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Making friends living on an Acute psychiatric ward

I remember my first meeting with a mental health charity to collaborate and co-facilitate an anti- Stigma workshop/group that This is what I have been wanting to do for some time and here I am achieving my dreams. When I was back -institutionalized in an Acute ward with Anorexia and Bipolar in 2005. I think that personality trait to help others and organize groups has always been in me.

I was am a nightmare patient.

I always refused bed rest and focused my time on doing things like raffles to raise money for a charity shop connected to the Retreat,in York. I ended up raising over £100 in a matter of days with a BMI of 14.5. so about 41 kilograms. , 90 pounds – I’m nearly 5.8.

In other clinics- I was tube fed and restrained -often by up to four nurses.

That is a whole other story and debate.

I met another man who is/was a barrister and he had a complete breakdown. His wife had been cheating on him. I met an artist who expressed her unarticulated pain by painting. I met a woman who had been fighting Anorexia and OCD all her life and who taught me how to put a Christmas tree up.

I had forgotten.

I didn’t know what life was and what it meant to live.

I met a few ladies, not on my unit -The Acorn unit ( the name pun has not gone over my head). They expressed their pain through cutting and self-harm.

Nobody played games. Although some of us, from time to time would get hold of paracetamol and other shit and overdose to liven the humdrum mundaneness of life in an acute ward. I once got caught out on weigh day with fishing scales attached to my paper gown. The staff was quite taken aback with imaginative ways we would come up with to avoid putting on weight. These girls were hardcore. I met so many people.

I met a girl who terrified me. I could tell she had been in hospitals all her life. Her family could absolve themselves of whatever guilt they felt towards their daughter by puttting her in private clinics and the problem was dusted under the carpet.

I had started the process and recovery of eating again and putting on weight. I couldn’t cope. I developed another way to cope, for at least 4 months my day consisted of:

  • chewing gum

  • making a coffee

  • eating more chewing gum

  • make a cup herbal tea

  • smoke a cig .

I was on this loop for24 hours /7 days a week -for 4 months.

I was driving myself crazy in a way that was unfamiliar to me. The nurses tried to lock me out of the communal kitchens and one night I flipped out when they tried to grab me so I started throwing stuff around.

I wanted them to help me. The girl who initially terrified me came into the kitchen and sat down on the floor with me and held me for over an hour while, I shed tears for everything I can remember.

All the emotions attached to those memories I had pushed aside. None of these people was violent. We were trying to be understood and to understand ourselves.

I met a young girl with schizophrenia -she dressed like a Goth. Always had headphones in her ears. She was trying to silence the voices. She had been coping well up until her Mother passed away and like any normal person she was traumatized by it and her mental health went a bit off balance again. She was trying to make sense that her mother is dead. She was grieving.

One night a new guy arrived on the scene. I couldn’t take my eyes off him. He had that charisma of the kind of guy I always seemed to attract. His eyes were full of spark and mischief. A person you would want on your side. We became friends. We spoke a lot. He did a very Titanic thing and drew a picture of me. Fully clothed. I can’t find the picture to load up. He was still going through the DT’s. I will live with my memory of how the picture looked- possibly very trippy. Ha Ha.

Barry was only staying for 10 days before he went to ‘a dry out clinic further up the coast. I don’t know what happened inside me but I didn’t want him to go.

He was a lot older than me but we did everything together.I got him painting again. I know he had just got out of prison but he was so talented. I begged the nurses and psychiatrists to let him stay.

‘Look! Look! how talented he is! He needs help from you’.

Our last night before we parted ways. We sat in the smoking lounge and watched ‘Pulp fiction’. I know this may make some people reading this go .. erm………what?

I lay my head down in his lap and he played with my hair. For me, the act was more like a father gesture. I suspect for Barry it could have been different.

He wrote loads of letters and planned to come to visit me. The nurses censored my post and turned him away.

I often wonder what happened to him.

I get angry that just because he was an in and out of prison for many reasons- he was denied the rehabilitation that I received. He had issues. I am no innocent.

I feel he could not have benefited from a recovery type community setting rather than prison. It’s not my place to say what he did, I don’t want to remember.

It would have ruined the fact that I found feelings inside me. I could laugh again, I could cry. I was real. I felt like a human being and not some freak with Anorexia. Anorexia took second place and I wanted it to always take second place. I felt real.

So back to the Anti-stigma workshop, I am doing. I can’t wait. I have a passion. I have the drive. This is my new chapter. I did have a beautiful picture Barry drew of a dragonfly but I guess moving around a lot means that I have lost other precious memories. I am finally in a position to help other people. I’m not letting this opportunity getaway.

Catch 22

Fall – leaves turn shades of browns and greens.

my heart dips and I don’t feel that same sense of summer’s beams.

Alone. I look to my left. Creativity shines- glitter, stilettos- latex, white faux fur coats. All legs.

Like a string of pearls flung across a room,  a musky scent wafts across my midst.

Temptations persist. Glamour. Warmth is all I seek. Summer, why do you have to be so cruel?

I know if I cross over to the other side – I’ll be feeling the warmth – it will be pimped out inbox ring styles – I won’t have time to dodge the fists.

My body will burn up an exotic shade of hues. I will have no rest.

Hell is the other side of Summers gluttonous jazz bassline.

One hit. One vein. Blood – artificial nirvana could infiltrate my being.

I won’t have to think of the biting cold that is ringing in my ears. Muffled will be the ice cone, frozen on the edge of my nose. It doesn’t matter who sees that I have been seen.

Bus shelters full, spikes erect from the corporate underground – I can’t sit down. I know it takes fewer muscles to smile than frown.

Energy is all I have to see me through this cycle of undomesticated abuse. October may be  Domestic abuse awareness month.

If I hadn’t left my keeper, I would still have a roof over my head.

A blanket.

I would still be touched.

 Roughed up.

Better the devil you know – I know every one of his moves. I know when to dissociate –

detach my mind

from my body.

Floating above the marital, martial art stylised bed – I see myself and that devil I married, grabbing folds of my skin. He doesn’t notice the smell of the new conditioner I bought at Asda or how soft the sheets feel now they have been newly spun.

Dryer. I’m dry. He doesn’t notice the lack of moisture. He doesn’t notice that all of that fluid has shot up to my eyeballs. I refuse to let them free flow – I am not her. I’m floating.

Fly on the wall. Caught up in a spiders web. I have to watch. It doesn’t matter if I have a crick in my neck – oh hang on a minute is he choking me?

Leftover food languishing in the sink drain. He switched the waste disposal on to automatic.

Arrested, I am back in bed, under him. Time to vogue with my lips and give him a little pucker.

These white sheets have turned red in his need to let off steam. I come out in blisters hovering underneath his vapour.

Turn my neck – feels like I need a box of throat lozenges for having to get all deep throat.

5 am flashing in stimulant green.

I’m 5 months pregnant. I am going to be late.

Grab the nearest decent clothes. Pull-on my Adidas trainers. Scrape my hair up into a ponytail.

Finally the motivation to go on the run. I don’t have to time myself. I know his schedule well.

An Olympic torch passes into my hand. I’m running for freedom. Liberty is my destination.

I can start over.

Spring – blues, violets, colours in a perfect union – uncompressed. Naturally dressed.

For the first time in months, I feel like I belong. I too am a medley of colours. I blend in.

Natures milkshake collects in my breasts –  4 months to go until I give birth to a miracle of pure life.

Not branded a colour – just innocence – a chance to see a light – work on my soul and tackle it all. This is the only cure.

Vanilla.

I am no Killer.

Life goes in cycles. It passes by fast. There are no traffic jams when you have to pick up your feet and walk.

Eyes cast down, belly protruding.

Christian volunteers crouch down next to me- hand me a card.

Die and be reborn.

They can help me. I just have to give my old life to our saviour. I’ve never met him but he sounds

Forgiving, comforting, caressing- a handwash with extra Aloe vera – calming properties.

All I have to do is offer my unborn child to him and I can enter paradise with the rest of my weary comrades.

Eyes raise up to the bitter sky. I’ve always thought whatever is up there twinkling and winking down at me is having a far better time than me.

My unborn deserves a place in heaven. Earth only promises scars and wild jungle roots to keep it grounded to the spot.

The ultimate sacrifice.

Did I fold in with this cult out of cowardice?

I will drink my poison.

Maybe this winter I will be reunited with the one that let out a sudden cry.

Lead me not into temptation. I lie down, no need to be afraid, child. I close my eyes and sigh.

Hope is my last premise.

* Inspired by domestic violence awareness month*

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OCTOBER 2016 (IMAGE SOURCED FROM GOOGLE)

HERE IS A LINK TO A  POST I WROTE,ON 11TH MAY 2016 , ABOUT MY OWN PERSONAL EXPERIENCES IN A D.V. RELATIONSHIP , TO RAISE DOMESTIC ABUSE AWARENESS IN MY COMMUNITY AND   SOCIETY.

CLICK ON THE PINK HIGHLIGHTED LINK BELOW

THE FREEDOM PROGRAMME

*photo credit Rhode Island Francesca Woodman, Benjamin Moore *

Scars -a bloody unwanted reminder

Writing prompt -Scars

One scar I have is huge – it almost wraps all the way around my upper wrist -it is 2-3 cm wide.  Indented, It reminds me of a dried upriver.

The cause?

Domestic violence.

Before I continue…

Domestic abuse & Toxic relationships

Rape -NO means NO.

I’m going to state the obvious here.

Domestic violence is a relationship fucks about with your mental health, whether you love the person or not.

 

Toxic relationships have usually tipped me over into using shitty coping mechanisms like drinking too much, taking drugs, overdosing and not managing my medication or my eating disorder and Bipolar.

So back to the blood river scar.

One night- no

Another night of heavy drinking and arguing, I found me in a house -not mine- that looked like a slaughterhouse. all dirty browns. There was a rusty scent of blood impossible to ignore.

Every time I inhaled, the scent would drip down the back of my throat like a  tap -I could taste it too.

I  had mixed copious amounts of alcohol with my medication and all I remember is trying to push my ex away with my left hand ( I am left-handed), he grabbed my arm and I struggled back.

BLACKOUT

 

 An image.

An arm.

 

 a massive shard of re-enforced window glass- barbered-   poking out of my right arm.

 

Another image.

the back of my exes legs and back running up the stairs.

PANIC 

BLOOD

DRINK

VODKA

WHERE IS THE ORANGE JUICE?

WHERE IS THE GLASS?

WHERE IS MY EX?

BLOOD 

DRIP

BLOOD 

DRIP

BLOOD 

DRIP

BLOOD 

DRIP

PANIC 

PANIC

An arm coated thick with blood. I wear it like an accessory

Blood makes noise.

I hear screaming.

Mine.

Ex reappears and tries to grab me.

I try to run away.

PANIC 

BLOOD

DRIP

I NEED TO GET OUT OF HERE.

Why is my ex naked? 

In the middle of the street?

Rolling on the floor with me- trying to muffle my screams with his hand. Trying to stop me from running away...

BLOOD

MIND FUCKERY at its best.

“Look what you have done…” ex says.

6 hours later – location:  hospital.

The doctor asks to speak with me in private. My ex doesn’t want to leave my side.

I don’t say anythingquack quack! quack quack! quack quack!   the word on a loop…

 

“What happened?”  he wants to know.

“We don’t know. We were drinking. I can’t remember. It was an accident.” my ex speaks for us.

My head bows down,it almost appears as if I am nodding. I can’t quite remember.

What I do remember feels like I have made it up, it is so detached from my mind and emotions. It is about as close to me as Pluto or Saturn.

3 days in hospital my ex never left my side.

Not even to go home to wash or brush his teeth.

I wasn’t alone- my mother was with us too.

I was high on morphine for the pain.

Why didn’t they operate sooner? 

Did they want to monitor me? 

The situation? 

Us? 

three days later…  I’m being wheeled on the hospital bed- away from the stale, coughing ward…

“countback with me from 10,” says the anaesthetist.

10 , 9 ,8 ……

BLACKOUT

 

“1”. my eyes burst open. I gasp a breath. It is  like I’ve been living in a homemade sac filled with half shallow water and half air.

 Disorientated.

What happened?

I look down at the artwork the surgeon has done.

No more blood.

re-stuffed re-patched, recovered,

by a micro surgical  hand.

Discharged.

Back to the carnival freak show.

I enter his home – a massacre.

Dry blood everywhere.

Smell.

Bleach.

Sound.

Scrubbing brushes.

Stubborn blood. 

If only it could serve as a reminder of what actually happened that night.

“I don’t remember” the ex says.

How can he and I not know?

Every time I look at my scar I am reminded of the chaos that was my life for 4 years.

This scar says –

mutilation.

despair.

secrets.

emotions numbed.

detachment.

silence.

silence-1.jpg

This scar reminds me to NEVER be silent in the name of so-called love or a sense of loyalty to one who claimed to love me so much he would do anything to keep me.

http://www.vevo.com/watch/suzanne-vega/blood-makes-noise/USIV20300313

When I left him, I did not take his threats seriously.

 What he did next gave serious competition with the scar I see.

That everyone can see.

Toxic relationships result in a severe loss – sometimes that means your life.

Think carefully about what and who your life may include.

I was reborn again on the 06/05/2015.

The day the court ordered social services out of my life.

The day that my ex turned his back on me,  is the day I realised I had been holding my breath for years.

I had forgotten how to breathe.  I might have been dead- a wanderer.

06/05/2015 -I remembered not only how to breathe again but why.

Life -not just my own but that who is of me.

Life is precious

Life is my responsibility

resumption_by_jorgeremmy-d3drxy2.png

Tell him that..

The most fulfilling start to this month is being able to tell him- another social parasite to fuck off.

Tell him that

He disgusts me & then feel the power of letting go the relationship & blocking him.

A bruised ego like his would not forgive so easily.

The further away these toxic people are out of my life

The closer I am to fulfilling the life my family & I deserve.

Small steps.

Life.

Make each day count.

How do you get through dark moments in your life?

Just wondering…

The one about the b*st*rd Muppet

* when I’m angry I like to think the pen is mightier than the sword, this is a revised stream of consciousness about the same person.*

What do you know?

What do you know about life?
Roaming in the streets with a bag of foam E coloured banana sweets, a flat cap to accompany your flat ale.

My mind can’t take the stairs to your psychopathic fuelled attic.

Try to know about life. I ask myself why.
Got plenty worries to wait on.

There’s nothing but your conditions dictating every one of our conversations.

I’m lost-feel dead. Rehearsing what to say is futile, when face to face, with your condescending glare.
Whispers-hard of hearing, harder to crytallize a picture of a time you were ever sweet.

I keep on overthinking.

I’ve had enough.

I’ve had enough.

Yet, I still bloody cared for I know not what.

For a sign of a heart that was ever moulded into a moment so fair.

Make my amendments with the one who is the true enemy.

I nearly fell for the bastardization of the one with a tumorous relation.

I‘m done over thinking.

I thought I was wrong, but then I look up and see it’s you on the side of the serpents infantile tongue.

What do you know ’bout anything but the base life?

African synthesisers — backdrop safari park- full of savage humans.
Ooh wee-what is this shit?

Every time we meet he wants to get an oo wee.

Haibo, voetsek! Hamba

I want you feel what I feel tonight.
Feel scared of this daughter of mama Africa.

Hamba.

My body will be dancing!

Feet stilettos connecting with your underbelly weak spots identified for a finale.

Macabre
Macabre-I don’t like your style at all.

Seen more compassion from wild monkeys beaten to perform.

What do you know about life?
I’m the one who is always so sorry-I’m leftSipping up more stupid flavours itty bitty who are you?

Ask yourself in a clean mirror -are you satisfied with what you see?

You speak about pain and suffering yet understand nothing about another’s fight.

I’m so strong-where did I get it so wrong?
I’m not sorry — you deserve a room date with perverts in sodomy.

What do you know about human emotion?

Here we go-

I’m done trying to figure out your distilled mind.
I’m lost
I’m scared

Damn right, you hurt me to my very core.
I forget how to breathe-only cos you disgust me with you brash audacity.

What do you know bout life?
I’m cross, I’m marred, I’m completely impaired.what do you know except shouting down opinions?

You so damn selfish and you could do something about it if you cared.

You look at me right now, you don’t ask how I am. Its all about you and your bruised ego.

You selfish bastard-you know nothing ’bout life.

Pained inflicted authentic words of describing the real you.

what the hell is wrong with you?

You are utterly a definition of disgrace.

You don’t know bout nothing.
You only care about your own suffering.

I never want to be so ignorant to other lives, eras and genres of people who have a clue.

Jungle vibes don’t mean you have to lose your chivalry.
you!

I don’t wanna walk like you or, talk like you.

What the hell did I see in helping you?

I feel the open wounds-, I see you take pleasure in openly mocking my new acquired pigmentation.

You know bout nothing -care only bout your own suffering.

Lying faces, sometimes don’t even pretend to be your friend.
Lying faces come in different suits.

Proof comes from not recognising their blatant, arrogant style is their truth.

Hear these tears-you can’t look!

Bass

turn it up.

Music files away the pain.

Raindrops cleanse away the ebony and ivory keys layered, over the bruises, of yesterday’s insults aimed at me.

I’m kind of feeling bad right now.

Peace maker?-you should come with a pacemaker warning label.

A pacifist?—not a clue -what’s the definition –the kook who can only mutter‘what -a muppet’-you don’t know this is serious!

You’ve got your addled mind with amnesia.

You rape your mother’s heart repeatedly.
Patterns transferred with a motion of akinesia.

Around you, every person could be convulsing in an epileptic seizure. you still wouldn’t know it. —

to afraid to part with 15-year-old love poems written to yourself in Rhodesia.

You speak of peace yet you make dividend equations, using your thoughtless cowardice utterances,

by mc-ing

disambigous

multiplications

as an excuse
for regressive aggression.

Domestic violence- my reflections

  • 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 make up. 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 an 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 partners presence – Your cat/dog/pet might be on to 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 sons 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 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 partners 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 partners 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 n the stomach when you are 3 months pregnant – think about the life inside you and what his motives are for punching you where you 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 your 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 over dosing 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 cope 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.

Finally can I take this opportunity to tell you about the global event on 05/03/2016 –ONE BILLION RISING CAMPAIGN  . Do try and get involved wherever you live in this world of ours. I’m trying to get to London to be a part of this revolution. Money permitting. 

And finally…….

The text that came back to haunt me

What do you do when the past comes back to haunt you?

It’s the kind of haunting you tell to sit down.

It comes in the form of a young man, not even 19 years old. Hair blonde and curly -blue eyes and a face as bright as Apollo.

5 months of crazy sex. Talking and Listening to a mind so intriguing and brilliant that you never want him to shut up. We spoke with music – who could find the best song that summed up our feelings.

Yes, the arrogance is there all right Yet, he unfolds it with such charm you can’t help but see more good than bad in it. That smile disarms all previous arrogant displays.

Since seeing him again, I haven’t been able to get him out of mind. I’ve tried going to sleep early, taking my sleeping meds.  I can’t seem to not want to read his texts. His thoughts on how he really feels and felt about me.

My suspicious nature knows he is down and out. Not in a good place.  I think he quite possibly is using me as a diversion for the state of his life now. The one he wishes to re-build. The one I want him to rebuild.

I love hearing how much he actually liked me. The things he remembers. The things he wants to do to me/with me. Back then, I didn’t think he thought of me as anything than a fuck of mind and body. Apparently, he always wanted me one way or the other. He apologizes for having unresolved feelings for me.

He dominated me. I could not say no. I was drunk too. I didn’t want to say no I wanted to submit.  I loved fucking him on the kitchen counter. We couldn’t make time to reach it to the bedroom. It turned me on. It was wild, animistic, raw. Euphoric.  It was drunk sex.

Hundreds of texts have been going back and forth. I pushed him away all those years ago. I thought he was taking the piss. Using me. He did It didn’t end well. He was genuinely hurt. I felt bad but I was too stubborn to run after him and ask him what he felt..

At that time I don’t think I wanted to hear what he thought. If I knew it was going to be what he tells me today, life could have ended up very different for us.

Like attracts like. A lesson I seem to see over and over again. This has happened before with another one I let go of.

We are all so similar we three have the same traits. Impulsive, wild, hedonistic.

Craving for the good times to roll and roll and roll. One of us will make sure we always keep it rolling.

I want him. I do. I shake my head. Try and scream at him in my mind to go. He won’t go. 4/5 years later he is a man with scars. I too am a woman with many scars. I’ve come out on top. I have the perfect family. I’m getting married in 2016. We may not have a lot of money but we are a family- a happy one.

My partner is one of the good guys. He is loved by everyone. He is gentle and kind. He looks after my daughter better than I could. He tells me he loves me multiple times a day. He doesn’t really dominate. He treats the sexual part of our life and me with kid gloves. I know I should be an adult and sit down and tell him.

I don’t.

Instead, I find others like me. I don’t need to explain to them. They already know instinctively what they want and crave and they take and I take. My partner gives- and gives and gives. We go for months with no sex. I know he wants more but I don’t tell him I want more. Isn’t that messed up?

How can I ever tell him I have let him down once and considering a second time.

What is wrong with me?

My life is finally heading in the right direction -jobs and opportunities are opening that involve everything I want to be a part of. I want to work with people with addictions and mental health issues and homelessness. I feel I have a lot of skills to offer. I’m slowly doing the training to get my skills.

I’ve been headhunted for a potential job post that I couldn’t even dream up in my mind. It involves everything I want to do.

I sit here typing, smoking- I can’t see the words I have typed for all the smoke – creating a fog.  Anxious pulls on my E vape- more fog. I was so very wild then. I miss some of that part of me.

I can’t go backwards. Well, I can. That would be true madness. I could lose everything – my daughter my partner. Yet, the one that got away won’t leave my mind. I got to bed early and wake up pulling the pillow over my head.

Why now? Why not then?

Is it all mind games? My partner trusts me to go out with my past on new years eve. He never questions me. He trusts me as much as I trust him.

I wish I could reach out to him. Tell him what is going on in my head. Work through this muddle together. I find it easier to crawl back into my safe shell. The one that could potentially detonate like a  giant suicide snail terrorist bomber. I feel the slime of guilt weeping out of every orifice.

I can’t get back to sleep. I had to write. Writing is the only way I know to let out the shit flying around my mind.

For now I wait for a text from my past. One that allows me to bathe in my ego or I fight these thoughts, fight the past and leave it well alone.

I have responsibilities these days. I’m nearly 10 years older than my past haunting. I also have an ego that can’t help but be flattered. Maybe if my past and my present were on even ground then my choices would be easier.

Is text flirting cheating? I feel the guilt so it must be -yet I crave more and more… Forever an addict to the dizzy heights of euphoria.

 

 

the Life of living up to my Problem child label

The ultimate party girl. I was that girl who could drink bourbon all night and into the morning – all-day-long. Got any E’s or some Bolivian marching powder?  you were speaking my language. I never knew when to stop. It all started at the ripe old age of   12 years old. The rave scene was at its peak.  Drugs were strong  (not cut with loads of rat poisoning or other shit) and people hardly drank alcohol. We all loved one another and each other. You always found a friend at every underground Rave and every club you went to.

In my home town in South Africa, Saturday night was a party on the rooftops till 7 am, then it was time to hit ‘Church’ with more drugs and new best friends and do the blitz until you literally dropped or the drugs ran out.Then it was time to for a gentle come down, usually at the top of a hill,in a cemetery, with jaw-dropping views.  The Ganja would come out and the silence of being in nature would occasionally be interrupted by easy-going laughter and ‘campfire-like’ stories buzzing about.

Sounds awesome, right? Well,  it was for a bit…

Being an extremist  -no grey areas sort of ‘gal, it led me down a different path altogether. You see, I didn’t know it then but I was wanting to get mashed up properly because I hated me. I had no self -respect, no hope, no vision nor ambition. From a young age, I self-harmed. At 5 years old I already had eating issues.  Most people I have encountered in my life- bar the bastards and bitches (mind you even them at one point said something similar)  told me I was an all-rounder: smart, privileged, loved, beautiful, charismatic, vulnerable yet wilful.

Did I stop to take in all these compliments that my older self now craves for?

Hell no!

I kind of distanced myself away from my true friends. The ones I had known since I was 7 years old. I decided to take on other peoples judgements of what I thought they believed about me, and internalised that and began self-harming at a ferocious speed, I began to feel like the scapegoat and target for my supposed best friends jokes.

 Someone has to become the target, None of them was going to come forward willingly.  I went through a stage of overeating and when I started going the other way and stopped eating I obviously lost a lot of weight. Suddenly, guy friends were flirting with me and my girl-friends started berating me.  Eventually, I got pushed out of the clique for good -part self -blame and part snotty insecure teenage friends to blame.  I didn’t need their petty shit.

 I became a shaker and a roller. I did an impressive gamble with my life right up until my 30’s. I got hooked on Crack, Mandrax, Coke, Pills. being skinny, overdosing and cutting myself.  You name it. My friend circle became drug dealers,  hardcore- addicts and people I met whilst hitchhiking to go buy my drugs. Oh yeah, and asylum of perverted old men who tried to abuse/abused me or wanted to turn me into dollar/ pound signs, for their own gain of course.

 At the ‘mature’ age of 17 years old I didn’t exactly go willingly to live in France or the U.K.

Nobody and no-one could handle me. I was eking closer and closer into the dark tunnel- sans- bright white light and a myriad of angels. I couldn’t keep food down me. My bones ached from all the crap in the drugs that I smoked and took. I couldn’t face anyone except my drug dealers. I wouldn’t leave the house at all. My mood went up and down, I was put on to prescription pills. Doctors decided I was a head case and I gained a  bunch of labels -brand genes that I didn’t particularly want to wear.

When my Grandpa passed away from Cancer, I moved from France back to the U.K. and I calmed down a bit. I started working but people with ‘issues’ were drawn to me. I guess I aimlessly found what I was looking for. Was it a friend? a boyfriend? crazy and magical life experiences?  Oh, I had all those in the palm of the hand but the drugs and the self- starvation always gripped me first.

 I don’t think anyone ever thought I would not be a party girl until I had to rip the crown off my head and be-grudgingly let some other younger, prettier and more popular girls pick up from where I haggardly turned off and tuned out from that world completely.

 Some say that life is a destination  but I see my life as being more of a  journey and I can’t say I would change anything.  These days the road more travelled: is with my true self. I love myself, respect myself and I have learnt a lot about people, the world and myself. I am still learning and never want to stop.

I love what I do with my life now! 

 A daughter to look after? Never in a million years was I going to catch out until I did of course. I don’t regret my daughter.

Get married? oh please. I’m far too contrary and I have to do the opposite of what society expected of me. Some say I have ‘grown-up’. I hate this term. I prefer to say, I have released my true inner soul into the world and everything I now believe in and want is coming to me. I don’t have the same people drawn to me as when I was ‘the party girl of many seasons’. I’m calmer. I sometimes think I’m bloody boring to be honest but it’s cool.

I still get to dance to Rave music in my living room – it’s great music to exercise to. I still have my passion for a variety of music and although I missed my chance to become a professional street dancer. I have found another way to help fill the dream chalice. I want to travel more and make friends with people who want to be around me because of me, and not for what I can give them i.e. money when I have/had it or other superficial bullshit.

I have ‘broken through’ to the other side( maybe not in the way old Jim Morrison meant) but I have.

 – bit of a tune I just couldn’t resist putting in.

How did I do this? I hung up my glad rags and got ‘comfortable with being uncomfortable’ ( thanks Jillian Michaels for that quote) and I became the person I was probably born to be.  I do different things these days. I now get to read more, I have money to save up for my wedding and holidays. I like to do things like go to the cinema and ice skating and roller skating. Pubs bore me and so do drunk people  especially if I’m not. Except of course me, I am never bored of a drunk me. These days  I’m more of a punch-drunk character. I choose where  I roam and I find myself in much more worthy and rewarding places. Don’t get me wrong, I won’t turn  Dionysus away from my door all the time. I love a few cheeky cocktails! So he will need to leave his vino back at the grape vineyard.  I do have an addictive nature and I am on heavy medication, so I drink – as safely as possible. The initial euphoria is all I ever wanted from drink or drugs and that is all I want and need now. I know all about the chase and the chase ain’t for me any longer. I am thankful that I’m not even 34 years old yet and I’ve learned huge lessons. Now,  I have more ambition, respect, love and rather grand shit happening in my life.

I love the people who are in my life now. I love the people I connect with now. I also know they love me for me. Quirks and all.

I know we all go through shit and I am in no position to judge. Hell, if someone popped round to my house with some seriously good drugs I may be tempted to say -why not? I might not. I’m only fucking human… haha. The point being:  I would think about if I really wanted to take it or not. Weigh up the pros and cons not become a con so quickly. Such a bad pun -I’m taking it- it is mine. 

These days I’m a rebel in other ways -I still manage to piss people off with my liberal views and non-conformist attitude to life. I realise that part of me was really me all the time. I didn’t need drugs and booze to be different or alternative. I already am. I have walked away from that life with multiple labels(inherited or not)  and I’ve been through the bullshit. I still have to put up with bullshit. These days I tend to party in the light,  in a world of sunshine and with the wind blowing. It’s a fresh kind of life, a pure ongoing festival kind of life.  Easy and breezy and I’m content with it.