Phoenix Fights

"The only thing we have to fear is fear it'self – nameless, unreasoning, unjustified, terror which paralyzes needed efforts to convert retreat into advance." Franklin D. Roosevelt. Fighting the FEAR, depression and BDP on a daily basis AND making my own bread. Bring it on 2015….


3 Comments

SONGS OF ANGER 2 – WHAT IS IT ABOUT MEN – Amy Winehouse #bullying #intimidation

Having spent the last hour on Twitter ranting furiously at people bemoaning the sacking of (ex) BBC bully Top Gear’s Jeremy Clarkson, I realised that something had been triggered for me personality, so decided to take a deep breath, make a soothing mug of tea and figure out what was really bothering me.

So there I was cuppa in hand, pondering my emotions carefully and it turns out that…

…nope.

17866910-473343

It’s definitely Clarkson.

Theres nothing I hate more than a bully.  Especially in the workplace.  In a position of authority.

As I was at the mercy of one of them for about 3 years.

female_boxer_comp

Plus, it’s a shame I didn’t know that punching someone out in the workplace was OK, as I’d have had a field day on my exit interview ;-)

Then this song came to mind, Amy Winehouse’s sublime ‘What is it about Men?’.

More to the point, what is it about me and men?

This might sound like an obvious thing to say, but I’m not good with shouty, violent, threatening men.  Right, so I don’t suppose anyone is, but my reaction tends to be different to most people’s when confronted by them.

Instead of being afraid and cautious around them, I want to get in their face and scream at them.  Mainly I suspect it’s because I was too small, weak and vulnerable to defend myself properly when I was a kid.  it’s put me in danger a number of times, but when the volcanic rage erupts I don’t tend to care about the consequences.

Sertraline helps. Thank God.

Something else added fuel to the fire the other day, and whilst I didn’t think it affected me at the time, I suspect I’m pretty tense about it now.

To cut a long story short, the other day in group therapy, one of the guys pulled out a knife.

Shocking, I know. That said, I immediately recognised that he was doing it for attention.  Whilst always very needy and attention seeking, he is generally good natured, but this time I sensed his moodiness and resentment when we all were sat in reception waiting to be picked up by our shrink.

Anyway, this guy drinks green tea (or something suspiciously murky anyway) and always adds a slice of fresh lemon to his brew whilst we’re getting settled, but to date a knife has never emerged.  The other day however, he rather theatrically took out an entire fruit, produced a serrated paring knife and proceeded to carve a slice mid air, smirking arrogantly whilst doing so.

A couple of the younger girls looked pretty unnerved, as they have also been abused in the past, and, by all accounts this guy once killed someone, but I was never going to give him the satisfaction of showing any kind of reaction whatsoever.

My suspicions that it was all for show were confirmed because even when he had his segment, he kept it out and at one stage even held it between his teeth.

The shrinks froze.

I glanced at him in derision.

What the fuck are you doing?’ I asked, ‘you look like something out of Pirates of the Caribbean.’

He grinned knowingly ‘Ah sorry about that!  I just have to have lemon in my tea!  I wasn’t about to go on a, um, another killing spree…’

‘Well if you are, feel free to start with me.’

He then put it away and we continued with the session, but every now and then he’d punctuate the conversation with some aggressive aside or comment.

Afterwards the girls were concerned, as he has kicked off in therapy before (never in front of me) but I tried to reassure them.

‘Don’t worry, it’s all for effect’ i soothed, ‘he’s just trying to get attention.’

But over the last few days, I’ve become more and more angry about it, and I just know I’m going to confront him next session.

When I started group therapy, I was under the impression that all the participants were female, so when i turned up for the first session and saw two men sat there, I was not comfortable.

Don’t get me wrong.  I get on with blokes very well socially and as friends.  I’m just not good at showing any vulnerability in front of them.  But I gritted my teeth and got on with it.

And now, six months later, one guy has issues with me, and gives me sly little passive aggressive digs because I don’t want to have contact with him outside the sessions (something the girls have no problem with).  And now this little turd thinks he can bully us into indulging his demands for friendship and love, facilitate his excessive neediness by tolerating the the long, boring, droning monologues that he foists on the group.

And more and more, I feel that I can share less and less because of the male presence.

It’s not like I didn’t try, but me, men and trust go together like lemons, salt and paper cuts.

I could let this slide, of course.

I could accentuate the positive as another song goes.  Make lemons into lemonade and try and give him the attention he so craves.

But right now I’m more inclined to stick those lemons in the freezer, and when they’re hard, take them out and peg them at his stupid, smirking fizzog next time he pulls a stunt like that.

I hoped it might do me good to work with both sexes, but it’s honestly not working out that way.

How the hell am I supposed to build solid bridges with my male family?  Accept authority from a male boss?

Let a man access my body, and more frightening still, my heart again?

I know I have to speak up, but if I do I’m going to try and address it with integrity but there is no point of me attending these session if they’re making me worse.

It’s a lonely place without intimacy with beings that make up half the population.

Men, I miss you; do you think we can work this out?

‘It’s bricked up in my head, it’s shoved under my bed
And I question myself again: what is it ’bout men?
My protective side has grown a mile wide
And I question myself again: what is it ’bout men?

What is it about men?

sour-puss-lemon-face


3 Comments

DAILY POST – WHOA! – GET THEE BEHIND ME SANE MAN

What’s the most surreal experience you’ve ever had?

Unknown

I don’t want to sound like I think myself ‘special’ or gifted, but I’ve had such a weird old life to date, that to be honest, the norm tends to freak me out more than ‘Whoa!’ encounters.

I’ve seen and interacted with ghosts, witnessed a proper miracle, read fortunes, seen into the future, and felt so many incidents of deja vu, I swear God’s trying to fuck with me and having a right good laugh to boot.

I’ve even had a poltergeist tamper with my toiletries in my flat share bedroom (the door was locked whilst I was out so there was no way it could have been anyone else) in the form of inverting them with the tops off so that I had to let the contents splurt out onto my dressing table in order to put them back again.

But even then, I shrugged and thought ‘How annoying, must have been a man’ before cleaning up the mess and going downstair to watch TV, so nothing much phases me really.

Until this one night, when I believed that I encountered evil.

At least that’s how it felt to me.

I was working in a bar of a gentleman’s club in the West End at the time, and believe me, all kinds came in.  Actors, politicians, gangsters, triads, businessmen, footballers, drug dealers, gamblers and of course, other hospitality workers, but none of them cracked my composure.

On the surface I was a hard faced, aloof, bleach blonde bitch and everyone, whatever their status, was treated the same, with anything from professional politeness and a bit of banter if I really liked them, to cold, scathing dismissal if they behaved like twats.

Underneath this veneer I was a seething mass of contradictions, tempered by an undiagnosed personality disorder, an unpredictable temper, and a dogged fear of any kind of personal intimacy.  This was the ’80’s and being mentally ill was not something you ever shared with anyone.  There was none of this, transparency, new millennium empathy (well on the surface any hoo) and willingness to understand.  Oh no, if you were fucked up, you kept it to yourself, which is why I ended up thinking I was the only one who felt that way for years, so on went the suit of armour whenever I left my room and interacted with the normal everyday folk.

Back to the story.

So one night, in walks this guy.

A perfectly normal looking man.

Not handsome, but not ugly.  About average height and weight, smartly dressed, wearing good shoes and a nice watch.

Not a loner like some of them.  He was accompanied by a bunch of relatively respectable looking buddies.

Not drunk, or gobbing off and being obnoxious, like some of the hard men, or the famous, giving it ‘Do you know who I am?’.

The perfect customer really.

So as he approached the bar, I stepped up to serve him.

And that’s when I realised that something was terribly, terribly wrong. Because as his eyes fixed on mine, he smiled and I immediately felt uneasy as my gut started to churn.

‘Hello darling, how are you tonight?’

Confused at my body’s deeply visceral reaction, I managed a shaky smile.

‘I’m well thank you sir, how are you?’

The smile broadened, and the eyes twinkled with some kind of malign glee.

‘Very well indeed love!  And I must say you’re looking beautiful tonight!’

Not pervy.  Not an inappropriate thing to say at all.  It was a bit cheesy though, and in normal circumstances, I may have come back with some sarcastic/humorous retort, or a cold, impassive stare, depending on my mood.

But hell, no.  I was not going to fuck with this guy.  No way.  No how.

‘Thank you, that’s very kind of you to say so.’

My manager, Tony who just happened to be passing, overheard, and flicked me a puzzled glance, recognising that this was not my usual M.O.

The smile broadened even more.

Now I really had his attention, and all I could do was hope and pray that he would take it away, and I could feel a trickle of sweat run down my back.

He chuckled

He knew.  I swear to God he knew.  I immediately dipped my eyes away from his scrutiny.

What the fuck was wrong with me?  Get a grip and serve the man Sista, do you want everyone to know what a crazy, paranoid headcase you really are?

And there we were, the sane man, the crazy woman exchanging pleasantries as the rest of the staff and clientele acted like nothing was amiss at all.

But it was.  It was.

I cleared my throat and willed myself to look up.

‘Anyway, what can I get you?’

How can one face contain so much knowing?  He knew that I knew, and also that I knew that he knew that I knew.

That sounds like some kind of old Radio 4 comic skit I know, but this was not in anyway funny at all.

And he wasn’t going to let me off the hook that easily.

‘Oh I’m not sure actually’ says he cocking his head to one side, ‘what drink would you recommend for me?’

He also knew me.  He could see me.  I don’t know how else to say it.

He saw my fears, my pain, my self loathing, my self destructive ways.  He knew how ugly I was, both inside and out.  He could smell last nights tawdry one night stand on me as surely as if his nose was plunged into my crotch.

The skin on my belly crept with fear and loathing.

He licked his lips casually, enjoying the spectacle of me squirming on the gaff of his attentions.

Then, before I had chance to fashion a reply, my saviour arrived in the form of lovely, lairy, chain smoking Tone who nudged me out of the way, rolled up his sleeves, grinned at the gargoyle in front of me.

‘Time for your break Sista.  Garn, get a wiggle on or you might miss your role model, Sue Ellen on Dallas!’ then winked conspiratorially at him.

‘Come on mate’ responded my tormentor, ‘is that any way to treat a lady?’

As I scurried away from the sound of their raucous guffaws, I knew Tony would be puzzled by my lack of response, but all I could think about was getting as far away as possible from that impossibly sane man.

This was of course coupled with an irresistible urge to turn around and look again, if only to verify that what i’d witnessed was real.  Evil is always fascinating to even the average sane Joe, but thankfully self preservation won out that day, and I made it to the staff room, shakily made myself a strong cup of tea and prayed that he’d be gone when I had to go back.

Because that’s what I believe I saw in that man that night.  Pure unadulterated evil.

The hole in my claim however is that no one else seemed to perceive it.  Not Tony, not his mates, none of the other staff members.  No one.

When, an hour later, I returned to the bar, he was gone.  But Tony was not.

‘What the fuck was that about Sista?  You alright?  ‘ave you got your period?’ he jibed, flicking me on the backside with a soggy bar towel.

Relieved beyond measure, I managed a feeble ‘Yeah, have you got a spare tampon you can let me have?’ whilst he cackled and pretended to look in his pockets, assured in his old school, sexist way that I was OK, and well enough to finish my shift.

But I never forgot that encounter.

And some years later when I read Stephen King’s ‘The Stand’, I immediately recognised a version of him in the character ‘Randolph Flagg’.

I of course, could have been wrong.  Could have been having an off night.  It could have been the manifestation of my own inner turmoil that, for some reason I plastered all over the visage of this very ordinary young man.

But I don’t think so.

And I still evoke it to this day, some 30 years later, prodding it like a tongue nudging a rotten tooth and wonder who he was, and what his role was here on earth.

I guess I’ll never know.  Hell I don’t even know what mine is, let alone his.

I just know that I never want our paths to cross again.

Namaste x

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/whoa/


2 Comments

EAR WORM No. 25 – The Pearls – GUILTY #BPD

Ah…just as well I love this innocent little song from back in the day, as it has been haunting me for what feels like forever…

If you, like me, were growing up in the ’70’s, chances are you remember this catchy British version of the original First Choice song.

Also, if you are BPD like me, you will have a long, complicated relationship with guilt and will have done so, probably most of your life.

Because, seemingly, like many kinds of abuse, one inadvertently ends up wielding the same stick that one was beaten so savagely with.

I was, suffice to say, made to feel guilty for most of my life, for, amongst other things, being selfish (for expecting to be treated like I mattered), for not helping in the home (when my sibling was not expect to do so), for asking for normal clothes instead of old ladies cast offs (so I wouldn’t get my head kicked in at school quite so often), for causing arguments (aka defending myself), fighting with my brother (who was older/bigger and ALWAYS struck the first blow), yada, yada…

This resulted in permanent paranoia, the inability to trust, the constant need to defend myself, prove my innocence and point out the real perpetrator.

Much good that did me, really.

It also made me afraid of ever admitting failure or fault, which isn’t great as everyone makes mistakes.  Even me ;-)

But the most harmful side effect of this kind of abuse, is thinking that the reflex response of others is a good idea.

To be honest I didn’t even know I did it until recently.

Well, I knew I was very adept at defending myself, and felt more than entitled to do so, after all the shit I’ve had to endure to date, but the one thing I failed to realise is that no one likes to be proved wrong for all the world to see.

Even if they were wrong.

I’ve been let down many times by boyfriends, friends, family and work mates.  This is because I did that classic BDP thing of putting all my eggs in one basket when it came to making friends.

I would eschew building lots of different relationships with a cross section of different people, find the one who I thought was my soul mate per se, bonded with that person, told them everything, showed them everything, trusted them implicitly until that fateful day arrived that they dropped the ball and fucked me over, betrayed me, or even just let me down.

Most people are upset by betrayal. But most people have a whole back up team of other friends and family behind them, so they will usually shrug such behaviour off, forgive and probably keep that person in their life in some capacity.

Someone like me however would be absolutely devastated and incandescent with rage, and would then seek to expose this bitch/bastard for their rude/selfish/vicious behaviour so that the whole world would see how awful they were, and how hard done by I was, before dramatically kicking their friendship to the kerb.

Forever!

6a00d834515ae969e2017c35817072970b

I know.  Not very attractive behaviour, is it?

But the worst part is that when your anger dies down, and you put things in perspective, you realise that you’ve dumped all the good qualities of that person along with the bad.

Over the years, I evolved a little.  I didn’t always dump people forever, but I did still, very skilfully, very stealthily prove to them that they were pretty horrible people, that their behaviour sucked, that I would NEVER, have done it (whatever it may be) to them, that others in our circle/family now knew what they were really like, and that they should change ASAP if they wanted to keep good, loyal, innocent folk like my good self in their lives for the foreseeable future.

It didn’t always happen.

It didn’t always happen straight away.

But eventually a lot of these so called sinners extracted themselves from my life of their own volition, and I am no longer in touch with them.

Because no one likes to face harsh truths about themselves.

funny-canvas-empty-Bob-Ross

This was especially applicable when it came to my love life.

But they deserved it for making me feel shit about myself!

Didn’t they?

This kind of reaction, according to my shrink is ‘angry child’, a maladaptive coping mode that i reach for in order to avoid ‘vulnerable child’ the most painful state of being of all.

In other words, anger is my default, and unless I learn to feel what’s really going on for me, find away of comforting myself in that fug of unbearable, powerless pain, instead of reaching for my metaphorical uzi, I’m never going to be able to adapt to this world, and find my authentic self and my place in life.

And guess what coping mode we’re doing in group right now?!

Awful, awful, awful….but I must and will grit my teeth and work through it.

I hated and still hate people who play the guilt card; including myself.  But I’m trying to catch and make myself put down that weapon before doing irreparable damage to others, and inadvertantly, myself.

it’s not easy though, as I’m so very good at it.

Yes, like the song says I’m G-U-I-L-T – WHY, and housed in a prison of my own making.

But I’m working on my parole.  Honest.

Shit.  Why is life so fucking hard?

Namaste all x


6 Comments

DAILY PROMPT: In Loving Memory – EAT ME

cook5

‘WRITE YOUR OWN OBITUARY’

‘Here I lie all spent and gone

I am dead but you’re not done

Much you took, but hear me, Living

I’m the gift that keeps on giving

 

Here I lie all spent and gone

But your greed it has not done

In life you took from me, but still

There’s yet the reading of the Will

 

But before you exit Hon

The giving is not as yet done

There’s my wake and if you might

Will you stay for a quick bite?

 

There is coffee, there is tea

Much for you, and much of me

For the main course is a roast

Of the girl you’ll miss the most!

 

Have some bicep, have some pec

Bite me, get it down your neck

Binge on this my last repast

You can even eat my ass

Mushroom_burial_suit_turns_heads_1640050000_3707671_ver1.0_640_480

Oh, you’re a veggie do you say?

Do not fret my friend, I pray

I will don a mushroom suit

And you can dine on my grey fruit

 

You going to pass? Well OK Honey

Just don’t think you’ll get my money

EAT ME, or you won’t make good

So lick it good just like you should

 

There! I knew you’d join the dots

A leopard does not change its spots

Have some wine my friend and pray

That it might take the taste away

 

You took in life, you take in death

But as I inhaled my last breath

You were not there to keen or mourn

I died alone, as I was born

 

So as you suck and gnaw my fingers

I pray that this grave lesson lingers

And you then know, my kith and kin

That you get out what you put in

 

Take my money, splurge and spend

But Death will come for you my friend

One day when you will lease expect it

Then you will leave the stage and exit

 

Will you give as much as taken

From your greed will you awaken

And vow to give and love enough

Cos in the end it’s all just stuff

 

You’ve ate your fill, oh praise the Lord

It’s time to go get your reward

I hope it feeds you and you find

I’ve left the best of me behind

 

Here I lie all spent and gone

I am dead so now we’re done

Much you took, but please do know

You only reep just what you sow

ELVISthankyou

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/in-loving-memory/


4 Comments

4723e2b23536b9b5ed1e75888ed8adfd

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Circle of Five.”

‘A writer once said, “You are the average of the five people you spend the most time with.” If this is true, which five people would you like to spend your time with?’

Eh?

Not sure what was meant by this so googled it, and apparently the saying comes from motivational speaker and ‘America’s foremost business philosopher’, Jim Rohn.

Hmm.  A business guru.  They’re always so well known for their emotional intelligence, no?

logo_bg

I mean, look at him!

Look at Jim Rohn trying to look nonchalant and modest with his gazing intelligently into the distance pose!  Would you honestly believe a single thing that this spin master and his ilk might profess?

But OK, I clicked on ‘new post’ of my own volition, so I will honour this agreement and play along. :-)

Anyway, by this he implies that who you are and who you will become depend heavily on the company you keep.  If you have no personality or your own sense of self that is.

So, given that the main company I have nowadays is my two tom cats, two shrinks and my counsellor, that would make me scratchy, cuddly, destructive, scrappy, greedy, needy, cute, learned, patronising, empathic, patient, emotionally intelligent and funny.

united-bamboo-cat-calendar-2-img_assist_custom

Hey!

I take it all back!  Perhaps there is something in this shit after all!

Note I relate more to the feline that the human company ;-)

BUT if I could chew the fat and liaise with five other humans so that I can leech off some of their finer qualities, this is who I would choose.

1. AUNTY C (MY COUNSELLOR)

Yes of course she makes the cut! I’ve been going to her for a number of years now and have grown as a person because of it, and I love her to pieces, and before anyone says it, I don’t give a shit if that is perceived as being inappropriate.  She is incredibly loyal, has stuck by me through thick and thin, charges me a pittance (if anything) for her phenomenal skills and is hilarious to boot.

And if I do end up on the caring profession, there is no better role model than she.

2. NELSON MANDELA

The King of Forgiveness bar none. His actions changed the world and everyone around him. Yes, I’d like a bit of that, thank you very much, so he can pop around whenever he likes (yes I know he’s dead!).

I’ll even make some carrot cake.

3. JANET STREET-PORTER

In complete contrast the formidable Ms Street-Porter is sharp, strong, opinionated, does not give a fuck what anyone else thinks, and deep down, has a heart of gold.

I think she’d toughen me up a bit, plus as a hiker going out on yomps with her would be hugely entertaining and would certainly get me fit again.

just_billy_connolly-292058

4. BILLY CONNOLLY 

Still the funniest man on the planet, does not mince his words, takes no shit, the original beard meister (take note Shoreditch trendies) who rocks it like no other.

Not only that, but he’s charming, engaging, the perfect chat show guest, an amazing raconteur and someone who (nearly) always manages to see the best in everything and everyone, something I could certainly do with.

5. MY FRIEND MANDY

Mandy is not perfect, and neither am I, and whilst we’ve had our fall outs, she is still the person who makes me laugh the most, we bring out the child in each other and I believe that she genuinely loves me and wants the best for me.

Providing I don’t have anything more or better than she does. ;-)

This used to gall me, but I’m learning to accept her and my other friends as they are and hopefully as they accept me.

So Jimbo, spending time with the above folk won’t necessarily bring me success, money or global respect, but some things I’ll have you know, are more important than money.

And at least I won’t have to have a twatty pretentious photo as my website byline.

Namaste bitches x

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/circle-of-five/


3 Comments

BOYS WILL BE BOYS

3186237317_5baa30bee9

You know what they say about old habits dying hard?

Well it’s a cliche for a reason.  And it’s especially hard to challenge them when they’ve been over a half a decade in the making.

As anyone who follows this blog will know that I haven’t always had a great relationship with my family, and you will also understand why.

But of late, my relationship with my brother James is OK.

Distant, even more distant since I’ve been in financial dire straights, but whenever we see one another we’ve managed to have a nice time and while away a couple of hours or so before the other has to go home.

And I’m regularly invited to spend Christmas with him and his family.  Mainly because it’s traditional, and the fact that I’m ‘Aunty Present’ and, until this year, brought lots of goodies for all to enjoy.

But apart from that, my presence isn’t really required.  Oh I’m welcome, in theory, to go spend the weekend with them.  Subject to approval and with the proviso that I might need to entertain myself as they all go about their business, and treat me with about as much interest as the family gerbil (who eventually died of starvation/dehydration, poor thing).

yuk

And if there’s a formal family thing with long lost rellies, I’ll be required to rock up, despite the fact that the venue is about 400 miles away from my home (and 40 from theirs) and that I have to spend a total of 8-9 hours on the motorway, and money (that I haven’t got) to eat at a shit restaurant whose sole USP is the ability to acquire faux fillets made up of re-consituted poultry skin/scrag/ligament mush that has been combined with water and additives, moulded, frozen, defrosted, cooked and presented to the unsuspecting diner as a chicken breast, smothered in some kind of white jizzy goop that itself masquerades as some kind of cheese sauce. With chips of course.

Classy.

Other than that, I am apparently obsolete.  Peripheral.  Forgettable.

And every now and then I’ll see evidence on Facebook or via some other social media platform that he and my cousin and their respective broods have all got together at each others homes or gone on some jolly outing or other without inviting me.

And it hurts.

bully-web

When we were kids, my brother hated me (and in turn I hated him back), and turned to our cousin (who lived walking distance away) for succour and companionship which is probably one of the reasons that I’m the fuck up of the family and he isn’t.  Because even though our shared childhood was not the best, our mother loved him and he had Jack, so he was never alone.  Being the same sex, there’s was a natural bond, as was the habit of turning on me, an obvious target, to mock, jeer at, and pick fights with.

Me?  I had no one, not even a best friend once I turned geek, and I have forever felt like I am on the outside looking in.

And neither Jack nor James were ever encouraged to include or be kind to me.

They were lads.  And lads didn’t play with girls oop North, so they were let off the hook so to speak.

And as we came into our teens, and I strived to find some tribe to fit in with (be it mod, punk, new romantic), this was an endless source of amusement for this smug twosome, who, yes you’ve guessed it, went to uni, found a lovely inclusive brainbox peer group to join, and more life long friends to bolster their egos and emotional security.

I however flitted from one incarnation to another, and do so to this day.

Because I have no real clue who I am.

Over the years, I did form something of a relationship with my cousin, and once upon a time you could have called us ‘close’ as he would tell me things he couldn’t share with Jack, but when my brother and I fell out for 3 years, I was left in no doubt where I was in the family hierarchy.

No I couldn’t come for Christmas, Easter or Bank Holiday.  What were my motives?  Was I doing this to wind up Jack?

They could see me in March, some random weekend or a cold wet day in January; wouldn’t that be special?

tumblr_lvvhmqRGtD1qkmmtwo1_500

And after Jack and I eventually made up, I was no longer the black sheep of the family hence James welcomed back into the fold and was invited to everything!

Hurray!

Except I was indignant, bruised and in no mood to be humoured.

Nowadays everything has gone back to normal and I’m back on the outside looking in.  And today I made one last try to connect with my family, find out when the next big hoo ha would be, and get myself invited to it via my sister in law.

She sounded defensive and perplexed.

‘Why do you ask?  When?  What are you thinking?  Here, Jack’s, yours, somewhere in the middle?’

(In other words ‘What do you want from us exactly? Anyone would think you were family or something!’)

‘I honestly don’t mind Jen, I just thought it would be nice for us to all catch up sometime.’

‘Well Jack and James have just been away, we’re off doing something else Easter with my sister (oh the irony), then I’m back at work, Jack is blah blah blah……….but maybe we’ll catch up in August 2020 when I might be in London?’

Hey ho.  After over half a decade of being second tier, why did I ever think it might change?

It would be easier to get Clark Kent and Superman in the same room at one time.

I get it.  i genuinely do.  Spending time together for them comes naturally.  They’re more brothers than Jack and I were ever siblings. They both have kids.  They live quite close to one another.  Lots of their get togethers are probably arranged quite spontaneously.

I, however, take effort.  Not to mention that fact that I’m a little….

bagge_daffyduck

….and unpredictable nowadays. What if I rained on their lovely fraternal parade?

As for the bullying, I suppose kids are kids, and they didn’t know how damaging an effect their behaviour would have on me.

Boys will be boys.

And lets face it they weren’t the only ones who picked on me.  Once you’re being victimised it’s like you send out a high pitch signal that unleashes the dogs of war onto you.  It’s like those bastards can sniff the vulnerable out and let rip knowing you will take their shit.

To this day though, any word or story of bullying is guaranteed to get my hackles up.

25C60F2A00000578-0-image-a-3_1424207762664

In a recent episode of ‘The Gift’ one man, Jon, who bullied and beat up on another boy, Simon, at school for 10 years, suddenly got guilt pangs and sought him out via the show to apologise, wanting forgiveness.

90% of the British public were touched by his efforts and sniffled sentimentally into a Kleenex.

The other 10% (yes, me included) wanted his blood.

I’m sorry but who the actual fuck did he think he was to seek Simon out demanding forgiveness?  What brought on this sudden retrospective stab of conscience?  Why should he be made to feel better about his vile behaviour?

Miraculously though, when they finally came face to face on a pier, Simon (a big bruiser of a man nowadays) to my huge disappointment, didn’t smash him in the face, pick him up by the scruff of his neck, shake him like a rag doll and throw him into the sea.

He forgave him.

Jon, you are lucky it wasn’t me you sought pardon from as I’d have kicked you so hard that your balls would be jostling for position alongside your tonsils to this very day.

<sigh…>

I have such a long way to go.

Have I forgiven my tormentors, including John and Jack?  I thought I had.  But clearly it goes so much deeper than that.  And maybe they sense this.

Time to stop misting up that window and pawing at that door.

It was never my place to begin with.

Aunty C and the shrinks are right.  My sense of home and belonging has to start with me.

Back to the drawing board.

Namaste x

http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b053kxhs


3 Comments

“EVERY DAY TAKES FIGURING OUT ALL OVER AGAIN HOW TO F*CKING LIVE” – Calamity Jane, ‘Deadwood’

bfmh15-4-copy

“I pledge my commitment to the Blog for Mental Health 2015 Project. I will blog about mental health topics not only for myself, but for others. By displaying this badge, I show my pride, dedication, and acceptance for mental health. I use this to promote mental health education in the struggle to erase stigma.”

Hi all.

Yes (those of you who know me) I’m still here.  Kinda.  Hanging on by my fingertips actually.

But here.

For those of you who don’t, a very brief potted history:

2012-doomsday

Walked out/sacked from my job after being bullied by my boss after confiding in him about my depression.  It was 18 months of hell, but fought my corner, negotiated a pay off them promptly collapsed into what one might call a breakdown.

2013

Launched ‘Phoenix Flights’ on the stroke of midnight New Year’s eve 2012 as a way to vent creatively, work through my aims and complete recovery (scheduled for December 31 2013) sharing with y’all what I did and how I conquered all my demons and why I am such a huge success today, with my great career as an author, my cottage by the sea, clan of like minded friends who adore me, first class travel to exotic locations, loving partner, wrinkle free skin, hair that doesn’t need blow drying anymore etc, etc.

<ahem>

Yes, I was that naive.  I knew I had problems, but it was because of the environment, the stress, backstabbers, etc. and now I was away from all that, I truly believed would discover my inner being, find peace and true meaning and direction for my life.

Until I was diagnosed with EUPD (border line personality disorder by any other name) in December, just in time to wreck my  Christmas, thus squishing my plans for a celebratory New Years Eve party (hah!) but also confirming why I was the way I was.

Bottom line, I could not deny that so much of it rang true.

Ho, ho, fucking ho…

New Year 2014

So another older but wiser Sister signed on ‘Blogging for Mental Health 2014′ as ‘Phoenix FIGHTS’, but made another stoopid mistake by veering wildly in the opposite direction.

Instead of believing that I could do mastermind my own recovery all by myself, I decided that I was too sick to cope on my own, regressed somewhat and resigned myself to the care of group therapy with a couple of eminent psychiatrists who would fix me, and then I would sally forth into the great unknown in a couple of years time and have that great life, with the great career, state of the art beach house, nose job, great friends, blah blah.

And given that the therapy would be on two midweek days, there was no point in me getting a real job.   No, I would just saunter on, in the sure and certain knowledge that this time i was on the right path, and for that reason God would supply me with a delightful array of part time job opportunities to finance me through these lean times, and all would be well in the end.

So I waited anxiously for news of when my therapy would begin and my life could begin again.

And waited.  And waited.

And waited  Month after month after month.

After lot of questions, form filling and preparation, we started in Winter 2015.

So my life had pretty much been on hold for 75% of the year during which time, my money had run out, I lost more friends because I could not afford to socialise, became even less employable, and I finished the year even older and wiser than ever.

2015-tendencias

I say wiser.

But to be honest, I still don’t really have any answers for you and I’d be doing both of us a disservice to pretend that I do anymore.

In a lot of ways I’m very much worse off than I was prior to that fateful summers day in 2012 when I walked out on the life that I knew for the last half century.

Was I right to wait for the therapy?  Probably.  But not to rely on it solely, nor that the gods would provide and support me whilst waiting.

Also the group dynamic isn’t quite what I thought it would be.  I thought it would lessen my loneliness and bring me comfort to be around ‘my people’, but we aren’t all kindred spirits.  Some I like.  Some I don’t.  Some really get on my tits sometimes.  So I keep my distance because, if anything, it’s even more politically fraught than any corporate environment.

snarling-wolf-referance

Plus they know too much, so I can’t get close to them, because if they ever used this information to hurt me, there would be hell to pay. ;-)

It’s also not an enjoyable process like it is with Aunty C (my previous/current psychologist counsellor), because we have a relationships and rapport, whereas I don’t entirely trust the shrinks or their motives, and sometimes I feel patronised and humoured as they are not at all good at being sincere.

Not to mention I get bored, depressed, irritated and downright amused by the absurdity of the exercises we are given to do on a weekly basis, and it is nigh on impossible some days not to take the piss out of them.

But I soldier on.

What else can I tell you?

Things that help?

The usual.  You know.  All that annoying shit bandied around on memes via Twitter and Facebook.

article-2582427-1C5AA76700000578-39_306x423

Mediation, exercise, good nutrition, lots of sleep, not too much sleep, support, contact, connectivity, mindfulness, creativity dancing, helping others, yoga…

Sigh.

If only we loved ourselves enough to make us do these things for ourselves sometimes, right?!

But on the days I do do them, they are a triumph.

Other pluses?

I am kinder, more tolerant, people seem to warm to me more, I am more patient (most days) and I’m actually learning to understand my fellow man a whole lot better.

But every day is a new day, and most of them i wake up groaning that I’m still here and have to find a reason to stay, let alone get out of bed.

But things can only get better.

They have to.  Don’t they?

My writing has suffered of late because sometimes it feels like I’ve said everything I have to say, and nothing I scribe has any worth anymore.

But this platform has just given me reason to keep going.

Namaste bitches x

http://blogformentalhealth.com/2015/01/30/blog-for-mental-health-2015/

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 683 other followers