Phoenix Fights

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


3 Comments

BOYS WILL BE BOYS

3186237317_5baa30bee9

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.

bully-web

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?

tumblr_lvvhmqRGtD1qkmmtwo1_500

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….

bagge_daffyduck

….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.

25C60F2A00000578-0-image-a-3_1424207762664

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

Advertisements


6 Comments

DOWN TO ZERO

fox-300

So.

They apologised.

The appointment mix up was entirely their fault and they totally understood why I was upset and why I didn’t attend either session, so I calmed down, accepted it with good grace and went to the next one.

And it was OK despite my embarrassment.  That said I was unable to hide my coldness towards the assistant who fucked up even though I wanted to be more friendly and forgiving.  I still can’t see why she didn’t reply to my texts in a timely fashion, but even I should be able to see that she probably wasn’t trying to be antagonistic or disrespectful.

I say it was OK; I actually find these sessions bone achingly tiring and laborious.  The exercises. The machinations.  The manipulations.  The stupid props and ridiculous cheap felt comfort blankets. The unquestioning trust of the others.

I know that they are trying to help me. But I can’t help but see through it all.

There are revelations, confessions, laughter and even camaraderie.  I just can’t bring myself to feel a part of it.

Shrink No. 2 even tears up sometimes when the others cry because she says she feels our pain.  I try so hard to bite down my suspicion and cynicism, but I watch her watching me, and meet her gaze, unflinchingly dry eyed, as wary and mistrustful as a fox with it’s foot caught in a trap and think ‘It’s all an act.  You’re as transparent as a second rate actor vying for a soap award.  I don’t believe you.  Nice try though.’

I believe that her intentions are good.  I just can’t bear the dishonesty of it all.

Perhaps I’ve been spoiled by the honest one to one relationship I have with Aunty C, my counsellor of seven years.  But I have to acknowledge that despite her respect, tenacity and loving care, there is still something within me that isn’t working properly and I have to go back and work out what it is and how to manage it via a different psychiatric discipline.

Afterwards a group of them congregate in the car park, giggling and bantering, happy and grateful that they got through another painful ninety minutes, and as I try to sneak by, one of them invites me along to go for a coffee with them.

Oh Gawd.

I can’t do it.  I mumble and excuse about needing to walk the session off and head off in the opposite direction.

Fact of the matter is, I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to be friends outside of this group, not just for me, but for any of them really.  We are all damaged individuals, and whilst everyone has been kind, friendly and respectful to one another to date, I doubt if it will always be this way.

the_soothsayer_of_pompeii_by_feliks_grell-d5rt8vi

Familiarity breeds contempt as the old saying goes, and I struggle enough having so many people know my shit, and I predict when the day comes that it all kicks off because one of us is forced to confront really painful feelings and failings that we have to take responsibility for, all those lovely familial feelings will shatter into a million pieces, voices will raise (“I thought you were on MY side!”), the air will fill with accusations and recriminations and the loss and hurt will be all the greater.

I for one, bitter old soothsayer that I am, want to survive as emotionally unscathed as possible, so it’s best that I expect nothing by way of friendship from any of them.

On the property front, nothing is moving, hence on the financial front things are rather desperate and I’m struggling to retain the illusion of stability and solvency.  And whatdaya know, Christmas is on the way!

And still I fall.  Down to the ground, down to the ground.

Ho frigging ho.

But I guess that whilst I’m stuck in this situation (well until I’m evicted anyhoo) I’m local to the hospital and can continue with the treatment.

And right now I’m looking for some work, any work to keep the wolves (bailiffs) from the door, and have no choice but to hope for better things to come.

I can’t even bring myself to think of how I’m going to conclude 2014 on this blog and plan 2015, as the more I plan to triumph over my trials and meet the new year in a blaze of glory, the more the fates remind me that I still have so very far to go, and when Sista plans, God rolls around on his fluffy white cloud and laughs his fucking arse off.

But I hope.  And hope.  And hope.

And whilst I’m at rock bottom in so many ways, I can now look back on my shit fits, re-read my written rants and can see how much I overreact to and blow up over the most trivial of things.  And when I think about how much I have done this for most of my life, especially in the working arena, it makes my face go hot with embarrassment and shame.

Ah the shame.  Is there any end to it?

The only thing I can take from this is that whilst 99% of my life lies in tatters around me, that 1% is awakening, shifting and hopefully flourishing so that I can start from ground zero and build a life worth living for myself.

It just might take years rather than months, that’s all.

Namaste x

https://sistasertraline.wordpress.com/2014/11/04/songs-of-angerfuryrage-1-every-you-every-me-placebo/


18 Comments

SEVERANCE

bullied-alamy

It seems to me that going past the dreaded 50th birthday landmark makes people want to start digging around in their past to find out what has happened to whom, on a far too regular basis.

And if I were to hazard a guess why this phenomenon takes place, I would say that the unfulfilled, regretful and bored empty nesters tend to do this because they want to either compare themselves with their old schoolmates, hook up with some old boyfriend/girlfriend, or simply try and recapture their long lost youth by reminiscing about the old days.

Those of you who know me may have gathered that I’m not a fan of anything or anyone from my past re-emerging into MY present, uninvited.  They’d be about as welcome as one of my forty odd year old stools popping up in the loo, Mr Hanky stylee shouting ‘Howdy ho!  Guess who?’  

Ever the bridge burner, cutter offer and drawer of lines under the past, I like to past lovers/friends/employers to remain in the parallel universe they occupy and stay the hell outta Sistaville.

They have their country, I have mine.

They have their county, I have mine.

They have their borough, I have mine,

They have their street, I have mine.

6a015391e27d2b970b014e8c42dcb0970d-800wi

OK, so I do know that I’m rapidly running out Sista only territory (hence my fondness of pseudonyms), and I don’t have any lifelong friends so I’m pretty lonely hence it might not have been the best life coping strategy to adopt, but it’s a bit late for this old bitch to learn new tricks.

Well, that’s debatable I guess as ‘networking’ <shudders> is something I’m going to need to embrace moving forward according to the dreaded ‘book’, but what I didn’t welcome or accept is an unwelcome blast from the past knocking on my cyber door the other day.

Some woman whose name I’d never heard of tried to ‘friend’ me on Facebook.

I didn’t recognise her face, we didn’t have friends in common, so I was about to reject her and move on, when I noticed that she used to go to the same school as me.

Curious I had a look at her profile with something akin to dread churning in my stomach.  Of course I recognised the Christian name, but this was 40 years ago, so how was I supposed to know if it was her or not?

Then I saw the old 70’s photo of her family that she must have scanned and uploaded, and immediately knew it was Sally B.

The only close friend I had in my childhood.

The very same friend who fucked me off when I started getting bullied and picked on at senior school.

Well she actually picked a fight with me over a necklace but we both knew that she manufactured it as an excuse to break away from me, or only see me when her popular new friends weren’t around.  What she didn’t bank on though was my uncanny ability to totally cut off from people and, if encountering them again in public, being able to look through them as if they were a pane of glass and/or a piece of shit in the street.  And given that I was geeky and she was cool, Sal was very indignant about my coldness, so sent her younger brother out to beat me up, and he kicked the hell out of me.

We had been friends since we were about 6, which is pretty much a lifetime when you are 12 years old, so the break up felt like the end of the world, as it was the ultimate betrayal and indeed full confirmation to me that no one, but NO ONE could be trusted.

Over the years I got my own back.

I got contact lens and bleached my hair.  I became skinny, sexy and cool.  I had a very hot boyfriend.  I hung out with a band.  I moved to London.  I brought home an even hotter boyfriend.  I had expensive clothes.  I went to all the best clubs in London.  I travelled the world.  Well I got beyond Costa del Chipshop which is probably more than she ever did.

And whilst I don’t remember her seeing me in all my punky/new romantic, trendy, hot other half glory, Shitsville was a small town and I’m pretty damn sure she got to hear about it all.   Especially when I turned up to mass one Easter, Siouxie Sue’d up to the eyeballs, in leathers with my hot Italian Catholic BF (his idea, not mine) and stunned the entire congregation.

So fuck her and market stall clothes, her chavvy boyfriend, her lame job and predictable, shitty small town life.

As the years have gone by, whilst I still have some family oop North, I rarely find myself in that neck of the woods, so I pretty much forgot all about her.

Until now.

And before you say it, I KNOW.

We were only kids.  And kids are horrible.

But being a fucked up, BPD, revenge loving bitch, I find to my surprise that I still hate her.  And her horrible family.  Just looking at that photo makes my lip curl with contempt.

And as I scrutinise her profile I see she is friends with a few of the other thuggish bitches that made my life an utter misery all those years ago.  And I smile cruelly to myself at the way they look, the clothes they are wearing, the jobs they are (or mainly are not) doing, and inwardly jeer at their appalling grammar, shit taste in music, middle aged outlook and the fact that yes, they are still living in Shitsville and probably will for the rest of their days.

And I wonder what the fuck she thinks we have to say to one another after all these years.  Does she remember what she did? Is she sorry?  What she couldn’t possibly know is that she was my first ever severance.  And whilst over the years, I could do it with nary a flicker of emotion, as we all know, the first cut is the deepest, and losing the only person on the same wavelength as me at such a tender age was like losing a limb.

Severance Leg

So, to be perfectly honest, whilst I’d like to say I’d rise above it, I don’t know if I’d be able to stop myself from being horrible to her if we did enter into some kind of dialogue.

So much for my Tutu approved Forgiveness course.  Sorry Des 😦  It is pretty apparent to me now, like diet and exercise, I am going to have to work on this deeply challenging skill for the rest of my life, because I hate how this ugly emotion makes me feel inside.

So for now, I think it best to ignore her and move on, as, if I can only look back in anger, it’s best not to look back at all.

‘And so, Sally can wait….’

Sorry…couldn’t resist that…. 😉

Namaste x


12 Comments

THERE’S A DOG IN THE MANGER, WHAT AM I GONNA DO?

mirror teacher

Sigh…

I’m trying really hard to see the positives in people, but, of late, all I seem to encounter are the negatives…

So I have a very close friend, one of the closest, who is also unemployed, but that is where the similarity ends.

She has only been out of the work place for six months, she and her partner are very well off, her partner will support her come what may, she also has both of her parents who would always house/support her if things went drastically wrong, and, after flirting with the idea of escaping the rat race, she wants to be back in the corporate world full time ASAP.

She also doesn’t have any mental health issues hindering her progress whatsoever.

Beth (not her real name) and I have grown closer during this period and have been mutually supportive to date, and I routinely check and edit her job application letters before she sends them off the the relevant company, but what she has been sending me most recently is so half assed effort wise that I feel that she’s getting lazy and needs to learn from what I send her, and not just send me the skeleton of her communication and expect me down load the job ad, check her CV and add all of the flesh for her.

alphabets-skeleton-dancing-768413

So the other night, when I was feeling pretty sick and muzzy anyway, on receiving another aforementioned Mr Bonejangles, I sent him back to put a bit of weight on with a helpful note.

‘Sorry sweetie, feeling a bit shit post migraine, but can you add/amend/clarify a few things, then I can give it a final health check and amend before you send it out?’

In reply I got a rather snotty ‘I am going to rework it and send it in the morning, get better soon.  Regards Bethany’.

O-kee-dokey.

So I dropped her a line the next morning, again offering to give it a final check/edit, and this time she gratefully accepted.

That little outburst did stick in my mind though.  Hey ho, part of the BDP territory to hold grudges close to our hearts, so I tried to put it out of my mind and got on with my day.

Then yesterday, she got in touch because she wanted to offload about a part time job that was kind of offered to her, and then retracted because she’d be working for a new acquaintance who did not want to compromise their friendship.  In fairness, this friend probably knew that Beth wouldn’t stop looking for high status jobs and would leave as soon as something more suitable/lucrative came along.

But the more she talked about it the more I realised that it might be perfect for me.  And call me tactless but I asked her what this woman was like and if she’d be happy to put me forward instead?

At first she asked for me CV to forward onto said lady. Then she kind of prevaricated and said that she felt ‘weird’ going back to her and it became apparent to me that she wasn’t keen on putting me forward, even though I’m in dire financial straights and could, worst case scenario, lose my property.

And I did what I always do in these scenarios.

I pushed and pushed and pushed.

Because it wasn’t about the job anymore.  It was about (probably) my closest friend not wanting me to have something that she couldn’t have, and didn’t really want, which rightly or wrongly, this old cow found rather shocking and hurtful.

In the end, she wouldn’t send on my CV, but mentioned to her friend that she knew someone who was looking for work and if she was interested, to get in touch with me herself.

I both recognised and appreciated the concession, but was still wounded.

p0013

Because if I could have passed on a job to her, even if it was one I wanted and couldn’t have, I would have done it.

In the shake of a lambs tail.

Because that’s what friends do.

‘But that is YOU Sista!  And Beth is Beth!  You have to accept people as they are, not what you want them to be!’ booms the disembodied voice of Aunty C in my ear.

And she’s right.  I must stop judging and challenging what’s left of my friends to live up to my somewhat exacting standards and focus on my own dung instead.

grinch-heart

But I feel my heart harden and shrivel whenever I am let down in this way.

Then, just as i thought we were done, 30 minutes later Beth text me to say that this lady was interested and passed on her email address to me.

And I was relieved.  Because it did cross my mind that she didn’t even speak to her in the first place.

So whilst my heart didn’t exactly go up three sizes that day it did cease to contract and a little fresh blood plumped it back up to normal size.

Which isn’t saying that much.

But I’m trying dear God, I’m trying….

Judge ye not and all that shit…

Namaste xx

 

DEATHWISH 2001

17 Comments

It was a bit of a sad day yesterday.

I’d been experiencing the inevitable guilt fest people like me go through when someone young, vital, and full of love dies.
God alone knows why he takes the ones that want to stay, and keeps those of us that would be thrilled to be beamed up Star Trek style to the great beyond down here.

Yesterday young Stephen Sutton finally died at the heartbreaking age of 19, after a four year battle with cancer, who, before thumbing a lift to the afterlife, raised a staggering £3.2m (and rising as we speak) for the Teenage Cancer Trust by working his way through a 46 item bucket list and being sponsored along the way, after having been told that his cancer had spread and that he didn’t have long to live.

Whilst most people (i.e. me) would have, on diagnosis, sighed pitifully, settled back under the duvet (assuming I ever emerged from it in the first place) and intermittently slept and stared wistfully into space whilst everyone (I don’t know ‘Who?’ OK? Just go with this willya?!) ran around doing shit for me.

I might have stretched myself a little by planning an Ealing Comedy style will/inheritance challenge scenario to torment my family after my demise, pitting them against one another whilst alive by way of pre match training. 🙂

But that would be it.

Not this kid. He was a fucking whirlwind and did not waste one second of his life.  He grabbed it by the throat and made it work for him and for those in his position, and had a blast doing it.  Did being in pain, sick, nauseous or weak get in his way?

Not for one single moment.

He even completed his exams and got A*s aplenty in the process.

And whilst he’s been doing this?

h3BAAB941

I’ve been vegetating away at home doing squat for pretty much two years.

Oh the shame…

I and others with mental health issues have no doubt wished for death at least a couple of thousand times in our lifetimes; and it still happens.  I do try not to because (a) it doesn’t work, (b) it’s an affront to people who are dying and very much want to live, and (c) unless I am woman enough to crash the party and boogie along to the mortal coil shuffle, it ain’t happening.

I did it again yesterday though.  One more time.

As I’d have given anything to take this kid’s place.

Not for me. But for him.  Because for less than 2o years, the world was a better place with him in it.

And my heart aches for his mother and loved ones.

If you are trying to guilt me into taking an active part in life God, it’s starting to get to me, y’hear!

I had to go to the dentists today and be fitted with some god awful medieval oral contraption in order to stop me gnashing my remaining teeth to chalk.  Mincy (https://sistasertraline.wordpress.com/2014/04/24/rubberneckers-of-the-world-unite/) went to great pains to be nice to me again, bless him, and I feel vile for judging him before.  Anyway it was hardly a barrel of laughs but at least it got me out of the house.

Afterwards I must have walked for miles and miles. Rain was forecast and I didn’t have a brolly, but whilst the dark clouds were never far away, I didn’t get wet.  And as I walked I tried for once to see the good stuff and be thankful and mindful.

The sun on my pallid little phis.  The breeze in my hair.  The soundness and solidity of my body.

My back didn’t ache.  My head didn’t hurt.

I wasn’t the person over the road being screamed at by his scary, chavvy partner.

A toothless, snot nosed little cherub beamed at me as I walked past.

I got a cheeky wink from a huge roofer as I passed under some scaffolding (what is it with me and big, dirty geezers?!).

My freshly washed cotton trainer socks were not rolling up and chafing my heels like they usually do.

The way my stomach relaxed as a long, luxurious, silent-but-deadly fart exited my body as I passed a gang of surly looking school kids <Man!  You is rank!>.

And my fully functioning, almost full , hot water bottle of a bladder, insistently reminding me to stop for a loo break already.

Nothing is perfect.

At least I didn’t wet myself.

And I am here.

An animated, corporeal lump of meat, bones and blood perambulating along the street.

Alive.

And for once? Bordering on grateful.  Or at least trying to be.

I catch a late lunch and sit in the late Spring sun, nursing a latte, pondering my next move, and when I think about the last year, some things have changed, and I am better than I was.  Aunty  C would be thrilled to hear me say that as she is very pro my recognising what she sees as my triumphs.

I am less angry and aggressive.

I get out and about a bit more.

I earned some money.

I am learning to live with loneliness.

I am learning to forgive.  Properly.

But I can’t carry waiting for something to happen all the time as the days of my life whizz past.

In health, I give others good advice. Everyone says so.

In fact I’d go so far to say that I give really good advice. Everyone use to come to me for it.

But it’s that age old thing, innit.  Physician heel thyself and all that. But maybe it’s time I tried.

Time to book an appointment with…me.

Yes, I’ve finally lost it.

I hope that God has put meat on your bones and colour in your cheeks, young Stephen, and that you get to keep on partying hard in the afterlife, along with some well earned rest.

Do me a favour though, and give the Man Upstairs my best won’t you?

I just want to make sure He hasn’t forgotten to put my name on the guest list.

Lots of love

xxx

 

 


11 Comments

EXCUSE ME?!

Image

GGGGRRRRRR!

This forgiveness malarky is not very easy at all….

Today is Day 3 and I had to write a list of people that I want to forgive, and that list, I have to tell you, is quite a long one…

As for the list of people that I wanted to forgive me?

Just the one.

And that’s debatable.

Because I rarely do anything that wrong or that wasn’t deserved in the first place. 😉

Then I had to choose one person from the first list that wasn’t too traumatic to address and eventually forgive, but by the same token wasn’t too easy either.

A 5 or a 6 out of 10 as it were.

So I choose someone whom I believe that used my vulnerability to her own selfish ends and tried to punish me when I no longer danced to her tune.

The trouble is though, within a matter of hours, someone else’s rating has shot up and I’m going to have to address him one way or t’other.

Because, I’ve just discovered, not only did this person judge me, influenced another person against me and screwed me over, but used something I gave him to benefit his position, and had no qualms about sharing this information with me today.

Image

Oh dear.

Now my inner Malvo is whispering “He. Is. Screwed. He made a choice and now there’s a consequence. You? You’re the consequence.  Here there be one very pissed off dragon, and someone need a roasting…”

I’m seething.

So much for a successful day three. 😦

I SO want REVENGE.

The thing is, if you knew what this infringement was, you probably wouldn’t think it was a big deal.  And on it’s own, it’s not.  It’s just the last straw as it were.  To screw someone over and then to casually throw into the conversation the fact that you used something you gave them to benefit their position was just a large pinch of Malvern salt scrubbed into a not yet healed wound with a nice, big, scratchy granite pestle.

Image

I mean, someone has to pay here!

Right? 😦

To think I was whinging on the other day about not having any weapons; right now I don’t need one.  I could decapitate him with my teeth if need be.  The fact that he’s still in the same county amazes me, but to be fair, he didn’t know the ‘old’ Sista otherwise he’d be getting emergency plastic surgery as we speak just so’s I didn’t get my hands on him.

Dessie Tutu, I don’t want to forgive this asshole!  I want to annihilate him!

Sllooowwwwlly…

God, there has to be some state between feeble/weak/pathetic and homicidal rage, because if there isn’t I don’t think I can do this anymore without picking a side, and right now, rage is most likely to get my vote…

But I went for a walk, pounded the shit out of some bread dough, then pondered on that old adage about the very best kind of revenge…

Image

🙂

Also:

Image

Let’s make it clear, whilst this person and I are no longer close, and he isn’t going to feature heavily in my life moving forward, there’s no benefit in slapping him down over this and he’s still going to be around, so…I’ll let it slide this time.  Water off a duck’s wotsit.  If he’s learned something from me and used it to get more business, good for him!  He clearly has no ideas or imagination of his own.

He also has to deal with me beating his performance at every turn moving forward.

So I forgive you Wanker.  That said, you clearly have no moral compass and I’ll bear that in mind in future.

And I’ll never share anything with you ever again.

So you’ll just have to find shit of your own volition in future.

But let’s face it.

It won’t ever be as good as mine 😉

Today, I forgave someone.  🙂

OK I’m hardly Matty Gandhi here, but heaven knows I’m trying…

And God, as we know, loves a trier!!

Namaste xx


6 Comments

FORGIVE (WITH) ME!

 

Image

Today I planned to meet up with a couple of people whom I believe screwed me over, and naturally I was apprehensive about the encounter.

Why, you might wonder, was I meeting them in the first place?

I was meeting them because I have this habit of permanently falling out with friends over intentional or unintentional infractions of the friendship and consequently don’t have many left, so I have to learn how to handle people better and forgive and accept their failings as they probably accept mine.

I’m not very good at forgiveness, you see.

‘You have to be mindful of who you let see your ‘child’!’ my counsellor Aunty C urges, ‘some friends can be trusted to this end, but you can’t be super close to everyone!  You have to protect yourself whilst figuring people out!’

She’s right. I’m not much for casual friends.  And If I meet a ‘kindred spirit’ I tend to spill my guts, show my vulnerability and then when they can’t resist the temptation of fucking me over and/or letting me down, I furiously see them off with my (metaphorical) sawn off shotgun complete with a 20 ft flame thrower attachment.  And they, understandably, run.  Never to be seen again.

You would think that someone in my position would do everything they could to hang onto friends wouldn’t you?

During my therapy prep session with the Perkies earlier this week https://sistasertraline.wordpress.com/2014/04/29/holy-moses/, I was asked a series of questions about whether I was (a) terrified of being left by men/family/friends, (b) whether I ever begged them to say, and (c) whether I ever used emotional blackmail on them to make them stay.

I believe my answer them was something along the lines of ‘I’d rather cut my tits off and hang them on a barbed wire fence.’

That caused a bit of pinkcheekitis I can tell you.  Bless! 😉

It was then that I started to think that I might not be BPD after all.

Then I remembered.  I did used to do those things when I was young, green and vulnerable with no confidence in myself whatsoever.  Then my mum died and, in my fury and outrage, I turned to stone.  Then when anyone messed me around or let me down (especially men), I wouldn’t cling to them.  I dumped them so hard their ears bled.  I essentially despatched them before they got chance to despatch me.  Even if they never intended to in the first place.

I was one cold bitch.  And I loved it.  I gloried in my intractability, my formidable reputation, my ability to show no fear, and my merciless resolve to never, ever forgive them for what they had done.

I felt STRONG.  I was respected.  No one dared cross me.

Image

And decades later, when I finally unravelled, my so called armour collapsed like a wet cardboard box, leaving little peeled prawn me quivering and trembling alone in the barren landscape of my reality wondering how the hell I was going to protect myself now.

I’m starting to realise that I had it all wrong.  As in keeping out anyone who let me down, I also kept out not only their potential goodness, but the good people who could have had a positive, supportive role in my life, because, from a love perspective, I am essentially alone now.

And without being cringy, corny or a God botherer, it’s only since I’ve been using my beads and praying that I’ve seen any kind of positive shift in my life.

When I had a rather intimidating family get together the other week, I prayed for help in getting through it, to not deliberately sabotage it by make things awkward no matter how annoying they were, to not take offence at any tactless/dumb/hurtful thing that might inadvertently be said, and to let them in, if only for that day.

And I survived it.  They thought it was a great success.  I was exhausted, but exultant and relieved it was over.

My pow wow with the Perkies?  I prayed to be patient, trusting and to remember that they were, and are, trying to help me.  It’s not their fault that they are young, lovely and normal!  And apart from one or two awkward moments it was fine.

Image

Today was going to be hard though.  Because those naughty Mind Monkeys were at it again, telling me that Friend 1 was the instigator and was now shitting himself because I might drop him in it with Friend 2, so perhaps I should do just that, hmm?  Serves him right hey!  And they reminded me that Friend 2 was nervous after getting a chilly reception from me last time our paths crossed, and wouldn’t it be a good laugh to keep her on tenterhooks all day by way of punishment? After all, she complicit too, so deserved to be jerked around.

It’s hard to resist those prankish primates with their mischievous, amusing, destructive ideas.  They kept tempting me with sharp, witty, faux innocent one liners to smack my friends down with, reminding me of their weaknesses and that I should punish them so that by the end of the day, they’d know that they’d been Tangoed per se.

Boom!

Actually no.  If I went down that route, no one would be speaking to anyone by lunchtime, so whilst I was sorely tempted to exact a little revenge, I asked for help in keeping calm, not being cruel, getting over what had gone before and, without putting my ‘child’ in danger to let myself be softer and to try to see the good inside them.  And, if possible, to forgive them.

And apart from one teensy weensy bitch slap (Look, it was more of a pat than a slap, OK?!) which only happened because someone decided it was a good idea to resurrect a point of contention, it went fine.  I was a bit stiff and uncomfortable at first, but by the end of the day everyone was happy, relieved and it was evident that we had finally put the entire matter behind us.

I think I’m over it.  And it might not sound like a big deal to a normal, balanced, non BPD person, but for me it really is.

Getting over shit and not holding onto anger, bitterness and the desire for revenge seems to be at the heart of my potential recovery.

Then I saw this on today’s Reader Feed.

http://forgivenesschallenge.com

Timely, no?

I don’t know what this consists of, how it’s going to work or whether it will be useful, but I’ve decided to give it a go, as God knows I need all the help I can get.

Image

That said, I’ve just played the first video and if I was a cartoon I’d have a huge question mark above my head right now.

You’ll know what I mean when you watch it. 🙂

Strange days indeed, as I’ve said more than once of late…

If you too have an issue with forgiveness and feel ‘stuck’ because of it, drop your weapon of choice and join me.

Image

Not for the wankers who’ve hurt you, but for you and your well being.

Because you’re worth it (flicks hair Cheryl stylee).

Namaste xx