Tag Archives: emotional

Romance with death

So many things are taking up space in my mind over the past few days; I am finding it hard to concentrate on anything but emotional presence, which is strange because I usually try to avoid acknowledging my emotions as much as possible, or at least as minimal as possible.

I don’t really know much about meditation other than what I have learned in books and on YouTube.

I have never had a guided meditation – so I don’t really know if the meditation I did a few days ago called “Who am I”? Has anything to do with it, but it’s a strange coincidence if it hasn’t.

When I am not drifting off into trance-like stupors losing twenty minutes a time, I try to sit and focus on writing something for my blog or towards my stories or reading a book, only for me to be absorbed yet again in my emotions.

There is a voice at the back of my head telling me that I need to go through this process as it is healing me in preparation for something big coming into my life.

If I want to cry, do it – but I still try to hold back.

I never did get into the crying yoga I said I was interested in – I kind of know deep down it is something I need… but I still hold back.

I often try not to be emotionally present so it is all new to me.  I try to shut away my emotions into a coffin, put it into a wardrobe and throw the wardrobe into a lake tied up with ropes and rocks so I don’t remember them… until a drought comes at least.

Not that I fly tip or anything, I am being metaphorical – some people can take things too seriously!

I think there are some readers out there that takes me too seriously too – sometimes when my depression kicks in and I make all these creative works of poetry, I sometimes sit back and laugh at how tragic I was for those moments and I feel stupid and slightly embarrassed by yet another emotional outburst. 

I think it is good for you to know that sometimes when I have got it all out creatively, I do laugh at myself – because of how pathetic I come across.  Some days though, I am quite serious and often think about death very seriously after writing such things… but a good third to near half of the time I find humour in my tragedy, like some kind of sad clown story.

I do see myself as a pitiful sad clown a lot of the time.  The kind of clown that will sit in the grey in dirty dusty clown clothes, with a black cone hat and grey pom poms on it, sitting miserably alone in their own grey tragedy – then suddenly opens the door of their house to jump off the cliff that’s waiting just beyond the threshold only he is saved by a rainbow bridge and whilst he is standing on that rainbow bridge he magically transforms into a colourful rainbow clown and laughs at his own sorrow and skips off down the curve of the rainbow to play with the faeries!

Well that’s how I visualise myself anyway.

Dark sense of humour at times!

But you have to admit though, the depths I go, the sarcasm at times, the irony etc. – I see myself as ironic, my humour is definitely ironic and I know because I have been told multiple times that my humour is lame – but you’ve got to admit, sometimes it’s funny?

Was never meant to be, but boy I can get too deep at times cant I? Its almost like a romance with death and despair!

Well, if I didn’t laugh I’d cry and which one is better eh?

I’m trying so hard not to be a Sylvia Plath, not going down her route.

However, my depression is very real.  Have no doubt about that.

Thank you for reading… 

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Emotionally promiscuous

One thing about me and my poetry is that sometimes I have relapses.

There might be nothing negative going on in my life at all at the time, but then I sit back and I think about something and the old fears come back to haunt me.

What’s worse about all of it is how lonely I am and isolated.  How I haven’t got anyone to really care or love me as pathetic as it sounds.  It’s worse because not only am I needy, I am emotionally promiscuous (though a good girl generally) lol and confirmation bias.

I don’t whine, it’s not my nature.  I am a considerate depressant.

I try to stay happy for people around me; I try not to sap their energy.  I literally shut myself away in a room of my own and absorb myself in gloomy poetry giving you the misconception that this must be my personality – some tragic depressant who mopes around all day looking glum and ugly.

But it’s not true.

I’m one of the happy go lucky people who walks around like some kind of summer camp rep so nobody really knows what’s going on inside me, unless they live with me and catch me out!

I do everything I can to make life a happy place for others, I live for others, I am not motivated by my own selfish needs – this is why I found it essential for me to be “in the lifestyle” (BDSM lifestyle, specifically TPE).

That kind of lifestyle makes me motivated to do things consistently, because my partner or Master as they are usually known, will ensure I don’t have time to think and dwell or makes me utterly focus on them and their needs and expectations. 

I don’t mean to sound horrible or anything, but I wasn’t depressed before I moved in with Paul, my depression was diagnosed at a hospital when Henry was around five months old as being post-natal depression, which I found was wrong because I had absolutely no negative feelings for Henry; Just going through a bad patch with my mum and getting down in life in general because of the state of the house.  I explained this to them, but they wouldn’t have it.

I was at the hospital because of chronic heartburn being mistaken for a heart attack, by the way – at the time my blood pressure was sky high and still hadn’t regulated after the birth!  103 over 145 I think it was at the time!

I was hospitalised regularly with blood pressure and extreme morning sickness when I was pregnant with Henry, morning sickness was so bad I lost approximately thirty pounds in weight before he was even born!

Anyway, I digress…

The fact of the matter is – my poetry sometimes seems aimed at people specifically but it’s not.  People from my distant past maybe and fears about possible reoccurrences in the future in new people – but most of the time, it’s just current bouts of fear and uncertainty.

I’m scared you see.

I’ve given myself a time line, that if something hasn’t drastically changed in my life by April (and I don’t mean career wise, I mean on a personal level), then I think I am likely to do something stupid.

Because I’ve had enough of not getting any sort of comfort, love, security, health, warmth and happiness.

With this to be considered first things first – I will reluctantly try and get into the lifestyle again around the end of March to test the water and see what’s available for a forty year old – not much I know, a submissive should be between 21 and 30 by most master standards, especially if they want to have a family, like I do.  I may extend my deadline to the end of May, depends.

But generally in my past, when I’ve been on those sites I’ve found someone and moved in with them in less than a month – I’ve always moved fast in relationships, I am impulsive like that!  But I have to consider I am fourteen years older than I was the last time I was on there and overweight, with a tooth missing and no professional qualifications or good health to inspire a new master to take me on.

Especially not in the roles I was used to at the time – I was a consensual slave, not a submissive – a vast difference and I was always involved in what they call a princess slave role, an alpha slave girl of a poly household – this meant I was trained to keep other girls in line, because I can switch.

Thing is, it’s difficult if there are masters who switch too, because I find it difficult domming a master who I love and respect, in a humiliating way.  In a passive way, fine, like letting them suck my toes and worship my body etc. – but the whole spitting on them and that I can’t do – because I respect them too much!

I also had daddy dominants, I am very playful by my very nature and never really grew up – but I am not infantilised if you understand me?  But I can roleplay really well!

I was also a kitten girl for a time too, but that’s pretty boring as you are animalised and aren’t expected to be human.  I liked reading books and the master I had back then found it amusing I wanted to read, and relented occasionally to giving me books to read inside my cage.  Yes I had a cage.  I was a part time live out kitten girl. 

Boring for someone who thrives on chores, cooking, cleaning, shopping, ironing etc. -I am very domestic! 

I don’t do well in vanilla (normal) relationships because my partners get annoyed at me constantly asking their opinions on things – which dress should I wear today?  What should I eat?  What should I do today?  I am perfectly happy to hand that level of control over to a person – depending on how healthy it is and safe Etc. 

I was very sought after before I moved in with Paul because I hadn’t very many limits and I am a pain slut, as they call them, women who find pleasure with certain types of pain.  Most of my limits were due to medical reasons, or squeamishness that resorted to play not being very fun!  Or anything that triggered my PTSD, such as humiliation – that’s a hard limit!  I’m a praise worth, I function better with praise, attention and tenderness.

Around the right people my confidence can bloom or crash, depends on them and depends on circumstances, with the right people I feel as though I can do anything and I can become a bit of a daredevil if I feel, safe, loved and protected!

I don’t like masters who like breaking people down to rebuild them, I like the kind that wants the best from a charge and always thinks the best for their charge, the kind that see their good girls as precious and when they are bad they will know it!

If I am lucky to find someone before May, I’ll live – but my blog may be closed, depends on the master.  I surrender completely to the right ones.

If not, I can’t guarantee I’d want to carry on to be honest.

I am getting older; all I want is love, a family, a purpose.  As I said I am never motivated for myself and there is no incentive to stay here, I am not needed here with Paul.

But it’s scary because a new master could do anything and I will tolerate a lot until I think things are too unsafe.  I really don’t want to come back to Paul again, but he is my safety net – he’s promised.

I was sought after for another reason too – I don’t need micromanaging like most!  I have a brain, I use it and I have been trained to determine what the master wants, because I pay attention!  I ask a lot of questions, which isn’t always ideal for most – but the good ones appreciate it, because they know I am trying to make an effort to understand them and adjust for them.

Another of my limits is, I won’t submit to women – absolutely not!  They can submit to me however, but never try to make me less than the best female in the room!

I have a jealous heart and I like being smug and precious.

So shoot me, guilt trip me, do whatever you want – but I am proud to be me!

I know you will miss me if I find someone who doesn’t like me blogging and I know the world will lose what you call “a talent”, but hopefully I will be happier.

Who knows?

There are a lot of bad masters out there, I know…

Just felt I needed to explain myself is all!

This is why I like men with big egos, smart, social, virile and sarcastic – pure heaven if they are into the lifestyle and have a knack for motivating others in a positive, robust and fun and patient kind of way!

Thanks for reading! 

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Risky to garden but…

Being that a lot of the garden has died back because it is winter and being that it is a mild winter, I have been seriously thinking about taking a risk and doing the gardening now to clear the way for spring;  why is it a risk?  Because my nosy and harassing neighbour could come out of his house and start on me again and if that happens I am in such a vulnerable emotional state right now I might actually cause a scene and I am afraid.

I had thought, maybe he won’t be interested in me if I can keep my camera to hand and film the process of me gardening or try and get Paul off his butt to film me being he hates gardening, just as a preventative for the neighbour not to harass me!

The garden is an embarrassing mess and at least the rumours in the village will stop about me being dead, murdered or moved out.

It is also a risk, because my neighbour’s huge Dalmatian is vicious and sometimes they don’t close their gate properly when he is in the garden and he could get through the entry of the houses and attack me if I am going from back to front garden getting supplies.

Also the dog throws himself at their window and their window is literally breaking with the weight of the dog, the frame of the window is cracked and part of my garden is around 6ft away from this window near the dog, because of how our garden is situated and I have to walk within 3ft of the window and the snarling dog in the window every time I need to use our side entry!

Not nice.

Not only this but no matter how quiet I am for human ears so I am not detected by this bad neighbour, I am never quiet enough for their dog, so the dog is like an alarm for him to see what this house is doing all the while!

I remember two years ago when he first got the dog, he was praising it every time it heard us, even when we was inside our own house and not outside at all, he trained the dog to be like that!

Twice that dog has lunged at Henry and Paul in the past two months when they were simply walking up the shared garden path, when he was taking it for a walk and twice they’ve been injured by the bushes as they tried to jump away from the jaws of the dog!

The owners have no control whatsoever over it and they can hardly control is on its leash, it isn’t muzzled and it should be!

Gardening was peaceful and healing for me, but it is a form of stress lately.  I know even if the neighbour doesn’t come outside to harass me he will no doubt sit in the window with his dog watching me and praising the dog to continue snarling and barking – making the entirely experience frustrating!

But it needs to be done.

Thanks for reading!

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Maybe she couldn’t help it?

As hard as it might be to believe it, but I am starting to understand things a bit better about how I was treated as a child.

I am starting to realise as I am getting older that both of my parents were not really normal at all, I had my suspicions about my dad, but he was lovely, I kind of felt my mother was also a bit odd but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it… I presumed she was a bit off because she too, had a hard life – but no, there was more.

I may be entirely wrong with my suspicions, but it is making me wonder…

I’ll get to the gist shall I? 

I have been reading a book called “An adult with an autism diagnosis” by Gillan Drew, because I wanted to better understand my son Henry’s autism diagnosis better.  But as I was reading the book I realise more and more that the book was describing my parents!

Both had their obsessions, extreme OCD, both self-neglected when things went into turmoil in their lives, both were excessively awkward with strangers and would never leave the house if it meant leaving a specific three mile radius and would abandon trips altogether if they needed an alternate route because of roadworks or accidents.

Both had irrational ideas and were easily triggered into aggressive mood swings that held grudges sometimes for months and in some cases forever!

They also took everything literally, they never questioned what they were told and they were both excessively stubborn about any knowledge that they had.

Multi-tasking was also a trait none of them had; they were easily flustered whenever they had to do more than one thing at a time and were easily irritated by sudden changes of plan.  Everything in their lives were run by a tight schedule and outside of that schedule they were easily lost and confused.

The main trait of autistic parents according to the book is emotional distance from people, especially their children, though they focus on them a lot and they will do everything for the child in usually a suffocating manner, they often neglect their emotional needs.  They often fail to comfort their child, or cuddle them or support them verbally, but are quick to criticisms if it is outside of their idea of perfection.

I remember my parents thinking that cuddles was silly, get off, what do you think you are doing?  Do you think that is appropriate?  I remember my parents cancelling things if it meant that their dinner had to wait even by fifteen minutes, because the idea of not eating dinner by 4:30pm every day except Sunday was alien to them!

I know a lot of the time my mother would refer on the telephone to relatives she respected about the behaviour of all of her children and based on their advice she would change her parenting method quickly and react to whatever was suggested to her.

Throughout most of my childhood the parenting was delegated as much as possible, I was passed onto relative to relative a lot of the time and in between that she arranged for live in help in the form of au pairs and home helps.

Sometimes my mum would let me get away with things because in her opinion she didn’t see that something was wrong, if someone mentioned that it was wrong to her she’d instantly panic and respond in a very aggressive and often violent manner in the embarrassment that someone else had judged her.

All of these things are very much like a high on the spectrum autistic parent.

This would totally explain to me the constant inconsistencies in her parenting style and her ways and how extreme she was.

I know she hasn’t been diagnosed with autism because she has lived in a time where those things were not widely known, but I do know that my mother went to a prove school and was expelled for her behaviour a lot of the time and she had psychiatric tests a lot throughout her childhood because of her strangeness.

My dad isn’t so high up in the spectrum I think; I think he is just socially awkward and easily manipulated by my mother.

My mother had what I called “flaps” she often had to try and control herself, it is making total sense to me now and it is a confusing emotion to consider forgiving her because she may have had this condition and didn’t know any better!

Seriously, that is what is going through my head right now.

Her behaviour on many occasions was inexcusable, but I never once considered that she isolated me because she was suffering from social anxieties herself – because throughout my childhood she kept saying it was I who was not normal and that she simply didn’t socialise because she didn’t have the time or energy because of running a family and a home along with ridiculous work schedules. 

I didn’t realise when I grew up that most of the people she socialised with were in actual fact distant relatives and not friends at all!

This fact only came about near the end of my nans life as she revealed several family friends to be 3rd to fifth cousins and then it was confirmed on GenesReunited on more than one occasion that it was true!

Yet growing up I was led to believe my mum was cool and extroverted and wild, because of her stories and ways.

How she berated me for being a strange creature who was the complete opposite to her.  She said she feared that I was too trusting of strangers and that I didn’t know how to properly behave in public as I am too forward and innocent all at once, that strangers would get mixed signals from me!

Every therapist I have ever gone to has felt that socially there doesn’t seem to be anything amiss – that perhaps some of my problems are based around my mother putting scary thoughts into my head – but to them they thought I was rather mature and worldly and acting very appropriately in fact splendidly.

It’s very strange to consider I got this book to understand my son, but instead it made me understand my mother!

I remember growing up and hearing my mother ask me why I would do such and such and to have me explain things to her almost constantly and she would always ask me why I reacted that way!

I often used to cry about not being cuddled or having attention as much as other children with their parents – she honestly looked awkward and frustrated and often said “why is that important?  I don’t like to do this, so you should respect that – why can’t you just understand I am not the cuddly sort of mother”?

It was bad enough her rejecting me, but when I was around ten years old my dad started to say he won’t cuddle me anymore because my mother finds it inappropriate now!

Henry doesn’t like cuddles either he doesnt understand how they are important in families.

She was always asking me why about everything –why is this important to you, I don’t think that should be, you should think this way instead (her way).

She’d also never understood how people had their own hobbies, likes and dislikes and would easily get offended if you said you didn’t like something that she liked.

She always tried to tell me that as we have a mother and daughter relationship, it is the daughters duty to be as much like her mother as possible, therefore I should endeavour to dress like her, think like her, choose the same hobbies as her and want to be with her as much as possible doing things as a team!

She couldn’t fathom for the life of her that things don’t work out that way!

She was so self-absorbed that for years I didn’t realise that brushing teeth and washing outside of the once a week on a Sunday bath was important, until other relatives I lived with raised concerns about my hygiene standards when I was thirteen!

When I told my mother about this conversation, she said that she presumed I would know to have done it, because she did it to me right up until I was 5yrs old and she presumed that I would carry it on now I knew the basics… no children don’t work like that… children don’t understand those sorts of things unless you tell them specifically and remind them regularly!

When I moved in with Paul in 2009 my mother couldn’t understand why I wouldn’t have the usual meal time schedules, why I had breakfast now whereas in London I never had one – why I don’t do lunch at 12:15pm sharp instead it floats around 1pm to 3pm and why on Earth is dinner anywhere between 6:30pm and 8pm when it should be 4:30pm? 

Why do I now have an 11:15pm bedtime and a 5:45am wake up time? 

Why do I insist in going out at 8am every morning for a long walk?

Why do I want to have yellow and purple walls instead of ivory white?

Why am I wearing pink instead of black and white all the time suddenly?

Why… why… why…

Why can’t I be like her?

She couldn’t cope with all the changes, the idea of travelling up to visit me made her ill because it was an hour and twenty minute car journey, a whole 87 miles too far!

The panic of me leaving home caused her to phone me approximately twenty five times a day!

When she temporarily moved in with me because I wasn’t coping a the last month of pregnancy as I needed bed rest due to chronic oedema and blood pressure – she went around the house changing furniture to her taste, painting my walls her colours and throwing out anything she found ugly whether I wanted to keep it or not, whether they were special things of                 Paul’s or not too!

She couldn’t understand when I had my baby, that my baby was priority over everything, including her!  She was hurt and often whimpered and cried if I ignored her to attend to my baby, because I never used to just ignore and abandon her when she spoke to me.  She really didn’t understand the transition!

All of this makes me wonder if my mother was a high functioning autistic person.

It makes me wonder if she deserved my sympathy because she really didn’t understand anything at all and still probably doesn’t understand why I decided I had enough of her controlling, aggressive and oftentimes childish ways.

I remember before I decided to wash my hands of her, I told Paul; my mother is harder work than our two year old over there!  He is a doddle; she is driving me around the twist and endangering him with her stupid antics!

Thanks for reading!

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Lost poetry & young love

The world has lost seven new poems in the past two days.

When I write a poem I am in a certain emotional state or a semi-trance and I write them; if I am disturbed sometimes it is OK if it is for a few seconds, but seven poems in the past two days has been interrupted for five minutes or more with much needed emotional feedback which meant the poem was half finished and the flow was gone, so they got deleted. 

I never get the flow back ever again when a poem has been interrupted in its creation, there were times in the past I put the unfinished poems into a folder on my computer and I have tried to get back into that space but it never happens – so poems that are disturbed like that are lost forever, so now I delete them.

Every poem I write always ends up on my blog; this is another reason why my blog has been so quiet.  There is a lot of emotional turmoil going on within the house and people want my response to what’s going on because I am the mother of the house; however, when you are mother of a house where your opinion doesn’t matter, what can I do other than sit there, give whatever emotional support I can, sit and shrug and say – “you know I can’t do anything about love”.

Its hard being a mother to a child and making suggestions for that child when the father has opposing ideas and is very strong-minded and shoots my opinions down like we’re in a war against each other!

It’s even harder when you know your child has come to you to speak to you in private because he doesn’t want his dad to get on his case again for his honest opinion about the situation.  So when he asks you for help, you have no choice but to talk to the father and then realise that the father seeks the child about it and starts the mini wars again. So the child asks for help, you tell them, I need to speak with dad and he asks you not to, or sometimes he says ok, but you know it’s always the same. It’s more difficult than you can know!

It is very difficult knowing too, that when you tell your child you are separating and in a few months’ time will be moving out – that this child choses to stay with the person he rarely goes to for any emotional comfort simply because he wants to stay in this house (which he will inherit as it’s in a trust for him) and to stay in his school with his friends because he doesn’t like the concept of change.

It’s hard because you know in your heart that his emotional declination is almost assured if he stays.

But as stupid and irresponsible as it sounds, my child is thirteen in May and in my opinion I should honour his life decisions whether or not it hurts me – that’s the kind of liberal parenting I do.  It’s all about my child, not me, that’s the way I am.

His father is much more conservative about raising children, education comes before anything – that includes emotions. I often joke that Paul is like a cross between Data and Spock, but in actuality it isn’t funny!

There are times when Henry gets emotional about not being able to do a question in his homework and I swear Paul is struggling to hold back from saying “Being emotional about this question is illogical, you need to do the homework now and do the emotional reflection later.”

It’s Henry’s choice to stay here and I am not going to wrench him away from what he wants, simply because my ego has told me I know better than him.

Maybe I am a bad parent, but for me, I want him to be happy and thrive in a way that doesn’t cause any unnecessary stress for him, also he has a girlfriend, he is dating already and so who can split up young love like that without having some huge pangs of guilt?

Thanks for reading…

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I must become selfish, sorry

Life is drab and cruel at times, you have so many plans and they end up failing into nothing and it’s not your fault, it’s never your fault!  You try to rise above it, but you can only keep your head above water for so long, its tiring to fight the tides.  I know I have been there, I am still there now, it is a day to day slog for me, and it really is!

I have endless lists of plans that have deadlines and I am lucky to have accomplished three or four of those things, because my immune system gets another hit, or my migraines decided to come back or the family are having intense emotional breakdowns again and need to take up your time in order for you to comfort them – there is only so much you can do isn’t there?

I am fighting not just my own personal health and mental health issues, but that of my son and other relatives and along with that I am trying to cope with it all alone and along with the demands that complete strangers put on me.

Whilst trying to maintain some kind of professionalism in my life, so I don’t get completely absorbed in just surviving on every level that a human needs! 

It is selfish and I feel tremendous amount of guilt for it, but recently I have had very long words with Paul about all of this… about how everything is affecting my productivity and the lack of creative release is sending me around the twist – that I must, now become selfish, I must now make harsh demands and say – until my daily writing goal is done, to Hell with everything and everyone and shut myself away in a room that I will guard like the crown jewels!  Because, the work isn’t getting done and it isn’t entirely my fault! 

I have to do this, because I want this career and I can’t get it unless I become tougher and more selfish.  I can’t keep putting my own needs on the side-lines because I am terrified my family is falling apart, because it looks as though, from my standpoint that they are determined to fall apart whether I am there helping them or not and I can’t feel responsible for it anymore!  Because it is not my fault, they have chosen to be the way that they are!

I need just two hours of professional life daily, that is all, it is not asking for much – especially when there are full-time mothers out there that do a lot less for their kids than that!

I am only asking for two hours.

That is rarely got at the moment – this is why I am decluttering the big spare room this month, giving stuff away to charity and moving my computer out of the lounge with Alexa (for amazon music reasons) and putting it all up there – I am going to start closing the world out… for two hours a day, whether it is school holidays or not, they have to get used to it… and though I know it needs to be done… I still can’t help but feel like an evil bitch for doing it!

I care too much me thinks!

Happy reading

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5 movies that made me cry

Bambi

I think most people would put this one down in their list, if they are sensitive to animals and loving nature etc.  So this just speaks for itself really.

Paulie

I love the movie Paulie it is in my top 100 all-time favourite movies, but it is emotionally hard going for me.  The poor little blue crowned parakeet, had a tough little life, but initially his life was good, he loved a little girl with severe speech impediment and helped her along.  But then one day her father came home from the army and demanded the bird be sent away, because he was getting the girl into dangerous trouble. 

The bird goes from person to person over many years and always, his personal goal was to go back and find his little Marie, the little girl he always loved.  The movie has all sorts of drama and adventures in it for the little parakeet; some are hard going for an animal lover like me.  But I loved this movie nonetheless, but if you are like me, you must expect a whole host of different emotions throughout the movie consistently and it is a big rollercoaster ride, let me tell you! 

Marley and Me

This is the most recent movie I have watched that made me cry, I watched it only a few days ago, it was the first movie I had watched in four months.  Again, an animal made me cry!  I just can’t stand sad movies where animals die!  But I keep watching them anyway, because my most favourite kind of movies is those with animals as main characters, children or vampires.  So, yeah, quite contrasted mixes!

Bram Stoker’s Dracula

Look, I know you are confused here right now, but you really have to know me, in order to know why this cuts me up big time!  I just find some vampire movies very romantic, with this whole, reincarnation and love re-discovered concept and how people are willing to literally sell their souls for love.  I know, it’s screwy, but stop being judgemental here, we’re all different right? 

I cried when Dracula died and she was clasping at him broken hearted and in a catch 22 situation where she was literally torn between the dark and the light side; the best for her and the worst for her.  Being wholly human and experiencing as many emotions as a person can possibly handle all at once, all the for the sake of having to choose which love to love and which love to let go.  Yeah, I’m weird, who cares?

I.T (1990)

I can’t even watch this one for five minutes before my tears start!  Little baby Georgie, that was so gruesome and I have to admit, I very nearly didn’t watch the rest of the movie because of it.  I just hate that scene, yes; I watched the movie before I read the book when I was 15.  If I could magically jump into the TV and save the kid I would have… violently!  But I am sucker for being shocked and disgusted and for pushing my own boundaries in an oftentimes vain attempt to try and harden myself up to the worst aspects of humanity.

The amount of times I have often gone back to the scene in my head and it is me who is mind fucking the clown to death, not him getting away with it!

This is what I love about Stephen King though; he knows how dark reality really is and he doesn’t shelter his readers from it like some other more (supposedly) considerate horror authors.  There is no nannying when he writes.  Sometimes the vocabulary is vulgar as is in life, people are vulgar as in life, things get twisted, as in life, it is all real, it is brutally real his stuff, despite it being fictional, the general concepts are real things.  Death, brutality and murder, war, disease is not a pretty thing and should not be romanticised at all, he does this wonderfully, he takes the poetry out of death and that is good, because it shouldn’t be glamorised!

You get authors who write about TB for example and they gentle tell you about the coughing of blood in the tissue like they are dying elegantly; But if Stephen King were to write it, he would talk about the ear hacking coughs, the phlegm and the retching of the patient and the dribble down their chin stained with coarse dark blood and their loved ones, scared for their relative, recoiling and choking on the smell oozing from their loved one.  That sort of thing and that is good writing, it is realistic! Who wants TB glamorised gently?  Aren’t books supposed to be educational?  Stephen King definitely gives you an education!

But yeah, generally, my heart breaks when a kid or an animal dies in movies.  I even cry for some monsters because they are misunderstood, not Pennywise though, but I have cried for a couple of King’s monsters.  Lol.

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Music and Me

I apologise for not posting my word prompts before noon, I got a little too excited today with a delivery I had of a new musical instrument I am attempting to play – something I can hear on bad days and doesn’t require difficult fingering for my left hand – a recorder.   

I have always been musically inclined, since a small child I would visit my grandmother and play on her piano in her dining room whilst she prepared lunch, we often visited her on Sundays, usually just my dad and I.  I would play all the notes and eventually started to learn some tunes by ear.  I never learned to read music even now I have never learned to read and understand music fully or professionally or with professional help. 

The piano was my first attempt at music, always perfect righthandedly and terrible with my left hand due to my disability.  When I was around seven years old my dad talked mum into buying me a keyboard so I can practise at home whenever I liked and ever since my house has never been without a keyboard in it.  I have never personally owned a piano and I never learned to use a pianos foot pedals or learn the proper terminologies for anything regarding music, except for one word I learned listening to classic FM radio as a teenager = Adagio means to play slowly.

I was then upgraded to a more professional style keyboard aged seventeen as a birthday present, this had digitisation to it (I think that’s what people call it), where I could hook up the keyboard to the internet and download new songs to learn, because this particular keyboard had a function where it taught you how to place your hands and how to keep time.  When I was about nineteen my brother gave me an old copy of Cubase that a friend of his owned and I learned I could compose music by using this, without ever knowing how to actually write the music.  I had saved the music I composed onto an MP3 floppy disk and I still have it to this day and the keyboard too actually!  Unfortunately that Cubase I had is years out of date and I have never been able to finance a replacement, so until I can replace Cubase, my composing days are over!

Pianos and keyboards were never my only dip into the music world; I have in fact learned to play a paper and comb, some notes on a harmonica, belly dancing cymbals, some tunes on my dad’s bugle, an xylophone at a day centre for children when I was around thirteen, some notes on a guitar but again my left hand failed me and I never did get around to replacing my guitar with a left handed version, I also played quite well an accordion, but my parents sold it at a car boot sale once, they claimed they were having a hard time and I never did get it back, I was doing better on that than the keyboard and I had rather of given up the keyboard instead. The fact I did better with an accordion stands to reason as it was a right handed instrument and the fingers I needed on my left hand could do the job properly.

I haven’t played music for nearly six years because I was ill, but also because the house got a little too crowded and messy and I couldn’t set up my keyboard in a permanent position anymore; afraid it would get damaged I had it boxed up and stored safely under the bed in the spare room and I feel that a neglected and unplayed musical instrument is sacrilege. 

Funnily enough my depression started around the same time I boxed up the keyboard.  I came to this realisation a few days ago but I knew my left hand is worse these days and I can’t improve my left handed playing at all now.  I nearly got into a deeper form of depression with this realisation but then I watched a YouTube video to stop the negative thoughts in their tracks, I stumbled across a TedTalk by a woman named Barbara Sher and the title of the video was “Isolation is the dream-killer”; I have been thinking so much about how isolated I am despite my battle to escape from it because of the struggles I had with certain people in my life a few years ago.  I thought maybe loneliness was one of the main reasons I am depressed, how can I be sure it is missing a musical instrument? 

Well anyway, here is a link to see the video for yourselves – https://youtu.be/H2rG4Dg6xyI

She put out a question that I had to think about for myself and that is “What is your dream and what are your obstacle/obstacles”? 

My first thought I don’t exactly remember, but I do remember that I had several dreams I have that are still unaccomplished and most of the those dreams boil down to financial insecurity where I have to think twice about buying a bottle of Pepsi and of course, isolation.

I browsed a book by my bedside, I think it was called “The Little Book of Wonder” and the lady who had written it said that you have to remain curious throughout your life, if you don’t know something, don’t shrug and think that it doesn’t matter and it isn’t important, if you had that question in your head, go and find the answer as it might lead you into an entirely different path in life.   

So I absorbed those words and thought about stuff and then I browsed more YouTube videos and I found a doctor of psychology called Guy Winch in another TedTalk; He said that loneliness can knock significant number of years off our life and cause us to become ill, it can affect our immune system greatly because our emotional wellbeing determines whether we are healthy or not.  This explained a lot to me, because since living in my own home with my husband and having a baby I have ironically became more isolated than I ever was before I left my parents’ house (ironic because my main form of abuse and neglect was social isolation growing up, even as an adult it was very coercive and controlling the relationship between my mother and I).  But because I had a baby and fell ill just a few weeks shy from his third birthday, I became drastically isolated after being free from true isolation for nearly three years!  In fact for the first eight months of my illness I couldn’t get out of bed to go and talk to a doctor about what was wrong! 

It was around this time I decided to never talk to my parents again too, so the only guaranteed socialising I could have done when I became sick, I cut off.  I was getting five or more phone calls per day from my mum and once a week visits that lasted six hours a time, to having no phone calls with anyone and only annual visits from my adult nephews, to then having just the annual visits ONLY for the next six years.

That isn’t good for anybody!

So I had a long hard look at my life and realised that depression and loneliness is killing me, literally.  It must be, because around six years ago I was diagnosed with a handful of different types of auto-immunity diseases and recently doctors are suspecting MS and/or neurological problems as well. 

One thing I have always been frightened of is Motor-Neurone disease, it runs rife on my dad’s side of the family and my dad’s family as a whole are very close within family, extensive family (we still talk to our cousins four times removed) but don’t socialise much outside of family and church friends or salvation army duties. 

I wondered if illness due to isolation or loneliness could be genetic on my father’s side.

Anyway, Dr Guy Winch’s video can be found here – https://youtu.be/F2hc2FLOdhI

Worrying about being isolated, too sick to socialise and the expense of joining college or a social club (because I have to rely on public transport), I asked some questions to the universe.  I asked the universe what you want me to do?  What do I have to do to change things being there are more obstacles for me than anyone else I know?  I got no answers.

Then I asked the universe that if my life was supposed to be to help motivate others, or be as creative as I can be in all creative interests I have then send me money somehow – if my life isn’t meant to be like this, then make something else happen to blatantly show me what it is I was made to do! 

So, knowing that money doesn’t just fall onto the doorstep when you implore the universe to give it to you – I tried to make receiving it easy.  I decided to (and this is no exaggeration) I decided to take a risk, I had just £15 left for my own personal treats (not the families, my own, I get around £40 a month just for me it is Paul’s rule that I treat myself each month) – I took that £15 and I spent it on 888ladies.com and I won £200, for me that is like winning 5k, I was so happy it paid off my overdraft and I could have a little to spend on a new bra and some new trousers as my clothes are getting too big on me lately.  But I thought that doesn’t change anything; it just helps my current situation without improving it so I took another risk – I said the universe, if I am supposed to learn a musical instrument and buy art supplies I will need this again or a bit more please.  So I rolled the slots again and I instantly won another £250 that is enough I thought, that is enough to get some art supplies and buy a cheap instrument – but I didn’t know what instrument to get?

This made me very happy and I decided to “Be Curious” as the book said earlier that night. 

I asked myself some questions.

What does all these musical instruments I hear on the BBC Proms sound like as solo instruments?  I didn’t know a majority of them singularly.  So I again, went onto YouTube and I searched through every musical instrument I could think of to find solo samples. 

I made a list of my favourite sounds.

Piano

Harpsichord

Jazz Piano

Bass

Trombone

French horn

Piccolo

Recorder

Saxophone

Crystallaphone

Glockenspiel

An apprehension engine

Xylophone

Harp

Lute

Cello

Accordion

Violin

And trumpet

There were others but I don’t remember them. 

Then I asked…

What musical instrument can I learn that has limited mobility to the hand?

Perhaps go back to the accordion and this time learn to read music?

A recorder doesn’t require the left pinkie to play.

A trombone

A xylophone – crystallaphone or a glockenspiel

I then thought about the types of classical music I love the most and I know that I love folk, medieval and baroque above all others! 

So I decided on the recorder first and foremost and eventually the glockenspiel. 

So I bought this recorder for me and Henry (because whenever I do something new Henry nags us to get him the same so he can share practise time with me, which is sweet and expensive sometimes)!

 

 

It was pretty cheap £16.37 each from Amazon.co.uk

It is a Yamaha YRS302BIII Soprano, plastic.  When I had decided it would be the recorder I discovered a wonderful lady on YouTube called Sarah Jeffrey who teaches you practically everything about being a recorder player, she is very enthusiastic and passionate about the instrument and makes learning about it fun!

She can be found here, this is the first lesson https://youtu.be/-d6uVjIEkMY

Until I found her videos I never knew how many different types of recorders there are and that they can all be played the same way, because they are the same instrument.  Different woods and plastic and lengths can make different sounds.  A true and passionate recorder player will have a large collection of different recorders to choose from.  I am getting a baroque alto before Christmas as I am taking to this instrument remarkably and yes, I am trying to learn how to read music now.

I have practised for three hours today and I am very tired now.  I know it is likely I will have two months a year off from practise because I am prone to very nasty chest infections in the winter that usually always lead to pneumonia for some reason.

So, there you have it.  The reason behind why I was late today.

Let me know in the comments below whether or not you are also musically inclined and share with me what you play and what you are passionate about, I would love to know!

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Going deaf to your misery

 

royalty free image from pixabay

DISCLAIMER – 

The below poem is not meant to be offensive – I am personally a sensory impaired member of society, I am very short sighted with astigmatism and I am totally deaf in my right ear with only 35% hearing in my left ear and I could potentially lose that, considering I have auto-immune inner ear disease.  I have only learned to develop a sense of humour with the cards I’ve been dealt with in life, please understand.

 

Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of deaf

I shall hear no evil, but see a lot I might

Though I hear not the barks that scold me, I see the awful sight

Evidence of those who hate me are seen everywhere

And they sit back and they think that I really, really care

But yea, the mind is full of ego

And they shall think of themselves

I shall sit in wonderment, why they don’t put the hate on their shelves?

I wonder why every day, why they think of me?

When I have left them long ago, yet they still want to torture me?

Then I realise that those poor dears, they do not have a life

So that is why they taunt me, with curses and poisoned words of strife

They of course have an ego too, that you can be sure

That they sit around every day gossiping of the times of yore

Becoming old and bitter, making their friends think that they are a bore

By choosing to focus on the dead past, the past that makes them sore

And I sit back still amazed, that they have chosen to concentrate

On things about me, each and every day, because poisoned words always finds a way

To go back to the victim

You see that’s the side effects of your conviction

Gossip not and leave the friction

 

 

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If you can’t cope then don’t make me

If you can’t cope with life and you enter my life, you will sail in troubled waters

If you can’t swim you’ll sink, perhaps our relationship you should rethink?

I am not going to be easy, when I’ve had a hard life

You’ve got to walk with me, or turn away to your light

I have bright days, good days too, I have than more often than you have a clue

I know I suffer and I shout it loud, but I have overcome things and for that I am proud

I am not disillusioned, I am not speaking lies, I have worked hard to live and to thrive

So when I don’t handle your bullshit, think why should I?  Then you should quit, because if the load is too heavy for you, then you don’t have the right to make me carry it too

I have my own baggage, I don’t want yours

I want a new life, with golden calm warm shores

I don’t want to dig another person’s grave; I don’t want to be your emotional slave

I want a life where things go smooth, where life is lived, not thought through

I want a life where action is key, a life where I am happy and ultimately free

So don’t bring me down because you can’t cope, because you think you know me when in fact you don’t

So don’t sit there and whine and moan, when I am out working things out and leaving you alone

I don’t wallow for long my friend, I work it out, I learn how to mend

So should you

You really should

Because living this way, is very good

Don’t offload your baggage to others if you want to be happy, if you want to live happily, change this habit snappily

It’s in your hands, not some chosen saviours, it’s in your hands and in your behaviours

So learn to ride alone in your emotional rides, learn it now and you will rise

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