Phoenix Fights

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



I swear this has to be the most upbeat ‘Pity Party song’ EVER…

I mean it should be in ‘Optimistic Mix’ or even ‘Ear Worm’ as I can’t get it out of my head.

So, I came by this blast from the past after watching ‘The Paperboy’ movie on TV, then looking up the awesome soundtrack online, then went on a bit of a disco binge, and it all came flooding back to me.

The disco era, the late ’70’s when I had just started going to clubs, when I’d just discovered my womanly wiles, could just about afford make up and was too uninformed and afraid to know how mentally fucked up I really was.

When I was poor and stuck at home.  When I was all buck teeth and National Health glasses.  When I was borderline bulimic and didn’t even know what that meant.  When all in the world I wanted was a boyfriend and feared that no one in the world would ever love me.

When, unbeknownst to me, I had the whole world at my fucking feet.

That, my friends was nearly 40 years ago, and now the future is so very bleak, I honestly wish I could run away.

Now I’m stuck in this flat.  I’ve got marginally smaller, yellowing teeth and reading glasses.  My eating habits have gone wildly dysfunctional again (pathetic, I know).  I have no partner and am now pretty 100% sure that no one will ever love me again.

I am so stuck, and there’s no way back and no way forward.

God let me go back.  Give me another chance.  I swear I’d get it right this time.

Let me do a ‘Peggy Sue Got Married’ and wake up in the morning in my svelte, 17 year old body and give me the chance to steer clear of all of the mistakes i ever made?

As fucking if.

Namaste x



  1. See, what I ask myself is whether you’re as fucked up as they’ve managed to convince you you are.

    Seems to me they’ve stuck you with a nice hairy label that’s enough to make anyone feel doomed, so they can slot you into their pretty beaurocratic NHS system. So while the rest of us fucked up mortals (who have a lot of the same thoughts, believe me) can think ‘Yeah, I’m fucked up but I can work through it’, you’re like a gerbil on wheel – ‘i’ve got an identified major mental disorder, so I’ll never get anywhere, however fast I run.’ No wonder you feel hopelss and helpless.

    But shoot me if you like. What would I know? It just makes me cross that they’ve stroked their pretentious little beards and nodded ponderously and labelled you in the interests of their obsession for neatness, without thought for the extra burden this puts on your efforts to get better. People aren’t ever neat.

    But like I said, what would I know. Ask Aunty C!

    • Its more about my entire set of circumstances and how trapped I feel, well AM actually. And when you have minimal money coming in, you can’t go out and do stuff and then you get more isolated and fucked up. Too too complicated and boring to explain. I just need some luck, something to GIVE and then at least I can try and create some upwards momentum. I can’t blame the therapists either, I can self sabotage for England, it’s like a reflex to me. Hey ho… xx

  2. “I…am now pretty 100% sure that no one will ever love me again.”

    A word, Madame—Horseshit.

    Oh, wait!  Here’s four more—You’re dead fucking wrong.

    That is all. 🌹

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