Tag Archives: suicide

About my poetry

This post is not about bragging.

But to those who will read it, no doubt you will have your suspicions that it is a sort of act of boasting.

However, it should be said.

No poem on this blog has ever been revised or made into second drafts etc. and no poem in this blog was pained over for hours on end.

There, said it.

Most of my poems are done in less than twenty five minutes, first draft, scheduled or published online immediately without a second thought and I can only recite one poem I have ever written.

Food for thought, isn’t it?

It’s one of those reasons why I am not a member of any poetic clubs; I am not welcomed because I can push out three to five poems an hour without aching over the words I should produce.

It just naturally flows.

I was astounded to find some poets online take weeks to finish a piece, I personally couldn’t do that and I think it goes to show who is more dedicated to their craft.  They are – I wouldn’t faff around like that over one poem.

I live for the current emotion, it is the current emotions that drive the poetry I don’t want to hang on most of those emotions for weeks on end, good Lord I really would commit suicide if that was the case and at the moment I am only tiptoeing at the edge of it.

It took me about an hour and a half to write one poem once, the longest ever.

I do delete poems never to share them, this happens about twice a week, so you’re losing around a hundred to a hundred and fifty per year, because I am embarrassed to share the depths of my emotions at times.

Sometimes I preschedule poems for months in advance whilst I think about deleting them – at the moment there are seven whose future is as obscure as mine.

Nobody believes I can write that fast until they see me in action, offline. 

Then they accuse me of boasting.

But they did challenge me!

I will sit there and ask them, pick a subject and I will think about it for two or three minutes, to get my mind into the zone of that subject and how I feel about it and then the words pour out and the poem is done within minutes.

I can write a poem about anything, so long as it doesn’t feel like a lie to my heart.  For example, I couldn’t write a poem which is supposed to be a love song for Hitler – I hate fascists!

So that’s not a poem I could write.

But I could write one about cutting his balls off and feeding them to him, no matter how disgraceful that would be and inelegant.

That’s not an invitation for requests by the way!

I find it hard to write more than three poems a day, though I have been known to do up to ten.

I try to force myself to do at least one per day, if I live to a hundred imagine a future publication of all my poetic works, how many volumes could that possibly be?

Thing is, I haven’t a clue what I am doing poetically.

I have never been formally educated about it, I can’t tell a poem from a rhyme to a sonnet etc. – for all I know they could be the same thing but fancy names!

I do know what a haiku is though and I used to write them.

In fact talking of sonnets, I have been seriously thinking about reading a book to learn about those.

One of my dreams is to be patient enough with my poetry that I could actually write a poem as long as Shakespeare, Christina Rossetti and Edmund Spenser.

I have often thought about creating a large poem which is a story like Edmund Spenser’s Fairy Queen – that would be amazing if I could do something like that.

That would take me months, could I do it on an emotional level? 

I have often thought about challenging myself to do it!

I originally wrote the first chapter of a fantasy story in rhyme, with that very intention; but I couldn’t hold it throughout the story – it’s still in progress after nine years, but I haven’t added a thing to the project since 2015.

It’s about gargoyles protecting the heart of a young maiden who lives in the house they protect.

It’s a dark fantasy and very macabre, it’s sort of like Edgar Allen Poe meets Hans Christian Andersen.

I have a couple of online friends who have made the suggestion that I should go on stage and read my poems out there, but I won’t do that.

Why?

Because hilariously as it sounds, I don’t actually regard myself a poet yet!

Yet this is probably what I am best known for.

At the moment I am having a very poetic night – I am thinking about poetry a lot and I am frustrated that a book I have ordered from EBay is two weeks late in the post and I had to put in a complaint about it.

I want to finish the book and do the essays in it to learn what I am doing.  Unfortunately the library is fed up with me re-borrowing that book, I’ve had it a total nine weeks this last borrowing session and it’s the second time in a year I did that, having it for about eighteen weeks in total for the whole year!

I wish it would come soon!

It’s where some of my poems I’ve posted on here has been inspired by, such as “Grief”, “Brent Cross Shopping Centre” and “Lessons from life”.

Anyway, if that’s bragging I apologise!

Thanks for reading…

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Should I let go?

I’m on the edge of the world

Wil I fall?

I am holding onto life

Like a fool

I should just let go and let fate know

I can’t take much more!

I am bored of monotony

Everyone has forgotten me

There is no leverage to keep me going

In this lake of tears I keep rowing

Like a seamstress I keep sewing, a new life for me

But then things happen like tragedy

Like a wheel turning around and it’s trapped me

Like a hamster in its wheel going around and around

Like a dog trapped in a cage within a pound

All these words are exhausting me

I should let go

What exactly is holding me to want to stay?

There is no play

I have totally and utterly lost my way

And dribbling words upon this page

Like some demented poetic sage

Writing this inside her cage

Locked inside dreams that won’t come true

Wondering what the blazes to do

Just let go or live some more

Maybe someone will knock on the door

And I will leave this solemn place

And maybe find again my pride and grace?

Until then I am hanging off this cliff, wondering…

Should I let go?

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The butterflies sting

I told you not to touch the butterfly

Lest she falls apart

I told you not to touch her

But you couldn’t help your heart

Now she’s broken into bits

She’s fading fast like snow

Because of broken dreams

You have caused her woe

You couldn’t help but touch her wings

You couldn’t leave her be

Now she’s melted in your hand

But you still don’t see

You are to blame for her little life

Fading and now it’s gone

You couldn’t help but touch her

Though you knew it’s wrong

You were enchanted by her spirit

You were enamoured by her wings

You really thought your touch was light

You didn’t think you’d sting

But I knew the butterfly

And her heart was made of snow

To touch her has killed her

Now you cry with woe

Maybe you are now a butterfly

And now you fly on delicate wings

Maybe someone will hear you cry

Don’t touch me, it will sting!

Poor little butterflies

Unloved and forever alone

Because their heart can’t take it

Their broken hearts unsewn

And people think they fake it

Though they surely do not

But to touch a butterfly wings

Will cause those wings to rot

Do not touch a butterfly

Let them flitter on and pass you by

If they land upon you – great!

But please do not make that mistake!

Do not touch those delicate wings

Do not be the butterflies’ sting

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Emotionally promiscuous

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

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

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

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

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

But it’s not true.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Anyway, I digress…

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

I’m scared you see.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Who knows?

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

Just felt I needed to explain myself is all!

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

Thanks for reading! 

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Precious time

For the past few weeks my brain has been more than just a tad topsy-turvy. 

I have been suffering from insomnia for years but since around November my insomnia has got far worse, sleeping an average of just four hours a day and it really is day time sleeping too – often getting to sleep around 8am to wake up around noon.

It feels so alien and wrong to me, I have never been one who likes to sleep and I have never been one who accepts people who sleep-in; I am one of those people who generally have little respect for people who sleep in bed past 10am (even on a Sunday)and here I am, doing just that!  In fact, before I got sick, I was disgusted by people who couldn’t get out of bed by 8:30am!

But there you go, things change and not always for the better!

For me it is inconvenient to be asleep during the day because Henry is at school and whilst I am fighting with my insomnia and sleeping whilst he is at school it means I am practically getting nothing done at all for weeks now!

No reading, hardly much writing, no art yet, listening to music, not much meditation or conversation, not much of anything. 

When I am awake I am tired to the extent of feeling faint most of the time that all I am able to do is sit and stare and try to maintain consciousness.

So if the quality of the writing in my blog has been really bad lately, you now know why!

Last night was an exception for me considering these past few weeks, I managed to get to sleep by 2:30am and wake up around 10am, which is amazing considering what’s happened sleep wise for the past two months!

I’ve done more in these three hours today, than I have for the whole of last week!

If anybody out there knows me, they know that one thing I can’t stand more than sleepy heads, is people who waste their time by choosing to do nothing!

I have a huge intolerance for time wasting, unless it’s purely for relaxation, recuperation or fun!

I am easily frustrated by myself if I find I am not being productive in at least something – it doesn’t have to consistently be the same one thing, as long as I am being productive in something!  Such as cleaning, reading, honing a skill, writing, socialising, exercising, bonding with a pet, gardening or keeping my brain sharp with a strategy or puzzle game.  Anything which doesn’t contribute to some kind of betterment in the future, or productivity is a waste of time!  Unless as I have said, it is for fun or recuperation – this is where TV and music comes into play for me.

Because for me, the TV and music can be very productive, even though I might just be sitting and watching or sitting and listening, because not only am I relaxing and having fun, it adds to the stimulus for ideas to be creatively productive in the future or a form of research – this is something non creative people can never understand!

Though even watching TV these days is a task not worth fighting for as I can never watch anything in full without being disturbed or someone randomly coming over and turning the channel without asking if I am watching it and to fight to keep it on is not worth it and too much energy!  I live with selfish people who don’t care and are stronger minded than I am, so they walk all over me! 

The idea of sitting down and doing nothing in a brainless manner, even for relaxation has never really made sense to me; Paul does it all the time, he sits down sometimes for hours and I ask him what he is thinking about and it is always the same answer “nothing”, I don’t get it!

Even when I meditate I never go into that state of “no mind” so I suppose then by meditation standards I am doing it all wrong?  But I just can’t seem to grip the state of “no mind” relaxation.  For me, when I relax I suppose it’s a sort of astral travel?  I am wondering round in the throes of my mind in forests, having conversations with people, thinking deeply about anything and often find myself doing the things in my head that I would like to do physically if only!

When I was bedbound sick, you have no idea how crazy it made me just sitting in bed all day every day for so many years just existing as it appeared to me to just suffer!

I exist purely for germs, was my everyday thought – to give life to infectious little bugs as a host and nothing more.  As dramatic as it seems, that’s how I felt!

Sickness, procrastination and doing nothing, is highly inconvenient for me – as is sleep, going to the toilet and travelling in a car, because of the little activities I can do during those times!  Time wasting, can’t stand it!

Yet I’ve done it so much over the past eight years whilst recuperating from ill-health and you have no idea how much guilt I put on myself for it either!

The only time that time wasting is ok for me, is in pleasurable pursuits, then I can waste lots of time doing those things!  I am a hedonist after all! 

But yes, time wasting is my biggest frustration in life and the idea that my health and now insomnia is getting in the way of so much I want to do, life is short as well – is there any wonder why I am often finding myself suicidal?

I wasn’t suicidal before I got sick, in fact I used to be scared of death – but since being ill and lonely, I often crave it now, in fact some days, on bad days, I want to run towards it!

It’s a huge contrast to how I used to be when I lived with my mother, I wanted to be immortal, wanted to become rich enough to invest in discovering the immortal elixir of life and silly ideas like that!

Rich enough to put in research to life extending sciences!

It’s funny now how I don’t think this way anymore, how I just want to fade away because my body insists on being a time wasting shit head, a bum – I don’t like being a bum – don’t respect bums and hate being one, but I am one and you have no idea how much I loathe it and I am fighting against the odds to stop being one!

But the thing is, there is only so much you can do with four hours sleep and a compromised immune system and an NHS system that constantly fails to support you and poverty to boot!

There comes a time when you think about just giving up…

It’s exhausting trying to fight for the little freedoms of everyday life which almost everyone else seems to take for granted!

Those little things other people take for granted, are just mere dreams to me right now.

Thanks for reading!

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I can’t wait!

I step in time

With the dancing mime

Lost in a mirror

Lost in rhyme

Trapped within myself

Hung upon a shelf

Teased by the light

It’s their delight

Broken like a china doll

I cry and cry alone

Nobody to love me

Nobody is home

All I ever wanted

My dream is quite pure

Is to have a love

That will endure

That’s all I’ve ever wanted

That’s all I want for me

But pushed aside forgotten

Is all that came to me

I would gladly throw away

All my songs and rhymes

All my stories and my freedom

For those better times

But locked in sadness I’m alone

And trapped in time I cry

Is it any wonder

I can’t wait till I die?

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Releasing me from the blue?

I lick the knife that wounds me

My pain it tastes so sweet

My tears are salty I like the flavour

But it isn’t really a treat

Its bittersweet you love me

It’s bittersweet to know

Because I can’t fulfil a dream

I can’t glow

Because one thing is lacking

My heart is dead as stone

My world is crumbling round me

I am turning to bone

I can’t stand the fighting

I can’t stand this life

I can’t stand only living

On the edge of a knife

I can’t stand the loneliness

I can’t bear the stain

I can’t bear what you do to me

Should I start again?

The blade is at my wrist now

The words I say are true

How I wish for something more

Something more colourful than the blue

I am washed in my own blood

Clothed in the cloak of death

Soon my life will be ended

So I will breathe the last breath

For you have chosen wisely

I’m not the one for you

Your words are not taken lightly

But at least I am released from the blue

I will not see the sun shine

Not again my dear

Please do not cry for me

Don’t shed a tear

Be confident you chose this

Be happy and stay true

I forgive you darling

For releasing me from the blue

In April you won’t see me

Not ever again

Because I won’t be here

There will be no more songs to pen

For I will live within the grey

Of the lost in limbo corps

But at least my heart won’t heart anymore…

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Life isn’t always bad

What is the point in following her that has a heart so grey?

To love her works and writings, for her to throw her life away?

What is the point in caring, when she is doomed to die?

When she still insists in sitting down to cry…

The point is that you love it

The point is my words should flow

Like the water that’s in my spirit

I should let my words go…

Who knows it could heal me?

Who knows I could change my mind…

Who knows what is what

And what my life should find…

The point is I am healing

The point is I am not

The point is I am trying

I am trying not to stop

One day I am happy

One day I am sad

One day I want to kill myself ever so bad

But some days I plodder on

And write these things for you

Whilst soak in tears and sadness, sitting in the blue

Wondering when my life will change

Wondering when I’ll find love

Wondering when things are different

Or when is the next shove?

I am curious when I’ll do it

When I will cut the cords

That ties me to this life full of discord

I wonder when I will cut too deep

Too deep that I will forever sleep

I wonder when my life will change

So I can look back and think it strange

That I was ever in that place

That I was ever sad

Because I try to lie to myself, that life isn’t always bad

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My quiet dad

Today I am going to talk more about my dad.

My dad has hardly had much of a look in regarding my past, but I thought I should share some things about him, because he wasn’t part of the problem when I was growing up – he was like a cushion to the blow I could have had – if that makes sense at all?

My dad was always fighting to get me better things, to get me better socialised, to get me better educated and he was almost always ignored – but my dad did have some small victories now and again in regards to having choices about what happened to his child.

My mum made no secret about why she married my father; she let it be known to both him and I that she married him purely to keep her boys safe in case she died, because she had a health scare about a year before I was born.

Her arrangement was, I shall marry you Tom if you ensure that you will raise my boys as your own if anything happens to me!  He agreed and he would have done so too, however my dad said he was sad he would never have children of his own and he sulked about it for a time – my mum was terrified in having another child because the child she had before me was a breach of which she was more or less forcing herself to have naturally and she suffered for three days in labour until she relented to have a caesarean.

However, she told me she felt sorry for my dad and said that she would give him only one child to seal the deal and he was happy with that!

So I was born before they got married, they married in the January after my birth. 

My dad was a sheet metal worker shortly after this and remained in that job until I was seven years old. Then stuck to his next job until retirement, pun intended a glue factory foreman – where I got my first job as a labeller at the age of 15.

Before he married my mum he was a chicken farmer and a train driver before he went into the army to get a HGV license, but he stayed in the army longer than he had planned.  There is a family rumour that my mum broke my dad’s leg deliberately to prevent him attending his duties in the Falklands, but it was never proven.

My dad was a quiet man, who hardly spoke about himself and so I don’t know much about him in his own words, only the rumours from other relatives who knew him.  He kept himself to himself and often shut himself away to play on consoles in other rooms away from family.

Sometimes dad would cook, but mostly I cooked for the family when mum was on nightshifts from the age of 7yrs onwards, dad was a less fussy eater than mum and would be more adventurous in the food he ate – he would have been a healthier person if mum wasn’t so dominant about the kinds of food she bought.  He had very little say on what happened to the money he bought into the family and he only ever had £25 a week to himself for betting on horses only.  She didn’t like him buy what she called junk to fill the house up with, because my dad was a bit of a retro head.

My dad always wanted to be an entertainer like his sisters, always wanted to do stand-up comedy and play the harmonica in public and create his own funny songs.  He liked making people laugh, but mum told he she wouldn’t let him do that as a side hobby, because he embarrasses her and it’s not fair to her that he should do that!

Mum was always telling him she was embarrassed by him and he just took it on the chin and obeyed, he tolerated it because he loved her.

My dad was a Tommy Cooper lookalike and he had his style of humour and my dad often imitated him a lot at family parties and weddings – in fact he looked so much like him and could remember all his jokes that his sisters tried heavens hard for years to make him be a lookalike act at special events where they honoured Tommy Cooper after he died – but mum simply wouldn’t allow it!

My dad would have been very successful doing that!  Especially as my dad could also do the special magic tricks that Tommy Cooper could too!  My dad was a bit of a magician!

My dad taught me how to act too; he would often play and relive our favourite movies together.  As a child I knew the lines to almost every Laurel and Hardy movie there was, because we played it together the most and also Blackbeard the pirate!  We also liked Norman Wisdom movies, Carry on movies and George Formby!

I don’t remember too much nowadays as it’s been almost twenty years since I saw a Laurel and Hardy movie last, but I do have recollections now and again.

But my dad and I were definitely entertainers for the family at family events, which is why mum started to refuse a lot of the invitations from the age of ten onwards – because we were both embarrassing her, my dad for simply being who he is and me being a fat funny girl who was too highly influenced in naughty humour bought about by my love for the Carry on team and comedians such as Frankie Howard and Julian Clary.

I like saucy and naughty humour, naughty is nice!

My dad paid for a while for me to have singing lessons (opera to be specific) but mum put a stop to it when they decided I had talent and needed to go to talent contests etc. around the country.  Plus she hated the idea of the amount of money she had to lose in order to hone my skills.  When I lost the singing lessons dad fought heavens hard to get me tutored in playing the piano, because of my addiction to my grandmother’s piano whenever we visited!

My dad would not compromise on one thing in his life and that was visiting his side of the family, something my mother really loathed bout him.  She hated every Sunday, because that would be the chosen day each week my dad would take me visiting his side of the family!

She rarely went with us because most of the family were outside of her 3 mile limit and the anxiety of travelling was just too much for her!  My gran lived 25 miles away in Bedfordshire.

Other relatives lived in Berkshire, Luton, Cheshire, Wales, Southend and Canvey Island or West London, far too far for my mum – so she stayed at home most of the time.

My dad and I would often go rowing in the lake at Alexander Palace in the summer with my cousins and have a large picnic, mum hated us doing that because she didn’t like my cousins being called cousins – as despite my mum having a mixed religious and mixed race background herself (third generation), she hated the concept of me calling my mixed race cousins, cousin and was quite racist about it, to the extent my aunt who is very passive was pinned up against the wall by my mother and threatened simply because she felt that she was putting ideas into my head that were against her own!

My dad never tried to control my mum behaviour, never tried to apologise for it or make any comment or even seemed to notice it – sometimes he would sigh and look downwards and wait for her to finish so we can all quietly leave again and hear the rants in the car about how victimised my mother felt for her own actions!

My dad was bullied by my mum and sometimes that did include physically being bullied too, though he’ll deny it, because he loves her.  But I remember lots of times where my mum has slapped him, kicked him, pushed him out of the way, called him names and dragged him physically off somewhere!

I do believe that domestic violence can affect both genders; I have witnessed it growing up!

Whenever my dad was pushed to the limits and he would rarely stand up for himself and say something, mum always won because she would say she is going to leave him right then and there and would often storm out of the house and stay with her friends for the night to try and scare him back into submission.  I remember those times, she would come back in the house with a smile on her face and carry on like nothing happened and dad would be thankful she is back, but she would pretend she wouldn’t know what he was on about!

Even when someone proved to dad my mum was having an affair with a bouncer at a nightclub my dad’s reaction was a shrug and well she comes home to me doesn’t she?  He wouldn’t challenge her on it.

My dad was submissive and unassuming and incredibly patient.

I often questioned his reactions and said you are not often happy dad, why stay?  He would make all kinds of excuses, but the one that stood out the most was hearing at the age of nine your dad confessing that if your mother did die of her heart troubles, you’d lose two parents at once, because he told me at the tender age of nine he’d commit suicide if she died.  Which shocked me, because he promised my mum he’d look after her sons if she did!  His reply is, they are adults now Tina, done my bit.  I said to him, well what about me?  I was shocked and hurt to hear him reply, the deal didn’t say anything about me!

I told him, I am your daughter, and surely you’d think about me wouldn’t you? What would happen to me then dad? 

He said I would be alright with my gran!

It was a scary time for me, because this was the time mum left for two weeks to go on  holiday in Great Yarmouth with her sister and friends because of another argument, one of which my dad tried to prepare me to pack to go and live with gran with him.  So suicide was lurking around the house for too long, mum came back, no smiles this time and she was asking if he had packed yet and he said no, but Tina has – then that’s when mum sent me off again to another aunt for a while and the whole time I was scared dad would be dead!

Other than gardening and playing darts with me from time to time, there isn’t really much else to say about my dad, other than his addiction to horse racing and online casinos.

He is a teetotaller, a good honest man who works hard and got obese living with my mum on the diet she provided him and he has very little self-esteem.

He is funny, a good entertainer, but she knocked him off his pedestal as much as she did me.

That’s all there is really to my dad.

He tried hard to get me into clubs and learn things – singing lessons, music lessons, pushing me in my sports, but mum always stopped us.

Dad always wanted to take me on holidays, but mum didn’t like it, didn’t like travelling unless she was with her sister and so we never had a family holiday together ever!  Not once.

I had no birthday parties after the age of 7yrs, nothing special for my landmark birthdays and that hurts when you see your mother go all out on landmark birthdays for your brothers, 16, 18 and 21.  It was always made clear to me, I was not important, I was not really supposed to be part of her family and so I don’t get those things!

That was my life, she lives for her boys, I got the scraps.

My dad never hit me unless he was bullied by her, she would literally lay into him to force him – but outside of her, he never laid a finger on me, even when he was at his most angry! 

Thanks for reading!

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Because I’ve died

Is it enough to show the world at all?

That I’ve ascended but now I fall?

Into a chasm of pain

Being driven insane

Will I feel the same… again?

I might as well give up

Stop fighting

Because nothing is righting the way I need it go

Why can’t thing be just so?

Or is it me who won’t let go?

Oh no

I’ve tied, through the needles that bite

I’ve tried through the ashes that burned

I’ve tried through the icy waters

I’ve tried to turn

But things swing round back at me

Fighting me into tragedy

I have struggled with reality until I am through

I am done, I am tired and life’s won

This battle

What can I do?

But fight again, until the end

Until life has gone from me

Into the icy sea

And I have drowned in the pain

And I went insane

And I took my life

With a bloodied knife

And I’m not the same

Fighting spirit I was

I have given up… because…

I’ve died

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