Phoenix Fights

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


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

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

Quick synopsis:

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



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

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

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

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

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

Jeez, I really should get out more….

Namaste x





I have a confession to make.

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

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

Talk about ‘Giddy up Cowboy’….


How disturbing/cringy/embarrassing.

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

Seriously where do you start?

Get a fuck buddy, some might say?


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

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

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

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

Ah, those were the days…

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

Whatcha say?

30/5 UPDATE – It happened AGAIN last night!

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





For anyone who hasn’t read this excellent blog post, I been trying to rise to Kozo’s challenge and test how long I can be around ‘people’ (the JP Sartre variety) and not let them offend me.

Turns out, not very long so far. Everyone is still getting on my tits. I’m just more conscious of it, but i guess that will help in the end.

Hopefully 😉

Not only that, but more interestingly, I seem to be very good at pissing off a hell of a lot of people myself without even trying, so maybe I’m that hellish individual whom everyone else is trying to tolerate for an hour without strangling.

And what’s more? I kind of enjoy it, especially when it comes to arrogant arseholes who think they are better than everyone else, and after my little jaunt yesterday ( this little beauty lodged itself inside my bonce, which was fine by me as it is a lovely song with very clever lyrics.

So to those of you, strangers and ‘friends’ who I irritate because I have the audacity to expect to be treated as an equal and fancy your chances in confronting me about it, I strongly suggest you ‘take a number and wait in line’.

But remember, ‘it’s a long line, it’s a long line’. And guess what? It’s down there, just behind the bins. And there ain’t no chairs, OK?

Alternatively, I’ll give you the option you didn’t give to me, and you can jog on kitty.

Oh, and don’t let the door hit ya, where the good Lord split ya 😉