Tag Archives: memories

What is autumn?

What does autumn mean to me?

Beautiful colourful crispy leaves flying through the air, if you catch one a wish will be granted according to legend, or you win a day’s luck per leaf you catch!

It means harvest time where all your hard work in the garden really pays off, rewarding you with sunflowers and pretty gourds, squashes and pumpkins to decorate your home with for Halloween.

Halloween, I love Halloween – I love dressing up, roleplaying, planning things for trick-or-treaters or planning parties when we were fortunate enough to be able to afford to do so.  I love decorating the house for Halloween and planning themes, doing weird party foods with weird twists, but the thing is, sometimes I can go too far that the guests decline to eat things.

I suppose raspberry jelly filled gloves to look like a bloodied hand and frankfurters cut to look like fingers covered in ketchup is a bit too much for the human psyche?

Let alone the stuffed Jack-O-Lantern orange bell peppers with spaghetti Bolognese inside of them looking like some kind of zombie freak meal.

I love horror, can you tell?

I love grossing people out too, love, love, love playing to people’s fears when they are spooked out at this season… am I evil for admitting that kind of joy?

I am the kind of person who knows that someone who is sensitive to horror movies, just watched a movie and I creep around ready to pounce when they least expect it – yes, I have a mischievous side, a very impish side!

I am not like that with children though, I don’t like traumatising kids, usually I end up making plans to do things like this with the kids on sensitive adults – but that depends entirely on the integrity and the bravery of each child!  I am a bad influence sometimes!

Halloween is more fun with kids, because kids make things more light-hearted and sometimes they can influence me in becoming grosser for next year!

Kids are sickos at heart!

What’s so funny is, I always regret what I do – why?  Because I am probably the jumpiest person anyone knows, I am easily spooked!

The start of autumn is my birthday and I don’t have very many happy memories about birthdays because I hate to sound tragic, but I am easily forgotten or pushed aside for a couple of weeks because my birthday is apparently too inconvenient usually.  3rd of October is apparently a difficult date, I suppose I know why – growing up in a family where four of the major family matriarchs have their birthdays between 15th September to 24th September, everyone is spent up!

I like watching the children playing with the leaves on the spinney (a little copse island that sits in the middle of our street, separating my side of the road from the other side of the road by two rows of trees with a path in the middle of it).  The children here aren’t like the ones in London who won’t touch the leaves through fear of bird poop or bugs – here the children will gather all the leaves they can in a pile and sit inside of them making huge and very competitive nests for themselves!  At the end of the day, some of the children take all the leaves home to deliver to their gardening parents for next year’s leaf mould fertiliser.

Autumn can sometimes be scary, very scary; for me anyway – I have a huge fear of windstorms in particular, because of a few incidences that happened to me as a child where I got injured or nearly killed.  Thunderstorms are ok, I like thunderstorms, but windstorms scare the Hell out of me!

It is really hard to make me function properly if there is a bad windstorm, I don’t like going out in them at all.

Thunderstorms though, I am a bit of a storm chaser with those, love taking videos of them and watching them and I have to hold myself back from going out in them!

Though I am scared of windstorms or hurricane backlashes, I don’t have the same fear for tornadoes, I’ve seen and experienced them – yes even here in the UK, they are more common here than you think – in fact it is estimated the UK get about three hundred per year, though they generally are small, some have been known to rip streets apart.

I remember my mother sitting on a hammock with a neighbour I didn’t like and a small one around the size of a big football man ripped right through the garden behind them, knocking them off the hammock and lifting the hammock up into the air and landing half on the fence behind them!

I was glad I was twenty feet away watering my mum’s flowers at the time, no one was injured – but I had never seen my neighbour move so fast before!

Autumn is generally my favourite season of them all – I am very much an autumn person.

Thanks for reading!

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Filed under Defining myself

I won’t judge them!

There are a lot of people I miss from my past.

A lot of holes in my heart that hasn’t been filled by the loss of those people who were once in my life and some of them are dead now and some of them won’t talk to me because of their loyalties to others who have harmed me and so; they are not part of my life anymore.

Even the best of them had a lot of problems that the average Joe couldn’t cope with, but I didn’t mind them as they were the lesser evils in my life.  I know it sounds bad to call them that, but if you had known what I was up against day to day you’d have a hard time believing that some of the people I miss were the good ones, but to me, they were the best!

To me they were brilliant, vibrant, they made me happy and they kept my confidence from reaching rock bottom.

So what if they had problems with their anger, drink, drugs, crime, so what if they were benefit scroungers, scarred, societal oddballs that had dubious leanings to the occult or were overzealous bible punchers.  They were nice people to me and I loved them.

Even if sometimes I would be scared to visit them because their husband is home for once and drunk at the time and I never knew if I would need to stick around for her sake, just in case an ambulance was needed.  Even if I knew that they themselves were drunk and would go on their vicious rants about other people I loved and would then start becoming weird with me, I knew they weren’t always like that and I forgave them because their lives were in some ways just as horrible as my own, if not more so.

To be honest, I think it was only a small margin of people in my life who weren’t addicted to something or another or didn’t have some kind of serious mental issue about them.  To me, I am easily hurt in honouring them – what I mean is, I see people don’t forgive people like those easily.  People don’t really support people like them unless they’ve been there themselves or loved someone who have been.

So it drives me around the twist when I see a lovely person like these people, striving hard against all the odds to become a sober person and someone bad from their past comes along to upset the cart or people who don’t understand or know them judge them harshly for their pasts where the poor buggers are sitting there wondering is there any point at all in being sober if I am constantly going to be judged all the time?

 Is it any wonder they think that at all?  I mean, why do people judge others for their past?  The past is gone, praise them for their efforts now, never wield it as a weapon against them by suggesting that they need you, because oh you know, you’d go back to that way of life without me.  That is blackmail and I have a hard time sitting around hearing that kind of vomit coming out of people’s mouths. 

I have lost people I love to this, suicide because why did they bother?  Murdered because their past friends snuck an injection into their arms when they weren’t looking at a party for an old time’s sake! 

I’ve seen it all and I don’t like it.

I don’t like how people judge them.

It breaks my heart because all I can see are their floods of tears and their war wounds, still fighting hard against all the odds, and yet society wants to kick them down again – because they think that once you’re in that type of life, you always belong there and it isn’t true!

Society needs to change; they need to praise them when they try to get sober.  Not kick them in the gutter because they tried to get a job and you’re judging them because they were honest with you about their past and why it took them so long to make the decision to have that career now!

I am disgusted at the law for locking addicts away into prisons making them criminals, when in fact most of them are actually very good law abiding citizens who only use their addictions as a means to cope with life’s hurdles.

Instead there should be recuperation centres or something, but not a prison.

Why am I talking about all of this today? 

Because I miss a lot of people who have or had had that kind of life, I miss them a lot and I worry about them every day, I love them all a lot and I bet they think I don’t even think of them anymore – but I do!

My family run rife with drunks and junkies, some are law abiding but there are a couple who are out and out criminals, I won’t hide that.

To think I escaped that kind of life, people think it’s a miracle – but I don’t because you know… I see how addiction works, I understand it, I was raised to see it in every possible personality type you can think of.  I did in fact become drunk for a small while in my youth because it made me human or so my mum and brother told me… here have another drink before you dry out and become like an old prune again Tee.

When I was drunk I was hysterical, I mean scared hysterical, not laughing at all – paranoid that the walls are falling around me, where is the floor?  Scary stuff!

My family observed me through morphine when I was recovering from mastoid surgery; they knew what type of addict I would have been based on my behaviour during that time so they said – though it was small doses for two weeks. 

Their observations scared me.  According to them, I tend to be the type to love the world, be in awe of everything that’s beautiful, be easy going, do anything to me and I would do anything to myself sort.  My brother freaked out, this is the type that is going to die on this stuff mum – make sure to keep her away from it!

They told me what I was like when I had it, it was enough to keep me away.  They judged I’d be easy to bed, easy to anything and way too honest with people – a no, no in the family, I’d be a spill the beans and everything else on the floor type, my tongue is loose on those things, so they say. 

I know on general anaesthetic it lasts longer on me too and although it’s kind of different people have also reported similar personality in me to the above observations.  Lover of the world, everything is beautiful, I love you and you and you, yeah you can touch me, yeah I will stick my hand in the BBQ and take the hot coal out for you with my bare hands… seriously, this has happened to me and nobody stopped me doing it either, because the stupid bitch will learn, won’t she?

Nope, that happened twice in my life and nearly a third time when Paul was with me! Up until recently I was naturally trusting because I was always hopeful in finding the best in people, gets worse or comes back when I am drowsy because of meds. I still do try not to lose my faith in people – some will say that’s my biggest fault.

My family didn’t stop me doing things just because I was recovering from surgery and still under some kind of anaesthetic influence, Paul has seen what they’ve done to me, you could ask him yourself if you like?  You have his email up there in the Email me tab.

Paul is sensible; on the two occasions I have lived with him and had been under the influence of anaesthetic he forces me to stay in bed for around 48 hours, it takes a time to leave me.  It’s weird, even the doctors are puzzled why it stays longer in me.

Gosh I miss some of these people.  I miss the console game parties they had, I miss the pub lunches once a month with them, I miss the dogs I had to babysit for them.  I miss the gardening we used to do together as we helped our elderly relatives maintain their gardens, all sorts of things.

I miss the cuddles as they tell me that “you’re going to be OK, you smart beautiful girl because you are amazing and strong and you don’t let people push you into crazy shit like this” they say as they hold up their joint to me.

There’s too many, that are gone.

But never ever feel that I will ever judge you because of your past, that’s not me.  I am not that kind of person! 

I love you for who you are now and who you are striving to be and I wish that you will grow stronger and ignore anybody who tells you that you can’t change – you can change, you’ve probably changed so much already, but NEVER EVER let anyone make you believe that you can’t do it without them!

Never!

I love you all and I send all the positive vibes your way to help you heal whatever wound you have whether you are an addict or not!

Thank you for reading!

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Who is Catalina?

DISCLAIMER – EXTREME TRUE LIFE BODY HORROR MEMORIES

There are things I thought I have shared on my blog, only for me to find that I can’t find where they are when I want to refer back to them; what I have done is, lost the confidence to post some things and put them on a private journal on another site, like blogger; where only invited people can see what is there, because sometimes I am ashamed of my past.

Even the things that I should be shameless about because those things weren’t my fault, I feel I should hide them because it is too graphic for my audience.

But I have to write those things sometimes, as a form of therapy to myself – also as I write things down it is easier for me to zone out and just read out loud for Paul to know things about my past, without me feeling too attached.  Because I can zone out and read something out loud, it’s a weird skill I have developed over the years to protect myself from hurting again.

I don’t think anyone can understand how that works, I know I don’t.

One of those things for example is an explanation about who Catalina is to me.

I thought I had shared this here, but apparently not – or at least I can’t find the post using the keywords I was trying to find in order to reference for you who she is.

So, this is why this post exists – to tell you who she is to me.

This is why I have to state right now DISCLAIMER – THIS POST IS NOT FOR THE LIGHT-HEARTED.

One of my exes put me on birth control against my will so that he could have unprotected sex with me whenever he liked, he made me have the Depo-Provera injection – however, my mother didn’t trust me when I told her that I am on Depo-Provera and so she too, forced me back to another clinic for the mini pill and another injection on top.

I told the doctor at the clinic mum doesn’t believe how I got that bruise and the doctor said that if I had a double dose so quickly like this as well as have the mini pill, I could permanently damage my fertility in the future – mum was eager to make me do it and forced the doctor to agree too.

So I had it done again.

My ex, who I will name G here, was happy to do as he pleased even though I was suffering really badly for a month with a very bruised back.

He and I were confident there would be no unwanted babies coming our way, for him anyway.

Unfortunately for G and my mum I am one of the 4% that seem to be able to get pregnant on contraception whether it is in double doses or not.

Believe me when I tell you, I freaked out by this as both homes would have kicked me out if they knew I was pregnant!  But I love babies and I could never abort, personally.

So I continued in our relationship, hoping he’d grow to like the idea, but instead he thought I lied to him, because he worked in the medical profession and in his eyes this was impossible!

He was already domestically violent to me before this happened, but after I told him about the pregnancy test and showed him the evidence of it, he got more violent with me.  He completely denied the fact that the test was genuine and wouldn’t acknowledge or talk about it with me.

I started to suffer during my pregnancy and I wouldn’t tell my mum I was pregnant at all, because it would have been a mixed race baby and she told me at the time that she’d beat me up and kick me out and burn all my stuff in her house if she thought for one minute I would be pregnant with a Peruvian Indians baby.

I couldn’t get medical assistance to see how the pregnancy faired in London with mum, when G sent me back to my mother for weekends and the occasional week and I couldn’t go to a doctor in Wickford, Essex because G wouldn’t let me sign up in the area.

I started to lose a lot of weight because of extreme morning sickness and I started to get really bad bleedings and I felt I needed a doctor ASAP, so I begged G to get me to a hospital as I was getting really ill – all he could think about was how horny he was right then and wanted to have me immediately, no matter how I felt.

So frustrated he beat and raped me, this made the bleeding worse and he went for a shower humiliating me about how the bleeding was on him and how I need to get cleaned up.

When he got out the shower the bleeding got a little worse and I started to get a lot of pain and I told him, I believe I am about 5 months pregnant according to the dates and the size I am.  This made him furious and he told me he will show me how much he believes I am pregnant and full on punched me right in the stomach and stormed out of the house, telling me to sort myself out and get the idea of a baby out of my head!

The bleeding got worse right before his eyes and I said, I need an ambulance!  He just turned on his heel and left me there, with no phone.  He took our only phone and we lived in a dense rural place.

I bled hugely in the bathroom and had to cope on my own, I struggle to this day seeing pictures of foetuses and premature babies because of what I saw that night.  She was almost perfect and weirdly transparent.

When he came home in the morning I was still in the bathroom on the floor unable to do much because I was distressed about the dead baby, he forced me to flush her down the toilet and said she’s just a clot, but I knew she wasn’t.

He then threw bleach and towels at me and told me I had to clean the mess up whilst he went to bed.

Her birthday would have been the 7th of November had it have been a normal pregnancy to full term.  This day has always been a day of remembrance for her.  What makes it hard for me is that nobody acknowledges miscarriages as child loss.

She was definitely a girl, at 23 weeks, she could have potentially lived as a premature baby had I of had the proper care, there is a 50/50 chance at that stage.  She might have been disabled, but she would have potentially lived.

So, I named her Catalina, because I couldn’t live with myself without acknowledging her life and giving her a name and I knew I would have honoured G’s family with naming her after her aunt, the one who raised G.

So every year, on November 7th I light a candle in remembrance of her, because it is what my catholic family would do.  My aunts Catherine and Christine would understand this about me – but not many other people understand it.

She’d have been 19yrs old this year, probably going to college now or working full-time, I expect she’d have been short and a little stocky, as her dad was 5ft 6 and chubby and I have weight issues too.  She’d be half Latino with an Islamic great grandparent by all accounts, with all of my ancestral mixes rolled into one.  She’d have been quite a diverse little lady.

Henry once asked me about the candle on November 7th and was hurt when I wouldn’t tell him once, but it happened so regularly, that when Henry was 8yrs old, I finally told him about her.  He too, lights a candle and even bakes a cake every year for the family on this day, to remember the big sister he never knew!

I am unsurprised if people don’t believe me – because it’s very rare to get pregnant when you’ve had contraception, let alone double doses, but a lot of people struggle to believe me, because of the violence and the lack of care around it too, nobody can believe in evil people.

Because I couldn’t seek any medical attention whatsoever about this, I had no after care.  I bled non-stop and heavily for several months, my mum knew about the bleeding and took me to the doctor – but she never knew the cause.  When the doctor examined me, they blurted out how I’ve had a miscarriage, but I said, that’s impossible – mum you tell him.  Because she was in the room and I was terrified about her finding out. 

Mum told him, he is a useless doctor, I felt bad for him – but I had to keep it quiet.

He diagnosed menorrhagia.

I hate lying, but I just had to.

What is terrible is that this caused a lot of long term mental damage, not only because of what happened to me – but because my mum forced me to watch a pro-abortion documentary to sway me into the mind-set of accepting abortion at any stage the woman wants it.  Unfortunately the documentary she chose was a pro-life documentary, documenting what exactly happens during abortion and the scenes were uncut and horrifying.

Not something I needed to see after what happened to me!

My mum was disgusted about it and she was the one who became swayed to a new way of thinking!

I believe anyone should be able to do anything to their bodies – don’t get me wrong.  But I find it hard to accept abortion on a personal level.

Sorry about such a graphic post.  But I needed to explain who Catalina was and how big an event this was for me and how it has affected my life forever.

Thank you for reading!

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Sleepy caterpillar

Today I feel quiet; it’s a solitary and reflective day for me.  I just want the cosiest clothing possible, to be warm and snuggle up with my laptop writing stories, doing tarot readings, playing with my crystals and reading some books.

Though I feel like being kind of social, I just really want a quiet day.

I really miss having a wandering pet in the house like a dog or a cat, because I could do with fur baby snuggles right now too and I really miss my border collie Candy who used to lie on my feet whenever I was reading, because she kept my feet warm in the winter, whilst bill my shih Tzu kept my abdomen or lap warm and his sister Beau to my side.

I often sat in piles of dogs or other fur babies, it was quite normal for me.

As much as I miss her I don’t miss her habits, Turquoise my tortoiseshell cat, she could never get close to me thanks to the dogs, so her only option was to sit behind the back of the sofa I was on and half lie on my head whilst I read.  Kind of itched a bit as she made my head too warm!

I miss the occasional tweet from my budgies too and the sofa suddenly moving like an earthquake because Amy the Irish Wolfhound has decided to hide behind my sofa right now, disturbing the whole pile of animals around me as she blunders her way behind the sofa to hide again, only for her to re-emerge sticking her wet slimy nose into my ear for a tickle almost immediately.

I miss them all.

But today is a cotton and cotton lace kind of day, with fleecy socks and blankets or shawls; light colours for me, like white, pale yellow or cream, maybe a smattering of oatmeal or coffee, but only very small amounts. 

It would be too cold to go out in what I want to wear today, unless I took an oversized oatmeal or banana yellow fleecy shawl or poncho with me.

Today however, is a day where I just want to be home.  I’d like some company, but quiet, tranquil company.  It’s a reflective day after all and a day of words for me.

I have done a lot of writing today, but not towards a novel.  I have done a lot of words towards blog posts and therapy essays I am doing for myself, as I am trying to heal some major emotional wounds.

Spiritual energy is quiet today, it’s like there is a major focus on me, to give me lightness, give me energy, sending healing my way.

I thank whoever it is doing that.

I certainly feel a lot of inner calm today, like someone has given me Valium or something.

My spirits have tried their best to encourage me to sleep a lot over the past few days, but I haven’t been listening, only for me to nap suddenly whenever I get comfortable.  Henry got afraid yesterday as I fell asleep twice and I wasn’t even tired, but I told him it’s OK.

My spirits told me, “you are not a butterfly yet; you are still a caterpillar and it’s time to get your sleep, because your transformation is very near”.

I suppose it explains why I am fat, then, I am a caterpillar.

I am fighting against their advice though; life is too short to be a sleepy head.

But they insist, I should sleep as much as possible until the second week of November, because after that, I won’t have a chance – things will move too quickly in my life and I may not have the energy to keep up with it, and I must keep up with it!

It’s a strange thing.

But there you go.

Thanks for reading…

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Filed under Who am I today?

Existentially challenged

For a woman I am strange, I think anybody who knows me in real life will validate that.

But what exactly do I mean by strange?

Perhaps I mean dorky, weird, and eccentric but also some people have labelled me as confused or having a split personality.

I might do, though I prefer the stance that I am existentially challenged.

I am a female, that occasionally wakes up and wishes for just that particular day to be a man, but it’s only occasional.  On another day I will wake up and want to be kawaii or gothic, or a child or an adult, or anything as the feeling grabs me and it is often a part of my depression when I can’t morph my body into how I feel for the day.

Mostly though, I want to be tall and strong athletic looking woman and have perfect long straight brunette hair in a long plait, wearing a tight white camisole and black jeans and heeled boots and don’t have the need to wear spectacles.

But alas, I am fat and hideous, my hair is the colour of straw with flecks of white and I indeed need spectacles.

Image aside, this isn’t what I meant when I first started the post.

What I wanted to say is that, I am strange because I am like an old fashioned man, or rather an old man.  I say this, because some people online believe I am not a woman at all, but I am.  I am just a weird one that’s all.

I was a weird little girl too. 

I was a bug catching little girl, who had pet snails that escaped in the night in my bedroom sliming the walls in the morning, creeping my OCD clean freak mother out with the things she’d find hiding in my room every morning.  One day she found a squirrel I had tamed, sitting on the desk looking like it owned the place and it screamed at her when she screamed at it.

I was a frog catching little girl too and I’d scrump my neighbour’s apples, well, I used to pick my neighbours apples from their tree that was above my swing, which she allowed – to be a true scrumper meant I stole without permission, but that wasn’t the case.

As a child my biggest emotional and creative influence was my dad and two male cousins.  As a child I had more male friends than female and as a child I loved things that most little girls shy away from.

I was the little girl who asked for matchbox cars at Christmas, Gremlin and monster toys, scalextrics, books, art supplies, dinosaurs, trump cards and anything to do with wrestling.

I was the kind of little girl who scoffed at soap operas and sat down with her father and grandmother on a Sunday afternoon watching horse racing and Laurel Hardy movies and other oldies.

I’d learn all the words from those old movies, so that when mum worked the night shift at the retirement home she worked in, me and dad would re-enact them together fully, like we were putting on a spectacular theatre production. 

Sometimes we did for my aunts when visiting grandma on Sunday afternoons if they were visiting gran too.

I was the kind of little girl who made solar system models and studied encyclopaedias like a bible, because my access to education was sparse.

My dad was mostly into science, war and film history and gardening and he was the most active in educating me those things.  I got heavily into understanding the history of automobiles and aviation and some of it still sticks to this day!

I was like a son to him, I am sure.

My mum I think was jealous and that is why she treated me badly, I didn’t grow how she wanted me to.  She wanted me to be image obsessed, watch all the soap operas with her, devour all the romance books she bought and gossip about people behind their backs viciously, like some plastic girl from the movie Means Girls.

Which was odd really, because she as a tom boy too! She never taught me make up etc, it was like she had hoped that me being a girl I would teach her those things – but its a mothers job to teach the girl!

But I wasn’t like that, so she made my life hell.  Really, it was like living with a school bully with no escape, she only backed off me when I caved in and pretended to be the Barbie she wanted me to be, which was difficult as I was a fat child who was a bit of a jock.  Yes, you do get fat jocks!

But I’d rather go to a local park with my dad in the evenings and play on their big adventure playground pirate ship and re-enact scenes from The Voyage of Sinbad or Blackbeard the pirate, with my dad and if I am lucky, my cousins.

I am still very masculine to this day in my ideas, hobbies, likes and dislikes.  I even took a psychological test once to find out what I am and found out my brain is a lot more masculine than an average woman, in fact, significantly so.

I am bisexual, I do like to cross-dress and be masculine from time to time and I don’t make friends easily with women, unless they are similar to me.  Usually creative, hippy or bohemian, or tom boyish too!

The strange thing about all of this is that I am also glamour puss. Weird contrast I know, but I love dressing up elaborately, like a proper classic Hollywood star, but I can’t be in perfection mode all the time, it would drive me up the wall.  I love maxi dresses and sandals, I like jeans and camisoles, rainbow coloured dungarees and weird shit like that, oh and cosplay. 

I am a chameleon I suppose, yes, I guess that’s the right thing to say about me – I am a chameleon.

You never know what you are going to get day to day and if you are comfortable in rigidity, we can’t get along, because I have to flow with my emotions.  Don’t judge me for changing my style yet again, get used to it, why so stiff and judgemental?  Don’t be stiff… unless of course… I digress! 

It’s the flow again, the water that is me.

I’m like a river, now isn’t that going to be a lovely poem?

I am off to write it now…

Happy reading…

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Filed under About Me

Lessons from life

Things I learned from life

How to sing from my grandma and where I want to be

How to dodge a face slap when someone takes aim at me

When to talk and when to run, knowing who is a foe and who is a chum?

Where to hide and where to play

How to laugh and what to say

Where to find peace and where to write

What to do to avoid a fight

How to smile when I hurt and hold my tongue about the jerk

How to pull a punch and line, so folk don’t go down in crime

When to make a stand at all and how not to become a fool

Where to go so that I can shine and how I found God divine

When to love and how not to hate

I won’t forget my past mistakes!

A task set by the book “how to grow your own poem” by Kate Clanchy, learning I made a mistake with this poem that I fell back into rhyming, I should do another like this but remember not to rhyme.  The subject should be about your life and the things you’ve learned, where and how and all of that and maybe even about where you see your life is going?

Happy reading!

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Filed under poetry

PC semi-fried

My desktop PC seems to have got semi fried over the extreme heatwave we’ve had here in the UK, despite my efforts to place a fan at it to help it cool down.

I do have a laptop however, but that is not my preferred method of writing, because it lags when I am typing – the laptop doesn’t like ninety words per minute and the “s” button often gets stuck and needs to be double clicked most of the time!

The lag is so bad that I am usually halfway through the second paragraph when the computer actually starts making the former words appear.

I also make more typos on a laptop than I do on my desktop, so my writing slows down by a little more than half when I do it on a laptop.

It’s making me rather moody.

I am harsh on myself when I have set a goal and things like this just makes me inconsolable.

Happy reading!

P.S if my grandad was alive he’d be ninety nine today!

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Defining self update May 2021

Since 2012 I had been trying to learn how to define myself – why?  Because I had such a suppressed, isolated and abused life before that time that I had never developed my true personality, likes and dislikes etc; because I was never allowed to be nurtured as an individual.  I was literally born to become a facsimile of my mother’s dreams and wishes and because her dreams and wishes went against a lot of my own instinctive nature, both of us were very unhappy with the result and neither of us got exactly what we wanted from my existence.

Where it was my nature to sit quietly, drawing, cutting & pasting, playing Barbie dolls and watching cartoons, it was my mother’s nature to force me to listen to pop music, watch top of the pops, worry about fashion, gossip and EastEnders and to try and teach me to give certain people Hell on Earth. 

When I was bullied by other children, it was my nature to ignore them, but confide in my mother and hope that she would try and help to advise me or complain to the parents or head teacher on the rare occasions I went to school; but instead she responded with the concept that I had to play dirty and hit them back or I was considered weak and therefore would only get bullied continuously.  There was a situation with my mother’s close friend, where her two children bullied me and pushed me off my own swing in my own back garden, I ran indoors crying and both my mother and their mother dragged me outside with a broom and told me to hit those kids as hard as I could or else I would get it instead.

Looking back I still can’t believe how both my mother, her friend and her children would sit back and laugh in recollection of that day, especially as I chose not to hit the kids with the broom and instead scarper upstairs as fast as I could and bolted my bedroom door up with my bed to stop any punishment of my supposed cowardice.  I stayed in my bedroom for the rest of the day, because I knew once my dad came home my mum couldn’t continue her plans, as dad had a sweet nature and wouldn’t allow it.  A trick I had learned to use for most of my life – hide till dad gets home.

I had to learn to be partly how she wanted me to be, as long as it didn’t go against my personal morals within reason.  I am glad to say, I have a higher standard of morals than she does.

The amount of times she had tried to train me to be violent, it had worked in some cases, but in others it only taught me how to literally close my emotions off at dangerous situations.  I easily phase out when there is a dangerous violent person around me ranting and raving and throwing things around, I go blank, close down, and become almost robotic.  It is something I have been told I need to alert the doctor about, but I won’t because I feel that they might try to think it would be helpful to keep me switched on.  A lot of people state that switching myself off emotionally during these times can be very dangerous, a sign that I could become a dangerous person, but I am by my very nature, quite passive unless provoked too much!

I just want a quiet life where I am loved, that’s all.  I want happy people who dislike drama and just want to get on in life, not bored, arrogant people who thrive on bullying and drama.  That’s not for me.  I don’t want that kind of attention.  I just want love, peace, getting on with my art, games, gardening and pets.  That’s all.  Boring I guess to a lot of people, but I would be very happy.

I am learning that a lot of things I thought I loved when I lived with my mother are actually things I was taught to love because she liked them.  Since moving away, on every context of my life, I am unrecognisable.  I don’t hold myself the same way anymore and I certainly don’t have the same voice anymore, strange I know, but even my voice has changed a lot!

There are a few things I wanted to be, do and have, when I lived with my mother, that I still want to be, do or have now; but not much of it. 

I still want to be a writer that gets her books published, but I understand that for now, it is best not to get published before Autumn of 2022, for certain personal reasons.

I still regard myself as bisexual, something that I have never been open about to any member of my blood family, due to stigma, my mother has a problem with gay people – she wouldn’t hurt them, but she is ridiculously avoidant of them and I have heard the kinds of things she says behind their backs!  The rest of the family are kind of open to homosexuality, but they are very Catholic too, so it is a stiff subject to rise with them.  Some of those family members will now most definitely know, because I know they read this blog.

Despite being sick, I have always wanted a homestead or a smallholding.  But I have to be realistic with what I can physically do, but I am trying hard to find a way in keeping to this dream, but working around the disabilities too.  I don’t have a big enough property yet, to do it, but I am researching a lot about chickens and food forest permaculture style gardening and that sort of thing.

I used to regard almost shamefully how much of a gamer I am, but these days I am starting to feel a part of a proud community of gamer nerds.  It is becoming cool to be a gamer nerd these days and it is a huge boost to my confidence about admitting to people my love for PC games in particular.

I also used to feel slightly ashamed at being a reader, because in my mother’s side of the family in particular, to be a reader, was regarded as weird as you admitting that you are a lifestyle Klingon who actively understands the whole of the Klingon dictionary!  Actually I know some Klingon words, an ex-online long-distance boyfriend of mine was a lifestyle Klingon who moved to USA and became pretty famous for it… so there you go!

I have always wanted to be a larper too, which is something that Paul has always wanted to be too, so we might do that together someday.

But there is a whole host of other stuff I never knew I liked before recently.  Really strange things that are even starting to raise Paul’s eyebrows in confusion as to…. Why is this interesting?  But I honestly can say, I don’t know why I am finding life of bacteria, soil health and microbiology so fascinating lately; as well as the entire lifecycle and habits of bees.  I also read a lot of books on cosmology and physics and this is puzzling to Paul because I can’t do math, don’t understand any of the maths involved in all of this and therefore only understand the non-mathematical parts of the stuff I am learning.  I have dyscalculia, it is dyslexia for math, and it has been confirmed professionally by the OU.

I have been thinking about joining SkillShare to see if there are videos that would help someone like me learn math to as high as I possibly can despite this problem.  But I won’t be able to afford that for a while, until the debts have been bought down a bit.

I don’t know why I want to learn math, especially as I don’t really plan to do anything with it, other than learn stuff I don’t really need to learn because I won’t have a career in microbiology any time soon.  But it is fun stuff the bits I do understand.

I am very geeky, I admit it.  But there you go.

Another thing my family will not recognise is my eating habits.  I don’t eat like how I used to because of medical reasons.  I can’t eat lactose (dairy) at all unless it is vegan, because my stomach can process it anymore.  I shouldn’t eat gluten (wheat) because it irritates my skin and asthma, but I do slip that in more than I should and I should avoid eating more than 2 eggs a week.  Because all of this can aggravate my problems; my main diet looks like this – 70% vegetables and the rest meat or fruit.  I have less than half a plate of my usual dinner size meal per day, for the whole day.  This is regarding what my mother would expect.  When I lived with my mother it was normal to consume 4500 calories per day – since cutting out a lot of the allergen foods and because of my illness, I can barely manage 1500 calories most days.  I am on high doses of most vitamins and minerals because I can’t process a lot of them.

My mother would think I am starving to death if she saw me eating 1 chicken fillet with a Mediterranean style salad and 2 roast potato halves, which is my usual meal and often only meal of the day.  Because I just can’t physically cope with more than that anymore.  Weirdly, I am just not losing weight, but I am losing inches.

Funnily enough doctors aren’t too worried about this because according to blood tests, my iron is the best levels they’ve ever been my whole life, lately!  I used to have constant anaemia when I lived with my mother and even was diagnosed with an auto-immune disease called pernicious anaemia too.  I have problems with B vitamins or something, which is now worse because of the lack of gluten in my diet, bread is rich in vitamin B, but I can’t have normal bread.

The new me is becoming very different to how I imagined I would be.  A lot of the things I thought were my deepest desires are now considered things I no longer want.  I wanted a large family, but because the cosmos has contrived to make my family as tiny as possible I have gave up fighting for it and no longer want any more children.  I never wanted to live in a rural area, I always wanted to be a suburban homesteader, but now I want to be as rural as I can get, whilst maintaining at least an hours journey from a major British city, London or Manchester.

I never wanted to become vegan, but I have to say, that my body is doing better with a plant based diet than not – though I am not giving up meat anytime soon, just yet.  But I am surprised that my diet is literally 75% plants, whereas before, it was around 20%

I am having a problem with sugar lately and I am finding candies less enjoyable than berries and vegan vanilla ice-cream.

All these are in my opinion are major changes.

I had very little respect for certain types of art and music and now I love them and will even fight for them.

I am becoming so very, very different; it is both exciting and scary!

I am shocked at who I am becoming.

Thank you for reading.

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A plan, lost time and mindless jealousy

Going back to my post about social media from the other day, I have decided today to make a list of people to watch on social media to try and make me more social with the people I love speaking to and getting replies from.  It will help me manage things better, I am a person surrounded by endless lists for things because my illness can make me too preoccupied with trying to manage my symptoms such as coughing mucus several times an hour and that sort of thing, that I can often forget to do important things such as drinking fluids, eating and even socialising.   

Paul has suggested in saving up to get an Alexa for me, so that it can remind me every half an hour to take a sip of my drink because it is becoming a big problem for me and he thought as well that this can remind me to eat and even socialise.  I sometimes go two weeks between reading emails too, because on bad days (and I am getting more and more of them) two weeks can feel like two days to me, there are times where I haven’t spoken to my favourite cousin online for six months, but to me it feels like two weeks, when I look at the last time stamp I apologise profusely for the time span between our last chats and overcompensate by talking for three hours when I do finally get to contact them again.  It is bad to consider that I make more posts for my blog than I do in contacting people I know in reality.

I really do lose such big chunks of time because of my illness, I go into a groundhog day whilst the entire world moves on and have normal different days and they get to partake in the events of the future whilst I am still struggling to breath and thinking its Sunday.  Henry comes into my bedroom to shake me awake as I am too deaf to hear him say good morning until I put my hearing aids in and I ask him;

“Why are you wearing your uniform on Sunday”? 

“It’s Thursday mum” he says.

“Oh that happened quickly”, I say whilst trying not to fall back to sleep.

But a lot of the time I don’t go back to sleep for twenty minutes because my chest needs clearing and I have to go to pee, but it is a struggle to get there whilst choking and I have a bucket midway between the bedroom and the bathroom because I often choke so bad I vomit.

On bad days those coughing fits don’t calm down for nearly two hours before I can rest again.  It is difficult to be like this when my personal doctors surgery is only opened for 8am to 4pm every day and they prefer to use after 12pm as emergencies only – I never really had a planned appointment from the doctors because my personal GP rarely works the emergency shift and if I want to see him I need to wake up around 5am just to clear my chest, get dressed and eat then rest for an hour after eating just to get to see him for 10am, they are aware of this but I am sure they think I exaggerate!

If I get the flu it lasts for 4 to 8 weeks on me because by the 5th day it always turns into bronchitis and by 2 weeks it goes into borderline pneumonia or pleurisy, doctors are worried by this, it is happen too often and I am showing signs of antibiotic resistance too!  

To all those people who work full-time and hate on people like me who rely on benefits to live and often say venomously how they wished they had my life sitting back watching TV all day instead of working – well I beg your pardon, most of the time I am too deaf to watch too much TV because of severe ear infections and I can’t hear music either during my bad days, all I get to do is read or be online and sitting at a desk is tiring, so you want my life huh?  You can have it if I can have yours!  I’d love nothing better than to work if it means I get great health with it and a great social life!

Welcome to my life for the last seven years, pretty isn’t it?  Yes, please do be jealous of this so-called lazy fat bitch, because my life is great isn’t it?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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characterising real people

Sometimes people ask me about my past and what my family was like growing up and there are very simple ways to describe some of the people from that past.  The best way to describe people I have always found was to think of movies and TV series which might be familiar to the person and tell them exactly how I would portray that person based on characters from them, how in ways they are alike to that character and how in ways that they are not.  I have noticed that people relate better to the concept of using known characters rather than telling them about a fresh real person as their traits, it is a strange thing to me.

I am going to discuss today how I would portray my parents and myself and Paul as parents based on known television characters.  I will also tell you how Henry portrays me himself, because it is very interesting to look at other viewpoints rather than always concentrating on the bias opinion – mine.

First up is me, I like to think of myself as this kind of mother…

  1. Daniel Hilliard from Mrs Doubtfire and yes, I know this first one is not a female character, it is male, but I don’t think the media portrays mums as fun and flimsy like they do some dad characters and there are mums like him in the world, I know, I believe I am one of them!  I believe it because I am the kind of mother who would throw a party for Henry just for the sake of it; For example, we are planning that the next time we get any spare money to throw an unbirthday Alice in Wonderland themed party for Henry around late autumn some time, not sure if it will be this year, but it is on the cards and we have been making lists for it! I throw caution to the wind if it means fun and making that child happy!  I would indeed hire a city zoo to come onto my property on his birthday if I had the money.  I am very well-known as well to forget the bedtime regime entirely by two hours because we are having too much fun together.  Some people will call this irresponsible; I call it creating happy memories!
  2. Kirsty Allsop, I know she isn’t a character, she is a real life person herself, but to me that counts. I am a very creative person who loves nothing better than to just simply make things, just because.  Anything from homemade felt making to sugar craft animals, sewing, knitting and more.  I am also addicted to carboot sales, markets and country fairs.  Every special occasion deserves new handmade decorations and baked from scratch goods and this is something Henry and I try to do on my good days.  Any reason whatsoever to make crafts, bake cakes or trying new recipes and yes, my Henry will sit down and embroider and knit with me, he loves it and often insists we do it!  We often invent our own board games too.  We once created a Harry Potter board game based on the spells from the movies and made a good game out of it – Henry wants us to sell it, but I said we can’t because of copyright issues.  We also have a different version of beetle we play, it is teddy bears.
  3. Third person I would consider myself to be perhaps, Aunt Adelaide from Nanny McPhee. I can be very (in some people’s opinions) too strict about certain rules of etiquette and traditions.  There is a certain manner people must uphold and if my child is slack there are usually ramifications and readjustments!  I am a stickler for pronunciation which is similar to Aunt Adelaide and I am also country hardy and so you can imagine how it drives me around the twist being in bed so much and ill.  I would never call myself posh and I am not too bothered by loose vowels as she would call it, but I do get rather irked if water and other mispronounced words are misused.  Henry deliberately mispronounced words because he likes riling me up a lot!  He will purposely over emphasise war-ah when he asks for water and if he is not doing that, then he is licking his knife and using the knife as a spoon.

Henry views me differently but not much.  He believes I am like these characters…

 

  1. Mrs Mason from Grandpa in my pocket, a mother who is always starting a new hobby, a new language lesson, a new craft project and so forth and a mother who always smiles even when she is in pain and poorly.
  2. He believes I am also like Mary Berry, a mother who bakes nice things occasionally, speaks well, dresses nicely and is glamorous and friendly.
  3. He also thinks I am a lot like Rosemary Shrager, a country woman who cooks, talks nicely, a little on the large side and tolerates no funny business! He also believes she is a traditional lady who tries to uphold traditions as much as possible; he enjoys watching both her and Mary.  Upon reflection I suppose I am like Rosemary Shrager because I like countryside living, I am often abrupt and assertive and quite aggressive in the kitchen and just like Rosemary I will sometimes gesticulate with the knife I am using which often worries people!  Paul would even add I am a lot like Fanny Cradock in the kitchen too!  I am quite proud of that actually because I would love nothing better than to be an amalgam of Fanny Cradock, Penelope Keith and Rosemary Shrager. 

I can almost hear my grandmother saying “Hoity Toity” in the background at this confession.

How I view Paul as a father. 

  1. A Ray Mears sort of person, he often takes Henry on long walks and discusses certain survival techniques and so forth, what wild things are to eat, such as identifying dock and complaining about the rubbish he finds in hedge groves, teaching (and rightfully so) about being environmentally aware, how rubbish harms nature and us and how it is all a big cycle.
  2. He is also a lot like Gordon Ramsey; as much as he would hate me say it. No, Paul doesn’t swear at all, never heard him do it – but what is similar in my opinion is how he spends time teaching Henry how to cook and will often teach Henry how to complain about things when he is out and about to get things done or corrected.  He doesn’t like being taken advantage of when money is concerned and Paul is a very health and safety conscious person who will complain if he feels a company has something about them which is unsafe to the public, Paul has earned a lot of local respect for this.
  3. Despite the walks and the cooking and moral lessons, there is also a lot of Abraham Simpson in him too. Grandpa Simpson from the Simpsons, I say this only because Paul can be overly critical with Henry, often ignores the best things about Henry and because he is too busy with chores and caring for me, Henry can sometimes get side-lined and doesn’t get to have too much personal time with Paul outside of the kitchen and walks.  He complains a lot about most things too. In general.

How I view my own mother as characters.

  1. She is very much like two similar characters in one, Carrie’s mother from the novel Carrie by Stephen King and The mother from The People under the Stairs. My mother uses religion to justify how she treats me.  She gets very aggressive about her religion a lot of the time and talking about her roots.  (I suppose it is because she really does believe she lives in sin because she is the result of a mixed religion marriage).  My mother’s ancestry on her side alone means she is born of three religions.  My grandfather was considered a sinner by the catholic school he went to, because his mother was Jewish and converted to Catholicism when she married my great grandfather.  My grandfather from this marriage married an Anglican Christian to make matters worse and my mother often spoke of how the church viewed the family.  Because of the mix of religions in my family, I often asked questions which apparently I shouldn’t have.  For example, why do you hate and blame the Jews for killing Jesus when Jesus himself was a Jew?  I never got a proper answer only that it is absolutely correct that they killed Jesus and my questions could send forth the wrath of God and I was told to shut up lest I curse the house we are in with Gods temper.  Social isolation was also another factor, though not as severe as Alice from People under the stairs, but it was still very difficult to live shut away a lot of the time.  Ironically in the past few months, I have shut myself away because of illness; I just can’t even get downstairs these days let alone go out and to think, I ran away from my mother aged 27yrs to get a life and socialise only for fate to be as cruel as her and make me bedbound.  She is also a closet/hypocritical racist, I say hypocritical because she will socialise with other races but behind closed doors she is vicious in her criticisms of them and their races.  Which again is hypocrisy as I found out last year that my great grandmothers, grandmother from 1840 was an American mixed race black/white lady from Boston from nans side of the family.  Nan had always said we aren’t all as white as we seem, I haven’t found the evidence of the Hindu great grandfather yet though, like Nan claimed we have. 
  2. Second character she is like is Jane Fonda from Monster in Law.  She really does struggle giving any of her children, to another person that they may love.  She does everything in her power to stop them from creating and maintaining a relationship.  She isn’t like this with Robbie because when a relationship broke down when he was very young he was extremely distressed and Robbie being her favourite child, she couldn’t cope with that, but to hell with the rest of us.  Robbie has to be happy, us others however, well, not unless she agrees first and my mother has always let it be known to me, she will never agree to any relationship that I want and any grandchildren I may give her are unwanted because she feels that I am a foolish person to have children as they will ruin my life!  So that’s what she thinks about us deep down huh?  Yes, people have seen my mother supposedly dolt on Henry and spoil him when he was born, but it wasn’t without its venom behind closed doors with me.  The things she said were evil, such as when I said I am too sick to have more children she practically threw a party and said great, I don’t want you having more, I hope you do have that problem!  When I announced my pregnancy with Henry, my dad congratulated us happily and he was admonished by her and she turned to me and called me a stupid girl and gave me a long rant about how much I have damaged any future I may want.  She often opened cupboards to accidentally on purpose hurt Paul in the early days of our relationship and tried to scare him and several other boyfriends before him off by mentioning the time I was in a children’s asylum failing by the way, to tell them she was the reason I was in it.
  3. The next character is another male character which really does represent my mother a lot and that is Robert De Niro in Meet the parents. She would stalk and investigate anyone in my life, she must approve of anyone in my life for any relationship to work and she will send spies (friends) to watch where I go occasionally.  She would also text me around 30 times a day if I am out all day.  She has even lied to people who regard her highly in order to bring me back into submission to her, by claiming all sorts of outlandish things about me in order to get them to go and do her dirty work and go and fetch me or watch me or have long discussions about how I am making her ill with worry.  She also will take anyone aside, a platonic friend or a boyfriend and talk in private with them without me hearing a thing.  Often I find out they are threats, warnings and so forth or little snippets of information she is passing to them about my mental problems as she would refer to them as.  She would also remind them of how many brothers and close male cousins I have and how they don’t like anyone upsetting the family.

How I view my father.

  1. He is a very shy and quiet country sort of person. Very much like a more obedient and housebound Howard from Last of the Summer Wine.  He is despite how he comes across very nervous of my mother and displeasing her.  I remember times when he was sent on an errand to buy groceries or a take away without her accompanying him and I would go with him to help him as sometimes he would get nervous and forget things, that if the shop didn’t have what she wanted or the take away was closed at that specific time; my poor dad would literally be on the verge of tears and would often say to me he doesn’t know what to do as she will be upset if he doesn’t go home with it.  Paul has also witnessed this behaviour.  My dad cooks, gardens and cleans much more than is traditional for a man to do so and I remember often that if he didn’t do it on time, mum would remind him that she doesn’t have to keep him and he would get scared and get up and do it immediately.
  2. Despite this my father is also a bit of a Victor Meldrew. He complains a lot about things but I often believe it is because it is something he thinks my mother would like to hear, she is an avid complainer.  Because when she isn’t around he is quite a cheerful tolerant person.  He is also extremely nosy about the neighbourhood and any gossip going around and often worries about anything negative he has heard that has gone on locally.
  3. He also reminds me of Travers Goff from Saving Mr Banks. He was a daydreamer and often liked to play with me imaginatively, we would re-enact our favourite stories, rhymes and television shows and it would be very realistic.  My father loved comedy and often had a comical stance to most games we played.  He often recited funny limericks and songs which are mostly for an adult audience but it made me laugh none-the-less.  He could sometimes be over the top playful and often had to be calmed down by the energy sapping atmosphere of my mother and her harsh words.  He was also a betting man and a man who loved the countryside a lot that he often dreamt of going rural again someday, but my mother would never hear of it.

 

This is how I view myself, Paul and my parents by using character descriptions.  I know there will be a handful of people reading this which will not approve, but it is my opinion of what I believe these people are like and I don’t have to ask your permission to verbalise anything anymore.  It is my truth and that is all that matters.

 

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