Tag Archives: pack rat

It’s just not me

I like to be organised and tidy, but if you saw my home you would accuse me of not being honest about that!

The thing is, it’s true – however I am in a constant battle for space and living with people who do not pull their weight around the house.

A large part of my depression is due to the blockages in the house.  What do I mean by blockages?  Large piles of stuff in certain areas, literally blocking my access to books, files, art supplies etc at best it can take me around fifteen minutes to access something I want – I can’t just decide to fetch something and take it away and be immediately productive.  Sometimes the blockages are quite dangerous and have heavy stuff there, so I can’t access thing without inconveniencing Paul in helping me get to them. 

As time is going on, more of these blockages are occurring around the house in more areas that used to be mine and they are blocked by things that are not mine!

A simple idea of getting on the exercise bike needs fifteen minutes of preparation beforehand, because people have used it as a coat, hat and glove stand and used the seat as a place to pile books.

I fight hard to tidy things away, but other blockages means I can’t move some things from one place to another easily without causing another major blockage.  Paul is definitely reverting at a faster pace than usual to his pack rat past, because it is him who is causing these blockages and piles to occur!

Since we have decided to separate he isn’t even trying to stop himself anymore just to keep peace.

He doesn’t care how this affects my productivity in all areas of my life, he doesn’t care how this is actually affecting my independence around the house by accessing things – he just cares about his own convenience of stacking things!

It drives me around the bend, because I am quite OCD and particular about things.

But being the woman of the house, who gets tarred for how it all looks smells, etc?  Not the man I can tell you, not the kids… it’s always the woman’s fault!  That’s just society’s psychology.

If there is a woman in the house, she is the one to blame for how good or bad the house looks inside, she is the cleaner, she is the organiser, she is the one who gets the bad rep for the shittiness if she lives with slobs and happens to be sick!

It’s how I was raised, I was brainwashed by my mother than if I don’t get a handle on Paul quickly, visitors will think I am the dirty cow – I am the lazy woman who allows this to happen and I have to tell you it has always made me paranoid that people will think about me like that!

Because it really is not me!

You know I rebelled a couple of times living here – I actually decided to play them at their own game – throw wrappers on the floor without bothering to pick them up because I got pissed off.  Those wrappers stayed there for days until I got mad enough to literally knock myself out and clean the whole room over an eight hour period, only for the room to look similar a day or two later.

It is normal for people to leave used tissues anywhere they like and throw their wrappers on the floor if it is by the bin, it’s excusable to them – sorry, and for me it isn’t!

Was given the disgusting excuse of how ordinary poor folk live like this – I am sorry but they don’t!

I’ve lived with poorer people than this in the past and they certainly aren’t dirty or messy!

They have their pride, he doesn’t!

The kitchen is fully Paul’s abode, the kitchen is the most disgusting place in the house except for the tops of the units and that is only because I insist in a food preparation area Paul you’ve got to keep it clean!  In the past he didn’t care, I trained that out of him at least!

Why am I telling you all of this?

Because I can’t access my books and art supplies in Paul’s bedroom anymore because he has caused huge blockages – I can’t access half my crystals – I can’t access any art supplies except for a box of sharpies and inks – I can’t access my new laptop – I can’t access the memory files – I can’t get to two thirds of my writing files or my musical instruments – I can’t access the tin food cupboard or the plates if I am hungry when Paul is out – I am finding more and more things out of bounds!

The amount of things I have had I have given away to charity in charity bags of mine over the past few months in order to try and shift things to make room and still there is no more room.  He stacks things differently in a way it takes up more space and I am left in wonder as to how the fuck he managed to do that?

Paul has a very strange incomprehensible phobia of putting up shelves, to make space.  He tells me to put shelves on the walls will make the walls fall down – this is a stone house…

Doesn’t make sense to me!

All I know is, several times this week I have wanted to review previous works done and I can’t find them!  I have also wanted to do some more art, but I can’t access the stuff!

I am going crazy… you have no idea how much at this point right now I actually want to SCREAM!

I really feel like jumping up and down on the spot screaming and screaming and screaming because of it – I want to scream at Paul for it, I want to scream him into action.  But I won’t, because I am passive and I don’t like negativity and whenever I try to assert myself with Paul he screams and usually takes out the mess blame on my son, which in turn starts him screaming and hurting himself and the Paul feels better because everyone feels as shit as he does and he knows that it’s just a screaming match and nothing else will happen.

So he can sit easy for another few weeks until I blow up again!

I don’t leave my bedroom unless to eat anymore.

Around September, I think I gave up. I’ve hardly done anything, because what’s the point? I am using energy without seeing rewards! I vacuumed three days ago and cleared my own personal corner in the living room. But, you can hardly notice now. I saw a banana skin left on the 3 seater that Paul and Henry shares, took 3 hours of nagging to make them throw it away in an actual bin! I’d have done it myself, but there was a pile of junk in front of the sofa where it was and Henry was sitting at the other end blocking access and wouldn’t give me it!

The horrifying things I have found around the house when cleaning I can’t mention, due to humiliation and disgust! One major thing is I have weak lungs and we do have black mould, but Paul won’t help me with it. I cant have my arms above my head for prolonged periods due to black outs and its above the window. Paul just doesn’t care, I sometimes wonder if my depression and apathy is actually a sort of empathic soak and not really my own problems at all. I am like a sponge, I totally absorb the energy around me and reflect it back – when around the wrong people, I become the wrong sot of person, but quickly become a different person around different energies.

That’s me.

That’s life here. 

I hate it.

I hate it so much!

It’s not me to be like that, dirty, apathetic, depressed, giving up – it’s not me at all!

Thanks for reading.

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Broken things

This has been bugging me for a while now.  Around once every six to eight months something breaks down in this house – usually Henry’s laptop or power supply.  Since Henry was seven years old it has happened regularly, he will be thirteen in May.

I learned the second time it happened that we should really be strict with how Henry uses his laptop; Paul still hasn’t learned this and is endeavouring yet again to try to afford buying a new power supply for Henry – just so the screaming fits about not having laptop access, stops!

The power supply breaks because Henry is a mindless twiddler, he twiddles on the sofa at the power supply cable mindlessly and ignores us when he is on it.  I told Paul that Henry is on the laptop too much every day, so an hour to maybe an hour and a half should be his limits and the power supply should be plugged in when he isn’t using it!

However Paul lets Henry have the laptop every waking second the boy wants it!  He is on his laptop more than I use mine!  As soon as Henry wakes up in the morning around 7:15am he is on that laptop, spooning his cereal into his mouth whilst playing Roblox until it is required for him to get dressed by 8am to leave the house by 8:20am, often leaving the laptop on to die out whilst he is at school!  To me this is and always has been unacceptable, to Paul it’s convenient.

As soon as he comes home from school at 3:25 he raids the kitchen cupboard for several snacks, plonks himself down in front of his laptop again and mindlessly eats until we say stop, or take the food away, usually with huge tantrums in tow!  He will struggle to get off the thing to come and sit at the dining table for dinner and will rush his food to be back on it ASAP until bedtime! 

The arguments I have had with both Paul and Henry over this and I have exhausted myself, because nobody cares what mama has to say – I’m a nobody here! 

Whenever it is the weekend or Henry isn’t at school he is on the laptop from around 9am when he will usually wake up until his bedtime’s which school is usually around 11pm if there isn’t the next day.  Again to me, this is highly unacceptable!

But for Paul, it’s convenient, because whilst he is on the laptop he is relatively quiet; whilst he is on the laptop he isn’t making messy robots and Lego designs or doing messy art!  Whilst he is on the laptop he is out of the way!

I am always made to feel unreasonable by both Paul and Henry if I were to criticise this routine they have.

I am such an unfair parent who doesn’t want him to have any fun; I just want to take away his freedom and happiness, because I like hurting him apparently.  Henry is allowed to say these things to me when Paul listens on, Paul says nothing other than tell me that he is alright, leave him alone, at least he isn’t getting in the way of the ironing or the cooking etc.

So every six to eight months, Henry gets a new laptop replacement from Paul and we get extra credit debt, because of Henry’s carelessness and Paul’s idea of an easy life!

Just before Christmas our oven broke down, Paul went into credit to get another one, it isn’t paid for yet – then the microwave broke down around ten to twelve days later, that hasn’t been replaced and then the washing machine around two week ago, that hasn’t been replaced yet either – but Henry’s power supply breaks down and Paul breaks into savings to get him a new one immediately – because that’s how much Paul values convenience.

You have no idea how hard it is to keep my mouth shut about all of this!  Time and again it happens; time and again needful things are kicked under the carpet for that boys addiction to computer games!

What is worse is that recently Henry was weighed by the doctor and the doctor told us that Henry is becoming obese!  I saw it, Paul didn’t!

For a year I have been trying to get that boy off his butt to do the exercises he used to love doing – he used to love running in the local field training for marathons and this year he couldn’t be bothered to do his usual annual charity run – which I was disappointed in and he gave up litter picking with the local environmentalists three months ago, purely because he wants more laptop time!

He is even starting to think about giving up his charity clubs that he goes to once every two weeks, because he loses a whole three hours a time away from his precious machine! 

Young Carers will do him well in hard times, he needs their support – but still he is considering giving it up, not worth it you see… he hasn’t the time you see, the club interferes with his plans!  Paul is OK with the boys obsession, I am livid by it!

I have always wanted an active, social family with strong family bonds – instead I get a bunch of bums who hate spending time with each other and often sit in separate rooms!

I am the only one who lifts a finger to actually tidy and clean anything in this house, but when I live with two people who addicted to their machines and don’t give a rats ass about how sick I am and what efforts I’ve put into the house – its hard to maintain.  I spend three hours cleaning one room because it’s excessively messy and dirty, only for the mess to be back all of the next day without any sign I have actually vacuumed the place at all!

You can clearly see my areas in the house, I am very territorial, my areas are spotless and organised the rest of the house is disgusting and sort of represents a junk yard or pack rat house!

The back garden is definitely a junk yard, old washing machines dumped out there with a rotten old sofa and computer desk because we can’t afford to get a skip and the junk man rarely comes this way anymore!

I find the whole thing, the whole house and the attitude of the family very humiliating, I am ashamed of the lot of it and Paul knows, because I’ve broken down in tears during my worst days telling him what I need in order to feel sort of normal again. But he whines like a kid and chants “I know, I know” it’s not like talking to another adult at all and to be totally honest – I don’t think he really does know what I am on about!

The other day, when I had my bout of suicidal thoughts and dark poems, it was such a day!  I told Paul again about how I can’t hack it anymore how I am trying and he snapped at me and said to me – “I do my fair share around the house, I do the cooking, the washing and the ironing” and I said that’s all you actually do though, that and cleaning the rabbit, you do nothing else, the house rots around you and you often forget to check on me or talk to me anymore!  He snapped and swore, he rarely swears “he said fuck it, I won’t do the laundry then, I won’t do anything anymore – I’ve had enough”!  So this is what happens when I ask for help – I get threats like this, that fewer things will get done.

I am afraid these days to ask anything extra of him anymore, because of these big outbursts!

I didn’t ask him to do anything other than to check on me from time to time, as he just doesn’t bother.   Even when I go downstairs to sit there, he will actively ignore me whilst he plays solitaire or a Facebook game. 

I was angry that day because I slept so long – I slept for thirteen hours solid, which is weird for me!  I didn’t wake up until 3:55pm, which is disgusting – but he didn’t once come and check on me to see if I was OK – his excuse was, he was busy hand washing the laundry all day and couldn’t spare the two minutes to check on me as he passed my room on the way to the only toilet in the house that he uses an average of once an hour because he drinks copious amounts of tea all day!

When I used to be very badly sick and bedbound, I was often afraid I’d die in bed and he wouldn’t find out until dinner or bedtime, the only two times per day I can actually guarantee he’ll look for me!

I once rose a concern to Paul how if I ever became paralysed or had a stroke, I’d die of neglect – the horrible thing about it is, he sincerely agreed as he wasn’t sure he could care for me either!

This was a huge wakeup call and this is why whilst I sat in bed several months ago I tried looking for bedbound to fit exercises on YouTube to try and help myself out of it.  But I had to do it in secret, because Paul doesn’t like knowing, I am doing anything out of the ordinary!

This is why my depression has been really bad since September. 

I am well enough now to spend around an hour a day cleaning, sometimes more – but you see I can’t!  Because either Paul gets in the way, or both Paul and Henry kind of leaves a trail of their mess behind me as I move to clean the next thing. 

When Paul suddenly knows I am cleaning a lot, he will (I believe) deliberately stop buying cleaning products to slow me down, as all of a sudden, he can’t find them in store or he had an unexpected bill so the bleach has to wait a week!

Yes, this house can go a whole disgusting week without bleach!

Paul claims he was never like this before I moved in – when I moved in I came with so much extra stuff, so that is why he can’t clean.  But you see it’s a lie, he was a pack rat before I moved in, I remember one of the first things I did when I moved in was to pull up all the carpets because of how thick the grime was in it that the whole carpet was hard like black gum and hundreds of silver fish crawled out as we pulled it up!

I wanted to go back to live with my mother so bad, but I grinned and bared it because I saw freedom and was intoxicated by it!

It took me nearly two years to get this house into a liveable state and remember I got pregnant within the first six weeks of living here, so it was no easy feat!

You have to also take into account, both gardens were severely overgrown and I levelled it all, by myself.

I was so proud by what I had accomplished and within six months of being ill – it’s like I never touched the place!

This is why I struggle to see the Brightside of anything these days, living in poverty with two pure bums.

I can’t really remember what true happiness feels like anymore, true relaxation or comfort, or even love… but then again, did I ever really know what love was?  I kind of had it once… funnily enough with another Paul – not this one, there was another Paul once… but that one let me down.

I kind of new love once I guess!

No doubt I will get an earful if Paul reads this, that’s another thing – he is becoming very watchful of all my online activities lately, which is making me wonder if he is actually jealousy looking for anyone who might show an interest with me.  It’s weird because there was a guy who liked me a few weeks back, but they reckoned someone warned him off.

Didn’t know who, they didn’t either.

Anyway, just a heads up and thanks for reading! 

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Sentimental & very ready!

I am a very sentimental person and this is something that people have tried to get out of me, sentimentality is not respected in the world or rather the societies I was raised in. 

My mother had always tried to force that sort of thing out of me, by forcing me to get rid of a third of my stuff every three months so I never grew attachments to anything!

When a person dies in the family, people have to fight for things like photographs and things of sentimental value, because other members of the family will just get a skip (a hired dumpster) and throw things away – yes – even photos!

What things I had managed to keep over the test of time and hid from my mother, I still have and I know it sounds lame, but I am never getting rid of those things – including the fifteen soft toys I have managed to keep, because it was a huge fight for many years to keep them and I had to be tactical about it!

Over the years I have been gifted small things by people who have since died and I am not happy about leaving things like that behind or throwing them away either and I am paranoid about them breaking when I move out of Paul’s!

I don’t have many things, probably enough to fit in a suitcase or two, but they have a lot of memories for me. 

A little book ornament my grandma bought me with a rose on it for my birthday – that meant a lot to me because, I don’t mean to speak ill of the dead or anything, but my maternal grandma was a known miser and rarely got gifts for anyone – especially something like this, especially something personalised!

So the fact I got a personalised ornament with a gold engraving on it, means a lot to me, because nobody else has ever got such a valuable gift from her before!  I mean, it’s not expensive, but it’s not a simple chocolate box like she normally gave her adult grandchildren, you know?

It tells me that although she was never vocal about how she felt about me, she knew we had a special bond in comparison to everyone else, because she let me live with her a lot as I was growing up and we spent a lot of time together alone and shared the same hobbies!  I was also the only descendant she had who trusted her stories of our ancestry and who would listen to her little quips of gypsy magic etc; whereas everyone else rolled their eyes up and was like “whatever”.

I have some soft toys which mean a lot to me too, unfortunately a couple of them have got lost in the pack rat mess of Pauls here – so I have to try and find them and I hope they are not ruined like a couple of other things have been, which has broken my heart over the years, because Paul has moved somethings of mine temporarily but forgot to put it back!

So, yes, I am transitioning into getting into the mind-set to prepare myself to move out – it won’t be soon – it can’t be for a small number of reasons, but also because I need to start thinking about self-employment on a serious level now, so I can support myself.

I researched online last night with Paul actually about how much I need to try and earn monthly in order to be able to confidently leave him and support myself and I would need £1600 a month if I am to stay within a 3 mile walk of Henry my son, as he won’t be coming with me apparently.

I also will not move out unless I can support a dog in a rentable accommodation that allows a dog that is essential for my sense of personal security!

But for years, before Paul decided he had found someone else, I have not been happy here but just tolerated being here.  I have never been happy about the house environment; Paul has different standards than I do about what constitutes good, clean and tidy living!

Paul has come to realise that the house will be very empty when I move out, because I bought most of the furniture and Paul insists anything I have bought, must go with me – whether I want it or not!

I told him don’t be stupid, you won’t have any chairs, any sofa, any bed – what about Henry, you think I am going to take these things from him?

Sometimes he can be very irrational!

He will only have a dining table set when I leave and a bedframe for himself, if he is going to go that far!

Because I have to admit, a lot of my debt is due to me having to use my credit score in order to buy things we needed to replace as things broke down or became too dangerous to use anymore, because Paul was already in debt before I moved in!

My debt was caused by having to support breakdowns, because he couldn’t and we needed to feed a baby, we needed a new cooker, we needed a new mattress as I was cut to ribbons in the old mattress, Henry needed a bed, we needed a sofa because my mum broke it etc., you get the idea?

I came with 3 boxes of books and there were no bookshelves, so I bought those.

I am certainly taking the rugs with me so Henry goes colder!  Before I moved in there was no rugs on our stone and laminated floor at all, it’s an ice-box in the winter – Paul has always resented the rugs, but we can’t sit in a freezer all winter – especially when Henry sits on the floor all the time!

To say I am looking forward to leaving this house is an understatement!

I will hate the quiet solitude of living alone, because personally, any time I am alone I am in high anxiety and I prefer to be in any company at all, than alone!

It’s very likely no sooner had I paid my first rent, I’d have got into a relationship with someone and got them to move in with me, because I won’t hack living solo!  I just hope they are a decent person, whoever they might be – no one is planned yet!

But I need to start setting up my business and rolling up my sleeves now, because I never realised how much Paul could change in a short space of time and I don’t like it!

I am not comfortable here anymore, we have split up as far as we’re both concerned, so why does he still walk into the bathroom when I am having a bath to take a pee next to me?  That’s acceptable when we was an item, but now I am feeling a little weird about it!

I know I sound stupid, but it just doesn’t sit right with me anymore to do that.

As I am starting to go into a nesting phase mentally… I have started to try and gather things of mine whenever I can and weigh up whether I really want those things or not anymore and I am bagging them for charity.  But it hurts when I find something I love and had meaning to me, be destroyed because it had been thrown amongst the pack rat pile and got damaged, often severely!

I found a doll of mine which had been perfect all these years squashed against a radiator and her face had melted, broke my heart because it was the only proper doll I had outside of Barbie.

I know I sound like a stupid kid, but it still puzzles me how she got out of the bag she was in and thrown all the way over there like that!

Like a pair of kinky boots I had when I used to be involved in the lifestyle (BDSM) as a switch for a short while, as an ex master of mine thought I am a good alpha girl for others, so why not try and train me to be a dominatrix to earn some cash!  I never did that, but he let me keep the boots nonetheless and I loved them, but they were shifted from my boot box out into the utility room by Paul and when the storm damaged the roof the box dissolved and I didn’t know about it until months later, when I found the box had rotted into the boots and the boots were literally glued to the floor of the room like they had melted!

I didn’t know about this and a bunch of other things in the utility room, because the floorboards in the room were cracked, dipped and damaged and Paul banned me from using the room – even though it’s still used as our laundry room – so I never got to see the damage out there until I wanted to clean it up two years ago!

The utility room is our only safe access to the back garden – the other one is a shared entryway that is guarded by our bad neighbour’s ferocious Dalmatian dog, which is untrained and attacks everything – only Paul is stupid enough to use that entryway and twice the dog has caused him an injury, but still he won’t complain!

Be glad to be out of here, I can tell you!

Get to do my gardening again, get to have the safety that the bad neighbour isn’t going to come glaring into our downstairs windows whenever he likes, get to have a clean and tidy home that has fresh air and windows opened regularly!  Get to be able to access the food in the kitchen without twisted my sides as it’s all out of reach… seriously… I can’t wait!

If I had the money tomorrow to get out of here, you won’t have seen me move fast enough, believe me!

So, the 8th of December my domain name gets renewed, with that I am adding some money to WordPress to update it to a business account to get advertisers to pay me!  I am also going to try and figure out how to use Instagram properly for business and poetry.

I am going to compile several of my old blog post poems into a book to sell on Amazon kindle. 

I am going to look into what I can do to utilise patreon and Pinterest. 

Then I am going to have to figure out alone how to set up my webcam and microphone on my desktop to start a YouTube channel!

Also, I am going to forego treat money for about six weeks to save up for a bulk in art supplies so I can sell my art in different formats on Squarespace. 

Every little helps!

Whilst doing all of that, I will be trying to add two hours a day again to writing my novels as I am not giving up on those either!

Busy, busy, busy, especially as I am trying to get healthier and fitter and exercise and what have you.

If these things haven’t got started by the second week of January then I am just a bum and that’s not acceptable to me!  Because I am no longer bedbound sick anymore! 

Thanks for reading!

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Things are different but hard

Disclaimer, this is a very long post, nearly 3k, sorry.

Things are definitely changing in my life, I have a little more personal freedom – not much, but it’s a lot for me and I haven’t had this amount of freedom for at least eight years now.

My physical health is improving enough where I am no longer staying in bed most of the time; in fact I am able to do a little exercise and chores on a daily basis now.  I believe it has everything to do with the new high protein diet.  I do however choose to escape into the bedroom for up to three hours a time these days, because I am not coping with Henry’s behavioural problems and the arguments in the household.

I am trying my best to do the housework, but Paul and Henry have got into the habit that I have been sick, so when I have made the efforts to tidy up, no one appreciates it and undoes my work around the house almost as soon as I have done it.  There is no respect for me in this regard.

I clear an area and Paul or Henry fills it again, in less than half a day, I have to say, it makes me wonder why I bother.

The other day, I spent forty five minutes cleaning the carpet in the hall and clearing away coats, hats, garden equipment and the vacuuming the living room, clearing up shoes, clothes and robots all over the floor.  Paul and Henry were both out – they came home and threw their coats wherever they liked, it had rained heavily and the mud was trapesing all over the floor, they sat down and not one of them mentioned about noticing I had done anything.

When I asked them about if they had noticed, all I got was an “ooh sorry, yeah, thanks”; But no effort to amend their slobby mess in the hall.

There are things I am desperate to clean, but with the finances being really hard on us, Paul is reluctant to buy the cleaning materials I am used to.

We have mild bleach and antibacterial wipes and a sponge for the bathroom, but that is all.

I struggle living in this house because a house usually reflects the quality of the wife or mother of the house – believe me when I say, this house is not a reflection of me at all!  I have been sick for years and Paul was a hoarder/pack rat before he met me and I had to struggle and deal with this problem of his for ages before I got sick and I nearly sorted the whole house out.

There are things Paul leaves for months, no matter how much I complained when I could leave the bed, he still never got around to doing things.  There are four rooms in the house that I ban everyone from going into, if they are guests because I’d die of embarrassment over it – Paul doesn’t have the same inclination as I do.  He doesn’t see what’s so bad about things, though he admits it needs to change.

The dining room has been unusable as Paul’s hoarding is coming back; this has been unusable for three years now.  The kitchen is just plain dangerous and dubious.  The utility room is dangerous and the roof has caved in and there is fibreglass hanging from it, every time it rains the whole room gets soaked and that is where we do our laundry – or rather where Paul does the laundry as it’s too dangerous and narrow for me to get out there, as whatever Paul can’t throw away, old broken electricals etc. gets stored out there.

The other room isn’t a room a guest would go to anyway, that’s the big bedroom, which is now Paul’s room and the room where we store Christmas decorations, DVDs, towels, linen and clothes.  It’s basically an enormous disorganised store room.

Paul is very tactical, he knows with my balance problems and weight, that I can’t get to places if he puts things a certain way.  This means there are lots of places I cannot access around the house unless he assists me; this makes me completely dependent upon him to help me.  The thing is, with this new diet of mine I am slimming down and I am gaining better balance, dexterity and agility as well as energy.  This is starting to cause ructions between us, as he doesn’t like the idea I no longer need him, despite knowing we’re separating soon.

I am a house proud woman; I was raised by very domesticated OCD housewives through my mother, paternal grandmother, various cousins and aunts I was sent to live with over the years.  I am meticulous about the house, I am an organised person who is driven nuts by the idea of piles upon piles of things and a throw it anywhere attitude. 

I am the kind of woman who goes into cafes and wipe the table down before I do anything and wipe up after myself too, I am that tidy it’s my nature.

I am the kind of person who has dinner, take the plates out and the sauces.  Whilst Paul says, leave it on the table I will deal with it later.  The plates are taken out and washed immediately, but the sauces can be there for days.

My little bit of freedom is that I can now do a little per day around the house, but living with people like this I often wonder if I should bother at all?

I have also paid off a debt, which means I now have for the first time in three years £25 a week to treat myself with.  I haven’t seen this kind of money for three years!

Paul won’t let me spend the money on anything but treats for myself, but the thing is, I need to.  I need to consider putting £10 a week away for savings, for travel money to the doctors and hospital.  Paul doesn’t know that’s why I am saving the money.  Because of the heat or eat crisis, I have tried to give Paul £5 here and there for treats for me and Henry, he accepts it but doesn’t like it if I extend that to say… fruits or meats I may want to add to the diet too as he sees that as part of the family money.  He doesn’t want me to spend money on the family or the house.

He admits he is proud and he doesn’t like that he can’t provide for me.

I want him to spend some of my money on getting the cleaning equipment I want but that is hard for him to digest, Paul tells me, he will clean it himself with what we have.  I am still waiting…

To be Frank with you, I can’t wait until I move out.  But Paul doesn’t like the idea of me being alone, because of my inclination towards avoiding meals and going into bouts of depression where I could self-harm.

I wasn’t depressed like this before I got sick and lost control around the house.

My depression was mostly to do with being sick and in constant pain, then it got worse because of my helplessness, followed by seeing the declination of the house hygiene and my son’s mental health and then the severe poverty, where we relied on a food bank for Christmas and for other occasions.

I don’t care that Paul is starting a new relationship with another woman, I care that I will lose my son, because Henry wants to stay here with his dad because he knows I go with the flow  and I probably wouldn’t stick around Rugby town when I move out.

I go where I am wanted or needed.

I am very flexible.

I am able to start going out once a week without it affecting any budget, this is why I have chosen to go to the library once a week on a Saturday afternoon around 1 to 4pm or thereabouts. but not today.

I will take my laptop so I could get extra writing done there for my novel, because I can’t write in a smelly, untidy house where Henry and Paul have screaming matches every fifteen minutes.

Perhaps as I get fitter, I could eventually walk to the library like I used to instead of getting the bus and then maybe go every day? 

I remember around 2014 before I got sick, that I regularly walked 9 miles per day, I miss that!  I also had enough energy left in me to be meticulous around the house, chasing a toddler and doing 45 minutes of Tae-bo a day too, this is not counting whatever I did at the recreation ground near the house, I used to power walk or jog around that five to seven times three times a week!

Paul was in constant exhaustion as he followed me everywhere, because I have a weird problem.  I don’t like going anywhere alone, ever.  Unless I have a dog, then that’s different as I don’t feel alone with a dog.

I can go out on my own, if I have a dog.

I’m weird I know, but there is something that makes me anxious when I am not in a small group.  I like groups, I thrive in them, but make me alone or put me into a situation where I am having a 121 or a 2 on 1 discussion with people I hardly know, I get so tense.

I tell you, it’s this weird… I will willingly go and talk to an audience of a thousand strangers about any subject you want as long as there is one person back stage or on stage that I know is there, the more people I know, the better; than say, go into a small confined room where I am far away from a door with two complete strangers.

It’s a trust issue.

If people are friendly with me around three or four consecutive visits, I will relax to them very quickly and they go into my trust circle, but if they are rude or mean in anyway, they will never get into that sense of security with me.

It’s just the way I am.

I am very much a pack animal and without my pack I am lost.

My fitness efforts are part of my project to get myself fit enough to find myself a pack, so I can feel like I want to live again.

I think finding my tribe or people who want to be in my life, as the key to my happiness.  I did have a wonderful community here in Rugby before I got sick, but when my sickness got so bad I couldn’t leave the house anymore, people dropped me over a time.  Nobody wanted to come and visit someone who was so sick they could hardly talk and they couldn’t get off the sofa.  Especially as I wasn’t diagnosed with anything that was potentially fatal!

I was just recovering from pneumonia and having multiple chest infections over the years that meant I became very disabled, it badly affected my mobility and I gained a lot of weight. 

In 2017 I decided that perhaps food could be my medicine?  I read a book called “The Wahl’s Protocol” which enlightened me enough that I went on an elimination diet, no gluten, no lactose, no eggs, no soy and as paleo as you can get.  I did see some improvement but not a lot, but I then developed certain deficiencies.

I then decided to try going slowly back on everything; it was fine until I started back on soy and mustard.  Then I decided to listen to my body from when I used to be athletic – go back to a high protein diet.

It’s the protein I need.

It’s the protein fixing me.

I try to get 75g of it per day at minimum, but it’s hard on our budget and I am writing this on the 28th October 2022 – today I haven’t been able to eat much at all.  I had some chicken barely enough to fill half a sandwich and a protein shake and a little light snack, but I was unable to keep things down today.  I had barely 800 calories worth of food, this is becoming regular these days and it’s scary.

Paul think its stress, because I can’t cope with Henry’s behaviour and Henry’s behaviour is worse at the dinner table, where things get so heated between everyone, my stomach goes into knots and I physically cannot eat more than a couple of mouthfuls for a couple of hours.

We have discussed that I should have a separate meal time, away from Henry.

Henry appears to be developing such bad behavioural problems that it is almost like autism, the thing is, he didn’t have any of the signs of this when he was younger.  He is nearly thirteen, but his behaviour is so erratic and sometimes dangerous that it puts tremendous stress on us, especially me.

I half believe he is putting it on, so he doesn’t go to school.  He also finds his behaviour hilarious and doesn’t seem to understand that this behaviour is not funny, the more we show our concern and try to calm him down or even ignore him, the worse he gets.  We can’t win. Paul believes there is something genuinely wrong with him, but I think he is playing us a fool.

Why do I say this?  Because Henry is a huge attention seeker and because I used to work with the mentally disabled, that are far more severe than Henry and they were adults and I can tell you now – Henry’s behaviour is extreme and Henry is an A+ student, he only acts like this when he wants attention or when he doesn’t want to do something.

This is something the school has noted.  Henry is fine in certain classes and when he is around his favourite people, but put him into things he don’t like, he goes berserk literally.  He isn’t violent, he just plays up – acts the fool, reverts back to a toddler, if you get me?

For example, whilst at home if he gets his favourite dinner he is happy, naturally.  But he starts to grin really big and make repetitive noises such as heeee heeee heeee almost donkey like and starts to bounce on his bottom rapidly and shake, then he will hand the food into his mouth without using knives and forks.

This gets him noticed, this causes a reaction from Paul – Henry sees this reaction and likes the attention, so does it all the more and does other things that Paul will notice and comment on, making Henry get all the worse.  Till it escalates and they scream at each other, Henry hits himself and runs away, Paul makes chase, scream, scream, scream, Henry comes back at the table going on about how everybody hates him.

It is happening daily.

It’s exhausting.

I have suggested that we talk to Henry calmly, I am ignored.  I have suggested not giving attention to bad behaviour but noticing and praising the good behaviours instead, I am ignored.

When Henry has lunch when Paul is out, he never acts like this.

This is why I have severe reservations about leaving Henry with Paul.

Henry doesn’t react badly like this, when Paul is out, Henry is attentive, vain, clean and tidy when it’s just me and him.  Around Paul he loses it, he doesn’t want to take care of himself, he doesn’t want to do anything good and I can understand why.  Henry gets more attention when he is bad and is completely ignored when he is good, except by me.

I over compensate for Henry’s good behaviour, because I know it is lacking from his father.

There are times when Henry and I speak together away from Paul, because both of us do not want to trigger another screaming match by being overheard.  Henry often talks about how he doesn’t feel wanted or loved and because I am anxious about any shouting going on around me because of my PTSD, I am eager to be out of ear shot of Paul when he tells me these things.

It’s difficult here.  This is why I am finding it hard to do much.

I am constantly drained; I am running on empty lately.  Whenever I sit or lie down, I am inadvertently falling asleep very easily.  I have black circles under my eyes and it’s not lack of sleep or dehydration.

Sorry for such a long post, but I needed to get this off my chest.

Thanks for reading. 

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Junk, craft & gardens

Rummaging through old boxes and bags around the house, I have found things I have lost because Paul had moved them and placed them in towering piles at the corners of unregulated rooms, I have come across things I have completely forgotten about for years.

I didn’t realise at the time I made them, but I was a really nifty knitter and crochet thing (maker)? I have found two pairs of fingerless gloves I Knitted for myself as well as knitted hair dangles, two scarves, a babies blanket and a cowl.

Funny thing is I remember giving it up as I thought I was rubbish, but there you go.

I also remember giving it up because it was one of the main causes of my carpal tunnel syndrome as I am addicted to fidgeting so I took up the hobby as a kind of fidget toy that was productive idea.  However I got addicted to making things and I was knitting 100 stitches per line 100 times a night and my arm became almost unusable for three months because of it.

If I knit more than fifteen minutes it comes back.

Such a shame as I had a lot of projects I wanted to do.

I’m traditional and so I often like to knit cardigans, blankets and dungarees for babies as presents, so it’s hard for me to choose not to knit when I know there is a new baby on the way for friends and family.

Weird thing is that sewing and embroidery doesn’t affect me as much as knitting does.

I hand sew, scared of sewing machines because of things that happened to me as a kid; mum didn’t like my love for fashion and design, so when she was resizing curtains she bought one day I asked her to let me help her sew the seam with the machine and she deliberately nudged my hand where I had three inches of stitches go through my hand.  “There’s it’s your own fault, now stop bothering me about it”.

I want to get brave with using sewing machines as I have always thought about making my own clothes someday; Paul told me there is a lady in town who will make clothes to my specifications if I provide her with a comprehensive pattern for her to follow and she will do it with any material I give her for £25 an hour.

It would be nice someday to be able to do that.

The silly thing is I was the most excited about finding some playing cards I haven’t seen in a while; the donkey cards, snap cards and the old maid.  I have loved those cards since I was a kid, but Henry isn’t really into playing pairs or snap with me, unfortunately.  He is completely absorbed with robot making and learning geography.

I have loads of board games too; nobody wants to really play anymore.  We used to make a point that every night, or at least most nights we’d play a board game for one hour before bed, but Paul and Henry grew out of it and I was the only one who wanted to play.  Too much resentful arguments during gameplay ruined the fun for me, so we don’t bother anymore.  Even on special occasions like Christmas and my birthday, they just can’t help but make a scene.

This year on my birthday I got a lovely three course meal home cooked for me by Paul, a rare treat and it stretched our budget badly!  It’s a landmark birthday and I got no landmark present.  I don’t mean to sound bitchy but it was very disappointing.  Paul has always known this landmark birthday was something I wanted to be special for the last three years.

But I guess it’s not his fault the oven broke down two weeks before my birthday.

I understand in Paul’s mind, birthdays mean nothing to him; but for me, my life hasn’t been celebrated past my seventh birthday.  The last ever proper birthday party I have ever had was when I was seven years old.  All other things were always two weeks after my birthday, never parties and always something my brother wanted to do in the façade that it was really for me.

Is it really bad to want to feel special from time to time?

I am always made to feel unreasonable.

I try to look on the bright side though; at least people won’t circle around me smiling weirdly at me whilst they sing out of tune “squash tomatoes and stew”.  Ugh I really hate that version of happy birthday.  But I’m no kill joy, honestly.

I am starting to sort the house out, finding all my stuff, moving it to my bedroom as we’ve moved apart now me and Paul.  I don’t mean I’ve moved out of our house, I mean, we’re living sort of separate lives whilst still living together and I want to organise my stuff.

Mostly because it destroys me that I worked hard to keep things being thrown away over the years by my mum, only for it to come here, get lost amongst Paul’s mess and when I find it, find that its broken irreparably.  It bothers me when it’s an ornament or an item of clothing that was thrown in a corner out of the way being ruined, instead of going in a laundry basket – but it hurts a lot when I find it’s a handwritten story or a watercolour painting I have done.

Paul is a recovering hoarder (pack rat).  When I first moved in this house was quite something… It took me nearly two years to get the house into some sort of liveable shape and it was a very tumultuous time emotionally between us as Paul had to let things go in order to give the growing baby their own space too.

When I got sick, the house got bad again.  But for years I struggled to try and clean at least one room a month to keep on top of things, but the problem with that is energy and health.

I have asthma; one of the biggest things that set my chest off is dust.  Cleaning is not his priority, so this house is never dusted by him, always me.

Once a month it took me about three to eight hours in one day to clean a room, just one room.  To always find that three days later it looked like it hadn’t been touched, because Paul will shift items from other places in the gaps I made.

Years of struggle and arguments over it – new friends I have made since living here has no idea of Paul’s past and Paul is quite sneaky in letting people believe it’s me who has the problem… look at all the books, they are all hers.  Because I have bookcases downstairs visible for everyone, they see it as a truth and it’s not.

If you were to see the house, you would see all of my areas is clean and tidy most of the time.  You can clearly see where Paul spends his time, as it’s the messiest corners of the house with very dangerous high piles of whatever.

My bedroom is heaven in comparison the whole house.  The dining room is not functional for its purpose and the kitchen is just downright dangerous.

I used to care for our front and back gardens up until two years ago when the bad neighbour moved in with his girlfriend and decided to start sexually harassing me all the time whenever he saw me in the garden.  The gardens are now dangerously overgrown, because I won’t go out there and Paul has no spine to tell the guy where to go.

I have wanted to call the police, but being deaf I can’t use a telephone; Paul has flat out refused to call them on the grounds of lack of evidence.  I suggested we use a camera to film me in the garden so they can observe his actions, but of course our poverty is the perfect excuse for Paul not to do that.

As my illness has been the perfect excuse for him not finding a job. 

I miss my garden.  It was one of my ways in staying sort of fit.  I miss walking on the ground barefoot as I pick strawberries and columbines.

I miss doing “what that mad cow” is doing as the bad neighbour called me once, when I decided to go in our front garden and sit directly behind our privet hedge amongst the tall wildflowers because there were tamed frogs, toads and magpies who liked to visit me out there.

I remember hearing his girlfriend and daughter telling him to shut up and leave me alone, because they knew what I was like and they liked what I did.  They often commented about how my garden seems to steal all of nature’s beauty from them, all the butterflies and birds visits my garden but not theirs.

Their garden has decking from door to fence with only four small pots of violas, is it any wonder?

I’m a bit of a hippy, nature’s child – actually I might have under exaggerated, just a little…

Since I watched Shirley Temple’s Heidi when I was 5yrs old I have always wanted to own a homestead with my own goats and chickens running about me free, feeding them at 6am singing like Cinderella.

Before I got sick, I was very much a morning person.  Waking up like a new-born every day, excited to start living again, throwing open the curtains and singing “Good morning” by Doris Day making everyone in the house want to kill me as they recoil under their covers like vampires hiding from the sun.

I can’t do that anymore; when I wake up around ten to fifteen minutes after I have walked about a bit getting washed and dressed the coughing fits start for about an hour on a bad day.  If I wake up and don’t move out of bed, it’s not so bad, but as soon as I get moving it comes.  The really bad days scares the crap out of me.

When I do eventually move out of Paul’s house, it’s going to be tough on anyone new I make a relationship with.  Those early morning coughing fits are scary for even Paul who has been used to them for eight years.

My consultant believes he knows the cause of this, but he will not treat me because our local hospital is almost bankrupt and has a policy of treating life threatening conditions only.

I have enlarged adenoids that won’t shrink and broken cartilage in my nose made it worse.  I broke my nose around 5yrs ago which made the coughing worse, they won’t repair the cartilage, it’s considered aesthetic.  Although they call it aesthetic, it won’t improve my looks; my nose will still look big!  But there are times the cartilage moves and makes me sneeze uncontrollably and it hurts.

The biggest thing about all this stuff I am finding is that I don’t want a lot of it anymore.  I want to give it away to a charity/thrift store.  But Paul, ever the hoarder, told me not to do that.

He then caved in and said OK, I take some stuff for you.  But it’s all talk.  The bag of things has sat on the floor hall for a week now.

Hopefully someday we’ll sort things out here.

Happy reading!

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Filed under About Me