Phoenix Fights

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


ANOTHER LIFE LOST TO ‘THE FEAR’ #depression #eupd

What can I say that others have not said before me?

I was so shocked and appalled at the death of the Hollywood great that is Robin Williams.

Like many on here, I have grown up with his TV Shows and movies, and it would particularly gladdened my heart when he appeared on chat shows, as he along with Billy Connelly was raconteur par excellence:

And of course everyone has been going ‘Why, why?’ and some particularly stoopid folk have called him selfish because they can’t understand why such a talented, rich, successful man could end his life in such a way.

Well let me tell you wankers, mental illness along with cancer, AIDs and death is one of those great levellers that cannot be fixed or alleviated by wonga.  Sure you can afford rehab and retreats and get to see the best physicians in their swanky offices, and recline on their velvet covered couches, but at 3am in the morning, when you can’t sleep because something is coming for you, and you are that close to taking an overdose, if only so you can stop running, it doesn’t really matter how expensive your designer jamas are, what the thread count of your bedding is or how presidgeous your postcode/zipcode is, the dark is the dark, and the Fear is the Fear, and there’s no escaping it, no matter who you are.

And that was the thing that really broke my heart.

That he knew the Fear.  My Fear.  ‘Cos it sounded very much like mine, in an interview he did with the Guardian a few years ago about his addictions.

The reporter asked Robin whether it was the death of his friend Christopher Reeve that pushed him over the edge that time:

“No” he replied “it’s more selfish than that.  It’s just literally being afraid.  And you think, oh this will ease the Fear.  And it doesn’t”  What was he afraid of?  “Everything.  It’s just a general, all round argghh.  It’s fearfulness and anxiety”

And I hate it so that it tormented him too.

To the lovely, kind hearted, well intentioned folk out there, please don’t send people like me fucking Fear themed memes or quotes.  We’ve heard ’em all.  Hell, I’ve even sent some myself.  ‘Cos when you feel that bad, none of them mean shit.


I’ve nearly finished my schema therapy book.  I thought it would make me feel better. But it doesn’t. What it does do is explain why my years of therapy haven’t been enough to crack my anger, self hatred and self sabotaging behaviour and that, given the number of schemas I have (nearly a full house, folks! Whoop de doo!) there is no way I can do this by myself.

So I’m really frightened now.

I’m frightened that I don’t get picked for schema therapy.

I’m frightened that whatever I do get won’t work.

I’m frightened that I won’t get any work and lose my home.

I’m frightened that I have to give up my cats.

I’m frightened that mine will be the next name in the obits column in my local paper before the year is out.

I’ve read so many lovely comments about the great man on Facebook today and that meme that tells you not to be ashamed about your mental afflictions was all over the place, so just as an experiment, I posted something that wasn’t exactly a confession, but alluded that I was knew more about it that I had previously let on.


Nary a ‘Like’ or a comment in sight.

You see, that’s the beauty of Facebook. Everything is out there and can be summoned or dismissed with the click of a mouse, so you can pretend that you are tolerant, politically correct and big hearted, but the tiniest sniff of anything or anyone that could affect your world or turn up on your doorstep, then you can ignore it, block them or log out, and get the hell outta there.

So I guess I’ll need to keep pretending that everything between my ears is behaving itself, and with any luck, everyone can pretend they’re non the wiser if I end up following suite and bow out early one day.

Sshh…so just don’t tell on me, OK?







Poem inspired by recent deaths, both in and out of the public eye, and the nature of modern ‘friendship’.


Oh everybody loves you when you’re dead

Those accolades they go straight to your head

Well they would if it were there

Half mine’s splattered on the stair

Oh yes, everybody loves you when you’re dead


Everybody loves you when you’re gone

It helps that you don’t need them to lean on

You don’t lean on anything

When from a ceiling you do swing

In those darkest hours just before the dawn


Oh yes, you are adored when you’re no more

And not a living, frightened, needy bore

‘Oh I wish I’d known the score’

Well you would have, silly whore

If you’d gotten up and answered your front door


Everyone loves a funeral doncha know

It means you get to put on such a show

Of how much love you had

For this person oh so sad

That you hadn’t seen for, oh, 2 years or so?


And you always give good quote

And you’ll don black shades and coat

And you get to show off that new Prada tote….


And naturally the wake you will attend

And meet your buddy’s other lovely friends

And stories you will share

About the times so free from care

Or so it seems to suit you to pretend


So the next time you are needed, my dear friend

Perhaps you’ll help and be there till the end

As believe me, it is true

That one day it might be you

Who seeks that ole Grim Reaper to befriend


Everybody loves you when you’re dead

The eulogies they’d go straight to my head

If I could hear their song

But alas I’m dead and gone

As your words die, like your roses, so blood red





OK, I this is going to be a bit negative.  I KNOW I’m supposed to be trying to change things for the better, but I just have to get this off my chest!

Today, I let yet another friend go.

The way I see it, this person wasn’t really much of a friend, I wasn’t seeing them at all as they’ve been avoiding me like a dose of herpes, so the fact that I gave them a hearty push toward the door marked EXIT was only un-delaying the inevitable as far as I’m concerned.

I’ve lost a lot of friends this way. Some might say I should shut my gob, hang tough and wait for things to change when someone lets me down, but I seem to have a complete and total intolerance for insincerity and bullshit, coupled with a total inability to keep quiet when I encounter it, which doesn’t bode well for any fair-weather, bullshit toting ‘friend’.

In order to tell both sides of the story, I have to inform you that this friend has had a bad time of things of late, BUT even though she’d kept me at arms length long before her stuff hit the fan, I made sure she knew that I was there if she needed me and helped her both emotionally and practically when the going got tough.  In return, both before and after these incidents, I heard nothing from her.  Not even at Christmas or on my birthday.

So today when I contacted her to suggest we meet up, she fobbed me off, offloaded to me on the phone as per usual, and asked me a perfunctory ‘So how are you?’ right towards the end of the ‘conversation’.  When I told her I was up and down as usual, to save her listening to my woes, she started lecturing me about how I was wasting my life.  I told her that it was not my choice to be this way and that I had an illness, but she continued to spray me with her ignorant, arrogant, uninformed volley of verbal effluent, so I quickly brought the call to a close before I lost my temper.

She then proceeded to lecture me via text with regard to my pulling myself together, telling me very helpfully I only have one life, I’m master of my own fate and only I can change things for myself, to do ‘happy’ things, get out into the world, the aforementioned globe was my crustacean, be happy, take each day as it comes, light at the end of the tunnel, blah, blah, cliche, cliche, bullshit, bullshit.

I seethed.  But I managed to hold it together.

Then she made the fatal mistake of following this pile of shite with another text saying ‘I wish I knew how to help’.


So I told her.

I told her that those times I’d contacted her in the last three months inviting her to do stuff with me was me trying to, albeit rather unsuccessfully, get myself out there, but despite her previous assertions of being ‘there for me’, she did not make the time to be by my side.

I told her that I had recently been diagnosed BPD before Christmas and the reason that she didn’t know this is that the one and only time we’d spoken since, I couldn’t get a word in edgeways.  As per usual.  I’m not kidding.  In 2012 when I walked out of my job it took three meet ups for me to inform her of that, as she never shuts the fuck up long enough to let me speak.

I told her that lecturing me is NOT helpful as it frustrates me, especially when she talks such a load of wank, and that her monthly period downer is not in any way comparable to how I feel, even on a good day, as on the depression scale, it is like a mosquito bite compared to being torn apart by a shark.

I then told her that the most helpful thing of all for people with mental health issues is to do what I do for her; which is to LISTEN without comment, judgement or prejudice and to be there.

I then finished by saying that it’s obvious that she doesn’t can’t really cope with/tolerate my friendship right now, so I was going to stop trying to get her to do stuff with me and leave her be.  And maybe, just maybe we’d touch base later on in the year.  But that would be down to her.  Not me.

Right now I feel like I usually feel when I’ve dumped someone.  Satisfied, a bit smug, and full of self righteous indignation. But I know one day I’ll regret it, and will be pleased that I’ve kind of left the door, if not wide open, but slightly ajar.

After all, no one is perfect.


But I’m so fed up of these Paper Doll Pals who call themselves your friend, claim to be accepting and supportive of your condition (mental illness is very ‘right on’ nowadays, doncha know), but will actually do anything to avoid seeing you, and if they absolutely have to, will come mob handed, and talk at you with a jittery, staccato delivery, just in case you utter a word, which could lead to you drowning them with your tears, ranting at them like a maniac, foaming at the mouth and showing them up in front of that cute waiter in Carluccios.

This is particularly galling, as it’s very rare that I offload on anyone, and if I do it’s when I’m in control so the dialogue is conversational, analytical and usually in response to the other person’s questions.  I’ve never dared let anyone see me on my darkest days, cos if they’re like this at the mere awareness of my condition, they’d probably run from the room screaming if they saw me at my worst, buried under my duvet, crusty eyed and gummy mouthed, willing myself to die rather than face the world again.

For anyone reading this who has mental health issues, or is close to someone who has, you know yourself that we aren’t always easy to be around.  We’re not always reliable.  We cancel a lot, to spare you seeing us when we’re sick.  We can be a bit fuzzy depending on our med intake at that time.  But on the plus side, we’re usually witty, creative, intelligent, empathic, have integrity, and if someone is lucky enough to be a real friend to us, well in return, you will not find a more loyal, empathic, supportive pal, even if you try.

We are flesh and blood, body, mind AND spirit, and will be there for you in every capacity we can and will stay strong, even when you yourself cannot.  We will not flutter away, flapping crazily like the Paper Doll Pals of this world when the wind blows a little.  Come rain, sleet, snow or shine, if we are well, we will be there, braced against the wind, face scrunched against the onslaught, because we value your friendship more than anything in the world, because you are rare and all the more precious for that.

Want to know how to be a friend to someone with mental health issues?

Listen on those rare occasions that we want to confide in you.  Hide your embarrassment if you can as that will only make us clam up and feel mortified that we are impacting you this way.   

Be there.  Bodily.  As in, in the same room!  And if you can’t be there bodily, be present in the best way you can. ‘Cos sending a text saying you love someone when you can’t be bothered to drive five minutes down the road to be with them is untruthful and insulting.  Spare us your bullshit purlease, we have enough to deal with, thank you.  Once, many years ago when i was having a killer migraine, my sister knelt beside my bed and held my hand for hours.  Practicality wise, it didn’t help.  Her hand and arm got in the way as I twisted, turned, wept and groaned trying to find comfort and respite.  But her and it’s continual presence reminded me that I wasn’t alone. That someone who cared was there, suffering alongside me.  And I still remember it to this day.

Be normal with us!  You don’t need to gaze moonily into our eyes and ask ‘How are you?’ nodding sadly, squeezing our hand at our response, as personally, I’d likely to throw up, laugh or take the piss out of you mercilessly. Just be the same sarky bitch/jerk/clown you always are in real life as that’s why we love you in the first place.  Plus it will, no doubt help us from going under, so tip toeing around us doesn’t do us any favours.  You being you, enables us to be who we are, at our best.  And we’ll tell you if we’re feeling off, OK?

Don’t preach or make suggestions unless we ask for them. There is nothing rational about mental illness.  We know that going to the gym, doing voluntary work, meeting new people can be beneficial. But for a lot of the time, despite good intentions, we just aren’t able to do the best for ourselves, because a lot of us are afraid, neurotic, paranoid and/or hate ourselves.  if however you’re doing something yourself, offer to drag your nutty pal along with you.  They might just say yes, and you’d be doing them a massive favour.

Be honest.  If you have your own shit to deal with and need time alone, just tell us.  We, if anyone, will understand the most and will give you the space you need until you feel strong enough to deal with our crazy asses again.

Have I missed anything?  Please comment if I have because it’s important that people don’t treat us with kid gloves, or act like they’re in the presence of an unexploded bomb.   We’re still the same old Sista/John/Caroline/Edgar that you know and love, just a bit flawed that’s all.  Like everyone else.  Just more so.

In the meantime, I’m hoping that my therapy will start sooner rather than later, as at this rate, I might as well be on a dessert island, such is my growing isolation. 😦

As for my thin, wispy little friend, I’ll just have to see what happens to our friendship, and will let you know if she returns.

Anyway, you know what they say, don’t you?

If you love someone, let them fuck the hell off until they realise what they’ve lost and come back, with their weedy, scabby tail between their legs.

Well it goes something like that, anyway…. 😉

Namaste x




Christmas wouldn’t be Christmas without me having to get something or other off my chest, so here goes….

After leaving my last job under a cloud/in a blaze of controversy, I did cut contact with a lot of my ex colleagues, especially on Facebook.  Most immediately, but I did reach out to a couple of them, and when I didn’t hear anything back or sensed awkwardness, I immediately retreated and thought no more of it.

Then, this summer I received an email from one girl in New York that I used to deal with quite a lot.

‘Hey!’ she exclaimed, in (mock) outrage, totally out of the blue ‘you de-friended me!’

‘Yes!’ I replied perplexed, ‘that was over a year ago, and I didn’t get a reply to my email, so took it that, you know, after all that went on that you preferred not to stay in touch? Anyway, hi!’

‘Oh it’s no problem!’ she replied cheerfully (I didn’t apologise?) ‘we can just stay in touch via email. But guess what?  Me and Mindy are coming to London for Christmas!’


That’s what this was about.  When previous US contacts/colleagues from Head Office came over to the Smoke ‘on business’, I would provide them with hints/tips/guides on where to go in the capital, so I guess she was after the same.

And that was fine by me.  I had some time on my hands, it wasn’t a big deal so I was happy to oblige as whilst I’ve never actually met Sarah, we did used to have to talk a lot (which is why it was a bit of a slap in the face when she didn’t reply) and had a lot of banter, so I waited for all the questions to arrive.

And arrive they did.

And I provided web site links for what’s on in London, transport info, tipping etiquette, restaurants I could personally recommend, markets to visit, the best way and cheapest way to get around the capital, discount cards, and so on and so forth, i.e. everything anyone could ever need for a few days in London.

But the questions kept on coming.

How far is such and such a restaurant from St Pauls?

Is X museum in walking distance from our hotel?

Where’s a good place to take a 14 year old?

What are you doing for Christmas?

Where’s a good place to spend New Year’s eve?

The latter two it turns out, might have been a bit of a hint, as it was followed by something along the lines of ‘Well if you’re having a party at yours or something, that might be fun!’

This is where I have to emphasise (1) I suffer from depression, (2) my flat is about the size of this girl’s kitchen, (3) she blanked me for ONE YEAR, and (4) I HAVE NEVER MET HER BEFORE IN MY LIFE and get anxious when even close friends stay over, let alone someone who is still in touch with the enemy, so suffice to say, there was no way that was happening.

‘Erm, I’m off to my family for Christmas, and I’ll be going to X venue for NYE.  Not sure if it’s your cuppa cha, or how far it is from your hotel, but if you fancy it, here is the website where you can buy tickets, so maybe I’ll see you there!’

This suggestion was swiftly dismissed, much to both of our relief, I suspect.

Then I hit a bad patch, and soon after was diagnosed with BPD so went to ground for a while.

Well I tried to.

‘Hey!  What time does Liberty open?’

Getting fucking bored of this now.

‘Hey!  Have you ever heard of the internet, speaking to your concierge or doing your own fucking research for a change?!’

OK so I didn’t say that.  But my God, I thought it but held myself back and just emailed a link to Liberty’s website and hoped they’d take the hint.

‘Hey we get in Saturday lunchtime and should be at our hotel by 2pm, do you want to meet us for a drink?’

Nope, it’s CHRISTMAS, and I do happen to have a life outside wiping your arse for you, you ditz!

‘Sorry babe, got something on Saturday but have a fun evening!’

4pm another message arrives.

‘Just had a great lunch, thanks for the recommendation!  Free time this evening, so what do you think we should get up to?’

I don’t know.  A tour of the sewers?  Go a bondage club?  Get your labia pierced at a backstreet tattooists in Shoreditch?  Dress up as a baby and regress in the arms of some old brass pretending to be your mum?  BECAUSE I’M NOT HER!

My God, what do these people want, a fucking personal assistant organising their every move?  Perhaps I should get a cab to their hotel, get housekeeping to let me into their room, drop my knickers, kneel on the floor and stick my bum in the air so they have somewhere to plant their Christmas tree?!


Do Sarah really think I’m her gimp or something, because her presumption that I will keep doing stuff for her is quite frankly beyond arrogant and outrageous?

Then the penny drops; of course she does.

Because when we both worked at Wankers R Us, she was at a much higher level than I and I couldn’t even let out the tiniest of farts without having it approved via her office, so If I wanted to get anything done and earn revenue for our company, I would sometimes have to run it past her office.

And the politics were nasty.  I had to hit target so I had to get stuff approved and go and do deals. But we were kind of in competition so I couldn’t think too big unless I showed them up, as they would either stamp on the concept or steal it for themselves.  Or they’d let me run with it with the minimum of support, then do an amazing job of it afterwards, learning from my ‘stalking horse’ mistakes and making me look a right twat.  Or they’d approve stuff, then change their minds in the flick of an eye, then change it back again if it suited them, whilst in the meantime, I lost sleep, developed eye bags, and juddered with nerves and stress.

So I learned to engage, banter, self deprecate to the point of abuse, and butter them up, appealing to their egos so they’d have some empathy for my position and help me get stuff through, and spent a huge percentage of my working day/evening grovelling, wheedling, pleading and generally  bending over backwards for the sole privilege of being able to do the job they paid me to do.

And all I can do now is marvel at how long I did that to myself, for the sake of having a ‘good job’.

Pure insanity.

And now Sarah seems to think I’ll keep on bending, forwards backwards, and any which way she wants in order to ‘keep her sweet’.

The thing is, I no longer need to ‘keep her sweet’.

In fact, I can safely say i’ll never do a job where I have to ‘keep someone sweet’ to that extent ever again.

And I’m certainly not being her London lackey anymore.

‘Dunno hon, London is your oyster, get online and see what’s on! Anyway it’s Christmas and I’m off out with my friends, so have a fab stay and hope to catch you for a quick drink before you go x’

And I might well go and meet her and her girlfriend, because she was quite fun to talk to.

But it will be on very equal terms.

And she can carry her own fucking bags from now on.

Daily Prompt: I Am a Rock – IT’S MY LIFE


Asking for help is incredibly difficult for me, and always has been.

I did try and ask for help when my brother used to beat me up, but I was either told to hit him back or screamed at for getting into a fight with him in the first place. So I stopped.

When I was being bullied at school, I asked my parents for help; one said ‘You have to learn to fight your own battles’, the other said ‘You have to learn to behave like a lady’. Confusing much? Neither suggestion helped, but both pretty much embedded it into my skull that I was on my own as far as the schoolyard was concerned.

When the dirty old bastard next door used to leer at me, lurking around the dark alley I had go through to get home and asking to see inside my knickers, I didn’t ask for help. What would be the point?  Kids were always wrong, grown ups are always right and I’d probably get a right earful for it if I told my Mum, so I kept schtum.

I never asked for help with my homework. That privilege went to my brother as I was expected to leave school at sixteen, get a ‘nice little job’ in a shop or something until I got married. I’m still shit at making myself study to this day, because, deep down, I don’t believe in myself or that I’m worth educating.

I didn’t ask for help when I split from my first boyfriend. My Mum always thought me too feisty and undeserving to keep C, so she would alway gloat and give me the whole ‘told you so’ lecture when we used to fall out. I don’t think she understood how someone like me got a man that looked like him, which probably tells you a lot about how I came to have such shitty, low self esteem. I don’t think either of my parents ever told me I was beautiful.


I didn’t ask for help from anyone when my Mum was sick with cancer. No one was coping at home, my Dad was apoplectic with rage most of the time and I’d regularly get scolded and humiliated at school for having a creased/dirty uniform, forgetting my homework or not bring the right things for cookery class. It honestly didn’t even occur to me to tell them why and they certainly didn’t ask.

I didn’t ask for help when my Mum’s best friend tried to kiss me in a most inappropriate way when she popped by to visit her in hospital. And she did it when Mum was actually in the room! And when I come to think about it, I had no idea what she was doing, so I couldn’t have been more than 14 and rather repulsively, it was probably my first proper kiss.  If Mum saw, she never said a word. Mary was her best friend, and besides, being the most naive person on the planet and a Catholic to boot, she tended to deny the existence of homosexuality anyway.

I did ask for help from my second boyfriend when my Mum’s death was imminent and I desperately needed someone to be there for me for once in my life. His response?  ‘I don’t think I can come to your house because it will probably be quite depressing.’

Thirty five years on and I’ve never forgotten that moment, and even when he eventually turned up ‘Because my Mum said I should’ the die was cast.


The moment she left this lfe, I turned to a living, breathing human fortress.  For a good twenty years I kept my guard up, kept my own council, let no one in and made sure I survived.
And I coped. Because I had to. Because everything leading to that moment taught me that I could never really rely on anyone other than myself.

It has only been very recently that I allowed myself to let my guard down. And I am usually so pathetically grateful for even the tiniest bit of support, that I’m still making it clear to both myself and others that I neither expect or deserve their help so they end up thinking that they are Mother Teresa or Bob fucking Geldof if they send me the odd text asking how I am.

But, encouraged by some of these small kindness that came my way after my breakdown, I finally asked for proper help from someone.

A friend.

Someone I thought I could trust. That would support me the way I had and I would still support her.

I say ‘proper help’; I actually, in the depths of despair, and in genuine fear that I would die of loneliness, when she asked me if there was anything she could do, I asked that if she hadn’t heard from me for a few days, I’d probably hit the wall mentally and emotionally, and if that happened would she please maybe swing by, pick me up and drag me out to a movie or for a walk in the park or something?


Horrified, exposed, humiliated and furious with myself, I immediately back tracked, saying she didn’t have to do it, I knew she was busy and I was hard to be around when I was like that, etc., etc.

She replied saying that she was sorry for the silence, that of course it wasn’t too much to ask and that she’d be in touch when she got back from her business trip.

You can guess what happened, can’t you?

Not only did she not keep her promise but she’d kept arranging to see me then cancelling last minute, so many times that when it came to a head one weekend when she did it twice in two days, I ended up thinking that I couldn’t who I hated more. Her or myself.

I reeled back wounded, decided to keep her at a distance (not that she noticed) and we gradually lost touch.

Until now.

I’ll see her again in the near future when we meet up with a mutual friend.

I’ll be as warm and chatty as I can.

We’ll update one anohter on each others lives and on the surface of things, build bridges.

But my walls are back up.

She’ll never see the whites of my eyes again.

Though it’s unlikely anyone will again to be fair as even God legs it when I ask for his aid.

I am a rock and the knowledge that this is so is probably the one thing in this world I CAN rely on.

So whilst I’d love to think that one day, I will be able to ask for help and for that request to be fulfilled, in the meantime, I hold strong. And endure.

“My Life”

What I choose to do is of no concern to you and your friends
Where I lay my hat may not be my home, but I will last on my own

‘Cause it’s me, and my life
it’s my life

Oh the world has sat in the palm of my hand not that you’d see
and I’m tired and bored of waiting for you and all those things you never do

‘Cause it’s me, and my life
it’s my life

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  44. Independent Pup… | Haiku By Ku
  45. HELP | dandelionsinwind
  46. Too shy | Life is great
  47. Daily Prompt: I Am a Rock – show us SELF. | masadiso79’s Blog
  48. Help and Contradictions « RPMAS
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  50. Daily Prompt: I am a Rock | a thotful spot
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  59. Daily Post ~ I’m Rocking | Saving Daddy’s Soulmate
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  71. Daily Prompt: I am a rock (why yes, indeed!) | “Music is what feelings sound like.”
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I had a catch up with Aunty C (my counsellor) today, and confided in her about my friends, and that despite my New Years resolution to not cut people out of my life, I seem, without too much effort on my part, to be shedding them like dandruff.

‘Maybe CL is right,’ I said glumly, ‘maybe I do push people away.  Maybe I am the common denominator.’

But Aunty C was adamant that this was not so.

‘Stop focussing on the individuals and look at what is going on as a whole,’ she said emphatically, ‘when people start to make fundamental changes to themselves and in their lives, it can be very unnerving for their friends, and sometimes they can’t and won’t stay the course.’

And she’s right.

In the last year, my behavioural patterns have changed drastically.  

  • Instead of constantly engaging in battles I have learned to choose which are worth fighting, and walk away from the others.  
  • Instead of lashing out at someone when angry, I try to wait until I am calm, say my piece with brevity and integrity, then leave it with them.  
  • Instead of incessantly justifying, reasoning, defending, excusing, counter blaming, I am slowly learning that there is nothing to be gained from such behaviour.  If someone does not, will not see so your perspective on things, you cannot make them, no matter how persuasive your argument, so, for the most part, I no longer try.
  • Instead of being afraid when someone has a tantrum, sulks and/or walks away, I now see it as proof that the process is starting to work, bid them a sad farewell and get back on with my life.

When I stop bemoaning the loss of each ‘man overboard’ I realise that my ship is becoming populated with crew that like and accept me for who I am, bring something new to my life and are bloody good fun to be around.

Granted there are a few stowaways and a couple of ‘seasick’ landlubbers that may or may not want to stay on board, but when I think about it, as things stand, we seem to be sailing in the right direction.

Which is better than how it was before, when I was stuck ‘Pi like’ in a stationery boat going nowhere, in the glare of a relentless sun and having to deal with some very dubious passengers indeed.

Like Pi’s Richard Parker, my inner tigress has survived all of this and doesn’t need to bare her teeth that much nowadays, as I am no longer that skinny, scared, raggedy arsed scrap of humanity who was willing to put up with anything from anyone in order to avoid rocking the boat and ending up alone and isolated.

I have to stress that I will try not to make anyone walk the plank again (unless they are very harmful/destructive), and whilst some people have jumped ship of their own volition, I am potentially open to some of them re-boarding at a later date.  

They just need to be aware that I am the Captain of this Ship, it is now a working vessel and run on an ‘all hands on deck’ policy so I only accept crew. 

Anyone expecting to be treated like a first class passenger on a luxury yacht where everything is done for them will be sorely disappointed.  

They will also need to get themselves a good life jacket as if we end up in the drink and they think they can push me under in order to elevate their own head above water, they seriously have another thing coming.

The biggest ask of all? 

They should be, or want or be willing to try and be happy, as I cannot allow myself to be sucked into the riptide of their misery and drown alongside them as I get swamped by other people’s moods so their unhappiness ends up being my unhappiness too.  I will always do whatever I can to help my friends and strangers when I can, but if that willingness and effort is not there, I cannot save them.  Even if I wanted to.

My favourite crew?  Those who have come to the fore and helped me guide this boat to safer waters, supported me through thick and thin (as I have them), forgiven me my many faults and I am happy and grateful to call them friends.

To all of the people currently gracing my life, I say ‘All aboard! Deck party at 7pm, champagne and seafood on ice as we speak…’ 

To those who choose not to?

‘Safe journey and happy travels. I hope you find the destination you are looking for.’

Namaste x





Push me, pull you

Here we go again

What does it mean

My fair weather friend


I need to 

See you

I’m so far from home

I don’t have time to see you

Leave me the fuck alone!


Push me, pull you

Back and forth again

This really winds me up

This ridiculous game


I need you

Oh friend true

Can we meet for tea?

I’m not well

Can’t you tell?

Stop pressuring me!


Push me, pull you

What the fuck is this

Make up your mind

You demented bitch


I need to

Share with you

Secrets and lies

Don’t expect me to

Be there for you

Or heed your needs or cries!


Push me, pull you

This isn’t about me

You’re the two faced ‘drama llama’

Can’t you see?


I need to 

Be there for you

Good friend that I am

But don’t want the pressure

And don’t really give a damn


Push me, pull you

The tough must now get rough

This tug of war

Is quite a bore

And now I’ve had enough


I need you 

I’m in a stew

Help me if you can

You’re too needy

Don’t be greedy!

Go get yourself a man


Push me, pull you

It’s time for you to go

You’ll miss me more

Than you’ll ever know


I need to

Catch up with you

I have things I need to share



Is there anybody there….