Phoenix Fights

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




Here we are again.  Another year nearly over.

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

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

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

So what was good about 2014?


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


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

I think I’m getting better at it.


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



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

Ludicrous really.  I’m embarrassed for myself.

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

Great.  Just great.  Another casualty of war. 😦

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


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

Plus I’m still working on my…


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

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


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


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

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

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

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


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


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



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


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

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

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

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

That word again.

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

Such as:

Working as a team with fun people.

Horse riding in the Spanish mountains.

Being around animals.

Getting praise for things I have done.

Being accepted.

Nurturing and being nurtured.

Getting attention from the opposite sex.

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


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

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

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

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

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

Happy 2015!

Love and kisses Sista xxx





….not telling.

As, if I do, I won’t keep doing it, as that’s what tends to happen whenever I resolve to do anything on here. 😦

But it’s good 🙂

In the meantime, enjoy this little yuletide ditty from our furry, feathered and slimy friends xx




I’ve just had my first interview since leaving Wankers Inc last year and it was a veritable joy!

It is for a help line volunteer role rather than paid, and part time, not full time, but to be able to attend one of these things as me and not some shiny, twatty, jumped up marketeered version of myself was a totally revelation.  I even said the ‘F’ word (fuck) and still managed not to be ejected from the building!

This role, should I get it, will be challenging on all levels and probably one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, but there is at least a point to it, and I’ll be helping people,  potentially changing lives, and whilst there is still the tiny outstanding matter of being able to pay the bills, quite frankly I am more than up for it.

The only problem is that I came out so elated, I went to the local TK Max and spent £150 on bargains.


That’s me living on beans for a couple of months…..

Keep your fingers crossed for me, this could be the turning point that I’ve been waiting for. 

Namaste and here’s a little snapshot of my previous working life x





I’ve just go home and I’m buzzing!

My clothes are soaked with sweat, my hair is wrecked, I’ve probably sustained severe whiplash, but I’ve just had the best night ever.

What is the reason for this drastic change in mood?

Alcohol?  Chocolate?  Lottery win?  A nice wank?

None of the above.  I, my friends, have just been to a Ceilidh dance 🙂

If you are a British and of a certain age, you will probably remember doing ‘country dancing’ in the summer with your school, where you were partnered up with some very reluctant, snot gobbling, grubby brat of a boy who didn’t want to dance, wouldn’t hold your hand and would spend most of the time clomping all over your best Clarks’ sandals wishing he was dead, playing footie or at least at home watching Scooby-Doo.

Well it’s different when they grow up to be men, especially if they are Scottish.

They love it!

Plus, unlike other partnered dances, hardly any one shows off , no one gets sniffy if you go wrong (if one person screws up, everyone tends to via the domino effect going down the line), the music is brilliant, people of all ages go and the endomorphic hit is amazing.

So fuck the weather, fuck the fire, fuck my knackered old microwave and fuck my….well, bollocks to my ageing fanny, just give me a bit of the Gay Gordon’s and all is well with the world.

Let’s just hope that my neck forgives me in the morning…. 😉

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Can I ask you a question?

What would you fight for?

When one asks the average person on the street this question, you invariably get the usual cliches; world peace, freedom, their family, kids, independence, the poor, the starving, the weak, to combat prejudice, the needy, equality, religion, God and, of course, L.O.V.E.

Nothing wrong with that.

If however, I ask, what/who have you fought for/with, the list get’s a little more personal; promotion, a pay rise, to be taken seriously, to get child support for your kid/s, for the council to take away your rubbish, your ex partner during divorce proceedings, your parents over numerous issues, to pass your exams, to win the girl/guy, to win custody of your kids/dog/stick insect, to avoid bankruptcy, to clear your name, to dispute parking fines, combat illness, compensation, to protect yourself from that dick who picked a fight with you in a pub, to attain that next step up the corporate ladder, to smash that glass ceiling etc. etc.

This is all reasonable stuff that people fight every day for.

When you have mental health issues, the list is usually a whole lot smaller.

To survive, to keep the roof over your head, to keep as many people in your life as possible, to sleep at night, to stay solvent, to keep from going under, to keep people from knowing your truth, to find a reason to live, to hang onto some threads of your sanity when all around you is alien, hostile and crazy.

In the workplace, when all around me were working hard, learning, breaking down barriers, raising their profile, I was doing my role to the best of my ability (and I did a damn fine job of it all things considered), but when it came to events, departmental away days, and best practice sharing, I also did everything I could to keep my profile low.  I did just enough to get by, but not enough to get noticed in order to ensure that no one would look too closely at me, as whilst everyone one else was going ‘Whoo, hoo!’ about some project/programme/acquisition or other, all I could think was ‘This means nothing to me, and I cannot, for the life of me, bring myself to fucking whoop about it.’ whilst desperately trying to remember key points about whatever the hell it was in case I was asked about it.

When it came to affluence, I could not go for promotion as I would be open to much more scrutiny, so that put paid to that.  I also knew that I would be made to toe the party line, and treat people in a way I didn’t agree with and I wasn’t capable of doing that.

I mean no offence to anyone who work hard in corporate roles, I have friends who are very successful and ambitious, but it was a world where I felt like a total impostor.


When it came to people, I rejected potential partners before they inevitably rejected me, if my family hurt me (not difficult as I am a classic sensitive), I would cut them out of my life rather than fight to keep the relationship and if my friends abandoned me, I let them go, as in my heart, I didn’t blame them for leaving.

All of this might lead you to believe that I am not capable of fighting for anything.

Nothing could be further from the truth.

When I choose to fight, I go in hard, hang in there no matter how tough it gets, use everything in my armoury and will not accept defeat as an option.

This fighting spirit tends to make a show if I’m attacked, mistreated, treated unfairly or feel extremely threatened, so comes from a place of anger and indignance with the sole aim being one of revenge and retribution and hitting back ten times harder than I was hit in the first place.  I was bullied as a kid and once grown, I vowed that I’d never put up with it again.

But when I need it, like when I’m stuck at home, frozen rigid, afraid of the world, the night, the future, it is nowhere to be seen.

I know it’s in me.

I know how powerful it is.

My challenge is to find out how to bring that spirit of battle and harness it in order to strive, thrive and partake fully in this world, without invoking it’s best friends and companions, fury, aggression, punishment and revenge.

Then and only then will I find peace, self acceptance, and that clan of fuckers who look just like me….

I can but hope, anyway!




I nearly didn’t go to my ballroom lesson last night.

As soon as I started making moves to get ready, all the usual buzz killing demons popped by and had their say.

‘You keep on messing up, don’t go and make an arse of yourself’

‘The teacher doesn’t like dancing with you, so you must be a klutz’

‘How many times have you tried dancing and never got beyond average?  You have no focus, quit already!’

‘The men don’t want to dance with you, you’re too old!’

‘You had chilli for lunch, you can’t breathe that in peoples faces, it’s not fair!’

Their voices all come at once (that’s demons for you, no manners….) which disorientates me, then I end up roaming from room to room, trying to get ready, trying to figure out what I went in there for in the first place, and fighting the rising panic within me.

I managed to get out of the door, heart pounding, with seconds to spare, and only just arrived in time for the warm up.

But I am so glad that I went.

I may not be the best, most focussed, most coordinated dancer in the world but when I’m not pressuring myself and allowing myself to enjoy it, it brings out some kind of joy in me that I don’t understand and can’t explain.  In yoga, whilst I understand the principles/concept of chakras, I have yet to find/feel mine, but one things for sure, if they ever do make their presence know, it’s bound to be through some kind of dancing.

Even the discomfort of being in close proximity to men again has turned into nervous jokes and banter, and giggles when we go wrong, which has to be an improvement when compared to ironing board rigidity and resistance.

These are beginners classes that I’m attending too, which means that for much of the lesson I am lumbering around to too slow music, occasionally bumping feet and crashing into others couples, but when it flows, and there is a meeting of synchronised bodies and minds, something bubbles up inside me like champagne and my spirits soar, and all my theories of wanting to buy an abandoned cottage on a remote Scottish island somewhere and live out the rest of my existence with sheep, hens and goats and NO HUMANS go flying out of the window.

And toward the end of the lesson, when we get to do a bit of jive at the right speed, and my previous Ceroc lessons come to the fore, it was like WHOOSH, not only bubbles in my core, but fizzing foam shooting up and through and out of the top of my head BANG at 60 mph like a cork flying through the air on the last bong of New Years Eve.

The comparison from the way I felt less than two days prior to that night was astounding.  In that moment all of my pain was gone.

I know that dancing brings me joy.  How it looks to others is irrelevant.

Enough of the self hatred and self sabotage.

I must keep it up this time.


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No matter how shit/unwell/in pain I am, this track never fails to lift my spirit and make me want to dance.

Which is just as well as I have just booked a course of ballroom lessons starting this week 🙂 eek!

I haven’t danced salsa for years as I got a bit fed up of being covered in sweat/routinely mauled/given whiplash/stepped on to music, but who knows, maybe this chica (I use this term very loosely) will return to that super sticky dance floor one day?

That said I know I will never master that natural lower body isolation that Cuban girls inherit at birth and use to great effect, making the rest of us look like moo cows in heels :-(, oh well you can’t have everything…..