaves of Grass’) also wrote a poem about his experience as a nurse on the battlefields of the American Civil War,

Thus in silence, in dream’s projections,
Returning, resuming, I thread my way through the hospitals;

The hurt and the wounded I pacify with soothing hand,
I sit by the restless all the dark night — some are so young;
Some suffer so much — I recall the experience sweet and sad;
(Many a soldier’s loving arms about this neck have cross’d and rested,
Many a soldier’s kiss dwells on these bearded lips.)

Walt Whitman, “The Dresser” (1867, later titled “The Wound-Dresser”)

In modern times Poetry therapy is used to help people express themselves through self-reflection. So,the saying, ‘Words Matter’ – indeed do matter and have a powerful effect on our emotions and cognitive faculties.

Poets such as Alan Watts, Walt Whitman, William Wordsmith and Antonin Artaud works are prescribed to patients as an alternative form of therapy. 

An article was written by, Igor Goldkind, called ‘Towards an Uncommon Sense: the Practice of Poetry Therapy goes into greater detail of the breakdown of the three types of the most common approaches used to help people with Mental Health issues. 

Receptive/Prescriptive,

Expressive/Creative,

Symbolic/Ceremonial. 

Towards an Uncommon Sense: the Practice of Poetry Therapy, Igor Goldkind

 

I  identify as a humanitarian, I’m currently doing my TEFL (Teaching  English as a Foreign Language) training. I  think I have found my new calling. Perhaps my next career move will be to do training to become a poetry therapist. 

So, I will carry on with my ‘Write to Recover’ posts because I benefit from using this creative outlet to consolidate my Emotions and feel energised and purged from the unravelled thoughts I have in one day. My thoughts have a way of discombobulating my emotions and I become ruled by my emotions and thoughts that are not necessarily based on evidence and truth. I have made an ambitious start at using self-therapy DBT  (Dialectical Behaviour Therapy)to practice emotions distress tolerance, Wise mind and many other techniques to have more moments of Emotional Wellbeing than non.

I’ve downloaded many helpful apps to help me stay focused -The DBT therapy app, Happily, The recovery app because   I do live in my head a lot. Perhaps too much and too often. and in the past when I have been unwell with my Bipolar, Chronic Anorexia and Emotional Unstable Personality Disorder.

Please, can the word labellers of the world reclassify the title of this illness because I hate the Stigma and connotations conjured by the term EUPD?

A post for another day… 

I’ve also begun to throw myself into reading and educating myself across the entire spectrum of the Humanity & Arts subjects- Music, I have a Music blog, Photography, Art and reading up about different philosophers -all the subjects I have a great passion for and I never thought I was intelligent enough to grasp.

Reading back on these words,I find this tragic to put myself down to the point I feel that I am not like “normal” people who can enjoy these subjects and write about them (with a degree of credibility).

Momentarily I shall blow my own trumpet to state that I have a post-graduate certificate on the humanities I worked my booty off and received high merit. I received high merit towards my first year studying my MA degree in Advanced Creative Writing focusing on stage scripts! Writing about themes I want to shine a lot on – Homelessness, eradicating the stigma attached to mental illness.

Morality plays covering historical themes- the Russian revolution being a prime example.

I am compelled to volunteer my time in my community on the therapeutic benefits of creative self-expression and the connection with Mental wellbeing being. I have done this in the past. I’ve stood in front of Social workers, schools, NHS workers doing Anti -Stigma Workshops. Co-producing them. I don’t want chuffing letters after my name. I don’t want fame. I loathe it. I’ve been asked many times what it feels like to have so much insight into my mental health issues and “suffer” from them. Sometimes, I scream in frustration, I choose Ignorance! 

Perhaps this is the reason why  I’ve sought out “bliss” by self-medicating or trying to take my life because I have two live in my head. 

I will wrap this post up by affirming my saying 

Write to Recover or die to live the day of another

Posted in MY BRAIN -MY THOUGHTS, WRITE TO RECOVER

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Last night I called Samaratins

Last night I called Samaratins

Oct 24

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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 . 

Posted in MY WORLD, WRITE TO RECOVER

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What is the truth?

There are days I drop words of comfort on myself like falling leaves and remember that it is enough to be taken care of by myself – Brian Andreas

Have you ever tried to be yourself ?

Lost yourself to the one form of self expression that you excel in?

Writing without my vices is my biggest quality.

Proof I don’t need anything but passion & words & emotions to crystllize my thoughts and emotions. To formulate poetry or stories to know that I’m important too.

We all want a bit of self validation at times, don’t we?

Life is rough & tough .

Love the people who have got your back.

Leave those who don’t- even the one’s who claim to love you yet have let you down by your standards and your values – time and time again.

Respect comes with age & patience knowing that wisdom is not solely about your age but also about our unique experiences .

I sometimes think – If you call yourself a writer -then you have to write & type all the time .

I have an inkwell tattooed to my arm.

We shoudln’t define our selves as masters of our creative self expressive outlets if we don’t write or create every day , especially if it is something that we do to try and keep well or find inner peace.

It’s more difficult to achieve if our creative outlets require an income and proof for a resume or career!

I’ve had the privilage ( sometimes to my detriment) of making decisions in my life where I decided what roads I have travelled down. Some roads I had no choice.

That is life.

However or whatever we use our creative outlets and passions for – hobby, recovery, to stay sane, a career.

I have the opinion that it is how open you are to self reflection and the ability to take on healthy critique or even self critique will gauge how effective your work on self development and progression is achieved.

Don’t forget to be compassionate with yourself and I will try to remember that piece of advice too.

I have all these thoughts. The words I’ve just typed are my thoughts.

Interests? I have a lot of interets.

My thoughts get scattered.

I’m not my thoughts though I sometimes believe my thoughts and feelings are the truth.

They are my truth and subject to change.

These are my words.

Posted on | Aside

The life and celebration of one Bella Bee

The life and celebration of one Bella Bee

Oct 13

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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

Posted in MY WORLD, WRITE TO RECOVER

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