Tag Archives: RELATIONSHIPS

Nefarious dove

I’m searching inside for something to help define me

All that populates is the emotion –

Weak –

inside me.

Over and over – the word like  a strained bacteria multiplying in a temperate  simmering heat.

Don’t want to speak -move my feet.

Feel like a caricature  of a human being.

Falling,

Let me fall into some black  abysmal seeing.

You are the strongest person I know ,says he.

You mad fool!

what has love done for  you,

Too be so possessed by the voodoo in me?

Stop.

Stop.

I want to stop feeling.

Yellow, blue ,red  little pills rally around me.

These little friends have mastered their great skill to feed me and confound me.

Blister packets pop festive like its the the fourth of July.

Muted  slumber please come and and blind me – let me just lie

Still

Waters.

Values made of plastic.

Bottled up emotions.

Swallow.

there is no  nectar sweet song in my voice that follows.

Anxiety pervades. I have to shout  out – GO THE FUCK AWAY!

Petrified

Timid

A creature crawling out the wood works.

the first sign of stress and sorrow.

A trail of slime leaves evidence   that this creature has no courage to face life’s cruel, sooty smirks.

To hell with it all

Horror.

Take me down — let me fall.

Sleep?

make sure the crash  comes from somewhere steep.

Don’t let me   wake up -covered in wet rags.

The apology  of my life will be over when I wake up and grab for my fags.

Smoke screen.

It’s the best way I know how to protect my own self esteem.

Selfish.

shell fish.

Lost my nerve.

Caught  and quartered in the nets  of the absurd.

Find myself served up as a delicacy dish.

Eat me

Drink me

Consume me -if you must.

Just don’t make me face this reality

for my soul has gone  and inanely  combust.

A Let down.

 Shaking out Scraggley hair

This is  all I have to show for the  one I claim I hold in my heart – dear and fair.

Slumber come and give me my du.

Infiltrate my blood with toxin.

That takes my body and locks in .

Show the true colour of my heart –

a dismal, manic smudge of dark blues.

Singing.

I’m sorry  my love

I am that nefarious dove.

Aces .

hearts.

we are meant to be the best pair.

Now I lay me down to sleep,

Tomorrows’s bells   will awake me  to  a harrowing  carnival fair.

A Rendez vous .

no time to be fashionably  late.

My dearest,

 if I let you down and forget to close the gate-

may I  languish in my putrid stench of cowardice.

Have no fear. Please rest.

May I never truly fully  awake from this hell I have made my  home state paradise .

 

Pushing up Daisy

“… It’s passed on! This parrot is no more! It has ceased to be! It’s expired and gone to meet it’s maker! This is a late parrot! It’s a stiff! Bereft of life, it rests in peace! If you hadn’t nailed it to the perch, it would be pushing up the daisies! It’s rung down the curtain and joined the choir invisible. This is an ex-parrot!”

Monty Python

In my darkest moments when air extinguishes all light

Hopelessness hangs heavy above me

It hovers

Spongy , dense

A Cloud with a fierce clout.

I scramble around seeking for a match

I hear the mirthful giggle of a child

The purrs of a blissed-out cat.

My senses are aroused -Suddenly

The rain pelts down, the wind whips, lashing my face, arms- my entire mortal skin.

Eyes filled with tears of rain

Eyes filled with tears of despair

I’m reminded to look up.

I see a glimpse of a silver lining

My soul is weary

yet

a form of hope crystallizes.

Sealed into my thoughts for this second

I’m the Daisy that keeps pushing up

I’m the Daisy that proves that Life must go on.

My soul is renewed with a melancholic joy

I’m not dead

still,

I’m rejuvenated once again

Mr Tut Tut

I thought I’d succeed this time .

I’d die reciting poetry under my favourite duvet ..

Perhaps listening to music.

Nearly ended up sectioned .

Making the most of a new day.

No serious damage except to my ego.

I’ve never felt so ashamed at failing to take my own life as this attempt.

Why ? Cos I’m still fucking here.

Apologising to people for not wanting to be here.

Time to keep going.

Moving to a new home is a priority..

This house is a poltergeist.

It feeds my need to keep bleeding.

Tired now.

I love my husband

My mommy & daughter.

3 good reasons to state that I’m

Still breathing.

the Meowskies

She gets on with life as a wannabe music journalist,
She’s a charismatic kinda gal.
She likes chilling on Sundays,
She likes reading in the week.
She likes to contemplate owning a goat.
But when she starts to daydream,
Her mind turns straight back to her cat-Tatty Anna

Sometimes I look at her and I look into her eyes,
I notice the way she idolises about  Tatiana with a smile,
sensual lips she can’t disguise.
But she thinks it’s GOAT making her life worthwhile.
Why is it so hard for her to decide which she loves more?
Goats or…
Cats?

She likes to use words like ‘eish man
She likes to use words like ‘sorry.’
She likes to use words about GOAT finds
But when she stops her talking,
Her mind turns straight back to Tatiana having a heart attack.

She likes to hang out with Pinkie
She likes to kick back with Belle,
But when left alone,
Her mind turns  inwards  she obsesses over losing her Tats

She’s not too fond of gossip,
She really loves cheesecake & wants a goat
But she just thinks back to Tatiana
And she’s happy once again. knowing she is owned.

 

Wallflower

Eyes lowered, separate from the crowd if you ignore her frowns,

Could this wallflower throw down the gauntlet of one party reveller- Time himself dozing before the stroke of midnight?

Or, Would this wallflower anticipate the daffodils, daisies and roses to save the day with clear cut stems of prosecco?

The  garden of gaiety pours out  bubbly conversations

 

Impervious to check if the seconds move forward.

Ignorant to an eternity  doomed to this New years eve of  2019

Bursts  of lavender- waft obscure   goals

a   hint to a future -proposing a nouveau depart without delay.

 

Red-faced by an anxious creeping Rosacea  attack

Wallflower cuts the vines tethering her from the wall tower.

Unveiled from the comfort familiarity penumbra.

 

Walking she becomes an unwanted eavesdropper attunes not just the laughter but the punch lines too.

music notes intermingle. A few casualties drowned out of feeble conversations

Whilst whistling  a lament to the blues

Eyes peer up – sordidly scans this once garden turned wild.

Junglist Wallflower  wilt not

Nor wither  a delay when  mere seconds  away from  unwaning entrapment

of existence.

 

 Threatened confinement to this moment

Never to feel the breath of another day.

never to leave this place & go home.

 

Mustering grande efforts   hands push further into the jungle depths

Navigating a path. Not once does she recoil?

Less apologetic her persistence carves out a  clearing to reveal stroke victim -Sir time.

An interruption with grace

so refined.

You’ve fallen asleep at an extremely important time.

Dressed up in Thyme  Time  awakes shuffles one then two steps forward,

 the jungle momentarily quietens

then corks released from restriction pop in Ecstacy

In the air are hanged notes of Celebratory songs

A new year to make life count.

Time over -foliaged stumble forward until he finds a chalice of wine.

turns his head  -Gratefully raises his glass directly to the shadow.

The wallflower is not there, here

nor around.

 

The wallflower is nowhere to be found.

A brief moment mingler she salvaged this space

Left the festivities subdued  without a sound

*Inspired by writers’ block, acrostic poetry turned free form. No masterpiece but I’ve finally written something down.*

Sadie- F*** Pillow talk

Be the prick

 Be the swollen lips

Be the trickle of blood sauntering down her pale leg.

Treat her fragility -with vagile virility – trust in her own common sense.

Let her open up to you

Let her tease you into bed, out layered by peels of laughter.

Perhaps you find yourself lying up looking at her naked body, legs astride your torso in your bed head.

 

Don’t try to stop her from controlling the ride.

Sadie’s on top

you best stay on her appealing side.

 

Reason shuts down – arousal highjacks all senses.

an Amygdala orgasm- hands reveal the disguise no pretences.

Light strokes vary speed and pace.

Exposed to surrender at near glimpses of skin covered in see-through lace.

Playful

Cleansed and tainted from the dance of sentients

Sweaty, ruddy bare cheeks,   clothes abandoned, sheets ruffled into a dazzling fusion.

Eye to eye contact  threatening on impact

Discard pained thoughts numbed by this oxytocin released from incarceration.

Sadie’s initial taunts inspired events such as this audacious body gratification.

Whiskers of petit amours raise to embrace all sensation.

Blood whips around a  framework

 Frenetic climax into a bewildered orgimi of elation.

Beating hearts enthral Sadie to linger.

All mighty mother nature – gave us each blessed finger.

 

Sadie gives what she feels can un-ribbon her mask of distrust.

Less than few broke her hymen soul – merging adoration and lust.

 

Needs fulfilled. Fuck pillow talk.

don’t ask her how it was.

See her eyes, see her smile, see?

Her face won’t betray her mind.

indifferent to praises of technique.

 

 Trust that Sadie’s tasted delicacies never  to discover again

Tongue provokes once soft nipples – get it right.

 you will know by instinct if this entices her.

 

Spontaneous love.

All-time suspended from her world,

You may lose yourself too

 entangled in limbs.

Sadie need not hear your confession – though she smiles at the gesture.

She knows your lip service is filled with the original grace of binding hymns.

Comely are those creatures features when treated with respect.

Learn to appreciate a woman.

Learn to appreciate art.

Learn what is and isn’t a subject.

 

Study her until she catches you out

Especially when you least expect it.

A conjurer of a finely dressed tables

in a laboratory with you as her primary objective.

 

 Endowed with abundant pleasure

A pinch of naive seduction

That look, you wonder –what could she be thinking?

 

Maybe you’re to busy having a good time to think.

 

Maybe she stops mid-thrust  curiosity aroused

Out loud you hear  -What are thinking about? 

 

Maybe you fill  her with expectations

A moment of  temporary heady delight

A moments reprieve from her  slumber

 

 Facedown  femme fatale floats

Parted lips

Over Imbibed in the river of Styx.

 

*Inspired by Gustav Klimt’s  ‘ The kiss’*

Where to find lightbulb answers for lightbulb questions?

How can we help you? You are loved.

My husband

I’m going to the source of my labelled diagnoses to find a way to answer this question.

Not to look for a reason to blame why I am like  I am, but so I can ask the right questions to help myself get better.

How can we help you?

Okay. The brain goes dead. How I help myself?

Set small goals for the bigger goals  I want to achieve?

What do I want to achieve?

  • A new carpet.

  • I want to clean the blinds,

  • I want to go through my drawers and  Bee’s drawers to organise our space better.

  • We need a new cupboard.

  • I want to get in the festive spirit.

  • Bring the big T.V.  downstairs.

  • I’m worried about Tatiana’s  ( my cat’s) cough.

  • I don’t want to be a FUCK UP!
  • I need to connect more with my mom and family.

 

All achievable unless its a “bad” day.

Write a list to Santa?  ( my inner Santa)

Being self-destructive is tough (sarcasm & truth).

Not as tough as being an 8-year-old child who doesn’t understand why her mother pushes her away. She is also scared to make her cry or hurt my feelings.

 Not as tough as having an endoscopy and no sedation. Having people talk about going for a pint after work while they look at your bowel.

Not as tough as being alone, having a panic attack & waking up in a hospital alone at 87.

I’m so quick to forget about the mermaids tail & a dog that can do anything ticking off Santa’s Christmas list.

I’m so quick to dismiss time.

Or is that just me looking up my own anus again?

Fluent in assholism

.

How can I save my relationships before its too late?

Am I going through the motions as my husband asked?

A firm NO  takes up all the room in my cognitive region.

Before I answer I think again about if I’m just going through the motions…

Today I am going to look up the definition of  ‘going through the motions

PHRASE

If you say that someone is going through the motions, you think they are only saying or doing something because it is expected of them without being interested, enthusiastic, or sympathetic.

Well, of course, I am going through the motions. That is part of the problem.

Get up, eat, clean, sleep, fill my day.

It’s not because I don’t care. I don’t think about the consequences or I forget the pain associated with the consequences.  Or I think about how to get away from feeling a failure in the now.

Note to self: Don’t do things that will make you feel shit about yourself

It’s not that hard to do, Is it?

Maybe I hesitated before answering my husband because I asked myself if the way I am and response makes me a narcissist.

Well, of course, I am. I have spent many years trying to look good, be the thinnest, the most pretty the cleverest etc…

I know I am not & will never be all the above-mentioned thoughts.

What did that mean for me as an adult with Chronic Anorexia?

I don’t take millions of pictures of myself and think I’m better than other people. When I have judged others I try to look at the shitty things I have done or said in my life to humble myself… I am demanding. I can be selfish. I don’t think I am the best. I want to be the best I can be.

Do I live in a fantasy world?

I have done. I do live in a world where I am the object of desire/ importance to get away from who I see in the mirror, who I feel I have become measured by what I have achieved psychically/emotionally/materially. I use sleep as a defence mechanism to not have to deal with the person I am today. My perception of me.

I know what is real and isn’t unless my thoughts about weight and shame invade my inner world.

I have to wake up from my slumber eventually.  Then I convince myself that the only thing that will make me good & empowered is by proving to people I have the money to buy shit that isn’t worth it.

I put a value on what I pay for & how I want it to be packaged.

I don’t feel I need constant praise from others to keep my ego in check. I do feel I need to give myself praise and try & love myself so that I can come across as a person with feelings, warmth & love.

I do struggle to show my emotions. Perhaps its the way my face moves, or because I don’t lie about how I feel or because I’m shit at pretending to be over the moon about something when I am feeling anything but amazing.

When I’m in a toxic phase I guess I do feel that the world should stop for me. It’s unrealistic to think that the world does. I have to check myself. I need to live more outside of my head than in it.

 

I don’t try to exploit people maliciously for my own gain without feeling shame nor the ability to empathise.  I know how manipulative I can be & I have to check myself a lot to try & not be too manipulative. I do sometimes forget how it must feel like to another person to be taken advantage of.

I don’t think I am a person who enjoys belittling others to prop up my own ego. I hate gossip, I can use patronising language & behaviour if I feel threatened. I don’t enjoy making others feel less than I feel.

I want people to be happy & I want people to know that I can be a source of happiness too.

Maybe I am going through the motions but we all do!

If I said: yes, I’m going through the motions

then that would mean that I am a narcissist!

And according to Google: Narcissists can’t love their own children!

What?

I already feel I lack traits that a normal mother gives her child.

Or because of my eating disorder, I have traits of a “vulnerable” narcissist.

If I look indifferent I am also afraid of being abandoned so I try to prepare myself for that moment.

Most of my relationships are unstable -with my mom. daughter partners etc… I can go from having a high opinion of myself to having zero worth in myself in a matter of hours.

I do need to work on my self-image & habits to self-harm.

I have many diagnoses -I need to use what I know about myself to make a positive change.

I want my daughter to love me in 20 years time.

I’m not a child any longer. I want to be better than I am now.

 

Mrs Thought bubble

This is a surreal piece  I wrote during a surreal time.

It’s about the cruelty of life and how the elderly are treated in Britain. It was inspired by the time I spent with my grandmother in her care home when she had Dementia and Alzheimers.

It’s a stream of consciousness  Short Borderline script.

 

 MRS BRUISED:  “I’m tired”

                                 “I’m tired”

 CARD SHUFFLER: (throws his voice from a table on the left)

                                      “I’m tired too.”

MRS BRUISED:          (sits upright)

                                         “I’m tired”

CARD SHUFFLER:     “Aye? Go to sleep then.”

 (The room fans out into a full house of insidious laughter)

MISS CARDIGAN:   excuse me, Dear, can you tell me where the toilets  

                                    I’ve only just  popped by/

THE WEED: ( Looks around for a sign indicating the Mangers office)

                                         Of course, just follow me.

(THE WEED walks back from the toilets  and goes to crouch down to hold MRS THOUGHT BUBBLES  hand).

THE WEED:             She’s pissed herself. Can someone change her?

THE ROSE:             No, she hasn’t.

GINGER:                (enters) Here you go. Open your mouth?

(GINGER shovels a hefty spoonful of what looks like boiled bagged food) 

THE WEED: (aside) Lost in thought……The smell of piss can’t be worse than death’s kiss…

GINGER:               Here- wah-la!  open your mouth.

  Mrs Thought Bubble’s inner thoughts

 

THE WEED:           Tu es Pleine?

(aside)                 Like an old coffin opening for the first time in a          century;

 MRS THOUGHT BUBBLE:   Pleine.

THE ROSE:               You   are thirsty today.

( Comes back from the kitchen with another full beaker of  red diluted kids juice)

                                     So so thirsty.

THE WEED: (aside) Three empty beakers all lined up in a row – My eyes rest and are ready to aim – trigger happy and ready to blow.

 

                               She has pissed herself, look!

THE ROSE:          Oh you have made a pee-pee Mamie- a pee-pee!

 REGRESSION SOUNDS

 

(chorus) A Nod. A skeleton- face grins

Bright light beams from  Mrs Thought Bubbles eyes.

An Image.

A carved pumpkin with a toothy grin.

Burning away in a dark room within.

More strained laughter churns out lactic acid.

MRS BRUISED : (on a loop)

                              Oh, I am tired. 

BRUNETTE:      Fiddler!  Stop putting your hands down your pants.

THE WEED:     Maybe that is the only way she gets to feel something.

(Legs splayed-  FIDDLER’S fingers explores her vagina hungrily)

MRS BRUISED:       I’m tired.

CARD SHUFFLER:  Yeah me too! Shut up.

(Eyes veer to the table on the left).

 

THE WEED:  Dying flowers  in a glass vase.

                   If I had to throw it would reality become what I once knew it to be?

Jeer me on why don’t you? 

Throw the fucking vase.

Throw it!

How long have those silver wrapped chocolates been  stood there. This is not some fancy New York hotel. 

If they are going to start leaving chocolates make sure you get Hershey’s kisses.

Brown as the shit under neath Mrs Thought bubble’s  nails.

 

THE WEED:  She has pissed herself!

GINGER:      I will go get dessert.

THE WEED: (aside) Does it come in different sex positions? 

                                     Sweet Silence.

                                  One of the toughest spells to break.

                                  No one dares look at the other.

                                Carers go  a drift.

                                Congregate to conflate into  gossip office politics.

THE ROSE:            Go and tell them to change her.

(THE WEED creeps along the  floor until it has found the right door).

THE WEED:               Can someone change Mrs Thought bubble!  She is in her own piss.

MRS HEGEMONY:  Wheres nondescript and the other one too?

Great big sighs. A room full of eyes wondering if the pay they get is worth the time.

The time finally has a stroke and then another and another.

The hoist in all its bluesy hues comes for Mrs Thought-bubble.

 

GINGER:               I’m sorry I got called into the office.

THE WEED:       Look it’s not you. Its just… I am sitting watching Mrs                                           Thought bubble over here, shout out….  and                                                            “she is wading in her own  piss!

THE ROSE:           Let’s go outside

THE ROSE: ( turns to BRUNETTE)

                             Can we take her outside?

BRUNETTE: ( a voice rolls out  like a plush  red carpet)

                         Of course.

 ( BRUNETTE rolls out the wheelchair –)

CHORUS: She hasn’t been outside in over a year.

                    She shouts and protests.

                   Vintage sunglasses are placed on her  to  help process her eyes.

                  Flowers.Bees.Sunshine.Colours.

(More shouts and protests).

MAINTENANCE:  Do you want me to take a picture?

(THE WEED and THE ROSE in unison) Oh yes please.

(Chorus) CLICK !

                  CLICK!

                     Mature cheddar smiles captured against the vines.

THE WEED:  I love you Mrs Thought-bubble.

(Muffled sounds.)

                         I’ll settle for that as an good enough au revoir.

                         Four doors.

                          Four Windows.

                          Four wheels.

                         Taxi takes us very fucking far away from here, please.

THE WEED: (to THE ROSE)     Did you notice that nobody came to clean the chair?

THE ROSE:      Don’t tell me this.

                       Every night I cry myself to sleep 

                          If we move her again she will die.                           

                         Please let her die.

                           Why? 

                            Why?

                             It is beyond my understanding.

Petals start to turn inwards – it’s a crying shame to see rose a  start to wilt.

RED CAP:       There was a sticker attached saying ‘TO CLEAN’

THE WEED:    Oh.

                        I’m sorry.

                         I love you, Rose.

                         I can’t imagine what you are going through.

THE ROSE: (Wilts that tiny bit more)

                         She doesn’t even know who I am anymore.

THE WEED:   I know who you are.

                         You know who I  am.

THE WEED: (aside)

It doesn’t matter if the sun is shining- water will always ignore the air around it. If it wants to pour so it shall.

Tears pour.

Tears break.

 The weed reaches and creeps until it has a secure grip  around The Roses stem.

Hands entwined.

The Weed .

The Rose.

Both look out their own private window.

                            Bee would have loved to see that cow…..

THE ROSE:     ( watered and ready to pose)

                         So tomorrow is a busy day. We have to sort out the cake

THE WEED:   The cake?

THE ROSE:       …the wedding cake?   And We need to find Mr Thought bubble an outfit  for the wedding.

THE WEED:    Is she actually allowed to come?

THE ROSE:        Madam  Hegemony, says it is fine.

THE WEED:    (flat)Oh, Cool. I wonder did we tell the cake makers that we changed the theme from sunflowers to yellow roses?

THE ROSE:     Yes! We are just having yellow icing on normal    flowers..

 THE WEED:     Oh… like the colour on our invitations? 

(Stationary).

THE ROSE:      See you tomorrow.

THE WEED: Mint, Yes.. tomorrow… (as an after thought)

THE ROSE:   10:30, Don’t be late.  We are getting threaded first.

                        Have you got the Bee’s shoes?

THE WEED:  Yes Mam.

THE ROSE:    I swear if you had loads of money in this town you still                                           wouldn’t be able to spend it.

                        It’s all bullshit

(from) THE HORSES MOUTH:

                    And so the earth continues to travel around the sun.

                    The sun goes down.

                  The moon is full-faced and all fluttering eyelashes.

                  And  I still have a long face.

                 Nothing but everything changes.

Nay,

Neigh!

Horses don’t talk.

Neither do flowers

Horse manure.

Bullshit.

Jut another day in ‘I wonder what the fuck  next land?

Just an average day in an average Care home.

 

Image Francecsa Woodman 

 

 

To those who called me “Crazy”

*REPOSTED THIS-I had only been blogging for a couple of months when I published this.  (19/09/2015)

WOAH! Okay. So not only am I co-facilitating an Anti-stigma mental health workshop in October but I have agreed to stand up-publicly-not behind the comfy boundary of my room and blog. I have been asked to speak about my own issues related to mental health and any discrimination I may have felt. I  expected to have thousands of examples on this topic.

I couldn’t stop asking myself the question throughout my day to day activities today. I actually had to lie down (so dramatic) for an hour. I decided I have felt it happen to me.  When I have thoughts fired at me by myself and I can’t get anything constructive done in my day to day life, I usually exercise, do some cleaning, get out, spend time with my daughter, read or sleep. Sleep helps the thoughts to give me a break and some mindful silence.

Here we go. I am using this post as a soundboard.

I don’t have a presentation to give, all organised and ready at a click of a button. That is not my style. So, on that note, I’m just gonna talk and talk and see what comes out.

 Okay so, I was born in South Africa. I had a colourful upbringing. Lots of drama. I have done a lot of talking therapy and going to psychologists to not go too deep into my past. I have dealt with a lot of my issues from my upbringing. What I would like to point out is: I was always insecure. I had a lot of tantrums as a toddler and crazy dreams. Arguments and conflict are themes that stand out. The smell of  Mandrax, weed  and alcohol is always part of every experience. My Mom and Dad divorced when I was 2 years old.

My mom got remarried to an ex-boyfriend who had just come out of doing his conscription. My Dad got remarried to his current wife — my step Mom. I don’t recall seeing my dad and stepmom until I was about 8-10 years old. I’m not sure why and I don’t hold a grudge.

My Mom struggled with her mental health for years and years. I don’t think her being in violent abusive situations helped ease the stress. When I was about 5 years old my mother found  blood on my underwear. I think my ex step father sexually  used me. We left him and our cat Muffet, in the middle of the night to go and live with my Aunt. My Mom was desperate to give me a secure home and we finally found a two bedroom apartment to live in.

Things  and people I remember from that time

  • I remember coming home from school one day and not being allowed in the apartment.

  • I remember a letter I had written to the caretaker of the flats. Something along the lines of ‘please don’t make us homeless’ . I’m a pretty shitty persuader haha…

  •  Me always walking home on my own because my nanny was late

  •  Eating SMASH and loads of ketchup

  • My annoying cousin/brother who was exactly the adjective I described. He was a total pain in the arse!

  • I remember Mom suntanning in the complex swimming pool.

We went to live in my Gran’s home and I was intolerable. I wouldn’t go to school. I was always throwing tantrums. I lived outside my own boundaries. I connected with no-one but my Mom. My Mom’s mental health was getting worse and my Gran had her own issues to deal with. There was a phone call and a few words exchanged. A car drive. Headlights,  me half asleep under a duvet.  Destination: Nan’s house.

Woohoo! Nan = party time.

Mom was crying the entire weekend. What on earth was going on? On a Sunday Mom came into Nan’s room. She said some words. ‘I love you’ was threaded and sewn into the sentence many times.  I looked into her eyes and saw my own fear. My Nan was designated distracter of the day. I put two and two together and I ran to the window and saw my Mom’s car bonnet driving down the cobblestones.

I spoke regularly with my Mom. There are a lot of gaps in my memory of this time.

Travelling and living in Miami back and forth-back and forth. I went back and forth to andfrom Mom’s home to my  Nan’s home. Two people who love me making the best out of a shitty situation.

I made a close set of friends and a family who adopted me as one of their own and they provided me with all the normal childhood milestones and experiences.  Skateboarding, inventing stuff to do, getting money to get soft serve ice cream with a flake, body boarding at the beach , movies, music, lots of laughter and lots of love.I never knew how destructive I was until I took a major overdose (12 years old),after a disagreement with my Nan. I ended up overdosing on all her vitamins, so my wee was super colourful for a bit.

I ask myself over and over why did I turn to drugs and starving myself? Who wants that kind of label hanging over them? I turned to drugs and it was social and a laugh to begin with until I craved more and more. My Mom was diagnosed with   “Manic depression” and tried to maintain a full-time job. My Nan was working full time.

My Dad and my step mom and my half sister moved next door to us and worked full time. Why didn’t I move in with him?  We did — once. My Dad with me and my step mom with my step sister and then my half sister. It didn’t work out. I was getting more and more out of control.

The rave scene wasn’t enough. I went through most of my life from 9 years old to 16 years old as blind as a bat.  I needed heavy prescription glasses or contacts. I couldn’t see shit.  I don’t know what people thought. I thought about that a lot. The fact I couldn’t see properly. I decided to make decisions from a different source and those sources were my thoughts and misplaced emotions..

I found myself driven to go down the whole rebellion route. I didn’t stop. My Mom came to live with me in Durban when I was 15 years old.

I had been to 4 rehabs for my eating disorder and drug taking thus far. I had been ordered by the court to‘ the land of the forgotten and damned‘ in ,Magalies  Oord.

There is a story how that came to be but not in this post.  It was in the middle of nowhere. I ended up running away several times.

 One night we waited until ‘lights out’ and we took our mattresses and threw them over the sides of the barbed wire fence and ran to freedom. We nearly boarded a plane to go to Port Saint Johns but we got caught as we were about to board the plane. I was sent back to Magalies Oord for an indefinite time. I got out in three months with a crack habit because the ‘ counsellor’ looking after me( along with three other under 18-year-olds) had got sacked. She in retaliation decided to release us from hell and the fucking daily wars with the peacocks.

They were like Odysseus’ sirens, except you knew from the start you did not want to listen to them because they did drive a person mad. There must be hundreds of Peacock graves n Magalies Oord. That I am sure of.

The recreational drug taker became a 30 pill per day Mandrax addict who only left the house to go and score other drugs. I got myself into a lot of shit. It would take too long to explain. By this stage, I seemed to be following a path with bright blinking arrows pointing the other way in which I  was heading. My friends left. They couldn’t help me.

I met a medley of characters: Dirty cops.

“Privileged” crack users.

Cocaine may be seen as the acceptable drug to take but for them and for me it wasn’t enough. I would go many weeks missing with bizarre people(the road travelled is indeed a fucken trippy one-drug addict or not).  Diamond Smugglers. Mercenaries. I had a few longer stays in rehabs and hospitals. I became not only an illegal drug taker but I had been diagnosed with Anorexia-a bad heart and a Unhealthy mind.

I experienced stigma from my friends and family members.

There were 4 people who still saw some kind of hope in me. My Gran, My Mom, My Grandpa and my Nan. I moved and entered England as disgracefully as possible.  I went cold turkey and had a major seizure. I carried on with the eating disorder – My entire English family had never come across someone like me. They did not and still do not understand me. No loss to me but one to my Nan. I only would make an effort for my Nan.

My grandad was diagnosed with Cancer round about the same time- and My Mom and Gran and then me all moved to France. I was drinking at least one bottle of champagne a day.  I got so drunk I stole some of my Grandads morphine tablets. I lived gutter low morals with a mismatched luxurious lifestyle.  I eventually came back to England and started full-time work.

I had boyfriends and friends but I didn’t let people get too close. The more my mental health deteriorated the more reclusive I became. I ended up resigning from a travel career I loved because I allowed Anorexia to get into my head.

BOOM!

Multiple lengthy stays in Eating Disorder clinics. I tried to be ‘normal’. In 2007  I decided to enrol in a local college and get some kind of stability and life back. I had been out (of an 11-month stint in an ED clinic in York) for less than a week and signed up to a foundation degree in Acting. I didn’t know how to communicate with any of my peers.

I would tremble when I spoke because I hadn’t spoken to people — normally: for so long. I withdrew. I managed one term. I got a distinction for my classical acting and then ended back in hospital again for another 7-month stint in Cheadle.

A few of us girls went for a day out as a privilege to Blackpool for good behaviour and consistent weight gain.   I was  still too ill  but one of the nurses said to me ‘ Ignore them-they are ignorant.’

I asked her what she meant. Apparently, a group of people passed us on the street and were taking the piss out of me and how I looked and being human, I guess. I didn’t let it bother me.

I left Cheadle and went back to college to carry on with my studies and then CRASH BOOM BANG I got involved with ‘he who shall not be named‘-I’m not going into to it too much at this point in time. Long story short. Shitty relationship. Bruises. Overdoses. Alcohol. Concerned people at college and then indifference. I didn’t see what they saw. Hindsight’s a bitch. I suppose I felt discriminated then.I do feel that every time I have felt judged or side carted it has been for a justified reason.

Then I was put through another challenging test of giving birth to a child and having that child taken from me and then having three years of lengthy legal proceedings to get her back.

 THIS WAS WHERE I FELT THE MOST STIGMA.

Professionals need to be aware of mental health. What I saw happening in the courts and in the social service meetings shocks me even to this day. I’m not perfect but I was asking people to help me and my daughter. I did everything possible to get my baby girl back. She was taken from me on the 13/12/2011 at 12 weeks old due to a horrific accusation fuelled by hate and jealousy.

I finally got her back 16 months later under a care order. Social services and I shared parental responsibility. I’ve never felt more helpless and discriminated in a system that professes to help people with troubles.  I cut ties in the relationship with the ex for good.

My anxiety levels came down naturally from being in my own home and feeling safe and I naturally didn’t need to misuse drink anymore. I didn’t need to overdose. I did need to get my baby back. She should have come back to my care much earlier than she did.

They threw Domestic violence at me.

Alcohol misuse. ( I did a hair strand test that came out negative to alcoholism).

Drug use.  Clean.

My past- my family.

One psychiatrist came out with this gem ‘ the past is a great indicator for future behaviour’ .. Doctor, Let me prove you wrong.

I did. They moved the obstacle when and as many times as possible. They did not want to lose this case and take responsibility for where they had gone wrong.

We were one day away from going to a 12-day court hearing and I told my legal team to annihilate them. As it already was they were charged by the court to pay money from their penny fund for their ineptitude in our case.

6/7  social workers and many arguments with the independent reviewing officer and having a black storm cloud over my head we went back to court and the care order was revoked on 6/05/2015.

They sung my praises in court. I was advised by my legal team to address the judge myself. I was more than capable and I didn’t need anyone to speak for me.

This is why I started to use  all my  extra time into mental health charities and working with them on issues like a stigma. This issue within the government and institutions need to change. I want to show parents and carers how they can find a voice and what they can do to gain them some leverage against social services. How to work with them as a team.  I know where to signpost troubled parents. It doesn’t stop there.

I have so many people I am in touch with to work on projects for people with mental health issues in the pipeline. I get to use my creativity and my writing. I’m excited and kind of shitting myself at the same time. I don’t know what I am going to say at this workshop.

I do know one thing if I said no to talking I would have strengthened the stigma barrier for people with mental health issues.

I am not perfect. I still have days when I get it wrong. I do use different coping mechanisms to help me more than the older safer and not so helpful ones. I can finally truly feel what it means to be control of my destiny.

 

.Daisy -the Dissident Goat

The song I’m sharing to day is by New Zealand’s very own Bjork-Kimbra. & a blogging associate  turned me on to her.

This is  #goatbahs for today because it makes my heart soar & I feel a great adrenaline kick from it.

 

Mother Nature does discriminate.  Why?

Yesterday, I found out a badger is loose in our garden. I think it’s looking for a place to nest. I decided to google ‘how to get rid of a badger’. The number one solution is:

Human male urine.

Yes, or a hot Scottish bonnet or 8th on the list is Lion’s wee. Even if I was still living in South Africa that would be hard to get.

Mother Nature!

What do single woman/parents do if they are being “urbanised” by a pregnant badger?

Just a thought.

 

My passion has always been for  causes that fight oppression in its many guises. Poverty, discrimination from Mental Health to Homelessness & inequality  , clique groups, media censorship.

This is  a  huge problem  globally,  including places like  Nigeria. It’s devastating to know what is happening in Nigeria. Check the United Nations website out.

 

If we want to be seen as  cultured or considered cultured, we should  strive to educate ourselves. This is what I try to do for myself.

 We are so quick to judge people by what country they come from.

Charles, is Nigerian born man with goals ,ambitions and dreams.

Not every person is a stereo type or trying to scam you.

There are a lot of folk who I’ve realised do scam you ( if you let them). We all need an income, right?

It’s about ethics, inherent  morals we are born with and choosing who you decide to associate with.

This is why I am honoured to  call myself

Daisy-the Dissident Goat.

I think  Charles vision to connect as many creative people  to come together as a community fits in with my vision of what I want to achieve by blogging/writing/goals/career prospects .

  • Connect (with people)

  • Create ( with people or on your own)

  • Collaborate

  • Communicate

Check out What is with the whole GOAT thing?  for more information.

Please check out  CEOLARANTS website for  Q & A as a part of  the dissident team’s  THE DISSIDENT PROJECT.

 

It’s a learning process. We learn & re learn every day in our lives.

I’ve experiences (and still do experience) prejudice & stigma.

I was mentally and physically in a terrible place for 2 years.

And  (now) I’m “woke” .

I almost lost myself, my family and self respect to   scum of society. I allowed myself to be taken for a ride by people who disgust me. Drug dealers

Losers with a drivers licences/bullies & I’ve told them what I think. I’ve also told them I’m not afraid of them either.

Make of that what you will.

Love is a two way street…

So is business.

I have realised by using my wellness recovery tools that self medicating and making plans to end my life was because I felt so little worth about myself & I thought people ( even  wannabe  king pin drug dealers have feelings) had the same integrity & values that I do.

Or, at the very least if a person compromises their values then tries to consolidate the problem.

I’m back  in place where I see my worth again. I see where my energy, time & money is better used.

I’m not a girl for NA  or that kind of set up. I  have my family, friends & support around me.

I’m going to get back into volunteering again.

I’m grateful for Hope Street Calderdale recovery college for seeing the potential in me & giving me the chance to do my own 12 week WRAP  (2015)& then fund for a 5 day course to co-facilitate WRAP  (promo video link)  to give other people as many different tools to navigate and deal with life ups & downs (so to speak).

I still  intend to use my skills when I’m well and unwell to helping other people.

I’ve bonded more with my daughter properly for the first time. I feel focused again. I feel happy when I’m not making myself ill.

I already have diagnosed ‘illnesses-Chronic Anorexia & Bipolar.’ I  have the responsibility to make sure I don’t fall back & do serious damage to myself (in the future) that I cannot undo.

I’m never going to be perfect & that is where I always go wrong. I aim for perfection when there is no such thing.

Even Mother Nature is flawed in all her  complexity & beauty.

 

 

If you’ve read this far…

Thank you for indulging me.

Shout out to Linda for  her  #1linerWeds  prompt & fun writing.

 

Blood makes noise

I had nothing prepared to blog about in my mind. Again – I thought. No inspiration to type anything.

I’m finding out my inspiration comes from reading your posts!

So thank you.

Today I want to thank Annette @ Annettes place  – post on childhood scars and her using the daily prompt. 

Her child hood scars remind me of my own scars.

One scar I have is huge – it almost wraps all the way around my upper wrist -it is 2-3 cm wide.  Indented, It reminds me of a dried up river.

The cause?

Domestic violence.

Before I continue…

Domestic abuse & Toxic relationships

Rape -NO means NO.

I’m going to state the obvious here.

Domestic violence is a relationship fucks about with your mental health, whether you love the person or not.

 

Toxic relationships have usually tipped me over into using shitty coping mechanisms like drinking too much, taking drugs, overdosing and not managing my medication or my eating disorder and Bipolar.

So back to the blood river scar.

One night- no

Another night of heavy drinking and arguing, I found me in a house -not mine- that looked like a slaughterhouse. all dirty browns. There was a rusty scent of blood impossible to ignore.

Every time I inhaled, the scent would drip down the back of my throat like a  tap -I could taste it too.

I  had mixed copious amounts of alcohol with my medication and all I remember is trying to push my ex away with my left hand ( I am left-handed) , he grabbed my arm and I struggled back.

BLACKOUT

 

 An image.

An arm.

 

 a massive shard of re-enforced window glass- barbered-   poking out of my right arm.

 

Another image.

the back of my exes legs and back running up the stairs.

PANIC 

BLOOD

DRINK

VODKA

WHERE IS THE ORANGE JUICE?

WHERE IS THE GLASS?

WHERE IS MY EX?

BLOOD 

DRIP

BLOOD 

DRIP

BLOOD 

DRIP

BLOOD 

DRIP

PANIC 

PANIC

An arm coated thick with blood. I wear it like an accessory

Blood makes noise.

I hear screaming.

Mine.

Ex reappears and tries to grab me.

I try to run away.

PANIC 

BLOOD

DRIP

I NEED TO GET OUT OF HERE.

Why is my ex naked? 

In the middle of the street?

Rolling on the floor with me- trying to muffle my screams with his hand. Trying to stop me from running away...

BLOOD

MIND FUCKERY at its best.

“Look what you have done…” ex says.

6 hours later – location:  hospital.

The doctor asks to speak with me in private. My ex doesn’t want to leave my side.

I don’t say anythingquack quack! quack quack! quack quack!   the word on a loop…

 

“What happened?”  he wants to know.

“We don’t know. We were drinking. I can’t remember. It was an accident.” my ex speaks for us.

My head bows down,it almost appears as if I am nodding. I can’t quite remember.

What I do remember feels like I have made it up, it is so detached from my mind and emotions. It is about as close to me as Pluto or Saturn.

3 days in hospital my ex never left my side.

Not even to go home to wash or brush his teeth.

I wasn’t alone- my mother was with us too.

I was high on morphine for the pain.

Why didn’t they operate sooner? 

Did they want to monitor me? 

The situation? 

Us? 

three days later…  I’m being wheeled on the hospital bed- away from the stale, coughing ward…

“countback with me from 10,” says the anaesthetist.

10 , 9 ,8 ……

BLACKOUT

 

“1”. my eyes burst open. I gasp a breath. It is  like I’ve been living in a home made  sac filled with  half shallow water and half air .

 Disorientated.

What happened?

I look down at the art work the surgeon has done.

No more blood .

re stuffed  re patched, re covered ,

by a micro surgic  hand.

Discharged.

Back to the carnival freak show.

I enter his home – a massacre.

Dry blood everywhere.

Smell.

Bleach.

Sound.

Scrubbing brushes.

Stubborn blood. 

If only it could  serve as a reminder of what actually happened that night.

“I don’t remember” the ex says.

How can he and I not know?

Every time I look at my scar I am reminded of the chaos that was my life for 4 years.

This scar says –

mutilation.

despair.

secrets.

emotions numbed.

detachment.

silence.

silence-1.jpg

This scar reminds me to NEVER be silent in the name of so called love or a sense of loyalty to one who  claimed to   love me so much he would do anything to keep me.

http://www.vevo.com/watch/suzanne-vega/blood-makes-noise/USIV20300313

When I left him, I did not take his threats seriously.

 What he did next gave serious  competition  with the scar I see .

That everyone can see.

Toxic relationships result in severe loss – sometimes that means your life.

Think  carefully about what and who your life may include.

I was re born again on the 06/05/2015.

The day the court ordered social services out of my life.

The day that my ex turned his back on me,  is they day I realised I had been  holding my breath for years.

I had forgotten how to breath.  I might have been dead- a wanderer.

06/05/2015 -I remembered not only how to breathe  again but why.

Life -not just my own but that who is of me.

Life is precious

Life is my responsibility

resumption_by_jorgeremmy-d3drxy2.png