Phoenix Fights

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



No prizes to guess why this particularly ditty is going round and round in my head.

‘Take me out tonight….’

The lyrics are also darkly, comically astute in this instance.

‘Driving in your car
I never never want to go home
Because I haven’t got one

That said ‘I don’t care, I don’t care, I don’t care’ because it’s by the mighty Smiths who can do little wrong as far as I’m concerned, and whilst lots of people take issue with Morrissey, their controversially outspoken, mincy front man, no one can deny their musically prowess and, whilst you may not agree with Mozza on everything, you can’t deny that the man has ethics and isn’t afraid to voice them, acceptable or otherwise, and his quotes are legendary.

Plus he’s an animal lover, which makes him one of the good guys in my book.

There is a surprisingly optimistic line in this song which is, of course, ‘There is a light that never goes out’, and whilst I somehow doubt that it’s a reference to God or anything to do with the afterlife, I could be wrong.

Perhaps it’s all about clinging to that moment (or moments like it) when you’re driving around in a soft top car on a warm summer’s night with someone you love, your wages/student grant burning a hole in your pocket, the air ripe with frivolity and possibility, and shitty old real life is on the back burner, and seems so very far away.

Until of course, the clubs close, your money’s all gone, the air is ripe with the smell of stale beer, spilt blood and fresh vomit, your hangover is just started to kick and and you’re sat on the pavement still off your tits waiting for the night bus to take you home.

That’s the rub. We always have to turn back around and face what’s lying in wait for us.  Even Morrissey knew that, hence he was willing to die just to stay in that moment.

Can’t say I blame him really.

Despite all this, I find this sing-a-long classic strangely optimistic and I guess, like some wise soul told me recently, ‘Just remember, when you’re sat on the (beer soaked) floor, you can’t fall off!’

I just hope that there are no uncovered manholes within crawling distance, that’s all.  Or dog shit come to that.

Enjoy the song x





I did it.

I rang my mortgage lenders, hung my head, and rolled over, then closed my eyes, waiting to be torn to shreds.

Or that’s how it feels at any rate.

And although it was what I was advised to do, and in theory the most sensible course of action, I know in my heart that I have sacrificed my last shred of dignity.

Lost job?  Check.

Claiming benefits?  Check.

Bad credit rating?  Imminent.

The thing is that I rang them in good time so that this wouldn’t happen.

But I am such a naive fool.

Because even though I have no bad debts and have not defaulted on any outstanding payments (yet), now that I’ve alerted them to the fact that I may not be solvent for much longer, they are now on red alert.

It also doesn’t help that I have my mortgage, bank accounts and credit card all with the same people, so I’m guessing that using my plastic is going to be touch and go from now on, and that any overdrafts and/or loans will be totally out of the question.

Not that I need or want debt.

It’s just like having that ‘You can stay with us if you’re desperate’ offer which, as I’ve previously mentioned, has not being reiterated of late.  There is no way I want to stay in anyone else’s home, nor accrue debt if I can possibly avoid it.

it would just be nice to know that these things are in place should the worst come to the worst.

Just in case.

But now the final nail is in the coffin of the person I used to be, the person I thought I was at any rate.

You see, whilst I don’t think i have much to be proud of in my life, one of the few things I have prided myself in over the years is that I have been quite sensible with money.  Apart from the occasional splurge (which tended to be on food/wine as opposed to designer clothing), I paid all bills well in advance of the deadlines, paid my credit card off in full every month, and did everything I could to ensure that I would never end up on the street.

A tough working class upbringing by one parent who lived in the pub/bookies and another who scrimped and saved and who feared this above all else tends to rub off on a kid, and I was determined that her fear would not be my fear, let alone my fate.

Funny how things turn out, hey?

You think you know yourself, or one knows oneself, don’t you, until things gradually fall away.

Your job, your business, your ethics, your social life, your dignity, your pride.

Maybe this is what is meant to happen to me.  Maybe I’m being tested.

On the plus side, there isn’t much else I can lose right now.

Apart from my life.


And right now, I just wouldn’t give a shit.  In fact in some twisted way, I’d love it because I’d be able to just give in, for real, rent out this shit hole, guilt one of my friends into taking in my boys (with visiting/sofa rights of course cos dying would make me shameless), get the old credit card and just party until all my credit has gone and/or the geezer in the black coat arrives with his big knife thing and drags me off to wherever.  Maybe the place where the other sucker with the white robes should have dropped me off in the first place.

Whatcha say big boy?  We got ourselves a date?  Because dragging me ain’t gonna be necessary.

You don’t even have to wait till Halloween, I don’t want to come on too strong but any night works for me.  Hell, you don’t even have to buy me dinner.  I doubt you’d eat much anyway.

Because, for the record, you don’t scare me, you boney bastard, so quit all that grimacing and whoo-ing and get your skinny arse over here and take me out.

Before the next thing happens.   Because I have a horrible feeling that I haven’t even reached bottom yet.

Incidentally someone is so going to get it in the neck for all this one day.  Because my memory, patience and appetite for revenge probably even outstrips yours.

In the meantime, God please help me endure this life and that which is yet to come.

It’s the fucking least that you owe me.



Just a quick line to say thank you for all your messages and offers of support.  

Just because I wasn’t fit to receive them doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate them more than I can say.

Was on very shaky ground there for a day or two, but I managed to get to yoga last night and am tanked up to the eyeballs on Divine Miss S, so am working towards getting my baggy old butt out into the world if only to breathe freshly polluted London air instead of the aroma of drug sweat, tea breath and stale cat farts.

Also I have a big family event to attend next week, and aren’t as selfish (or cowardly as some people would claim) to ruin their big day by not attending or something far worse.  That and the urge to punch the touché éclat off the boat race of a certain Shep Smith, who/whatever that is.

How fucking dare he? What is it with him, Hannity and all those other pompous, brainless right wing pricks being paid to mouth their ignorant, short sighted, stupid opinions for money?  Who watches that shit anyway?

Unlike the song says, my problems haven’t gone, but I am done seeking gurus, spirit guides and signs from above to light my way.  It’s down to me to put my big girl pants on, and get myself out of this shitfight. 

Most of my friends have gone.  They took themselves away, truth be told.  Or did I drive them away? Right now I neither know nor care. 

But it gladdens my heart to see you lot easing down the road, smiling and waving instead of hiding behind lampposts in the hope that I pretend I didn’t see you, and fuck off home. 😉

I’m also here if you need me, but i think you know that anyway.

Special thanks to CD, you little tinker.  Stay in touch!

Big love xxxxxxxx


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





Today, coincidentally, I had an appointment with Aunty C my counsellor so I limped off to hers, still a bit shell shocked by yesterday’s events.

And whilst she poo pooed Dr Grey Fox’s diagnosis a little, I noticed that she didn’t look that surprised.

‘Ah, some practitioners need to pigeonhole people like you in order to process them and get them the right treatment.  Believe me, you could probably make anyone fit the emotionally unstable criteria as we’ve all been hurt by life and behaved, erm, abnormally or irrationally at some stages of our lives’ she said, smiling encouragingly.

‘Ah, C, I appreciate your support, but the criteria fits me like a top of the range Saville Row suit.’


1. Frantic efforts to avoid real or imagined abandonment. – Yup.  HATE rejection and will reject first if I get so much as a sniff of it.

2. A pattern of unstable and intense interpersonal relationships characterised by alternation between extremes of idealization and devaluation. – Check

3. Identity disturbance – markedly and persistently unstable self-image or sense of self. – ‘Oh Yes!’ (said in voice of Churchill)


4. Impulsivity in at least two areas that are potentially self-damaging, e.g. spending, sex, substance abuse, reckless driving or binge-eating. – Yes.  Not so much nowadays, but in the past?  For sure.

5. Recurrent suicidal behaviour, gestures, or threats, or self-mutilating behaviour. – The latter and the desire not to be here

6. Affective instability due to a marked reactivity of mood, e.g. intense episodic dysphoria, irritability or anxiety, which usually lasts for between a few hours and several days. – YES

7. Chronic feelings of emptiness – YES

8. Inappropriate, intense anger, or difficulty controlling anger, e.g. frequent displays of temper, constant anger or recurrent physical fights. – Again, not so much of late, but I used to be a bit of a maniac, and I am on a lot of medication nowadays

9. Transient, stress-related paranoid ideation or severe dissociative symptoms. – Yes


C sighs.  ‘Why are you so keen on labelling yourself?’

‘If it helps move me forward, I’ll have it tattooed on my forehead.’

We laugh, albeit a little sadly.

‘Look, I know I’ve improved and I know some of these symptoms are mainly in the past, but I’ve plateaued, and now I’m stuck.  Frozen.  Still scared to go out and face the big wide world.  And I know you think the ‘good parent’, ‘the inner child’ and all that lot will help me out, but they don’t and I just can’t do it alone.  And if I don’t do something quick, I’m going to be in real trouble financially.’


Aunty C looks sad.

‘I don’t think you appreciate how well you’ve done’

‘I totally do, thanks to you, I’m not going to use the diagnosis as an excuse to write myself off, and I won’t necessarily buy into everything they throw at me, but I know I’m still quite a bit bonkers and think group therapy might be a good “dry run” for interacting and learning to deal with people outside of my comfy safe circle of friends.’

She looks at me with real warmth.

‘You are not bonkers.  You have a beautiful mind.  It’s creative, insightful, caring, lyrical, instinctive, even psychic but you let it wander off to dark places.  It rules you, not the other way around.  Try and catch yourself doing this, make some notes and we’ll talk about it when I see you in the New Year.’

‘OK, I’ll keep that mo fo in check, sho nuff!’ I quip jokingly.

Aunty C grimaces in frustration. ‘See how you talk to the child! The language!  Learn to be more gentle on yourself!’


You’ve probably heard this ‘catching my thoughts’ thing before, so forgive me if i’m going over old ground, but it’s a tricky old ting this ‘beautiful’ mind of mine.  One minute it’s my ever faithful companion, and all ‘Oh it’s Christmas, how lovely!’ then the next it’s trying to creep off somewhere without my noticing.

‘Oh, you’re missing out on so many parties, and no one is missing you…still jobless, still on your own, just as well they don’t want to see you…’

And before I know it, it’s twice the size it was, has grown big, sharp teeth and claws, and has dragged me down some stinking filthy rabbit hole, where it’s all dark, stinking and rotten, and it takes me forever to get out.

‘..and everyone is having a good time without you, but let’s face it, no one would miss you if you weren’t here at all would they, I reckon by next year you’ll be dead and…’

But I’m trying. And hopefully this extra therapy will help.  In the meantime, I’ll just have to adopt the ”Ere, where do you think you’re going?’ approach, implement the use of a choke chain when necessary, and maybe this time next year there’ll be no doubt about who’s in charge anymore.

‘Who’s a beautiful boy then?  But I’m the boss.  And if you ever want a walk again, don’t you ever forget it!’

Whoops.  I forgot.  That’s not a nice way to talk to it.  I’d better modify my tone and try again.

‘OK Mind/Child/Whoever you are, this isn’t somewhere we want to linger is it?  Look at all that mud, poo, and I don’t even want to think what that thing is over there in the corner.  You are loved and liked and will have a lot of fun this Christmas if you put yourself out there and try.  Look there’s a bit of light winking over there, shall we head in that direction, climb out of this hole and go home for a nice hot bath?’

‘OK M/C/WYA, I thought we were doing some business research, so why are we searching eBay for coats/vintage sewing machines/boots/monkey fish mermaids that we cannot at this moment afford?  Let’s close those windows and focus on the job at hand, hmmm?  And then maybe, just maybe we’ll be able to buy this kind of stuff again one day.’

‘OK M/C/WYA, you’re obsessing about things that may not even happen, and if you think more optimistically you’ll have more chance of preventing this hideous glimpse of a possible future.  Focus on the now please, OK?’

‘OK M/C etc, etc, maybe she did betray and deliberately hurt you and maybe she didn’t; fact remains that she only has power over you if you give it to her.  Leave her stew in her own juices and go out for a nice dinner with someone else. She’ll be back, you’ll see her again if and when it suits you, and the balance of power will be a whole lot more even.’

Exhausting all of this Mind monitoring, but hopefully one day in the future it will lie at my feet, trusting and contented, and I won’t have to police it anymore.

Well I can dream, can’t I?

‘There’s my beautiful girl!’






Yes, its me, Ms Tardy for the Party, as per usual.

What I am late for this time?  

Well pretty much everything actually.

Advancing in my yoga, setting up my business, my hideous fledgling novel on ‘na noo na noo’ or whatever they call it (and only three days in too!) and of course, achieving my aims and resolutions for this year.

And only eight weeks to go.

Of course I have realised that my advancement relied and relies on so much more than mere box ticking and that advancements, especially spiritually, have taken place that I never thought possible.

I also finally realised that I’ll never totally beat this condition; it is a part of me that I will always have to manage, make allowances for and nurture myself in it WITHOUT letting my FEAR rule me or allowing myself to hide from the world.

From a financial aspect, 2013 has cost me greatly, as I have not earned anything, not claimed any benefits and have gradually eaten away at my savings, but without this time away from the rat race I might not even be alive, so whilst I am poor I have much to be grateful for.

My main hurdle for the latter part of 2013 is to do those things for myself that only I can do, but for some reason deprive myself out of fear, self loathing, self protection or whatever.

I haven’t done an update for a couple of months and when I tried to today, I realised that I had let a lot slip AGAIN and am sat metaphorically on the school bus feverishly scribbling down my homework.

But I can’t explain how hard it it to motivate myself and get past my terror of ‘I don’t know what’ when I am for the most part all alone, and can get away with hibernating without anyone getting on my case about it.

But I can, must, WILL keep trying.

Tomorrow, tomorrow, I love ya tomorrow…..

I will hold off doing a proper update until the end of the year, when, I hope to have a gleaming school report, resplendent with gold stars!  Or big, splatty inkblots more like….

Thank you for your patience and big love to all xxxx





Yoga and detox don’t much care for anti depressants.  They see them as something toxic to be removed from the body and do everything in their power to do so.

It’s not like they work anymore anyway.

I’m starting to think that they never did in the first place.

My recent brush with suicide happened when I was still taking them.  Then I took double dosage because it alarmed me so.  Then I skipped a day because I was so out of it, and then of course, the nightmares start.

It’s official.

The things you feared, the things you couldn’t bear at that time, the things that caused you to crash and burn never really go away when you hit the meds.

Meds are like pretty, fluffy white clouds that obscure the ominous dark, ones behind them that bloom and swell, rumbling and crackling with electricity.  Just because you can’t see them, doesn’t mean they are not there.

They hover there, waiting patiently for that unguarded moment when you forget to take your pills, and then they swoop down like Dementors and start to suck away at your sanity.

But rather than keeping me on them, this time I’m rather inclined to bite the bullet, and go and see Dr B to talk about coming off them.

Because if I thought I’d done myself a kindness living in stoned limbo for the past two years, I’m sadly mistaken.

True ‘Big Sista S’ did help me stand up for myself and kick my ex employers ass.

True I haven’t had to work for 18 months.

But also true, I’m two years older, unemployed, running out of cash and right back where I started again.

Actually I’m significantly less employable and the market is even tougher so I’m actually worse off for having done it.

On them, I live in the drug fug of whiling my days away, playing scrabble, watching TV and planning my future without taking any real defining steps, bailing as soon as anything looks too challenging.

Without them, I’m a paranoid, angry, fucked up mess that no one would want to employ.

But I have fire and passion in my heart, and I guess however mental and unpalatable I am, at least I’m allowing myself to be me, warts and all.

Either way it’s going to be tough getting out there again.

Dr B will be super pleased about this decision, if cautious.

Aunty C (my counsellor) will have a bloody orgasm. 🙂

I am however going to have to have more counselling and may even do group work as I’ll need more support than ever if I go down this road.

And speaking of which, who knows, maybe my sexuality might make a reappearance but I don’t want to think about that too much right now as it certainly isn’t a priority for me.

In the meantime I’m drinking loads of water as pre Bikram yoga preparation and even if I take my meds or not, I know the nightmares are poised to pounce as my body sluices whatever it can out of it’s system.

I guess I’m just gonna have to bear it.

And maybe buy a baseball bat.

I’ll keep you posted x



Daily Prompt: Mix Tape Masterpiece – NINETY NINE YEARS IS A LONG, LONG TIME….


First of all, thank you Daily Prompt for giving me the impetus to write something as I haven’t been out for about four days and nights, and was seriously thinking about how I could cease to be with the least amount of pain and inconvenience to everyone else until now.

FYI there isn’t a way; I’ve checked.

The sun is shining in Londinium today, and whilst that doesn’t mean shit to me, I’m going to make myself go out.  Partly because I don’t want to let down Aunty C (my wonderful counsellor who interrupted her holiday to call and drag me out of the mire) and partly because I’ve run out of milk, and if I have to stay on this shithouse of a planet, life without a brew would be totally and utterly intolerable.

In a similar way to ‘Steve Says’ (No. 10 on the list below) I’ve utilised one of those music challenge things usually found on My Space and Facebook to list my choices.

This is a version of ‘My Life According to (BAND NAME) where you have to select one of said bands songs from their back catalogue to answer the below questions.  In this instance, I’ve needed to have free rein in order to let you know how I really feel today.

You may find think this sounds like a seriously fucking miserable post, but it won’t entirely piss all over your Sunday Yorkshires as not all of these tracks are ‘Pity Party’ fodder, plus I can guarantee that all of them are TOP NOTCH.

Enjoy.  I’m going to venture outside to get some cow juice. Wish me luck….



Are you a male or female:
I’m a Long Time Woman – Pam Grier

Describe yourself:
Ball of Confusion – Temptations

How do you feel?
Dead from the Waist Down – Catatonia

Describe where you currently live:
Home is Where the Hatred is – Gil Scott-Heron

If you could go anywhere, where would you go?
Another Star – Stevie Wonder

Your favourite form of transportation?
Running Up That Hill – Kate Bush

Your best friend is?
Queen Bitch – Bowie

Your favourite colour is?
Almost Blue – Chet Baker

What’s the weather like?
Smokestack Lightning – Howlin‘ Wolf

Favourite time of day?
In The Wee Small Hours of the Morning – Frank Sinatra

If your life was a TV show, what would it be called?
Highways of my Life – The Isley Brothers

What is life to you?
I Dreamed A Dream – Anne Hathaway

Your relationship?
Alone Again Or – Calexico

Your fear?
Helpless – Kim Weston

What is the best advice you have to give?
Shower the People – James Taylor

If you could change your name, you would change it to:
Talullah – Jamiroquai

Thought for the day?
Hold On – Alabama Shakes

Your soul’s present condition?
Hurt – Johnny Cash

Your motto?
Whatever Gets You Through the Night – John Lennon


That’s all folks….

P.S. My lovely and much appreciated existing followers, there’s no need to sympathise or comment as there’s just nothing you can say or advise, it just IS THE WAY THAT IT IS.  Praying optional though x

Trackbacks & Pingbacks

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Life looks very different from floor level.

A lounging cats eye view, if you will.

I know because I’ve spent much of the last few days lying on it, either flat on my back or curled up in foetal position trying to ameliorate the pain whilst simultaneously, humbly trying to persuade my deeply affronted body to forgive my thoughtless, clumsy, ham fisted self.

On the plus side, I’ve discovered many things lying down here on the carpet.

  • That hard surfaces really are better for the back.
  • Where the lid to my little antique treen pot went.
  • About half a dozen badly mauled tampons that the cats seemingly kidnapped from my make up bag, tortured then inadvertently flicked out of reach.
  • That I really do need to shift the furniture out the way when I vacuum as there is at least three pounds of fur under the TV.
  • That despite what Johnny Mandell might have warbled in the theme tune to M.A.S.H., suicide is definitely NOT painless.

Not if you do it by pills at any rate.

Please note right now that I did NOT try and top myself, so this is this not a ploy for ‘online attention’ or sympathy as some oh so brave anonymous visitor accused me of the other day.

I have made a lot of jokes about mixing meds and combining alcohol with meds for cheap thrills, and don’t deny that I have sometimes disrespected my body that way in the not so distant past, but what happened on Saturday night was entirely accidental.

It was a normal day by my estimation anyway.  

I woke up at a reasonable hour.

Took my medication in the morning, didn’t do much during the day, arranged to go out in the evening but was too late and missed the beginning of the event so went home early, had a small glass of red and went to bed early.

I was conscious all day of feeling a bit hot, heady and out of sorts, but we are currently having a bit of a heatwave here in the capital, so put it down to shock at seeing the actual sun/lack of ventilation/dehydration.

Did that make me drink more water?  Of course not.  Oh foolish, foolish Sista…. 😦

So when I work up in the early hours with a piercing pain above my eyes and under my occipital, I immediately thought MIGRAINE, panicked and fumbled for some over the counter medication in my bedside table drawer.

Something most migraine sufferers would have done. Right? Because anyone in their right mind would avoid one?

Well, let me tell you, all HELL broke loose.

Instead of immediate relief and deep, drug cushioned sleep, within ten/twenty minutes I knew something was seriously wrong, as I felt extremely shaky, nauseous and wanted to be sick.

Confused, I fought the feeling, and stayed in bed, trying to give my body time to absorb the medication and fight the symptoms.

BIG mistake.  My body had other ideas.

Cue the onset of a ten hour migraine/drug/dehydration induced projectile vomiting session so violent that I ended up with ulcers on my throat, accidentally head butted the toilet, and I am still finding dried up bits of puke on the bathroom wall.

The cats, terrified, took refuge on top of the wardrobe in another bedroom and three days later still look alarmed if I even so much as burp. 😦

I couldn’t even hold down sips of water, and at the end I was half frightened it would kill me and half wishing that it would because my fucking head hurt so bad.  Regular migraines are bad enough, there is no escape or refuge from the pain, but believe me, launching yourself repeatedly at the porcelain telephone bellowing for ‘Ralph’ does not fucking help one jot.  On top of this I was bringing up snot and my throat had weird yellow patches on it,  so 24 hours later, when the puking had stopped and I was able to hold down a small glass of milk I timidly took a cold cure capsule, it all kicked off again and I seriously wanted to die.

By the time I was able to get myself to Dr B yesterday, I was a pale, trembling, aching wreck and refused to take off my sunglasses in the surgery.  According to her, I have something called ‘strep throat’, my sinuses are blocked (which would explain the migraine style pain, and I kicked myself into a migraine by (a) taking migraine mediction when I didn’t need it, (b) mixing my meds and (c) drinking red wine on top of it all.

In sum, a recipe for disaster.

Today I am miles better but still in pain.  My back is fucked from not moving much for three days, my throat still hurts, I have a permanent shitty taste in my mouth and if I bend down too quickly, my head pounds and clenches like a mothafucker reminding me not to ever mess with it again, thank you very much.

‘Wasn’t my fault anyway. S’not fair’ my inner child mutters sulkily to herself.


‘Didn’t mean it!’ she whines defensively.

But my Body is merciless, intractable and quite frankly, not in the mood.

‘You’ve take the piss out of me more times than I can remember Child, and this one time it has blown up in your face and you don’t like it’ she says sternly, ‘remember this lesson, especially the next time you even so much as think about taking ‘an early bath’. Because if you think that was bad, do the ‘goodbye cruel world’ bit and this will seem like a walk in the park.’

So if you’ve ever even countenanced the idea of taking an overdose, learn from my experience and don’t do it.  Because the Body does not take kindly to that kind of shit and will punish you for days if you are lucky, or potentially for the rest of your life if you are not, because the damage some prescription drugs can do is irrevocable.

And anyone thinking that you will have a guarenteed peaceful passing and float off with the angels might want to have a read of this lady’s blog post:

So depending on what you take:

  • It might not work
  • You could be in terrible pain for up to 12 hours and/or until one of your major organs fails
  • It could take days to die, during which time you change your mind but no longer have the option to live
  • You get to see your family and loved ones suffer alongside you
  • If you do recover you may never be the same again

So, please learn from this rather stupid, grim experience of mine and don’t do it.

DON’T DO IT anyway, because you know what?  

Even though I’ve wished myself away numerous times and in my darkest times have had a little mooch on t’internet to research the ‘best’ way to conga off this mortal coil, I have more than a sneaking suspicion that, if you go AWOL and turn up at the Pearly Gates, instead of being greeted by a beaming, welcoming St Peter/Buddha/Shiva/Allah, there will be a huge, imposing, border line homicidal bouncer, wearing one of those stupid blue tooth speakers on his bullet head who’ll look you up and down, sneer at your splattered shoes, sweaty hair, red eyes and that little blob of vomit on your chin, and without even checking, tell you ‘You’re not on the guest list’ and send you back.


And not just back to the place and time you were when you kicked it.  Oh no…

I reckon that suicides are not only sent back to earth, they are sent back and made to do the whole bloody thing again from scratch.  So kind of like being given lines or detention at school but a whole lot longer and significantly more tedious/irritating.

Because my belief is that we’re gonna be made to stay and complete this life, learn the lessons we are meant to learn before we can go onto whatever the next stage is.

Because God is a dictatorial, pedantic so and so with quite the, well, God complex.

Oh, and that also goes for wrist slitting, hanging, erotic asphixiation and any other form of ‘knicking off’ (that’s truancy to you posh folk).

And whilst this life wearies me most of the time, and some days I find it quite hard to even get out of bed, let alone fulfill my purpose, let me tell you, there is no way I’m doing this shit a second time over.

No way.

So, stay.

I will if you will 🙂


Altogether now….

‘Rang dang diggedy dang di-dang….’