Phoenix Fights

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




So I’m still lounging around in limbo, eyes blearily scanning the horizon for the cavalry in the shape of the fucking group therapy I was promised many moons ago, and whilst I don’t have the energy to be impatient, I am so over this endless waiting shit.

The questions, the calls, the forms, the cliched questions, spilling my guts left right and centre, I’ve done it all and it’s all so tedious and disheartening when after all that, nothing really happens.

I made myself go out into the world and mix with strangers twice this week in a desperate bid to jump start the will to live (which may or may not reside deep in side me), but you know what?

I did it, passed for ‘normal’, didn’t get arrested or beaten with sticks, and the men in the white coats didn’t rock up for me, but I find it all so unbelievably tedious.   The inevitable wearing of the mask, the small talk, going through the motions, lying about my situation when all the while I just surreptitiously watch the clock, desperately longing to go home.

And I wonder why I’m so lonely.

I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being punished for something.

This geezer Rumi apparently said this:

‘Patience is not sitting and waiting, it is foreseeing. It is looking at the thorn and seeing the rose, looking at the night and seeing the day. Lovers are patient and know that the moon needs time to become full’


Aw, isn’t that nice?

He said lots of pretty poetic stuff did Rumi, and was probably a very nice chap but he clearly had a relationship with God/the universe that to this day eludes me.  Plus I’ve been looking for the longest time and it is hard to see a clear road let alone the reward at the end of it when it has been festooned with dog poo and roadkill for so long and really starting to hum a bit.

As for lovers, well bully for them. but seeing as I only use my nether regions for sitting and excreting I don’t really have the advantage, frequently stimulated/penetrated genitals or optimism that they do that my patience will be rewarded with a big cheesy orb if I hang in there, so excuse me if I am less than good natured about this anymore….

As for my meds, I’m either too stoned to do anything or too anxious if I halve them, ARRRGGGHHHHHH!

That is all.  Haven’t got the energy to finish this properly. Will come back when I feel I can write something worth reading.

Over and out x






For the last 48 hours or so, I’ve scraped by in a bit of a daze really, but one good thing has come from this ‘Total Recall’ from hell.

I have learned to take comfort from the company of others.

Not for the entire two days you understand, no that would be too much of an about turn, but my twisted mind’s impetus to keep reliving and replaying all of the details of what happened that night again, and again make me at loathe to be alone with my thoughts for too long, which is something very new for me.

So much makes sense now.

  • My mistrust of men.
  • My wondering what they really wanted from me (as they couldn’t actually like me, could they?)
  • My low self worth.
  • My horror of rejection.
  • My inability to let myself be out of control.
  • My inability to fully relax when a boyfriend (or any man for that matter) stayed over in my home.
  • My secrecy and need for privacy.
  • My needing to be able to physically protect myself.
  • My always expecting and being prepared for the worst.
  • My always having an exit plan.
  • My readiness to ‘fight to the death’ when threatened.
  • My fury when presented with male aggression.

And all of this because some selfish, sexist, cowardly, misogynistic wanker could have a quick squirt and about 30 seconds of ecstasy that was probably forgotten within 24 hours (or once he’d fucked/raped someone else), whilst this has marred all of my relationships for over half of my life.

Don’t they realise this?

These rapists, these child abusers, these kidnappers, these opportunistic abusers?

Can’t they just have a wank over some porn like everyone else?

The darkest part of me would love to see them all gang raped up the arse by way of punishment so that they could live in shame, fear, self loathing and pain for the rest of their life, but that’s just ‘eye for an eye’ and nothing good ever comes from that.


I haven’t been able to cry at all.  I just feel frozen.

So many thoughts, so many realisations.

Babies never came for me, and I subconsciously used to wonder whether I was being punished, or that some fundamental damage had been done to me.

It was probably just as well, I’m so fucked up that any child of mine would have probably being a bit screwed up too.

Suffice to say, whatever libido I have recently recovered has completely and utterly disappeared, so this is probably a damn good excuse to stop seeing GM and/or going on any more dates for now.

But I don’t want this to turn me into a man hater.

I think that as part of a healing process, I need to spent time with all of the kind, gentle, safe men that I have in my life to remind me that there good ones are out there too, and hopefully this will heal my wounds, make me feel safe and thaw out the block of ice that is currently holding my heart captive.

Thanks again for all of your kind words, they nourish my tired, battered little soul, they really do 🙂

And to any guys who are reading or who have read about any of this, I guess you probably don’t know what to say and think it’s best to keep out of it?

I totally understand.

P.S. What has shocked and saddened me the most has been the number of bloggers who have had similar experiences to mine, and I’m touched by them taking their courage in both hands and taking the trouble to comment so kindly and supportively about mine.  Love and support right back at you xx

Namaste to all xx


Leave a comment



So 2013 is flying by, and that frickin’ date in February that so many of us ladies dread is looming like a threat. Oh joy.

Nowadays it even pops up on my calendar as a reminder!  Everyone is talking about their plans for it, but I’m lying as low as I can so that no one asks me what I’m doing….

I’m trying to enjoy the days leading up to it, but one thing’s for sure, next week, there’ll be no escape.

Yes folks, next week heralds the start of Lent, every (lapsed, in my case) Catholic girls worse nightmare, as we have to decide what we give up for 40 days and nights until Easter Sunday, when, invariably we lapse back into a good 48 hours of indulging in that which we sacrificed.  I say girls as I don’t know one male who does this, more’s the pity, as, whilst I’m sure a lot of you out there are thinking ‘What is the point?’, it is a good opportunity for us to examine our lives, habits, diet etc. and figure out what we might miss the most and why, and maybe, just maybe, it might be good for us to do without it for a while and see what happens.  Whilst we do this for holy purposes 😉 , it’s also ace for losing weight before the summer holidays hit.

Over the years, I have done without cakes, desserts, chocolate, white carbohydrates, artificial sweetener (harder than you might think), and dating.  The latter was the most interesting as the minute I gave it up, more attractive, eligible men started to approach me, (cue that old bus analogy, yawn), and of course subsequently disappeared into the ether 40 days later, and I’ve not really got back on track with dating since and have been more or less content without it.

So, as you can see, keeping up this little religious tradition can be quite educational and useful, that said, completely eliminating men from your life may be a mite excessive, I must admit 🙂 .

This year’s sacrifice is going to be a tough one.  I am going to, officially, for 40 days and nights, from abstaining from any form of alcohol.

Just for clarification I am not an alcoholic; I am pretty much a lightweight when it comes to drinking, so it affects me markedly after just one glass which can lead to awkward situations, bad decisions and inadvisable Facebook posts and tweets 😦 so there are benefits to trying this out for size.

The main reason I haven’t given it up before now is that, well….there are various reasons:

  • I absolutely hate going out for dinner and not being able to have wine.  The right wine matched with every course totally enhances the overall experience, and being forced to drink some kind of posh, sugary crap masquerading as an adult beverage spoils it, isn’t worth the calories and quite frankly, leaves me feeling that I should be sitting on a ‘kids’ fold up table instead of with the grown ups.
  • Giving up certain things for Lent can backfire on you; for instance, one year when I gave up all sweets, chocolate and desserts, I actually put weight on as I made up for their absence by eating too many white carbs such as pasta, bread and rice.  What’s the point of that?  Yes, I know I’m meant to sacrifice things in order to suffer for Jesus, but I’m sure he doesn’t want me to turn into the Michelin woman as a result of my devotion and support.  Anyway, anything that encourages gluttony is a sin.  So there.
  • So, as I’ve said, I’m not a caner, but I have to say, there’s nothing fun about being the only sober person in the room whilst everyone else behaves like twats.  Nothing.
  • Having a cold glass of something at the end of the day whilst by the fire watching a good drama, or whilst sat in the garden watching the sun go down is one of life’s greatest pleasures, is relatively low calorie and satisfies something in me that a glass of water doesn’t.  Similarly a mulled wine after a cold walk in the park, a dessert wine if you don’t have pudding, a G&T after a tough day at the office, or a dram of good port with cheese and biscuits.
  • Having a glass of wine when attending a wedding, a formal/work dinner or when meeting new people makes you relax and appear more confident, which for obvious reasons is something I tend to need.

Bloody hell, I didn’t really know of the depth of my love, or need for the odd snifter, maybe I do have a problem after all……notice how I went from ‘I’ to ‘you’?!

That said, the main reason why I am doing this is because of the affect it has on me since taking my current level of medication.  It doesn’t make me feel bad at the time, quite the contrary it makes me feel quite nice, but I have the most bizarre dreams and feel quite stoned of a morning, so I suspect that I’m not doing my body, especially my poor little unloved liver, any favours.

I also think that my alcohol/drug cocktail has kept me somewhat sedated for far too long and if I don’t stop imbibing at least one of these elements, I’m going to end up a reclusive homeless person with a bad habit that I can no longer afford, so action needs to be taken.

The plan is also to take more exercise and improve my diet.  That said I’m not putting too much pressure on myself, but have already taken steps in this direction.  I’m eating less flesh and more plants, less sugar, drinking more water and my yoga is also coming back together nicely so I hope to greet Easter Sunday morn bright eyed, bushy tailed with a nice big Easter egg in one hand, and a Bucks Fizz in the other!

Only joking about the latter.  Honest.

I have three quarters of a bottle of very good Viognier in the fridge which I will slowly, lovingly, reverentially finish off in the form of one glass a night for the next four evenings, then, when Ash Wednesday arrives I will be ready for the off.  Yes I do have other alcohol on the premises, but I will not drink it, I promise.

So there you have it; ‘How to Channel Your Catholic Guilt’ by Sista Sertraline, coming to a store near you soon.  I’ll practically have a halo come Easter if all goes according to plan.

That said all this goodness is going to get very, very boring though, so what can I do/have to take the place of wine, booze, chocolate, cake, i.e. all of these lovely, sensual stimulants?

Hmm, I know what you’re thinking…. perhaps it is time to tackle that, but it certainly won’t be until Valentines Day is done, looking for love/sex in the first two weeks of February smacks of desperation a wee bit too much for my liking and whilst I have my crutches (missus), men have never been one of them.  If anything, resisting them was my fetish.

What’s that I hear? Beautiful singing, a siren song….

Hark!   A harp playing in the background…coming from the kitchen…..a crying, a yearning, a keening……a tinkle of glass against plastic….

I’m coming my darling!  Just let me get a glass…let me pour….

Oh the fragrance, the chill, that cold wet condensation around the bowl….

I cup it gently, momentarily in my palm, then take the delicate stem, so firm and proud in my fingers…..

My precious, let’s cherish our final moments together before love tears us apart.…

it is here I close this entry, as some things are too private to share, even with you.

By the way I’m lying about the milk.  Given all that I’m about to sacrifice, I’m sure that Baby Jesus wouldn’t begrudge me my lovely cuppa everyday, would he?

Now that would be a deal breaker…