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!

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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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EAR WORM No. 25 – The Pearls – GUILTY #BPD

Ah…just as well I love this innocent little song from back in the day, as it has been haunting me for what feels like forever…

If you, like me, were growing up in the ’70’s, chances are you remember this catchy British version of the original First Choice song.

Also, if you are BPD like me, you will have a long, complicated relationship with guilt and will have done so, probably most of your life.

Because, seemingly, like many kinds of abuse, one inadvertently ends up wielding the same stick that one was beaten so savagely with.

I was, suffice to say, made to feel guilty for most of my life, for, amongst other things, being selfish (for expecting to be treated like I mattered), for not helping in the home (when my sibling was not expect to do so), for asking for normal clothes instead of old ladies cast offs (so I wouldn’t get my head kicked in at school quite so often), for causing arguments (aka defending myself), fighting with my brother (who was older/bigger and ALWAYS struck the first blow), yada, yada…

This resulted in permanent paranoia, the inability to trust, the constant need to defend myself, prove my innocence and point out the real perpetrator.

Much good that did me, really.

It also made me afraid of ever admitting failure or fault, which isn’t great as everyone makes mistakes.  Even me 😉

But the most harmful side effect of this kind of abuse, is thinking that the reflex response of others is a good idea.

To be honest I didn’t even know I did it until recently.

Well, I knew I was very adept at defending myself, and felt more than entitled to do so, after all the shit I’ve had to endure to date, but the one thing I failed to realise is that no one likes to be proved wrong for all the world to see.

Even if they were wrong.

I’ve been let down many times by boyfriends, friends, family and work mates.  This is because I did that classic BDP thing of putting all my eggs in one basket when it came to making friends.

I would eschew building lots of different relationships with a cross section of different people, find the one who I thought was my soul mate per se, bonded with that person, told them everything, showed them everything, trusted them implicitly until that fateful day arrived that they dropped the ball and fucked me over, betrayed me, or even just let me down.

Most people are upset by betrayal. But most people have a whole back up team of other friends and family behind them, so they will usually shrug such behaviour off, forgive and probably keep that person in their life in some capacity.

Someone like me however would be absolutely devastated and incandescent with rage, and would then seek to expose this bitch/bastard for their rude/selfish/vicious behaviour so that the whole world would see how awful they were, and how hard done by I was, before dramatically kicking their friendship to the kerb.

Forever!

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I know.  Not very attractive behaviour, is it?

But the worst part is that when your anger dies down, and you put things in perspective, you realise that you’ve dumped all the good qualities of that person along with the bad.

Over the years, I evolved a little.  I didn’t always dump people forever, but I did still, very skilfully, very stealthily prove to them that they were pretty horrible people, that their behaviour sucked, that I would NEVER, have done it (whatever it may be) to them, that others in our circle/family now knew what they were really like, and that they should change ASAP if they wanted to keep good, loyal, innocent folk like my good self in their lives for the foreseeable future.

It didn’t always happen.

It didn’t always happen straight away.

But eventually a lot of these so called sinners extracted themselves from my life of their own volition, and I am no longer in touch with them.

Because no one likes to face harsh truths about themselves.

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This was especially applicable when it came to my love life.

But they deserved it for making me feel shit about myself!

Didn’t they?

This kind of reaction, according to my shrink is ‘angry child’, a maladaptive coping mode that i reach for in order to avoid ‘vulnerable child’ the most painful state of being of all.

In other words, anger is my default, and unless I learn to feel what’s really going on for me, find away of comforting myself in that fug of unbearable, powerless pain, instead of reaching for my metaphorical uzi, I’m never going to be able to adapt to this world, and find my authentic self and my place in life.

And guess what coping mode we’re doing in group right now?!

Awful, awful, awful….but I must and will grit my teeth and work through it.

I hated and still hate people who play the guilt card; including myself.  But I’m trying to catch and make myself put down that weapon before doing irreparable damage to others, and inadvertantly, myself.

it’s not easy though, as I’m so very good at it.

Yes, like the song says I’m G-U-I-L-T – WHY, and housed in a prison of my own making.

But I’m working on my parole.  Honest.

Shit.  Why is life so fucking hard?

Namaste all x


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EAR WORM No. 24 – Duran Duran – THE REFLEX #bodydysmorphia #eatingdisorders

I have this morning ritual that I wasn’t even aware of until recently.

Actually it’s more of an unconscious reflex, hence this bloody ear worm.

Every morning (OK, sometimes afternoon) when I get out of bed, I go to the loo then afterwards swing past my full length mirror, lift my top and examine my midriff.  Then depending on state of said abdomen I flinch, pull a face, remain impassive, then stumble off to put the kettle on.

Given that I have a history of eating disorders I’m guess that I’ve been doing this shit since my early mid teens, but of late I’ve doubled up to twice a day as, due to a lack of exercise, and, let’s face it, my extreme attachment to the sofa, my girth has expanded somewhat.

Back in the day, a.k.a. Duran Duran’s hay day, when I was a gym obsessive I would work out fervently, ever striving for that elusive six pack, then I’d lift my top and scrutinise my sweaty midsection, crunching my sunbed bronzed abdominals in an effort to justify that super strenuous 90 minutes of pumping iron.

Flex, flex, flex, flex, flex..

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But despite what watching bystanders might have thought, it wasn’t out of vanity that I did this.  There is no doubt in my mind that looking back 25 years ago to that time, I must have looked good, but all I saw were the imperfections. To be honest, I could have been a cross between Rachel McLish and Jamie Lee Curtis and I still would have pinpointed something that was pudgy, pathetic, or disproportionate that needed work, so the endless search for perfection became an obsession.

And whilst the net result brought me attention, it was only ever of the physical kind and no one ever saw or wanted to see who I really was.

Now I’m not even desired for my physical appearance, so I no longer use it, let alone bruise it. And whilst this in some ways is an enormous relief, in a way it is the death knell for all of my hopes and dreams to be loved, have a family etc. etc.

At least when you’re young you have hope.

And time.

But to this day, whenever I can make myself work out, I take myself into another world where my body sings with gratitude and all my mind has to worry about is counting the reps and committing to the burn, which if I’d realised it at the time, was the real benefit to pumping iron, and not to attract a life partner out of the bunch of muscle bound boys whom my protein shake brought to the yard, who only wanted to bump up their ever inflating ego by ‘conquering’ me.

Which, in fairness to them, unbeknownst to me, was all that I could offer at the time anyway.

Back to the present I’ve decided that if i’m going to do this damn fool thing every morning that I might as well go back to the weights room, and then at least I’ll have a fighting chance of not having to greet my reflection with a grimace of disgust every day.

And I’ll be giving something back to my ageing, neglected, much maligned carcass in the guise of self love, the only kind that counts when it all boils down.  And whilst I know it won’t bring admiring gazes anymore, it will bring me physiological release, endomorphin hits and great bone density.

27 years ago I found myself in London fucked up and lonely with no friends which is coincidentally where I find myself today. But it was getting out and indulging my obsession that brought people into my life, so I’m hoping it works second time around.

So wouldn’t I use it?

Namaste x


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EAR WORM No. 23 – The Smiths – THERE IS A LIGHT THAT NEVER GOES OUT #SUICIDE

No prizes to guess why this particularly ditty is going round and round in my head.

‘Take me out tonight….’

https://sistasertraline.wordpress.com/2014/10/27/take-me-out/

The lyrics are also darkly, comically astute in this instance.

‘Driving in your car
I never never want to go home
Because I haven’t got one
Anymore’

That said ‘I don’t care, I don’t care, I don’t care’ because it’s by the mighty Smiths who can do little wrong as far as I’m concerned, and whilst lots of people take issue with Morrissey, their controversially outspoken, mincy front man, no one can deny their musically prowess and, whilst you may not agree with Mozza on everything, you can’t deny that the man has ethics and isn’t afraid to voice them, acceptable or otherwise, and his quotes are legendary.

Plus he’s an animal lover, which makes him one of the good guys in my book.

There is a surprisingly optimistic line in this song which is, of course, ‘There is a light that never goes out’, and whilst I somehow doubt that it’s a reference to God or anything to do with the afterlife, I could be wrong.

Perhaps it’s all about clinging to that moment (or moments like it) when you’re driving around in a soft top car on a warm summer’s night with someone you love, your wages/student grant burning a hole in your pocket, the air ripe with frivolity and possibility, and shitty old real life is on the back burner, and seems so very far away.

Until of course, the clubs close, your money’s all gone, the air is ripe with the smell of stale beer, spilt blood and fresh vomit, your hangover is just started to kick and and you’re sat on the pavement still off your tits waiting for the night bus to take you home.

That’s the rub. We always have to turn back around and face what’s lying in wait for us.  Even Morrissey knew that, hence he was willing to die just to stay in that moment.

Can’t say I blame him really.

Despite all this, I find this sing-a-long classic strangely optimistic and I guess, like some wise soul told me recently, ‘Just remember, when you’re sat on the (beer soaked) floor, you can’t fall off!’

I just hope that there are no uncovered manholes within crawling distance, that’s all.  Or dog shit come to that.

Enjoy the song x

http://www.lyricsfreak.com/s/smiths/there+is+a+light+that+never+goes+out_20126868.html


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‘AVE A WORD WITH YOURSELF…..

Floundering, floundering, floundering….finally, after superhuman resistance, it’s time to speak to my better ‘alf, wish me luck….

“The Cave”

It’s empty in the valley of your heart
The sun, it rises slowly as you walk
Away from all the fears
And all the faults you’ve left behind

The harvest left no food for you to eat
You cannibal, you meat-eater, you see
But I have seen the same
I know the shame in your defeat

But I will hold on hope
And I won’t let you choke
On the noose around your neck

And I’ll find strength in pain
And I will change my ways
I’ll know my name as it’s called again

‘Cause I have other things to fill my time
You take what is yours and I’ll take mine
Now let me at the truth
Which will refresh my broken mind

So tie me to a post and block my ears
I can see widows and orphans through my tears
I know my call despite my faults
And despite my growing fears

But I will hold on hope
And I won’t let you choke
On the noose around your neck

And I’ll find strength in pain
And I will change my ways
I’ll know my name as it’s called again

So come out of your cave walking on your hands
And see the world hanging upside down
You can understand dependence
When you know the maker’s land

So make your siren’s call
And sing all you want
I will not hear what you have to say

‘Cause I need freedom now
And I need to know how
To live my life as it’s meant to be

And I will hold on hope
And I won’t let you choke
On the noose around your neck

And I’ll find strength in pain
And I will change my ways
I’ll know my name as it’s called again

 


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EAR WORM No. 22 – Elvis Costello – EVERYDAY I READ THE BOOK #BPD

Whilst not everything has gone right for me of late, I had a really good day on an unpaid job the other day.  I was able to laugh, clown, bond and banter and at the end of the day I was besieged by Facebook friend requests.  Well about ten, but that’s a lot for me!

As always I seem to find that by being someone else, I get to show my best/true nature, contradictory and mad as that seems.

Then I had dinner with a friend that I wasn’t sure I could be around, but lo and behold, we had a really nice time!

But as surely as night follows day, this halcyon period of normality is swiftly followed by a disgusting bout of sabotage and self destruction, and it’s almost like part of me can’t possibly allow someone as undeserving as me to keep up the momentum and stay on the straight and narrow.

So, I’ve decided to try and replicate what I did in Lent (i.e. stay off sugar/alcohol and work out more), plus I’ve created a tick box of things I need to do everyday in order to try and help me be nicer to myself and progress in areas I’m neglecting.

Healthy heart check list

This includes cutting losing myself in TV 24/7 and instead, reading that Schema Therapy book (Reinventing Your Life by Jeffrey E Young) and wherever possible, working through the exercises.

One hour in and I’m writing this instead.

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Whilst I’ve long recognised and understood a lot of where my shit comes from, and, on an intellectual level at least, understand what needs to be done to rectify it, I don’t like it reading this tome, much less anticipating doing these exercises with a bunch of strangers in September and I can feel a hot murky soup of unknown emotions bubbling ominously within me.

Urgh.

Actually I can name them.

Anger, fear, resentment, embarrassment, vulnerability, shame, despair.

There!  But I will finish the damn thing, maybe even by the end of the weekend.

I’m determined.  Otherwise how am I going to bring myself to even show up come therapy time?

I’m also being pushed by Aunty C to write some fiction, and I’ve promised her I’ll try again, but whether I stick to that one is anyone’s guess.  And when that day comes, I’ll be able to head up a post that reads ‘Everyday I WRITE the book’.

But in the meantime, I had to include this superb Elvis C track.

Why should you lot miss out because I’m a such a procrastinating wimp? 😉

Namaste x


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EAR WORM No. 21 – The Ting Tings – THAT’S NOT MY NAME

This song is stuck in my ear ‘oles for a variety of reasons, the primary instigator being that it is currently being used by Coke in their personalised bottles ad campaign.

Quick synopsis:

Disgruntled dog searches in vain for a bottle of coke with his name on, passing lots of lucky folk drinking their bespoke black stuff, culminating with him going up on the roof of a building which has a hoarding with, yes, a huge bottle with his name on it, and he does a triumphant doggy dance with the other mutts there.

excuse-me

An-y-way…

The next reason is that the song is about being invisible, which I am and always have been, only nowadays it’s from choice, but i relate to the singers underlying frustration a lot, especially when remembering how it was when I was younger.

The third?  Anonymity.  Not only is Sista Sertraline not my name, but I’m a bit of a fan of alias/pseudonym in real life too, especially when it comes (well, came) to dating, suspect spammers and hiding from potential ‘friends’.  In fact even my Facebook pages paints a picture that just isn’t true, but that’s what I’ve done my entire life, and who in my position would be frank about what is really going on for them on social media?

Plus if I don’t know who I am, how can anyone else really?

The fourth link is that I was once told I looked like the lead singer, and whilst that was overly flattering given that I’m probably double her age, she does look like she could be my daughter, and when the song first came out, I’d find myself watching this video with a fascination bordering on the obsessional as it was kind of a glimpse into a world where I might have reproduced and she was the child that never was, which was both compelling and bitter sweet.

Final factor is that it’s a great song, so enjoy!

Jeez, I really should get out more….

Namaste x

 

EAR WORM No. 20 – Depeche Mode – SHAKE THE DISEASE – #BPD #EUPD

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I’ve just spent the week bailing on the few regular social encounters I have in my life, carefully but relentlessly tearing down those gossamer thin routines and relationships that bring me into contact with the real world, and simultaneously killing off any fledgling opportunities to broaden my horizons.

I’m not sure what trigger brought on this particularly destructive bout of ‘what’s the point’, but this time it’s deep. All the good work I did during Lent has been lambasted and I feel fat, bloated, tired terrified and futile. All of my new ‘friends’ seem to have cottoned on to my being odd/different/unpredictable etc. and I have little motivation to go out into the world again, but God knows I’m trying.

But I know that no matter how it feels this way, I am not alone with this illness, as many of my fellow bloggers on here have testified, especially this particular post, http://lifeinabind.wordpress.com/2014/05/17/constant-craving-bpd-and-the-need-to-feel-understood/ brought to my attention by lovely Marci this morning, and of course this song lodged into my head at breakneck speed as soon as I read it, and has been there ever since.

Dave Gahn the tough acting, but ultimately fragile lead singer with Depeche Mode always maintained that this was a love song, but for me this is a cry for help.

‘Understand me’

I think I have found the ultimate BPD anthem, no matter which variety you’re rocking.

How much we all want the world to ‘get us’, but I don’t anticipate this happening any time soon.  We frighten people.  Whilst befriending a depressive is seemingly de rigour right now in the UK, anything beyond that is downright scary to the average Joe, even here in the capital.  After all, history, the media, fiction and movie world can’t resist demonising those of us who are not entirely normal:

BIPOLAR – Frank Bruno, huge, skilled in a violent sport and unpredictable, Russell Brand, foot-in-mouth syndrome and can’t keep his willie under control, Vincent Van G, handy with a razor, has trouble hearing and most likely to stain your carpet with something or other.

SCHIZOPHRENIA – Teddy Daniels (Shutter Island) violent, murderous, self deluded, and would cost the National Health thousands in specialised reenactment therapy, Heath Ledger’s ground bracingly terrifying Joker in Batman, doomed Pink Floyd musician Syd Barrett.

BORDERLINE PERSONALITY DISORDER – Oh boy, we have loads of terrifying role models.  Evil Livia Soprano, Single White Female girl, Alex Forrest from Fatal Attraction, poor Anna Nicole Smith, and Darth Vadar!  And that’s just the tip of the iceberg.

darth_vader_and_stormtrooper_costumes_for_female_fans_of_star_wars_2_0001

Strangely enough I got Darth Vadar in the ‘Star Wars’ online Personality Test a few years back; oh how we all laughed!  Not quite as amusing now, eh?

The fact is, most of us bring as much if not more positive skills/creativity/talent into the world than negative influences.  Think of Brian Wilson, Jack Kourac, Virginia Woolf, Ruby Wax, Kurt Cobain, etc, etc, and yes Syd Barrett, Van Gogh and so many more.

So perhaps with a little more empathy, kindness and tolerance on the part of you more judgemental ‘normals’ out there (and much reassurance on our part of course, that we’re not going to take off your ear, steal your identity or braise your miniature lop) perhaps you’d get even more benefits moving forward.

As just a bit of understanding would give us all a head start on, if not shaking the disease, then giving it a bit of a soothing, accepting stroke?

Plus Aunty  C (my counsellor) maintains that everyone has personality disorders, so judge lest not ye be judged, bitches!

http://www.lyricsfreak.com/d/depeche+mode/shake+the+disease_20039276.html


16 Comments >

I didn’t really have an eventful Summer of 2013, so nothing really stuck out in my mind, music wise. Most people have memories around events (weddings, parties, BBQ’s, festivals) which bring such songs to mind, but last year was a toughie for me all round so I wasn’t exactly a social flutterby.

I can of course remember the hits, but I’m not that into mainstream music as it gets played to death, and I get bored of it As for the likes of Robin Thicke (is a big dick, not has one), Mylie Cyrus, and that little turd Bieber, don’t even get me started…

I do however remember a very catchy song that was stuck in my head for ages, and the only words I could remember was ‘$20 in my pocket’.

Time for a bit of research; thank God for http://www.lyricfinder.org (were would we all be without t’internet?) which came up trumps and found me this little number, ‘Thrift Shop’ by Macklemore & Ryan Lewis (feat. Wanz).

And when I read the lyrics, it was even more relevant as I have been an avid charity shop moocher for a while now, and yes, coincidentally I did find a couple of gorgeous vintage summer dresses at my local ‘Cancer Research’ last year!

Plus I love the video (apart from all the fur – yuck) which is very funny and obviously ripping the piss out of people like me, but I’m a loud and proud dead people’s stinky old clothes lover, and really don’t care who knows it.

Edita-in-Gold-Jewellery-Dress-from-Charity-Shop-and-ASOS-sandals-1

‘Cos they are ‘fucking awesome’! 🙂

25 DAYS OF SONGS CHALLENGE: DAY 5 – A SONG THAT IS STUCK IN MY HEAD

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I have a confession to make.

I appear to be having the female/middle aged version of wet dreams on a disturbingly frequent basis, and wake up feeling as if I’ve just orgasmed or am about to.

Sometimes I can feel myself actually rearing and thrusting like a frustrated filly in my sleep.

Talk about ‘Giddy up Cowboy’….

boardwalk-empire-paz

How disturbing/cringy/embarrassing.

Whilst it is no doubt a clear sign that my body is in good health, I treat it like a malady as opposed to a ‘happy ending’ per se.  That is to say in the way one treats a headache.

Your head starts throbbing, take a couple of panadol so that it doesn’t interfere with your day.

Your crotch starts throbbing, have a quick wank for the same reason.  To shut it up so you can get on with more important things.

Somehow, despite the menopause, despite the fact that I’m still taking meds, and over a year of my studiously ignoring it, my libido is once again stomping its foot, demanding to be heard.

I know, I know, sex is a wonderful part of life and doesn’t have to end after the menopause, and you can always get an understanding partner and buy shares in ‘slide and glide’, blah, blah, bleugh.

KY_Jelly____now_in_bulk_by_SleepyTim

It’s just that it’s just soooo….bloody inconvenient.

It’s hard enough to get a date in London when you’re in a job and the right side of 30, but an over 50 year old, jobless, post menopausal BPD depressive?

Seriously where do you start?

Get a fuck buddy, some might say?

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Not a bad suggestion, but I’m scared.  I haven’t been penetrated for at least four years, and (a) my mimsy might not allow a willie in, (b) it might (will) hurt, and (c) it might get stuck, and I don’t fancy being hauled off to my local Casualty clinging to the body of Mr A Nother as they are currently filming the TV series ’24 Hours in A&E’ there.

Plus it’s never quite as uncomplicated as it is on paper, I’m horribly territorial about my home as well as my body, and to be quite honest?

For probably the first time in my life, I don’t want anyone inside me that I don’t trust and feel something for.  Which is pretty unfortunate because I don’t actually trust anyone.

And in the meantime, this song is blaring in my ear mockingly, reminding me of my youth club days when myself and my other geeky friend danced and sang along to it, blissfully unaware of the sexual implications.

Ah, those were the days…

In the meantime my body keeps reminding me that whilst I may be done with sex, sex ain’t exactly done with me yet.

Whatcha say?

30/5 UPDATE – It happened AGAIN last night!

WTF IS HAPPENING WITH MY BODY?!!!  Is this some menopausal ‘last chance saloon’ thing?!

OH GOD, MAKE IT STOP BEFORE I START DRY HUMPING INANIMATE OBJECTS!

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