Phoenix Fights

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


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Until, one winter day, a sly wind blew in from the North…

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Shit is going down.

I wish I could say that I’ve had a normal life, but that would be a lie.

I seem to have a number of lives within this one, always culminating in a big disaster, a cutting off and a move, usually geographical but not always.

In this instance, it is inevitable.  Pending.

As I have to be out of my flat soon, regardless as to whether I buy the multi flawed house I’ve made an offer on.

In a part of the country where there are major problems.

In a tiny village.

On a main-ish road (sorry cats).

With, like I say, some major issues to address.

So instead of facilitating a non 9-5 lifestyle, I would spend the rest of my days doting on this bitch only to keep her from collapsing in a heap.

I could have gotten something modern, brand new even, in a cul de sac with no major outgoings whatsoever.  But that would be too boring.  And too easy.

But I do love the house.  It called to me.  But all depends on whether the sellers will take my reduced offer.

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This has been like playing poker with the Devil and being down to your last chip, as if this all falls through, I’m out of money, energy and time, so in a way it has to work.

Of course I’m afraid. When haven’t I been?!

However, this is a whole new level.

That said I have to have faith that, for once, the trickster is on my side.  In the Tarot, the Devil represents being restricted, held back, usually by a cell of one’s own making, so it’s down to me to finish the game and walk away triumphant.

Plus all the stars are aligned in my horoscope and screaming ‘For God’s sake, get off your ass and take a frigging chance!’, so as with my previous mini incarnations, the universe is making my decision for me and spitting me out and onto the next level.

And I’m relieved.  Because to live a half life in fear and uncertainty for so many years sucks the life out of a body.

London was never really my home.  It’s like a big plush waiting room, perfectly comfortable and accommodating, but no place to settle.

And that manipulative North wind whips up a storm every night, and will continue until I finally leave this place and move on, hopefully to a place I can call home.

Winter, it appears, is coming.

Whether I want it to or not.

Wish me luck.

Namaste x

 


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ZIPWIRE

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So, surprise, surprise, my old mucker FEAR has snuck back in to the crevice created by my tears and made a rather predictable appearance late last night.

Just as I was about to tidy up, turn off the TV and go to bed I realised that I had concertinaed up my body and was frantically biting down hard on my knuckle, every muscle of my body tense with dread and anticipation.

And, coward that I am, I quickly bottled on my resolution, and downed the tab of Sertraline I should have taken that day, waited for it to take effect, then got into bed, curling myself into a tight foetal position.

Then came the dream.

I’m in a hot country with my friend Jon and we happen upon some kind of attraction/activity, and when we get up closer I see that it’s some kind of zip wire contraption running between two little pod like rooms with a walkway that you have to walk over to get from one to the other, a bit like a motorway service station flyover. Below is a steep fall onto crags and rocks, but there is a sign saying that whoever crosses it wins $1M.  I distinctly remember that part as I was trying to figure out what that is in sterling.  There is a duffle bag filled with notes.  No one touches it.

I turn to look at Jon, but he’s a way back staring at me blankly.

It it true?  What are the legalities of it?  Will they really pay out if someone takes up the challenge?

Then I notice that the wire sags flabbily in the middle and that there is no security harness, just two handles to hang onto as you cross, as you dangle over the rocks below.

Everyone just stares at it. 

I’m thinking of how this prize will solve all of my problems.  I’d be able to pay off my mortgage, move to the coast and start again.

Again.

I look around again for Jon, but he’s talking to the others, not paying me any attention.

Then I think ‘Fuck it’ and go to pull the handles to my end via a pulley  and park my stuff next to the duffle bag.  As I do this there is some kind of commotion in the opposite pod as a stocky dark haired man dressed in white arabic robes gets up and peers across at me through the glass of the pod.

Trip trap, trip trap

I don’t like him.

His eyes

He’s creeping me out.

I know I’m not going to do it.

Then I wake up as one of the cats starts chewing my hair, keening for his breakfast.

God I feel shit today.  And piss weak to boot.

Why do bad days always follow good?

Who am I kidding?  Every day is the same, it’s like frigging Groundhog Day with a sarf London twist, and I’m going to go seriously doolally if I don’t get out of here.  Apart from the odd couple of days here and there, I haven’t this friggin’ cell for over a year now, and it’s really getting to me.  My friend has a place by the coast, and even though it’s usually unoccupied, for whatever reason he’s really weird about any of us using it, and I’m too proud to hint or ask him about it anymore.

I need the sea air in my hair, the sun on my body, and a different set of walls to stare at, and my credit card is bouncing around in my bag excitedly.

‘You don’t have the money!’

‘What about your mortgage?’

‘Get a job first!’

‘Don’t do it Sista!’

But I’m in a dangerous mood, fed up of relying on the kindness of others and tired of being afraid.

What is it with me and tightropes?

Oh bollocks to it, what’s the worst that can happen?  You’re a long time dead…