Tag Archives: suicide

Gardening was a help

My depression was getting better and the suicidal thoughts were abating on a huge scale three years ago, because of gardening.  Last year my neighbour has got into a new relationship with a man who is creepy and weird and likes to harass and make me uncomfortable when in my garden to such an extent I haven’t touched or been in my garden to do anything since September 2020. 

The thing is, Paul says there is nothing we can do about a neighbour who is like that unless he becomes an actual physical threat, unless we record him on film doing things.  We don’t have the money to set up cameras with microphones to keep tabs on his behaviour so Paul more or less has a shrug it off attitude about it.  So I don’t garden anymore.

I miss it a lot and I wish we could move away, but Paul just can’t.  We can’t afford to for one thing and for another, this house is suffering from rising damp and the roof is broken in two parts.  We also have persistent black mould, which we have to constantly clean away.  The house is worth good money, but we have to knock 40k off it because of its condition, there are no houses in this area we could buy with what would be left for us, on the sale of this.  Well, not a house in which I could have a garden, there are houses but their gardens are literally 10ft by 10ft, they are basically courtyards of townhouse terraces.

It wouldn’t be so bad but this neighbour is also wilfully destructive, he will lean over the fence and literally cut anything he sees peeping up, whether it is leaning into his garden or not.  He has leant over the fence quite a lot on some cases and nearly fell into our garden to do so in order to cut branches of our pine and ash.  He has started to do something I don’t like as well, which is he is trying to reach over to get my blackberry and train it on a chicken wire netting he has placed on his fence, but Paul keeps going out to snip it just as he thinks he has a chance to get it.

He is a rotten man, there are other things but I won’t mention them.  He also accidentally on purpose stumbles off our shared garden path in the front garden to stomp all over my forget-me-nots, dahlias, lilies, nasturtiums and I have caught him trying to take tomatoes, strawberries and mint from the garden too.

He doesn’t like birds sitting on the fence; he will scare them away or spray them with hoses.  He knows we have two bird feeders and like birds in our garden, but he makes sure they don’t stay long!

My cousin taught me a saying once and I laughed at it, it really does apply to this man “that I can’t believe he was the sperm that won”!

Ugh

I miss gardening and I miss lounging in the garden for hours on end reading from April to October every year.

I really have a strong desire to create a food forest garden, but with a nature hating neighbour like that, it is not going to be easy.  Our gardens are 30ft wide and 50ft long in the back garden; he has decked three quarters of his garden and terraced it making the other bits just lawn. 

He is also an insect squisher.  It is hard for someone like me who loves nature and wants to protect it and rewild spaces with my silly hippy idealisms, to see that someone like that exists only to be destructive as it would seem. 

I am particularly sad that I am very passive and I am not known for being particularly assertive, for me to live with a man who is the same.  I feel there is no defence against such a rotter and I have heard him loudly proclaim in big raucous laughter to his brother and friends that we don’t care what he does to our garden and that makes me feel very hurt and angry and sad.

I asked Paul to get some kind of advice about this, but he seems to think it’s all hopeless, there is no one and nothing we can do against such a person.

So I don’t know what to do.

I hope he doesn’t stay there, but it looks like he might be there for a long haul.

Happy reading I suppose.

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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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Mental health update 26th May 2021

The thing about mental illness is that it grabs you and sometimes even the sufferer doesn’t even know why or what caused them to cry at that precise moment.  I have been having times like this a lot over the last few weeks, but in the past couple of days in particular it has been really a big struggle.

For the first time in almost two years the suicidal thoughts have come back, but along with this is a reasoning thought, that if I were to try and commit suicide right now, I am likely to be saved and therefore my life would be worse to live in the aftermath because of whatever damage the attempt may have done to me, I would then have to live with along with everything I am trying to escape from.  I am already under scrutinised watch, because of my past breakdown a few years back, so it is quite probable, that I will be saved – whether I like it or not.

I am in the situation that I know why I feel this way, but I really don’t have anyone to talk to who is not going to be conflictive with me about those matters to talk it through with.  I am too deaf to use a telephone helpline and I don’t really have enough privacy to talk about matters online.  I barely have the privacy to type this here now.

Well, Paul knows how I feel, but he is painfully irritating with his responses and usually end up making me feel worse, he isn’t the sort of person you can rely on for too much emotional bolstering or betterment.  He knows I think this way about him, and yes, it does put a strain on our relationship – especially as I try and tell him that he shouldn’t feel emotionally responsible for me despite this.  But he always proclaims that he does anyway and how could he not? 

He is in denial of his own depression, I know this, because instead of trying to help me see the Brightside of life or help me take my mind off things, he is one of these people who will wallow with me and we both sit there in our pit of despair, talking ever deeper and concentrating ever more on the crap that’s in our lives – that’s not a place of healing.  Alternatively on his more positive days, as he does have them occasionally, he will talk to me about stupid dreams of “if we win the lottery” or “if we built our dream house”, those conversations helps him in his dark times, those dreams, but it just makes me a whole lot worse!  There are times and I am sure he knows it by the looks I give him, that when he talks of me of those big pie in the sky dreams, that I just want to take those dreams he talks about and shove them down his throat.  Because, who wants to be reminded of things that are unreachable when you are in a time of struggle?

My problems are not primarily financial, that is something he can’t get his head around, I think.

My main focus is the lack of love, the lack of attention, friendship and family.  I am also very sick and I am tired of that, I am tired of constant pain, constant illness and no one to sit there and snuggle with me for more than just five minutes a time, because no one has the time.  No one has the time for me.

I talk about this to Paul, but he is so exhausted all of the time and struggling with his own injuries and pain as he is my main carer and Henry’s main carer and the household carer, that when I do talk to him, within twenty minutes he has literally fallen asleep during our conversation and wakes up with a jerk when I probe him about it.

I know I am a selfish cuss, because he struggles to balance everything for me, but he really could help himself a lot more by communicating with people who are willing to help him, but he doesn’t.  He just plods along doing all of this and coping with all of this on his own and I do literally nothing.

He is 27yrs my senior, I am terrified of how I will live if he dies.  That’s how selfish I am.  I do love the fellow, I do, but I am shit scared of what will I do if he goes?

I can’t do a thing for myself these days, on an emotional and mental health level I could barely anyway, but now the body is falling apart, I can barely even cook for myself these days.

We have no one.  We only have two adult nephews who visit once or twice a year and that is all.  We have nobody, not even a reprieve of a friend who’ll come to tea anymore.  Not since I have got too sick to reciprocate and Covid has made socialising with professional’s non-existent now.

I am ultimately desperate for two things, to move out of this house into a house that is not riddled with rising damp and holes in the roof and the ceiling literally falling apart in some rooms and I am desperate for more love and attention, especially long snuggles!

Oh I could add a third, to have a decent allergen free diet on a consistent basis, not having 2 weeks of feast and 2 weeks of famine in every month, which is how we live now.  Well, I say we, Paul and Henry eat properly, I don’t, because I am the one with the intolerances.  Gluten, lactose and occasionally egg, flax, pineapple and a few others; Gluten free foods are fine if they don’t contain flax, but most do.  My body can’t cope with chocolate more than once a week either, or beef and my body can’t cope with a high fat diet, which makes things very difficult on a diet front these days.

When I went through a phase of anorexia as a teenager, I actually ate more then that I do on the famine weeks in the month and that scares Paul, but the doctors don’t batter an eyelid.  I am still overweight you see and I am nearly a woman in her 40s.  They don’t take the food problem seriously – if I had been 8 stone, maybe they would!

Yesterday all I had eaten up until 5:35pm (the time I am writing this post) is 1 slice of gluten toast (because we are struggling with finding decent gluten free locally in the past few weeks) and 3 slices of bacon.  Later I will have a cereal bowl size of tuna pasta with new potatoes and herbs; the pasta is at least gluten free.  Because of the toast today, it will mean tomorrow I will wake up coughing up phlegm for an hour and my asthma and blood pressure will be bad.  But I needed quick food; I was feeling light-headed, shivery and headachy.

The food wasn’t ideal and I feel sick since, but I was hungry.

Anyway, this is just another bad day for me and I needed to get it off my chest.

Maybe tomorrow will be different?

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The Midnight Library by Matt Haig

THERE WILL BE SPOILERS!

The last fiction book I read was “The Midnight Library” by Matt Haig. 

I’m not sure if I have ever mentioned this before, but I rarely read much fiction at all in comparison.  So when I find a piece of fiction I like, I like to talk about it.

I’m not anti-fiction, because I write fiction, but I often worry that sometimes fiction from other authors can scramble themselves up into my mind and confuse me about what I have read and what I have thought of myself.  Some authors will say that is the yumminess of reading fiction, it adds to your uniqueness, your reading experiences can become new tales, fresh in the way that only you can tell.

But that is where the imposter syndrome drives me insane the most.  Just how unique would I be in my own writing, if I have read lots and lots of fiction rather than non-fiction?  Well anyway, that is just me and it is probably way too complicated to talk about further, so let’s get on with this review!

As much as I loved this novel for its very insightful paragraphs and pep talks for life, there were many flaws to the plot I found and that made me itchy, irritated somewhat.  Let me explain;

Nora feels that she is a failure at life, that she isn’t needed, she is desperate to have something to do, people to take care of and one day she wakes up to find that hardly anyone needs her anymore and her cat died to top it all.  So she decides that it is best for everybody that she kills herself, so she tries to and when she tries, she wakes up inside a library staring at her old school librarian Mrs Elm. 

She discovers that every book in the library are books of lives that could have been if only… Mrs Elm invites Nora to take a glance at the book of regrets and choose which regret she would like to work on – when she does so, she gets to experience that life and if that life is too disappointing for her, she then comes back to library to try again, but as long as the clock remains at midnight and not a minute past it, she can try as many times as she likes, fail to choose a life in time and she may lose her chance at life altogether!

What irritates me about this plot is this… each life she enters, she enters with complete amnesia about her past between that past regret and the years that lead to her current time span now, meaning she doesn’t know these new people that entered her life between now and then nor has any memories of any events that lead to where she is now.  This only gets better after several weeks in those lives IF and only IF she feels happy with that life and she seldom does!  So basically most of the plot of the book is a story about the main character going around in a permanent state of confusion, fear and amnesia and seeking out what the blazes happened to her, but is usually side-tracked by the busyness of life!  Very irritating, this book could have been a lot more better and gripping if it weren’t for that major flaw.

To then put icing on the cake of disappointment, Nora finds a life she is happy in, yay, you think and you are happy for her, because she went through a lot to get to that happy state, but that life wasn’t meant to be, because just as she decided she wanted that particular life, the library goes into wreck and ruin and she has to choose to live the life she left originally or die.

So for me, it was a lovely book, full of life quotes I loved enough to stick in my art journals and a promising all round plot, but lots and lots of irritation and disappointments – especially when you never get to see how she actually lived her life after this event.

Pfft basically.

But that’s my two cents.

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Monitoring depression with reading status

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

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

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

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

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

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Major changes explained

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

― Matt Haig, The Midnight Library

“The only way to learn is to live”

― Matt Haig, The Midnight Library

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

― Matt Haig, The Midnight Library

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

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

I will also include, my weight loss plan

My art and photography

YouTube videos I may start at the end of the year

My skill development and so forth

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

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

I my opinion I need to lose 85 pounds

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

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

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

I need to start becoming more independent.

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

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

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

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

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

Speak soon xxx

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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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A dying spirit

I need to get this off my chest, I apologise if the following becomes a long-winded rant and it is not my intention.

But I simply can’t do it anymore – I cannot live up to other people’s expectations and other peoples idea of what is or is not morally correct or what is or is not true; Everything that I talk about regarding my current life and my past are all true in my eyes, but a lot of people will deny that it is the truth and I can understand why they would lie about that – they are trying to socially protect themselves because they treated me wrong and don’t want the ramifications of how others may perceive them for it.  I appreciate their feelings on this, but I won’t hide the truth, I won’t keep deleting things just because the truth fucking hurts them, they never take into account how much their actions have hurt me so why the fuck am I so bloody accommodating to them?

I have rights too, I have a right to express myself anyway I blooming need to in order to heal.  Living a life of quiet pacification is literally killing me as a person and me as an artist/writer.

Living the life that my previous abusers want me to, is killing the person that I am in every way shape and form that a person can be!

I took on this blog back in winter of 2012 purely as to act as a form of therapy for myself as recommended by my therapist, he suggested I talk freely about everything I want to regarding my life, he recommended that I also use it to bring back the creative person I was again.  It worked until some people found out a few things about my mum they never knew before and they like defensive little minions went and told her and defended her and grouped up on me via telephone and emails to hound me to tell everybody who reads my blog that everything I said was a lie.  They wanted me to lie about the truth I told – they demanded then that I go to London again and at a family gathering literally grovel for my mother’s forgiveness in front of them!  I am quite serious about what I just said; they did demand this of me!

Every time I say something about them on my blog, I do run the risk of anyone in my family still sticking around to read what I am saying, relaying and potentially getting telephone calls and emails again, which is why I had to change the telephone number and we are considering moving because of this, because I can’t be silent anymore.  I need to express everything I have gone through and I feel it is my calling to help others who have gone through the same coercive upbringing as I have, by talking about my past.  A coercion that I was raised in is quite unusual but not unheard of and many people who have experienced this kind of abuse rarely talk about it, because of how violent a large amount of people can get if they hear of it.  You see it is usually lead by one individual who has a large social circle who will act like posse to reign in the abused child if they start getting out of hand or rather, start becoming independent and so-called rebellious to their clique ideologies. 

It rather like living with a mafia minded family with an extended social circle of friends all of whom think alike, like a big extended hive mind. 

This kind of abuse is hard to deal with for a lot of therapists; I have never found one who has been able to help me.  They all suggest that various people of whom have taken a part in controlling me should go and see them, but who the fuck will go up to their abusers and say “you know what?  My therapist wants to see you as I seem relatively stable in comparison to you guys”.  Lol – no one is going to do that and the therapist appreciates that for safety reasons it is probably best not to suggest it.

You know how badly the revelation to my mother has affected me? 

I became for a long time now, primarily a poet who occasionally dips into abstract impressionistic paintings, because I have been scared to talk about anything anymore.  I have even been told that some of my novels I used to write, that the family often used to read, that they see now that some of the things in my fiction work could actually be based on my supposed “poor abused childhood fantasy life”, to a certain extent a few of the themes in my stories are based on my own personal experiences, but I understand enough to know what is true and what isn’t.  That is my fiction.  The stuff I talk about regarding my life is TRUE and I state this quite clearly, the message has not been mixed!

Because I am struggling to appease my abusers so they don’t come back into my life in an aggressive way, I have almost ignored a lot of my creative expression via words and non-fiction posts.  This has led to me becoming so severely depressed that it is affecting my health badly.  I have a lot of problem with mobility of the whole of my left side of the body and I have extreme insomnia and hypersomnia – what I mean is, I can’t sleep for like 30 hours and then when I do I can’t wake up for 15 hours and sleeping comes randomly at any time and once I feel just a tiny bit tired, it is almost like I have collapsed into a coma.  Nobody can wake me up, not even Henry having a tantrum on the bed next to me; it is like I have died!  Quite often, the last thing I think about when I go to sleep is “I hope I die in my sleep – I don’t want to wake up, I don’t like the burden of my memories”.

My appetite is dead, I only eat when extremely hungry now and it is usually just one meal per day and around the side of a sandwich, coincidentally I am losing a huge amount of weight pretty quickly and my hair is around 60% white now.

To say the suppressors are literally killing me by using my own mind against me is an understatement.  I find no joy in anything anymore.  Everything about the sweet, bubbly, fun, obedient, passive, quiet, little Tina everybody once knew is dead.

In trying to force me to be their idea of perfect instead they have made me their idea of a waste of space.

For my health and sanity sake I have to heal the only way I know how.  So I am taking a risk, if they get back into my life again somehow, so be it, I am ready for the repercussions because the alternative is death anyway.  I am going to die someday anyway, why is sooner no better than later?  Would I rather die in secret of how I died and be a mystery to all who knew me forever, or do I want to die in a way where other people can understand me and understand my situation and perhaps, just maybe, stop this from happening to other people?

I know which one I have picked.

The thing is – before they interfered and demanded me to delete and shut up, I was only sharing what I thought was the minor stuff, the stuff that isn’t too big to shout about.  The stuff that is easy for my readers to digest – but now they’ve done this, maybe it is time for the real big stuff, the stuff that makes my therapists cry?  That stuff I kept to myself, that stuff I never revealed and I don’t think people like my big brother, understand there is an even darker side to our mother, than even he realises!

I don’t like talking about that stuff, because I hate remembering the really, dark, dark stuff, but how I express it here, sometimes it comes out sub consciously through my abstract impressionistic art and the images I paint are also not easy to digest for a lot of people.

But I think it is time to just be me in every way shape and form and not hide from myself anymore.  I can’t.  Shutting me away in every way possible is suffocating my spirit and body to death, I need to free myself and that makes taking big scary risks!

Because I am pretty damned sure, since November, my body and spirit is preparing to die.  I am convinced of it and I need to stop this process – not for me, but for my boy.  I care only for him, not these coercive “I have a problem with your life and truth” assholes!  No one can have a bigger problem with my life and truth than ME!  Get over yourselves you control FREAKS!

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Frost bitten rose

 

The winter is cold now

There’s a bite in the air

A snowstorm, it invites me

To walk alone without a care

Into the white cascades

Death is a dream to me

I invite it

I embrace it all the time

Now it calls me

I go to it

You may find me near the springtime

Like a frost bitten rose

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Filed under poetry

Not a poem, food food thought

The world is a confusing place.

Everyone wants acceptance and yet they all criticise others.

Everyone wants peace of mind and yet they will still hold grudges and set themselves up for failure or arguments.

Some people want a better life, yet instead of trying to find a way to make their lives better they would rather end it instead.

It is easier to hate than to love for many.

It is easier to ignore than to question.

Everybody wants a better world but no one is ready for the effort and strife to make it better.

A single person has a lot of power, yet they choose not to use it, because they have no time, energy, health, they have other commitments – so they sit and watch TV or play online games for three hours without fail every evening; instead of doing something constructive that will either improve their lives, the lives of their family members, a sad friend or their environment, it is strange, but true.  They would rather poison their bodies with junk food, alcohol and drugs, than spend that extra fifteen minutes in the kitchen to make something healthier for them, something that will prolong their life and give them better mobility or health.

A lot of people would rather not see that they are doing this because then that would mean that they have admitted to being a failure in some way; they can’t pass the buck, they can’t blame anyone but themselves if they realise and admit it.  People can’t stand being wrong or thinking that they are more ignorant than they know.

People would rather walk out in difficult situations rather than solve them, they would rather break up or divorce someone than work it out – because of the time and energy and self-satisfaction factor.  If you want a relationship you need to look first at how much you get along with the person in a non-romantic setting, are you good friends?  Then you have to question whether or not you both have the same life goals, morals and ethics, then after these things are established and known, you should have a relationship together and once in that relationship it should be easy to focus each other on remaining with each other, supporting each other as friends, working things out like a team – not abandoning ship.  If you feel you are a person who cannot be strictly monogamous for goodness sake be honest about it before you let someone get too deep with you – the world is more liberal than you think!

People have got to start becoming more open with the people who are involved in their lives.  They have to work together, work things out, they have to get out of the habit of this throw away culture – because people are treating other people like material possessions too much – this will eventually lead to us all losing our humanity, it is bad enough as it is with the millennial generations mobile device addiction, let alone allowing ourselves to continue how we’ve always been.

Humanity needs to concentrate very deeply on their psychology, on the way that they think, how they handle things.  No more should people just simply walk away when the going gets tough, because that will never solve anything and will only poison your spiritual environment more and more, attracting more negativity to you.

We are probably the loneliest generations ever known to human earth.  More and more we are cutting ourselves off from others.  It was said once that the average human was close to 120 people at all times with around 1000 known acquaintances – but recently that figure has dropped to a contemporary socialite having only 26 close contacts and around 300 acquaintances – online people you have never met do not count – if it did, I would be extremely gregarious!

Fifty years ago it would be normal if a friend knew you were sick and lived in the same street, to come and visit you and make sure you didn’t need any help and would make a fuss about helping you even if you didn’t want it – these days, they could care less.  So long as visit and visiting is exactly 50/50 split, like tennis, taking turns one after the other, they couldn’t be bothered to come and see how you are – even family life is becoming like this.  I have never liked the concept of a nuclear family, I always wanted to have a lot of children, but ill-health dictated that to me as well.  I do not like it, I would love nothing better than to have around five children and a little organic smallholding in a suburban place somewhere as I can’t do strict rural again.

I’m really very lucky at growing vegetables in particular, they seem to yield more than average for their type and are always bigger than expected, I have often been told I should attend vegetable shows, but I would feel silly doing that, sometimes people in those contests get a bit daft.  Now if I was to show anything, it would be dogs and guinea pigs, I would love to do that eventually.

The purpose of this post and like many more to come is to broaden your mind and help you see how you can try to have a better and happier life.  I am going to stop writing more to this now as I have noticed I am losing focus and it is 5am when I am writing this on 19th January 2020.  I will schedule this for later in the week, because I have a lot of things going on at the moment.  I am not yet over the pneumonia though I feel better today, but in the next few days I have several medical appointments to get to as well as an ESA medical and another minor operation (not sure they’d entertain that if they know I have a chest infection, it has been cancelled 6 times before because of serious sinus, throat and chest infections, it takes 6 months each time to get a new appointment).

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