Tag Archives: life

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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Home to home

I have a wonderful home where the butterfly roam and the trees are purple and gold

I have a small garden fragrant and sweet, where silver geese have overflown

There is lavender blue and forget me nots too and the wine comes straight from the vine

I sit and I knit with cobwebs I’ve picked, laced with dew and I think life is fine

How the laughter of summer gives us all good cheer and warms us straight to the bone

I sit and I ponder about life beyond yonder and I can’t ever leave this home

For it is said there, that life is cold and without care

That people laden forests with chrome

They have not a good thought about what will be fraught of the animals they have to rehome

I cannot yet see, how life can be, as cold and cruel as it is there

I cannot imagine life within margins where everything is ripped bare

I don’t believe it’s true, I bet neither can you

Those creatures can be so mean

It must be a story for there is no glory in living life that demeans

So I sit in wonder at that awful place

It can’t be real I say

For surely intelligent creatures can see the damage of what they take away?

Life can never be that way

I think here I am meant to stay

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Is this for Steven or someone else?

Thank you for your spells of isolation

Thank you for my limited social sphere

Because no one ever sat back and noticed

That to socialise wrought me bundles of fear

You done great service to my existence

You did great wonders to my life

You took away all the pain and suffering

That came with a very social life

I tried so hard once to be normal

I tried once to socialise a lot you see

I tried hard to be what folks called normal

Because they kept on nagging me

But when you came and cast your spell

You set my spirit free

Now no one wants to know me

I’m not a social bee

To me life is heaven living solitarily

 

And if you believe that, you’re a fool, no one can appreciate social isolation, nobody wants it, do they?

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Music of the heart

Music of magic

Why do I play?

To send good luck, coming your way

I play my tune for your delight

I play for you morning, noon and night

I play for happiness

I play for love

I play for heavenly gifts above

I will play forever, the music of your life

If I stop, it might bring you strife

So I play on tirelessly my dear

I am your musician, even if you don’t hear

I play to give you everything you need

I will always do this, I shall never be freed

I am your life’s music

Your beating heart

We are bound together, never to part

If I stop, you will surely die

And on that day, I will sorely cry

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What is luxury to me?

I have always loved reading books about cosmic ordering and creating your own reality and yet still I haven’t mastered my own mind enough to make the realities I want – happen.  I am not at all surprised at my financial status for two reasons, I am sick and don’t work and therefore live on benefit handouts, I do try and do something to help change this, but sometimes it can become too much to handle with all the daily symptom managing – also I am not at all surprised at my financial predicament because of another matter… the fact that I find money one of the biggest evils in the world, so therefore, it keeps away from me because of that mind-set.  Well that is what cosmic ordering experts would say anyway.

So it is my own fault for two reasons.  One I believe that money is a source of evil and two I am too sick therefore can’t work, therefore the universe adds more sickness to keep me in that reality.  It is pretty screwy stuff, but I actually believe it to be true, which makes it all the worse for me I guess?

I am in what I call a ground-hog day of sickness and poverty and I have the knowledge that my own beliefs can change that.  So, why can’t I favour money in a more benign light?  Because I would be lying to myself, that is why and for me, lying to my-self is an even worse evil.

I have always been by nature a very philanthropic person, therefore I have tried to think about who could benefit from my future wealth, when I get it?  There is always someone in need and I always want to help, but I am not a sucker for a sob story unless there is evidence for it first.  So I have tried to concentrate on benevolence regarding money, because as evil as money is, in the current social climate it can be a blessing for many.  I have another belief about finances too, whether or not it contradicts my former belief that money is evil or not, remains to be seen.  But I have always lived by this financial code of conduct (before benefits came into my life) that 33.3% of my earnings go to me and my needs, this includes bills and essentials and fun, 33.3% goes into savings and 33.3% is invested in some way.  Now to me an investment doesn’t have to go towards a personal gain for me, it can be an investment for a charity of which I will not benefit from – to me, it is a social investment, bettering the society I live in, I deem an investment.  Not many people can understand where I come from stating this, but to me it is quite simple, the more money you put into your local charities and amenities, the more you will benefit and future generations will benefit.  It is a shame people recoil so much from taxation and donating, they just don’t see how it can benefit their local area, and they can only see what benefits them, unfortunately they don’t always see it as a positive circle which could include them eventually.

Currently we live in a world where the idea of a no money system is a non-starter; as much as I hate it, I have to come to terms with it and work out a system for my-self which will make me and others around me happy.

I have never really wanted huge extravagances, but I have wanted comfort and happiness – I mean, who doesn’t?

To me a luxurious life would come across very basic, plain and simple to a lot of people of today.  My main desires for a happy and indulgent life is determined by how big a piece of land is that I will personally own in order to grow my own food, raise my own chickens and geese, build an adventure playground for my children, entertain guests with lovely BBQs or alfresco dinner parties, a very large area for rewilding, as I love wildlife and want to save it.  I have thought if I ever became rich that I would buy woodlands just to make them a nature reserve, stopping logging companies and housing from using the land. 

For me a luxurious life means I would be able to afford natural fibres for my clothing, I dislike all the plastic in my clothes.  I would be able to afford a very healthy allergen free semi-paleo diet – why semi-paleo?  I like legumes; I like vegan cheeses and gluten free grains that’s why.

My idea of true happiness is the ability to care for animals too.  To have the pets that I desire, though I will not be one of these horrific pet hoarders like most people who know me personally think I could be if my finances were better, I am not like that; I will never take on more than I can manage.  Despite my dreams about running a small holding or a farm, I know and realise it is just a dream, even for when I am better off, because I know my physical limitations, and unless I can afford staff to help me run things, then I can’t live exactly how I want to.

For me, luxury is being able to go out to town and choose something to eat without worrying about the cost.  Without worrying that my trip to town on a bus and a lunch would actually take half of my week’s food bill away – which it currently does, hence why I rarely see the doctor, despite needing to see them more often than I do.

Luxury also means that a zoo trip won’t be negotiated with Henry about whether or not, if we go to the zoo, we may not be able to go to the Severn Valley this year or have a birthday party, and to me luxury would mean that we can do it all that year and go to other places too, such a beach – we’ve never been to a beach as a family before.  I haven’t been to a beach since I was fifteen years old!  I have only visited the beach twice in my entire life!

I have never had a proper holiday, the only thing that came close to it was a four day camping trip in Yorkshire with some spiritual friends, but that is the only real holiday I have ever had.  I am curious about a few places in the world, but I wouldn’t say I have a strong desire to travel; I am very boring regarding this.  I get home sick by day four; I can’t be away from home for more than four days at a time.  I am a home stayer and lover.  For some reason people think this makes me a recluse?

Unfortunately the places I would like to go to are so remote, it will take four days to get to them, I have researched, and so by the time that I would have got to those places, I would be pining for home again.  I find it a struggle to be in hospital for more than three days.  I know that isn’t exactly a holiday, or a hotel, but the ten day stay at hospital when I was having Henry was very emotionally difficult for me that they felt the depression was postpartum and very nearly kept me in longer because of it, until I had almost broken down and burst into tears explaining how I have never coped being away from home for too long.  Then they had to release me.

I think I know why I am like that.  In my past when I have been away from home for more than four days, I have come home to big changes that were always uncomfortable.  Also after around two weeks of being somewhere something strange happens mentally, where I feel like that new place is a new home and unless I leave that place quickly, I will start to pine for that too.  There are many places in the UK I pine for, even to this day, because of stays longer than four days.  Not holidays, family visits that were prolonged.  I don’t include a six week stay in Cheshire with an aunt as a holiday, funnily enough.  As a child being sent to this person and that all the time for varying lengths, I guess I have a nomadic heart, but I have always been bought back to base as it were.  I get itchy feet, but I don’t like to stay away for long.  It is all rather difficult to explain.

But generally the longer I stay somewhere the more I will pine for my actual home, then the longer I stay in that place, the more likely I will start to pine for that, like home.  Basically going somewhere new will be difficult for around ten to fifteen days, and then I readjust and think that this new place is another home.  I have homes everywhere in my head, but none of them are actually my homes.

Shrugs* I am mad I guess?

But yes, I miss a lot of places.  I miss a few places in London – Burnt Oak, Hammersmith, Hendon, Brent Cross, Wembley, Barnet, Finchley, Whetstone, Enfield, Northolt, Kingsbury, Edgware, Portobello Road, Camden Town, Kentish Town, Swiss Cottage and Kensington.  I miss Luton (I know who misses that?  Well – me), Dunstable, Aylesbury, Leighton Buzzard, Wickford, Basildon, Margate, Crewe, Leeds, Market Drayton, Telford, Manchester, Halifax, Sheffield, Sunderland, Scarborough, Derby, Seven Sisters, Maidstone, Barnstaple, Battle and whatever that little village on the Welsh border was (I never knew I was a kid when I was there for a while) same as a small village in the Scottish Highlands too, Crawley, Radlett and Slough.  Imagine if I did have houses in all those places, I would need to be rich just for them!  It would be ridiculous to purchase houses in places like these though and selfish.  But for me there would need to be three homes in specific locations, because of how long I know I would stay in specific areas for, because to me they are too much like home.  A house somewhere in Barnet or Hammersmith & Chelsea, London; and a house somewhere in West Yorkshire or Cheshire, as well as something suburban or semi-rural around Rugby, Warwickshire.  I could stay at either of these areas until I start pining for the other, then, instead of constantly pining for places I can’t even afford to visit for the day, like I do now.

I make do with wherever I am put though.  I get on despite my pining’s.  I don’t mean to sound depressing or down-hearted, but I have got used to disappointments and discomfort, as my mother always made sure I never felt settled in any regard in life.  Therefore, she has made me resilient to change and adaptable to most hurtful and life changing situations – by making certain things happen so regularly I eventually became numb to certain types of sentimentality.  In a bad way too, in one particular thing; that I have learned that nothing is permanent, I must always expect things to change drastically and quickly, things such as people dying.  Don’t get too attached to organic things such as people or animals, because they can die.  I will mourn an animal more readily than a human, despite how much I may deeply love that human and I have always been afraid of losing Paul or Henry, because, I am not known to cry for human passing’s.  It could be because my mother was very aloof about it all when I was growing up and if I was to shed a tear she would berate me and make me feel humiliated for being sad about a person’s death.  It could also be because I am clairsentient, a strong clairvoyant.

I don’t usually talk about that part of me.  It weirds people out, but it is a true part of me.

Some people when they die can take ages to visit in the spirit world, some people don’t understand that.  There is a cleansing process for spirits when they first die, some can visit us literally within minutes of dying because they don’t have that much baggage, others can take years before they start visiting the living again.  My grandma, Dolly, took nearly nine years before she started visiting me, whereas grandad only took a few weeks.

But generally to me, luxury is comfortable natural fibre clothes, the ability to travel across the UK whenever I like without financial strain, to eat a healthy diet, to have a lot of family time, gardening organically and for wildlife on a large scale, the financial ability to fund continued learning in desired subjects, charities and pets.  That’s all I really want.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Filed under Opinions and beliefs

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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Filed under Brain Drain & Dribbles

Depressing rhymes and therapy

WARNING – This post is extremely long and contains graphic descriptions of my past – sorry, it is approximately 5k words.  (For my stalkers, would you like me to send you a copy in the post so you can really scan and tear it apart in venomous discussions with your cronies or are you OK for now?  Joke, get a life, don’t read this if you are easily upset.)

It may seem strange and a little deceptive, but some of my depressing prose, rhyme, songs, poetry etc. are not actually based on my current states of mind, some are, but most aren’t.  They are memories of various people and sometimes even empathy with people who have loved as deeply as me; I in this particular week have heard several friends online tell me that their relatives, friends or spouses are dying, just died or broken with them – I mean a lot of people in just one week and this has made me remember my darkest feelings when I have lost someone I have loved either because of a life choice or because of the non-choice of their life suddenly ending.

I can very easily slip back into old frames of mind, by simply focusing, remembering and being empathic.  I am a very strong empath and I soak up the energies of my atmosphere like a sponge, if the people around me are happy, I am relaxed and happy too, if just one person becomes negative I feel it like a brick hitting me and it saps me and if you are close to me, you notice that when I go quiet it is not a good thing, that it is affecting me in some way deeply.  I have always been this way, I have always been a sensitive person like that, but I have always been a cunning person (according to my mother), by that I mean I have always managed to come across as unaffected or even cold, it is hard to read me until I get too much of it, then I explode like a bomb and become a wreck for a while and it always takes person who know me by surprise – they haven’t learned yet that this is my way and I can’t help it.  I think it has a lot to do with how my mother raised me, because she was always encouraging me to hide my opinions and emotions from others, saying that I must never let anyone see my weak side, must never talk about my weaknesses – but that’s a problem too, because I am a person who after a while, will start to talk about my problems as a means to solve those problems and act as a sort of therapy for myself too.  If I am uncomfortable with something or someone, I will tolerate it a long time before I voice it, when I voice it, it is purely to try and come to some sort of compromise with each other, not to upset the other person at all.  I always want to solve issues before they get too big for me, but a lot of people think that when I do this, it is a big insult on who they are.  Seriously it is not, I am way too liberal and cooperative to be vindictive and critical.

Where is this post heading exactly?

I originally made this blog to act as a therapy for coping with my past.  Unfortunately a relative or two found the website and spoke to the people of whom I mention and it caused a big extensive family upset, because I had never in my life, voiced out loud my problems to anyone until literally, it was too much for me to take anymore.  To think I took twenty nine years of emotional suppression within a malevolent coercive relationship where I was controlled by four people in particular in my life who are part of my extended family – people who quite literally had mini meetings about me and how to handle me and what they should do with me and what they should make me do, half of the time I was never invited to these meetings.

Some days I would wake up to find my mother giving me that look which tells me that my life and my life schedule has changed yet again or I was about to lose something.  Things such as, Tina I want you to drop out of your college course again because we have decided that you should do this instead or that instead.  Tina we have decided to send your new puppy to the rescue centre because it looks at me funny, or you happen to have the flu for two weeks now, we can’t look after it, you promised, so we are getting rid of it TODAY!  The amount of times we had pets less than a month or two, I didn’t realise until I moved out that it was because certain relatives would only visit around once every 6 to 8 weeks, so they never got to see the new member of our family.  Sometimes she would decide that I would leave a job, simply phone the boss right now and say you are never coming back, no notice. 

Some mornings I would wake up and there would be a different look in her eye, a mischievous look, I hated those more, they were very unpredictable days.  I would find that I would be the butt of a lot of jokes, the entertainment for the evening with her friends or some relatives, or victim of some nasty trick which plays on my fears – such as, I used to have severe clown phobia, she bought me a porcelain clown, black with silver stars all over it and a star patch over its eye, she knew I was affected by many horror movies which had evil clowns in them – so she would tell me she had seen shadows and things around the house all day and things have been unnerving her and how she felt watched and keeps hearing movements upstairs.  I was always bad tempered with these silly little things she came out with, because I never really knew where she was going with this.  So I would march upstairs in a bad mood to find that my unwanted clown ornament was sitting at the bottom of the bed, arranged in a position which would make it stare directly at whoever walked into the room – with two new clown toys either side it, those were more malevolent looking than the ornament.  She would sneakily follow behind me, I stood in the door looking at these unwanted clowns, knowing it was some dumb trick, but then she would go one step further and grab me from behind and push me into the room with them, shutting the door firm behind me.  Little did I know at the time that one of the clowns actually was radio controlled to laugh evilly?  It was very sudden and scary.  I could hear nothing but the clown laughing its head off as well as my mother.

My mother’s type of Munchausen was mostly mental health conditions, skin conditions and ear conditions.  She ignored most other conditions if they were outside of this niche she wanted for me.  For some reason or another she always encouraged an eating disorder, she encouraged from the age of seven to be paranoid about my weight, sending me to weight watchers, against their rules, but she talked them into letting me go and take part.  I would be put on very tightly monitored crashed diets and then made to stop, then she would over feed me and made sure I got bigger every time, then she would put me on a diet again and this continued into my late twenties.  Feast or famine kind of life, the damage she did to my digestive system was immense and I am paying for it big time today, my colon and immune system is in a right mess with what she has done.  She used to roughly clean my ears and dip my head into the bath to get my ears wet, despite doctors from the age of five telling her not to do this as I had terrible glue ear.  I was diagnosed age seven as having lactose intolerance and a suspicion of other intolerance, but mum ignored this and never altered my diet to help me.  The amount of times growing up I would have severe night-time diarrhoea that would make me exhausted the next day, teeth chattering pain and ice cold shivers whilst on the toilet, stomach in cramps, fighting not to vomit on my mums pink bathroom rugs.  She would tell other people that I was up all night worrying about the next day for whatever reason and keeping her up and that all of this is simply down to psychosomatic reasons because I didn’t want to do something or go somewhere and I worked myself up into a frenzy about it – the amount of people who believed her too!  By the time I was eleven she had convinced the world and even my-self that I had some sort of severe social phobia, but I always knew deep down I didn’t.  I had to play along with her game because the alternative was horrible.

I developed dandruff and mum made such a big thing about it that she was determined I had some kind of horrendous fungus infection the doctor didn’t seem to know about.  She bought a nit comb and would often scrape my scalp sore, weeping and bleeding to get it off me and gave me all sorts of age inappropriate medicated shampoos.  I had severe skin infections in large masses with huge weeping oily sores all over my head most of the time growing up and even as an adult for a time, one time was so bad it developed into a huge bald patch.  She would only let me wash or bath once a week too, until I made her change this when I was fourteen and was getting self-conscious around my cousins and family friends children.  She agreed only because people started to talk about how I lacked personally pride and this embarrassed her.

I didn’t realise until my late teens that I was dressing inappropriately either, around the house when guests arrived.  Mum made it normal for me to parade around the house whenever in a chemise day and night if I wanted to, even garden in it in the summer, even if we were an overlooked garden in North London, primarily as it saved on the washing.  I had no idea until I first moved out aged twenty that it was all completely shocking behaviour and that I simply shouldn’t dress certain ways at certain times even within my own home, especially with guests or overlooking neighbours.  I didn’t even know until then about personal private hygiene either, I had to be taught by my ex-boyfriend, he had to teach me so much, like how to turn an oven on and how to wash and iron clothes, because my mother never taught me.  She gave me chores yes, lots of them, but clothes washing and putting on the oven were never a priority, yet I was taught how to cook, but she always turned it on for me and chose the number and did the timer.  When this particular ex couldn’t cope with how sheltered my life had been, he sent me back to live with her because he knew I wasn’t ready to live life on my own just yet.

When I reluctantly moved back in with her, I had a break-down that lasted for around ten months and I didn’t leave the house for nearly seven months.  I think it wasn’t so much that he dumped me, it was that he sent me back there, to her, when I thought I was free.  I tried to get away again aged twenty four, but that person was very different to how I think about life and how it should be.  I didn’t get away again until Paul came into my life when I was twenty seven, by that time; things were getting worse for me.  Because as I would start introducing new things in my life, to get a life and becoming more determined to have a job to actually keep, she felt she was losing more control over me and this made her become very irrational about a lot of things and she started to become a physical threat.

Constantly causing accidents to happen around me where I would get hurt and if I disputed this with her, she would insist it was an accident and how foolish I am to constantly walk into the cupboard door as she opens it, do I have eyes?  Or am I blind?  I remember she had two BBQ grills once, one was cooked on and the other was still cold waiting to be cooked on later.  She told me she had changed her mind about the other one being used as there was plenty of food and not everyone turned up that day, so she said to me, Tina take the coal out of the BBQ for me and put it back into the bag, after she said this to me she whispered something to her friend and nodded with a smirk, I thought nothing of it until I was shocked with burning pain in my hands, then she laughed and said to her friend, there you are see, told you she would!  They laughed too.  I could never understand how many evil people my mum found to collaborate with.  Some were very lovely and were like family to me, but others were like witches, literally.  I wasn’t taken to a doctor or a hospital with my burns, both palms were entirely blistered, she wouldn’t get me any soothing creams at all, her only comfort for me with my burning blistered hands was to run them under the cold water for a couple of minutes.  When that wasn’t working for me, she reluctantly and lazily got me a bucket of ice to put my hands in, they were not getting better and I had to sleep hanging over my bed that night with my hands in that bucket of ice water in a heatwave of 30c, she wouldn’t help get me more ice during the night to top up, I had to get it myself.

As much as no one believes me now, who knows my mum; she often would call me over to kneel in front of her when she was on a corded phone if an ashtray wasn’t around, I had to hold the fag for her and let her drop the ash into my palms, sometimes it would burn, sometimes it didn’t then when she finished her fag she would drop it into her tea cup and signal for me to wash the cup out and get her another tea quickly, because she would want another fag in less than ten minutes again.  My mother is the sort of person who can drink three cups of tea an hour and smoke every ten to fifteen minutes, she gave up smoking just two years before I moved out.

I have been threatened with defamation for telling these truths, because there are people who simply can’t imagine my mother being like that, because they have never experienced this side of her.  One of these people happens to be a sibling of mine who is fourteen years older than me and lived an almost jet setter life from the age of nineteen.  Mum changed a lot around a year after we moved to Hendon, when I was just about to turn seven.

Up until I became seven, she was a normal sweet mother and I really wanted to be like her when I grew up, smoking and all.  But when things started to change by the time I was thirteen I really wanted to try so hard to avoid being the slightest bit like her.  I don’t smoke, I don’t drink like a fish from Friday till Sunday mornings, I don’t go on wild parties, I don’t send my children across the country to various relatives for 4 months of the year in dribs and drabs because I can’t be bothered with them, I don’t criticise my child endlessly and try to shape him into the image I want him to be, I don’t eat McDonald’s four times a week, I don’t constantly sniff, I don’t like starting arguments or drink endless cups of tea or try to upset neighbours or hit and throw out my child because he was open about being gay or loving a black person – I am not like her at all!

I remember one of my brothers once joked to see her reaction that he had got a black woman pregnant and he has to marry her.  I am not exaggerating when I said she didn’t just hit him, she literally beat him up like she was in the WWF (former name of WWE), he was curled in a ball in the hall floor begging her to stop because it was a joke, which just made her madder.

My brother often had fights with other guys after nights out, he had a bruise or two afterwards, but he was like he had survived a car crash when mum had finished with him that night.

I even remember mum telling me stories about how she deliberately arranged to break my dad’s leg to stop him from going into the Falklands too.  Though when this is bought up the story changes slightly all the time, it is one of these Chinese whisper rumours that goes on in my family, it is always different when it’s retold and if challenged by anyone who was horrified by the story – of course it never happened, whoever bought it up is a liar, that’s what they usually say!

My mother is relentless and tireless in her control of everybody’s lives, some people are too trapped in reverie to realise how much she controls their lives and their observations and reality, so they never really know or feel that she is coercing them in so many things.  It is so weird how so many people can live their life so blind all the time.  She gets them by being a very generous person who is a pillar of strength for them when they are both mentally and financially in need.  I have noticed a lot of the good friends who are kind and relatives who are kind are those who are disabled, formerly homeless, lonely, or were ex suicidal people, people who usually feel they owe everything to my mother because my mother had gave them a home, gave them a chance, gave them money, pulled them together when they were hospitalised and cleaned their homes for them without asking for anything in return.  It is difficult to get people to believe you about your problems with a person when the person in question seems like an angel to a lot of others.

I have been around a lot of unsavoury people from a very young age.  People that was always risky to be in the room with as a child; ex-convicts, drug addicts, drunks, violent people and those with violent brain degenerative diseases like aggressive personality changes due to dementia and Alzheimer’s.  I have even been babysat by said people.  One or two of them were not as good as they promised to be to my mum but mum always felt it was too much bother to handle the situation because she needed anyone to babysit me at the time.  Not all of them were family, some people were hardly known even by my mother.  I even remember once she was so desperate she promised to pay the electric bill of an impoverished neighbour who had a drunk wife beating husband and five kids, I stayed with them for the night and for them it was a normal night but for me it was a horror story.  Their dad came home drunk and beating his wife by eleven and I had to just get used to the fact that I had to stay there until morning.  When I told mum about this, she attacked the poor woman about how much this woman promised I wouldn’t see that kind of behaviour but a man like that is unpredictable, mum should have known better because she was raised with a father like that herself.

I can’t stop my therapy; I need to move on with my life.  I can’t be done for defamation because it is all true and I do have solid proof that certain things did indeed happen, despite how my brother wishes it didn’t.  My solid proof are minutes and papers from social services and a variety of charities which helped me from the age of ten to sixteen, I have doctors reports I can summon up at any time to give papers about how violent my mother had been to various members of staff, I have an aunt who will vouch for the violent outburst mum had too.  I just have too much to prove and I can prove it.

The thing is, if this goes further and I do indeed find myself in the court for defamation, I will win because of these minutes and reports and not only that, the person in question would do my mother no favours because there is a lot more I will never voice because she will surely go to jail with huge fines if it was revealed and at her age and current state of health that wouldn’t be nice for her.  But then again the person who threatened me with defamation was warned seven years ago that mum was too mentally fragile to know about this blog and the truth being revealed and that she was already suicidal herself about her health problems and they didn’t care enough about her then, they still told her, so I guess they won’t care this time around either!

You can only see how much weight mum has put on since she was told the truth is out, my mum eats when she is scared and only scared, I received an unwanted photograph of my mother a few weeks ago from someone online and I couldn’t believe my eyes about how big she has got. It tells me everything.  I didn’t want to scare her; I didn’t want her to know about me revealing things, because to be honest, I didn’t want to be the one who got blamed for killing her.  Because I still remember the sweet mum I had before we moved to Hendon and I still remember the good times we had, my childhood wasn’t completely horrible, there were good times even if it was always tainted with a bad ending at the end of the day. 

But I cannot sit back and let people believe that my childhood was great, that I was spoiled that I have mental health problems of the kind she claims I have. 

I do have severe mental problems but they are not the kind she tells people.  I have manic depression where I go into bouts of laughing and being happy and then going suicidal, I have post-traumatic stress syndrome, trichotillomania and self-harming issues, I still retain her trained into me feast or famine habits two sided eating disorder, starve for a month and feast for a month thing, mild dissociative disorder (where my personality changes, it has been suggested I have more than one personality, but I never had this dealt with by a therapist and it was hard for them as I never had different names for my different shifts of personality and they felt my personality was shifting a lot, purely because I didn’t have a chance to grow up and define my-self freely) my dissociative problems also cause me to forget the body I am in; make me think that I am in a healthier body and I try and do things and end up having accidents or fainting as the body can’t cope with what I am trying to do, I often have these flashes where I am some kind of super healthy and fit athlete and I try to work out and collapse within ten minutes as my shell is really suffering from more than one auto-immune problem.

Because of my varied types of guardians growing up, I have a strong chav come wigger side (excuse the expression I have no idea how to describe that), I tend to put my hair in dreadlocks during those times and write rap songs and hang around beatboxers and wear chav style clothes and big brash gold jewellery and black hats, a middle class side which is probably my most normal personality socially and my most used; and then there is  an extremely aristocratic side where I can’t tolerate inconsistencies in language and etiquette and I yearn for renaissance parties or larping.   Also as my father’s family are very Victorian in their manner and speech, I have a Victorian side and my speech can seem almost two hundred years outdated very easily, this is more seen in my writing than my vocalisation though often when speaking, a lot of my contemporaries struggle with my language usage and voice change. 

I also have a very aggressive side which only comes out if I am soaking up too much aggression around me and if I feel physically threatened, I was never told what this kind of mental illness is called but if someone physically attacks me (and they have done so a lot in my past) I get dizzy, my eyes seem to fill up with blood and I go blind and I snap out of it several minutes later to find out that I have hurt my attacker badly or I have been restrained before any damage was done, this has only ever happened four times in my life.

I must also admit – I don’t realise that my voice changes between personalities.  But I have recorded myself various times and I can do accents and different class styles very easily, I have been told by a friend who works in radio that I really should become a voice over artist as my voices are so varied and consistent.  When I knew Rebecca just two years before I met Paul I remember we sat down together and she asked me to deliberately think of my various voices and try some new ones to see how I go. 

My list is huge.  My best voices are, Marge Simpson, Jimmy Krankie, Joanna Lumley, Mariella Frostrup (when my throat is having a bad day and I try to be posh), Julie Walters, Jane Horrocks, Maxine Peake, Kathy Staff, Peggy Mount, Bonnie Tyler (when singing) as well as Etta James (when I sing, I have a powerful soul, mow town and rock singing voice); My best accents are Southern Irish, Scottish highlander, rural Cheshire, Alabama, New York Jew, New York Italian, Italian, Greek, Russian, German, Chinese, Japanese, Hindu, South Carolina country bumpkin and New Zealander, as well as cockney, middle and upper class west London, Essex and Welsh.  There are other voices I can do, but they are not defined as an individual yet, or at least we’ve never come across a person who talks like those people yet and there are some American accents I can’t seem to decide what state they are from either.  I do have a very versatile voice when it is in full working order and unfortunately I haven’t been able to play with my voice for nearly a month now and for an average of 4 months of the year my voice is affected due to severe throat infections.  My real voice sounds a lot like Martine McCutcheon and when I was younger and I died my hair dark purple which was almost black in some shades, people even mistook me for looking like her when I was in the street, but this is my main voice when around my blood family – my voice has changed a lot since but often floats back when dealing with my past.  My voice nowadays is described by others to be more like I am from the West Midlands, a mild, middle class accent which would make sense considering how often I was sent to live for a few weeks here and there growing up to Cheshire, Market Drayton and other areas around here – what makes people laugh is whether I was with blood family or not, if I got upset my voice would change into a very strong Cheshire accent all of a sudden!

My life was so unsettled; it isn’t difficult to believe how hard it was to define myself, even my voice.

This post has got far too long now, nearly reaching 5k words, I should really give you all time to digest this and I am very nervous about admitting to the kinds of mental illnesses I have in as much detail as I have.  But the mental illnesses I do not have, which my mother has lied about are social phobias, compulsive eating (yes I have an eating disorder but it is not that), self-isolation, hysterical tantrums and screaming fits on the floor and to some people she has even lied that I have a mental learning disability as well as going into funny trances and doing weird things which scare her.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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My lifestyle for food, skin and health (or what little there is of it)

A few people will be astounded to learn I am nearly forty as a few people believe that they think I am in my mid-twenties, I don’t look my age apparently.   Have been told by a lot of people that they believe me to be incredibly young, three or four years ago were the last time I tried to buy alcohol and was asked for ID because the seller felt I was seventeen, which wowed me.  Maybe he just fancied me?  But I have had straight female friends who are much younger than me have their mouths drop open when they realise I am fifteen years their senior.

I believe it has something to do with how I treat my skin and what I like to eat and drink.  I took Honour Blackman’s advice when she was on a show when I was around eleven years of age that she has never washed her face, she uses only moisturiser with some cotton which she dabs and never rubs.  I do indeed wash my face but never put soap on it ever, I wash with plain filtered water, hot first then ice cold, I do use a moisturiser about once a week which is Nivea crème, I use this crème on my face, elbows and knees, my elbows and knees are as smooth as a child’s.  I drink cranberry or raspberry juice twice a day, I drink a lot of water with very, very watered down fruit juice concentrates, I have never really been one for tea or coffee, I never grew up.  I drink around six pints of fluids a day if I am not having a bad day, on bad days my body can’t keep fluids down.  I drink green tea about three times a week and a hot honey and lemon most days.  I love berries and eat them daily, prunes, raisins, dates when I have sugar cravings.  Chicken and fish being my main meats with lamb once a week if I can afford it; lately lamb is a once a month treat.  I love pickles and sauerkraut and I aim to eat a whole cup full of green leafy vegetables per day.  My diet has to be gluten and lactose free because of intolerances which make my illnesses much worse, two years ago I was hospitalised with bronchitis only to find out that with other symptoms I had, I had severe intolerances and my health has improved vastly since shifting onto a free from diet.  I consider my diet to be a semi-paleo, Mediterranean and Asian diet these days.  I say semi-paleo because I like beans and pulses and I will eat gluten free rice, pasta, oats and potatoes, hard-core paleo dieters will slap my wrists for those.  Despite all of this I am very overweight still, though slowly losing the weight since the shift.  I am around forty pounds lighter than I was before the lifestyle change.

I will admit that temptations do set in and I often sneak in gluten and lactose into my diet with severe ramifications which affect me for three to five days after eating them, I have done this around once a month since the change.  I am getting tired of this and getting to the extent that if I don’t have enough fruit and vegetables in my day I actually feel really ill, so it has got to the extent that I need to eat around five pieces of vegetables and a fruit a day in order to feel relatively ok in comparison.  I am happy recently that I have found free from Paninis, hot dog rolls, burger buns, naans and tortillas which don’t take like cardboard, so the idea of becoming totally gluten free permanently is more doable.  I have found lactose free whipped cream and single cream, which also helps and the other day on TV I learned that Hotel Chocolat does lactose free options which is exciting, because I love truffles, which they do lactose free – I generally don’t like chocolate much though because it clogs my ears up sometimes, so chocolate is a once a month treat and it is usually only about three or four mouthfuls. 

I am impossible to cater for food wise because of my allergies.  I am intolerant to gluten and lactose, allergic to pineapple, flax/linseeds, camomile, thyme, shouldn’t really eat eggs as it gives me wind, should avoid binging on chocolate due to ear blockages, there is an unknown spice at the local take away which also causes my mouth to burn and swell, never knew what that was!  Beef can affect me in a bad way if I eat it more than once a week; I eat starchy foods but not too much because that affects my body too.  Certain candies can make me extremely hyperactive mentally and sometimes physically which can be dangerous when ill.  I am really difficult to cater for since discovering these allergies and reactions.  When explaining to a friend at Henry’s school a few months ago called Dee, she shook her head looked at me and asked “what do you eat”?  At the time I was good for seven months solid, without breaking my free from diet at all and I had 9 weeks of what I call, normal health, then I caught a cold and thought fuck it all!  I never did get that streak back.  Purely because the government cut our benefits by £200 a month, so the above diet I had is no longer possible!  At the time it was very strict, I only had gluten free products once a week to satisfy beans on toast cravings or ham and pickle sandwich cravings.  I still ate eggs a lot though, but it was a windy time.  I had health, but I stank, but that was OK for me, unless I was on a bumpy ride on a bus.  I ate fish, poultry and lamb, salads and vegetables, I made sauerkraut three times a week, I had lactose free cheese and omelettes with samphire and spinach.  It was tasty, but boring and predictive and being on benefits I can’t afford to eat as regularly as a normal person should.  I can’t afford it on a strict paleo diet, whether it benefits my health or not, I do not have the money for three prime optimum meals per day.  My doctor is concerned with the lack of certain vitamins my body isn’t having because of food cost.  In fact so much so, we’ve recently become members of a food bank, referred by my son’s young carers group.  They’ve recommended the only food I should buy is the food I need, the food for my son and Paul should come from the food bank.  It is a sorry arrangement, but something we can’t refuse at this stage. 

That’s my situation. 

It baffles me that I eat all these fruits and veg with a piece of meat or fish a day and yet I am still not getting enough nutrients.  I can’t afford nuts, I can’t afford to have meat more than once a day, I can’t afford, seeds, I can’t afford red meat, or canned fruit, or exotic fruits which are highest in vitamins.  I can’t afford avocados, or shrimps etc. 

What I can afford and have almost always in my kitchen available to me are chicken legs, cans of tuna, sweet potatoes, potatoes, gluten free pasta, gluten free rice, gluten free porridge, prunes, dates, apples, bananas, grapes, oranges, spinach, kale, carrots, peas, onions, ham for sandwiches, gluten free bread, sweet pickle (not entirely allergy free), mayonnaise, baked beans, parsnips and sweetcorn, swede and cod fillet.  That’s all we can afford for me.

I have eaten this diet and only this diet with the occasional food from Paul and Henry, such as crisps, biscuits and fish fingers (not allergen free) for about a year and it is sending me insane.

I could afford better food if my doctors were able to get a grip on many of my symptoms.  My illnesses dictate that I need tissues for my sinus problem and I need an average of 12 to 20 boxes a week just for the sinus and chest problem!  That is how much mucus I produce in a week, 20 boxes worth; I get no extra financial support for this.  I also need regular sprays for sore throat, Vaseline because my nose gets sore and dry, hay fever tablets because of my other allergies; I need approximately 12 to 20 painkillers a week.  I was told by my consultant that I need to have Canestan ear drops (as they do them as ear drops too) as often as possible but they said they won’t pay for more than a certain amount but you can buy them over the counter at £5 a week on average.  I need to have these drops all the time and I am not overusing them apparently, despite my fears.  Because my ears seem to have a permanent inner skin infection, which in layman’s terms means I have a permanent ear infection, try living with that!  Because of my digestive problems I was told to bulk up on specific vitamin pills which the NHS cannot provide, so again, I need vitamin C, calcium, for some reason kelp and zinc primarily and have been recommended to double doses per day.  I need a psoriasis medicated specific shampoo and body wash, again unavailable on the NHS and this costs me £12 a fortnight for the strength I need.

So when you look at all that, you can see how I can easily come into debt and cannot afford a better diet, whilst being on benefits.

If doctors got a handle on my symptoms I would instantly become £45 a week richer.  I was told recently that our local NHS is struggling to the extent they no longer do hearing aid repairs, so I was told to go to boots, so I guess I will be paying for that too?

Ho hum, there you go.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Cruel life

Life can be cruel, it takes things away

Happiness and people and health and play

You don’t know when it will happen, you only know it will

It is only a matter of time, I wished that time stood still

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Filed under Poems A - C