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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2016 – The Year Of ? (Make Plans, God Laughs)


Is it that time again already?

Yes folks, it’s the start of yet another 365 days on planet earth and I’m still here.

The good news is I’m nearly 24 hours into it and nothing horrible or stupid or disastrous has happened yet ūüôā

That said I have been wrapped up in a Christmas/New Year comfort blanket where normal people take a break from their jobs over the holiday so I am forced to put all the stressful shit on hold until they are back in the office on Monday. ¬†Not that I haven’t taken full advantage and put everything gratefully on the back burner, but I am more than aware of the rather urgent pending challenges that await me this month. ¬†On Monday to be precise.

But, so far, 2016 has been OK! ¬†Only another 8736 hours or so to get through ¬†ūüė¶

This year, dear readers (if I still have any) you will find me an older, sadder and wiser Sista and therefore I’m not going to be giving 2016 a name, positive motivational¬†theme, or even to go through specific resolutions.

It’s not that I don’t have any; it’s just that my lofty aims and ambitions can so easily fall to the ground and shatter into a million pieces. ¬†And then I read back my previous posts and feel like a total arse, hence my long periods of absence on here in 2015.

Another reason is that not a lot has changed in the last year. ¬†I’m still not working full time. ¬†I’m not fit. ¬†I’m older and fatter. ¬†I’ve left my group therapy.

And I’m more frightened than ever.

But I think I’m softer, kinder, less abrasive, I’m taking less medication and, like I said in my last post, changes are afoot whether I like it or not. ¬†The Universe has ran out of patience with me, and as on previous occasions is winkling me out of my hidey hole an propelling me bodily out into the great unknown.

This, my friends, will happen in some way shape or form, so I have no need of a specific resolution. ¬†I have to pull down my oxygen mask, assume the crash position, and kiss my ass goodbye just in case I¬†don’t¬†survive the¬†landing.

Getting past this stage is the only resolution I can deal with right now, such is it’s magnitude, stress inducing propensity and urgency.


Once I’ve done that it’s more about setting up a new life for myself and not, I repeat, not hiding away in my little¬†cottage and getting pelted with rotten fruit by the village children who proclaim me resident witch.

Which is massive, as I managed to be a recluse for most of 2015 in London, so the temptation to tuck myself away and fester will be enormous.

Enter Aunty C (my counsellor and literally my life saver) who promises to manage me from the 200 odd mile distance and pep talk me over Skype for as long as I need her.

Leaving the few friends I have is a terrifying prospect, but my gut tells me that my London days are over and my future lies elsewhere, so it will be interesting to see where and how I am doing in 12 months time. ¬†If I was going to theme 2016 I would hazard a guess that the word ‘Changes’ would be most relevant.

But, I reiterate, I make no resolutions or promises this time. I’ve let both you lot and myself down too many times for that.

In the meantime I wish you all an amazing 2016 and hope that it’s a good one.

Namaste bitches

SS x






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. ūüė¶

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! ūüôā

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




My life continues to get stranger and stranger; I hardly know my arse from my elbow¬†as I wake up of a morning, not only not knowing who I am, but who I’m meant to be that day.

Yesterday I¬†‘played dress up’ again¬†so adopted a completely new persona, and¬†today¬†I had to answer¬†yet another barrage of endless, annoying,¬†personally intrusive¬†questions from the lovely young Perkies (Looney Police) as prep for my therapy, blah, blah, bleugh.


‘How has your mood been in the last 3 months on a scale of 1-10?’

My answer?

‘Like the weather. ¬†Variable, but generally dank, grey and grim. ¬†NEXT!’

‘But how would you rate it on a scale from 1-10?’ she asks again helpfully, just in case I don’t get it, ¬†‘No? ¬†Erm, OK…’

‘Have your sexual leanings changed/altered in the last 3 months?’

‘I don’t have any, I’m more or less dead between the legs,¬†remember?!

Did I imagine those previous three and a half hours of interrogation the other week or has Perky 1 forgotten them?

Perky 2 shuffles uncomfortably somewhere to my right.

‘Do you have any negative interactions in your day to day life?’

‘Well me and my cats get on fine, for the most part. ¬†It’s humans I have a problem with, but¬†I’m not¬†working so I don’t see many people to¬†interact with.’

‘I know, I know…’

Well why are you asking me then?

Poor Perky 1. ¬†She’s only doing her job. ¬†Stop being a cow Sista, she probably has to ask the stupid things¬†verbatim.

But the final question was a doozie:

‘Are you happy in your life right now?’


I didn’t bother to put anything into words, as it was evident that my expression said it all. ¬†That¬†and the previous 5 hours plus worth of answers I’d given her.

I swear to God, if things continue this way I’m going to have to drug myself to the eyeballs or I just know I’ll get very scathing and sarcastic as the weeks go by.

Doesn’t anyone in this area of medicine have any emotionally intelligence for fucks sake? ¬†Also someone should explain to them¬†that there are no black and white answers when it comes to the human psyche? ¬†And how does working out your ‘average’ mood help anyone? ¬†Is there any such thing when you can yoyo from suicidal to joyous, because then the average would be normal, something that does honestly not apply to me?

I¬†know that this is the NHS and they can’t give me personal 1-1 treatment but at least vet/omit the fucking questions if you already have answers for them.

And I’m putting my future health in the hands of these numpties?

This is all very reminiscent of those ghastly CBT sessions I have when I first crashed and burned, and I feel like I’ve been deceived as I was led to believe that this kind of treatment would be very different.

And please excuse my frankness but it’s not my cuppa char.

Holy Moses, I’ll need to pray extra hard and ask for patience if I intend to last the course with this shit.

And on top of all of this, my neck and back are fucked and hurt like crazy.

One day at a time, one day at a time…

In the meantime, what were the good things that happened today?

  • Unlike many, I didn’t have to face commuting in the tube strike ūüôā
  • It didn’t rain on me when I walked for 90 minutes to the hospital
  • I made a cracking loaf of bread for breakfast
  • I had lovely supportive comments on here when I logged on
  • There’s less than three hours of Tuesday 29th April to go

Namaste x





If you really love someone, you want the very best for them.


I’m starting to realise why staying off Facefuck was no real hardship whatsoever.

Today is not a good day. ¬†My neck is stiff. ¬†I’m bloated. ¬†Everything has gone quiet on the work front. ¬†I’ve just paid a humungous bill and am very worried about money.

And someone who once was a close friend of mine is getting married next month.

I used to be her confidante in another life, and she, to a certain degree was mine. ¬†But Beth, like many others (and let’s face it, like me), thought that my illness would magically disappear the minute I left the corporate world, and when she for the first time saw me, not even at my worse, but not a well bunny, she essentially bailed on me.

At the time, that hurt a lot. ¬†And whilst she laid low for a long time after, I no doubt communicated my anger and disappointment to her telepathically, lest she think I didn’t mind.


i can do that y’know. ¬†I know! ¬†It’s a gift… ūüėČ

In the year or so that has passed, we have made a number of half assed attempts to meet up, me being reluctant to see her because I was afraid of losing it with her, and she no doubt anticipated this, because each and every time she organised something, she cancelled on me, and each and every time was a sharp, rusty spur in my already severely lacerated heart.


I’m not angry with her anymore though, and in many ways I don’t blame her. ¬†We have always been frank and intimate in our conversations in the past, and it would be hard, insurmountable even, to have to default to small talk as a means to avoiding the massive, cranky, marauding elephant that would plonk it’s arse down between us and trumpet deafeningly in our ears:

“Well? ¬†Are you gonna talk about it? ¬†You can’t not, can you?!”

“She,”¬†it would say, pointing it’s trunk at Bethanny, “pretty much abandoned you, just when you needed her most. ¬†You asked for the tiniest thing and she bolted like Sea Biscuit on speed in the opposite direction…aren’t you pissed off about that?”

“…and she”, turning on me now, the buck toothed bastard, “is even madder than you, is¬†a total embarrassment and anyone hanging out with her will be found guilty by association, so no wonder you legged it!”


Ordinarily I would have no problem with¬†pointing out the intrusive, fat fucker and discussing it till the cows come home, but the stumbling block would be that I strongly sense that Beth wouldn’t.

I think she feels bad¬†for what she did or rather didn’t do, remembers the formidable, accusary Sista that would want to cut through that steaming pile of jumboshit¬†and have it out with her. ¬†This would be something that she would not be prepared to endure and therefore the least painful/intimidating option¬†was probably¬†to slate me to all our acquaintances¬†for not being right in the head, going to ground and¬†use that as a reason that we no longer see one another.

And, given that she is lovely, popular and ‘normal’ (and that I’m not in touch with any of them) they¬†will have believed¬†her.

So we stay estranged.

And never the twain shall meet. ¬†And as sad as I am about that, I’m no longer angry and have left her be. ¬† That said, I do wonder if she messes me around in order to get my attention.

Maybe she’s angry with me for not trying harder. ¬†But I’ve had bigger sharks to fry.

But it’s not only Beth’s recent status that has upset me. ¬†Or the bling on her finger. ¬†Or the million and one friends (my ex friends included) that love her and are cooing and whooping at her glad tidings as we speak.

Indeed I was one of them myself.

It’s bearing witness to the hundreds, nay thousands of them and others that are living happy, successful, selfie/’like’/friend filled lives without me, as being able to witness their triumphs only serves to highlight the pointlessness of my own miserable existence.

Of course, intellectually I know that not everyone’s live is as peachy as they would have you believe on Facebook. ¬†But when I’m having an off day like this, it all sound seriously idyllic and convincing to me.

And in my heart I’m truly happy that things are going well for her, and she has outgrown her self destructive tendencies and proclivity for colossally arrogant,¬†misogynistic, self serving¬†arseholes and has found a nice guy to spend her life with. ¬†He looks like an absolute sweetheart. ¬†I’m just sad that we’re such different people now, and that we’ve clearly outgrown one another.

And pretty soon, our weary old¬†elephant will get up, fart in disgust, swish it’s weedy little tail and slowly walk away.

For the record, I’m glad I’ve changed, painful though the road has been.

I do miss Beth though.

Just not as much as I miss the positive, self righteous force that was my anger.

Sadness is so much harder to bear.

Namaste x






This time last week I felt¬†like I’ve been put though a mangle, after two, very different, but equally demanding, challenging, potentially exposing days liaising with strangers.

The first was being interviewed by two very bright, eager, shiny faced young medical students/researchers at my local mental health facility in preparation for my (pending) therapy this Autumn.

This took over three and a half hours in a windowless, airless room, not counting two visits to the lavvy and one five minute tea break.

The lack of breaks wasn’t down to them. ¬†It was down to me. ¬†Much like yanking a large, well established sticking plaster of an unwaxed, hirsute¬†front bottom, I¬†wanted it over and done with as quickly and painlessly as possible.

God, it was bloody.

Not because they were unkind, cold or clinical.

It was because they weren’t.

They were intent on making me comfortable with the process, and tried so hard to say the right things (urrgghhh!) that it just made it worse.  And the more they sensed my discomfort, the harder they tried.

Bless their hearts, but it was excruciating.


They were so frigging wholesome, so untarnished, so eager to please, so evidently loved that every time I told them something that they could never, ever relate to, their faces would pucker with confusion, compassion and pity, before hurriedly dipping their heads into their respective notebooks to frantically scribble down their observations, and I just wanted to die from mortification and embarrassment.

We were like chalk and cheese, oil and water [insert favourite cliche] etc. ¬†The times that they tried to be jolly and smiley,¬†I couldn’t force it or¬†pretend to be, and when I occasionally spat out a wry but hopefully witty¬†comment, it either went over their heads or they were too nervous to laugh in case they misread my intent, so¬†instead of bonding, all I could feel was the vast chasm expanding between us.

I felt old, corrupt, soiled and a complete and total failure. These girls were young enough to be my kids and I was the helpless one?

I honestly cannot describe the shame.

And as I left that soulless hospital ward and emerged out into the bright sunlight that I finally realised what I had committed to.

2-3 YEARS of this?!  How will I bear it?

That said, I was grateful for my exhaustion as I had a very early start the next day and wanted to get a good night’s rest.


But whilst I did manage to get to bed early and nod off, nothing could prepare me for getting up at sparrow’s fart, aka before dawn.

On the plus side, I didn’t have to give much of a shit about what I looked like. ¬†What a joy that was! ¬†Up, shower, dressed and out of the door.

Good job I wasn’t being hired for my looks. ¬†Or my personality really.


As, in complete contrast from the day before, I was essentially just a warm body to the people who employed me that day.  An anonymous drone.  Part of a rentacrowd.  I was totally insignificant to them and they neither wanted nor needed to know fuck all about me.

But it wasn’t dehumanising or horrible.

It was a massive relief.

Don’t get me wrong, they weren’t rude¬†or unkind. Well there were one or two dickheads there, puffed up with a sense of self importance that was neither warranted or deserved, but I didn’t feel I had to kiss their arse or suck up to them, which is more than I could say for my previous employers. ¬†Oh one woman was a bit short with me, because I’m pretty sure she wanted to impress certain parties, but to my astonishment¬†I was able to let it wash over me.

It didn’t burn me. ¬†I wasn’t incensed. ¬†I didn’t hit her back with a barbed lash of my infamous tongue. ¬†I gazed at her blankly and meekly walked away. ¬†Result!

Plus I met some cool, funny people to chat with.  Transient, commitment phobe pretenders just like me, but so full of banter, gossip and anecdotes about the business that I could get away with giving very little away about myself, thus maintaining my anonymity and emotional distance.

I also learned that my usual tactic of finding a kindred spirit and sticking to them doesn’t wash with this lot. ¬†One minute I’d be having a big old bonding session with one woman, the next I’d come back from the loo and she’d be in a different room chatting to someone else. ¬†This kind of work will be a good opportunity for me to learn to do the same.

I have to keep reminding¬†myself, I don’t HAVE to FIT IN. ¬†I can flit too.

It was perfect.  Almost like it was tailor made for me.

And my indifference to the VIP’s, and their desire to distance themselves from us made me an ideal candidate to work alongside them.

‘Oh, so and so’s here! ¬†I hope I get to see her! ¬†Do you think such and such is here too?’ piped up one keen little soul, wide eyed with excitement.


Whilst I’m sure they’re both nice enough, I really couldn’t give a shit, so I wasn’t one of the crowd that was hovering around trying to get a glimpse of them.

Because these VIPs and the fawning, kow towing wannabes looking after them are to my mind, no different to the rest of us.

We’re all just warm bodies for hire.

They just don’t know it yet.

It was a long old day, but I was prepared for that and took stuff to keep me occupied. ¬†We were well fed, well rested but it was gruelling, given that I had not worked properly for months, plus, after being grilled by the Looney Police for nearly four hours the day before, it didn’t take me long to get overwhelmed¬†with all the small talk and forced interaction, and I frequently longed for my sofa, mogs and a bit of solitude.

Then at last, we were allowed to leave and I had to queue up with all the others to get signed off.   The blustery guy in charge (who was quite sweet really), relieved that all had gone without incident, in a fit of bonhomie added an extra hours pay to my form, countersigned it and handed me the pink carbon copy.

And there it was.

The first wage I have earned in nearly two years.

A fraction of what I used to earn of course, and once the social see it hit my account I may well lose my benefits which is kind of terrifying.

But for that moment, I was proud of myself for bitch slapping the FEAR into submission and getting through these two most vital of days.

‘Thank you’, I said smiling, ‘it was fun!’

‘FUN!’ he echoed, clearly amused that such a menial role could be entertaining to me.

But he had no idea.  How could he?

For after all those years I had to pretend to be someone I was not, barely ‘masking my contempt for the assholes in charge’, working with people I did not respect, and supporting policies that I did not agree with, to be able to embrace my inner Lester Burnham and do ‘a job with the least amount of responsibility’ was just bliss.

And the irony that I had to do less acting in this scenario than my previous roles did not escape me.

As I staggered gratefully to my car to hit the road, it occurred to me that, at the end of the day, we are at our core, all actors anyway.

I am no more Sista Sertraline than I am this vehicle.

I merely occupy it for this particular journey, and one day the engine will die, the wheels will stop turning and I will step out of it and move on.

In the meantime I wonder what¬†the road¬†might have in store for me tomorrow. ¬†Living one’s life authentically and not walking the wheel sure is keeping me on my toes.

Nobody told me there’d be days like these.

Most peculiar mama.





So as of last weekend, it’s now officially British Summertime.


For most people this is great news, but I’m one of the few oddities that dreads the return of those bright mornings, long, heady days and balmy summer nights.

But this year¬†I realise that if I want things¬†to be different this year, it’s me who need to change with regard to my attitude toward summer, others, and, of course, me, myself and I.

Summer is lovely when you have friends and family to spend it with, but¬†historically I’m not great at maintaining¬†a loyal fun band of beach¬†buddies or picnic pals. ¬†I’m OK at making¬†friends, it’s keeping them that has been the problem because I tend to put all my eggs into one basket, and when said old basket invariably (sensing my vulnerability and reliance on them), does something shitty and lets me down, I respond by dropping their ass so hard their nose bleeds.

Classic BPD behaviour doncha know.  Shame no one told me about this, oh 30 years ago?!

In fairness, I always knew that something was wrong, and Aunty C (my counsellor) tried her best to help me change the behaviour pattern without labelling me (something she was and is highly resistant to), but there is something about being diagnosed EUPD that has kicked my¬†arse hard enough to make me realise that the world isn’t going to change, so I have to.

Before I thought it was all others doing stuff to me.

But the reality is that it’s my behaviour that allows them to do it.

And my desire for only a couple of soul mate and no superficial acquaintances compounded by my ridiculous reluctance to do anything by myself tends to leave me in a very shitty, lonely spot between the proverbial rock and hard gaff.

So, as I see it, a two pronged attack is necessary.

Firstly, I need to be more sociable. ¬†Yes, I know I’ve been saying this for months, nay, years now, and I’m still on the back foot, but from now on I am really going to try and get out there, do small talk (ARRGHH!), meet more people and spread my eggs far and wide.

That sounds a bit unsavoury doesn’t it? ¬†But you know what I mean.

And even if the first few times are, sorry, feel¬†uncomfortable/boring/pointless, I¬†must persist as sometimes it takes a while for people to show their true selves and grow on you, and vice versa. ¬†I know for a fact that this is going to be a massive challenge, as I’m not good at ‘trying’ with people, and flee at the slightest whiff of rejection, but I don’t think I have any choice if I want things to change.

For example, I could have gone dancing tonight.

But I didn’t. ¬†I’m here writing this for you because I made up all the excuses in the world for not going, and I’m not going to meet any new folk that I can socialise with in my spare bedroom.

At least I hope not¬†anyway…



The other thing I have to address is my fear and reluctance of doing stuff on my own.

You may well be thinking right now ‘Why does this stupid mare¬†dump her friends all the time if she hates flying solo?’

The answer is ‘I don’t know dipshit, I’ve got a personality disorder!’



Sorry, I digress….

The other day I suggested to a friend that we go for a walk in the park. ¬†She couldn’t make it because she had to study.

Did I go anyway?



I’ve asked myself this a million times, and I think it’s because I’m frightened of looking sad/lonely/conspicuous to those of you out there with loved ones to play with. ¬†However,¬†when I think about it, I’m sure you’re¬†too busy¬†arguing with your wife, trying to find¬†a parking space, stopping your kid/dog from jumping in the pond after¬†the ducks, squeezing your boyfriend’s bejeaned bum¬†or¬†finishing your Mr Whippy before its dribbles down your arm to notice some old¬†misfit¬†like me hovering around the periphery of life, apologising for my very existence to absolute strangers, some who are probably just as weird¬†as me.

And some even more so.


Anyway surely it’s better to look like a saddo¬†and be out there enjoying the day than staying at home and actually being a saddo?

You keep telling yourself that Sista, just you keep on telling yourself that….

I know it won’t happen over night.

But I am going to try harder.

Because I may not be like everyone else or fit in with the masses, but who wants to be the same old boring¬†‘coloured water’ anyway?


And if people stare, whisper and laugh, well that’s their shit.


Because one day I’m gonna be happy with my own company. ¬†And when that day arrives, my aura will be so beautiful, attractive and beguiling, I’ll probably have to fight all the others off with a stick. ¬†ūüėČ

I know that many of you are in the same position as me.  You cannot bear yourself, let alone love yourself, and at times the isolation, darkness and pain are so intense that you wish yourself to be somewhere, anywhere but here on this earth and face all the shit we have to encounter every single day.

But you matter.

WE matter.

Be yourself, my lovelies.  Everyone else is taken.

Namaste x






It’s always the same isn’t it?

The minute you think you’re onto something or found a way forward, something spooks you, you relapse and fall into your old ways.

This Lent 10,000 steps thing ( really seemed to be working. ¬†I was sleeping better, waking refreshed, losing blubber, but for some reason I didn’t get out of the door Thursday morning.

‘Never mind,’ I thought, ‘I’ll pop to the shops in the afternoon’.

But it didn’t happen. ¬†I had a call from some old dragon from the benefits department and ended up having to dig out and copy yet more proof that I wasn’t a multi millionaire rigging the system and pretty soon I looked out of the window and the sun was going down.

‘That’s not the end of the world,’ I reasoned, ‘I’ve got choir tonight so I’ll go the long way and that will easily eat up 10,000 big ones’.

Well it might have, had I left the building.


‘OK’ I said gravely, getting rather strict with myself now, ‘if you’re not going to choir you are definitely going to a yoga class. ¬†You haven’t done anything since Tuesday.’

Guess what happened.

That’s right. ¬†Nada.

And 24 hours later, I still haven’t done shit or left the flat. ¬†I nearly got out half an hour ago, I’m sat here fully made up for an evening out but still in my trackies. ¬†I had a fun evening in the pipeline, but something somehow held me back, and now I loathe myself and my weakness even more.

Why is it so easy to slip back into old, destructive habits, especially when things had started to look up? ¬†Maybe it’s because things had started to look up that I want to flee back to my hidey hole again. ¬†Who fucking knows?

I honestly don’t know where the last 20 months or so have gone. ¬†OK I’ve done or tried to do some useful, proactive stuff, but the majority of it has seemed to have been spunked away in front of the computer or TV, and even being off Facebook hasn’t stopped me reading gossip online, following the Pistorius trial (GUILTY! ¬†It’s an open and shut case! ¬†You can’t just let someone off just because they can run a bit!) or staring with wonder at pixie haired Pammy’s latest nude photos.


My God, she does look extraordinary though doesn’t she? ¬†Good for her, no hater I….

Then before you know it you spot something about her ex husband and father of her kids having a big dick, you go looking for that (good Lord…), then you see he supports PETA, so you go on that site, sign a petition against seal culling, wince at some hideously cruel photos showing mans shameful abuse of animals (what is wrong with people?), look at something more cheerful and before long you have RSI of the right hand (from mouse clicking, not pebble flicking, thank you), a pending migraine and another day of your life has come and gone.

Sometimes I don’t care though. ¬†After all, the lives of others, famous or not, are much more interesting than mine.

I’m still having mad dreams about my past and Auntie C (in lieu of those NHS bastards actually doing something) is trying to make me focus on the present and I feel like a crazy compass needle or sycamore seed, spinning in the wind.


I have to try and get back on track though.

I think the most successful days so far have been when I have stuff organised from the get go. ¬†Real stuff that I can’t bail on, as opposed to vague plans that I can easily shun because no one is looking and no one cares, so I’m going to try and plan more stuff, as early in the day as possible. So I need to start as early aspossible instead of waiting till the cats start bouncing off my uterus demanding their breakfast.

I also seems to get derailed if I’m not feeling well, and in the last few days one of my old war wounds has been playing up. ¬†Rather than ignoring it for fear of spending money, I think I’m going to have to let the moths out of my wallet and go and get treatment.

Also maybe not letting myself eat until I’ve done some yoga might break that particular impasse.

I’m also going to set a timer for 10 minutes every time I go near my PC, and when it goes off, I’ll log out.

I’m also gonna ‘earn’ my TV, the length of viewing dictated by how long I exercise that day.

I’d also better start being more sociable with my friends again so that people do care if I open my door every day, especially if I’m meant to be meeting them.

Up I get again (groan, stagger), but God knows, if I had any other choice, I’d bail in a heartbeat.

So I’ll start yet AGAIN, and i guess I’ll finish eventually….God how I hate this shitty planet.

Namaste x