What is your big fat monster?

Write about what scares you the most. What is the big monster inside you that stops you from writing?

 

In order to answer this question, I need to explain how I feel. How do I feel? I feel that nauseating twisting cord in the pit of my stomach, that bit that hits the lungs and makes it hard for me to catch my breath. It is pure fear. I’m waiting for fear. I’m crying with rage thinking that I am going to fail. Going to fail? WHY  the hell have I put those words down? 

I’m 

fulfilling my own destiny if I continue to write, to think this way. So pessimistic.  I’m so sad. Who wants to know about sadness? There is too much of it already in our lives. I try my hardest to carry on and swallow down the lump of sadness and anxiety that keeps rising up trying to force me into regurgitation mode. I try to smile and distract myself by the cows and the horses and the sheep passing by. I make the animal sounds with my daughter. I never want her to know such sadness.

 

My big monster is a haunting sense of failure. As I type the cord pulls tighter. It is my very own Gordian knot but it pulls at me with such a force that I forget that I’m typing and it reminds me that I’m freestyling it. Winging it. Just getting it out.

 

 Letting it all hang out. Let’s face it, I’m not going to become a better writer if I don’t write.  A pause here. My partner doesn’t know how to help me. I glance at my daughter. She brushes her teeth and gives me a smile of pride. She turns around and I suddenly notice her honeyed hair has grown and she finally looks like the little lady she is. She is an only child. She has lots of imaginary friends and is always talking to her friends and singing.

 

 How can I be so sad and have this terrible sense of inauspicious dread pervading my insides? I should be happy! I’m getting married in 8 months. I am loved and I love.

Yet, here  I sit -twiddling my fingers – hesitant. expecting to be caught out.  I’m waiting for the tokoloshe or some other monster to come and turn me inside out and roll me out and shake me around like a big old cotton sheet. Hang me up and then beat the starch of uselessness out of me- for all  to see. I know it is there-somewhere – camouflaged chameleon-like  – waiting to expose its true face. I just don’t know when it will strike.

 

It will be quick like a scorpion attack – one quick whip and all my innards will be turned inside out.  Something has happened to my breathing.

The knot has gone away! Where the hell did it go? Did I imagine it? No, it is gone. I’ve typed myself out of a brooding sense of failure.

 

At least I hope this is what I have done. Has typing down just anything and everything cured my manic inflictions? The one thing I fear – is I can’t write and yet, when I write I feel more contained, a wholly vessel, worthy and strong enough for arduous  travels across the waves of  an ocean of enigmas.

 

Okay, so this post is no masterpiece but I know what cures me. The sadness has lifted somewhat. I can now pin down the real reason I feel sad today.  Before I continue, my partner has just come to tell me he loves me and to take a break from typing. I told him

“Oh I’m just typing some rubbish!”

 

Why the hell do I put myself down so much?  I’m currently holding the title of Atlas… I don’t want his burden, thanks. How do other people cope and stop that feeling of failure? Don’t answer that… or do if you wish to. In fact please do…

 

Sadness comes from an afternoon visit with my Gran with Dementia and Alzheimers. Why does this illness have to exist? Why does my Gran have to live like she does? How can there be a God when there is so much suffering behind those eyes-  her confusion staring back at me? Staring me down. A mischievous imp -goading me to carry on smiling with my eyes. It knows I’m faking it.  

 She stroked my face -touched it like a  blind person -feeling every bump, every contour. I’m sad because I can’t control time. I can’t control what is happening to her. We are all getting older and time is running out and I need to make a bigger contribution to my life and to the people around me before my time is up. I close my eyes and think : When was the last time I really laughed?

 

Oh yeah, two nights ago. I Skyped my mom and I said something and my uncles overheard what I said and started taking the piss about how direct I am. Family…. not going there but I need my family.



The optimistic Anorexic

I know I have been going on and on about my Anorexia lately but what else can I do but pour out all my stress in my head  out and down onto paper ( well a post) I have started eating again and yes, the scales have gone up by 2 kilos. I do feel anxious and think the scales are going to go up and up and up and up – you get the picture. Since eating food again I have finally got my strength back. 

I have the energy to exercise again which means I can eat stuff I enjoy and fingers crossed not put on weight. I still am holding back with portions etc.. but I feel alive again.

 Anorexia had started to take all my confidence again and I didn’t think I could work in the volunteer sector any more. I had started to become paranoid and my thoughts came out in jumbled sentences.

 I was forgetting how to communicate. I felt like a failure.

But, the silver lining is I keep on fighting. I didn’t resort to old coping mechanisms such as  using coffee, chewing gum, pepsi max and other vices to kill my appetite. If I had chosen to go down that route then I might as well have built myself a coffin. The truth I am stronger than my illness. I’ve accomplished so much in four years. I have a lot of livin to do and being skeletal is not a part of that journey.

Of course, I want to be lean and toned. I want to be healthy. I don’t know what has happened but there has been a shift in my mind set. 

I wish I could tell you how I have done it. I suppose seeing what life is like on the other side of a despondent hell has helped me a lot. My family has helped me. I’m stubborn and wilful but I guess that has been  my anchor.  

My life raft. These tr

aits are  being used for a more positive reason.

I read a lot of posts where people with mental health issues are suffering so much. They don’t have the support and help they need. Here is me with an almost perfect little family, my health- I am not in a wheelchair or have problems so severe I can’t keep healthy and fit. I am not some idiot. I am articulate and smart. I am ambitious and a go-getter. This is my true nature.

 Not some vile, putrid anorexic that cowardly hides behind a mask . I got my medication changed and I do feel better. It may just be a placebo but it works for me. It has helped get me back on equal footing with the world.

I’m feeling optimistic again.  I am going places and with one blow the candle goes out and I can turn the volume down on those voices- trying to lure me like Odysseus’ sirens. I’m navigating my way around the rocky depths of Scylla’s cave.  I’m on my way home- to reconnect with my Penelope- my soul, my pure self. My most loyal self. The self  who has never let me down.


What a Keeper

Once you’ve been knocked about and taken a couple of punches to the face DO NOT run after your partner and console him and say ‘We will work it out’

Do not have sympathy for his anger/ low self-confidence issues and his ‘justified’ reasons. Just because he got bullied in the army, it does not  give anyone the excuse to abuse someone.

Don’t kind of) move in weeks into knowing the guy/gal

Drinking may seem like fun at the time but if you wake up and you take a good look around you and see the house is a tip/ filth everywhere, and you are a neat freak. 

Don’t offer to stay and help sort out the house

don’t allow yourself to be manipulated into ‘liking’ his sexual fetishes. If you feel dead inside while you are screwing, then it may be a sign that you are not in a relationship with healthy sexual boundaries.

Don’t use all your money to keep him going

Don’t stop looking after yourself – if you love to wear makeup. Don’t stop. If he loves your hair up, don’t stop wearing it down sometimes

Don’t fall pregnant 5 weeks into the relationship.

Do not allow yourself to be coerced into taking your on/off partner with you to get an Abortion. He will make you feel like a murderer for the remainder of your days with him.

Don’t start drinking heavily after the Abortion and sleep with on/off ex days after the abortion -you may just fall pregnant again.

Do not feel you have to take the blame for the reason he can’t keep hold of a job/ house/ or pay the bills- this might lead you to taking him and his two son’s( who he sees on weekends) to set up bunk beds in the living room  and use your your one bedroom cottage as a ‘family home’.

If you take a serious overdose and your partner does not seek help in the 4/5 days you are unconscious -it is not a good enough excuse to say he knows ‘First aid’ and didn’t feel the need to ring A & E.

If he knows you have an eating disorder and he starts to call you ‘affectionate’ names such as ‘elephant feet’ – you will probably feel shit about yourself and rate yourself a zero.

If your cat won’t leave your side and growls and runs under the bed every time she senses your partner’s presence – Your cat/dog/pet might be onto something.

If you want to get married and your partner is already married but separated and has no money to afford a divorce– maybe you need to assess your priorities

Don’t drink and take drugs or benzos – you will probably black out and stories about you being violent may crop up.

If you want to move and get out of a room and your partner blocks the way, don’t cower away

Don’t let your partner threaten to make you homeless if you don’t buy him a new car, because you apparently lost the keys to the car. You then find the ‘lost’ car keys in his son’s drawers, after you have bought the car,with your student finance money.

If you need to have micro surgery on your arm after your partner smashes your arm into a double glazed window. Don’t allow him to stay with you at the hospital, especially when the doctor wants a private word with you and you only

If you suddenly start losing all your friends and ignore their advice then you are probably firmly  tangled into your partner’s web.The predator’s  rules rule. You are more likely to believe your friends are false and affirm you are not likeable.

If you have an argument on Christmas eve, when you are both drunk and you black out, and then find yourself in a cell on Christmas day. Don’t just believe your partner’s version of events and what he tells the police.

If your partner keeps on making you homeless. DO NOT  write emails back and forth begging him to let you come home and begging him/her to love you. It is a mind game. One of many that your partner chooses to control you. rendering you weak and inferior

If you are in a crowd with people socialising don’t look at your partner. He may give you looks like what you are saying is stupid,  it may make you stop talking because you think that his manner and expression is what every one else is thinking.

If your partner threatens that if you ever try to leave him he will make sure your child will be taken away from you – you need to do some serious thinking

If you are arguing and he punches you in the stomach when you are 3 months pregnant – think about the life inside you and what his motives are for punching you when your baby is growing.

If you go out and come back home and you get the silent treatment. Don’t fall into the trap of asking him what is up with him. He may use this as an excuse to throw you around and accuse you of flirting/ kissing another guy/s. It may also give him the excuse to ‘punish’ you sexually.

If your mother sees red every time his name is mentioned or when they meet up -maybe your Mom has a good reason. Ask her.

The first time you meet his mom and have a girlie natter over coffee and his own mother warns you not to give up your home and questions you about his drinking habits. She may be telling you something – In fact this is a BIG RED WARNING SIGN THAT THIS MAY NOT TURN OUT WELL.

If he sits in a corner rolling his eyes while you are in labour screaming and grunting and pushing your baby out of you -he is possibly the biggest dick ever.

Don’t tell him he has a small dick when you are drunk. You will probably pay for it somewhere down the line. Mental abuse is pretty potent.

If you have to stay in hospital for longer than necessary due to mental/ physical health issues and he won’t leave your side -not even to brush his teeth or take a shower- he may just be worried someone will want to talk with you.

If he has to leave your side to feed your cat and the midwife asks you questions about your relationship. Talk to her!

If you are afraid to leave him with your child,or even for him to hold your baby -trust your instincts. Something is probably seriously wrong with this relationship

If you are advised to put your surname on your child’s birth certificate -maybe ask why. Someone may be trying to tell you something

If you keep on overdosing regularly in the relationship. Perhaps you are not happy and need to think about your options.

If you find your partner talking to  other girls on-line and leaving the laptop wide open for anyone to see – you are been played and there is some serious mind fucking going one.

If you have given up your home and have had to find a new home, seven months pregnant, because you have been thrown out AGAIN – perhaps this partner doesn’t give a shit.

If your partner lets you do most of the painting in your new home  and carry most of the shopping bags in the latter stage of your pregnancy – this says a lot about his character and his views on how he sees females.

If you are watching the ‘X factor’ with him and Nicole Sherzinger comes on in dancing and singing a provocative dress and he slams his beer down and starts shouting, that she deserves to be raped, No child of his will be allowed to dress like that- RUN!

If he puts his other two sons before your child -this too says a lot about his character and possibly what he thinks about the female gender.

If you splurge out on loads of gifts for his birthday,. say you get him a watch with the names of his children and the date of  each of their birth dates engraved on the back. When you present him with his gifts, and if all he has to say is ‘you got S’s birth-date wrong’ -He is a cunt.

If you are in the worst place mentally and physically and are finding it hard to cope when he is around. You carry on drinking too much when you are around him and have another blackout. You may wake up in a cell again and be told you need a lawyer.

Why? Because your partner may have said you assaulted your child and shook her. Then he goes  to seek legal advice the next day to try and get full parental responsibility over your child-  due to your poor mental health:it is time to get your armour on and prepare for battle.

If social services become involved and it looks like he is losing the battle and he agrees with social services to have your child adopted at 12 weeks old. Try hard not to pay a sniper to take him out.

If you get your child back after 16 months of fighting social services and your ex-partner -and he then wants nothing to do with your child ever! THANK THE BASTARD  for finally doing something positive in the entire relationship.



HUMOUR ME

If you don’t suffer from a sense of humour may I suggest this post may offend you.

I bet you didn’t know that Socrates suffered from Agoraphobia ( fear of open places) .

Rate her or hate her. The term narcissism came about because of Kim kardashian

Bet you didn’t know that Nostradamus made sure he got the credit for predicting his own death on Easter Sunday. 

How? He committed suicide that very day. 

 Need a genie The next best thing to a genie? Find a random bipolar person – make sure you rub heads – turn around anti- clock wise; three and a half times and any wish of yours will come true.

Come on , what bullshit Daisy? 

Okay here is a heads up? It is bullshit .

This only works if you do the same routine with schizophrenics 

Want to trace your mental health ancestry -it’s a common fact that all people with mental illness descended from gipsies and witches in a forest just outside of Bulgaria. 

We all know that people with mental health issues are not the same. Illness can happen to a diverse range of people. The most important part of this fact is they are all left handed -I should know. 

We all know that people with mental health issues are so consumed with themselves and can’t see past their own nose. This is why they mostly have goldfish for pets.

Who the hell started this myth?

I mean let’s get real here, us mentally ill people also have crabs, octopus and Wildebeests as pets. 

Here’s a secret- us mentally unwell folks recognise our own kind with a secret handshake  and talk to each other in an ancient language ( borrowed and  used in the ‘minion’ films) so no one can understand us.

Actually that is bullshit again,

The truth is we all have special decode-fier rings that can translate the language of green space aliens – FACT!

New pub trivia knowledge for  you,

There is only one support group that all Swiss people will attend for Depression. Only one. 

If you want extra kudos and bonus points  

Did you know that in the  Korean  language there is no word that can be translated as ‘paranoia ?  

You should get a free round with that one. 

Heard of Xeno ? another Greek philosopher even older than Socrates.

Well, he was an actual Xenophobic – he was!  I studied Greek myth at university.

Who likes a ‘few’ drinks to calm themselves every night and possibly in the morning too? Well, don’t worry ,back in the middle ages= drinking copious amounts of alcohol was seen a prestige hobby like hunting and not an illness. 

Did you know you have more success getting a psychiatrist to engage in conversation  if you disguise yourself as an Orange. Why? He thinks he is more likely to get all the juice from you . 

FACT NUMBER 101 I hate waiting.

The End…



Mind tricks

“I feel as if I were a piece in a game of chess, when my opponent says of it: That piece cannot be moved.”  Soren Kierkegaard   #FollowGreatFootsteps

WHY I’V CHOSEN THIS QUOTE

Not an especially inspiring quote  but it does reflect  my mood and the frustration I am feeling at the moment.

There are plenty of us  living with all sort of illnesses and I just like many of you , try to cope with living with them in the best way I can. These days I have good coping strategies but they don’t seem to be working.

I’m using my new skills and upping my game harder than ever and still I suffer.

No purgatory.

Well, there is an element of being lost and not knowing in what direction I am going in.

My opponent not only mastered this game of chess ,he carved the very pieces of each piece,  made the board and wrote the the rules. To say I’m frustrated and stuck is an understatement.

I’m struggling . That is the truth.

I need to start to think differently. I don’t know where the rule book is. I know all the cheat ways to get to my goal but I want to do it in a courageous and new way.

Our fight is frustrating. We feel at the mercy of our illness but we can stick together and support one another. Just by expressing ourselves in our blogging we are reaching out for support.

I need another way. I’m reaching out today becasue I don’t know who else to turn too

Acceptance

“Happiness can exist only in acceptance” George Orwell

Why this quote?

I have days when I am buzzing. I’m on an all self empowerment mission

 

if you don’t like me then talk to the palm , see the worry on my deadpan face.

Not accepting what and who you are and look like is a one way trip to an asylum – I know  this.

Some days I accept I am a “normal” weight  and body shape now. I am not supposed to l have  the body and measurements of a 14-15 year old.

 

I know this but I have moments where I struggle to accept I have breasts, periods, thighs that touch, hip bones not jutting out.

I work out but I am not muscular -I try to see that this is healthy and is a  desirable  look  to achieve and aim for.

 

Sometimes it is hard to separate my old beliefs that healthy =  chubby or not slim or thin.

I wonder if I have made some God awful mistake taking up  exercise. I’ve bulked up and when I see a picture of myself, on a down day. I zone in my arms.

Why are they so big? Where have my waif arms gone?

Not accepting yourself can drive you mad. I know this.

It drives old behaviours and thoughts.

There is me trying to fit in with the world and it ends up like this!

My biggest not so helpful behaviours are weighing myself obsessively -so I may as well super glue the thing to my feet, I do it so much.

The worst mind fuckery is when I ask my partner to take pictures of me. It is hard to accept myself  and be happy in a body when the mind won’t allow it.

It rejects the body as a whole. It zones in on one particular aspect.

KevinCorrado7.jpg

Big arms, no six pack, bloated tummy, cellulite.

So many thoughts scrabble  the mind

It must be the increase in medication

 I eat too much 

Why did I fool myself?

Why did I let myself be fooled that I am beautiful? 

The most insane thought…

Let me upload a bunch of pics of me  in my bikini,not in some exotic holiday place lazing by the pool ,sipping cocktails; but in my small bedroom, pale , no tan, trying to get in  as many angles as possible so I can scrutinise my body.

Anorexia begs me

PLEASE PUT THESE PICTURES UP! WE NEED SOME KIND OF VALIDATION!

I won’t and I can’t….

So this is just a small insight into how even ONE day of not accepting yourself and others can turn your day from driving by in a vintage open top Rolls Royce, past cotton fields, the air is a  sweet honey and the smell of fresh pine.

Not accepting yourself or  others can turn into a day of picking cotton, boiling and beating the starch out of the linen, the smell of sweet honey becomes a harbinger, it coats the scent of dead charred bodies- slaves.  Try to mask it. You become the person who sees the carefree people drive by so cool and seemingly  no problems.

I want to be happy so I must strive to accept myself as much as possible. I cling on to the good days and try to remind myself of the days when  I feel like I am in a suit and not a real body.

in other news today… Money comes in and money goes out.

It’s bill paying day  Just go with this one, please.

That is fucking seriously depressing but it doesn’t depress me because I accept that in order to be comfortable and happy I have to pay for that privilege.

It sucks that  I have to pay for it but it DOES NOT  have an impact on my happiness. I know I am poor in money and rich in love – I accept that just a  thought. ….



Protection for the compassionate

” You’re not like me, Scott. You are not like any other agent,I’ve ever known, your weight is your heart”– the whisperer -‘I am pilgrim’ by Terry Hayes

What this quote means is, that a person whose weight is  in his/her heart, means they are compassionate.

Compassion in a world of hatred, greed and war is often looked at as a  weakness.

I relate to this quote not because I am some hard core mercenary, as “fun” a career path as it seems.

I wear my heart on my sleeve. I’ve been hurt -countless times because of my heart.

  • Some people are aces
  • Some people are clubs
  • some people  are diamonds

I can de program my mind and harden myself.  I won’t do that. Compassion is a gift. It is an art.

I’m sure all you compassionate people will agree.

Unfortunately, in order to safeguard ourselves so that people won’t exploit our compassion, we need to show it in less obvious ways.

Who would try and back stab you ?

Any one who sees something in you that they haven’t realised or found in themselves.

  • Friends
  • family
  • colleagues
  • partners

You are even more of a threat if your inner qualities are  expressed  and reflected on what people see on the outside. It’s a competitive world out there.

I have learnt to not take bullshit from people.

I have struggled for years questioning why certain people are hostile or go out of their way to lap up any compliments I dish out but when it comes to bigging me up or supporting me – all I can hear are the tumbleweeds.

I know that I am not alone in this feeling.

So how can we be compassionate and protect ourselves?

Be compassionate to yourself first. A lot of people will be

have  around you according to what they need and what they feel.

Be aware.

Your greatest threat can be dressed as your greatest allies.

Save your compassion for those who will truly appreciate it. I’ve only just started learning about how I can use my compassion without feeling left abused, drained and not acknowledged.

You will never be an equal with someone who sees you as a threat and who won’t treat you as their equal.

Their actions will reveal their agenda.

Be careful what you wish for.

 

Days go by and merge into one long never-ending Groundhog day at times. Well, it does for me -every now and then.

I create excitement in my life by signing up to do things that I think are going to get me out of the slump. Give my life a wardrobe of scenery changes and with that hopefully comes new feelings.

These feelings are my drug- the euphoria I crave. The rush of blood to the head.  Anything to make me feel worthy.

Be careful what you wish for.

In all the time I have wished for things to change and things to not stay the same. It has had good outcomes and bad.

 I guess the crucial question is what is it I have been wishing for that I have created to become my reality. 

What about relationships?

We can all get into “are we doing enough” in our relationships?

Are we living life together and truly going for it?

Be Careful what you wish for.

Sometimes it is okay for things to stay the same.

What am I going on about?

Say someone you care about has an appointment for an eye test or a medical review.

You then get a phone call saying that person has to go to hospital to get another opinion on their health status.

Why didn’t this person tell me things could get so serious?  

I’m in shock. I don’t react.

This second opinion then turns into a third opinion.

No more mundane sameness. I have got my wish.

Am I prepared?

To do surgery or not?  This is two people I know and love now, one is definitely   having invasive surgery on Thursday and the other person  is to find out if they should have surgery.

You can’t buy health.

You can try…..

 When your health is steady and away -this is a good time to not wish that there was more going on in your life.

I would rather live the rest of my days partying hardly if it meant the health of the ones I adore didn’t go from not something to worry about, to

fuck what am I going to do if I lose you mode.

Accept that whatever/whomever you have in life  is a blessing.

So what if you don’t have a model’s clothing wardrobe , a TV. the size of an over-inflated sponge bob character?

So what if you don’t get loads of  likes on your posts, status updates and profile pictures?

Yes, all of these things can give you that high we crave. The one that gets our heart beating like a wooden drum.

Success after hard work or not is an exhilarating feeling.

Personally, I just don’t think it would keep my happiness momentum going, for as long as I had the people around me- well and in my life.

I too want to better myself and have everything better .Sometimes it’s alright if something is serving its purpose and is good enough.

I don’t believe we are put into the world to seek validation from others.

 Though I can’t tell you how many times and years I have wasted seeking it.

There is so much that is superficial – nobody knows what is real.

I watched a  documentary on the fashion industry last week. Watch the TRAILER if you can.  Us ladies and now men strive to fit into clothes made to look good on a  13/14 or 15 year old child. 

POTENTIAL NEXT BIG SUPER-MODEL !

nadya_vall

NADJA -SAME GIRL AS ABOVE. WE STRIVE TO LOOK LIKE THIS

The targets are the coy lolita looking ones that , say a  girl  out of Siberia -living in a world of poverty at the back end of a communist regime era , with  the promise of earning loads of money and travelling the world off the back of their one playing card- their looks. 

There are children going over  to Asia or the West and can’t speak English and are children and get exploited. There is no glossing over it.

These girls start going to modelling schools as young as 5 years old learning to manipulate the camera –

Make love to it !

Isn’t it crazy that most of us humans in this world are  brainwashed into having sick minds?

Isn’t there enough disease and suffering for the taking?

We get older and still strive to dress in provocative clothes that  can only look good on a 13/14-year-old model!

That whole sentence is just incongruous.

This is the extent to how ill our society is.

How ill we all are.

We get older – fashion can’t survive on yesterdays’ image!

We don’t even have time to get the ‘today’ look off the hanger.

The fashion world and society won’t let us enjoy a moment that extends further than a sales transaction and a bag of goodies ,that mainly ends up as close to your body as that sinister lampshade you inherited from some distant relative.

It makes you  shudder every time you pass it or look at it. Epic impulse buy. I buy into it -a lot of us do

So, we are always chasing the ‘look of tomorrow’,  usually a younger version of some ‘ideal image’ that could easily have found its way into the Deity section in the Roman world.

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It is an illusion.

Our bodies and minds change in our lifetime.  Nature dictates and  so does society.

Often both are in conflict.

We are not meant to be trapped in a peter pan -esque body for the rest of our lives.

I’ve kind of digressed.

Well, I have made it less personal.

This is how the post started-  health and my loved ones as being something personal to me .

I guess I have taken the model industry and society as an example of our idea of what healthy and successful is.

 It then becomes something that is hopefully a post we can all relate too.

If it is personal to all of us, maybe we can understand or start to question what is the picture of  true health and success. 

What is true happiness?

What is true?

There is no need to go chasing dreams and filling other’s pockets if it is going to make you ill.

Instead of being a small dot in someone else’s story, go and make your own. I’m sure you will get to the end of your story  in a better mental and physical state . HAPPY EVEN!

Be Careful what you wish for.

Will dance for Life.

“To become a spectator of one’s own life is too escape the suffering of life” OSCAR WILDE

WILL DANCE FOR LIFE 

“To become a spectator of one’s own life is to escape the suffering of life” OSCAR WILDE

Last night, I came across this quote and I began to ponder on  it. I went to bed with it in my head. It is obvious to me that I have been a spectator when I was taking drugs or drinking too much.  Yet, I was still suffering.

I think the way I dealt with social services when I was proving myself as a worthy mother  was a time when I should have suffered the most.

I didn’t cry every night. Hardly ever.

I didn’t go drinking and getting high and over-dosing every night or even every 6 months.

I began to watch my life unfold.

I was actively participating in it but for a while  my mind needed breaks- binge watching horror  movies, stand up comedy and other series .Learning to eat properly  again and not party.Take my medication even though it makes me put on weight.  I couldn’t be a Brecht- like spectator 24/07

I learned to live an almost hermetic existence. I  DID become closer to my Mom and my hubby and I found out a lot about who I really am.

I couldn’t throw myself in the whole emotional vortex that was my life 24/7  because I think I  would still be in it.

I had to take it day by day.

Moment by moment.

I had to become an active spectator because I had a  choice to make. We always have a choice to make.

Of course on some level I must have suffered not being able to see my daughter for more than 10 hours a week for 16 months.

But the more I stopped looking at social services’ presence in my life as an invasion. I began to observe them as they did with me and the relationship dynamics began to change.

It’s a most surreal idea to say I never suffered when I was fighting for my daughter.

When the control of how I governed my life needed a full 360  degree turn. The control became about governing myself.

I did have moments where like a spectator I cringed and was brought to tears and “oohed” and “aahed” .

 It was like listening to a song that disarms you for however many moments.

All songs end eventually.

Then, I was free to spectate again.

Sometimes not knowing what to do and just doing what I felt was right is what I think  saved me.

I called social services – MY UNWANTED ENTOURAGE.

It was our very public  joke .

Because let’s face it -if I  am ever going to need an entourage -I am going to pick a  P.A., a hairdresser, makeup artist, editor, childminder,accountant etc…

But on the other side of the coin if you remain a mere spectator in your own life –

yeah sure you  won’t suffer,but

you might just  forget to feel.

If I can’t feel then what is the point of getting married?

Having children?

Having friends?

If I can’t participate in life because I am scared I am going to be let down then that is just a cop out.

When I risk the chance of suffering or potentially being let down or hurt…

If I participate, I have  half a good chance to make things right.

I get to fight for who and what I want in my life.

So we must suffer but the rewards, on the upside ,are the people we have around us and the experiences we get to feel that makes suffering worthwhile.

There is a saying – it goes something like this:

“How can we be so sure to ever know  and appreciate true happiness if we have never experienced disappointment and unhappiness?” 

I have learnt to take more risks with my heart and I have become a more open and aware person.

Yes, when we love others – friends,family – our partners…

There are going to be rough times.

Just be there.

You don’t have to give advice.

Just listen and check in every now and then.

If you want someone in your life.

Ask that person to be there.

They can only say Yes or No.

More to gain than lose if your heart’s intentions are good.


The vessel- a short story by Daisy Willows

“Every day innocent lives are been taken by war and still there are so many countries where it is illegal to have an Abortion. This does not stop Abortions. It just increases poor health risks to women who then have to have Illegal Abortions. Where is social justice?” DAISY

‘Miss Sainte!’ the travel consultant’s hands twitch like bee feelers, ‘let me get your tickets for London.’ and she is off. I’ve always found it amusing how people assume that your life is more exciting than theirs. My life had taken on the acrid taste of bourbon. Hard decisions require liquor. There I was bobbing up and down like a buoy in a sea of bitterness. Disconnected from all sources of life. Waves of nausea threatened to bury me, deep, in an unrefined grave. This was my existence until I sobered up.

The hairs on my arms prick up like ears on stalks, straining to confirm what they’ve heard. Shivers rush down my spine. Impulsively my hand goes to feel the smooth outline of the documents in my handbag, confirming that the surgery will go ahead. I look up from the tropical brochure and nearly fall head first into a pair of dung coloured eyes. She’s that close. I quickly murmur my thanks and bolt out the door, the wind slamming the door for me

My life tends to go from one oblivious moment to the next. One ginger bastard is all it takes for the state of my jagged ignorance to be shattered. Now all I can see is my former ignorance smirking everywhere. All of a sudden its: Ginger beer, Ginger bread, Ginger cats, Ginger biscuits, Ginger nuts, Ginger pubes, Ginger! Ginger! Everywhere! I’ve reasoned that it’s not too avaricious to want more than ‘current-girlfriend’ status. Why would a heathen (his -word) such as myself, all tits hanging loose, wild hair and barefoot, want certainty and commitment? Why indeed?! Every time it’s the same watery twaddle:

 ‘I’m a married man… A Catholic!’ –with a bellyful of 24 hour bargain booze. It’s all driftwood. I’m Odyssey’s ‘Scylla ‘or ‘Charybdis’. If he wants to treat me as a necessary evil then instinctively I will lure him to my grotto and devour him.  Men have this habit of changing anything they see as mystifying into the female form

Yesterday his spinal support kicked in and he decides to call me. It went something like this:

‘Babe, things are … complicated. I’m here for you.’ he said.

Then, that familiar feeling, the tightening jerk on my voice chords, taut like a gymnast’s rope. Panic. The struggle to gulp in air. My throat is blitzed with grainy, arid sand. The beat. The beat in my heart starts clanging cacophonously and belches up into my throat. My instincts are shrill. Screeching: Caution! Do Not Proceed. This is what his voice does to me.

‘Babe, we’ve been through so much?’ Smelly feet. All I can smell is pongy feet; His feet! I’d rather go collecting cacti with my teeth than screw you. Yerr screw you: That’s what I should have said.

‘I’m on my way.’ C’mon you don’t wanna be loved? So instead he gets his way and I’m running like an Olympic sprinter to get to my car.

There I am sitting in the car about to gear it up. Panic. With my palms I start slamming the steering wheel. You stupid bitch. SLAM! Greedy stupid bitch.  SLAM!  Blasted tears form. I look into the rear-view mirror  and with a fingernail, I press down hard, scraping my cheek- only satisfied when I see the offensive, black line of soggy mascara tarnishing  it .Ugly Bitch! I pound the rear view mirror-over and over.

*

I can feel the gamut of my emotions and thoughts losing form. So fragile. One knock. One tiny crack is all it takes. When he opens the door all the innards of my mind start to scramble.

‘Neck this’, he says. He plays his part well. He picks me up like I’m a delicate fawn and gently lowers me onto his sofa. He waves a bag of coke in front of my face. My fucking dopamine receptors are giving you a standing ovation, mate! Trust an ex-army cadet to bring out the Bolivian marching powder. Several hours later, we’re both wading deep in over consumption. Billie Holliday is playing, her voice becomes the beat in my heart.

‘Love. Love her voice… so raw … .so pure…but damaged like… Know what I mean?’

He just sits there, shakes his head mindlessly, not even one cobweb is disturbed. Great bulging eyes leer out at me. I might as well have a pair of fucking rabbit ears and a hat on with electrodes attached to my head.  One eye hanging precariously out of its socket. It is torture what he does to me. I want to scream: Why do you look at my pain? Consider it. Consider me! And then decide this bitch needs sterilising?

He’s suddenly up and real close. His odour arrests my breath, it’s like taking in a whiff of a Parisian fish market at the end of a hot rough day. The hairs stand up on my body betraying my true feelings. Then he demands that I laugh.

‘Laugh. ‘He roars. Followed by frenzied laughter – Shit what’s he gonna do? He’s just laughing. Standing over me and laughing at me. Kick him in the gonads, quick!  He stops. Breathe. He moves up close again, our faces touching.

‘Boo! He whispers, slapping his hands together with glee, he grabs my arse –roughly. I’m smiling. My mind serves itself from my body. It too plays its part well. He then begins to undo his jeans.

                                                              *

A bloated smiling face. The receptionist takes my documents. The ballooned smiling face points us in the direction of the waiting area.

‘Whoa!  They must have known we were arriving, all the chairs were set up, ready for a blessed sermon. Wanna do the honours?’ What am I saying? I watch his fat turnip- shaped face go red. Blood red. He is simmering away like a stew but someone forgot to put the meat in. Jesus why the hell did I agree to this? The walls expand and shrink like I’m sucking on a plastic bag.  Panic. I’m in Plato’s allegorical cave. His shadow torments me, I’m convinced that Mother Nature has given him rights over oxygen.

            ‘Hope Sainte?’ a nurse’s voice booms. Jumped up like a leap frog. Crap joke but I got spooked. The nurse looks up at me, she raises her eyebrows which make her glasses slant downwards. He heaves his body upwards. I feel his skulking bristling my nerves. The Nurse ushers me into a cubicle.

‘Change into this then hop on a bed’ she gestures to a bed. I touch the blue gown and put my fingers to my nose. Tainted, I gag. How can I put it? It’s like I’m inhaling water. Panic has dropped her anchor.

 Lying horizontally I turn my head to the left and I look up into a pair of nostrils. It’s the Surgeon. His lips are moving like that singing bass fish that was all the rage in the nineties. I can’t hear jack shit- the porter wheels me into the theatre.

                                                            *

 I open my eyes.  I exhale, the cubicle expands. He enters, drops his head. Doesn’t even bother to look at me. He stands in a corner and folds his arms. He just stands in that corner reminding me of a scarecrow. All stiff and glacial. Hours slither by, the silence hissing mercilessly. A hug. I want a hug. The silence is pierced. It’s me. I’m screaming. Little critters are scratching away at my insides. The attack is stabbing and sharp. The pain throbs with intent. Panic.

‘What the hell is happening?’ I look over and he’s fiddling with his fucking phone like he’s re-arranging his balls. Strap on cock-face! He turns around to face me. Did I say that out loud? He looks demonic enough.

‘Erm… well derr!’ He slaps my forehead, ‘you’re giving birth to our baby! Look at the state of ya!’ I follow his eyes. They settle on my well-formed bump.

‘You stupid murdering bitch!’ He then spits in my face and turns to leave.

‘Hey, where’re you going- we agreed on this?’ Panic. There’s more screaming.

‘Why? Why? Why?’ Each “why” grows in expectation and volume. Sobbing, through my tears I can just about make out a figure of the porter. Everything starts to slow down. No. Retardation is setting in, slowing me down. Panic. The surgeon appears again. It’s like I’m in a macabre pantomime

‘Now, please, count backward from ten, please.’ he smiles down at me.

‘I can hear you!’ I dribble out. The surgeon smiles and nods his head like one of those Chinese paw-waving cats.



What is this ban on abortion—it is a survival of the veiled face, of the barred window and the locked door, burning, branding, mutilation, stoning, of all the grip of ownership and superstition come down on woman, thousands of years ago.” 
—Stella Brown

“Against abortion? Don’t have one.”
“Every day innocent lives are been taken by war and still there are so many countries where it is illegal to have an Abortion. This does not stop Abortions. It just increases poor health risks to women who then have to have Illegal Abortions. Where is the social justice?” DAISY