Phoenix Fights

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




It seems to me that going past the dreaded 50th birthday landmark makes people want to start digging around in their past to find out what has happened to whom, on a far too regular basis.

And if I were to hazard a guess why this phenomenon takes place, I would say that the unfulfilled, regretful and bored empty nesters tend to do this because they want to either compare themselves with their old schoolmates, hook up with some old boyfriend/girlfriend, or simply try and recapture their long lost youth by reminiscing about the old days.

Those of you who know me may have gathered that I’m not a fan of anything or anyone from my past re-emerging into MY present, uninvited.  They’d be about as welcome as one of my forty odd year old stools popping up in the loo, Mr Hanky stylee shouting ‘Howdy ho!  Guess who?’  

Ever the bridge burner, cutter offer and drawer of lines under the past, I like to past lovers/friends/employers to remain in the parallel universe they occupy and stay the hell outta Sistaville.

They have their country, I have mine.

They have their county, I have mine.

They have their borough, I have mine,

They have their street, I have mine.


OK, so I do know that I’m rapidly running out Sista only territory (hence my fondness of pseudonyms), and I don’t have any lifelong friends so I’m pretty lonely hence it might not have been the best life coping strategy to adopt, but it’s a bit late for this old bitch to learn new tricks.

Well, that’s debatable I guess as ‘networking’ <shudders> is something I’m going to need to embrace moving forward according to the dreaded ‘book’, but what I didn’t welcome or accept is an unwelcome blast from the past knocking on my cyber door the other day.

Some woman whose name I’d never heard of tried to ‘friend’ me on Facebook.

I didn’t recognise her face, we didn’t have friends in common, so I was about to reject her and move on, when I noticed that she used to go to the same school as me.

Curious I had a look at her profile with something akin to dread churning in my stomach.  Of course I recognised the Christian name, but this was 40 years ago, so how was I supposed to know if it was her or not?

Then I saw the old 70’s photo of her family that she must have scanned and uploaded, and immediately knew it was Sally B.

The only close friend I had in my childhood.

The very same friend who fucked me off when I started getting bullied and picked on at senior school.

Well she actually picked a fight with me over a necklace but we both knew that she manufactured it as an excuse to break away from me, or only see me when her popular new friends weren’t around.  What she didn’t bank on though was my uncanny ability to totally cut off from people and, if encountering them again in public, being able to look through them as if they were a pane of glass and/or a piece of shit in the street.  And given that I was geeky and she was cool, Sal was very indignant about my coldness, so sent her younger brother out to beat me up, and he kicked the hell out of me.

We had been friends since we were about 6, which is pretty much a lifetime when you are 12 years old, so the break up felt like the end of the world, as it was the ultimate betrayal and indeed full confirmation to me that no one, but NO ONE could be trusted.

Over the years I got my own back.

I got contact lens and bleached my hair.  I became skinny, sexy and cool.  I had a very hot boyfriend.  I hung out with a band.  I moved to London.  I brought home an even hotter boyfriend.  I had expensive clothes.  I went to all the best clubs in London.  I travelled the world.  Well I got beyond Costa del Chipshop which is probably more than she ever did.

And whilst I don’t remember her seeing me in all my punky/new romantic, trendy, hot other half glory, Shitsville was a small town and I’m pretty damn sure she got to hear about it all.   Especially when I turned up to mass one Easter, Siouxie Sue’d up to the eyeballs, in leathers with my hot Italian Catholic BF (his idea, not mine) and stunned the entire congregation.

So fuck her and market stall clothes, her chavvy boyfriend, her lame job and predictable, shitty small town life.

As the years have gone by, whilst I still have some family oop North, I rarely find myself in that neck of the woods, so I pretty much forgot all about her.

Until now.

And before you say it, I KNOW.

We were only kids.  And kids are horrible.

But being a fucked up, BPD, revenge loving bitch, I find to my surprise that I still hate her.  And her horrible family.  Just looking at that photo makes my lip curl with contempt.

And as I scrutinise her profile I see she is friends with a few of the other thuggish bitches that made my life an utter misery all those years ago.  And I smile cruelly to myself at the way they look, the clothes they are wearing, the jobs they are (or mainly are not) doing, and inwardly jeer at their appalling grammar, shit taste in music, middle aged outlook and the fact that yes, they are still living in Shitsville and probably will for the rest of their days.

And I wonder what the fuck she thinks we have to say to one another after all these years.  Does she remember what she did? Is she sorry?  What she couldn’t possibly know is that she was my first ever severance.  And whilst over the years, I could do it with nary a flicker of emotion, as we all know, the first cut is the deepest, and losing the only person on the same wavelength as me at such a tender age was like losing a limb.

Severance Leg

So, to be perfectly honest, whilst I’d like to say I’d rise above it, I don’t know if I’d be able to stop myself from being horrible to her if we did enter into some kind of dialogue.

So much for my Tutu approved Forgiveness course.  Sorry Des 😦  It is pretty apparent to me now, like diet and exercise, I am going to have to work on this deeply challenging skill for the rest of my life, because I hate how this ugly emotion makes me feel inside.

So for now, I think it best to ignore her and move on, as, if I can only look back in anger, it’s best not to look back at all.

‘And so, Sally can wait….’

Sorry…couldn’t resist that…. 😉

Namaste x




This 30 day forgiveness thing isn’t as easy as it looks.

I’m not talking logistically.  The process is rational, workable, and so far I only have to deal with pardoning one person, and not the worst fucker I have ever encountered in my entire life, and as I’ve mentioned, I’ve been focussing on 7-8 out of 10 rather than an 11.

And I’ve kept it up.  Reading the very sage words of Desmond, Mpho and the other contributors.  Listening to the meditations and thoughts about the stages that can bring about forgiveness.  I’ve done the written exercises.  Acknowledged my part in the friendship’s downfall, and yes, I’m feeling a bit better about her in my head, heart and soul.

Yay for me!

So why have I been so full of rage for the last few days?  I have been so shitty that I had to miss my pub quiz because I didn’t trust myself not to snap at one of my team because she annoys me so much.  One of the gentler souls emailed me asking if I was just feeling ‘meh’ or what is something more?

‘Oh just ‘meh’, coupled with a white hot anger that could take London down like Vesuvious did Pompeii, but don’t worry, it’ll pass…’

He didn’t reply.  I don’t blame him.

I had such plans, to take inspiration from others, to communicate more with my higher self, to find more to love about life, and I was keen to press forward the process immediately after my last post.

But it didn’t happen.  I got stalled.

It’s frustrating.  I’m coming to terms with what Miss Psycho did to me, so why don’t I feel better?

Trouble is, she is only one person.

At the front of a seemingly endless queue apparently.


I’ve never kidded myself that I only have a few people to forgive.

But some seemingly irrelevant folk come shooting out of the past and hit you out of nowhere.

A few days ago, a long lost old school friend contacted me out of the blue on Facebook to tell me that someone we both used to know is currently in London.  Curious, I asked who and it turned out to be one of my old teachers.

On hearing that name, I felt my skin bristle, my bones stiffen and something dark within me stir.

‘Do you remember her?’ asked old school chum excitedly.

Oh yeah.  I remember her.  But not for the right reasons.

A year ago, I would have told OSC what I thought of this bitch and why I wouldn’t piss on her if she was on fire.  But I impressed myself by appearing cool, calm and collected (thank God for IM, I’m sure my icy voice would have betrayed me on the phone), and remarking indifferently that I didn’t really know her that well, and hoped that she’d drop the subject.

‘Oh you must do Sista, she taught our class!  And she remembers you!’

Oh does she now?

Then I realised what OSC was hinting at.


Then something cruel and malevolent twitched and ticked and turned inside me.  So, she wants to meet up with me, eh?  Hmm, that could be fun…I’ve waited over 40 years to put this old hag back in her box and tell her what I really think about her and her teaching methods, and I now have the quickness of wit and verbal dexterity to tap into her insecurities and disembowel her.

So many people I know say that they only think of the sharp ripostes after the person they were arguing with has gone.  Not me.  They come up bang on time, and fly off my tongue, thick and fast.  Not many people who know me mess with me for that reason.

I could remember her tearing me a new arsehole in front of the entire class for the most minor of infractions; screaming at me, her face so close to mine that I could smell what she had for lunch on her breath; how I boiled with shame and unshed tears as I hung my head and stared at her legs, wondering why she never shaved them (I swear she looked like an extra from Planet of the Apes) as she humiliated me time and time again; for being such a two faced **** whenever she spoke to my parents about me on open days.

And why was she like that with me?  Because at first I liked her and thought she liked me, so was probably a bit over friendly and familiar with her when I was first in her class.  A terrible, heinous, presumptuous thing for a hopeful, gullible, innocent 8 year old to do, I know.

How very dare I?

Before anyone says it, I get that a lot of people encountered at least one sadistic wanker from their schooldays, be it teacher, fellow pupil, or if you’re extra lucky like me, both.

But this burned me, and has clearly left a scar on my heart that has not shifted or abated for all of these years.

This is where the personality disorder diagnosis rings so very true.

We BPDs never let things go.

When did it start?

I’m starting to think I was born this way. I cannot remember a time when anger was absent from my core.

And now, this stupid song from a TV show from my childhood keeps running through my head, and it goes like this:

‘Down in the meadow where the wind blows free, in the middle of a field stands a lightning tree.
Its limbs all torn from the day it was born for the tree was born in a thunderstorm.’


And that’s what I feel like sometimes.  Something torn, charred, contracted, but not allowed to die, and so used to being struck that it’s as if it’s branches are like arms, as it stretches up to the sky in defiance and screams ‘Come on you fuckers!  Is that all you’ve got!  More!!  BASTARDS!!!’

Two years ago, I would have gone to meet Miss S for tea, wearing my most expensive outfit, all sweetness and light, and I would have waited for just the right moment, then taken that bitch down.  I would have told her what a sadistic bullying twat she truly was, reminded her how many other kids she probably scarred with her big screechy outbursts, and that she was so crap a teacher I can’t even remember what she taught.  I would carefully and forensically emphasise how much I disrespect and despise her to this day, and the real legacy she has left in her wake, so if she thought that dropping in on her old pupils would be a feast for her ego, she should really think again.

I would then have dabbed my lips with a napkin, flicked my hair, dropped some money on the table, chucked said napkin in her general direction and strode out of the restaurant.

Exultant.  Avenged.  Justified.

They say God doesn’t put anything on your plate that you can’t handle.

This however just isn’t fair.  I’m good at destroying people with my tongue dammit, and to wave this opportunity under my nose like a nice bit of rare steak, then snatch it from me before I can sink my teeth into it makes me want to howl with rage.

And then I saw this <warning, v harsh language so don’t open if you are easily offended>:

And I thought to myself ‘Do I want to be that person who hurts people like that?’

And the answer was………YES! 🙂

Well definitely this person at any rate.

But I won’t.

I’ll hold fire, even though the temptation is ENORMOUS.

Not that she deserves it.

Looks like I’ll be working on this forgiveness thing long after 30 days have past.

Today, in old London town, the heavens properly opened and torrential rain and hail bucketed down. Thunder rumbled, lightening flashed and people scurried and struggled with their umbrellas, as I sighed with pleasure and turned my neck from side to side as I drove over the bridge home.

I always feel better after a storm.  Maybe there’s hope for this old stick yet.

‘Grow, grow, the lightning tree, it’s never too late for you and me;
Grow, grow, the lightning tree, never give in too easily’






This forgiveness malarky is not very easy at all….

Today is Day 3 and I had to write a list of people that I want to forgive, and that list, I have to tell you, is quite a long one…

As for the list of people that I wanted to forgive me?

Just the one.

And that’s debatable.

Because I rarely do anything that wrong or that wasn’t deserved in the first place. 😉

Then I had to choose one person from the first list that wasn’t too traumatic to address and eventually forgive, but by the same token wasn’t too easy either.

A 5 or a 6 out of 10 as it were.

So I choose someone whom I believe that used my vulnerability to her own selfish ends and tried to punish me when I no longer danced to her tune.

The trouble is though, within a matter of hours, someone else’s rating has shot up and I’m going to have to address him one way or t’other.

Because, I’ve just discovered, not only did this person judge me, influenced another person against me and screwed me over, but used something I gave him to benefit his position, and had no qualms about sharing this information with me today.


Oh dear.

Now my inner Malvo is whispering “He. Is. Screwed. He made a choice and now there’s a consequence. You? You’re the consequence.  Here there be one very pissed off dragon, and someone need a roasting…”

I’m seething.

So much for a successful day three. 😦


The thing is, if you knew what this infringement was, you probably wouldn’t think it was a big deal.  And on it’s own, it’s not.  It’s just the last straw as it were.  To screw someone over and then to casually throw into the conversation the fact that you used something you gave them to benefit their position was just a large pinch of Malvern salt scrubbed into a not yet healed wound with a nice, big, scratchy granite pestle.


I mean, someone has to pay here!

Right? 😦

To think I was whinging on the other day about not having any weapons; right now I don’t need one.  I could decapitate him with my teeth if need be.  The fact that he’s still in the same county amazes me, but to be fair, he didn’t know the ‘old’ Sista otherwise he’d be getting emergency plastic surgery as we speak just so’s I didn’t get my hands on him.

Dessie Tutu, I don’t want to forgive this asshole!  I want to annihilate him!


God, there has to be some state between feeble/weak/pathetic and homicidal rage, because if there isn’t I don’t think I can do this anymore without picking a side, and right now, rage is most likely to get my vote…

But I went for a walk, pounded the shit out of some bread dough, then pondered on that old adage about the very best kind of revenge…





Let’s make it clear, whilst this person and I are no longer close, and he isn’t going to feature heavily in my life moving forward, there’s no benefit in slapping him down over this and he’s still going to be around, so…I’ll let it slide this time.  Water off a duck’s wotsit.  If he’s learned something from me and used it to get more business, good for him!  He clearly has no ideas or imagination of his own.

He also has to deal with me beating his performance at every turn moving forward.

So I forgive you Wanker.  That said, you clearly have no moral compass and I’ll bear that in mind in future.

And I’ll never share anything with you ever again.

So you’ll just have to find shit of your own volition in future.

But let’s face it.

It won’t ever be as good as mine 😉

Today, I forgave someone.  🙂

OK I’m hardly Matty Gandhi here, but heaven knows I’m trying…

And God, as we know, loves a trier!!

Namaste xx





Today I planned to meet up with a couple of people whom I believe screwed me over, and naturally I was apprehensive about the encounter.

Why, you might wonder, was I meeting them in the first place?

I was meeting them because I have this habit of permanently falling out with friends over intentional or unintentional infractions of the friendship and consequently don’t have many left, so I have to learn how to handle people better and forgive and accept their failings as they probably accept mine.

I’m not very good at forgiveness, you see.

‘You have to be mindful of who you let see your ‘child’!’ my counsellor Aunty C urges, ‘some friends can be trusted to this end, but you can’t be super close to everyone!  You have to protect yourself whilst figuring people out!’

She’s right. I’m not much for casual friends.  And If I meet a ‘kindred spirit’ I tend to spill my guts, show my vulnerability and then when they can’t resist the temptation of fucking me over and/or letting me down, I furiously see them off with my (metaphorical) sawn off shotgun complete with a 20 ft flame thrower attachment.  And they, understandably, run.  Never to be seen again.

You would think that someone in my position would do everything they could to hang onto friends wouldn’t you?

During my therapy prep session with the Perkies earlier this week, I was asked a series of questions about whether I was (a) terrified of being left by men/family/friends, (b) whether I ever begged them to say, and (c) whether I ever used emotional blackmail on them to make them stay.

I believe my answer them was something along the lines of ‘I’d rather cut my tits off and hang them on a barbed wire fence.’

That caused a bit of pinkcheekitis I can tell you.  Bless! 😉

It was then that I started to think that I might not be BPD after all.

Then I remembered.  I did used to do those things when I was young, green and vulnerable with no confidence in myself whatsoever.  Then my mum died and, in my fury and outrage, I turned to stone.  Then when anyone messed me around or let me down (especially men), I wouldn’t cling to them.  I dumped them so hard their ears bled.  I essentially despatched them before they got chance to despatch me.  Even if they never intended to in the first place.

I was one cold bitch.  And I loved it.  I gloried in my intractability, my formidable reputation, my ability to show no fear, and my merciless resolve to never, ever forgive them for what they had done.

I felt STRONG.  I was respected.  No one dared cross me.


And decades later, when I finally unravelled, my so called armour collapsed like a wet cardboard box, leaving little peeled prawn me quivering and trembling alone in the barren landscape of my reality wondering how the hell I was going to protect myself now.

I’m starting to realise that I had it all wrong.  As in keeping out anyone who let me down, I also kept out not only their potential goodness, but the good people who could have had a positive, supportive role in my life, because, from a love perspective, I am essentially alone now.

And without being cringy, corny or a God botherer, it’s only since I’ve been using my beads and praying that I’ve seen any kind of positive shift in my life.

When I had a rather intimidating family get together the other week, I prayed for help in getting through it, to not deliberately sabotage it by make things awkward no matter how annoying they were, to not take offence at any tactless/dumb/hurtful thing that might inadvertently be said, and to let them in, if only for that day.

And I survived it.  They thought it was a great success.  I was exhausted, but exultant and relieved it was over.

My pow wow with the Perkies?  I prayed to be patient, trusting and to remember that they were, and are, trying to help me.  It’s not their fault that they are young, lovely and normal!  And apart from one or two awkward moments it was fine.


Today was going to be hard though.  Because those naughty Mind Monkeys were at it again, telling me that Friend 1 was the instigator and was now shitting himself because I might drop him in it with Friend 2, so perhaps I should do just that, hmm?  Serves him right hey!  And they reminded me that Friend 2 was nervous after getting a chilly reception from me last time our paths crossed, and wouldn’t it be a good laugh to keep her on tenterhooks all day by way of punishment? After all, she complicit too, so deserved to be jerked around.

It’s hard to resist those prankish primates with their mischievous, amusing, destructive ideas.  They kept tempting me with sharp, witty, faux innocent one liners to smack my friends down with, reminding me of their weaknesses and that I should punish them so that by the end of the day, they’d know that they’d been Tangoed per se.


Actually no.  If I went down that route, no one would be speaking to anyone by lunchtime, so whilst I was sorely tempted to exact a little revenge, I asked for help in keeping calm, not being cruel, getting over what had gone before and, without putting my ‘child’ in danger to let myself be softer and to try to see the good inside them.  And, if possible, to forgive them.

And apart from one teensy weensy bitch slap (Look, it was more of a pat than a slap, OK?!) which only happened because someone decided it was a good idea to resurrect a point of contention, it went fine.  I was a bit stiff and uncomfortable at first, but by the end of the day everyone was happy, relieved and it was evident that we had finally put the entire matter behind us.

I think I’m over it.  And it might not sound like a big deal to a normal, balanced, non BPD person, but for me it really is.

Getting over shit and not holding onto anger, bitterness and the desire for revenge seems to be at the heart of my potential recovery.

Then I saw this on today’s Reader Feed.

Timely, no?

I don’t know what this consists of, how it’s going to work or whether it will be useful, but I’ve decided to give it a go, as God knows I need all the help I can get.


That said, I’ve just played the first video and if I was a cartoon I’d have a huge question mark above my head right now.

You’ll know what I mean when you watch it. 🙂

Strange days indeed, as I’ve said more than once of late…

If you too have an issue with forgiveness and feel ‘stuck’ because of it, drop your weapon of choice and join me.


Not for the wankers who’ve hurt you, but for you and your well being.

Because you’re worth it (flicks hair Cheryl stylee).

Namaste xx