Phoenix Fights

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


4 Comments

SOMEWHERE THAT’S MEAN…

flower

It’s beautiful here in my little village oop North.

It really is.

And I HAD to get out of my London flat because in the end I had no choice; not if I didn’t want to end up in severely dire financial straights, and I am lucky to be here and have my own home.

Lucky.

So why do I feel so low?  I’ve had several colossal bouts of depression of late, and it’s only recently that I’ve figured it out.

Everyone is sooo nice in this area; well on the surface anyway.  I’ve been to a couple of social thingys and everyone smiles ever so nicely but I do sometimes detect judgement flickering under the facade of one or two local’s fizzogs.  Whereas in London, no one would bother to hide it; they would just flick shade at you Minage style, so no ambiguity there.

nickiminaj

And that’s a positive thing?  Well yes.  Kinda.

I went for coffee with some ‘ladies’ a few days ago, all around my age, and it was ever so pleasant, grown up and civilised.  Some were working, some semi retired, most had a kids, a penchant for gardening, the W.I. and a nice scone (Oh naughty, but nice!), and, blow me down if I didn’t feel like breaking into a ‘Bridesmaids’ style fit, if only to break the monotony.

cookie

I’m going to admit it.  For some reason I miss all the London bitches, crazies, potty mouths and degenerates.

I know it sounds ungrateful and contradictory as I thought I wanted a more peaceful life Somewhere That’s Green, but I’m bored.  I’m the Chairman of the Bored. 😦

I feel like a 17 year old trapped in a 50 odd year old’s body and locked in an old folks home.  Get me outta here!  I want fun!  I want action!  I want to play!  ANARCHY!!!  But anyone worth playing with around here is probably half my age and would die of embarrassment at the mere thought of being my partner in crime.

That’s the other thing; I thought I’d still be able to do my random, exciting part time job up here, but there’s nothing doing.  Nada. And I cannot fucking bear to get a little part time job in a charity shop or something, but if I don’t get work soon, I’ll be back where I started,  in trouble with a capital ‘T’.

I feel like I’ve put myself on a fast track to the grave, cos in this neck of the woods, everyone acts their age.   Even the younger women are like a cross between ‘Stepford Wives’ and ‘Desperate Housewives’.  Well minus all the exciting stuff.  Or maybe there is something interesting beneath the pristine make up, sparkling ranges, angelic children and manicured lawns, but I ain’t spotted nowt yet.

Oh and here’s another thing; everyone’s so frigging proper here, that if I so much as say ‘Shit!’ in anyone’s presence, I feel like I have to clasp my hand over my mouth, retreat to the naughty step and beat myself into a state of contrition with a large twig.  Someone said the ‘C’ word on TV the other day and it actually made me feel nostalgic. What is that about?

What the fuck have I done?

Evidently you can take the girl out of London, etc. etc., and I feel no more at home here than I felt 3 months ago.

So I can’t go back and I can’t live this way, what’s a girl/alien to do?

I don’t have a plan, I don’t know what it will take to make me happy, but things cannot continue the way they are.  I will NOT stay SMALL and I WILL NOT BE DENIED the right to be as out there as I please.

Maybe it’s time to shake things up around here…

Feed me villagers!  Feel me ALL NIGHT LONG.  Audrey III is in town.

Namaste x

https://sistasertraline.wordpress.com/2016/05/20/all-in-all-youre-just-a/comment-page-1/#comment-4862

Advertisements


10 Comments

ALL IN ALL YOU’RE JUST A…

brick head

DAILY PROMPT – “BRICK”

So here I am.  In my little country idyll after escaping the Smoke and all it’s stresses, worries and concerns.  Plus my notoriety as the local BPD nutter in some circles.

I am, to all intents and purposes, safe.  People are for the most part friendly, normal, and no one knows my dark secret.

Or do they?

Preview

Very little happens around here and I now know that any newcomers are the talk of the village when they first move in, and a great source of curiosity.  At least 3 pensioners knocked on my door within 72 hours of my arrival, scaring the shit out of my already traumatised cats (I’ve dubbed them the White Watchers – the pensioners, not the cats), and like their namesake’s, they don’t wait to be invited in.  I know I’m sounding very ‘London’ here (i.e. snotty), but I was in the Capital on and off for over 20 years, so I’m used to people that either mind their own business and/or don’t give a fuck about your shit, so the need for privacy is a hard thing to break, especially when you have stuff to hide.

Indeed one of these ladies wandered up to my desk and craned her neck to have a good old look at the paperwork strewn across it (some of which just happened to be from the NHS – great…), so I’ve taken to ducking every time I see a greying mop pass by the window and have nightmares about my secret being out, and a gang of them heading up my path with a Wicker Man on bonfire night, so my determination to be more sociable in order to appear ‘normal’ was challenged within a very short period indeed.

Also, I’m still something of a hermit, and despite the one neighbour I’ve befriended urging me to get out and about more in the community, I still find small talk deeply boring and energy sapping especially when everyone is so damned, well, normal…I miss my London freaks, I mean, friends.

So like the song goes, ‘Everywhere you go, you always take the weather with you’.  I’m still me, I  haven’t been cured overnight from moving north of Watford Gap, and, of course, my old worries have been replaced by new ones. And some old ones came back.  And on those dark nights and days of the soul, I still hibernate, only now, it’s more noticeable because the people around me have fuck all else to notice or talk about.

It could all be my imagination of course as I was off my meds at the time…

nah

Plus, my property is so exposed.  People can see in, which I’m not feeling, so I’m pricing up garden walls, blinds, gates and electric fences (just joking about the last one – I think) as we speak, which will only enhance my reputation as a cold ass London biatch even more.

Cos these people may be ever so nice, but all in all, they’re just a-nother brick in my wall.

Because, try as I might to leave it, that thing was never going to stay in south London.

Cos it’s with me. Wherever I go.

But it’s meant to be a new start?

Perhaps I’ll replace the wall and fences with trellis and blinds which will let the light it.  Oh and maybe take the barbed wire off back order.

For now, anyway…

Namaste x

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/brick/

 


7 Comments

YOUR FRIEND’S IN THE NORTH

whippet

So.

I made it 🙂

It wasn’t easy.  Of course it wasn’t.  I am a drama magnet, so anything that could go wrong went wrong, to the extent that post move I actually got embroiled in some legal action (from which I ended up the beneficiary – fuck you, unprofessional, lying, scaremongering biatches from HELL!), but gradually, gradually, things are getting better.

I have nice neighbours, a couple of friends nearby, am closer (but not too close) to family and don’t go to bed in mortal terror of what my dreams might bring.  Yes I have bills to pay (I am NOT on benefits.  Yet.  But hopefully never again), there things to buy and do for/to my new home, so I need some work so I can carve out a decent life for myself.

And of course I still have the darkest of dark nights (and days) of the soul with no real means of support; mental health is not something that is a high priority in Stark Land.  If I’m lucky and can prove I’m on the verge of suicide, I may, just may get a prescription for Sertraline, a disapproving frown and a ‘Pull yourself together woman!’ admonishment from my new GP, and of course I have no intention of telling anyone in my new life about my condition.

But I own a home outright, the cats are settled, I actually have a view when I look out of my window at night, everyone is friendly and nice, it is quiet and peaceful, and when I unlock my door and step out onto my path of a morning, I do it to the sound of birdsong and the robust aroma of cow shit instead of the wail of police sirens, snarls from passers by, and a blanket of London smog clogging my little traumatised lungs.

our-friends-in-the-north-006

So, unlike the original cast of the above mentioned much loved ‘posh soap opera’, (whom all for the most apart still reside in the Smoke and have never looked back), I have come back from London chastened, an older wiser Sista, and hope to discover my real life’s mission back in the county I was born in.

Anyway I am sorry for not having written for so long.  This has been for a number of reasons:

 

First, the sheer gruelling, creative energy sapping toll that moving house has on one, left me with little energy to wax lyric about anything really.

Second, the hellish bouts of major depression that hit me like a landslide when all seemed to be going to pot.

Third, I honestly didn’t think anyone would miss me.  And, let’s be honest, most of you probably didn’t.  And that’s OK.  I have no problem with that.  Life and blogging goes on.

Fourth, the fact that I felt, and feel that I’ve said everything there is to say about myself, my life and BPD.

Fifth.  Right.  I wasn’t going to say anything about this, but it’s actually gotten to the stage that being subtle and kind only had a temporary effect, so I’m going to be frank and honest and hope that it works.

Since been off air, so to speak, I have been prompted, chivvied and nagged incessantly to come back by a certain individual, and I cannot even fart on Twitter without it being commented on, and it’s now gotten to the stage that I feel almost stalked and  dread even the thought of logging into WordPress, so unfortunately for him, the net result was probably the opposite of what he intended.

 

Note – some of you have gently enquired once or twice via WordPress where I am and what has been happening since my last post.  These comments are not directed at you, OK? x

Re my future blogging, I now feel that I have shared too much and feel a bit exposed on this profile, so I need to decide if I’m going to stick with it or start up a new one.  Under another name.

But I’ll probably be back in some way, shape or form and will stay in touch.

Promise.

Over and out for now x

http://www.theguardian.com/tv-and-radio/2010/sep/18/our-friends-flannery-eccleston

 


13 Comments

Daily Prompt: – What Jones’?!

‘Tell us about the one luxury item you wish you could afford, in as much detail as you can. Paint a picture for us.’

So. Given that this is my first proper post of 2016, and taking into account the agony of being in property buy/sell chain HELL right now, this is my little luxury item:

1114276.jpg

Yup.

A house.  On an island.  On a beach.

I did think about waxing lyrical about that much desired Kitchenaid Artisan Mixer that I have lusted after for eons but have never treated myself to, but bollocks to that.

309-80026680-5KSM150PSBAP_M.jpeg

No one said it had to be a little thing, it’s a  one shot deal and I ain’t messing around here. And the fact that it has already been sold isn’t putting me off none.  This house is mine.

article-2279163-1798E259000005DC-608_634x424.jpg

It was most recently owned by a Lord and Lady Long who were getting on in years, and the steps either side of that swaying 100ft Edwardian bridge were becoming a bit much for them, plus I believe they had problems with some of the more lively locals coming down to the beach after the pubs closed to party, make noise and even aim missiles at their beloved domicile.  Excuse me?!

mNC8A0h.jpg

Which is why I’d need to also acquire a goodly stretch of that beach, and hire a couple of gnarly, sociopathic, ex SAS security men to keep the riff raff at bay.

Like I say; this ain’t a game to me.  I have had enough of the worst of humanity and those local wankers will do well to keep out of my way.  Plus I would have no neighbours whatsoever, so no need to keep up with anyone.  Jones who?

bridge.jpg

I’ve always fantasised about living in a lighthouse, and essentially you get the same kind of views with this place, plus that aforementioned private bridge, so it will be a bit easier than having to board a dingy when you have to nip to the local Tesco for a pint of milk and some cat food.

Prior to the Longs, my house used to be a holiday let and here for your delectation is some of the Conde Nast marketing preamble regarding it’s many charms:

“Overhauling the place was an eight-month job. It has been transformed, decorated in all shades of seagull, white and greys; and has the feel of an airy beach house with natural wood and white-painted floorboards and four-poster beds swathed in muslin. Furniture is coastal-contemporary: egg chairs, ticking-stripes upholstery, molded dining chairs that emulate the outlines of driftwood. There’s also a bar room with a bar and a billiards table in it.

 But it’s the location that’s the thrill, nesting like birds on a clifftop. At high tide the island becomes surrounded by water, cut off from the mainland entirely. The only way up is to climb the steep steps which are cut into the rock face and flanked by hollyhocks, and cross the arc of the suspension bridge (like a mini Golden Gate). High-maintenance guests can pay a little extra for a couple of strapping young men to lug their luggage up.”
article-2279163-1798E24D000005DC-5_634x355.jpg
Are there any sweeter words to me in the English language at this time.
And FYI, I mean the words ‘cut off’ and not ‘strapping young men’ thank you very much. 🙂

Apart from the words ‘exchanged’ and ‘completed’ I think not.  Because buying and selling simultaneously in the UK (except for Scotland) is one of the most financially risky, precarious, nerve wracking things you will ever have to do.  And if you have an anxiety issues like I do, it’s essentially the like cyanide icing on the strychnine cake that you never ordered in the first place.

Cut off.

Do I strike you as being a mite anti social right now?

Damn fucking right.

k15547510.jpg

So no one can come in unless you specifically allow them access.  Plus in the event of the zombie apocalypse, I would retract my bridge and those suckers can growl and snarl and hurl themselves against the rocks and pound themselves to hamburger, whilst I take pot shots at them with an air rifle and binge watch DVD’s, sipping wine from my cellar and slurping oysters from the shell as I watch the sun go down over the sea and wait for the military to arrive.  Sigh.

Back in the real world I’ll be lucky if I don’t have my flat repossessed and end up in my mate’s wonky old caravan with two wailing cats and a pile of possessions that I can’t afford to store.

So, given that beggars can’t be choosers, and if this is a little too big an ask, I’d be more than happy with the mixer.

Please?

Pretty Please?

 


Leave a comment

2016 – The Year Of ? (Make Plans, God Laughs)

happy-new-year-meme.jpg

Is it that time again already?

Yes folks, it’s the start of yet another 365 days on planet earth and I’m still here.

The good news is I’m nearly 24 hours into it and nothing horrible or stupid or disastrous has happened yet 🙂

That said I have been wrapped up in a Christmas/New Year comfort blanket where normal people take a break from their jobs over the holiday so I am forced to put all the stressful shit on hold until they are back in the office on Monday.  Not that I haven’t taken full advantage and put everything gratefully on the back burner, but I am more than aware of the rather urgent pending challenges that await me this month.  On Monday to be precise.

But, so far, 2016 has been OK!  Only another 8736 hours or so to get through  😦

This year, dear readers (if I still have any) you will find me an older, sadder and wiser Sista and therefore I’m not going to be giving 2016 a name, positive motivational theme, or even to go through specific resolutions.

It’s not that I don’t have any; it’s just that my lofty aims and ambitions can so easily fall to the ground and shatter into a million pieces.  And then I read back my previous posts and feel like a total arse, hence my long periods of absence on here in 2015.

Another reason is that not a lot has changed in the last year.  I’m still not working full time.  I’m not fit.  I’m older and fatter.  I’ve left my group therapy.

And I’m more frightened than ever.

But I think I’m softer, kinder, less abrasive, I’m taking less medication and, like I said in my last post, changes are afoot whether I like it or not.  The Universe has ran out of patience with me, and as on previous occasions is winkling me out of my hidey hole an propelling me bodily out into the great unknown.

This, my friends, will happen in some way shape or form, so I have no need of a specific resolution.  I have to pull down my oxygen mask, assume the crash position, and kiss my ass goodbye just in case I don’t survive the landing.

Getting past this stage is the only resolution I can deal with right now, such is it’s magnitude, stress inducing propensity and urgency.

witch.jpg

Once I’ve done that it’s more about setting up a new life for myself and not, I repeat, not hiding away in my little cottage and getting pelted with rotten fruit by the village children who proclaim me resident witch.

Which is massive, as I managed to be a recluse for most of 2015 in London, so the temptation to tuck myself away and fester will be enormous.

Enter Aunty C (my counsellor and literally my life saver) who promises to manage me from the 200 odd mile distance and pep talk me over Skype for as long as I need her.

Leaving the few friends I have is a terrifying prospect, but my gut tells me that my London days are over and my future lies elsewhere, so it will be interesting to see where and how I am doing in 12 months time.  If I was going to theme 2016 I would hazard a guess that the word ‘Changes’ would be most relevant.

But, I reiterate, I make no resolutions or promises this time. I’ve let both you lot and myself down too many times for that.

In the meantime I wish you all an amazing 2016 and hope that it’s a good one.

Namaste bitches

SS x

 

 


14 Comments

Until, one winter day, a sly wind blew in from the North…

GOT-game-of-thrones-29426322-1600-1200.jpg

Shit is going down.

I wish I could say that I’ve had a normal life, but that would be a lie.

I seem to have a number of lives within this one, always culminating in a big disaster, a cutting off and a move, usually geographical but not always.

In this instance, it is inevitable.  Pending.

As I have to be out of my flat soon, regardless as to whether I buy the multi flawed house I’ve made an offer on.

In a part of the country where there are major problems.

In a tiny village.

On a main-ish road (sorry cats).

With, like I say, some major issues to address.

So instead of facilitating a non 9-5 lifestyle, I would spend the rest of my days doting on this bitch only to keep her from collapsing in a heap.

I could have gotten something modern, brand new even, in a cul de sac with no major outgoings whatsoever.  But that would be too boring.  And too easy.

But I do love the house.  It called to me.  But all depends on whether the sellers will take my reduced offer.

download.jpeg

This has been like playing poker with the Devil and being down to your last chip, as if this all falls through, I’m out of money, energy and time, so in a way it has to work.

Of course I’m afraid. When haven’t I been?!

However, this is a whole new level.

That said I have to have faith that, for once, the trickster is on my side.  In the Tarot, the Devil represents being restricted, held back, usually by a cell of one’s own making, so it’s down to me to finish the game and walk away triumphant.

Plus all the stars are aligned in my horoscope and screaming ‘For God’s sake, get off your ass and take a frigging chance!’, so as with my previous mini incarnations, the universe is making my decision for me and spitting me out and onto the next level.

And I’m relieved.  Because to live a half life in fear and uncertainty for so many years sucks the life out of a body.

London was never really my home.  It’s like a big plush waiting room, perfectly comfortable and accommodating, but no place to settle.

And that manipulative North wind whips up a storm every night, and will continue until I finally leave this place and move on, hopefully to a place I can call home.

Winter, it appears, is coming.

Whether I want it to or not.

Wish me luck.

Namaste x

 


8 Comments

I’M BORED

where-wild-things-are-rumpus

I’ve missed my last two group therapy sessions.

Not deliberately, but whenever I plan my journey to the hospital something always seems to go wrong, and I’m starting to think the universe is trying to tell me something.

And after the last one I attended I was late and felt even worse afterwards, which was not because anything struck a chord with me, but because I almost felt as if I was resented for my non weepy, rather detached mood.

Told Aunty Clara (my counsellor) and she asked me how I felt whilst in the sessions.

‘I dunno.  I don’t trust the shrinks, I don’t have the relationship with them that I have with you.  The exercises they give us seem so obvious and cliched.  I sit there, listening to everyone’s woes, foot jiggling with frustration, and when I sometimes crack jokes to cheer people up and relieve the sheer unadulterated fucking misery that’s in the room, I’m told that it’s some kind of avoidance tactic!’

Aunty C laughs but when I ask her if I should keep going she gets serious.

‘You know that I never approved of you writing yourself off as BPD, and whilst you might think the the diagnosis applies to you, I think you have done all the digging you need to do, and I’d rather you pushed forward and established a new life for yourself.’

‘So why can’t I do what I need to do?’

She smiles and gives me an affection shove ‘Because it’s hard!’

arnie-levin-well-i-feel-some-of-you-in-this-group-are-heavily-into-denial-new-yorker-cartoon

I frown.

‘Do you think I’m in denial here, and I’m trying to get out of this because something painful is coming up for me?’

‘Do you think you are?’

‘Don’t you start, you sound just like him!’  We both laugh.  ‘But the answer is, no.  I’m the only one in the group that has never cried during a session.  I totally feel for them, and see aspects of myself in some of them which has been helpful but I feel like I covered this ground years ago, and I’m seriously bored!’

As Iggy Pop might say, I’m Chairman of the Bored.  Actually no.  I’m the SVP/majority shareholder.

‘How was Christmas?’

‘OK, but, well, boring.  It’s just the same old shit whoever you spend it with really isn’t it?  I just made polite chit chat, ate loads, watched TV and tried not to fart.  I actually enjoyed the volunteering more than Christmas Day!’

C grins at me.

‘I know it’s me.  Other people like the traditional and predictable, but I feel like a kid that has no one to play with!  I want to have FUN!’ 

C clasps her hands together with glee.

‘There now!  Do you know how long I’ve waited to hear you say that?’

And that’s true, she has urged me to make time for play, but what happens if no one else wants to?  Playing alone is a sad thing, especially if you had to do it for most of your official childhood.

And that’s when it struck me.  If my existing pals aren’t up for high jinks due to work commitments, kids or in some cases, good old fashioned ‘can’t be arsed’ syndrome, I have to find new ones who are.

So I’ve got a business idea.  Nothing major you understand.  Alan Sugar can rest easy. But a way of attracting equally infantile souls whilst making a bit of pocket money, or if nothing else, covering my costs.

Like many other ideas I’ve had in the past, it’s been popping into my conscious intermittently during the past week, and to date, those horribly negative mind monkeys (word to the wise – not all primates are fun) have rubbished it, like they have every single venture I’ve considered in the past, and given me every reason not to try it.

Mind Monkeys

‘IT’S A STUPID IDEA, IT’S PATHETIC – HOW OLD ARE YOU, IT WON’T WORK, YOU’LL LOOK LIKE AN ARSEHOLE WHEN PEOPLE FIND OUT, YOU’LL LOSE MONEY, THEN LOSE YOUR HOME, WHAT IF YOU MOVE, WHAT IF YOU ATTRACT PSYCHOS, …SHRIEK, SHRIEK, JABBER JABBER, SCRATCH SCRATCH….’

But fuck those flea ridden fuckwits, I’m going have a go and see what happens.

Watch this space and let the wild rumpus start!

As for the group, I’m going to suck it and see if it keeps sucking.  If you know what I mean.

Wish me luck?

Namaste xx