Phoenix Fights

Fighting the FEAR, depression and BDP on a daily basis AND making my own bread. Bring it on 2016….




This 30 day forgiveness thing isn’t as easy as it looks.

I’m not talking logistically.  The process is rational, workable, and so far I only have to deal with pardoning one person, and not the worst fucker I have ever encountered in my entire life, and as I’ve mentioned, I’ve been focussing on 7-8 out of 10 rather than an 11.

And I’ve kept it up.  Reading the very sage words of Desmond, Mpho and the other contributors.  Listening to the meditations and thoughts about the stages that can bring about forgiveness.  I’ve done the written exercises.  Acknowledged my part in the friendship’s downfall, and yes, I’m feeling a bit better about her in my head, heart and soul.

Yay for me!

So why have I been so full of rage for the last few days?  I have been so shitty that I had to miss my pub quiz because I didn’t trust myself not to snap at one of my team because she annoys me so much.  One of the gentler souls emailed me asking if I was just feeling ‘meh’ or what is something more?

‘Oh just ‘meh’, coupled with a white hot anger that could take London down like Vesuvious did Pompeii, but don’t worry, it’ll pass…’

He didn’t reply.  I don’t blame him.

I had such plans, to take inspiration from others, to communicate more with my higher self, to find more to love about life, and I was keen to press forward the process immediately after my last post.

But it didn’t happen.  I got stalled.

It’s frustrating.  I’m coming to terms with what Miss Psycho did to me, so why don’t I feel better?

Trouble is, she is only one person.

At the front of a seemingly endless queue apparently.


I’ve never kidded myself that I only have a few people to forgive.

But some seemingly irrelevant folk come shooting out of the past and hit you out of nowhere.

A few days ago, a long lost old school friend contacted me out of the blue on Facebook to tell me that someone we both used to know is currently in London.  Curious, I asked who and it turned out to be one of my old teachers.

On hearing that name, I felt my skin bristle, my bones stiffen and something dark within me stir.

‘Do you remember her?’ asked old school chum excitedly.

Oh yeah.  I remember her.  But not for the right reasons.

A year ago, I would have told OSC what I thought of this bitch and why I wouldn’t piss on her if she was on fire.  But I impressed myself by appearing cool, calm and collected (thank God for IM, I’m sure my icy voice would have betrayed me on the phone), and remarking indifferently that I didn’t really know her that well, and hoped that she’d drop the subject.

‘Oh you must do Sista, she taught our class!  And she remembers you!’

Oh does she now?

Then I realised what OSC was hinting at.


Then something cruel and malevolent twitched and ticked and turned inside me.  So, she wants to meet up with me, eh?  Hmm, that could be fun…I’ve waited over 40 years to put this old hag back in her box and tell her what I really think about her and her teaching methods, and I now have the quickness of wit and verbal dexterity to tap into her insecurities and disembowel her.

So many people I know say that they only think of the sharp ripostes after the person they were arguing with has gone.  Not me.  They come up bang on time, and fly off my tongue, thick and fast.  Not many people who know me mess with me for that reason.

I could remember her tearing me a new arsehole in front of the entire class for the most minor of infractions; screaming at me, her face so close to mine that I could smell what she had for lunch on her breath; how I boiled with shame and unshed tears as I hung my head and stared at her legs, wondering why she never shaved them (I swear she looked like an extra from Planet of the Apes) as she humiliated me time and time again; for being such a two faced **** whenever she spoke to my parents about me on open days.

And why was she like that with me?  Because at first I liked her and thought she liked me, so was probably a bit over friendly and familiar with her when I was first in her class.  A terrible, heinous, presumptuous thing for a hopeful, gullible, innocent 8 year old to do, I know.

How very dare I?

Before anyone says it, I get that a lot of people encountered at least one sadistic wanker from their schooldays, be it teacher, fellow pupil, or if you’re extra lucky like me, both.

But this burned me, and has clearly left a scar on my heart that has not shifted or abated for all of these years.

This is where the personality disorder diagnosis rings so very true.

We BPDs never let things go.

When did it start?

I’m starting to think I was born this way. I cannot remember a time when anger was absent from my core.

And now, this stupid song from a TV show from my childhood keeps running through my head, and it goes like this:

‘Down in the meadow where the wind blows free, in the middle of a field stands a lightning tree.
Its limbs all torn from the day it was born for the tree was born in a thunderstorm.’


And that’s what I feel like sometimes.  Something torn, charred, contracted, but not allowed to die, and so used to being struck that it’s as if it’s branches are like arms, as it stretches up to the sky in defiance and screams ‘Come on you fuckers!  Is that all you’ve got!  More!!  BASTARDS!!!’

Two years ago, I would have gone to meet Miss S for tea, wearing my most expensive outfit, all sweetness and light, and I would have waited for just the right moment, then taken that bitch down.  I would have told her what a sadistic bullying twat she truly was, reminded her how many other kids she probably scarred with her big screechy outbursts, and that she was so crap a teacher I can’t even remember what she taught.  I would carefully and forensically emphasise how much I disrespect and despise her to this day, and the real legacy she has left in her wake, so if she thought that dropping in on her old pupils would be a feast for her ego, she should really think again.

I would then have dabbed my lips with a napkin, flicked my hair, dropped some money on the table, chucked said napkin in her general direction and strode out of the restaurant.

Exultant.  Avenged.  Justified.

They say God doesn’t put anything on your plate that you can’t handle.

This however just isn’t fair.  I’m good at destroying people with my tongue dammit, and to wave this opportunity under my nose like a nice bit of rare steak, then snatch it from me before I can sink my teeth into it makes me want to howl with rage.

And then I saw this <warning, v harsh language so don’t open if you are easily offended>:

And I thought to myself ‘Do I want to be that person who hurts people like that?’

And the answer was………YES! 🙂

Well definitely this person at any rate.

But I won’t.

I’ll hold fire, even though the temptation is ENORMOUS.

Not that she deserves it.

Looks like I’ll be working on this forgiveness thing long after 30 days have past.

Today, in old London town, the heavens properly opened and torrential rain and hail bucketed down. Thunder rumbled, lightening flashed and people scurried and struggled with their umbrellas, as I sighed with pleasure and turned my neck from side to side as I drove over the bridge home.

I always feel better after a storm.  Maybe there’s hope for this old stick yet.

‘Grow, grow, the lightning tree, it’s never too late for you and me;
Grow, grow, the lightning tree, never give in too easily’



4 thoughts on “THE LIGHTNING TREE

  1. See, that’s what I love about you – you’re unequivocally human! If you’d started this forgiveness thing and been overcome by an influx of sweetness and light, my bullshit antennae would have stood to attention flashing red. Some people are genuinely like that (very few imo) and the fakes make me feel vaguely queasy and decided uneasy. I always wonder what agenda they’re running (but then we know I’m a hoary old cynic).
    This bitch scarred you. I can relate to that. I also fantasise about shredding people who did similar to me. Or better still, patronising them from a great height, which always strikes me as far more effective than a shredding their defences would dismiss as typically unjustified. But mostly, I’ve come to see tham as pathetic. I mean, how pathetic is an adult in authority who feels the need to tear new arseholes for 8 year olds?
    I don’t know if this is forgiveness or just the best I can do at the moment, but at least curbing our baser instincts for revenge is a start!

    • Ha! Love you back Helen, you think exactly the same way I do! This was always going to be my biggest challenge and this week I’ve felt like a cornered wasp! The Tutus are pretty sensible about their approach on this, they try and get resolution for you and the other person, but mainly it’s about you. There’s a couple of things I’ve balked at but I think it’s been a good exercise. The only problem is the rest of the frigging queue…. :-s

  2. I was there hoping to see you get your teeth into the old hag!! You write in such an enthralling way.
    It is good that you resisted the temptation. Sounds as if you are doing well. One at a time, day at a time….. 🙂

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