Tag Archives: psychology

Songs that seem written for me

Ten songs that match my personality or feel like they were written by someone who knows me and below them explanations of why I think this, also a huge insight to me as a person! 

  1. The lady is a tramp especially the Lady Gaga and Tony Bennet version!
  2. Pain by Three days grace
  3. It can’t rain all the time by Jane Siberry
  4. Crush Em by Megadeath
  5. Champion by Three days grace
  6. Smile by Nat King Cole
  7. Dollhouse by Melanie Martinez
  8. Rose Garden by Lynn Anderson
  9. Touch-a-touch-a-touch me from Rocky Horror Picture Show
  10. Cry little sister by Gerard McMahon

The Lady is a tramp;

This song connects well to me because I will eat a couple of hours before a meal out, as I can never guarantee whether or not the meal will be enough… you know nouveau cuisine and all that – if I am hungry, I hate waiting around for food!  So to be polite, I tend to eat a little before I go anywhere! 

I won’t ever wear real fur, I hate the cruelty of it, though it’s pretty I tend to wear faux versions a lot and have a lot of faux blankets around the house.  Though I happen to like pearls, so that part doesn’t connect! 

One thing I can’t stand is gossiping with other women, it’s not my thing, hence why most of my friends tend to be men.

I don’t really like to make myself up too much to impress others if that means I have to be uncomfortable, but I do like to look impressive generally.  Clothing must always be comfortable or else I would rather go naked and being someone who isn’t an exhibitionist, that’s something I won’t do!

I like being fashionable though and I do like showing off a bit, I am a bit of a peacock – I think this is why I love Lady Gaga, I see a lot of me in her!

Pain by three days grace;

There was a time that I became afraid that I would never feel again.  My post-traumatic stress syndrome got so bad I became what they call Non-comprimentos, I don’t know if I spelled that right I tried to google it, but found nothing.  I wouldn’t speak and hardly ate for nearly a year, I became numb to everything.  Conscious, unlike people think I was, but numb.  I didn’t want to react, I didn’t want to speak, I didn’t feel a thing.  It’s a scary place, it’s like I gave up and didn’t die, but I was supposed to, if that makes sense?

It took a long while for me to get out of being such a poker face, so pan faced and unemotional, a very long while.  I wouldn’t smile for nearly four years and when I did smile it was at the irony that people were trying to save my life (due to mastoid infection) and all I really wanted to do was die; but I smiled because of the darkness of it all.

What happened?

I was a huge wrestling fan; in particular I loved The Undertaker.  I was afraid of becoming brain damaged due to the surgery and my mother came into the operating theatre to help settle me down for the injection which would put me to sleep – her comforting words came out without realising what she had said until she saw the horror on the anaesthetists face.  “Don’t worry, just think about The Undertaker” she said, smiling down at me.

I didn’t just smile for the first time in years; I full out laughed and then had to explain to the nurses around me that my mother isn’t mental, it’s my favorite wrestler!

But after that time, I did decide that if things hurt me, I’d rather feel it than be numb.  Strange I know, but if you have been there yourselves, you’d understand the loss and the loneliness of it all.

I soon developed into transferring that to physical pain rather than emotional after a while and entered the dark phases of self-harming, it helped me to cope and though the scars I have are bad, they make me feel like a warrior.

It can’t rain all the time;

That’s kind of my motto nowadays; there is always sunshine through the rain or after it, though the bursts of sunshine in my life are usually short, it’s best not to take them for granted and to recognise them when they are around.  It’s easy to forget the light side of life to the extent it becomes alien at times and you can often miss them!

Crush Em;

At times I feel like life is a war, you have to fight for who you are and what you stand for, because so many people want to change you or destroy you.

I used to submit a lot, but as I grew and suffered so much, I decided that if I am going to suffer, I am going to suffer in order to stay true to myself because living a lie hurts me more than I can bear!

I was suffering either way, really.  So it’s best to suffer to your own painful tune than somebody else’s.

I’ve had so much of other people thinking that other people’s lives are their business, their personality, likes and dislikes have to be critique within an inch of their lives to the extent I’ve had enough! 

I say and do what I want, but I am always ready to roll my sleeves up and start to fight and often times that leads me to gas lighting the other person, because I am not determined to just say my piece, I am determined that they can absolutely be themselves and they can absolutely hate me for being myself – but they absolutely cannot try to change me and I absolutely cannot try to change them, only enlighten them to the fact that all forms of hate is evil! 

My intention when I am in an argument is to shed light on the fact that it is ok to love and hate, as long as you accept each other’s differences and learn to live in peace.  If the other person isn’t being peaceful and won’t leave me alone after I suggest we agree to disagree, then they have to be prepared that I will defend myself anyway possible and that it could lead to problems.

Champion;

I have fought so hard to be where I am and who I am I have been dragged up and beaten up and bruised and battered in so many ways, not just physically – it is hard not to become something formidable after it all.

I have learned that the harshest of words and the hardest of beatings can make you stronger and in doing so, it can make a person become so strong that they develop into something that their haters and abusers can no longer fight – a true champion!

When a person tries to destroy another, it makes them feel strong when in fact they are weak.  Some people allow themselves to be destroyed, others learn to get back up and fight and I am one of the fighters.  Very little can intimidate me these days and I do not shy from throwing myself in front of others weaker than me, to take the hits!

Because I know I can cope and I can see that the world is full of weakness and it needs a champion sometimes!

I have a deep fire in me to teach the world, but also shield the weak from it.

I have even learned not to hide my tears anymore, I am no longer ashamed of them – though people may read that as a sign of a broken weak person, for me, it’s a sign that they’ve hit a nerve and with love I will show them what they’re doing, but carry on, I may feel pressured to fuel my fire.  I never say things lightly and I am a compassionate teacher, who gives other people time to think before I react!

But as they say, you can’t always help the stubborn.

Smile;

It took me a long while to get my emotions back; it took even longer for me to learn to put a mask on my face for the sake of the others who are much weaker or disadvantaged than me. 

I learned that the world definitely needs a champion, it needs compassion and love and tenderness and I leaned that it starts with me, my actions, my love, my care; yes don’t take on other people’s problems for your own, because it won’t help them in the long run, but you can hold their hand and give kind words to make them feel a little stronger in their battles.

It starts with a smile, then listening, then trying to understand and then holding their hands whilst championing them along the way, but never, ever let their battles become your own.  Stand back and let them do it for themselves, whilst quietly nodding and smile, you’ve done it little champ!

When I laugh at some people who try to do me down, it’s not mockery, its irony.  They are trying to be strong by showing the biggest weakness they have.  But I am delicate, I don’t laugh in their face, that’s not compassionate, my laugh is a smile and a small ha, I try to be amicable amongst the discord.

Dollhouse;

I really resonate with this lyrical line “I see things that nobody else sees”, for two reasons, one is that I am clairvoyant and clairsentient, the other is that I have seen the true faces of various people behind closed doors and I know the truth about a lot of things – many things, big, but they will never be exposed.

My life is like the twilight zone at times, but enough of that.

I often felt played like a doll in the past by other people who were always changing my shape and my form and personality to suit them and they isolated me in a little house most of the time.

A particular person in my life played me like a doll so much that it was almost like I was her ventriloquist dummy and her hand was up my arse even controlling what I said.  I didn’t realise until I went to a psychologist in 2012 that she used a lot of NLP against me, with little subtleties that made me behave a certain way – they made references to the Pavlov experiments in how she raised me.   If you are not familiar with these experiments here is a link. https://www.simplypsychology.org/pavlov.html

Like most paradoxes in my life, it is the very thing that hurt me to begin with that is helping me to heal.

Rose Garden;

I could never get over the fact that people want to be in relationships with people who accept their baggage and everything is going to be perfect, when the going gets tough, they leave each other!  I never understood this.

Love needs work and compassion, it’s not a given, you can’t just waltz into someone’s life and expect a picture perfect romance, because things like that may happen to some, but it never really lasts.  Love needs time and work. 

Most of my best relationships happened through friendship first and I know it sounds weird, but a long conversation over two or three picnics about what each other wants from life and each other and then almost like a handshake and business proposal we get together.

You have to lay your entire self on the table in front of them, reveal all; dark and light – then you make a decision on whether you are suited together or not.  Do you have the same life goals?  You see how many compromises you are willing to make with each other and if the BIG things don’t match, don’t go there, don’t choose them and start the process over again with someone else – life is too short to be unhappy with someone you live with!

When someone develops an issue with me it is usually because they were not honest in the conversations leading up to the relationship, because they wanted to tell me what I wanted to hear, rather than stay true to themselves!

You must never do this, because you can’t mould everyone!

So I always remind people, I am sorry but did I promise this to you initially?  It’s hard and I know I sound like a bitch, but I am only trying to save hearts from being broken in the long run, because I have a terrible guilt conscious.

You’d be surprised actually how many people hate people being so open like this.  But I feel it’s essential; you could be spending your life together some day – what have you got to hide?

I sound dominant but I really am not.  This is something that shocks people when they get to know what I want from life, because I seem so assertive off the bat – but that’s the point.  It’s to show each other your boundaries so you can live happily together.  I am not a huge feminist, I do believe women can save themselves and they can do many things, but I am super traditional and submissive in my best relationships that most feminists don’t find someone like me acceptable!

It’s a contrast I know, but as I said – it’s vital to be open with people.

Be strong enough to say “I need this, and I need that” and “don’t engage me with this, or that”, it’s important.

I welcome you to my garden, but I didn’t offer you constant sunshine, a perfect lawn and neat borders, I have brambles in there, some nettles for the playful butterflies and some beautiful thorny roses!

Touch-a-touch-a-touch me;

Self-explanatory really; I have been isolated most of my life that I get thrilled when people want to get close to me, even more so when touched.  I have been touch starved most of my life.  Though I can’t be called a slut as my life experience hasn’t reflected my inner most thoughts and feelings, I have the mind of one though.

I am not ashamed to admit it either.  I love being touched, I crave it, but I only desire it from certain people I feel are worthy!

This is not an invitation for anyone to come and touch me without asking first, but it is an invitation to ask if you could get close to me – I don’t mean to sound threatening but I will deck those who take advantage!

I am also very much proud to be considered a creature of the night, because my life has been filled with darkness and in darkness I found my strength, the light weakened me.  I am dark and to many people I resent to say, I am dirty – though I see it as cheekily playful and clean fun!  Dirty is a bad word when it is pertaining to fun pursuits and I don’t like hearing it!

To me the most sacred thing in life is sex, the meaning of life is sex and we should have more of it in our lives and we should spread the love ashamedly!

Cry little sister;

I have always wanted to spread love around the world and make it more acceptable and available to people I come across; I wish that the world was a more open place, a place where people are not afraid to be who they are and do what makes them happy without judgement.

I’ve always hated the lack of love in this world, particularly the kind where you can be free to touch the hand or a knee of a person in order to comfort them, without all this fear that surround’s physical contact with people.

I’ve never found it a healthy aspect of society, though I do appreciate the fact that it protects people from being touched by people they don’t invite into their lives.  I remember a time where I had to get the police involved because of a stalker who readily kept touching me up and I didn’t invite that.  But generally, when you know someone that is beyond a mere acquaintance, why is it still shunned?

I have seen pained expressions in male friends eyes when they see me crying and you know they want to put their arm around you and comfort you, but they are afraid of so many things if they do that.  Will I misinterpret this as a romantic interest?  Will his girlfriend misinterpret it as having an affair?  Will I take him to court for it?  So many things, so I sit there crying more or less alone, when all I want is the extra courage by having someone hold me tight; I wouldn’t care who it is, if they are nice and won’t take advantage of it further.  But most won’t even try.

A gentle touch can spark a healing energy and break the cycle of loneliness, breaking chains that bound us.

Happy reading all!

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A moment or seven

When the world is cold and grey, I try to think another way

I think of rainbows, I think of hearts

I think of bunny rabbits and parks

I think of sunshine, whilst it rains

I think that life is just a game

I don’t dwell on gloom and glum

For bad thoughts are not my chums

I train myself almost everyday

To learn to think this other way

Though it is hard, but it can be done

I should know, for I once lacked sun

I dwelt in darkness and pity and shame

That’s something I won’t do again

But let it be known that my poems can be dark

But that’s just because I know the flowerless park

I have been there, but it doesn’t mean I dwell within it

I am here to teach you, how to spin it

Right around, so you can know

How to bring sunshine to melt the snow

So, when you are feeling down in the dumps

Don’t lean back upon your stump and think of woe is me, for I am woed

Just think of teddy bears dressed in gold

Think of strong arms lifting you up and think of things to cheer you up

Don’t sit and think about the pain or else you will get soaked in rain

Run around with your spirit free; think of all the happiness and glee

It’s your mind you’ve got to train!

Even if you don’t remember it, just sit back and then invent it

What will make you happy today?  Now don’t get sarcastic make it pure and true

What would you have if you could make anew?

What sings to your soul and makes you vibrant?

Then go to that place in your head, be a migrant!

Because you won’t get better if you intend to dwell on all the things that makes life hell!

Only you can find your heaven

Just think about it for a moment or seven

Think about it until it’s true

Don’t let depression rule over you!

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Books saved me from crime

I haven’t been raised to be who I am, I was raised to be something quite different and I fought against that system heartily because it felt wrong, corrupt and somewhat evil.

I read ferociously, reading was my weapons against self-destruction.

I am glad I took the quiet path and found solace within the pages of books – because the other path would have been a huge detriment to myself, my life, any offspring I had and perhaps a loss of art from my perspective – because the alternative path would have been a life of sordid means and running away from problems, skipping town to town to avoid being tracked by my past abusers and potentially I would have followed one of my older siblings into a life of crime.

Instead the path I took was a weird one, for the type of family I was raised in.

My mother often told me she was disappointed that I appeared to be some kind of flake, some kind of weird little creature who sat in dark corners reading books and seemed alien to what she said was a normal person’s idea of fun!

So what did my mother think was a normal person’s idea of fun?  Going out Friday and Saturday nights drinking themselves into a stupor with your friends, gorging on take aways and BBQs wherever possible and bothering the doctor about your strange back pain, without telling your doctor that you recently fell off a balcony with an 8ft drop because you were too drunk to realise what you were doing!  Oh but that’s not all, pick on the quietest person in your group and make them do things they’d never do without your cajoling and bullying – oh such fun!

Then on Sundays spend all day cleaning the house whilst worshipping God in the form of watching biblical movies in dead silence. 

If it wasn’t for books I would have successfully ran away by the age of fourteen, I knew at that age the only people who’d help me on the street were the bad kind and I was near enough prepared for it because I needed a way out.  I knew from past experiences of other women in my life that once you are in that kind of life, it is hard to get out of it, but I very nearly took that chance.  Thought that maybe I’d earn my way out, but you never do.  The big kick which knocked sense into me was that I had a cousin who had the same notion – only she had the guts to actually do it and came back home in tears, black and blue and with a new found drug addiction only a year older than me, she didn’t know, like I did back then, that it’s not only sex they get you into for money, but drugs too and in order to sell it, you have to take it yourself like a good sales person.

Fifteen years down the line, it killed my cousin. She was murdered when she was clean of drugs for nearly 2yrs as an effort to win her kids back from welfare and stumbled across her old dealer who was desperate for her to buy again! It could have been me, if I chose the same path.

Drugs was a big issue for me, because I saw the damage it did to several of our relatives growing up, drink and drugs are bad, very bad, it changes people heads, make them do stupid things and then they fall apart in tears because they genuinely didn’t meant to ram your head into the wall fifteen times, they were just stressed that’s all!  So I never wanted to experiment or be lead into it.  Several near misses though of people trying to sneak it into me, but I was paranoid around strangers and never accepted food or drink from anyone just in case!

No, after what happened to my cousin I decided to stay as the quiet one of the family, lock myself away in my room because if I didn’t, I’d usually end up the night’s entertainment!

They treated me like a circus freak, something to poke fun out of, to test, experiment with, to scare, to have a laugh with her, see what she’ll do next, like some kind of trained monkey or puppet.

Despite all of this, they still had the audacity to call themselves god fearing Christians!

If it weren’t for books, I wouldn’t have wanted to be a writer.  Because I thought movies were just movies, people playing pretend and they made something good together; it didn’t occur to me until I watched several Stephen King movies with my horror loving grandma that I kept seeing in the credits “written by Stephen King” over and over again in most of the movies I watched.  I knew when I went to markets and charity shops that Stephen King books were everywhere and I decided to collect and read them at the age of 9.

My grandma was very encouraging – another horror fan in the family made her feel less lonely.

I realised at the age of nine most books I liked were movies and that movies very rarely come from other places; I liked movies and I wanted to watch my ideas on the TV or at the cinema.  I wanted the world to visually see what I see in my head or at least adaptions of it.

Books are a love – but mostly I love movies, I am very stimulated by vision and art.  I learn better with visual cues for example – I have mild dyslexia and dyscalculia as well as ADD and Paul thinks ADHD.  If something visually pulls me, I lose concentration on other things because of the interest it holds.  This can be difficult at times because I can zone out on people if I find something visually attractive about the environment around us, fashion, hair, or even a beautiful person – now that one can be awkward!

So, I am really writing in the hope that my books make it to the movies and if they don’t then I have a plan B.  I will give my first book out to publication and if there is no interest from movie producers to make something of it, then I will have to bore myself to tears to learn technology where I can create my own movies online.  How?  I don’t know, but I hope it won’t come to that!

One major type of book that saved me from a life of sex crime etc. was non-fiction psychology.  From the age of 9 I taught myself how to pacify aggressive people without becoming too submissive or self-deprecating, how best to react in violent situations and how to talk to angry people.

Now it works to a certain extent on a vast majority of people and I have been commended in work for excellent customer service and hospitality skills, but there is a small margin where the advice can actually make some people more aggressive with you – my mother is one of those.

If I didn’t emotionally react to her behaviour with me, she’d get absolutely hysterical, come close into my face screaming and then slap me repeatedly about the head, because damn it, she is going to get the reaction she wants because she needs to feel her power over me!  Because she is insecure, that’s all, my fear and tears make her happy, because it verifies to her that she is strong and she is still alpha.

It wasn’t until my mastoid surgery when I was seventeen that she was positively shitting a brick about hitting me, because I have a vulnerable spot at the side of the head would could be lethal if bashed.  So she tried other tactics to hurt me in other ways, usually the legs.

In 2012 it was a book called “Toxic Parents” by Susan Forward that helped me finally tell someone outside of the family and family friend circle about my mother.  They responded in horror, they were a nursery worker for my son Henry.  They got me a nurse and a family support worker to come and speak with me and then the police came to give advice too.  Unfortunately their advice was, get her out of your life or it may affect your ability to care for your son appropriately, meaning that we could take court proceedings to put your son into care until we feel that you are safe!

Because my son did sustain a head injury earlier on that month due to my mother encouraging him to do dangerous things, such as deliberately climbing onto the dining room table to jump off it onto the floor, he was 14 months old and had only been walking seven weeks!

She didn’t want me to have children, you see, it wasn’t part of her plans.  She wanted me to stay home forever and become her nurse when she is old; she told me this over and over as I was growing up.  I accepted it, because it’s what daughters do, but mothers tend to want their daughters to thrive, be independent and happy in their own right too and usually good mothers want their daughters to expand their family, don’t they?

She didn’t.  She didn’t want what she called “more problems” that came in the form of new family members – she didn’t want me to go out alone and make friends, because she liked to micromanage my every waking moment.  It was hard for her to allow me to go into full-time work and she’d often sit in her car all day long outside my work place waiting to see what happens, if I leave early etc.

On some occasions I was ten minutes late in leaving the building because my boss required extra work, my mother would embarrass me by making a visit to the building demanding to know where her daughter is and how they can’t push me around into doing more than my times worth!

I often lost jobs because of her.

Because I knew how she liked to micromanage me and because I wanted to be a good daughter and keep my head down and please her the best I could, until I could convince her to allow me freedom and a family of my own – I decided to talk with her about me becoming self-employed with homework of some description, there was always an issue for her and that never worked.  Because she would become obnoxious when I was on the telephone (up until 2015 I had perfect hearing in the left ear), so keeping those jobs was a task too.

She revelled in telling people about how lazy I was, how she is stuck with a quiet reclusive freak of nature that is eating or starving herself to death periodically and has no enthusiasm for life whatsoever.  Not true, I had no enthusiasm for the life she wanted for me.

I had a lot of ambition until I gave up wanting.

When I was twenty seven I left her to move in with Paul, it was done sneakily but I had to do it that way.  By thirty I had to stop all contact with her, because she is a respected matriarch in the family that meant I had to say goodbye to everyone except for a small handful of relatives on my dad’s side of the family.

She would never know or appreciate that all I ever wanted in my life was for me to be considered a daughter that was good enough to stick around and help as much as I did.  Good enough to trust out alone, good enough to get chores done, good enough to deserve a good husband and family of her own and good enough and trustworthy enough to be humane enough to want to care for her mother if she ever needed it.  I didn’t need to be moulded and abused to do that, but she didn’t understand and I don’t think she really cares.

Because I messaged her in 2014, two years after not speaking to her and I said to her – I am willing to forgive and forget everything about the past, if she is willing to tell the truth to others about how my life was like and repair my reputation in the family and secondly I’d come back into her life if she could allow me to take full charge of my own life because after all I am a woman of thirty now with my own child – she said no, she won’t do that.

I said well just give me permission to live life how I want and I will work it out with the others myself.  No, she said, I won’t do that Tina, because I don’t agree you know what is best for you and as far as I am concerned, you don’t need that permission really, what are you playing at exactly?!

So I said to her – are you telling me then that I have got you wrong?  That you’ve always allowed me to make my own decisions and you never intended to interfere?  No she said – I never said that and you know what Tina, this is the end of the conversation.  I leave the ball in your court, come or go as you please, but I won’t change – I stand by the fact that you haven’t a clue about life and that you are a stupid, stupid girl and as far as I am concerned I wish you never have any more children, you made a stupid mistake when you decided to keep that one! (This was in reference to my Henry who was planned and is very much loved)!

I also wanted to point out, that the message came about because I wanted to tell my mother that I was hospitalised with an ectopic pregnancy and how my plans for a large family could be over and I was feeling suicidal over it – because all I wanted in life was to be a mother of a large brood.

Books have helped me heal from that too… books are magic aren’t they?

Thanks for reading! 

P.S my idea of fun is… picnics or eating out at buffets or country pubs with a large group of family or friends, rowing on a lake, visiting a zoo, playing with dogs, doing messy arts and crafts with kids and playing pretend with my creative and kooky friends, oh and swimming, I love swimming and gardening or being in a beautiful garden that isn’t overlooked! That’s the light side of me… there is a dark side too… What does that part of me like?

Once again friends or family around me, snuggling down with a horror movie – watching thunderstorms, creeping people out, telling a good story, having sex and generally being my weird self!

And guess what!  No drink and drugs for any of that is there? Well, erm, maybe the pub lunch eh?

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Gender pressures on children

People who write for children often presume that children are contemporary creatures and that anything retro they recoil from, I think that couldn’t be further from the truth – in fact, in my experience the children I have known and I have known a lot, especially as I used to work with children, they don’t really develop a sense of time and past until around the age of ten or eleven.

Children do have very prominent likes and dislikes that are very unique and different with each child, it is usually around the age of ten that they allow their peers and other influences dictate what they start to like and dislike, in other words, I believe around the age of ten they become more aware of other people and factors in life, they start to broaden their minds and often lose themselves in trying to be accepted by others.

My son has very narrow ideas about what he likes and dislikes and for the majority of people, they find him strange, but to me, I find him quite normal for a child.  My experiences with children show me that children generally are retrospective and like things from historical resources.  Some children gain the awareness of others earlier, some later, some keep true to themselves throughout their lives, but they are rare creatures.

Therefore some children become shy when you try to get to know what they really like, because adults and older peers think that it is either outdated or rather unusual, so they feel insecure in being honest with you about it.

For me, I remind Henry almost on a daily basis that everyone is individual and unique and therefore have different ideas about everything, that the only person you should ever please in your life in regards to what you enjoy, should be yourself!

Here is a little idea of what Henry loves and is motivated by, it might surprise you; Dolly Parton, Doris Day, Lady Gaga, Riverdance, steam engines, robots, wrestling of the 80s and 90s, British comedy of the 50s to the 90s, royal history of Europe, math and physics, cooking, baking, pink and fluffy things, tortoises and sea turtles (is an obsession, he cries whenever he sees them on TV), litter picking and sustainability, robot wars, cyberpunk art and lifestyle and current affairs. 

Henry also likes long hair with bangs for men or feather layer cuts.  He is also angry at the world for not accepting boys who wear pink and bright yellow, he is often shouting about why the fashion industry insists that boys must always wear black or blue or camouflage and denim, and he wants cotton suits and button up shirts and tailored clothing for everyday wear. 

He also wants to know why boys can’t wear perfume and use moisturiser and make up etc (I told him they can, but he raises his arms above his head, shrugs and says, but society says no)!

Henry was very upset once and had a meltdown when he won a prize at the school fete and was given a choice of two prizes, one was a rainbow unicorn soft toy or a cream rabbit, he chose the unicorn but the lady said, but you are a boy and the girl after you would want this and he got the rabbit – I agree with him that was totally unfair and against freedom of choice. 

Henry has a very hard time understanding why there are defined ideas about boys and girls and from what I understand he is not the only one at his school!  He best friends are a group of four lesbian and tomboy girls, they are very open about it even at the age of twelve and thirteen. 

At least half of the above are things he wouldn’t ever share with his peers for obvious reasons – he has given permission to talk about it here because he feels it could raise world awareness.

I had similar problems as a child, with the things that I liked – for example, they were mostly for boys and not little girls like me or were completely age inappropriate!

I loved dinosaurs, vampires, 1930s to 1950s fashion, monsters and bats and insects, comedy horror, Barbie, Lego, wrestling, gardening, writing, arm wrestling, marbles, woodlands and shelter building, helping dad with cement mixing and carpentry, roleplaying, super heroes like Batman and Superman, hard rock and metal music, glam rock, classical music, opera and medieval history, particularly ancient warfare and torture/dungeon procedures. 

I was considered an anomaly and my mother though she was a tomboy herself always tried to make me dress tomboyish but maintain feminine charm.  I never liked being forced to wear trousers because it was convenient for my mother to maintain my modesty that way!  If I had the choice my clothing would have been flowing skirts and dresses and I would literally look like a little gypsy running around as that was me, I was a nature’s child!

My mum wasn’t used to that as all my siblings were techno-heads who shut themselves away in their rooms and were obsessed with the latest gadgets and all I wanted to do was gardening, fort building and digging holes with the dogs, whilst scrumping from my neighbours overhanging our fence apple tree!

Yes the majority of the things I loved were boyish, but I wanted to be feminine nonetheless.

My niece is another example of how society shouldn’t try to define gender roles – my niece had an obsession with soccer and wanted to be a soccer player as her career, but society talked her out of it and told her to be a good catholic girl and calm down.

I just think that humanity has advanced so much in their diversity and acceptance of various things, but they are still supressing their children and it really shouldn’t be that way anymore!

So what if your son loves pink and rainbows and fluffy bunnies?  At least he isn’t interested in killing anyone and has a good sense of pride, justice and respect!

So what if your daughter loves soccer and dreams of being world champion at boxing whilst still maintaining the notion that, yeah, I want kids too!  Women aren’t as docile as you make out anyway!  Stop trying to pretend!

My son has mental health issues, he doesn’t want to exist anymore, because he feels the world will always have a problem with who he chooses to be, no matter what he does!

This post exists because I wanted to share with writers for children, that you shouldn’t think that kids are contemporary or actually want to conform with society ideas about what normal is. You should write for the kids you know, not what you think the general kid population might be like today!

A majority of the kids I personally know do cling to their devices, because it is the only thing that gives them attention, many of these kids explain that they feel refreshed when they find an adult who engages with them and their hobbies away from technology, but they are hard to find… please think about that!

Happy reading everyone!

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Control your thoughts

With fresh eyes I look into my future with wonder

What shall I plunder in my coming days?

Shall I be sweet, forever young?

Shall I be truly me in all ways?

Or is my future full of dung?

I don’t know

But I do know – you are what you think!

If your thoughts stink

You will sink into outer space

You’ll fall in disgrace

What a waste – of time and energy

Thinking about bad things, are you your own enemy?

I just know, good things flow in unpolluted waters

So let the bad thoughts go

Let them wash away

So you can play in tears of joy, not dismay!

I hope you’ve heard the words I have said

Will you be happy before you are dead?

Fill your mind with happiness

Put joy into your head!

Wear a smile on your face

And do what I said

Think good thoughts and let the bad ones go

Thinking happy thoughts will make life glow!

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What is my secret?

There is a new category I have created today, called “Diary”.

This is not going to be updated daily, but will be as often as I can.

You will find out more about me and my life day to day, it will mostly focus on my mental  and general health more than anything else.

Why am I doing this?

To be honest I have no one to get certain things off my chest to, plus, I want people to understand mental health better, not just mine, but how it affects a person who lives with it as a whole – their ups and their downs and what helps them when they are this way and what things can make them worse!

I also want to show you how my mental well-being affects productivity. Sometimes I throw myself into my work and other times my mental problems make me hate my work altogether and the mere idea of writing anything just makes me cry.

This is not because I hate writing or I feel that my writing is failing in anyway – one thing I have kept to myself, one big mystery that people are trying to understand about me and I have never been open about before TO ANYONE until now – it’s like a coming out, but I have a personality disorder.

Yes, people know I have mental health problems, but I have always leant to telling them it was mostly anxiety and recovering from toxic relationships from my past, this is true!  But not the whole story!

I have a personality disorder, a type of schizophrenia, I have anxieties, body dysmorphia, eating disorders that are erratic from gluttonous to starvation, and it depends day to day!  I am severely co-dependant – suicidal – manic depressive – there is a lot to know about me.  Day to day I even change my whole personality, what do I mean by that? 

Well I consider myself bisexual, I mostly love being female and trying to be as feminine as possible, but some days I wake up and I want to cut my hair short and dress like a man, I feel more masculine at times, then I regret my decisions and go back into dark thoughts, because the mostly feminine me is back again.  I don’t have the money and the resources to change the way I look dramatically day to day to match my fleeting desires.  If I ever won the lottery it would be so much easier to just say, cut my hair, but a ton of wigs and buy all styles of clothes I love, just in case I wake up wanting to be like that tomorrow. 

I don’t really know what this disorder is called, if it is a disorder at all, because although I have had therapists in the past for other things, I generally try to avoid any psychological help as much as possible, because I don’t want to be pumped full up with drugs.  Various therapists in my past have suggested oodles of medication for me and I have refused – only to have them look me stark in the eyes and say, that if I actually do harm myself or another person to hospitalisation, then I will have the choice taken away from me!

I do self-harm, but not enough to become hospitalised… yet.

There are times where I am super social and I love being around people, but occasionally, though it is not that often, I just want to shut myself away and completely ignore the world.  There have been times where I have been so used to living in a forced isolation (by toxic relationships in my past) that self-isolation comes so easily and I don’t fall apart like other people do when I do it. 

I am also a germ-o-phobe, because of this, I am terrified to go out since Covid happened, because I have had pneumonia five times in around four years or something like that.  I have only gone out six times since March 2020, to a doctor, a vet and the dentist.

All of this is the primary reason why I have not approached publishers and agents yet.

I will do so eventually and this is not idle talk, because I have a couple of good online friends who really believe in me and they are trying to teach me how I can become a published author, without being thrown too much into the deep end, because of both my disabilities and mental health problems – people who are actually within the profession themselves.  Whether they will stay true to their word, who knows?

But this is the big mystery about me.

Not much of a mystery now is it?  Just a revelation about just how sick I really am.

This is why at times my posts can seem very flighty – I find it easy to control at times how I behave around people, but it is all too easy to be spontaneous at times and post things without thinking about it first. 

Most of the subjects I talk about are very controversial and I have never really learned how to behave and react around certain subjects, purely because I have been socially isolated my whole life.  I am not using this as an excuse; I am telling it how it is.

I am a person who can seem heartless and blunt in certain subjects at times.  I am one of these people that when I am in social situations I am often put into a situation where I have put my foot in it again – I tend to leave early and beat myself up over it for months!  Some people are very forgiving and understand and have told me not to worry, but still, months down the line I am still punishing myself for my stupidity.

I’m not a loose cannon in the sense that I am overly insensitive and gun ho – but I am in regards to not thinking about how sensitive a subject can be for others.

Yes, this is an indication about my recent poll on here that I have now deleted.  But I had hoped that the poll would spur on a friendly discussion about why such subjects pertaining to “suicide” as a theme for a book was so controversial and disgusting to readers and publishers, when someone like me who struggles with such a thing day in and day out finds reading characters who are suicidal, helpful in my own problems.  I need the world to try and come out of their little boxes and help me understand society, because I have been shut away my whole life!

Is this so difficult to understand?

Is the concept of a person staying inside their house day in and day out and not socialising much their whole life offline –  so alien to so many people that they cannot even empathise with the stuff that a person who has lived in such conditions haven’t experienced or learned to become?

What I mean is – when a person has been socially isolated their whole lives, they have never had the opportunity to learn from their mistakes as a child; to grow with a society and understand the rules that others take for granted.

I am in that situation, have been my whole life and I tell you now; I am puzzled by how “normal people” are and how they behave.  I am puzzled by how society has progressed how it has, because whenever I have smiled at someone in a waiting room, they look at me nervously and back away, whenever I start a general conversation in a queue at a shop I am ignored or get a sarcastic remark as a reply!  When I used to go to the school gates to take my son to school, most parents couldn’t be bothered to talk to me, but would talk in their small circles instead.  I am confused how people have friends outside of their families basically, when in my experience, nobody wants to talk to a stranger!

How the fuck does society do it?

I am never rude, I am never gross, I always start with open ended questions, like self-help socialisation books tell me to, I never pry with personal questions.

I hate to say it and I could lose what little friends I have over this, but the only people who have maintain contact with me when I have done this are people with social awkwardness themselves who are more than thrilled someone has spoken to them first hand and they didn’t have to approach me first!

Out of desperation they invite me to theirs for a cup of tea, or in some cases a mutual café or library meets up, before introducing each other to our homes.  I understand them, I feel the same when someone approaches me – I feel honoured someone wants to talk to me, oh my goodness, someone has spoken to me, try not to screw this moment up Tina and say yes to anything they suggest if it sounds nice!

I know I sound like a sad pathetic moron, but people need to understand how it is for some people.  It is hard enough when you have social anxiety and mental health problems as it is, but when you throw in thirty three years of social isolation, it is unbearable!

Especially when you do socialise with people who have nothing better to do than to try and ruin your life, wreck your reputation before you’ve even got one and is just downright bloody nasty and manipulative to boot!

Because of my mental health and my lack of social hardiness, I have found some very rotten people who have introduced themselves into my lives more than readily in order to manipulate me for their own pleasure and amusement and in turn, it has damaged me more and more.

So this is the mystery of The Tardy Creative, Tina Victoria Cousins.

This is who I am, in my rawest form and these are my challenges I am sharing with you!

Happy reading! 

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The art of indifference

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All of this… is hard for other people. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ironic

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

But I am terrified.

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

I can’t!

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

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

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

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Hyper-thoughts a mental illness?

I think one of the biggest reasons why I dislike reading novels are because they feed my imagination and make me think of new stories and I am not in any shortage of story ideas as it is.  I think reading fiction can add to my insanity at times, overflowing me with too many ideas that sometimes it literally does feel like my creativity really is driving me insane!

I am the same if I am overloaded with looking at other people’s art, new movies and playing new games.

I do all these things with caution but not matter how cautious I am in doing these things, reading, watching movies and looking at art etc, I can’t help but become over exposed to stimulus that feeds my imagination at least three new story plots at a time!

There are times I have actually bought on strained wrists or my carpal tunnel syndrome to just write the ideas down fast, I can never do so fast enough and I have even had people buy me Dictaphones to try and help me but again, I can never speak fast enough!  It is actually quite horrible, people say it sounds like you are blessed, but in my head it is utter chaos, I can’t focus at times and this is a huge part of my procrastination in general, because I can’t seem to focus on one idea, my brain thinks about multiple things at once.  I am sure this is actually a mental illness, but I don’t think there is a known mental illness out there for people who can literally think about several subjects and problems all at once and then get confused when they have to try and focus to explain to others what those ideas and thoughts are!

I wish telepathy was a thing, it would solve a lot, I could have a room filled with people who would be writing separately all of my ideas for me and help me organise the chaos and bring it into reality as fiction or art.

I have been suffering from this strange mental problem even more in the past few weeks; I am inspired by almost everything I have access to lately.

 I suffer from migraines frequently and it could be my auto-immune inner ear disease doing it some of the time, but most of the time I think it’s the hyper-thoughts as I like to call them. 

I have been told I can’t be a very good writer unless I read a lot of fiction and I don’t generally.  I read more non-fiction than fiction, so I feel lately I have to throw myself into some more novels by other people.  I am finding it hard to fit into creative circles because of two major flaws I have, the lack of fiction reading and the lack of social media I indulge in.

Ugh, I don’t know what to do.

But I do know this; it is affecting productivity lately at a major scale.  Whenever I sit down to write stories these days I don’t enjoy them as much as I used to, I sit there sometimes and cry, because my thoughts can’t seem to align themselves.  I am confused and often confounded by the goings on in my head that I stare at my previous words in awe that I finished those at least, but I can’t seem to move on and I can be like this for over an hour before giving up.

I am trying to do what other people recommend that I do, that is focus on one to three novels and finish those before doing others.  This is not working for me and I am so out of focus these days I find it hard to go back to my old way of writing – which is to literally write towards one idea until the others call me and so on.    This has meant in the past I once had as many as 27 separate novels on the go at once and the average time it took to complete just one of those stories was around 5yrs.

What has put the pressure on me the most I think is the notion that I have been told that some of my words in progress will be of out of date or over used themes by the time I get it to publishers that they won’t be interested in it when I get around to it.  That is so very demotivating.

I don’t really know what to do right now because of it.

Happy reading

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Horror story of the iceberg of my life

A few days ago I wrote a long piece about parts of my life and how things in my past affect me currently, I never got around to posting that piece because I still haven’t entirely got my head around this new way of editing that WordPress has set up recently.  It seems that if I were to cut and paste my blog entries into WordPress admin, it will not allow me to change the font size or colour, well not easily for me and I have tried to get my head around it and I can’t.  So being that all my posts are done via Microsoft word first and foremost, I have to tell you that all of my posts henceforth will be in white font and the same size.

I shall say it all again anew, because upon reflection, there were a lot of vital points I missed out in the first draft.  All my posts on this blog are first draft, except for this one.

Due to growing up in such a controlling atmosphere and in relative isolation, I was never given permission to develop both independence and individuality.  I didn’t manage to move away from my mother until I was twenty seven years of age and I didn’t fully break physical contact with her until I was thirty and only recently stopped contacting her altogether since Easter of 2019, aged thirty six.  The break was difficult, not in a sense that it was emotionally pulling for me, but in the sense that it was truly difficult to break ties with someone who was so stubbornly controlling and persistent.

I started to develop my own fashion sense around 2012 but it still isn’t fully honed and a lot about the past me, was never really me.  Not the true me.  I was the image of which my mother wanted me to be in looks, behaviour and likes and dislikes.  Her control over me was complete.  What I liked in 2012 are not things I like now, in fact, I learned that since I am not expected to like or do those things, I actually detest them or at least dislike them enough to rarely bother with.  Simple things such as the type of music I liked, the type of programs I watch regularly, the food I choose to eat, just everything.

Nobody can understand how tight the control was over me.  How even how I spoke and the way that I spoke were not really me at all either, they were reflections of my mother’s expectations.  Growing up and even as an adult I was always terrified of doing anything outside of what my mother approved of, even if it was something as trivial as accidentally dropping a tiny piece of paper on the floor in the living room whilst going to the kitchen bin.  I lived in constant terror of what would happen if she noticed, or worse, what would happen to me if I did something I didn’t notice I did, like dropping the tiniest piece of paper on the floor in the living room whilst going to the bin in the kitchen.  My mother has extreme OCD about cleaning, tidying and minimalist culture that her hands are often raw and sore for how much she cleans them and she is the type of house cleaner which never wears rubber gloves when scrubbing the house top to bottom in bleach!

I lived in a very sterile environment for both, physical, mental and spiritual growth as well as personal growth in an individualistic sense.  My doctors blame the way I grew up for my weakened immune system.  My mother was immaculate about everything, social services often commented on how thick the air was in the house with the stench of bleach that they needed to sit by an opened window or simply try and talk to us on the doorstep or at the centre.  I was not the sort of child my mother would allow to go into the garden and play in the mud, although gardening was encouraged there was a fine limit to what I could and could not do out there.

Along with this strict cleaning regime and isolation was her ideology of never immunising me for anything – I never knew until I met Paul that I am lucky to be alive as an avid gardener because I have never had a tetanus shot.  I didn’t get chicken pox until I was twenty one years old, shortly after I started work as a trainee classroom assistant and I never got the nursery school child’s disease, hand foot and mouth until my own son, Henry was three years old!  I got my MMR vaccine when Henry was born because the midwife was astounded I never had it and was surprised my pregnancy was as healthy as it was when there was a measles epidemic in the area. 

My therapists are often surprised that I am not as mentally damaged as I should be considering everything I have gone through.  I am most certainly damaged, but in their opinion I am doing surprisingly well for someone who has had the life I have.  I like to think it has something to do with books.  The types of books I read from the age of eighteen onwards were very helpful to me.  Reading was the only thing my mother never interfered with and always encouraged, but she never had an interest in what I was reading so she never really knew what I got from the library every Friday afternoon, even though she would take me there and wait around an hour.  I read sparse snippets between my never ending chores and over half the books I read and still do read to this day are self-help non-fiction books.  Books about taking charge of your own mind, you own individuality, your own life and cosmic ordering and mental strength enhancement etc.  I never made the decision to break away from my parents and share my life with the world until I read a book called “Toxic Parents” by Susan Forward; until I read that book I had the belief that with sheer determination and patience, I could convince my mother that I am safe in the world and that I know what I am doing and that I can be whatever I want to be and that it’s going to be OK, because I still love her and would care for her much better if she just let me have a normal life.  But the book showed me that I was simply fooling myself, like all children who want their parents to love and nurture them do.  It isn’t until a large chunk of the child’s life has gone does the child realise that it is fruitless living in hope that such a controlling toxic person would ever change, especially if they don’t see a reason why they should!  The book suggested that I broach two things with my mother and depending on her response, I would know if there really is any hope for us.  So, the book asked me to ask her the two questions I wanted to.  A – Please give me permission to live the life I want and to go out without asking your permission first as I am an adult now.  An B – tell her what I hope for our future relationship and some pointers to help my mother change a little so we can cooperate together.  My mother’s responses to A were a resound NO and her responses to B were why should I be the one to change?  You see she didn’t understand that I wasn’t changing her personality, I was only asking her to change how she treats me and to let me live a normal adult life; I was thirty years old when I broached this with her and I had a three year old child who often saw his mother in tears after every visit and phone call from her mother!  Because my mother would try and talk my child into believing that mummy is stupid and foolish and fat and then she’d try to spoil him with candies and gifts.

Basically I learned from those two questions, that she would never change, our circumstances would never change, in fact it would get worse as she would come between my child and I and make an unhealthy relationship there too.

I knew for the sake of my child I had to stop contact with her, because she was encouraging dangerous behaviour in my toddler, it shocked me because she is usually an uber cautious person regarding children, but I often wondered if she did this, to get my son out of the way, to make me lose him by showing others how incompetent I am and using her old card of mentioning my nervous breakdown when I was an adolescent and saying, she has mental health problems, she is unable to care for a child – see, this is what has happened to her son.  I lulled this over for a few weeks, then my mother encouraged Henry to climb up and jump off the dining table, she tried this a couple of times and I demanded it stopped, she went home in a grump.  When I was cooking dinner Henry climbed the dining table and called me, he wanted to jump into my arms like my mother was encouraging him to do when she was there in her arms – I didn’t get there in time and he smashed his head on the furniture on the way down and we rushed him to hospital for stitches!

A couple of days later I sent him to play group and the family support worker saw what happened to Henry and asked me about it, I explained and told her about my past with my mother and she told me, if I didn’t break contact with her she would feel it was her responsibility to call child welfare because my mother is endangering him.  Many abusive parents do end up abusing their grandchildren if the parent is still easily coerced by them.  I agreed and decided not to return her phone calls from that moment onwards.  I knew if I confronted her directly she was likely to become upset and would drive 100 miles to come and see me eye to eye and wouldn’t be very diplomatic about it either.  Yes it was a coward’s way, but it was the best way to handle her.

Anyway, it took seven years for her to finally get the message I am not messing around.  In 2015 my brother found my blog and told her everything I had said on it, I deleted a lot of it, because I was threatened.  But I learned through legal advice that being I would have reports on my mother’s behaviour from doctors and social services that my mother and brother wouldn’t have a leg to stand on in court as I would have a lot of evidence against her – not only that but there are people in my life who would vouch for how aggressive she has been with them in the past too, in fact quite a few.

Why am I sharing this right now?  Because I am going through a self-designed therapy to find myself; to develop my personality, to develop independence, confidence, life skills, social skills, art skills, writing skills, I am trying to define myself.  I am trying to find out who I am and what I like, I am tasting many spices of life and I am dipping into all sorts of new things in an attempt to find what is me and what isn’t me!

There is a lot to work on.  My personal image, my behaviour, my reactions, my morals, my ethics, my beliefs, my sense of style and wants and needs – all these things make a person and I was never allowed to be a unique person.  Not only was I supressed by a controlling mother who wanted to mould me a certain way, but I was supressed by religion too.  I believe in a God, but I won’t dedicate myself to a religion nor talk about any kind of definition of them other than, they are a creator.  I regard myself as a humanist, despite some superstitions I have and pagan ways I might have and despite my belief in higher beings.  I know it sounds paradoxical but my life is pretty complexed.  I don’t know the proper words for many things and I often know things, but don’t know their names, if you understand me?

Mentally I suppose I am still like a child, at least in a lot of ways I have a childlike innocence about me, because of my lack of social interaction over the years.  But to call me naïve, foolish or even stupid, that is wrong – because I have seen more and experienced more than most people have in such a short time.  Though my life has been an isolated one, it has not been without its brutal experiences both personal and observational.  Another thing which surprised my therapist – the things I have gone through in this country, the things friends and family have experienced which has mentally and emotionally affected me, lots of things an average British person would not experience in normal circumstances.  Such as, knowing more than one person in your family or friendship circle who has been murdered, knowing of many women who have been raped or serially raped, knowing drug abusers, knowing prostitutes and criminals, seeing an animal killed in front of me, having strangers attack you, being raped, a very late miscarriage I had to hide, surviving a bomb explosion near your home, witnessing people having mental breakdowns, flaps and suicides, witnessing people having seizures or being brutally and fatally harmed, being a victim of racial abuse, being wrongfully accused of thieving and attacked for it, being forced into a Jehovah Witness membership as a teenager by a relative, having run ins with cults and gangs but not willingly involved with them, just wrong place at wrong time, being a victim of domestic violence and held underwater and sorry to say these are just the  tip of the iceberg of my life.

Every wondered why I rarely talk about my life offline?  There’s your answers – it is difficult to talk about these things, but when you have grown so used to extreme violence in your life, you become so hard and numb to it all that you don’t wobble or cry about it anymore and when you tell the average Joe about it all and you don’t show an emotional response, just blankness, they presume you are lying, because you should be in tears.  It’s utter rot.  The more you go through, the number you get, and you learn to switch off.

Some people get frightened about this, they think it is a sign I could be a psycho.  Hilarious and ironic, me the psycho, not the people in my past, but me, the victim who doesn’t cry, they’ve been made into a psycho, they might be capable of horrific things if they don’t cry.  Society really has to change their perception of how they believe a victim should behave.  Some people live such rotten lives so regularly that to sit back and cry is not only a waste of time and energy, but it also becomes fucking dangerous!  You cry and those who made you cry will make you cry again and again, they will keep on hurting you.  Some abusers hate it if you don’t cry, it sends them mad, but eventually, if you persist, they give up.  I’ve learned this, but I learned it the hard way.  The hit you harder and say worse things to you to get the response they want, you can’t feed their desire to break you or else they’ll never leave you alone.

I remember the times I cried in front of my mother, it made her laugh and satisfied, sometimes she would find my fear so hilarious she would try it again and again, as my fearful responses amused her.  I learned when I was fifteen to stop showing fear, suck it up and zone out and concentrate on imaginary things whilst she is at her worst and although she is purple faced bellowing in mine and slapping me across the face, as long as I concentrate hard enough on my imagination, she could not get what she wanted.  You can do it, you can concentrate on your imagination so intensely in brutal times, that you can literally remove yourself spiritually from that time and place, but you will come back and feel the bruises and see the exhausted bully in the corner in tears because it didn’t get what it wanted and then you will see how childlike they really are.

So, I am trying to keep them far behind me.  I am trying to define myself.  Who am I?  I want to share my development here on my blog, but I am also afraid to do so.  I feel so silly and immature explaining the depths of my self-therapy, but I also feel I need to do it too. 

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Perceiving art wrong

Since the dawn of this blogs existence I had intended for this blog to be a journey about my life and progress as a writer as well as an artist; it is quite obvious that I get distracted from this aspect of the blog a lot.

The update for today is that I have decided to take my artist-self more seriously in a less serious manner than before; I have grown in confidence regarding my place in the creative world in general because I have had a huge epiphany and that epiphany slapped me in the face and left me in awe of how simple it all really is.  I used to believe that in writing as well as art that there are certain rules you must follow in order to be a creative person, especially a creative person who is to be taken seriously by the world – but it can’t be further from the truth.  The moment you start to become serious in your creative field, it is the moment you start killing your creative self. 

How did I learn this?

As a means to start learning about art so that I could take it more seriously, I decided that my art looked a lot like three particular genres in the art world, abstract, impressionism and abstract expressionism.  But I wasn’t confident I understood abstract art well enough to dare call myself an artist in that field – perhaps I need to evaluate everything and see a deeper meaning in everything in everybody else’s work in order to appreciate my own and have other people appreciate it first.  In other words, I felt like my lack of knowledge of the art world and lack of experience meant that I felt like a fraud.

So I got reading and researching online a lot about art, particularly abstract art and abstract expressionism to help me to understand it more and perhaps even help me to understand myself more and why I might like that art.  The thing is – I learned that the best way to appreciate this genre of art is to give up all cognitive reasoning and see what you want to see, art is what you like.  Art is what you see.  Art is not about trying to imprint an impression on the observer, it is literally purely about aesthetic and your own feeling toward the art as an individual.  It is an act of freedom, which helped me understand a core thing about art and society’s opinion regarding art and that is that art is seen as an act of rebellion to some cultures.

Learning that one thing about abstract art “give up cognitive reasoning” felt so freeing that it bought about euphoria so to speak.  I understand now that there really are no bounds in art and that means the same for writing and anything else which may be considered creative.

People, who try to define art, assess it and or dissect it, kill it.  They kill it for themselves and not only that, but they unwillingly become a sort of fascist regarding it.  They can’t help it, they haven’t learned that fundamental rule that creative expression in all forms, painting, writing, music, sculpting etc., is all about freedom and your own personal feeling about the piece whatever it is.  They haven’t learned that art means you can be free and express yourself, that you don’t need a meaning, it can just simply be pretty, but usually everything a creator does, does have meaning, because we are all creatures of our subconscious and our dreams or nightmares even.

A simple little thing like this, can keep millions of people both stumped and afraid of the art world.  I believe it is why many people do not go to art galleries, they feel that art is beyond them and yet everybody in this world has indulged themselves in art daily and buy art regularly, they just don’t see those kinds of arts as important as those from the big fancy galleries such as The Tate Modern.

They don’t see the art on a can of beans or on their favourite CD album, they don’t see that they had paid for that art in some way and that some artist somewhere thanks them for their purchases, because all they are interested in is eating those beans and hearing their favourite singer on the stereo.

They see a beautiful painting mass produced at some major store and take it home with them as it is nice above the fireplace and they do not realise the process that that piece of art had undergone, they might not know the name of the artist even – yet there it is, seen by them every day without a thought about it other than “isn’t it pretty”?  These same people sit there drinking their beverages unaware of just how involved they have been throughout their life in art, how you don’t need a degree to understand or appreciate it.  There is no reason to be intimidated by art when you are literally drowning in it everywhere you go.

I think for many – I know this to be true in my family.  We have people, who are great artists in our family, but they are afraid to do it as a living because they believe that in order to be a good artist who can sell their work, they need to have a certain amount of intelligence and understanding for it.  I thought this myself ten years ago and still to a certain extent yesterday, before I read that post.  Wrong.  We are all so wrong.  If you can make shapes on a piece of paper, if you can write words or play a piece of music on an instrument, you are engaging in an art form.  When you daydream and you wish, you are engaging in an art form.  When you shoot photographs from your mobile and duckface with your friends, you are engaging in an art form.  Yes, art can be silly, because it can be anything!

I understand today that mocking art is a form of social suppression; it is an act of coercive bullying to keep someone from expressing themselves in the manner that they wish to express themselves.  The point of art is freedom, freedom of expression, freedom of speech and much more.

Some abstract art can look as though a toddler did it, but so-what?  The best forms of mental health therapy are those which involved releasing your inner child and nurturing it via self-parenting; I should know, I have been there and because no therapist can help me with my mental health I have learned to parent myself and I have learned to play with my inner child a lot.  This has got me through some tough times.  Not only that but random nonsensical splashes of paint on a canvas can be very beautiful and encapsulating.  I remember last year, I spilled rose gold ink on my sketch pad and I dabbed at the spillage with a tissue and when I pulled it off the paper I noticed by sheer dumb luck that the tissue had made a pattern that looked like a bunch of roses, so I dabbed around the whole paper and made a beautiful rose sheet of writing paper.  A happy accident, but art is formed as simply as this.

In fact, a lot of my art never started as a plan, it started as accidents or deliberate accidents.  For example, I will take a spoon of paint and let it drip or splash onto the paper for a couple of seconds, sit back and think about its shape and I let the paint tell me what it is going to be that day, then I select further colours for the piece.  I like to play, I never grew up and it is something I pride myself on.  I will do the strangest things in art and writing in order to come to the conclusions that I do; such as taking a pencil and putting it between my toes and try to draw a decided shape, such as a line or a circle or a triangle, just one thing.  I will say to myself that after ten seconds of trying this, I will stop and see what I have got and then work with it.  I do this with a pencil between the teeth, with my non-dominant hand, with splashes of paint, with a tissue or some other item dipped into paint and the result is always astounding.

I once decided I would create a picture of an ocean with a yacht and I accidentally spilled too much paint onto the ocean and dabbed it away, again with tissue, this time it left a big white imprint on the paper which was shaped like a cosmos flower and to me, all the picture then needed was a green stalk to the flower head and the picture was done.  I never did the picture with the yacht after all.

Little games like this can do wonders for your creativity.  I often play games of hypothetical situations regarding a theme I am interesting in at the time and this often gives me ideas for new projects in writing – the problem is, I do this daily and for hours sometimes and I am more full of ideas than I am actual work!

I am one of these people who can make a picture of a story out of any idea, but I seldom sit down and do it because I enjoy the process of thinking too much!

I often joke that when the technology comes where we can record our imagination and dreams and show it to others, then and only then I will be the hardest worker in the creative world!

Thank you for reading and please remember, art isn’t complicated your perception of it, is.

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