Tag Archives: life

Ideas and the life of them

Having lots of story ideas is an author’s dream, well I guess I have the dream creative life then, because I have more ideas than I can handle!

But it is not nice to be like this, having more ideas than I can reasonably write!  How do I manage being like this?  I have noticed there is not much literature on people who are overloaded with ideas, but there is plenty literature on how to try and get them! 

For me personally, I have learned that I can’t write enough to get every idea down on paper, even writing more than one paragraph about the idea is a challenge at times! 

How I manage the best ideas;

I keep a bullet point journal about the general ideas; usually just one sentence per idea as a trigger to remembering, so that later on in the day, usually just before I go to sleep, I write a further paragraph or two in an ideas folder.

I have to say, I am often brutal with my ideas, ideas come and go quite quickly for me and not all of them are worthy of note!  Weirdly enough most of the ideas come when I am on the toilet, in the bath or at a busy café!

I have ideas that are not even for my favourite genres to write, many times I discard ideas because I feel that their plots are too complicated for me or requires much more research than I am willing to do on a new subject I know nothing about!  Believe me, I am not in any need for further research material, I read mostly non-fiction these days as it is!

This past week alone I have had six entirely new ideas come and so far, only two have survived further summaries.  Those two were of the genre I write, three of the others were not of my genre and one other was way too technological – as we all know technology is not my strong point!

The ideas that remained were another dragon story and a comedy vampire story. 

The ideas I discarded were an Italian romance story, a story based on the life of a rabbit, a story that seemed too similar to the plot of a recent book review I watched on YouTube and the complicated story was a space opera.

You can’t hoard all these ideas if you are sure you are not going to write them!

I firmly believe in Elizabeth Gilbert’s idea in Big Magic; ideas are alive, they have souls, they are like ghosts of stories that want to exist, they flow from person to person seeing who’d write them and if they decide not to write them, they flow onto people they know who might.

This doesn’t mean that a person steals another person’s idea; most of the time people don’t even know that those ideas are in people’s heads – because a lot of creative people are closely guarded by what they merely think about.  Especially if they do not know that they are not going use those ideas. 

But it is strange how many times a person has claimed that a story their friend has wrote, was weirdly an idea that they had had for a long time but didn’t take the plunge.  I too, have found this! 

In fact the more creative friends I make, the more ideas I seem to get and it is not because of a feedback of ideas they talk about (because most of them don’t), it is usually about the ones they don’t talk about!  Elizabeth Gilbert explains this phenomenon in Big Magic, if you haven’t read the book I strongly recommend it!

Because of this book, I have learned not to get so uppity and upset when people write things I wanted to write, but didn’t – it’s not copyright theft if they really genuinely didn’t know that you thought of it first – the ideas just got fed up waiting on you as an agent for their life!

However in the past I have got upset over this, purely because ideas were shared with trusted members of the family and they were literally sold to the highest bidder – usually for a crate of wine or a new computer and then I get to see my books on film after all a couple of years later.  Missing out all of the time, Bitter?  Of course, because it happened a lot through that relative!  Some of those ideas were actually near the point of being sent to agents, it was the last draft when I discovered the damage that happened yet again.

Thankfully those people are out of my life, but unfortunately it has made me afraid to share too much with anyone.  I say only vaguely what my stories are about, but I am not inclined to go to writers clubs anymore, in case strangers do the same thing.  I can’t lose my hard work again and again, it is soul destroying!

My ideas folder is thicker than a dictionary. 

I get ideas flooding me at intervals that happen as frequent as every six months on average, they come for two or three weeks completely disrupting my life like some violent storm and they can come at first in around five the first week and blow up to be as many as twenty near the end of their flow, generally totalling around forty to fifty ideas by the end of the event. 

How many of those ideas do I actually write? 

I write towards approximately six to ten stories a season, but finish them entirely, usually not… I tend to pause for a year or two at chapter seventeen; there is something about chapter seventeen that seems to do that to me.  Because my pauses are lengthy, most stories take an average of three years to write, because pauses like that are necessary for me. 

There was one very rare occasion, I think it was 2017 – 2018 NaNoWriMo, I can’t remember which, where I was approximately five chapters away from finishing a novel in a month, that for me, was record timing!

It is a habit I am trying to get into, have been trying to get into since 2016.  I want to write all of my novels in one month, they need life.

I feel like some sort of literary Dr Frankenstein, these books must have life, life you hear!  LIFE!

I haven’t recounted my unfinished works since 2017, back then my unfinished works were seventy six with a further two hundred un-started, synopsis stage other works.

At present there are four near to finished works and two finished works that are pending an extensive review and potential rewrite. 

I am far more organised than I used to be and funnily enough, I believe that I am becoming a faster writer when I do write. 

I haven’t written much lately because I am beginning to get apathetic about everything regarding life as there are some serious health problems cropping up where I am unsure of my future at present.

I am determined to do NaNoWriMo this year for my sanities sake, but I can’t tell what will happen until those emergency hospital appointments are done and dusted and another health problem is confirmed or denied… hopefully denied, or else, well… let’s just say; I won’t have much of a career in writing if it’s confirmed.

Happy reading everyone!

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Am I wrong? A poem

I don’t like life

It hurts too much

What is the point of living if I can’t do such and such?

Why am I here?

Why do I live?

What does a person like me have to give?

What is the point of carrying on?

So I can sit and write you more depressing songs?

Or tell me please… am I wrong?

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The art of indifference

Struggling with depression on a major scale in the past four days, it could either be because of my immune system crashing around me, my hormones or the fact that there is something I miss deeply and no one understands.  I am desperate to express myself on this matter, but I can’t without coming across as nuts, so I don’t bother.

No one understands the kind of person that I am, I have tried in the past to talk it through with other people, but let me tell you, there is only so much another person’s mind can take, before they switch off and decide perhaps you’re too messed up to talk to again?

Yet to me the only thing that remains abundantly clear to me and would be very healing to me is this… just talking freely with a non-judgemental person, whilst snuggling with said person and being loved, genuinely loved, without obligations for anything other than my reciprocation to them.

The kind of person I am, the liberal-mindedness that I have as well as my spirituality makes me a difficult person to befriend. 

The notion that I see everyone as family, but will avoid certain people if they make me feel supressed or judged in any way, is something that some people find hard. 

The fact that I believe in open relationships and I am bisexual and I am quite open about my likes as dislikes as I am not ashamed of who I am, so why should others be?

 The fact that I am both a humanist and a spiritual person; which cannot really describe my beliefs as I am my own unique mix: 

The idea too that I am healing from a huge mass of abuse and hiding a truly awful history and only tell people the thin surface of my life via getting in touch with my inner child and creative self, which means to onlookers think I am an irresponsible weird, immature, Pollyanna who is a tad too spooky for their liking. 

The idea I grow and eat weeds in my garden and let most of my garden be wild and talk to the wildlife that I come across as freely as any child. 

The idea that I get hyperactive after consuming candies and I react like any high child would!

The fact that I get so absorbed by my own imagination and blocking out the bad stuff in my mind from the past with fantasy after fantasy, to the extent I lose track of time and sometimes forget how old I am. 

All of this… is hard for other people. 

Which I find ironic, because I have actually lived through harder things that just listening and observing someone healing themselves!  It’s quite funny really, that people have the audacity to tell me, that they find my life too hard for them, that they have to leave.  Don’t they realise that in order to heal and be better, they need someone to care, but someone who can be impartial, just a listener, just a support with kind words and affirmations.  That just sharing who you are as raw as possible, should build such a strong friendship, a bond to last?  It’s not someone trying to offload their burden onto your shoulders, that is impossible, you could never feel as bad as that person feels, because your experiences are different! 

Until those moments, a lot of those people in my past were very nearly, very close friends with me.  But they, like everyone, wants to know you more and want to pry into your secrets, but then they run away when once they know the true past you’ve hidden from them!  My past is not criminal, my past is not the past of a junkie or a drunk or an abuser of any sort, my past is the past of a victim.  That is all.  I could understand if my personal past was more sordid, but it’s not, that’s what baffles me the most! 

I often want to shout at people who decide they can’t cope with what they know about me to the extent they can’t look at me anymore, but I don’t because I am very passive by nature.  I am very accepting that nobody really cares and I am alone on an emotional level in the world and perhaps always will be.

I want to shout out “Well what about me?  I can’t do that, gee thanks for leaving me to cope on my own then, you coward”!  Who needs friends like those anyways?

Then there are those who say they would stick around, if only I cried.  It’s the fact that I don’t cry that gets people thinking it’s a lie.  They don’t consider that showing emotions and crying is actually extremely bad in my family and that being an emotional person is beaten out of you!  You are around violence so much that you learn when someone shouts at you, that you don’t take their eyes off them a moment, you stare unblinking at them and don’t show emotion, because it could be dangerous if you did.  Much better to switch everything off whilst staying fully alert at all times! 

So, because I don’t cry, they think I lie. 

It is this reason that I find it hard to truly heal, even therapists have had to give up my case because they too, couldn’t cope and they were in tears, whereas I was passing them the tissues with dry eyes unmoved by them!

Ironic

This is why I often dream of suicide, dream of starting again.

But I am terrified.

Because if life is a lesson that I have to learn before I am allowed better things, then do I have to live through all of this again in another life?  Hell no!

I can’t!

My soul will surely self-destruct if that were true!

Thing is, I do cry.  I cry all the time, alone in my bed when no one is around.  I cry alone in the spare room, if it is night time, because its ingrained into me, no one should see you being weak, not ever, not no how!

Happy Reading I suppose, I wasn’t happy writing this and felt I should delete it, but who knows, maybe you’ll care?

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Earth is a bubble

The Earth is like a bubble it was never meant to last

So please don’t touch the bubble or it will die in a blast

Be gentle with the bubble, keep it clean and keep it pure

Maybe we will live longer, though we can’t be sure

Life is such a precious thing, yet you treat it without a care

You forget that Earth’s a bubble and that all life is rare

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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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What I am trying to do as from now…

I am more than a little irked at the concept that my followers could have been scammed or duped by a poser; I had not planned to start writing on my blog or become active on social media for another couple of months, because I am taking a long time to heal from a current chest and ear infection.  I am very ill at the moment to the extent of being permanently exhausted. 

However, I think that I should start again right now, when I am at my worst physically because it seems likely I am having more bad days than not and I am sick and tired of being sick and tired and not doing what I want to do in life, even the most sedentary of things.

I often struggle with the idea that I must always produce a poem or a short story for my blog, because this blog was created with creativity in mind.  I was meant to use this as a portfolio of sorts; for my creative writing, photography and art, instead it has become more of a journal.

I think therefore, that this blog is likely to be 50/50 journal and creative outlet.  Because I am going on a big journey spiritually, physically, mentally and hopefully career wise too.

My blog will show you more of me, my personal life, my art, my thoughts and feelings and I will try not to be too bias when I do so.

A lot of my day to day stuff will probably be talks about how I am trying to manage my mental health and disability whilst trying to be a productive creative and housewife/mother.

I will also talk about my medical journey, because it still is not entirely clear what it is I have, other than it seems to the doctors that I have around 4 different types of auto-immune disease, deafness, PTSD and potentially a serious neurological disorder too, which they are leaning more towards MS on, but irritatingly it has not been thoroughly confirmed yet.  Sometimes they say yes, sometimes it’s again, no, it’s all presumption by my GP because I haven’t been tested yet.

I will talk about my past, if I feel it would be therapeutic at the time to do so.

I will discuss life with my pets and gardening, what little I can do there.

I will discuss most aspects of my life, whilst throwing in my poetry, songs, compositions, short stories, art, snippets and advice.

I am working on far too many stories at once, most of the time.  I am also practising art, because I have an idea for a children’s picture book and I have also two ideas for comics.  I don’t buy the fact that the comic industry is dead, sorry!

I have also learned recently that there are many people who like reading my reviews; I have had so many requests for reviews recently that I have considered to be more proactive in that.  But I tend to review old stuff, because I am pretty slow to reaching out for current social trends.  To me, something is a current social trend if it has been published or bought out within the last decade.  Oh dear, well you see what I mean – non-fiction science aside that is.

I am one of these lame people who love the 50s & 80s and are waiting for a huge retro bash that will last a decade or more in fashion, movies and music.  So you won’t find me any time soon, sporting the latest trend of anything that is currently major, if it is not retro based. 

Personally I feel the best decades for fantasy were 1860s, 1870s, 1890s, 1950s, 1980s and 2000s, 2010s;  I am a huge Lewis Carroll, George MacDonald, Frank L Baum, J.R.R Tolkien, Terry Pratchett, Neil Gaiman, Susan Hill, Stan Lee, Tim Burton, Stephen Spielberg, The Frouds, Colleen Doran and Neal Shusterman and oh so many more I better stop listing them=  fan.  This was just fantasy; don’t get me started on horror, Sci-fi and dystopia and lets not be picky between artists, writers and directors either! 

There is a lot of people I have missed on the above list that deserves to be here!  This is how I know; I really can’t sit back and say I have no idea what I post for my blog.  I was just being too picky about what I should put.  I didn’t think I should really put reviews and personal feelings towards other people’s work on my blog, but you know, if it keeps the blog active, then maybe I should start?  At least it will give you an idea of how I became who I become; the kind of things that I devour for my hungry creative soul that made me produce, what I produced.

Until next time, happy reading!

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Plotting vs planning & minimalism vs chaos

I am usually a plotter type writer and I do not like reading in first person and outside of poetry and my blog posts, I rarely write it.  Yet there is something going on in the throes of my imagination recently that I don’t quite understand.

The series I am working on here on my blog “Shadowlands” is not plotted; I have no idea what is going to happen from one week to the next in this story.  It is as much of a surprise to me as it is for you.  As soon as I have written each post, it is put here on the blog without redrafting – yes you are reading first drafts, I am sure you can tell? 

I am also astonished that I am writing this in first person; I usually hate reading stories that are written in first person.

I don’t know if this is a fantasy, a horror or a dark fantasy yet either.  I suspect horror.  But I can’t really say, for I do not know.

I don’t think about the series until I am ready to write more.  I am doing this to see if I can become a Pantzer – if I can and if this series turns out to become good and popular, I may try to pants my way through other stories in the future.

I have no idea what started this, but I have learned to live by impulse regarding all creative matters recently and not to try and make everything perfect like I usually do.  It doesn’t have to be perfect if you are having fun and you are creating something.  So far, it is a good rule to live by in my opinion.  I have started doing things in art, journaling and writing that I have never done before because I felt that there was a certain system and order you had to do things – systems and organisation are innovation killers.

I used to think it would be lovely to pour coffee over a crumpled piece of paper and stick it in a journal purely for aesthetic reasons with a few pretty buttons, ribbons and cut out vintage faeries – but then I thought, HOARDER ALERT!  Who’d think that was artistic?  But I recently discovering a whole host of people on YouTube who are junk journal creators and they are selling those very ideas I often secretly coveted for myself over the years.  I was surprised that most of my unique but ignored ideas were actually a cultural thing in certain bohemian creative circles and I then I became sad as I realised how much fun I have been missing out on in life.

I was raised by a scrupulous mother.  White walls, beige carpets, glass tables, clinical house stinking of bleach and spring cleaning happened monthly!  No room for cutting and pasting pretty things into makeshift little booklets and journals.  No room for saving buttons off the shirt you are throwing out and keeping cinema tickets as memorabilia, that is dirty hoarding, it’s not creative, it’s not nice and it is not art!  This is what I was raised to believe, this is what was brainwashed into my mind and I often dreamt of freedom.  I often dreamt of keeping all the pretty things, because most things I had growing up were often thrown away within less than a year – nothing lasted.  My mother was often proud of her “throw away” cultural ideologies.  She even bragged that she wasn’t the sentimental type too – often throwing away family photos of people who she had recently disowned and never saving anything just because of emotional value.

She tried to make me like her.  For a time it nearly worked, until I literally had the second nervous breakdown I ever had in my whole life.  She was making my home like hers, though a little more dowdy because she knew I liked natural colours.  So magnolia walls with brown carpets and curtains, she winced at my liking for oak furniture (the most sensible normal choice she could accept) and I hated it.

I felt my home was cold and uninviting and very old fashioned, it never represented my personality at all.  Not the true me anyway.

As soon as I decided I couldn’t take contact with her anymore, my house dramatically changed and it is slowly becoming a warm, fun and cosy place for me.

My living room side walls are green with wallpaper on the chimney wall that looks like trees from the Lorax.  My sofa cushions are a mix of all my favourite things, bees, marvel comics, quotes I love, kittens, rabbits and butterflies.  I have faeries and dragons lining the bookshelves as guards to the world of my imagination that are my favourite books. 

My window ledge is festooned with herbs and a lemon tree, which my mother would probably find dirty to have potted plants indoors like that.

It’s lovely and it is my home.

I know I am 39 on my next birthday, as things progress to how I want for my life, the more I am starting to believe that for me, life might really begin at forty as they say it does!

Let’s see!

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Monitoring depression with reading status

I haven’t read much for several months due to illness and chronic depression.

When I read it usually means I have an interest in the world around me and a zest for life, so I am more likely to read a lot and quite quickly, but when I don’t it usually means my depression has set in again and I am thinking dark suicidal thoughts again.  It is easily monitored if you know me, you will notice a drop in my books read pile and won’t get to see me reading much during those times because I get into the mind-set of what is the point?

Although tragic I suppose it is a funny idiosyncrasy of mine.  You can tell how depressed I am by how slow or fast I read and whether or not I read at all – just check my goodreads activity if you are curious about what is going on in my mind at the time!  I will add you as a goodreads friend too, if you want.  https://www.goodreads.com/user/show/8725823-tina

The past two weeks has been pretty good in comparison to the past several months.

During a mentally stable time I can read 3 to 7 books in a week and about 3 or 4 magazines, during a bout of depression maybe I will read approximately 30 – 70 pages a day, but during really dark times I struggle to read 50 pages a week if anything at all!

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Major changes explained

Updates to this blog are aesthetic updates as well as content updates; in the future I hope to post not only my poetry, short stories, art and life updates, but also updates on my mental health journey:

In future posts I will show you how I am trying to re-define who I am, because in reality, I have never been the truest version of me, I have been severely supressed and it is a journey about unleashing the real me!

Everything about me currently and in the past are not my real choices, it is not the true or real me.  What I mean to say is, I had an abusive past and a past where I was controlled and isolated very severely not only by my parents, but an ex fiancé as well.  My current fashion choices, my general knowledge of the world around me, my diet and my habits and even to a large degree, my career choices and beliefs were all facsimiles of my abusers, not me.  I do still hold myself accountable for many of the things I have done in the past, because it was due to my emotional weaknesses that I allowed those things to happen and take place, but that does not defer from the fact that my abusers were abusive to me!

This blog will include how I am changing into the habits I want to have, becoming the person I want to be, fighting through all the pain and sickness and mental health issues I have to literally sculpt myself into something I want to be, rather than making do of the moulding that my abusers have made me into.

My sense of fashion, my habits, my diet, my everything is going to change so dramatically and I know I will falter and falter a lot, because I am changing my whole existence and current life, for something completely new, unexplored and it will be tremendous hard work, which is why I feel it needs to be documented online and hopefully I will build a support system from my readers to help me through the major changes I am about to incur.

I am 39 on my next birthday October 3rd 2021. 

Let’s hope that my honorary aunts are right, that life begins at 40!

Because for me, I am still only a baby mentally, I am still only new to life – because I have never been allowed to live.  It is very scary to admit a lot of things to everybody right now, that even though I have a child who is nearly 11yrs old and even though, I have lived away from my mother since 2009 and totally broke from her in 2012, I still have never ventured out of the house alone, without some kind of assistance or support from a relative or friend.  I have literally always had someone hold my hand when I left my parents, someone to speak up for me when I am in difficult situations and to be perfectly honest, it is annoying, because even though, these people are my carers and they are helping me to come out of my shell and undo the abuse my parents have done by prepping me for life – but they also misinterpret a lot of what I mean to say to certain people or they say things in their own way, which sometimes isn’t as clear as I would have said it.  A lot of the time regarding my health, talking to doctors etc, they forget things and me being me, would sometimes be too nervous to speak out and say well actually.

Though this aspect of me has got hugely better in the past 4yrs, the doctors are surprised by the progressed I have made there, because whereas they used to look at Paul for confirmation of what has happened, they are now starting to look and listen to me, which they see as amazing progress.

It is these points which make it difficult for me to actually contemplate a life in marketing of any form – but I need to have that life, I can’t sit back and watch years go by and have more and more regrets of not doing things just because of the stuff that my abusers have locked into my head.

It is to a large point, very stupid to actually know that the world isn’t as scary as my abusers lie to me it had been, that those bad people in society were actually them and they are rarer than they make out and they are actually the worse of the lot.  It is stupid to know this and still be scared of the world.

I read a book recently which is very timely – “The Midnight Library” by Matt Haig, about a woman who lived her life in regrets and got a chance to undo those regrets by having alternate lives, therefore getting a chance to redefine herself time and time again.  There is a quote from that book which resonates to me very deeply “life fright”.  There are other quotes from that book which really connected to me too…

“If you aim to be something you are not, you will always fail. Aim to be you. Aim to look and act and think like you. Aim to be the truest version of you. Embrace that you-ness. Endorse it. Love it. Work hard at it. And don’t give a second thought when people mock it or ridicule it. Most gossip is envy in disguise.”

― Matt Haig, The Midnight Library

“The only way to learn is to live”

― Matt Haig, The Midnight Library

“Sometimes just to say your own truth out loud is enough to find others like you.”

― Matt Haig, The Midnight Library

That’s what I am doing, saying my truth loud enough, to not only start to throw off the burden of my past and to heal from it, but to stand tall and let the world know I am here and to ultimately find my tribe as it were!

Future posts on this blog will include my new diet ideas, plans, because recently I found out a lot of my illness is due to the fact that I am allergic to a lot of food!  Gluten, lactose, eggs, pineapples, flax and beef gelatine to name but a few;

I will also include, my weight loss plan

My art and photography

YouTube videos I may start at the end of the year

My skill development and so forth

I am also watching copious amounts of self-improvement videos on youtube lately, especially Blush with me Parmita, a life coach! 

All this to sculpt me into who I am, not what people think I should be.

I my opinion I need to lose 85 pounds

I need to start thinking about makeup and changing my fashion not only to my preferred tastes but to make the best of my natural body shape, as for someone who is fat, I have a very strange narrow and defined waist and an envious shaped body, well this is the opinion of many people who have told me this, personally I don’t see it – but as I have learned from a lot of self-help books, you’re inner critic needs to be ignored as it never sees the truth regarding yourself.

I consider myself hideous in every single way, yet I get a lot of attention from people about how pretty and unusually young I look for my age – I have had people interested in using me as a plus size model and hair model, but I get really hurt and confused by this, because I just see a hideous monster in the mirror!

I don’t understand how some people reckon I look like Meryl Streep that totally confuses me!

I need to start becoming more independent.

I need to start doing more art and writing and actually getting it published not only on my blog, but approaching agents too, because I keep sitting back wondering what was that movie I wanted to watch again?  To then remember that it was a book I have in my head that I have written and the movie doesn’t exist yet.  My primary motivation for writing is that I enjoy it, but also because I want to see my stuff turned into movies – I know that’s pretty pie in the sky, but that’s my dream – I think ultimately I would rather make movies than write, but there you go!

I write the books I want to see acted out on stage or on TV basically; I write the stuff I wish there was more of.

So it’s a vast change, I am already exhausted just thinking about it, especially as I have such severe health problems, nobody, not even the doctor is sure yet, if something I have is terminal yet; covid19 has caused a lot of investigative delays!

But I don’t care if I live or die and yes, part of my mental health problems is the fact I have been struggling with suicide for the last 7yrs, primarily because I am sick so often that my life isn’t really worth living, because any movement is pain!  So I guess that is one of the major factors why I am going to push myself now, if I push myself into exhaustion and collapse by changing myself so quickly, then so be it, but at least I died trying!

So there you go, it is not a New Year’s resolution, this has been brewing for some time now, but now I have had enough!

Speak soon xxx

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Self Isolation Experience

As the world is forced into self-isolation, many aren’t coping, both physically and mentally; but there are some (introverts not included) which to them, it is a way of life; many not by choice or design and I am one of them.

It has taken me a time to write this, because I was not sure what to really say on the matter until now, purely because up until now, I didn’t think much of the world would understand the frustrations and things that I do in self-isolation before this moment in time.  Now I think or rather hope, that I would become crystal clear in what I am about to say and with a depth of understanding from those who are now forced into a similar situation by forces not of their own design too.

The isolation I have been forced into throughout my life by my mother, is entirely different to this pandemic, there was no fatal disease which could have affected me during that time, nor was there any government ruling set about to enforce my mother’s commands, though saying that, to me (at the time I was living with my mother) her word was law and any deviation from that law was harshly punishable.

My life in isolation day to day was like this;

There was no real schedule outside of dinner time, my day to day life was higgledy-piggledy and often turned upside side with the craziest stuff going on most of the time, there was in a word (insecurity), there was no predictability in my day.  The only things I could rely on to be part of my day were, cleaning and eating dinner at 4pm on the dot.  I was taught there was no comfort or security within the home, because nothing would remain the same day to day – in a literal sense.  My mother suffered from OCD which meant she cleaned everything thoroughly and demanded that everyone in the house do her crazy cleaning rituals too with her, with the exception of dad because he worked – even if I went out to work occasionally on the times she allowed me to, it didn’t apply to me.  Cleaning wasn’t so bad, but her obsessions to have a constant supply of household projects were both wasteful and sometimes downright silly.  She would move the furniture around the house a lot, just for the sake of it and often she would end up putting the furniture back in the same way it always is by the end of the day unhappy with her new lay out – sometimes those lay outs would last for weeks, but often it would go back to the same old design.  It wouldn’t be so bad if it was a table now and again, but it was entire rooms being moved in one day!  You was never warned when this would be, sometimes it would have started before I even woke up in the morning, sometimes it would start after dinner and there were even occasions she started it around midnight!

She would also have decorating projects, where she would re-carpet, or laminate a room and expect it to be done in a day maybe two days at most, painting walls was very popular with her, we did this more often than we should have.  Redesigning the garden was another love of hers, constantly moving plants around and then wondering why her favourites die so easily.  She never liked to leave the house more than three times a week herself for shopping or visiting, but would often insist in going out every day even for 20 minutes for walks.  Funnily enough even when we had dogs, the dogs would usually be left behind whilst we, the owners go for a walk without them – which was something that never made sense to me – as a consequence our dogs were usually classed as obese by the vet.

When going for walks, other than the neighbourhood gossipers, mum wouldn’t talk to anyone no matter how friendly they seemed.  Often she couldn’t be bothered with the neighbourhood gossipers and would literally drive to another street within a 3 mile radius and walk around there, so she didn’t have to talk to anyone.  But one or twice she would walk the same places so often, their own local gossipers would come out and talk to her, thinking she was another neighbour from nearby, when that happened, she would avoid the area for several weeks.  My mother never liked me standing with her when she was talk to other people, even when I was an adult, she would often require me to walk away and come back occasionally and she would give me secret hand signals to tell me roughly how long she will tolerate this person and what the conversation might be about.  She had her secret codes to talk to me, so others never knew how she was controlling me and my actions and even my own conversational input.

I was taught this by her aggression after events happened, she would tell me what she did and how I should have reacted and often told me that other people in the world would understand what she did, but because I don’t go out and is active in the world, I haven’t learned these basic social instincts.  I learned through my therapist that what she said was bullshit.

Sometimes mum would catch herself out, if we had a visitor sometimes she would absent-mindedly call me into the room, give me her secret signals which were both hand movement, sitting positions and various snorts which could be mistaken for her clearing her throat but I was taught that was a sign of displeasure and to please steer the conversation for her.  Sometimes people were so used to the idea that when they visited I was the tea maker that if I was called in and mum didn’t say anything to me about the tea or spoke to me at all, that they felt they had to remind mum to prompt me to make more tea for them as obviously, that was the reason she called me in, wasn’t it?  As rude as it may seem, they often did this; most of our visitors were family or rarely long-standing friends and Jehovah Witnesses.

Although we had visitors and talked to neighbours my life was socially isolated in that I was only allowed minimal conversation with them and was often shooed away with mums secret language to me, we would visit one person a week on average, sometimes we would visit more depends on either what mum wanted from them or what the person was going through at the time.  Again, we could be sitting at another person’s house for several hours and during that time I would probably have said less than ten sentences in all of that time by mothers prompt.  It was usual though that she would encourage me as entertainment occasionally, where I was made to play spiritualist as it were.  As I have a clairvoyant talent and I also do various readings, such as tarot and things.  This was the only time I was allowed to talk as much as I liked to whomever I was supposed to be entertaining.  Another thing I was allowed to do was to talk as much as I liked about philosophy, religion and spirituality; but even there, there was a limit to how much I could say and for how long.  Sometimes mum would give me permission to mock her, be cheeky to her to liven things up and make it seem like I had a personality of sorts.

It all may seem very strange to those who have had a normal life and upbringing, but to me at the time, I thought it was normal stuff, because my mum would often tell me, that this is how the world is.  Everything is finite, there is a finite way about people that as someone who is not worldly, doesn’t understand and that is why, when I socialised independently I got myself into embarrassing situations because I misread the person.  Often I reacted to other people based on how my mother interacted with me and the other person, obviously being unaware totally misread me or felt I had a split personality as I would often drift in and out of conversations quickly, thinking I have displeased them in some way, but no one understood what I was on about and to be honest, they shouldn’t have as it isn’t normal.

My activities also included gardening, I gardened a lot, I would garden a small collection of flowers but most of the florals I wasn’t allowed to touch or even learn about as my parents were possessive of them, as strange as it is, they would not teach me a thing about them at all, not even their names.  My main gardening duties were the fruits and vegetables that my mum wanted for that year, I was also allowed a small area entirely of my own which included herbs and a couple of small tightly controlled trees, which at the time I never knew would have been called a bonsai version – which generally just meant heavily pruned and small in size.  I wasn’t allowed to tell anybody that I did the gardening as much as I did, I was only allowed to mention my designated section, not the other work I did for my parents – that was their glory and they fiercely protected their reputation for being amazing gardeners.  So I had learned from an early age that I had to swallow my pride and see all my hard work as the credit to someone else other than me, I even had to lie for my parents to make them sound amazing and even praise them for the work.  Basically I knew, that I was praising myself but mum was prompt in reminding me when visitors had gone that I was not to feel proud of myself for what they had said, because I would never have done it if it weren’t her wishes for me to do so, so I had no right to take pride in my work because it wasn’t really my work.  I just cared for it for her that is all, the credit will always be hers.

My dad was very sweet, he would occasionally tell people that I did it and taught them whatever about certain things, but mum would often attack dad for it when visitors were home as she felt shown up.

I was taught to cook for my family from the age of seven, everything from full English breakfast, lamb stew to meat and potato pies.  I would cook the main dinner for the house approximately three times a week, sometimes more, but I mostly made lunch which would be anywhere between 11am and 3pm depends.  Come what may, main dinner was always 4pm, except for Sundays and special occasions, where it would then be a 2pm dinner.  Some Sundays I would visit my paternal grandmother and would have to consume two full roast dinners in one day, one with gran around noon and another when we get home to see mum around 6pm, because mum would anticipate we were fed at grans, so would knock Sunday roast dinner back by 2 hours.

My other gran didn’t have a specific day for being visited, because she was a fully mobile and energetic old lady who would quite often visit us and stay the night, or sometimes she would manage to steal me from my mother for the day or for a night at her house; which I loved, despite the very different and contrast environment of her home compared to my mums.  My gran was the total opposite of my mum, not house-proud at all, just saw home as a place to sleep and store stuff she liked.

When I was with my gran, she demanded total independence from me.  I had to be responsible for myself and as she was elderly, I had to help her, which meant going out alone and fetching things for her, walking her dog called Star and giving messages to other relatives around the area as they were all more or less neighbours within 10 streets of each other.  I had to make her tea too and occasionally she felt that if I had a problem with how messy and unclean her house was, then I should deal with it how I see fit – which meant I was housekeeping for two people – my mum and my gran.  But with gran, it was a choice, it wasn’t expected.  At least with gran I got recognition and whenever I finished anything she would comment that I am such a good girl, now how about treating yourself to something from the chippy and getting me something to eat too?

I liked it when gran stole me from mum, because sometimes it would be for a few days at a time and gran never liked staying indoors for long.  She was an early riser and out the door within half an hour of waking up, going to random places, visiting other relatives on a whim, going to car boot sales and whatever, wherever, anywhere within a 4 hour car drive one way, was doable in a day!  Life was an adventure with this gran.  Where my mother was obsessed with not going out much unless necessary and cleaning and decorating her house, my gran (her mother) was obsessed with going out, living day to day and avoiding housework full stop!

I think my gran had such a carefree attitude to life because she nearly died on several occasions throughout her life, she was born with a heart condition, lucky to live, had her first open heart surgery when she was 14 and has a new operation approximately every 2yrs throughout her whole life, more heart attacks and deep vein thrombosis than you could count along with haemophilia because of warfarin use.  To say my gran was a very lucky person is an understatement!  This includes finances too, she wasn’t rich, but she was never put in a situation of being too needy as she had the luck of the devil as she calls it.  At her direst she would often feel it is time to go bingo-ing and would often win big prizes, sometimes she didn’t even have to leave the house, as she often did government bonds and would get letters proclaiming big prizes, once for 20k!  I was one of the 5 grandchildren gran offered to take to Florida’s Disneyland but mum wouldn’t let me go, so she chose someone else, gran was angry about that as I was more into Disney than the other gran kids.  But what made gran more pissed off was the fact that mum put it about the family that she never even asked me!  Mum often lied, but was rarely caught out.

It is hard to stomach hearing someone slag off at every opportunity someone you know to be almost super hero like in quality to you, always spilling nasties out about them to someone who doesn’t know them.  Mum absolutely hated my gran, but only tolerated her because of a promise she gave to my grandad on his death bed, when grandad begged mum to look after my gran for him.  Grandad knew the hatred between gran and mum, mum never forgave grandad for putting that on her.  As mum said, if it wasn’t for what he said, she would have abandoned gran the moment he died.

People often asked why tolerated gran mum if there is so much contempt, but mum would never answer them, she used to use me to steer the conversation to something else.  The contempt was plain to everyone, because mum constantly spoke down to my gran and I think gran only tolerated it because of two things, she knew I needed a break from mum occasionally and stayed for me, and secondly, nobody else would tolerate her either as they were too busy.

Sometimes mum would try and stop my relationship with gran for a while, by sending me away to other relatives to live, so our relationship stalled.  Gran caught mum out a couple of times as she would drive all the way from Burnt Oak, North London, to Market Drayton in Shropshire to visit her daughter and to see me, just for the day, which is why mum decided to concentrate more on dads family.

When I wasn’t required for entertainment, cleaning or companionship, my days consisted of playing games on my PlayStation or the internet, writing vampire stories and reading horror books and books on spirituality.

Basically, I was kept too busy to harp on the fact that I was both lonely and stuck indoors most of the time, which I think is a key thing for self-isolators to learn.

As my mum often did, she did a spring clean of the whole house once or twice a week, gardening, if you don’t have a garden do window box or window sill gardening.  Read books, knit, sew, make your own clothes, draw, paint, write something, read magazines, play your with pets, do something with your kids, re-arrange your furniture.  There is always something to blooming do, so do it. 

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