Phoenix Fights

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




The last few days haven’t been great for me.

I’ve bailed on social stuff again, when I should be at least trying to socialise and enjoy these hot days and balmy night, having whined on about how much I hate being isolated during the summer months every single year.

I’ve passed stuff I was invited to, not shown up when people were relying on me, and inexplicably, cancelled on stuff where I asked to be invited, only to let them down last minute.  I’m pretty sure I’m one of the few people who’d walk out on something she’d gatecrashed only five minutes earlier.

I’ve avoided yoga as if it were a pap smear with a hot poker instead to something which soothes and nourishes me on every level.

I also used binge eating to comfort and distract myself from the tide of self loathing and recrimination that nails me to the wall every morning, undoing all of the healthy stuff I’ve been doing of late and I’ve watched hour after hour of TV to block out my mind monkeys which are gibbering wildly as we speak.

Bad Sista.

One of my fellow bloggers asked today what his readers had to be grateful for, and I’m sorry to say that I struggled to reply with anything.

Until I watched ‘My Last Summer’ on 4od.

This is the story of five random people who have one thing in common. They’re all terminally ill, and they get together periodically at a manor house in Gloucestershire to talk about their condition, share their life stories and support one another.  This is also the story of their partners, families and carers whose lives have been turned upside down as they fight to support their loved ones, keep on top of all the mundane things in life that need doing whilst trying to make sense of what they are going through and face the inevitable loss that lies ahead of them.

it is, all at once, funny, dark, distressing, heart warming, heart rending and hugely moving.

Three episodes in, having watched all of them suffer and deteriorate, and one of them, a DJ by the name of Junior Mac, die in the most horrendous way, 3 hours after marrying his devastated bride, and I’m in shreds.

I can’t cry though.  That said, the amount of medication in my system might be able to tamp down my reactions, it cannot contain the vortex of pain, grief and sheer fury that’s lodged like a hot brick in my solar plexus, and I can’t stop thinking about them.

Sweet Jesus Christ, what is the point of all this?  It’s so fucking cruel and twisted, I’m starting to feel like we mean nothing to the God/s whom made us, that we’re merely like the occupants of a bug farm, bee hive, or some celestial game of chess or Big Brother where He/She/It can randomly throw in a fireball, pit us against one another or release the kraken, then watch dispassionately, just to see what happens.


I can only marvel at their courage, honesty and generosity in telling their story and sharing such devastating experiences.

When one of the other guys, Ben, said that on hearing his diagnosis, he just went home and stayed in, waiting to die, I felt thoroughly ashamed for pretty much doing the same myself for the last 2 years or so.

Except I don’t have a terminal illness.

ARRGHH.  There is so much I want to say that I don’t even have the words for.

But I’m going to end with something positive.

The gratitude that there is evidently such love in the world, some of which might come my way, if only I would let some of it in.

And the knowledge that I at least have a life to fuck up.

Off to bed now.  Big day tomorrow.

Gotta sort my shit out.


RIP Junior, and bless your heart, I hope that your pain and terror is behind you now and that you are rocking’ out the heavens with some rare old skool mixes.

Please gird yourself and watch this series (last episode airs next week) as it will give you a whole new perspective on life, and honour Junior, Ben, Lou, Andy and Jayne for putting themselves out there so courageously.

Namaste x


21 thoughts on “THESE ARE THE DAYS OF THE ENDLESS SUMMER 3 #mylastsummer

  1. Hang in there my love! I’m glad you found the TV series something you could relate to. I think the skipping girl that you have on your moniker, (is that the word?), is such a happy one. I just wish you some joy in the summer sun shine of yours!

  2. Thank you so much for sharing this post. Know that you are not alone.

  3. Dear Sista, in my experience (about 50 years’ worth) adding mea culpa to a bout of depression is like using spurs on a runaway horse. So please, dear friend, cease and desist, throw the spurs away and let the poor bugger stagger to a halt and turn for home. You are no more loathesome than the rest of us – the millions of us who manage to stuff up our lives on a regular basis. We’re warriors, that’s what we are, fighting odds others were lucky enough to miss.
    There is love in the world. The hardest thing is to accept that we’re worthy of any of it, knowing intimately, as we do, what useless cows we really are. But neither of us is going to win the prize for the world’s worst, and those shining examples of joy, light and general niceness probably kick the dog when they get home.
    As for the point of it all – I doubt even the gods know. They gave us free will. Probably silly of them, but on the other hand, preferable to being a puppet.
    You’ll probably hate this and write me off forever as a soppy oaf, but it’s worth the risk. And I hope you don’t.


  4. I haven’t read a lot of blogs lately and to be perfectly honest, I feel like my blogging is pointless some days. I am glad I stopped by today and saw your post. I hope that this finds you in a somewhat happier mood. Depression is a beast that wears many faces – fooling some, fooling no one but ourselves. And just when we think we’ve beaten the demon down – they rear back up, stronger than before!

    Keep fighting the demon down – keep you face to the sunshine and let the warmth bathe you occasionally! Hugs!

  5. Only because I know exactly what it feels like, I’m not going to say anything like it will get better, because in the moment, nothing ever seems to get better, and the struggle to kick yourself in the ass and get out is impossible when you really don’t care. All I can say, is keep fighting!

  6. I can’t give advice, just know there are people who care.

  7. “Bad Sista”? No, Madame. Echoing earlier commenters, you are struggling, battling, wrestling. This is what it looks like. Not picturesque, not clean, not an “heroic vista”.
    Rather than looking to your pseudonym, look to your title—not “Bad Sista”, no. Fighting Phoenix. That’s who you are, that’s what you’re doing.

  8. *sigh* Ah, Madame, when you address me as “petal”, my heart just swells.
    And, no, it has nothing to do with my pericardial effusion.
    (Incidentally, it also causes additional organ swelling, but…[OMG!OMG!OMG! Did he really just WRITE that?!?!?!? EWWWWWWW!!!!!!!].)

  9. Pingback: COME OUT, COME OUT, WHOEVER YOU ARE…. | Phoenix Fights

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