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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SONGS OF ANGER 3 – GROUNDS FOR DIVORCE – Elbow

Last stop Despair, the next stop is Anger Central.

Stand clear of the doors please!

Today has been and is still a very ANGRY day for me, for some valid reasons, but none of which should fill me with a burning rage that is currently boiling and humming beneath my surface.

If you were in my local Tesco Extra earlier, you’d have seen a normal, slightly harried looking woman looking for something to go with her home made pesto.  You might even have smiled at me (some bloke did), and I would have returned that smile (and I did), out of politeness, but you would not have probably sensed that it would only take the very slightest provocation for me to take your head, plus the entire roof off the building with my soaring, volcanic, bottomless rage.

The cuss word commonly known as ‘see you next Tuesday’ seems to have taken the place of the word fuck, and is getting pretty commonplace here in ye old London town, that said, I don’t tend to use it very often.  Let’s face it, if c*** replaces fuck, what replaces c*** when you need to say something really offensive?

But today, my friends, must have been St. C’s day as there was a lot of it about.

Like one of the shrinks that kept asking me questions she didn’t like the answers to, then used every passive aggressive trick in the book to get an apology out of me.

She didn’t succeed.

Like the bloke on eBay who claimed the item he’d bought from me was substandard and scratched, when the photo of it showed that it was neither of those things.

I proved him to be a liar but gave him a refund, confident that the universe will take it off him tenfold.  I hope.  It had BETTER.

Like my brother and cousin who constantly block me from their little clique, just to get a rise out of me.

I won’t try and engage anymore.

Like the woman who spoke over and interrupted me every time I tried to speak at a group lunch today, simultaneously spraying me with spittle whilst doing it.

I refrained from forcing her cake and napkin AND fork into her ignorant, tactless, intrusive gob, and escaped as soon as I could.

Like the guy who nearly knocked a little girl off her bike, such was his hurry to park.

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I dragged him out of his car and slammed his head with the door repeatedly, Big Chris stylee.

Actually I didn’t. But I did give him the ‘dickhead’ salute by way of compensation, much to the approval of said kid’s justifiably outraged mother.

It seems everyone jars with me right now, and that I’m incapable of tolerating my own species, but I’m the only common denominator, so I’m starting to think that divorcing the rest of the populace is the only answer.  Or turning to the bottle.  Or leaving this life altogether, which led me to this little number.

Now where’s my cocktail shaker?

And now one of my cats has just puked all over my bed, the little….sod.

C***?  No siree.  Not my Charlie.  You see, I love him so much that I’d probably forgive him anything.

There may be hope for me yet 🙂

So, Life, things had better change, you’d better stop rejecting me at every turn otherwise we’ll be going before the courts tout suite.

And it won’t be Judge Rinder.

It will be JUDY, OK biatch?

You have been warned.

http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/elbow/groundsfordivorce.html


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SONGS OF ANGER 2 – WHAT IS IT ABOUT MEN – Amy Winehouse #bullying #intimidation

Having spent the last hour on Twitter ranting furiously at people bemoaning the sacking of (ex) BBC bully Top Gear’s Jeremy Clarkson, I realised that something had been triggered for me personality, so decided to take a deep breath, make a soothing mug of tea and figure out what was really bothering me.

So there I was cuppa in hand, pondering my emotions carefully and it turns out that…

…nope.

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It’s definitely Clarkson.

Theres nothing I hate more than a bully.  Especially in the workplace.  In a position of authority.

As I was at the mercy of one of them for about 3 years.

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Plus, it’s a shame I didn’t know that punching someone out in the workplace was OK, as I’d have had a field day on my exit interview 😉

Then this song came to mind, Amy Winehouse’s sublime ‘What is it about Men?’.

More to the point, what is it about me and men?

This might sound like an obvious thing to say, but I’m not good with shouty, violent, threatening men.  Right, so I don’t suppose anyone is, but my reaction tends to be different to most people’s when confronted by them.

Instead of being afraid and cautious around them, I want to get in their face and scream at them.  Mainly I suspect it’s because I was too small, weak and vulnerable to defend myself properly when I was a kid.  it’s put me in danger a number of times, but when the volcanic rage erupts I don’t tend to care about the consequences.

Sertraline helps. Thank God.

Something else added fuel to the fire the other day, and whilst I didn’t think it affected me at the time, I suspect I’m pretty tense about it now.

To cut a long story short, the other day in group therapy, one of the guys pulled out a knife.

Shocking, I know. That said, I immediately recognised that he was doing it for attention.  Whilst always very needy and attention seeking, he is generally good natured, but this time I sensed his moodiness and resentment when we all were sat in reception waiting to be picked up by our shrink.

Anyway, this guy drinks green tea (or something suspiciously murky anyway) and always adds a slice of fresh lemon to his brew whilst we’re getting settled, but to date a knife has never emerged.  The other day however, he rather theatrically took out an entire fruit, produced a serrated paring knife and proceeded to carve a slice mid air, smirking arrogantly whilst doing so.

A couple of the younger girls looked pretty unnerved, as they have also been abused in the past, and, by all accounts this guy once killed someone, but I was never going to give him the satisfaction of showing any kind of reaction whatsoever.

My suspicions that it was all for show were confirmed because even when he had his segment, he kept it out and at one stage even held it between his teeth.

The shrinks froze.

I glanced at him in derision.

What the fuck are you doing?’ I asked, ‘you look like something out of Pirates of the Caribbean.’

He grinned knowingly ‘Ah sorry about that!  I just have to have lemon in my tea!  I wasn’t about to go on a, um, another killing spree…’

‘Well if you are, feel free to start with me.’

He then put it away and we continued with the session, but every now and then he’d punctuate the conversation with some aggressive aside or comment.

Afterwards the girls were concerned, as he has kicked off in therapy before (never in front of me) but I tried to reassure them.

‘Don’t worry, it’s all for effect’ i soothed, ‘he’s just trying to get attention.’

But over the last few days, I’ve become more and more angry about it, and I just know I’m going to confront him next session.

When I started group therapy, I was under the impression that all the participants were female, so when i turned up for the first session and saw two men sat there, I was not comfortable.

Don’t get me wrong.  I get on with blokes very well socially and as friends.  I’m just not good at showing any vulnerability in front of them.  But I gritted my teeth and got on with it.

And now, six months later, one guy has issues with me, and gives me sly little passive aggressive digs because I don’t want to have contact with him outside the sessions (something the girls have no problem with).  And now this little turd thinks he can bully us into indulging his demands for friendship and love, facilitate his excessive neediness by tolerating the the long, boring, droning monologues that he foists on the group.

And more and more, I feel that I can share less and less because of the male presence.

It’s not like I didn’t try, but me, men and trust go together like lemons, salt and paper cuts.

I could let this slide, of course.

I could accentuate the positive as another song goes.  Make lemons into lemonade and try and give him the attention he so craves.

But right now I’m more inclined to stick those lemons in the freezer, and when they’re hard, take them out and peg them at his stupid, smirking fizzog next time he pulls a stunt like that.

I hoped it might do me good to work with both sexes, but it’s honestly not working out that way.

How the hell am I supposed to build solid bridges with my male family?  Accept authority from a male boss?

Let a man access my body, and more frightening still, my heart again?

I know I have to speak up, but if I do I’m going to try and address it with integrity but there is no point of me attending these session if they’re making me worse.

It’s a lonely place without intimacy with beings that make up half the population.

Men, I miss you; do you think we can work this out?

‘It’s bricked up in my head, it’s shoved under my bed
And I question myself again: what is it ’bout men?
My protective side has grown a mile wide
And I question myself again: what is it ’bout men?

What is it about men?

sour-puss-lemon-face


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BOYS WILL BE BOYS

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You know what they say about old habits dying hard?

Well it’s a cliche for a reason.  And it’s especially hard to challenge them when they’ve been over a half a decade in the making.

As anyone who follows this blog will know that I haven’t always had a great relationship with my family, and you will also understand why.

But of late, my relationship with my brother James is OK.

Distant, even more distant since I’ve been in financial dire straights, but whenever we see one another we’ve managed to have a nice time and while away a couple of hours or so before the other has to go home.

And I’m regularly invited to spend Christmas with him and his family.  Mainly because it’s traditional, and the fact that I’m ‘Aunty Present’ and, until this year, brought lots of goodies for all to enjoy.

But apart from that, my presence isn’t really required.  Oh I’m welcome, in theory, to go spend the weekend with them.  Subject to approval and with the proviso that I might need to entertain myself as they all go about their business, and treat me with about as much interest as the family gerbil (who eventually died of starvation/dehydration, poor thing).

yuk

And if there’s a formal family thing with long lost rellies, I’ll be required to rock up, despite the fact that the venue is about 400 miles away from my home (and 40 from theirs) and that I have to spend a total of 8-9 hours on the motorway, and money (that I haven’t got) to eat at a shit restaurant whose sole USP is the ability to acquire faux fillets made up of re-consituted poultry skin/scrag/ligament mush that has been combined with water and additives, moulded, frozen, defrosted, cooked and presented to the unsuspecting diner as a chicken breast, smothered in some kind of white jizzy goop that itself masquerades as some kind of cheese sauce. With chips of course.

Classy.

Other than that, I am apparently obsolete.  Peripheral.  Forgettable.

And every now and then I’ll see evidence on Facebook or via some other social media platform that he and my cousin and their respective broods have all got together at each others homes or gone on some jolly outing or other without inviting me.

And it hurts.

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When we were kids, my brother hated me (and in turn I hated him back), and turned to our cousin (who lived walking distance away) for succour and companionship which is probably one of the reasons that I’m the fuck up of the family and he isn’t.  Because even though our shared childhood was not the best, our mother loved him and he had Jack, so he was never alone.  Being the same sex, there’s was a natural bond, as was the habit of turning on me, an obvious target, to mock, jeer at, and pick fights with.

Me?  I had no one, not even a best friend once I turned geek, and I have forever felt like I am on the outside looking in.

And neither Jack nor James were ever encouraged to include or be kind to me.

They were lads.  And lads didn’t play with girls oop North, so they were let off the hook so to speak.

And as we came into our teens, and I strived to find some tribe to fit in with (be it mod, punk, new romantic), this was an endless source of amusement for this smug twosome, who, yes you’ve guessed it, went to uni, found a lovely inclusive brainbox peer group to join, and more life long friends to bolster their egos and emotional security.

I however flitted from one incarnation to another, and do so to this day.

Because I have no real clue who I am.

Over the years, I did form something of a relationship with my cousin, and once upon a time you could have called us ‘close’ as he would tell me things he couldn’t share with Jack, but when my brother and I fell out for 3 years, I was left in no doubt where I was in the family hierarchy.

No I couldn’t come for Christmas, Easter or Bank Holiday.  What were my motives?  Was I doing this to wind up Jack?

They could see me in March, some random weekend or a cold wet day in January; wouldn’t that be special?

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And after Jack and I eventually made up, I was no longer the black sheep of the family hence James welcomed back into the fold and was invited to everything!

Hurray!

Except I was indignant, bruised and in no mood to be humoured.

Nowadays everything has gone back to normal and I’m back on the outside looking in.  And today I made one last try to connect with my family, find out when the next big hoo ha would be, and get myself invited to it via my sister in law.

She sounded defensive and perplexed.

‘Why do you ask?  When?  What are you thinking?  Here, Jack’s, yours, somewhere in the middle?’

(In other words ‘What do you want from us exactly? Anyone would think you were family or something!’)

‘I honestly don’t mind Jen, I just thought it would be nice for us to all catch up sometime.’

‘Well Jack and James have just been away, we’re off doing something else Easter with my sister (oh the irony), then I’m back at work, Jack is blah blah blah……….but maybe we’ll catch up in August 2020 when I might be in London?’

Hey ho.  After over half a decade of being second tier, why did I ever think it might change?

It would be easier to get Clark Kent and Superman in the same room at one time.

I get it.  i genuinely do.  Spending time together for them comes naturally.  They’re more brothers than Jack and I were ever siblings. They both have kids.  They live quite close to one another.  Lots of their get togethers are probably arranged quite spontaneously.

I, however, take effort.  Not to mention that fact that I’m a little….

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….and unpredictable nowadays. What if I rained on their lovely fraternal parade?

As for the bullying, I suppose kids are kids, and they didn’t know how damaging an effect their behaviour would have on me.

Boys will be boys.

And lets face it they weren’t the only ones who picked on me.  Once you’re being victimised it’s like you send out a high pitch signal that unleashes the dogs of war onto you.  It’s like those bastards can sniff the vulnerable out and let rip knowing you will take their shit.

To this day though, any word or story of bullying is guaranteed to get my hackles up.

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In a recent episode of ‘The Gift’ one man, Jon, who bullied and beat up on another boy, Simon, at school for 10 years, suddenly got guilt pangs and sought him out via the show to apologise, wanting forgiveness.

90% of the British public were touched by his efforts and sniffled sentimentally into a Kleenex.

The other 10% (yes, me included) wanted his blood.

I’m sorry but who the actual fuck did he think he was to seek Simon out demanding forgiveness?  What brought on this sudden retrospective stab of conscience?  Why should he be made to feel better about his vile behaviour?

Miraculously though, when they finally came face to face on a pier, Simon (a big bruiser of a man nowadays) to my huge disappointment, didn’t smash him in the face, pick him up by the scruff of his neck, shake him like a rag doll and throw him into the sea.

He forgave him.

Jon, you are lucky it wasn’t me you sought pardon from as I’d have kicked you so hard that your balls would be jostling for position alongside your tonsils to this very day.

<sigh…>

I have such a long way to go.

Have I forgiven my tormentors, including John and Jack?  I thought I had.  But clearly it goes so much deeper than that.  And maybe they sense this.

Time to stop misting up that window and pawing at that door.

It was never my place to begin with.

Aunty C and the shrinks are right.  My sense of home and belonging has to start with me.

Back to the drawing board.

Namaste x

http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b053kxhs


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YOU CAN GO NOW, SISTA… #bpd #depression #cocksuckers

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3 days into Lent, so many aims and ambitions (most being dietary/health related), but I’m taking it it slowly and starting with the main ones (giving up sugar and alcohol) and aiming to add extras as I progress, in order that I can get a life or something.

I’ve also being tasked with writing a positive message to myself every day (a schema therapy activity) and putting it in a pretty box.  To date most haven’t been too inspiring or ambitious (‘Managed not to shriek at benefits people this afternoon – yay me!‘), but today I was proudly able to scrawl ‘I have been to yoga for the first time in 2015′ onto my little pink post-it and pop it into my receptacle.

Progress indeed.

I didn’t like it very much, the yoga class.

It ached, my balance is all fucked up, and even my hands hurt.  And when I went into shoulder stand, all the lard I have cultivated on my belly squidged unattractively into pale sausagey wedges, and I felt a surge of hate and disgust infuse my entire being.

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How revolting it is.  And the more I look at it the more anti veggie/vegan I feel, as let’s face it, at least if someone dines on big slabs of flesh, it’s useful, as unless you really look after your body you end up looking and feeling like a factory farmed heifer.  I was watching some footage from the Meatopia fair this afternoon and I thought ‘Yes, that’s it Sista!  Donate your piggy body to the next festival!  There’s plenty on there for everyone and crackling too!’

My body, for it’s part, is sulking, hence it’s protesting twinges, total inflexibility and generous cultivation of blub.  My fault for not coming out of hibernation, gorging on comfort food, indulging my addiction to expensive hot chocolate and watching back to back DVD boxed sets, not to mention gross neglect on all levels.

That’s what I’ve been doing all this time y’know.  Watching TV.  I can’t really afford to do anything else (yes I know that’s no excuse), and let’s face it, the people who populate HBO TV series have so much more interesting lives than mine.

My current passion is ‘Deadwood’ and I am besotted with the two male leads, anti hero Al Swearengen and Seth Bullock, the latter for rocking a moustache like no other, and very nearly bringing my libido out of it’s coma like state.

Much good that will do me right now, as I wouldn’t wish this blubbery carcass on my worst enemy.

The former however, fascinates me like no other.  His anger, toughness and sharp tongue resonates heavily with me and whilst I don’t go around spitting profanity at all and sundry, I sure as hell used to, and then some.

I’ve just finished Season One, and in the first few episodes, I hated him, but having watched the last episode last night, I saw a different side to the homicidal whore house owner, and it had such an impact on me, I watched it twice and replayed the heartbreaking scene between Al and Reverend Green again and again.

These characters seemed in that uniquely intimate moment, when Al did God’s job for him, the two sides of the same coin;  One world weary and filled with spleen and hate, the other devoted to his Lord and oh so desperate to believe that he was still in his light and his appalling suffering was not in vain.

And when Swearengen tenderly muttered to the dying priest ‘You can go now, brother’, as my throat closed up, I felt a pang like no other.  Whether it was sadness, relief or just sheer envy I know not.

To be sheer conscious and nothing else.  To shed this bag of blood, flesh and bones.  How freeing that must be!

But that scene touched me and stays with me 24 hours later, as did crippled Jewel dancing in her leg brace with Doc Cochran.

And whilst I am in my own gutter, muddled with medications, looking to movie stars and fictional characters for meaning and inspiration, I know that I at least, unlike poor Reverend Green and Jewel, I can get up out of the puddles, stagger to my feet and move on.

It’s a question of wanting to, really.  Maybe I have it too easy.  Maybe you have to be physically fucked up or super angry to give a shit about this world.  But I’m not allowed my anger anymore, as unlike Al, it did not and does not help me succeed in this world.

But I’m still trying to get to my feet and ease on down the road.  In my own feeble, reluctant way.

My home is now on the market, I’m going to try and get back into favour with my body and brain, and hope there is a life worth living ahead of me.

XuR45gt

Once upon a time, my philosophy was not that dissimilar to Al’s, and my anger did push me forward in the world, but in the act of trying to manage that part of my nature via therapy makes me more passive, and drumming up passion and the will to live is now ironically harder than ever.

But the notes box is both beautiful and roomy and I’ve still got lots of paper, and I’m at least inching forward towards my destiny.

Ready once again, to face up to the black hats of the world, and take my pain like a man.  But also to hope, like the Rev.

Namaste Cocksuckers, namaste x


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I’VE GOTTA BE ME? #BPD

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I just had a bit of a spat with one of my closest friends, and for once, I had no idea where it came from.

I knew he was pissy with me because of his silence and lack of ‘How are you?’ texts for a few days, but when I sent him one telling him that I just got a days work with a well know steak restaurant, he totally killed my buzz by replying:

‘Well being a vegan you can’t expect me to cheer about it’.

Alrighty.

And because I was a bit peeved by his passive aggressive silence and for pissing on my bovine BBQ, especially as (a) he’s not normally so easily offended, and (b) lives with a carnivore, (c) knows how financially strapped I am, I replied with a sarky but humorous:

‘You?  A vegan?  Really?  But you’ve kept so quiet about it!’.

Because out of all of our circle of friends I am the most supportive, helpful and facilitating of his lifestyle choice.  I send him recipes, I eat in veggie/vegan restaurants with him (something one of our close buds wouldn’t even contemplate) buy him vegan friendly gifts, make him vegan food and treats, and even baked him a vegan ‘cake’ for his birthday.

But then the real reason for his snippiness came out.  Apparently I had offended his partner by the tone of an email I had sent to our circle of friends.

I was dismayed.

‘It was banter!  Surely the exclamation marks and winky faces gave that away?  Anyway Bruce hardly has a subtle sense of humour, surely he should be able to put his big boy pants on and suck it up?  As for your being a vegan, I never forget that and am always willing to work around it, but I eat meat, always have and I need the money!  Can’t you just be glad for me?’

Then I was hit by a barrage of venom about how insensitive I was, how eating meat was like child abuse (interesting, does that mean that beef biting Bruce is his live in nonce?), how it’s my fault if I got the tone of the communication wrong, and if it was such an effort I shouldn’t bother to try work around his eating habits.

Gotcha.

The thing is I’ve know this individual for nearly 20 years so he should (a) be able to tell when I’m joking, (b) be able to automatically give me the benefit of the doubt if he thinks for one minute that I’m serious, and (c) talk to me like a man before jumping to conclusions.

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But I’m starting to fear that coming out as EUPD and depressive has given certain people a ‘Get into Jail Free’ card when it comes to deciding who’s right and who’s wrong, because I know for a fact that when I was younger, my humour was much more caustic, unforgiving and in your face.  But because in their minds I was more or less ‘normal’ then that was just down to my strong personality and everyone took it on the chin and gave back as good as they got.

But now that I’m officially a ‘Bunny Boiler’ and more emotionally vulnerable, then they can allude to me being a bit mental as a get out clause when they want to win an argument.

I also remembered that I forgot my meds that day which may have led me to being a bit more hyper than usual.

Fuck.

So I asked another very outspoken member of our crew if she thought my email was rude, she was emphatic that it was not, and that she read it as, not just my sense of humour, but our collective sense of humour. This was and is how we roll, both in written form and face to face.

Right!  Exactly!

And to be honest, would it be such a terrible thing if I actually came off my meds and then be even more myself?

Whilst this wouldn’t be the best idea right now, it is definitely a long term goal as being perpetually tamped down makes for a very boring Sista indeed.  My passion is part of who I am, and in order to live my life to the fullest, I gotta be me, regardless of what anyone else thinks or how they choose to judge me.

Si’s behaviour does feel like something of a betrayal though.  A less healthy Sista would have cut him to shreds, held a grudge for months, been much less flexible and not bothered to make any kind of effort with the friendship moving forward.

But I’m bigger than that nowadays.

Well I will be in a few days as I need time to simmer down as I’ve just cut my medication by half.  Yay!

Look out world, the largely undiluted, allegedly annoying, takes no prisoners Sista is coming atcha so you better put meat on your argument, or prepare to be roasted in the process! 😉

dr seuss

Peace to all and Namaste x

http://www.oldielyrics.com/lyrics/sammy_davis_jr/ive_gotta_be_me.html


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2015 – THE YEAR OF ‘GET HAPPY’

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Here we are again.  Another year nearly over.

And whilst looking back to December 2013, and acknowledging that things seem to have gotten worse, I no longer have the expectation that making a list of New Year Resolutions to work through and tick off is an appropriate strategy for someone with EUPD, or indeed any kind of mental illness.

Human beings in general, let alone us crazies, are much more complicated than that, otherwise there’d be no such thing as irrational phobias and fears, unhealthy addictions would not supersede our higher selves and ALL diets and fitness training plans would work because we would apply ourselves to them without question.

So there you go. BUT, as I’ve bored you all year with my pain, failures and woes to date, I’m actually going to try and focus on the positive and try NOT SAY ANYTHING NEGATIVE!

So what was good about 2014?

WORK

I’ve done some successful bits of work in the last year and have even been in the papers, so I should give myself a pat on the back there.  I dabbled in a baking business, and maybe gave up a tad too soon, so perhaps that is something to revisit come 2015.

FRIENDS/FAMILY/LOVED ONES

I can count the number of people I can rely on on one hand, but I am learning to manage my expectations with regard to the others.  Making friends isn’t a problem for me.  When I’m in fun mode, I attract people to me, no doubt about it. Keeping them is.

I think I’m getting better at it.

SELF ACCEPTANCE

Whilst I still can’t say I like my appearance I think I am learning to accept the way I look, the ageing process and other things about myself.  The other day I was subjected to a barrage of romantic intent (see DATING/SEX) AND I looked like cack as I barely had any make up on so maybe it’s not all about having the perfect nose, a botoxed brow and perky titties?

DATING/SEX

Danny-Dyer-deviation

I’m still a born again virgin (coming up for 4 – 5 years now – practically healed up), but whilst doing some volunteer work I was heavily pursued by a big hairy, lairy dude, who kept calling me his new wife, bringing me bottles of water and little treats all day.  And whilst he’s not really my type, is barely literate AND smokes, I was pathetically enchanted by these crude overtures, and that he kept calling me ‘Princess’ and ‘Treacle’ in a very butch cockney accent.

Ludicrous really.  I’m embarrassed for myself.

I wonder if God has figured out yet that our hormones and genitalia are seriously unreliable when choosing one’s mate? Because it also turns out that he’s not as strong as he appears and could be quite vulnerable beneath that brash exterior.

Great.  Just great.  Another casualty of war. 😦

BUT we’re still chatting and I’m going to try and not be too judgemental.

PHYSICAL HEALTH

I am in pretty good shape really, considering that I neglect and test my poor old carcass with daily mistreatment, so if I start to look after myself better in 2015, it can only improve. Right?

Plus I’m still working on my…

ANGER

….and working out helps tamp my temper down.  Look, anger is at the heart of me.  I haven’t figured out why, or why it’s so all encompassing, but I’m a whole lot better at controlling it nowadays. Despite the fact I screamed abuse at a call centre worker only this very morning, because they’d pushed my patience to the very edge.  Yet again.

Ahem…this is a work in progress y’know?

FINANCES

I lived off one years money for nearly two and a half years, so I don’t need to earn as much as I did in order to survive.  Good news right?  Except I don’t just want to survive anymore.  I want to LIVE more fully and have some fucking….

FUN WITH FRIENDS

….so I do need a swift and steady cash injection in order to participate fully.

I’m also trying really hard to find ‘fun’ friends as per Aunty C’s instructions, but need to figure out what I’m putting out that attracts the walking wounded to me, and how to change that frequency.  Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate all my friends, and empathise fully with my fellow casualties, but sometimes feel a bit like Jack Dawson, as I attempt to clamber on board a bit of raft in order to save myself, but keep finding people who need/deserve it more that keep dragging me off, so I just go along with it instead of piping up ‘Budge your fat ass over Rose, you selfish bitch, before my dick falls off, and then I can get us both some help!’

FILM: Titanic (1997), with Leonardo DiCaprio as Jack Dawson and

After all, like all the airline flight attendants inform us when we’re busy browsing our Duty Free pamphlets whilst lingering on the tarmac, in an emergency, we have to give ourselves oxygen first in order to survive long enough to save our vulnerable, so could someone please tell me where all the fun people are?!

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Or is it my duty to fix the weak ones before I can move on?  All very confusing really, but I’m going to try and do a bit of both, that’s fair isn’t it?

GOALS

I have goals.  Yes I do.  I’m just not going to look at them too closely as there is no surety or clear path for me right now and that’s pretty scary, plus I know my inner saboteur will put on my Doc Martens and stamp the shit out of them. This I have been proving for two years now.  My inner sab can turn the most enjoyable thing into a chore in my mind, so I’m keeping stuff under my hat for now.

Ssshhhh…

FORGIVENESS

I’m a whole lot better at this nowadays too.  Maybe hard times do make one into a better person. Don’t get me wrong, I still have my moments of ‘Fuck them’ and the desire to block people out of my life still seems to be my psyche’s knee jerk reflex of choice, but this is all becoming all the more obvious to me, because of my group….

THERAPY

Gawd.  This has been hard, continues to be hard and I have no idea if I’m going to be able to stay in London in order to complete it, but it’s been a fucking education to date.  Not necessarily because of the specific discipline, or because I rate the shrinks, but seeing your shit reenacted by others is beyond cringeworthy which impels one to do better with regard to certain kinds of behaviours.

I still don’t think it’s a good idea to get too friendly with my group fellows, nor do I like all of them, but they are some of the  best teachers I’ve ever had and I can only applaud and appreciate them for their presence, and be as kind as i can to all of us as the process continues.

Right at this moment in time, I should be very worried and uncertain, but I am starting to realise that hiding away and settling with survival does not a positive life make. So whilst on paper, I have very little reason to be confident and excited about the year ahead, I’m going to try and be happy and get out there and see what I can achieve for myself. This is of course, no easy feat and there will be plenty of times that I’ll be back in my pit of despair, but I’m going to try and control my mind a little more, make positive affirmations and at least try and see if it has any affect.

I’ve been OK over the seasonal period and survived it, but that says it all really.

That word again.

Oddly enough the thing I enjoyed most over the last week or so was the charity work, grafting flat out for a common goal.  And yes, I suppose the little flirtation and attention I got kinda upped the ante a little too. But it’s important for me to recognise and record the times and things that have made me happy or contented in the past.

Such as:

Working as a team with fun people.

Horse riding in the Spanish mountains.

Being around animals.

Getting praise for things I have done.

Being accepted.

Nurturing and being nurtured.

Getting attention from the opposite sex.

Had to note down that last one, as I’d much sooner ignore it.

AND I MUSTN’T IGNORE IT!

Because maybe there is someone out there who I can be around who’ll add value to my life.

Re New Year’s Eve, I’m actually not going out tonight, because there was nothing very interesting happening, but I think this is a positive thing, as there is no act more lonely than to hurl yourself out of the door and attach yourself to someone, anyone, rather than be alone at the stroke of midnight.

And it’s not like I haven’t been here before, and only good things came out of that.  Like this blog! 🙂

Thank you to all of you for your friendship and continual support.

I’ll keep on keepin’ on and hope you do too.

Happy 2015!

Love and kisses Sista xxx

2014-12-28-1746_54a033cce087c341a3941537 https://sistasertraline.wordpress.com/2013/12/31/last-flight-update-2013-back-on-the-tarmac/


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SELFIE, BELFIE, VANITY, INANITY

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I am a hair’s breadth away from de-friending one of my Facebook friends.

I say ‘friend’; I hardly know the girl, but I did like her when I first met her earlier this year.  Young, pretty, friendly, she seemed to know everyone and everyone seemed to get on with her.  We had a bit of banter too, so when she sent me a friend request, I had no hesitation in adding her.

Also, to avoid implying that I was misled by my initial impression, she seems as nice online as she was in person.  She has a squillion friends, posts lots of spiritual positivity memes, she can spell (yes I am a grammar pedant – sue me), never seems to have a bad word to say about anyone apart from the odd passive aggressive swipe (‘Haters gonna hate!’), but where it all falls down is her obsession with herself, in the form of daily, in some cases hourly selfies.

Just to be clear, I don’t mind a selfie in the way that I don’t mind a good old fashioned photograph. If you’re on holiday and want a photo of yourself in Times Square, at Sydney Opera House, or in the Blue Lagoon, that’s perfectly OK with me.  I’d love to see it.  Hell I might be jealous for a fleeting few seconds, but that would be more about your being somewhere cool and me being here, not how hot you look in your bikini.  You go girl!  I was young once, sigh….

And if you’ve just got engaged and want to share the happy moment, my day will peak with a little spike of happiness on your behalf.  I do not resent good things happening to other people.  I never have.

In fact any special occasion, why not share?  It’s one of the good things that social media delivers, especially if your family and/or loved ones are far away and need to see those snaps to still feel a part of your life.

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And of course if you have one like this, tag me, ‘cos I really want to see it. 🙂

As for celebrities, I’m not even going to go down that road.  Let’s face it, they get on everyone’s wick, and whilst I get sick of seeing Kim’s big oily bum, Kiera Knightly offering to get her tits out and Jennifer’s nude shots and depressing reason for doing them (‘He’s going to look at porn or look at you!’  Oh dear.  Shall you tell her or shall I?), I guess that’s what goes with the territory in Celebville nowadays, and I can avoid looking at them, if I try really, really hard.

But this gal seems to outdo even the mighty Kim K.  Because these are not just mobile phone shots.  There are camera shots, reversioned shots, recoloured shots, make up free/just woke up (a.k.a. washed my face, applied some concealor, lip gloss and got back into bed) shots, old photos, new photos, photos from the future….just kidding.

But if it were possible, believe me Maisie would take ’em, get back in the Tardis, come home and upload ’em. It’s just a perpetual onslaught of Me, Me, Me, Me, Me, Me, ME.

Maisy on the way to work, on the train, having breakfast, posing next to a film poster, posing with her friend at lunch, posing in costume, posing au naturale (see make up free/just woke up) partying, chilling, posing with her family, dog, in Starbucks, shopping in the supermarket, in sexy underwear, clubbing, dancing on a plinth, with the gas meter reader, getting a smear test, having a poo (OK I’m lying about the last two) and loads and loads of her posing and vogueing at home with her flatmates.

That’s right.  Her flatmates.  The people she lives with and sees every single day.

That’s like me grabbing my cats and taking a shot of me trying to hold onto them whilst boiling the kettle, them uploading it with the caption ‘Bitches be gagging for tea in da morning.  Word.’

Or one of you seizing your disgruntled, protesting partner when they arrive home from work, and taking a shot of the two of you staring blearily into the camera, caption ‘Me and my grumpy boo, waiting for the frozen lasagne to cook, better get the scotch out :-s’

Who does that?!  What is she trying to say?  That her life is so damn wonderful that every minute of it has to be recorded for posterity so that future generations can marvel at her fabulousness? If that’s how she truly feels about her time on earth, then I am actually envious.

Maybe that would explain my irritation every time I see her pretty little full lipped fizzog beaming up at me, every single time I check my Facebook feed.

For the love of Christ!’ I seethe inwardly, ‘Get the fuck over yourself!’

This perpetual narcissism gets to me more than I am comfortable with.  What is my problem with her exactly?  That she’s younger, prettier, and happier than me?  Well that accounts for most of the population, so unless I am kidding myself, I don’t think it’s that.

Maybe it’s my essential Britishness that makes her stick in my craw so much.  Unlike Americans, Aussies, and well probably the rest of the planet, we are taught to be modest and self effacing from birth, and if we do happen to have big tickets on ourselves, we’d better damn well hide it because the sheer audacity of liking oneself only makes others hate us.  It’s ridiculous I know, but deeply embedded into our collective psyche.

I also have actor ‘friend’ on there, an average looking guy who’s a ‘friend’ of a mutual ‘friend’ who added me, and in a moment of weakness I accepted him, even though I’d never met him in my life.  I then got an invitation to ‘Follow’ him. I am Fabulous

What?  WHAT?!  Who I am meant to be following exactly?

I clicked on his page, and on closer inspection, it turns out he isn’t an actor or even an extra.  He’s a wannabe extra/model.  But his self belief and confidence is such that he thinks I should fall at his feet and worship him.  I should have known from all the pouting.

Incidentally am I alone in finding men that pout deeply unattractive and laughable?  Surely no grown woman can take them seriously!  Haven’t they seen ‘Zoolander’?!

As I write this, I realise that I should be amused by him, and quite frankly could benefit from taking a leaf out of his book, but his audacity and presumptuousness made me so indignant I almost wrote to him to ask ‘Who do you think you are exactly?’

There are also a couple of people on here too that I’ve had to unfollow.  Not because I don’t like their writing; I’ve actually forgotten what and how they blog because every time they post, I get to see yet another image of them posing seductively, looking wistfully into the distance or gazing beneath their eyelashes Princess Di stylee, and I flick at my mouse with mounting irritation and whizz past them.

Especially if the post has a ‘I’m So Ugly/Unconfident/Alone’ heading.  Why?  Because (a) they are full of shit, (b) no matter how many ‘likes’, followers or ‘Oh you’re so beautiful!’s they get, it’s never enough to appease, and (c) even though they incessantly fish for positive affirmations, it’s clear that no matter how many they pull in it will ever, ever be enough.

Maybe, just maybe, they’re as unhappy as I am and I should feel empathy or even pity for them. But I seem to be unable to do so and think it’s only a matter of time before I block Maisie’s posts or even kick her to the kerb.

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In a way she reminds me of one of my cats. My Charlie has this really annoying habit of jumping up at me like a dog whenever I’m working on my iMac and digging his claws into my legs if I ignore him. When I finally break my flow, stop typing and turn to him, his beautiful little face is staring raptly into mine and I want to kill him.  Because I know that within a matter of seconds he’ll run off with his tail happily swishing in the air, only to come back in five minutes when I’m reabsorbed in my work and do it again. And again. And again.

‘FFS Charlie, WHAT?’ I’ll wail in exasperation.  I know he knows it annoys me. But he doesn’t care.  He’s safe in the knowledge that I’ll never do any more than tell him off and tickle the top of his head. Because I love him.

Maisie, I barely even know.

And beauty without substance is transient and loses impact as time goes on. Pretty wrapping paper on a gift box.  That incredible picture on your wall, painted by a local up and coming artist that you barely even notice anymore.  The pair of Tiffany earrings that you forget you bought.  That gorgeous old boyfriend/girlfriend that you thought was such a catch, who ended up being so needy and in your face that you used to hide whenever they came round.

Hasn’t everyone had one of those in their past?  That guy or girl that thinks they’re so beautiful that they don’t need to have or do anything else, who after the lust dies down, bores you shitless?

I was also guilty of using my body and OK’ish looks to secure attention when I was younger.  Nowadays I can barely be bothered to put make up on.  And whilst I still get the odd wolf whistle from building site workers (usually the oldies/half blind geezers about a mile away), my metamorphosis into one of the ‘invisible’ is nearly complete, and to my surprise, there is much comfort to be gained from this.

All that pressure. All that make up. All that trying.  All that botox.

Did it ever bring me happiness?  I think not.

I genuinely hope that Maisie, the wannabe actor and the blogging narcissist are happy in their skin, and whilst they’ll never know how much they irk me, I’m sorry for my judgement, anger and impatience toward them.  After all we’re all on the same journey.

Some of us just got the better road map and a head start.

Namaste x

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