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The quest for inner Happiness

I can’t put roots down in a home that feels alien to me. I blank out my world. I dread the familiar haunting of this abode called my home.

How it represses me and chokes me. Yet,I  come back to it like a castrated casualty of  Love’s wars. Conditioned to part my lips for misery….

Misery is the strangest bedfellow.

Assumes multiple faces.

Finds solace in one;

 then toys the mind into trickery.

Absolute in believing the worst.

The quest for inner happiness is insatiable.

Risqué  life impulses

hover to the centre;

reflective to reveal the self

absorbed.

Truth becomes lethargic to express.

Denial in a tangible form is easy to confront.

 Fluid is Something

a perpetual change in reason or emotion won’t be summoned into entertaining with a mere appearance.

Who really has it together?

The innocents shake up this universe.

People’s culpability to surprise succeeds in frequent currents.

Inner warfare barely contains the raw diet of pain -self-inflicted.

faltering when an impromptu glimpse outlines  Guilt slack at the shoulders.

How to do better?

How do we balance every eventuality?

From the withstanding of spirit, affection, carefree joie de vivre?

to never waiver to out compromise sacred boundaries.

A crave to fly

Be at liberty to roam and murmurate with free agenda.

Yet acknowledge the need for the skies and physics reminder of my limits.

To reveal the divine order that is Nature.

Simplicity,

Uncomplicated preambles, snapshots of existence;

must respect

complexity,

staggering through the wilderness, a  heart-

beating… though composed of wood.

Daedalic  to the fracas of life.

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.

God is a Narcissist

Intolerant society.

Living in a belly-fighting off bacteria
Begging other intelligence to disembowel us

Before
Hatred’s tsunanima floods our irrigation system of morals.

No lives matter.Nazi’s aren’t the only few crazier than Mercuries Mad Hatter.

Everyone has an opinion.
Every Judy thinks they are entitled to a Punch – no need to be drunk.

No justice
infers we can’t learn violence is a domino effect.
Cause and effect
ripples from skidding stones.

Balance in humanity
artifially inseminated tinnitus
is the reality.

We look to archaic verse in the Testament that
‘ an eye for an eye’
is as natural as witnessing two beasts bin active fornication being violated.

Our instinct

Our emotions show us we are alive.
We feel we must feel — we have to feel to carry a vigil of hope

Godless goddess installed a program of free will.
A Divine sign?

Why not take back this privilege?
Why make n imperfect world full of sublime, then lure us out with the promise of sporadic sunshine?

Caters to the needs of every breather, every ecosystem.
No need for adulterated theft.

God is a Narcissist.

Why would someone with such power sit back and watch us destroy one another?
Fuck the lies, the parables,
Jesus dying for our sins?

His resurrection dragged through centuries of blasphemous leaders chanting idolific hymn.
In the name of Ignoratious Barkus Dogma.

Religion – organised to control the masses
Sniff out to snuff out the submissive odour- of terrorism.

Bombs

Nuclear weapons.

fists connecting with human bodies

Unlicenced rifles blasting into chunks of beasts flesh.

Rights?
Who is right?

We’re in a goblins  game lost in a maze

They have the eduction to translate to us
cuts to every department.

Global
Division.

Revision .
This is a prison.

When Suicide is a man’s motive to rise to the heavens and receive a reprisal.
Then it is a given.
God is a narcissist.

Jesus was a shoddy carpenter. Check out my gate.
A whore mopping up brows is the only tangible part of this story I find plausible.
Give me a sign!

suffering to this extent is for an entity pantomime.

A gathering On Mount Olympus of Enlightened gods who never miss an episode of planet earth.

Darkness   reveals a screen
A  dismal form of the masses. These pupils— dilated, babble out  words of freedom

Freedom to insult ,
Freedom to obliterate ,
Freedom to disfigure,
Freedom to impregnate,
Freedom to live in contempt.

A society bloated, heaving up piles of excess.
Anarchy doesn’t mean terrorisation.
Revolution is for the mighty hearts.
Revolution is for a shift in consciousness from inequality for the many in parts.

Race,
Gender,
Sex.

We all deserve to be on the earth offender register.

Why do we obey ungovernable laws ?
We take our grievances into our own hands.
How can there be justice?
When her namesake fails us with a well-practised pose of inverted corruption?

Born in navigation mode,

We’re grappling at pockets of hope to Trust in humanity.

Live by your true North

Live by your inherent moral compass .

Especially if life decrees a sentence of physical deformity;
Don’t look to the sky for an answer.
Don’t look to a man with free words dribbling down his jumper.

Don’t tear down statues that can’t fight back.
There is no sense in joining hands with this vicious pack.
We all have it wrong.
Every. Single. One. Of. Us.

God is a narcissist

Hidden behind every face with a  stoic sense of entitlement

 Knitted together from years of oppressive Dogma

Teaching  Seers to

Oversight at what a plight this method of living truly is.

We all need to hang.
Hang our heads in shame.
Enough.

Cut out my heart
See it bleed
Let it bleed …

examine its appearance

understand there is no difference –
we come into the world.

We all rely on another hand for our first feed.
Then we are taught to have a plan B.
Alone, I’m ready to denounce my mammalian side, take my chances, swim against the tide of  sick oceans in one last effort to truly be free
Free from what?

Free From.
Free from hate,
Free from Rhetoric verse spoken lost to a lingering scent of horse manure.
I denounce my own and seek a new home on the basis-I don’t recognize my own kind.
I don’t see a common interest
A goal –

All I see is another foe.
I choke on these words.
Why can’t we learn
I could go on

We have history books showing our true face in good faith.

Nothing is censored.
The age of enlightenment has turned into the stagnant pregnancy of disillusionment.

God is a Narcissist.

Mrs Tersable

Mrs. Tersable had the patience of  Hades with a lengthy dose of blue ball build up  syndrome.

Beans on toast, eaten straight out of  a tin can –  this is not how she was used to living, outside of her comfort zone.

She wore wooly jumpers to cover  the razor sharp teeth piercing through her very own flesh.

She was so gifted in signing off with a  ‘kiss kiss’ and a ‘mwah mwah’  tres AbFab darling

 BBC  Nigella’s  best Italian  dish.

Unfortunate event, she was the kind of lady who had to learn how to suck the devil’s cock. Have her ass smacked  and molded into   a fine knight  mare.

The tragedy in her quest to rise to power in a Patriarchal society took a heavy blow on a high voltage setting ,following a trail  to the bully matriarch beatbox  competition at ye olde fayre.

She rose in stature  until she hit her own glass ceiling – a rose always  needs to be pruned. All flowers, eventually, lose their fragrance and bloom.

Every season there will always be another eager seedling waiting to come out and steal  her once-signature odorous  perfume.

It’s a lamentable world we live in when the people who are meant  to be  teachers and mentors,

refuse to listen to their own apprentice or student who  listens , then questions the station ranked  above.

Not all students  climb this far to then  curtsey disabled in  fear, at one vicious bark – all the way on the Yorkshire moors.

What does this say about us as parents, role models, teachers when we refuse to admit our own errors?

We pinch our noses to avoid inhaling one whiff of humble pie, no one saw  you order  a Miss Hannigan chaser.

An associate of those benefit drunks with the DT tremors?

Feedback at any age,gender ,role or title is crucial to evidence   your presence in eternal life learning.

Mistakes are a necessary jigsaw piece to conclude  this game.

It’s not  so much what we don’t say as to how we say it.

Oops, maybe that  15-year-old child shouldn’t have appeared to be marking that essay on the subject of learning to  ‘look  kept while she  is on the game-  earning’.

Bullies come in a plethora of forms – the ones with the sweetest touch can turn on a person like a stye in   the eye.

Manic and wide-eyed .

‘Attention , we  now  introduce you to Sir werewolf faint heart . ‘

His title gives him permission to tear down  the fourth wall but he promptly  decides to use off stage to indicate he has his role – his own part.

So changeable – so  constant.

If it weren’t for experimental  folk, you might believe  that the  very word  had been a word that ‘phantasmagoria -the shouting  star’ ,hurtled down to you from a startling  height in  a –

can you picture it?

A cosmic  sky.

Oh, how  some serfs do like a good old-fashioned backdrop.

Kitchen sink drama – ironing and puffing a cig so soon after a hideous operation tumor  larynx op.

I don’t mind  subjective commentary .

Political and social change is in a state of  osmosis.

Dame Equlibrium!

 Where is she hiding ? be a darling and throw us an adlib  objective  objection – based on some factual,theoretical documentary.

Ego  hypothetically propositioned and the  recent report is he is officially   unwounded.

Id is feeling indulgently  charitable.

Super ego is insulted on behalf of all the marginalized  it  chooses to write about.

Prepared to work with all senses engaged, ready to gain insight and  to ‘show and tell’  how flawed this world truly is .

Just because it says something  black  on white  – doesn’t mean it’s exempt from giving you a bad case of colonic  irrigation ,peppered doubt.

The biggest bullies are the  usual suspect atypical members – they all  have a hidden agenda.

Keep your cool and refuse to cower from the tirade of abuse screamed down the cord of a retro style, dial-up  telephone  – switch  on to radio channel smoothie blender.

Only you can be your greatest ally and defender.

Or,

you could   go on one hell of a  bender.

Never been an option for the author who has fought off more heated bitches in duplicitous  organizations with a questionable gender.

*Inspired by good old fashioned rotten to the core  bullies sitting in apple trees *

Thoughts about Human rights

If you believe in justice,  a fair government,  equality and you have ever enjoyed my posts on here.

PLEASE -read this

Hope. you all had a great Christmas. This may explain (in part) why I haven’t had the time to read as many blogs as I usually do.

T

The saying a picture tells a thousand words doesn’t seem to tell the true story about what is going on beyond one captured picture.

It doesn’t convey domestic abuse, self-harm or the self-harm witnessed, a mother’s mental health on the brink of being sectioned – trying maintain ‘the perfect mother’ image – she has portrayed for 6 years.

FYI there are no perfect mothers.

It doesn’t show a woman doing everything in her power to piece together her life, protect her child from harm, it doesn’t show THIS WOMAN asking her own mother to look after her child for 4 weeks, because this mother knew her mental health was declining.

This picture doesn’t show the abuse and social media troll comments she endured trying to fix up her home, trashed by her ex-husband.

It doesn’t show a mother trying to finish her final year of her Masters in Creative writing with the Open University.

It doesn’t portray an image of a person trying to prove to her community that she is still in the right frame of mind to volunteer and set up a workshop with a Mental health charity (in her community).

It doesn’t show how she self-medicated and thought about disappearing. It doesn’t show how she sought out help and signposted herself to every place she could find to help her and her child.

It doesn’t show how she looked to a mental health charity she had previously volunteered with to ask about advice regarding the government (without warning) stopping her child tax credits.

It doesn’t show this woman going to a food bank and having to decline most of the canned goods because her daughter is a fussy eater and this woman has a diagnosed illness of chronic anorexia, and bipolar

It doesn’t show the pain and betrayal this woman felt when her colleague from the mental health charity alerted social services. There was no mention of her concern for this woman’s child in the conversations they had.

This picture doesn’t show the raging, passionate, warrior fight mode of a woman who fought for her rights.

It doesn’t show a person who is resourceful, emphatic, honest, heartbroken, human, sensitive, passionate and willful.

It doesn’t show a woman who has a habit of choosing partners who rely on her finances (benefits, tuition loans, credit cards) to keep the family afloat.

It does show a mother who loves her child. It shows a beautiful warm home – it shows a person who has no issues, is well off and looks like either she married a wealthy partner or she is a lady boss.

It doesn’t hint at poverty.

It doesn’t show her state of mind.

It doesn’t show her anxieties.

It doesn’t show how deep she has had to “dig” to make sure her daughter has a Christmas that our society brainwashes us into getting into debt for.

It doesn’t show a mother and person who will fight for injustice, exploitation and for  the rights of all human beings being treated without discrimination. It doesn’t show a woman who has travelled the world and who lives in a small village/town in West Yorkshire ready to take on anybody/any organisation that ignites her passion for all issues related to humanity.

 

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