Phoenix Fights

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

ANOTHER LIFE LOST TO ‘THE FEAR’ #depression #eupd


What can I say that others have not said before me?

I was so shocked and appalled at the death of the Hollywood great that is Robin Williams.

Like many on here, I have grown up with his TV Shows and movies, and it would particularly gladdened my heart when he appeared on chat shows, as he along with Billy Connelly was raconteur par excellence:

And of course everyone has been going ‘Why, why?’ and some particularly stoopid folk have called him selfish because they can’t understand why such a talented, rich, successful man could end his life in such a way.

Well let me tell you wankers, mental illness along with cancer, AIDs and death is one of those great levellers that cannot be fixed or alleviated by wonga.  Sure you can afford rehab and retreats and get to see the best physicians in their swanky offices, and recline on their velvet covered couches, but at 3am in the morning, when you can’t sleep because something is coming for you, and you are that close to taking an overdose, if only so you can stop running, it doesn’t really matter how expensive your designer jamas are, what the thread count of your bedding is or how presidgeous your postcode/zipcode is, the dark is the dark, and the Fear is the Fear, and there’s no escaping it, no matter who you are.

And that was the thing that really broke my heart.

That he knew the Fear.  My Fear.  ‘Cos it sounded very much like mine, in an interview he did with the Guardian a few years ago about his addictions.

The reporter asked Robin whether it was the death of his friend Christopher Reeve that pushed him over the edge that time:

“No” he replied “it’s more selfish than that.  It’s just literally being afraid.  And you think, oh this will ease the Fear.  And it doesn’t”  What was he afraid of?  “Everything.  It’s just a general, all round argghh.  It’s fearfulness and anxiety”

And I hate it so that it tormented him too.

To the lovely, kind hearted, well intentioned folk out there, please don’t send people like me fucking Fear themed memes or quotes.  We’ve heard ’em all.  Hell, I’ve even sent some myself.  ‘Cos when you feel that bad, none of them mean shit.


I’ve nearly finished my schema therapy book.  I thought it would make me feel better. But it doesn’t. What it does do is explain why my years of therapy haven’t been enough to crack my anger, self hatred and self sabotaging behaviour and that, given the number of schemas I have (nearly a full house, folks! Whoop de doo!) there is no way I can do this by myself.

So I’m really frightened now.

I’m frightened that I don’t get picked for schema therapy.

I’m frightened that whatever I do get won’t work.

I’m frightened that I won’t get any work and lose my home.

I’m frightened that I have to give up my cats.

I’m frightened that mine will be the next name in the obits column in my local paper before the year is out.

I’ve read so many lovely comments about the great man on Facebook today and that meme that tells you not to be ashamed about your mental afflictions was all over the place, so just as an experiment, I posted something that wasn’t exactly a confession, but alluded that I was knew more about it that I had previously let on.


Nary a ‘Like’ or a comment in sight.

You see, that’s the beauty of Facebook. Everything is out there and can be summoned or dismissed with the click of a mouse, so you can pretend that you are tolerant, politically correct and big hearted, but the tiniest sniff of anything or anyone that could affect your world or turn up on your doorstep, then you can ignore it, block them or log out, and get the hell outta there.

So I guess I’ll need to keep pretending that everything between my ears is behaving itself, and with any luck, everyone can pretend they’re non the wiser if I end up following suite and bow out early one day.

Sshh…so just don’t tell on me, OK?






22 thoughts on “ANOTHER LIFE LOST TO ‘THE FEAR’ #depression #eupd

  1. How can I click “like” and then just surf away? But what can I say that will help? Do I understand? Only a tiny bit. Do I feel for you Sista? As much as I can. I’m afraid for you. I want you to find peace. What I want… what I want is for Robin to come back and to say “This. This would have made the difference. So now, go. Do this.”

    In other words, a magic bullet.

    Which is too close to the other types of bullets out there for my comfort, and no doubt yours.

    I want you to know, Sista that I am scared for you and for everyone one else out there who is reeling today by Robin William’s death. Not just the “oh that’s a shame” reel, but the “fuck this is too much I can’t bear it any more kind of reel.”

    May you be safe.

  2. It’s hard to know what to say, Sista. I hope and pray you get the help you need and that none of those dreadful fears comes to pass.

  3. All right, Madame, this is where the rubber meets the road, when we separate wheat from chaff, the time to cross this particular Rubicon, and sundry other applicable cliches.

    At minimum, you have a loose understanding that I am too intimate with the Fear myself.  As such, I can only hope that you will receive the following with all the gravitas and earnestness with which it is laden:

    Dear, dear Madame, I am at your disposal.  Here in your Response section, via e-mail, via Facebook, via Facebook Messenger—pick your medium/media.  Pick your time—9:00 am. your time, 9:00 pm. my time, hell, I don’t care.  Whenever you choose, however you choose, do it.  And, know that this is not limited to the ten days following Mr. Williams’ demise.  This is a standing welcome.

    I have actually wanted to relate this for a little time now, but, did not want to seem presumptuous or an Internet Norman Bates/Travis Bickle/Seymour Parrish.  I still have no desire for same.  This post has forced my hand.

    To borrow from a fine songwriter, proud Canadian and not-bad Jew, “I’m your man”.

  4. We are all born with free will. I just hope you find the support to get you through this tough time.
    You have a wonderful gift to write and I hope you’ll find work that acknowledges your talents.
    You deserve to be loved and treasured.

  5. People don’t know what to say when we expose ourselves. Same thing happens if you tell them you have cancer. You know..they might catch it, or they simply can’t comprehend. What they don’t comprehend is what a death like this does to us suffering. If he portrayed himself as such a happy person, gave willingly, and made someone smile, what are my chances of “making it”? I have found some peace, and life is moving on for me. However, I live in fear as well. What is going to strike me down again? Cancer, or the despair of depression? But we must keep fighting.

  6. S-o-o-o-o-o, Madame…

    You consider my professions of yesterday nothing more than flapdoodle?
    Think you’re calling my bluff by not responding?
    It’s just some hollow, WordPress tap-dance?
    😉 😉 😉

    Well, you looka here—

    I write from the absolute seat of knee-buckling sincerity.
    Not only is it not a bluff, I’m gonna raise the stakes.
    Empty showboating, is it? Okay, luv…Let’s twerk.

    You can reach me at gmail. You can find me on Facebook as “Alistair Stengel”. Your move, baby-doll. 😉 😉 😉

    Of course, Madame, I am not counting the minutes until your answer, so, no insult will be taken if it is not forthcoming. But, should you want to communicate, please, please do so.

    And, please be safe, good woman. xx

    • Dear CD, I’m so sorry I didn’t reply yesterday, just couldn’t put the words together, everything seemed so pointless. However am drugged up to the tits today (hurray?) and managed to get to yoga and want to thank you for your kindness. I massively appreciate it. You are a star and I’m so glad I met you on here. Couldn’t find you on FB you are as entitled to your anonymity as I am I guess. Speak later x

      • Ach, no, Madame. No, no, no. I will not accept your unwarranted apology. Unh, unh. The purpose of last night’s remarks was certainly not to extract a response. It was solely to make categorically clear that my preceding screed was to be taken with suffocating literality. As you have written—as we have all injuriously experienced—such sentiments are frivolously strewn round like confetti, and typically bear equivalent value. So, in my skeptical, compulsive way, I wanted to convey indefatigably that mine are the G-d’s own truth—’cause they are.

        Now, all of that is thoroughly discredited by your inability to find me on FaceFuck (yes, I still snigger over your coinage), and I am duly mortified. Sure, we are both entitled to equivalent anonymity, which is precisely why I appear under that nom de social media.
        So, what’s the fucking deal there, Zuckerberg, you greasy, grasping little Christ-killer?
        With my technophobic brain, I can think of only a couple possibilites—that “Alistair Stengel” having a different e-mail account than “A Catgut Dogsbody” caused the problem (but, why?), or, that you were thwarted by my Howard Hughes-level privacy settings. Regardless, I shall try cocking about with those, and, please know that you retain, in perpetuity, an open—even eager—invitation. Same with gmail, where you know how to find me ( [All right, I have just checked and, to my best {exceedingly limited} understanding, I can be found by means of Alistair Stengel, alistair.stengel and]

        Say, is this enough epistolary nattering yet? Nope, not yet.

        Sweet, pugnacious, brave, out-sized-souled, bear-trap-minded, beautiful—yes, BEAUTIFUL—Madame, I am so, so very glad that you are safe and that you are here. Here, as in back on your blog, but, more so, that you are here on WordPress. I would otherwise never have even known of your existence. And, that, G-d help me, would have been a true loss. ❤

        And, THAT is enough of your treacly twaddle, you fatuous, longiloquent clod.


  7. It really is the old cliché, but all we can all do is take each day as it comes. Some days will be better than others, here’s wishing you many great days ahead!

  8. I have friends and family with BPD (and other nifty letters). I have some letters attached to me too in medical folders somewhere. It IS difficult for us that don’t share a disorder to truly understand. And we may muck up things unintentionally when we do mean well by the words we say. That you speak here so openly helps we ‘others’ understand somewhat.

    Robin was an amazing man. My daughter texted me “Mom, there is less funny in the world now.” It is heart breaking to me to know that someone who brought so much joy and laughter to others, had a hard time feeling his own value.

    So hugs to you (I see you flinch,hah!) for sharing. I hope you keep it up.

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