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Even Academics can get into Violent relationships

 

I AM SO A GRADUATE WITH A BACHELOR OF ARTS WITH HONOURS (in the arts and humanities)

I haven’t had my graduation ceremony yet and with all that has happened this year, I totally forgot that I have finally finished my degree. My other half was going ballistic (in a good way) and looked at me and asked me why I looked so down. I guess either I am still in shock or I don’t think it is that big a deal compared to what other goals and shit I have had to focus on this year. So let me high 5 myself and reflect on how the path to get my degree became – the successful one.

Way back in 2007,I had just come out of the hospital with a BMI of 16. I enrolled at my local college in the U.K. to do my BA in acting performance.

I was with a lovely group of talented individuals and managed one term. I was quickly losing more weight again and my mental health went down. I could not maintain a low BMI. I either had to go lower or higher and I went lower. I managed to get merit (when they still called it that) for my classical acting. How amazing is that?

I wanted to engage with my group but I couldn’t shift the anorexia. I had become a sub-host to it.

Back in 2008, I decided to have another go at it. I had gained a normal amount of weight. I met a seemingly lovely man who swept me off my feet. He worked in the army and ended up going on tour for 3 months in Canada. I went to live in Barcelona with my Aunt for a few months and partied hard. Hit Ibiza with my cuz and when I came back to the U.K I was ready to piece my life back together.

The night I arrived back in the U.K. was the same night the army guy got back and he came straight to see me, bringing me little gifts back from his tour. I was so touched and couldn’t believe we had another chance to get to know this one another again and give him my heart. I invited him for a meal at my Nan’s house the following evening as he was rather ‘fatigued'(such an elegant way of putting it)  from his flight.

The following day he texted me to tell me he was getting his car serviced and would see me later. Later turned into 6pm And 8pm and then 9pm. The curry was losing it’s cool. I rang him asking him why he hadn’t pitched up and he completely dissed me on the phone and told me he was with his family and I can’t make him choose his family over me! WTAF?

If he had explained that he wanted to be with his family then I would of got it.-The lovely army guy broke my heart. He didn’t want to be with me. I internalised all this as my fault. I had put on weight, I had been homeless and had recently found somewhere in the U.K. to live and I thought I wasn’t good enough. I remember walking my Nan from my new home to the bus stop and I broke down. I didn’t know how much I liked this guy until I felt my heart tearing. Each sob caused another tear and another.

In 2009 I was finally in a better place and I was ready for another attempt to get a degree in the arts arena. I started a  two Foundation Degree with 24 students. By week two that had whittled down to 7 students. Again a totally different bunch of lovely people. I fucked up. I stopped taking my meds. I was trying so hard to fit in but I guess I felt a bit intimidated by all the talented actors and talent. I didn’t know then that they were all just as frightened of failing as me. At first I  was coping and I managed to go out get wasted and silly and form friendships. Standard uni stuff. One night a girl on my course rang me and told me to come out. She said the night was on her. I got dressed and put on my party face even though at that time I was taking 100 laxatives a day.

When people asked me out I would say ‘Awesome. I will be there’  I had a bad habit and once I had taken those tablets I was ill. I mean of course, I had the shits. Haha. Never thought I would be typing this but the moment before I purged I had stomach cramps that pushed and pulled and stabbed at me from the inside. I couldn’t walk from the spasms. SO that night I gave a big fuck you to Anorexia and went out to have some fun and bond with some friends.

My taxi pulled up at ‘the only reputable club’ in that locality and I saw my college friend wave at me and she was laughing and she gave me £50 and told me to come with her. It was a bit. Well, I was sober and everyone else was hammered. I didn’t find it funny. I wasn’t in the zone yet. I went to the bathroom and then I went to look for the pack and I couldn’t find them anywhere.

My mobile battery died and I turned around to the first person I saw to ask that person if I could use their mobile. I happened to bump into the person who went on to degrade and disrespect me in the most colourful and inventive ways. I couldn’t find anyone so we went back to mine and drank until………… I passed out mid-sentence.

This guy wouldn’t leave me alone. He was lovely at first but really full-on. I tried to back away. My friends told me he looked creepy. Leave him alone.

A guy from uni came up to me and told me that creepy ex was well and truly creepy and to stay away. Did I listen? no, I let my insecurities get the better of me. I melted into his world. At first it was flattering that someone would want to be around me so much. I didn’t think I was going to get in a relationship with him. I was trying to make friends and I had my eyes on someone else.

Out of respect to my daughter, I won’t go into a diatribe of events. He tried to take my soul. When he couldn’t have all of me he came up with a cunning plan to try and take my life away from me. Our daughter. During this time I could feel Anorexia clawing it’s way back inside. Cold, damp and merciless. I couldn’t allow it home again. I reached out to a couple I know and went on to meet my future husband to be. Before you judge- I have had my karma. I nearly lost my daughter as you may know from previous posts.  I had time on my hands. Instead of being a full-time Mom to my daughter, I was a 10 hour per week Mom instead.

I decided while I battled it out in the court arena with social services and my creepy ex I would resume my studies. This time not in a mainstream uni but an online one. I worked my toosh off and today I can say I am a graduate. I couldn’t have done it without the support of my partner and my family.

DON’T JUDGE -if you can help it.  That is a huge lesson I’ve learned. This piece of paper means so much more than the letters printed on it. It is a symbol – a tangible piece that reminds me of how I got to this place where I am today. I’m a bride to be with a gorgeous daughter who will be four in October. I’m working with mental health charities and I am a stable weight- super healthy. I don’t smoke. I drink mostly water ( with the odd cocktail of course) , I exersise. I am a success. I am proud of me. No one can take that from me. I won’t let them. Always be ready to learn a bit more. I may have officially finished learning but I will not let that stop me from learning in other ways. I treat every experience in my life as a learning curve. Always look for the silver lining no matter how bleak.

It’s not dementia

Some folk say I speak too much

I say that’s rich.

 

I’m not even 40 years old & my bones are crumbling

Hind sights a bitch

Hell – a sight so unappealing

it brings me out in an itch

A rash of nervous eczema.

 

Today is my first adventure

with my partial denture

Like life, it’s only temporary

at least I’m not doing time in a state penitentiary

 

I can’t speak

this foreign object prevents me from talking

properly

 

The older I get I realise how naive I was to forget

that my mind is my greatest asset

 

Body, I love you

Looks? you’ll do

I’m yet to find perfection

I’ve almost given up on the pursuit of it

boohoo

 

What is beauty?

Judge we do under a unique hue.

 

Age has its wicked way with us all eventually

I’ll never let go of my character to laugh, be stubborn

go against all adversity

 

No, I  still won’t conform

The shy girl will not come out to perform

 

Inside my pride has been wrenched out of me

And I laugh at the old me

I laugh cos we are so beautiful

We just can’t see what others never fail to see.

You starring yourself

titled  ‘back in reality ‘.

 

EVEN THE ODDS

 I open my eyes and I am blitzed by an array of green, red, and yellow coloured fruit. I pose and I am poised, in front of that golden gilded hall mirror. The reflection is of me, in the original inpatient stay clinic, before this modern therapy treatment was possible. Before the pandemic rise of it. Like the eye of a hurricane, it mischievously lulled a large portion of members of our community into a state of security, then sucked us up with one sinister intake of breath.

 My reflection captures me in all my nakedness. My hair swathes over my scrawny shoulders and breasts. A pair of hands come up from behind me, pushes away my tresses and cups my breasts. A deep throb pulsates in-between my inner thighs. I cannot fight it. I submit.  My head tilts back; my mouth opens to reveal my tongue. It is like a red carpet, waiting for a celebrity to enter. It is him. His dreadlocks tinkle with multi coloured beads. His tongue commands to explore mine as if it is a well-versed master of sorcery. I tremble from the hot expulsion trickling down my inner thighs.M y eyes remould into wide crop circles.  I realise that it has tricked me again. I spit out the clustered black mob of grapes into the bowl of fruit. I only have a moist stain as a reminder of his existence.

‘The time is 06:35 a.m. The location: the bathroom. It feels more aggressive – not dormant as the manual states are what should be happening.’

                                    *********

‘Record and ready to engage. This is ED500, the time 6 a.m., the date is 12/04/2025, location: bathroom. Two feedamile tablets taken. Weight: stable. This is attempt 8.’

 I close my eyes and open them. I see an ashen me spiralling further and further away as the powder compact mirror is whacked out from my hands. I can’t see my reflection, so I start furiously tapping on my collarbone, urging it to jut out that bit more. Gristle grinds against gristle. My knees knock together repeatedly: agonisingly tender from the friction. It takes more pain to make me feel. I can hold my head up that little bit higher.

 A surge of power brushes a justified half -smile up my cheek, as they wheel me out of the ambulance and into ‘the starch whites’ base. I peer into my old inpatient room with its rosy shaded walls. The ‘starch whites’ are preparing for that time again. The battle with them every meal time.  Their lips are moving but I can’t hear them.

My eyes veer to the sight of my legs- splayed wide on the bed. In between my legs, reveals the man’s body, which seemingly hustles in time to some primal, instinctive beat. His tongue flicks in and out of my moist swelling vulva. My inner thighs quiver. Combined sweat drips collecting evidence of our lust. The flicking escalates in speed. My chest rises and falls in breathy rhythm.

I open my eyes and he is gone! Another trick!   On demand it projectile vomits grotesque abstractions out of drink supplements and gourmet food; flung and hung pretentiously along the walls of that room. Cups, plates, knives are thrown about. It takes three of them to get that tube down me. Three!

                        ********

‘Record. This is ED500; it is 2 a.m., the 13/04/2025 Location: my bedroom. There is an almighty sound of bells clanking. I am trying to do the breathing exercises from the prescription manual app but my eyes won’t register the letters.’

 The contained puddle of letters on the screen splatter as my tablet falls to the floor. The memory is too potent. My back arched involuntarily, my eyes will not open fully. Seizing up, they flicker upwards into the half-moon gloom of my eyelids. DING- A LING! A bell rings. Saliva sloshes down the sides of my chin. My back is set against a cool wall; I look up and around and find myself in an unidentified location. The walls, the flooring- everything is a shade of white. ‘The starch whites’ hover around the location in an aura of purity. I fiddle with my zip jean and pull down my T-shirt as I try to cover a mound of excess flesh. I join the procession of the group gathered around the bell ringer.

The wait commences. A stomach grunts hoggishly. Mine. My eyes sweep across the group hoping no one has heard it. In total, there are fifty of my kind. We all have the same scraggy arms and legs and distended stomach. We do not queue politely, but circle around the bell ringer like a pack, collectively growling, from the pit of our stomach, slavering: ready to attack. It does not do political correctness. It does not like conformity. Nobody wants to look too eager. It is part of the game. Parlour Tricks.

One involuntary twitch in the ringer’s direction and the game is lost. The bell rings again. I look up, it is him. He winks at me. It rages from him seeing me ready to engage in combat in the ‘labyrinth of edibles’. It gains so much power in numbers.  Deafening whispers ripple around the group. Those that cover their mouths with their hands only heighten the grand faux pas of my behaviour. The smirking turns to vaporous laughter. I watch that retro version of myself, head bowed, arms folded, shoulders hunched, walk alone and into hostile territory- a vulnerable outsider for betraying it

‘The time is 3 am, location: my bedroom. Urgent memo! I should be having more control over my flashbacks not less. ED500 needs to make contact’

                                                            *******

‘Record and ready to engage. This is ED500, the time 6 a.m., the date is 13/05/2025, location: bathroom. Two feedamile tablets consumed. Weight 0.2 grams more than 13/04/2025.’

 I close my eyes and when I open them, I am naked and in what appears to be a floor to ceiling mirrored dressing room. Reflecting back in every mirror is us! The man stands behind me- pulling me in every direction. Every angle stabs at my eyes, repeatedly. One stab- that’s me! Another stab –no, that’s me! What am I looking at? An arm. The shards of deceptive flesh wound my eyeballs. An almighty shriek surrenders from my lungs; I see a pair of hands reach up to cover my eyes. Is this real? I grab an arm and pinch it, hard. The skin feels dimpled, not in that artistic stippled kind of way but in that bumpier cellulite fashion.

‘The time is 06:15 am Location: bathroom. I feel out of control, I repeat I feel out of control. Urgent contact needs to be made.’

                                                *********************

Dr Owle presses the pause button.

‘You have stuck rigorously to the manual?’ – I see that flashback projected onto a wall- paused and very much in control.

‘Well, of course.’ I blather, ‘That’s why I signed myself up for this whole spectacle. You told me that I would be able to control the memory and the sensory triggers. I can’t just flick the pause button on like you’ve just done’

‘The results when adhered to correctly have shown a 100 % success rate. Today is the final attempt. Are you still willing to engage voluntarily? ‘He looks in my direction. I nod sagely.

‘Record and ready to engage. This is ED500, the time is 09:00 a.m., the date is the 13/06/2025, location: Professor Owle’s office, two feedamile tablets consumed at 6:00 am this morning. My weight is 0.3 grams heavier than 13/05/2025.’

 Final attempt. I close my eyes and open them.  Astonished, I see a pair of muscular legs, a toned stomach adorned by a hint of hipbone. My wrists have a nodule of bone on each side, giving it a certain elegance. There is a fleeting recognition of this body. A fragmented puzzle of reflections pulls together as natural as gravity. The magnetic pull, reassures, in the way that waking up before landing in a fall-dream- reassures. In the mirror reflection, I see him. A bolt of nerves implode in my brain, splintered nerves carve furiously.

A voice.

‘What do you see?’ It’s the Owls-no, the professor’s voice: the professor is an owl?  My mind steeps in ambiguity.

Then an almighty pressure forces my head to drop back from the weight of it. My hands instinctively go to touch the intruding protrusion. I catch sight of my reflection in the orange oblong mirror. My head is malformed. I look like some freak, like some helpless victim with radiation side effects from some way out, an imaginary town in Chernobyl. Grievous puss amalgamated to create a massive abscess.

‘I’m disfigured’, I scream. I feel his presence in the room as he moves closer to my puss-filled growth. Stretched, overcooked, fibrous skin. Heated puss bubbles away inside. He holds my head up.

 ‘It’s the man. I don’t know what he is going to do. He has something in his hand.  He is going to kill me.’

Tortured screams echo around the space.  Another voice penetrates through the pain.  

‘Have you seen him before? Look properly. ’ it is Professor Owle.

‘No, I can’t bear to look . I’m repulsive!’

‘Don’t give up. Open your eyes and look in the mirror, tell me what you see.’

‘Something has gone wrong. I’ve consumed too much. The experiment has failed.’ I weep.

‘This is professor Owle. Tell me what you see!’ he orders.

‘Tell him my name’ the man urges, his dreadlocks shake off a familiar laugh.

He wants me to name him.’ I howl in pain, ‘He’s jabbed a needle into me!  He has jabbed a needle in my head. He is extracting the puss. It wants more power. I will not name it. Never!  The truth is what I‘ve believed from the start. You give it a name and it automatically assumes power’, I scream.

‘Look at me. Please!’ the dreadlocked man implores.

SLAM!  A car skids unlawfully across the black ice.

‘Who are you, what do you want?’ a tone of hysteria.

BANG! Car tyres leave vicious tracks marks on a deer.

‘Are there any letters forming in your mind? The professor inquires.

CRASH! A body smashes through the windscreen.

‘Yes, but I’m too afraid to let them form. Abort the experiment please, Professor.’

 The body lands with a nondescript THUMP. Blood marinades the icy snow.

‘You need to fight it.’, Professor Owle cajoles me.

My eyes burst open like a ruptured pea pod. I look into the mirror and this is what I see. It is me –a hysterical woman with savage hair, screaming in despair I take both my hands and scrape my fingernails down both sides of my face. My grey slate- coloured eyes, dilated, search with hope. The man’s hand goes to brush away the tears trickling done my face. My hand goes up frantically trying to scratch away at the face etched with wretched wrinkles.

‘It is an older me. The growth has gone.’ Fearfully I take in the rest of my body. Again, I see reflected the same pair of muscular legs, a toned stomach adorned by a hint of hipbone. My wrists have a nodule of bone on each side- Holy shit, how can this be? This reflection is the missing piece to a surprising feeling of unity. I look over to him– he smiles. I look into his eyes- all I can see is admiration. 

‘It’s me! Not perfect-far from it. But it is me!’ The man leans in to kiss my neck then his reflection turns around and leaves the room.

‘Very good, now carry on –what is the man saying? Interjects the Professor.

‘Professor, he has gone. ’, I turn away and around from the mirror to make sure that the mirror has not deceived me.

‘Gone?’

 Gone. It’s me. Professor Owle. It’s me! It is Vesna. My name is Vesna Numeral’ I babble out.

‘Vesna? If this is Vesna tell me who the man is? Professor Owle enquires dubiously.

A wave knocks my emotions. I buckle. The reeds of guilt tangle around my legs pulling me down to my knees

‘Oh my God! No, it’s Raymond.’ I cry.

‘Bravo Vesna. Well done. You did it- you engaged until the very end. We can finally start the de-briefing process.’ The professor hugs me.

‘I’m recovered? ’ my tone incredulous. ‘All he tried to do was help me recover from it.

Yes, Vesna. It was an accident…’

‘I couldn’t control.’ I conclude.

‘We now work together to start the process to rehabilitate you back into society.’

‘My family. My friends.’ A medley of images calibrate in my mind. ‘I will never go backwards, never! I have to keep ticking forwards’

‘Life will have a purpose again,’ the professor smiles

 One year later and numbers still hold this world together. I can never completely get away from numbers. It might not possess me but it still haunts me every so often by catching me off- guard. These days a brief encounter with my reflection consistently reveals my broken half capped teeth and withered bones. These are the scars of my struggle. I remember the lesson Raymond tried to teach me. These days I tend to look into people’s eyes when I speak and I tend to listen more. It is so easy to get caught up in that negative internal chatter everyone has in them. These days in spite of my scars, I smile and look for that small break in the sky. My name is Vesna; and like a cloud that merges and transforms all too rapidly, I too refuse to be defined by it.

Even Lunatics must break fast

The calm before the storm.

I break my fast musing over my odds of being crazier than the norm.

Muttering,

stuttering

— Brain sensory overload — the cranium structure is deceiving in its form.

The third eye lazily flickers in a state of REM.

an attempt to channel my inner chakra.

I’ve resorted to stick-on Googly eyes to play the part of spiritualist guru, sipping on high tea, to awaken my inner rapture.

Dear Goddess Kali, can you save me from the howling winds?

The mooing cows spinning around me

  moaning gutturally for their new fateful flight as fledgelings?

My Glasshouse shatters into a myriad of snow flaked, razor-sharp, jagged pieces.

broken,

unable to repair the damage.

Take a searing hot iron to my face to smooth out the grimace in my features.

Sacerdotal screams interrupt the night — another man stolen from his lullaby.

Sleepless ideas

patrol,

brazen in their efforts to destroy,

 my favourite playlist titled: sweet dreams.

behind the thousands of words, I’ve ploughed through with oars

Where will  I be?

Will I have sailed?

Will I capsize?

Will I have the ability to walk?

Will I  be a cripple, dragging myself by the elbows under a storm pelted bleached , grainy beach?

The Temptations won’t knock

They will saunter in.

Oh, it’s to be expected.

I refuse to fall to my knees

swearing  my allegiance to make another man’s family richer

Than see mine indicted.

I’d sooner sit on a floor, covered in colours of paint and corners lit with the smiles of my loves.

I’d sooner watch paint dry or read a screenplay loosely based on what I know about when life comes to rouse me with rough pushes or shoves.

Fire,

water,

earth,

and air

Elements balance my kinetic,

dynamic,

complex feelings of despair.

Change comes with a promise.

Fear comes with very little solace.

Motion to a new position –

don’t cower from success

It might even suit your current attire and inner prowess.

 

My time to deliver.

Get my due.

Affection,

laughter,

love,

and living

For me and my few.

 

My kind words are still here and my support?

I have some to spare.

I won’t waste it on those who don’t reciprocate

The err is but their own.

Chosen to remain frozen-staring down a hall of, pale, mirrored self-reflection.

unable to see

they are not the only ones

in need of encouragement or care.

I swill down the remnants of this blessed day with a bitter tea.

 

I clamour to suppress my applause.

I  catch out the dawn  rising with a yawn  unashamed ,gloriously

naked.

I’m no longer afraid to be the lunatic.

I’ve seen the powers of nature.

Forces of rage.

still, waters run deep.

 This insanity is something I hold dear to me-

The great mother gave it to me-

I will set with the  sun

It’s my duty to consummate all that is sacred.

Revised stream of consciousness — borderline poetry.

I am the author of my life

 

Many of you may of heard of PROJECT SEMI COLON  for those who haven’t, there does not have to be a full stop;

The organization explained the significance of this particular punctuation, writing “[a] semicolon is used when an author could’ve chosen to end their sentence, but chose not to. The author is you and the sentence is your life.” Since its beginning in 2013, Project Semicolon has gained worldwide attention and support, with the semicolon tattoo spreading in solidarity.

http://www.projectsemicolon.org/

Do you see what I see?

*PLEASE TAKE NOTE THE CONTENT I HAVE WRITTEN IN THIS POST IS SUSCEPTIBLE TO SUDDEN CHANGE BECAUSE OF COURSE I AM MENTALLY CHALLENGED*

I realise I haven’t really written much on my mental health issues of late. I find it a bit un balanced that I only talk about the shit days and not the good days. Maybe some of you will go

“oh she isn’t struggling BORING! time to move on to the next post”. That is cool but I feel there is a  need for this post to explain how things are for me. 

My illnesses have not gone away. They haven’t been cremated and  gathered up. Taken up by the wind- dispersed  to all four corners of the globe.

North,

South,

East,

and West. I would love that to happen. If I was an artist I think that image  could make an epic drawing or painting. My illnesses are still here.

  • I still have more thoughts about my weight than I do about my own wedding.

  • I still weigh myself a couple of times a day

  • I still deprive myself of certain foods.

  • I still exercise even when my body needs the rest.

  • I still think people are looking a my perceived flaws when they may just be listening to me speak.

I have found out a secret. My Grandad did this all his life and he was a mostly successful  business man.

SECRET: When talking with people the best way to connect in a conversation is with eye contact.  Seems  obvious,right.?

“WHAT DOES DAISY MEAN? ” a shrug of the shoulders both   palms open,  pushing upwards

I mean,

True eye contact that makes that spark. Similar to the one you use naturally when you meet someone new who you think,

Mmmmmmh yeah this person can put his/her shoes under my bed ANY DAY!

Don’t confine this look just to the people you want to screw or make love to or marry . Use it all the time.

Unless you  are having a shit day then, by all means opt out.

This effort to spark a connection makes the other person realise that you see them as a person not just some guy who is at the check out counter helping you with your groceries, or that person who serves you a coffee.

It is a powerful tool, Rasputin didn’t do to bad. I’m not saying I  can hypnotize people. Although that is pretty cool.

It is a look that urges people to engage and to reveal information about themselves.

A couple years back,I went to a live hypnotist show -another day -another blog. I can’t be hypnotised btw .

I digress,

Okay,so back to my mental health. So why no huge blips?

I haven’t drunk alcohol since New years eve. I think this helps keep  my moods in check and gives the meds I am on a better chance to do the job..

I’m still  saying my mantras- constantly.

Before each work out, I  go right up close to the mirror in my lounge  and I peer into my eyes and give myself THE GOOD TALK. I usually get a little thought that comes from almost out of my mind that says,

You don’t look like you have convinced yourself . Ah ,if only I could hypnotize myself.

The point is, I try to big myself up instead of bullying myself.

I give myself small goals to achieve  and  look forward to; next week I am having a tattoo done. I am beyond excited about. I’ve been saving up and waiting for the day to come for three months!

I’ve not been spending loads of  time dribbling over FB and hitting the scroll down arrow for hour after monotonous hour . Oh shit, maybe FB is the only thing that can hypnotise me? That  is fucking terrifying. One reason I don’t watch T.V. -I read, I do watch movies and series. I  don’t want to be a victim of Huxley’s  ‘Brave new world’ of what the perfect society looks like.

Communication. I communicate  my feelings. I don’t hide it all away from my family. If I have a panic attack I ask for a hug, I ask someone to help me in a way that I can help myself.

I don’t  over- commit myself to events that I may not be able or want to fulfil. I say NO -a lot. I am an extrovert when I go out into the world but when I am around too many people for too long I became drained. When I give myself to people. I give my full attention. So, I then become an introvert for a bit because I need a lot of alone time to build myself back up.

I blog. All this has helped me naturally want to write about other shit.  How lame and depressing  it be to read about all my troubles?

Day in and Day out. When you read that last sentence try and picture a buoy bobbing up an down in the ocean. That’s all it does. How many times are you going to want to look at that image when you are at the ocean?

 When there are ship wrecks to discover,  colourful fish to  photograph , clear white powdery beach sand grains gently ex foliating your feet, lots of tanned people smiling (because they are not in the U.K.)

I jest. I jest.  I don’t.  I would rather  hand your the shot gun myself and help you squeeze the trigger.

I also have a sense of humour. I give my time  to the people and causes I WANT  to.

If there is any statement that can sum up this post it is:

I am Daisy.A living breathing component in this world,

*CLICHE ALERT*

‘I am not my labels’.

I do not want to breathe life into them and inflate them. I don’t want a collection of  blow up dolls of my illnesses ,thanks. I’m trying to go for the minimalist look here.

That is it. No magic just appreciating the good times.

Keeping it real

My beliefs haven’t changed. I do believe in the content of my posts. I just want to say that I also have shit days when I don’t feel so accepting of my looks and body and the rest of all that is me. I also want validation through superficial social media websites. The last two days have been pretty fucking miserable. Usually exercise, blogging, interacting with blogs, volunteering, working on new projects and finding ways to be positive with one or two of ‘mothers little helpers; help shift the doom and gloom.

 

Got to give me a break.

Talk and write the truth. This usually works. Write -freestyle it and post. Don’t check if someone may or may not like what I have to say. Minimum editing. None if possible. Small spell check. Hit the publish button, making sure I have attached all files titled ‘vacuous negative energy’ to it, blast it into the blogosphere -somewhere- all the words unravel and collide with an Infinitum of other unread words.

They may or may not get read. Usually, people who enjoy jigsaw puzzles get these kinds of posts.  Guess what? I hate jigsaws!

Bit blunt?  Sure?

 I guess the whole aim of this post is to free myself -Let it all hang out.

So, yeah. I’ not happy and self-accepting all the time. I work at it and I don’t give up. I’m not one dimensional.

I try.

I try to give Happiness and Self-acceptance a secure bosom to lie their heads against. I don’t want doubt, negativity and self hate to  nestle it’s way onto my bosom and go

“Oh look tits! We are gonna suck every last drop of Happiness and Self-acceptance out of them until they a flaccid, wrinkled and bruised.” 

Villainous laughter like “mwahwhwhahahaha” or some other shit. Then they take my head full of shit and slam dunk it. Yes, those three.

They will make me think that me accepting myself and being happy can’t happen outside my mind. They will try and repress the independence of my native tongue. They will find a way to make my rediscovered language seem like a myth– folklore…

It never happened.

There were never words such as Happiness and Self-acceptance. There was never a language that was not approved by them. 

This is why I won’t stop writing empowering posts. Like ‘body image awareness’. Yes, I agree when I try and speak this language, sometimes, I feel like an idiot, a foreigner. I quickly lose my confidence  when I pronounce  it wrong. Use it in the ‘wrong’ context. Oh, how quick my enthusiasm to live freely is so quickly caught up in a net -stenched  in mockery and jibes. HOW DARE I? 

DARE OR TRUTH? I DO BOTH.

I fight to be happy -truly happy- no superficial bullshit

I fight to love my body and me- no superficial bullshit

Always keeping it real

The ‘if you need a new perspective’ post

So, I ended 2015 in a state of stupefied drunk despair. Regretting every action I committed on New years eve. Just over one month has passed. I’ve kept far away from the alcohol. I had my dip with my Anorexia. February life has started to pick up where I left it in December. 

Waving my hands in the air like I just don’t care! 

I’m gaining my self-confidence back. My diary is filling up – idle hands all that jazz. The wedding is coming together. I’m am delighted and a tad ‘on edge’ at the same time. 

Positive people are gravitating toward me again. To say I have to peel myself from the roof is an understatement. Lionel Richie and me are busting out some moves on the ceiling. Oh yeah, baby. Has anyone ever seen him being interviewed? He is such a dick head! There is no way someone like him could write such beautiful songs. Who remembers ‘Ballerina girl’ ? Google him in an interview and then you will get it.

 

 I am doing my -co-production awareness training workshop on the 16/02. All of these workshops brings me closer to getting the Eating disorder recovery group up and running. As a person in active recovery from an Eating disorder, to be able to realise this and watch it germinate and blossom like a flower 😀 and be a huge part of the process off it-is like -not being God- no, I am not Kanye Wet ( Yes, I will keep that last spelling error) delusional.  It’s more self-validating. What I mean by that is, it shows I am on a good path. A well-lit path. Like this dude. There is light in my hands I am responsible for keeping that light going and I am in charge of where I end up. Does that make sense? 

 I’ve recently posted some seriously depressing posts and I will continue to share my past with you; but their needs to be some writing room to rollick in the present. I need to  feel the quiver of fluttering,

the beating of butterfly wings, reminding myself I am indeed alive and have purpose. I think my posts need a bit of balance. I don’t know if I am the only person -I suspect I  am not. I sometimes finish writing posts that send me lunging backwards to my past and I am reaching out for the Diazepam- I can have full-blown panic attack.

The cure?    ( Great band. wrong context- or is it?)

Stop writing Daisy. 

No! I won’t!

I have a purpose.

I am a human being.

 I have a story to tell.

A past, a me right now and a bright and vibrant future.

Without me trying to get all Disney ‘Lion King’ on you  (cue African music that makes the heart swell); I believe our lives and experiences are full circles. Sometimes you are at the top and then inevitably you need to go round that circle. Of course, there will be many times when you are at the bottom. I always say

‘Look for the silver lining’.

 

That is my way of saying: I and you will come full circle again (eventually) . We all will get to the top of that circle of life again. The only thing I can’t tell predict is how long it will take to come full circle.

I have this belief, that if I use my time at the bottom of the circle, productively and push ahead and not do too much damage interfering with the flow. Then, I won’t slow down the time scale it takes to get back to the top again. I need to learn the lesson, feel the pain or whatever happens but I must move on. Easy words to type. Harder to put in action. However, it is possible. 

Possible is all  I  need to hold onto and go and do great things.. 

To get off the whole philosophy bandwagon. My man and his rumbustious friends 😉 are coming round to ours for ‘SUPER BOWL 2016’ night. It is a tradition in our home. I don’t want to watch a bunch of dudes watching another bunch  of dudes ‘tackling’ and touching up one another. I DO want to know who is doing half time this year. 

I don’t know if anyone saw Katy Perry and her foam mascot sharks last year?  

PURE COMEDY GOLD

So here is to a fresh new week. (Great shit is happening. Everything is coming together, not at the pace or even exactly how I plan it to go, but that’s cool with me. Stuff is getting done! 

My mantra, I have used for a few months now is working. Mantras work!  Mine is:

‘I am a success in everything I do’ –

I’m fulfilling my thoughts- the ‘mini-like prayers’ that I tell myself. Find one that resonates with you. It works! I am the most analytical person I know – I wouldn’t lie to you .

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Time to buzz off and get reading some of your awesome blogs and thoughts. Word reader is a bit crap. I don’t ever get to see all the posts that I follow. I don’t know if anyone else has the same problem but I will read as many as I can. 

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Namaste, Soca, peace, light and love until next time.

How many times can a heartbreak​?

I don’t know how this post is going to take form. Well, it will be in a  word press post form, I don’ know what the hell I’m going to put down or how it is going to end. All I know is that after having a conversation with a close friend of mine. I am left feeling crushed like  I’ve spiralled, fallen-  down a long dark hole of wretchedness. I should have been there for this person, so she  could  talk and unburden her darkest thoughts, instead of sitting in silence  for a long time. Someone so close to me has been living in anguished silence for so long. I’ve documented in previous posts of  my experiences with living  in a brutal and disturbing relationship.  I guess, it is easier for me to write  about what happened to me because I can detach myself from the experiences .

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LOVE IS BLIND SILENCE IS DECEIVING

NO,this may not be a good way of dealing with abuse but at least I am still writing and talking about it.

This person is my most cherished friend .  I feel I have failed to be a good enough friend. I have know this person for over 20 years. She has the most tender-hearted nature, a charitable  heart. She is strikingly beautiful. Heads turn. Looking into her eyes is like looking into a Caribbean ocean. The colour is startlingly beautiful . It’s comfortingly hypnotizing . In many ways she has always reminded me of the late princes Diana, she has the same grace and class, and is not  even aware of how alluring  she is.

We went for a coffee today and when I walked out of that coffee shop and said good bye- it felt like I was stumbling about in some ghastly trance. It was like I had floated up into the air like a bubble; I  was looking down at myself -I could see myself walking -in a dwell. Each breathe I managed to gulp down was molested with the vision and words I had heard, come out of my friends mouth. I couldn’t hear the cars nor people’s  murmurs. I went shopping and bought things in an attempt to prick this possessive bubble that had  learned how to become impenetrable.   I dumped a bunch of items in my trolley. I needed to distract the haunting picture of pain  on my friends face. Frozen- a click , a flash. A picture captured for all eternity. I had to eradicate it- censor it form my mind. 

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ERASE THIS PICTURE FROM MY MIND

Abuse as you may or may not know is not going to just go away – I’m not going to stop writing about it and talking about it. When a friend you think you know inside out,  confides in you, then you suddenly realise what this person has felt like. Feeling isolated so much that  she felt had  no one else to talk  to  because she felt ashamed. Her mind has tormented her for years..

Here is a  part of her story:

She met a man over 12 years ago. In a night club. He was the type to wear a thick gold chain and a leather jacket. Not her type at all. He said he was Italian. He spoke the language of love – He zoned in on my  friend – he had my friend marked. I saw him approach her. He bought her  a drink. I immediately  loathed this pervert. I  pushed my self through the crowd of dancers went straight up to them and I knocked the glass from his hand. I tried to get my friend away from him. I can’t control everything can I ? they swapped numbers.

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THE LANGUAGE OF LOVE

 

They started going out. For 10 years their relationship consisted of seeing one another  1 night a week. My friend was completely possessed by him . He showered her with affectionate words. She felt like a woman again. Maybe just maybe this man was going to turn out different than her previous  mis-creations. She would cook him meals and set the table – buy him slippers and a change of clothes and toiletries. She treat him like a king. A super star. No, a super hero. 

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Yes he was a king, a fake king  hiding under the robes, would in time reveal  a savage.

Let me try and get on with this post….

Um….a few months into the ‘relationship’, she found out that he had lied about his name and nationality. He was from some Arab  country and was in fact a ‘faithful’ devout Muslim. That was cool. There is nothing wrong with two cultures mixing together. In fact there is  a feeling of peace in this synthesis of different cultures  coming together -bound by love .

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AN ELEPHANT NEVER FORGETS -ESPECIALLY THE FEELING OF TRUE LOVE

Over a period of 10 years they kept on making up and breaking up. Every time my friend said she would not get back with him.

  •  One time she slept over at his house and his ex wife came was getting out the car  with balloons in her hand(it was valentines day or his birthday). She saw him with my friend and told the bastard they needed to talk. The taxi pulled up at that moment and he ushered my friend into the car as quickly as possible- turns out his ex- wife  was ‘crazy’ about him and wouldn’t leave him alone.  Come on, he reasoned with my friend,she was fat and ugly. Not refined like my friend. He only used his ex to gain access to work in the U.K.

My friend took him back.

  • A few years passed and my friend wanted to move things forwards in the relationship. She wanted him to move in with her or her to move in with him. He refused -time and time and time after time. She was enamoured  with him. She would do anything to keep him and if that meant only seeing him one night a week then she agreed to it. He never ever took her out. He never introduced her to his friends. Why? they were dodgy and he was jealous, they might try something on her.

She accepted this.

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I’m going out to play, you must stay safe in your home . the world is full of monsters.

  • My friend has an eating disorder like me . The bastard suddenly told her her body was horrible and he hated touching her. He hated thin women she needed fattening up. All she wanted was to be loved and accepted and so she grew bigger and bigger. This messed with her mind so much.Her confidence was solely in custody of this man. He played her like a puppet.

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    PIECE BY PIECE I OWN EVERY PART OF YOU

She accepted this

  • He would go off the radar frequently. He never text  or rang  my friend unless he wanted something sexual from her. Then it was  all words of armour and flattery. What woman doesn’t want to be complimented? He never helped her clean the dishes or bought her a meal. He would go back to his native home and bring back the odd false perfume. He never once offered to take my friend on holiday with him, to meet his family. Many of whom he has burnt his bridges with. She was not to know this until it was too late to save her heart and mind from a torturous misery.

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YOU MAKE UP THE COLOURS OF MY LIFE. PLEASE BRING BACK SOME SUNSHINE WHEN YOU COME BACK

 

She accepted this.

  • On one of their ‘bust ups’ he decided to try it on with my friends nemesis. He wanted to take her out. My friend found the news out from her Nemesis. The shame, the degradation. She fell further down that never ending abyss of wretchedness. Banished her to a never ending hell of lies and mind fucks. He wouldn’t answer her phone calls , texts, he punished her. He went off the radar for a few months. My friend became obsessed, she would ring him all the time. But all she got was silence. Until one day he got in contact with her and the relationship was back on.

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WHY WON’T YOU SPEAK TO ME?

One unfortunate  day , he rang her – She was over the moon to hear his voice. He had something to tell her.

What could this news be?  

He wanted too marry her?

Move in with her?

He had a surprise for her?

Oh hell yeah, he had a surprise for her:

He was  getting married to a young girl who was pregnant with his child,  he hoped that they can still maintain their one night a week ‘relationship! 

How many times can a heart be broken? how many times can it be mended? 

She accepted this betrayal  but she refused to see him. She would not. She was not some whore! An after thought. After the phone call ended  she sank to her knees heaving -sobbing. She was on the floor desperately trying to collect all the shattered fragments of her heart.  A few months later she saw him once again, in town, for a coffee. He wanted her to meet his baby. She bought the baby some outfits. This is the type of person she is, gracious and forgiving. 

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I GIVE YOU MY HEART. DO WITH IT WHAT YOU WISH BUT DON’T LET IT GO

She accepted this.

To be perfectly honest, they must have broken up 100’s of times. My friend always promising  she wouldn’t take him back. We used to have vicious arguments .

She said she was in love.

I said she had bad taste in men and needed to get help.

She got pissed off with me. It wasn’t as bad as she had made out, she would reply.

She had over exaggerated things.

I retorted:  

You mean like the time he told her to lower her eyes to him when she was speaking to him and then laughed and said he was joking?

He knew she was vulnerable that is why this serpentine creature chose her. She  was easy to control. He knew a lot of things about their relationship that my friend didn’t know. He didn’t exactly share this insight of their relationship with her, but it went something like this:

  • He knew he could abandon her and she would always take him back

  • He would deprive her of contact and she would always take him back

  • He would humiliate her by trying to flirt with her friends and enemies- even me!

  • He controlled her by making her put on an extraordinary amount of weight, in full knowledge,  her confidence would be at base level. A woman with no confidence couldn’t possibly be  attractive a man  ( this was probably his  warped strategy )

  • He knew my friend was an introvert and it was so easy to isolate her. He didn’t have to do a thing -she already had done the hard work for him.

  • He always took from her. If he had asked her  for her the  shirt on her back, he knew she would give it to him. Every week, for one night, my friend made her home cosy, turned down the lights -low,to give off a soft romantic glow. She would cook for him , serve him, rub his feet and then make him a packed lunch to got to work. She spent a lot of money on him that I suspect  she didn’t have.

  • He never once asked my friend about any issues she had and how could support her. My friend took a massive overdose,one year,  I thought she had finally succeeded this time. Her Mother was still alive at the time. He came to the hospital with a kitten stuffed toy with blue eyes, just like the colour of my friend’s eyes. He acted so concerned. Since my friends mother passed away – the money well has dried up and he lost interest again.

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THOSE EYES ARE GOING TO GET YOU IN A WHOLE LOT OF TROUBLE

I had to stop writing last night. I  couldn’t go any further with what I was putting down in this post. I don’t want to betray my friend, no body will know who this friend is. I’m speaking up for her because she is unable to speak for herself. To tell her story. She needs a lot of support and confidence building.  Care and possibly counselling.   

There is probably a bunch of stuff I don’t know. I do know that what came out of my friends mouth   yesterday- blanched me. I must of walked  out of that coffee shop, my hands immediately  felt icily cold, I had forgotten my gloves.. I was trying to fight my way through the fog in my mind . I had become numb.

This is what my quiet friend told me:

After two years of not seeing this ‘man’. She moved to a new home to start afresh, he got in contact with her a few months ago.. He said all the right things. 

  1. You are beautiful

  2. I will divorce my wife from you

  3. I should have never split up from you…

All that superficial crap.

I could go on and on. There are a lot of beautiful and courageous women in the world who feel so alone.  Women that put on there clothes and make-up everyday and smile and give as much of their time and heart to as many   people as they can. She was no fool for taking the bait. She is angry with her self – furious. She wishes she could stop loving him. WHERE IS A GENIE WHEN YOU NEED ONE?

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FINALLY THE TRUTH -YOU ARE FREE -THE HEAVENS ARE YOUR TRUE HOME

I couldn’t be angry with her for going back to him.

I haven’t slept  – I have had awful nightmares of what has been going on  for years in their relationship. My friend is naive and shy and not some dominatrix or kinky in any way at all.. And that is fine. He bites her all over and takes her from behind.

 each thrust,

each bite,

bleeding out her soul like she is some kind of piece of  halal meat. My friend always says ‘NO, PLEASE DON’T BITE ME! DON’T DO THAT, YOUR ARE HURTING ME.’ 

I could see through her and saw a vivid image of her heart -patched up haphazardly like a child’s favourite toy. Sewn up, swung about, it loses an arm, then a leg , then a tail and still she finds a way to sew back the pieces. 

He has been RAPING  you. I told her. We looked into each others eyes. She knew it felt wrong but he told her that is what people in love do!

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STOP! HAVE MERCY.

All this time and I didn’t know any of this.

She is left bruised and sore for weeks after being raped.

How can someone you love rape you?

It happens. More than you know. I came home and cried my heart out. I was shaking with anger and shock. 

I don’t want my friend to stop confiding in  me -no matter how much it kills me inside. Please people, don’t suffer and quietly die like a beautiful plant that someone forgot to tender to.

YOU ARE WORTH MORE THAN YOU THINK. 

ABUSE COMES IN MANY SHAPES AND FORMS.

Use your mouth or if you can’t speak -write it down and show someone -anyone! 

I had to write this post. It is something that I do that brings me comfort. it helps me focus and cope with life’s madness and senselessness . 

I’ve written what I can. I’m going to be a better friend.

Last night I rang her and she thanked me for ringing. I mean she didn’t need to thank me! I should have been around more often. Her voice was distant, remote. I switched off my light and put the duvet over me and all I had in my dreams was  the image of him biting her all over and raping her.

HE EVEN USED TO  ASK HER TO PISS ON HIM. 

 He is a dangerous and seriously afflicted man. 

How do I end a post like this? I don’t feel I have done justice in telling her story. I can only hope and encourage her to tell her story herself, one day. 

It is not a diet it is a insanity dilemma

So, here I am. Eating again. I know the scales are going to up. I’m scared. I don’t want to go up to 65 kilos again. I’m bartering with my Anorexic Dinosaur- old, gargantuan and frightening. I got my wish. I am on diazepam and the novelty of taking it has died already.

There is no magic pill. Yes, these little pills are meant to be ‘mothers little helpers’ but I have built up such a tolerance to pills that it seems like they don’t work.

I have a lengthy list of what I take:

  • Fluoxetine 60 mg

  • quetiapine  600 mg

  • Lamotrigine 300 mg

  • diazepam 20 mg

  • Lorazepam 2.5 mg

  • Nitrazepam 15 mg

Today I took my morning dose and for the first time in a long time I felt melancholy about how I rely on so much medication. I get so forgetful -I am terrified of getting dementia from all these pills. I’ve been on medication since I was 14 years old. I’m going to be 35 this year. I want to be FREE of these pills but I am addicted to them. There we are, I said it: I am a legal drug- taking  junkie. That’s what is boils down to. I’m not going to lie, I am down and out. I feel like a failure today. I can’t even leave the house. I’m letting my daughter and my partner down. It’s sunny in the U.K.! What a perfect opportunity to bask in the sunlight and be a family and go to the park. No, I’m way too morose and in my comfort zone.

What about the volunteering you ask ? The eating disorder recovery support  group I am setting up. Where has that passion gone? That drive and lust to live with purpose?

I don’t have a clue. But, I am going to get it back. I’m going to start enjoying exercise again. Eating what I want- feeling proud of my body. Be happy again. Happiness comes from inside- where are you hiding? WHERE?

I can’t spend my days sleeping away like I have been pricked by some poisonous needle. I need to wake up  from my nebulous slumber and face and accept that the  figures on the scale are not what makes up the whole sum  of me. How crazy is it that I get so upset over a weight increase of 1-2 kilo’s? I want to be free again. I love food. I do!  I want my life back. Reclaim it. It is mine. I will not be prisoner of my mind any longer. No, no ,no.

I want to feel attractive again. I want to be free to rise to the dizzy  heights of success.

NO MORE SELF-SABOTAGE. I feel like this post is not worthy of publishing but I must write first and foremost for myself.

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