Phoenix Fights

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


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EAR WORM No. 26 – Genesis – FOLLOW YOU FOLLOW ME #socialmedia #narcissism

I sometimes think I should come off social media completely as everyone seems to be getting on my fricking nerves nowadays.

Unbeknownst to them, I’ve already blocked two women’s comments from my Facebook feed as I’m sick to death of their terminal narcissism.

‘OMG, soo funny, I’m walkin down the street and this guy says Giv us a smile luv so I do and he said i’m bewtiful an I said watchit im a grandma and he said “you never u only look 30” O my days, how funny is that?’

Not.  Fucking.  Very.

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‘Blessings indeed, this director lovely James called me and said come back and work with us yr a ray of sunshine i said who me and he winked oh saucy, such a compliment being asked back AND paid feel like a Queen….’

Oh and these can pop up at about five or ten times a day.

Minimum.

I get honked by blokes in vans/lorries pretty much every time I go out (until they see me from the front – hah!) or winked at by builders, but do I bang on about it?

NO!

Because it means jack shit!  Most men would bang their wang into the office shredder if that was the only slot available to them, so I don’t really consider such behaviour as complimentary.

The only time I’ve posted about some finding me attractive was when some bloke tried to ‘friend’ me and when I clicked on his page, he had an AK47 slung over his shoulder.  Highly amusing.

If chilling. 😦

So male cat calling and flirting is merely a dick reflex, so get over yourself love!

brittany

The other one isn’t as big on words, but selfies?!  Oh my she aces in that particular field.

Again, five to ten times a day she uploads a captioned photo of herself.

On the train, smiling, looking, in all fairness, lovely – “All set for the challenges ahead!”

You go girl!

On the same train, smiling, with a croissant and a Pret coffee – “Breakfast!”

Yum?

Standing outside her destination avec sunglasses, posing with arm behind head and leg cocked in the air, sending herself up to prove she does have a personality and sense of humour – “Here!”

Great!  Good.  Now can we leave it at that please before I…

Sat in a cafe with a panini and coke with a nearly-as-pretty companion, pouting – “Bitches be gagging for lunch!”

Then put the fucking selfie stick down and EAT, BITCHES!

Then there’ll be one of her working, travelling home, getting ready to go out in leopard print robe and hair in rollers (but full make up, can’t be seen to look minging on FB), and then, Oh God, numerous shot of her having fun with a gang of equally vacuous bints and a whole host of gay BF’s, all gyrating, posing, pouting, clutching Moet bottles (an empty from the adjoining table no doubt – miaow!) and mugging for all they are worth.

Kill.  Me.  Now.

And it’s the same every day.

I have no problem with people uploading photos from an event, party, or special occurrence in their lives.  Good for them!

The people who moan about a friend boasting about her new baby/lovely husband/new car don’t know how lucky they are.  This bird could make selfie-ing an Olympic event.

One to one, both ladies are really rather nice.  A bit boring, but perfectly pleasant.  And I sometimes feel guilty for momentarily despising them so much.

So I edited my permissions rather than de-friend them as I don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings.

THEN.

Then my friends I get an invitation from Selfie bird inviting me to ‘like’ her new page.

Sigh.  Really?

Resigned to my fate, I click on it.  It says ‘Ditsy Dumbass – Official’ and she is categorised as a ‘Public Figure’ whatever that means.

I know she does some extra work so I assume this is self promotion, but why’s she dragging me into it?

It feels to me that (a) we are already ‘friends’ but (b) she is now letting me know that she is elevating her status over mine and (c) is now asking me to worship at her altar.

And, look, there are all the selfies I have managed to avoid looking at over the past month or so!

Oh.  Goody.

Deep.  Fundamental.  Joy.

FUCK OFF

How I LONG to message her and point out that if you have to ask someone to be your fan, then SURELY they’re not your fan in the first place, because if they were, they’d have sought you out of their own volition, no?  Especially when they have done everything in their power to avoid looking at you at all cost.

I don’t know why it gets to me so much.  But it does.  It does.

Social media has it’s place I think.  It’s great for keeping in touch with those friends you never see, it renders those boring Christmas card bragfests obsolete (because we already know all about your year, gobshite!), you can stay in contact with mates from overseas etc etc, but it seems to have turned our youth into a nation of self obsessed zombies, and let me tell you, they’re not content to keep their content to themselves.

This is ‘X Factor’ nation where everyone thinks they are oh so unique and special and that it only takes the desire to be famous (oh and perhaps the support of Simon Cowell, zombie god par excellence) in order to make your wildest dreams come true, and whilst I have nothing against self confidence and ambition, the hard work aspect doesn’t seem to have registered.

So now I have to click on ‘like’, be added to her ‘fanbase’ and once again, block her from my feed so I don’t have to look at all her tedious snapshots ten times a day.

THEN, before you know it, she’ll be asking me to share her stuff on MY page!  Well she can fuck right off, I can tell you.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again; I do NOT belong to this planet!

And there’ll be hell to pay when the powers that be discover their gross error.

Beam me up Scottie….please?!

Rant over.

Namaste x

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CHEAP WINE AND A THREE DAY OATH

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‘Coleman!  I’ve had the worst nightmare!  I was poor and no one liked me.  I lost my job, I lost my house and it was all because of this terrible (alter) ego….’

Yes, this actually happened to me.

Last night, I dreamed I was back in my old life.

The rose coloured specs version natch.

I was with friends in my favourite restaurant.  I was dressed well, my nails were manicured, my hair was recently highlighted.  I was still working.  A holiday in the sun was in the not too distant future.  I didn’t have to rely on anyone else’s charity.

And I was telling them that I’d had this awful dream where I’d been let go by Bastards Inc, had a breakdown, lost everything, I was poor, I had no friends yadda yadda…

And then I woke up.

For real.

Welcome to the ‘Feeling Worse Before It Gets Better’ phase of group therapy.

I’m sorry I haven’t been blogging of late, but it’s been a tough time.  Nothing but bad news and more of the same, and of course my writing, along with everything else that’s good for me, crumbled.  How many more times could I tell you the same story but in different words?

I was bored, boring and as in real life, didn’t want to bore the people I cared about with my tedious, self pitying shit.

Until today.  The irony of dreaming I’d dreamt the nightmare that was and is my reality was too ironically, cruelly amusing not to report back on.

And like Dan Ackroyd’s Louis Winthorpe III, I momentarily felt like I’ve had a life that was actually good, ripped away from me.  But unlike Louis I couldn’t blame anyone else.  Because it was down to me.  I cracked wide open from 50 odd years of trying to play the part of someone that didn’t actually exist at all, the shiny facade that passed for my real self.

And whilst I would and could never go back to such a life, I do miss aspects of it.

Being respected in a tough industry.  Having an impressive CV.  Being solvent.  Being able to have holidays.  Buy presents.  Pay my way.  Feeling financially safe.  Well, safer than I feel right now.

That said, whilst I liked and still do like nice things, I  have coped with the spending restrictions admirably.

But some things I cannot, will not accept.

Some of my fellow nutters suggested a group evening out after therapy at a free concert in London.

I was reluctant.  I hate crowds, central London and the band they wanted to see.

‘Oh come along it’ll be fun!   It won’t cost anything!  And we can go into Asda and grab some sandwiches and a couple of boxes of cheap wine….’

And there it was; the straw that broke this camel’s old hump.

Let me make this quite clear, I’m not a snob.  I know this because I have friends that are very snobby.  I on the other hand, love a bargain, buy vintage, am not impressed by designer labels and cannot tolerate waste.

But cheap wine?

As some of you will know, I love food and wine.  Food is how I comfort myself and have done since I was a child, but it has to be good quality.  I’d sooner have some fried left over potatoes with rock salt and home made mayo than a mass produced meal at a rubbish restaurant.

And let me tell you, cheap wine, like cheap chocolate, will never ever pass my lips.  I’ve had too much of the good stuff to go back now.

DrunkTornado

People drink cheap wine for the same reason as they drink moonshine, cheap supermarket spirits and meths; not because they like it, but because they want to get wasted.

And the idea of drinking something akin to warm vinegar whilst munching on mark down lunch time sandwiches that taste of nothing (and were probably made by illegal refugee slaves) in a public place for all the world to see just filled me with despair.  Especially as my infrequent but relatively consistent part time work has suddenly stopped dead.

Presumably due to something I did or did not do, or said or did not say.  I have no idea.

And then, after my oath to myself to do yoga every single day, I broke it on the fourth.

And whilst I’m not doing anything that good for myself, I’m trying really hard not to binge on food which is my first point of call when feeling this lost and lonely.

I’m even the odd one out amongst my fellow BPD-ers!

But I always knew that.

So.  What the fuck I am going to do now?

I don’t know.

And unlike previous posts, I’m not going to even try work out a plan and promise to do it.  As I’ll only fall flat on my arse and let you lot down yet again.

I just wanted to share.

I’ll drop by again when I have something to say.

Oh and this is the song that inspired today’s blog post title.

Pray for me please?

Namaste all xx