Some love

There is a darkness in life

The kind that should fade away

The type which makes the children cry

And takes their love away

Weapons should not be flesh and bone

A lover should not lie

Entrenched with self interest

So onlookers go cross eyed

A little heart goes a long way

A little thought and deed

Instead of thinking selfishly

Instead of filling greed

The children always suffer

In a world where they are born to this

Raised in anxiety without a care

A love they’ll always miss

I should know, I’ve been there

I was a child like those

And always I wondered why I was born

To carry those shadows

For a mother who would always want

And a father who always gave

But ignored the child completely

So it is love she’ll always crave

And each night I pondered

How little she really got

As her heart grew cold and lonely

As dad refilled her pot

I see her now alone and old

She regrets those wasted years

But not of loving me tenderly

But for choosing the wrong careers

As money was her motivation

And luxury was her way

And people she did not care for

Unless she used and threw away

She doesn’t see the evil

She caused for all her greed

She just kept on wanting and dad kept filling the need

Always using me as a tool

To get what she really wants

More money to buy her clothes and jewellery

For her weekend party flaunts

Not a thought of any other

Just what she could get for me

And all I really wanted

Was a present loving mother, see

Broken things

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I kind of new love once I guess!

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

Didn’t know who, they didn’t either.

Anyway, just a heads up and thanks for reading! 

Maybe she couldn’t help it?

As hard as it might be to believe it, but I am starting to understand things a bit better about how I was treated as a child.

I am starting to realise as I am getting older that both of my parents were not really normal at all, I had my suspicions about my dad, but he was lovely, I kind of felt my mother was also a bit odd but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it… I presumed she was a bit off because she too, had a hard life – but no, there was more.

I may be entirely wrong with my suspicions, but it is making me wonder…

I’ll get to the gist shall I? 

I have been reading a book called “An adult with an autism diagnosis” by Gillan Drew, because I wanted to better understand my son Henry’s autism diagnosis better.  But as I was reading the book I realise more and more that the book was describing my parents!

Both had their obsessions, extreme OCD, both self-neglected when things went into turmoil in their lives, both were excessively awkward with strangers and would never leave the house if it meant leaving a specific three mile radius and would abandon trips altogether if they needed an alternate route because of roadworks or accidents.

Both had irrational ideas and were easily triggered into aggressive mood swings that held grudges sometimes for months and in some cases forever!

They also took everything literally, they never questioned what they were told and they were both excessively stubborn about any knowledge that they had.

Multi-tasking was also a trait none of them had; they were easily flustered whenever they had to do more than one thing at a time and were easily irritated by sudden changes of plan.  Everything in their lives were run by a tight schedule and outside of that schedule they were easily lost and confused.

The main trait of autistic parents according to the book is emotional distance from people, especially their children, though they focus on them a lot and they will do everything for the child in usually a suffocating manner, they often neglect their emotional needs.  They often fail to comfort their child, or cuddle them or support them verbally, but are quick to criticisms if it is outside of their idea of perfection.

I remember my parents thinking that cuddles was silly, get off, what do you think you are doing?  Do you think that is appropriate?  I remember my parents cancelling things if it meant that their dinner had to wait even by fifteen minutes, because the idea of not eating dinner by 4:30pm every day except Sunday was alien to them!

I know a lot of the time my mother would refer on the telephone to relatives she respected about the behaviour of all of her children and based on their advice she would change her parenting method quickly and react to whatever was suggested to her.

Throughout most of my childhood the parenting was delegated as much as possible, I was passed onto relative to relative a lot of the time and in between that she arranged for live in help in the form of au pairs and home helps.

Sometimes my mum would let me get away with things because in her opinion she didn’t see that something was wrong, if someone mentioned that it was wrong to her she’d instantly panic and respond in a very aggressive and often violent manner in the embarrassment that someone else had judged her.

All of these things are very much like a high on the spectrum autistic parent.

This would totally explain to me the constant inconsistencies in her parenting style and her ways and how extreme she was.

I know she hasn’t been diagnosed with autism because she has lived in a time where those things were not widely known, but I do know that my mother went to a prove school and was expelled for her behaviour a lot of the time and she had psychiatric tests a lot throughout her childhood because of her strangeness.

My dad isn’t so high up in the spectrum I think; I think he is just socially awkward and easily manipulated by my mother.

My mother had what I called “flaps” she often had to try and control herself, it is making total sense to me now and it is a confusing emotion to consider forgiving her because she may have had this condition and didn’t know any better!

Seriously, that is what is going through my head right now.

Her behaviour on many occasions was inexcusable, but I never once considered that she isolated me because she was suffering from social anxieties herself – because throughout my childhood she kept saying it was I who was not normal and that she simply didn’t socialise because she didn’t have the time or energy because of running a family and a home along with ridiculous work schedules. 

I didn’t realise when I grew up that most of the people she socialised with were in actual fact distant relatives and not friends at all!

This fact only came about near the end of my nans life as she revealed several family friends to be 3^rd to fifth cousins and then it was confirmed on GenesReunited on more than one occasion that it was true!

Yet growing up I was led to believe my mum was cool and extroverted and wild, because of her stories and ways.

How she berated me for being a strange creature who was the complete opposite to her.  She said she feared that I was too trusting of strangers and that I didn’t know how to properly behave in public as I am too forward and innocent all at once, that strangers would get mixed signals from me!

Every therapist I have ever gone to has felt that socially there doesn’t seem to be anything amiss – that perhaps some of my problems are based around my mother putting scary thoughts into my head – but to them they thought I was rather mature and worldly and acting very appropriately in fact splendidly.

It’s very strange to consider I got this book to understand my son, but instead it made me understand my mother!

I remember growing up and hearing my mother ask me why I would do such and such and to have me explain things to her almost constantly and she would always ask me why I reacted that way!

I often used to cry about not being cuddled or having attention as much as other children with their parents – she honestly looked awkward and frustrated and often said “why is that important?  I don’t like to do this, so you should respect that – why can’t you just understand I am not the cuddly sort of mother”?

It was bad enough her rejecting me, but when I was around ten years old my dad started to say he won’t cuddle me anymore because my mother finds it inappropriate now!

Henry doesn’t like cuddles either he doesnt understand how they are important in families.

She was always asking me why about everything –why is this important to you, I don’t think that should be, you should think this way instead (her way).

She’d also never understood how people had their own hobbies, likes and dislikes and would easily get offended if you said you didn’t like something that she liked.

She always tried to tell me that as we have a mother and daughter relationship, it is the daughters duty to be as much like her mother as possible, therefore I should endeavour to dress like her, think like her, choose the same hobbies as her and want to be with her as much as possible doing things as a team!

She couldn’t fathom for the life of her that things don’t work out that way!

She was so self-absorbed that for years I didn’t realise that brushing teeth and washing outside of the once a week on a Sunday bath was important, until other relatives I lived with raised concerns about my hygiene standards when I was thirteen!

When I told my mother about this conversation, she said that she presumed I would know to have done it, because she did it to me right up until I was 5yrs old and she presumed that I would carry it on now I knew the basics… no children don’t work like that… children don’t understand those sorts of things unless you tell them specifically and remind them regularly!

When I moved in with Paul in 2009 my mother couldn’t understand why I wouldn’t have the usual meal time schedules, why I had breakfast now whereas in London I never had one – why I don’t do lunch at 12:15pm sharp instead it floats around 1pm to 3pm and why on Earth is dinner anywhere between 6:30pm and 8pm when it should be 4:30pm? 

Why do I now have an 11:15pm bedtime and a 5:45am wake up time? 

Why do I insist in going out at 8am every morning for a long walk?

Why do I want to have yellow and purple walls instead of ivory white?

Why am I wearing pink instead of black and white all the time suddenly?

Why… why… why…

Why can’t I be like her?

She couldn’t cope with all the changes, the idea of travelling up to visit me made her ill because it was an hour and twenty minute car journey, a whole 87 miles too far!

The panic of me leaving home caused her to phone me approximately twenty five times a day!

When she temporarily moved in with me because I wasn’t coping a the last month of pregnancy as I needed bed rest due to chronic oedema and blood pressure – she went around the house changing furniture to her taste, painting my walls her colours and throwing out anything she found ugly whether I wanted to keep it or not, whether they were special things of                 Paul’s or not too!

She couldn’t understand when I had my baby, that my baby was priority over everything, including her!  She was hurt and often whimpered and cried if I ignored her to attend to my baby, because I never used to just ignore and abandon her when she spoke to me.  She really didn’t understand the transition!

All of this makes me wonder if my mother was a high functioning autistic person.

It makes me wonder if she deserved my sympathy because she really didn’t understand anything at all and still probably doesn’t understand why I decided I had enough of her controlling, aggressive and oftentimes childish ways.

I remember before I decided to wash my hands of her, I told Paul; my mother is harder work than our two year old over there!  He is a doddle; she is driving me around the twist and endangering him with her stupid antics!

Thanks for reading!

Lost poetry & young love

The world has lost seven new poems in the past two days.

When I write a poem I am in a certain emotional state or a semi-trance and I write them; if I am disturbed sometimes it is OK if it is for a few seconds, but seven poems in the past two days has been interrupted for five minutes or more with much needed emotional feedback which meant the poem was half finished and the flow was gone, so they got deleted. 

I never get the flow back ever again when a poem has been interrupted in its creation, there were times in the past I put the unfinished poems into a folder on my computer and I have tried to get back into that space but it never happens – so poems that are disturbed like that are lost forever, so now I delete them.

Every poem I write always ends up on my blog; this is another reason why my blog has been so quiet.  There is a lot of emotional turmoil going on within the house and people want my response to what’s going on because I am the mother of the house; however, when you are mother of a house where your opinion doesn’t matter, what can I do other than sit there, give whatever emotional support I can, sit and shrug and say – “you know I can’t do anything about love”.

Its hard being a mother to a child and making suggestions for that child when the father has opposing ideas and is very strong-minded and shoots my opinions down like we’re in a war against each other!

It’s even harder when you know your child has come to you to speak to you in private because he doesn’t want his dad to get on his case again for his honest opinion about the situation.  So when he asks you for help, you have no choice but to talk to the father and then realise that the father seeks the child about it and starts the mini wars again. So the child asks for help, you tell them, I need to speak with dad and he asks you not to, or sometimes he says ok, but you know it’s always the same. It’s more difficult than you can know!

It is very difficult knowing too, that when you tell your child you are separating and in a few months’ time will be moving out – that this child choses to stay with the person he rarely goes to for any emotional comfort simply because he wants to stay in this house (which he will inherit as it’s in a trust for him) and to stay in his school with his friends because he doesn’t like the concept of change.

It’s hard because you know in your heart that his emotional declination is almost assured if he stays.

But as stupid and irresponsible as it sounds, my child is thirteen in May and in my opinion I should honour his life decisions whether or not it hurts me – that’s the kind of liberal parenting I do.  It’s all about my child, not me, that’s the way I am.

His father is much more conservative about raising children, education comes before anything – that includes emotions. I often joke that Paul is like a cross between Data and Spock, but in actuality it isn’t funny!

There are times when Henry gets emotional about not being able to do a question in his homework and I swear Paul is struggling to hold back from saying “Being emotional about this question is illogical, you need to do the homework now and do the emotional reflection later.”

It’s Henry’s choice to stay here and I am not going to wrench him away from what he wants, simply because my ego has told me I know better than him.

Maybe I am a bad parent, but for me, I want him to be happy and thrive in a way that doesn’t cause any unnecessary stress for him, also he has a girlfriend, he is dating already and so who can split up young love like that without having some huge pangs of guilt?

Thanks for reading…

He knows now

Well, something has occurred here today.

We have had a message today from Henry’s therapist.

I hate to say it, but I was proven right after all of these years that my Henry is actually on the autistic spectrum, I have known it since he was 5yrs old because I used to work with the mentally disabled when I lived in London; Paul however denied that his Henry is one of those.

Well today, Paul got a message from Henry’s therapist, expecting to hear a bipolar diagnosis, when in fact he is actually now officially autistic instead.

I am relieved that after all these years I have been proven right, because over the years I have tried to train Paul that raising an autistic child is very different to raising a regular child and I had tried to show him how to get the best from Henry – but Paul felt that it was unnecessary to change the way he parents with our boy, because Henry is not like that.

I am hoping the behaviours between my boys will change dramatically now that I have been proven right and hopefully Paul will become open to change.

I knew since Henry was 5yrs old because Henry had delayed speech and he has obsessions with lists, piles and grouping things.  He also used to walk on tippy-toes a lot and he has always been flappy, like a little chick.  He does better with a tight schedule and needs to constantly be on the go all of the time, doing something – but it has to be scheduled.  Outside of a tight schedule Henry’s behaviour becomes erratic, unpredictable and disharmonic.

Henry couldn’t speak in small sentences until he was 5yrs old, he would say things like, red ball play, rather than, let’s play with the red ball.

But as I have said in previous posts, my opinions about the boy is easily dismissed.

I am just really hurt right now that Paul dismissed my professional opinion over the opinion of certified practitioners, I know fully well that I can tell Paul how we should be handling Henry right now – but he will probably dismiss me again and again until the professionals tells him the same thing.  What upsets me is Paul usually lacks the grace to apologise when he is wrong.

So there you go, that’s what’s happening today, here in the family – we’ve also found out his school may be going bankrupt too, ho-hum.

Thanks for reading

Why bother?

Here’s a little heart to heart, I am not sure where this post is going, but this is the gist of it so far;

Dreams die when you are told no all of the time, or you have to wait or this can’t happen or that can’t happen, because, because, because.

It’s not always money that gets in peoples way, sometimes it is other people, sometimes it is health, and sometimes it is the environment, sometimes it’s the fact that with so many obstacles you lose the will to try anymore, lose the will to fight.

My dreams got smaller and smaller over the years, especially since living with Paul.  My dreams have got so small these days that I am even frightened to dream about what to plan for dinner during the week, even the smallest things – because, ultimately, I will hear a no or a broken promise again.

Or I may get half of it, because the rest was forgotten.

A simple thing like, I think I will have a side salad with the Bolognese tonight, the salad will be forgotten; so I go and make it myself without making a fuss about the fact it is forgotten again – then I am asked, what you doing?  When I explain I am told to sit down whilst Paul begrudgingly leaves his dinner to do it for me, because for some reason he doesn’t want me to do it for myself – then he snaps at Henry because Henry too, would like some salad as well or a fizzy orange drink.

I am made to feel guilty when I get upset that he takes over everything all the time, I am made to feel really bad because he is rushed off his feet and made to feel bad for complaining that I could have helped… it’s a bizarre situation to be in.

The fact that I don’t want him to do everything for me – but he won’t have it – but at the same time he constantly gripes about how tired he is, how busy he is, how inconvenient everything is… yet I have said I will help.  It is like he enjoys being a moany martyr.  Henry tries to help but he gets the exact same reaction from Paul.

So Henry and I sit back and let Paul do everything for us, whilst he moans to the whole world about how much he does for this family who does nothing, because we can’t and I have to sit there and stomach it time and time again, knowing the truth!

I mentioned before, I feel I have no purpose here, because my purpose in every way shape and form has been stripped from me.

For years Paul and I have both denied we were over around 2013, it is only recently when he thought he had found another woman, which we both agreed yes it’s over between us.

My battle for eight years was my health, but my new battle since getting energy and health stabilised is now fighting Paul for my right to do things for myself!

He won’t let go and what is more, he won’t help where it really matters – the things I genuinely cannot do at present without his help.

Mostly buy the cleaning materials I need to whip this house into shape.

Both Henry and I are very concerned about some neglect of the house, the leaking roof in the utility room and the leaking chimney brest in the living room are not priorities and recently, as Paul is getting more tired and since he is struggling with our budget, my rabbit is not getting what he needs and I have offered to use my own treat money to compensate for him, but Paul won’t hear of it – but he won’t do anything about it either.

I have heart wrenchingly told Paul, then we have to give the rabbit up then because he needs to have more than we can offer him, but he won’t have that either.

Paul’s budget for the rabbit tightened when Paul realised I was healthy enough to start cleaning him out myself, every two days, but that’s too expensive and too often according to Paul.

Henry heard this conversation unfortunately; he came down the stairs when he heard us.  Henry got involved too and Henry is more assertive and aggressive than I am and when he felt the same as I did, Henry’s response was his usual fiery temper.  Which meant both Paul and Henry went at each other’s throats again.

Both the rabbit and I recoiled, I went dead quiet like I always do when things explode like that, because I hate conflict and I know if I was to so much as whimper whilst they are at each other like that, I would make them both explode more to the extent Paul will either leave the house for an hour or Henry will try to self-harm to get his point across. 

This is one of the reasons why I find it hard to do anything, because even a small suggestion could be blown out of proportion and I am made to feel guilty for wanting more for the family, even if it is a bit of bleach and a clean rag.

I have said before, it is fine for Paul to live like this but I am not used to it.  I was raised under OCD conditions, my mother’s house was like a show room at all times, never a crumb to land on the floor without a vacuum on it no sooner had it landed. 

I practically live in the bedroom now, not because I am bedbound now, but out of choice; I can’t stand leaving this room anymore, because to be honest with you, my stomach churns at the mess of the whole house.

I suggested to Paul, OK, you are struggling for space I will get rid of a lot of my stuff, my books around the house, the unused art supplies and the leather futon nobody uses and that will make room but then he asks me – how do you suppose we get rid of it all?  I said charity, but who is going to take all this to the charity shop?  I don’t have time, I can’t afford several buses to get there – we can’t afford the alternative skip.

I give up once again.

Every little bit of fighting spirit and will power is just being sucked out of me with every month I live in this place!

It was ok when I knew I was wanted, but Paul has made it abundantly clear to me that yes, he’ll tolerate me here as he feels he has a duty of care for me, but who wants to hear that?  Who wants to know they are tolerated by a duty bound martyr?

Am I the one being unfair?

He took away my role as mother years ago.

I can make no decision about the boy at all, I can’t play with him how I used to because apparently it is my fault when he gets hyperactive, I can’t talk about our mutual hobbies together, because some are things Paul disagrees with and he will lose his nut when Henry obsesses over them again.  I can’t cook or bake alone in the kitchen anymore with Henry to teach him (Henry wanted to be a cook), because it is a dangerous mess out there and Paul generally takes over because he is scared with my disabled left hand that I may have an accident!  I can do nothing.

I can have my opinion about Henry anytime I like but I am always over ridden, Paul rarely tells me in advance if there are any appointments for Henry because he presumes the role of parent and completely forgets I am also the parent!

So what am I here for?

I have no value here and every time I open my mouth it starts a war or a pity me cycle!

What hurts is, when I find something I can do behind Paul’s back, he undoes it just as quickly – like he didn’t even see what I had done, so it makes me feel as though any energy expenditure is constantly unrewarded and for nothing.

When I started to use my exercise bike again regularly, Paul got into the habit of using it as a coat, umbrella and shoe stand, so I have a lot to clear around it before I get to use it again.

The house stinks, I am the only one who opens any windows here and Paul has put obstacles in certain windows so I can’t reach them, he thinks I haven’t noticed his trick, but he has.

He tells me the windows shouldn’t be opened now until spring because of the heat or eat crisis, it will be too cold in the house if I opened it for just one hour a day!

Paul and Henry are both nose blind because they live downstairs a lot – I live upstairs, my window is opened a couple of hours a day and when I leave the room I have to say… it’s not pleasant and is there any wonder I lose my appetite a lot these days?

Three days ago I decided to shut myself in my bedroom all the time, only go downstairs to eat dinner and pet the rabbit a few times a day, that’s all.

I can’t bear being down there anymore, especially with the vitriol between the two of them that seems almost constant these days.

They are bitter because I put my Amazon music on up here to drown them out and when I use it, nobody can use Alexa downstairs that music subscription comes out my treat money.

To think when I first moved in I thought the world was literally my oyster, I dreamt big, I had endless energy and ambition and I was ecstatic to get away from my mum!

I don’t know where all that enthusiasm has gone, but I worry about dreaming about a piece of candy at the weekends nowadays, because that is too big a dream at times.

I had massive dreams in comparison.

Maybe I can dream big again someday, eh?  Maybe…

I’ve never reached for just comfort in the past, I’ve always wanted the best that I can be, the best that I can have.

But now, comfort is the dream as I am definitely not comfortable here.

Paul is fine with making do and coping and adapting to less and less – I am not like that.  I always have this spark of… we can always find a way to get more?  Sell this, do this and do that… but it’s shot down by him hard, because ah, it’s too much effort or whatever. 

You get yourself into a rut when you live with people like that; people without ambition are dangerous energy vampires to the more ambitious folk.

I’ve learned the hard way – you can’t teach someone like him – he likes things handed to him on a plate without any effort.

I am not like that.  Well at least I wasn’t once, these days I think I am too apathetic to try, I am too tired and it is making me feel old and bitter!

I am scared I am going to become like him soon, because… why bother?

Why bother if I am going to get shot down and stopped again?

My son Henry is only 12yrs old; he is getting the mind-set of why bother… that’s too young!  Too young!

I want to bother, I keep tying to pull myself out of the dirt – but I can’t help but feel that Paul is there with a big stick poking me back down into it if you get my drift?

Thanks for reading!

I need a purpose

I am going to update my twitter feed only when I have written towards a novel project in excess of 500 words in a day; because lately that’s a feat in itself, because of the problems going on.  

Poems are fine, they are short and they sweet and I generally can write a poem in ten minutes, but long bouts of concentration is not reachable for me at the moment with the stuff going on in the house.

Ultimately a lot of the stuff is mainly quarrels between Paul and Henry; I am not involved because if I speak, it makes it worse.  I am just like the piggy in the middle sitting there absorbing this toxic energy feeling helpless and it is affecting my thinking processes.

I am also finding it hard to have my privileges respected, the privilege of watching TV or listening to music – nobody cares what mama wants in this house, mama has to always go without! 

Mama is easily forgotten here, even regarding food treats, which is why I have to ask sometimes, or I don’t get.  Easily forgotten!  Because I don’t have access to household funds, so this mama doesn’t do the shopping!  That’s how it is here.

I can’t clean the house, because Paul worries I am overdoing it, although I am good.  But he won’t hear of it. 

I can’t mediate between their arguments, because they shout louder to drown me out as they are two powerhouses battling each other and the little diplomatic me just gets washed out. 

You can see why I feel I have no purpose, can’t you? 

I mean what I am here for?  I don’t get to do anything, just sit on my ass all day trying to be creative and trying to not to crack.  It’s lonely here and is there any wonder why suicide looks so appealing for me?

If I had a purpose, I know I wouldn’t feel this way.  But everything I could possibly have to live for has been taken from me.  It was great when I had my garden, until the bad neighbour moved in.  Now I don’t even have that anymore!

I can’t shut myself out in the garden for hours until it gets dark in all weathers just to feel needed by the plants and wildlife, because I am getting harassed and Paul hasn’t the wherewithal to defend me or say something to the guy! The garden is overgrown nearly by 3yrs now.

It’s just all one big disgusting mess here! 

Thanks for reading!

Shove me in a box…

“You can’t have and do everything, you’ve got to narrow yourself down”; Have you ever been told that by anyone in the past?

I have endlessly, particularly by Paul – he has constantly lived in fear since we moved in together that I am overdoing everything, stretching myself too thin and he has tried to endorse a cut version of me. Purely because he fears I will burn myself out!

I never realised until now, just how little by little, I have lost myself.  Around seven years ago I became severely depressed and suicidal; I couldn’t find joy in anything anymore.  I didn’t realise until recently, when I have been soul searching just why this might be the case!

Why am I no longer happy?

Why even when I was being badly abused in a toxic parent/child relationship, I was still happier then, in myself, than I am now that I am free?  Because I realised, although I was isolated and abused, I was allowed to have my hobbies and a lot of them!  I was able to skip from this to that and know that the house was always spotlessly organised and nothing needed to be cleared away and cleaned before I could use it.

Although my life with my parents was terrible, I had the environment perfect for creative growth.

My heart and soul sings when I am able to read books at the drop of a hat, write stories and songs and poems and practise any musical instrument.  I could do art and I always had a dog next to me, I was never without a dog when I lived with my parents.

I could sing anywhere from the hours of 9am to 9pm without being hushed, as long as I isolated myself in my room or in the garden to do so.

I could get the exercise I need without clearing the floor and vacuuming first and have the right music to motivate me to finish the work out all the way through!

I could listen to any music and watch any movie I so desired; although I was isolated, threatened, blackmailed and all the rest, I was free to hone my skills and entertain myself however possible, as long as I just don’t go out and as long as it didn’t interfere with chores or whatever my mother wanted from me, which were minimal anyway because my mother had OCD and everything was perfect all of the time around the house.

But here, I don’t have the same freedom.  In my own house, I don’t have that.

There is always a complaint at how loudly I sing, it’s ok to sing, but do you really have to sing opera or songs that reach a high note in jazz?

It’s ok for you to have these musical instruments, but you can’t have your keyboard constantly set up outside of the box, there is no room for it – let me bring it downstairs for you every time you want to use it and wait until we clear the dining table and you can use it there!

It’s ok for you to do your watercolour painting, but we need to clear your art table up as we’ve had lunch on it today, it will only take fifteen minutes and then you need to fetch it all down from boxes from the spare bedroom before you get going on it… is it any wonder half an hour later especially when I’ve had a bad day with my sickness that I decided after all of that nonsense I don’t want to paint anymore?

Especially when there is never any room to store the art to dry and the work ends up with piles of toys on it and lost for several weeks… there is no respect with my efforts. Nobody cares, but me. I have very little personal space and I am made to feel guilty when I fight for it.

I have a 4ft by 4ft corner in the living room with my desktop computer and a chair; I had to fight for that space and to maintain it as tidy as it is like it’s some kind of ongoing battle… and it is!

They can take anything away from me, but not this space!

And they do.

Sometimes I need to pee, but I get hemmed in this corner by fortresses of lego or robots, then they leave the room abandoning me to try and get out of it, because really, they don’t care.  Or they barricade me in this corner with an ironing board and baskets of laundry and I have to wait a few minutes whilst they rescue me out of it, just so I can go to the toilet.

It’s nice he does the laundry, I really appreciate that – but I need space to do the work and I have been struggling for two years now in getting Paul to help me set up the spare room as an office, because I am too weak to move the huge cabinets up there myself to make room for my desk.

The mess is depressing, the lack of freedom to just up and go anywhere in the house is… if you can understand it’s… it’s just… I don’t know.  It makes me want to give up, stay in bed and rot away.

The only place I can absolutely guarantee a clean and tidy place with the freedom to move un-obstructively is between my side of the bed, my side of the bedroom, the upstairs landing and the bathroom; but lately, the bathroom is getting obstructed as Henry is becoming a teenager and floods the floor, so I can no longer trundle from bed to toilet in fleece socks without seeping into a lake and sitting on a toilet with a wet bottom because for some reason or another, Henry doesn’t just wash himself, but the whole room!

Is it any wonder that I sit back and wish to leave?  That I can’t cope anymore with this kind of life?  Because nobody I live with uphold the same quality control of how the house should be as I do?

Because I was stupid to think I could change a hoarder.

“We’re not obsessed with everything like you are” is the response I get when I complain.  “We don’t have time, we’re tired, we can’t help it” is always the excuse I get and I am drained by the whining and then I don’t want to create – I just want to sink back in bed and hope that I do actually die of whatever is making me sick! It’s probably the black mould, I never had asthma before I moved in here!

I was offered a free writers retreat holiday the other week, I refused to go because I was genuinely afraid that if I went, I’d enjoy the freedom too much and won’t want to come home again.

I am a musician as much as I am a writer, I am a composer and lyricist, I am an artist and photographer – but I can only be a writer whilst I live here, there isn’t any room for the other stuff and I miss my piano and keyboard so much, the glockenspiel, recorder and kalimba are available easily, but the house has eaten my harmonica and portable electronic drum!

Oh I still have it, it’s upstairs in a box, but I can’t get to it, it’s barricaded behind loads of boxes of things we never use and I can’t carry it downstairs to use it, without thirty minutes of tidying up first and then there is the issue that I am disturbing someone.  Or that “they” want to play my keyboard too as though it’s some kind of novelty game;

I am thrilled in particular that Henry has an interest in playing the keyboard, though he never practises, but why is it always when I only just bring it down for me after months of not seeing it? 

Maybe I am just a selfish asshole, but I can’t help feel I am being boxed as much as the junk in the spare room is!

Sometimes I feel I am in the way, that if they could, they would, shove me in a box and put me out of the way.

How I miss my music.

I need to find a way out of all of this, before I grow old and bitter and become a mega bitch; it’s slowly happening, I used to be happy for everyone, never a glum thought crossed my mind – but lately, I am getting envious and I am starting to turn green and have ugly thoughts about things.

I feel like I am losing my soul!

Happy reading everyone!

Do they resent me?

When you’ve been bedbound sick for a while you learn coping mechanisms, to keep you going; especially when you start to believe you are failing as a mum because you can’t do the things a normal housewife could and should be doing.

You learn to release responsibilities to your husband so that you can heal, so there are less hospital trips due to you collapsing over exhaustion as you try to pretend there is nothing wrong with you!

You learn that there are things you can still do as a bedbound parent, but it doesn’t feel the same.  As a bedbound parent you learn to make the most of a small space, you learn that you don’t have to need a desktop PC and you can use a laptop in bed with an adjustable table.

You start to think that you are a burden, but you can’t help it.  I became this badly sick when Henry was 3yrs old – Henry hasn’t really known a healthy mum, he is twelve now and my health is stabilising slowly.

You start to believe that your rocky relationship with your son who is worried sick about you, will improve as you get better – but that’s a fallacy!

Since Henry was five years old, he learned that the best way to have time with me and play is by sitting with me drawing, reading or playing Roblox games every moment he is out of school.

I was wrong not to set tight boundaries about that, because in all honesty, I never believed I would get better – in fact I thought I was going to die before Henry becomes a teenager!

But now I am getting better, I am trying to make a life for myself – I have lost nine years of freedom from my mum since becoming sick and I want to make it up to myself.

I really thought my immediate family would be pleased I am getting better, but far from it, they resent it.  Paul feels less needed and is dropping things at such a rapid pace nowadays that it is leaving me feeling like he is sabotaging my healing process because he is afraid that my health may mean he’ll lose me.  Because he knows I am unhappy with the state of the house and unhappy with the morose behaviour the people of this house has!

Henry doesn’t understand that I need to drop the games because twenty minutes of fun always ends up with six hours of lost time.

I am trying to hone my skills as a writer, keep this blog alive, learn how to use social media, networking with other creative people, trying to learn how to set up a YouTube channel and how to get into screenwriting professionally and learning Italian because I want to get back to my Italian roots.  I am trying to do this by my own set schedule and goal and time is running out!

Henry’s behaviour has become sour since I seem to be getting better and in the heat of the moment he has screamed that he wished I would get sicker again, just so he’d have someone to play with all the time again!

There is no emotional support from Paul regarding this – as Henry storms off because I won’t play for longer, Paul runs after him telling him he knows how he feels and how mum needs to do this and that, but also how I really should spend more than just half an hour a day with him and he knows its not fair.

Proverbially slapping me in the face in the process!

Paul is tired of updating my friends when I am too busy, sick or absorbed in free courses – he has made his stance very clear to me. I ask him not to be rude to them, because sometimes he can be a bit too terse with people; he isn’t known for tact.

I am in this on my own.

It’s my fault I am getting better and chose to actually pull us out of poverty because I can’t hack just making do anymore, so I have to do it all myself now!

It’s abundantly clear and it’s a lonely place to be.

I have resided myself to the fact that perhaps this family doesn’t want me unless I am in bed all day playing games to keep the boy happy and out of Paul’s hair.  We’ve had this discussion and it’s clear, I might be moving away from them soon – we don’t know when – but it’s something that’s coming.

The prospect of complete independence is stomach churning.

I’ve never been alone before.

I’ve always been dependant on others, can I do it?

Who knows?

Am I being fair to them? I can’t help but feel guilty for wanting this!

Thanks for reading!

Open honesty and healing

Henry is my inspiration to keep on going despite the depression, Henry is my son and he turned twelve on Sunday.

Other than him, the other things which keep me going are things I have to work hard to find and think about – it can take some training to learn how to remove yourself from your present state and look at yourself as though you are a stranger or a friend. 

Most people can’t bear to look at themselves in a positive light, because most of them feel too attached to who they are, that they forget that everyone and everything is changeable and that if you just forget that you are you, for just a few moments, you can then see clearly and work things out in yourself. 

For me, I stand back and pretend I am as perfect as I want to be – I imagine seeing the imperfect me right in front of me (easier to do in front of a mirror) but instead of judging who I see, I imagine that I love this person tremendously, because they have potential that they do not see – that they are in effect = my child!  A child who is very sensitive and a child who has been treated badly by others, a child who you have rescued and adopted!

You have to see yourself this way, so that you act cautiously and lovingly towards this frightened, abused and mislead creature; because you are going to be the one who rescues it wholly, changes it for the better and you are going to be the one who will make it happy and healthy!

Don’t see this person as the adult it might be, see it as a very young child, because that will trick your brain, a good method in making it more believable would be to make yourself look more childish, dress the part and put a mirror at a lower level than you, so you are looking down (effectively making yourself look smaller).

This works for me at times, when I have the opportunity to be alone. 

For me, one of the biggest healing methods is the “inner child nurturing therapy” I have kind of learned about in dribs and drabs over the years.  Your parents were either good or not, but now you are an adult, you have to parent yourself and you must do it with the kindness of a good parent!

As a good parent, if something happens in your life that makes you uncomfortable or someone says or does things to you that makes you uncomfortable it is your responsibility to take it into hand and to tell the person that you don’t like it and to please stop.  You need to think in your mind, that this child needs someone to stand up for it and you are the only one who can do that, because this child needs to be saved from anymore turmoil.

In order to do this, you need to start understanding that you need to heal, you need to acknowledge the fact that you need change and that you and only you, can speak up about how things make you feel and to explain that this bad thing another person has done to you, is a trigger – so please stop.  If the person is a true out and out bully and they find amusement in this and continue their behaviour or it gets worse, then you need to remove yourself from this person or seek professional help via the police, because no one has the right to make you feel like a laughing stock for your sensitivities – no one has the right to do this to another person, so please stop taking their shit!

Would you tolerate a bully doing this to your adopted badly neglected and abused child?  If not, then why are you tolerating it for yourself?  What makes you different from that child?

Nothing, nothing at all!

You only believe you are worthless and you deserve it, because for so many years you have allowed other people to dictate to you how you should or shouldn’t think about yourself, instead of understanding that it is just lies to control you  in order to inflate their own egotistical needs!

So stop it, stop it now – stop feeding their egos – stop making them feel good, when you feel so awful!

Consider this…

What wonderful changes have you done to the world simply because you exist right now?

STOP THINKING TOO BIG ABOUT THIS ANSWER!

The little things count too!

I remember things I have done in my life that have helped others, without me, they would never have got through certain things – everyone on this planet has done this!  Only you were so busy abusing yourself that you didn’t realise and remember you did it.

I will give a few examples from my own life, which make me feel better about existing…

When I was 6yrs old a new girl came to join my class late in the year, she had muscular dystrophy and couldn’t make friends because other children saw her as very different, she was also mixed race and at the time this was still considered rather strange in the community I was raised in.  I was very popular in this school and I had a lot of friends, I didn’t like how people treated her and I told them all how I felt about what they are doing to her.

I told them I was very sad that people find enjoyment in hurting another person, especially a person who is so sick and very scared because she is new, that because they are mean to her I will sit with her and I will play only with her until they feel that they can be kind to her.

This changed and the girl became very popular too by the end of the week.  This young girl has always remembered me and she found me some years later to let me know that she is working towards a career in fashion now and she insists that this one day, changed her own opinion about herself and that it was because of me!  I never thought anything about it, because I left the school a few weeks later and literally thought everyone there would have forgotten me – but she didn’t!  She recognised me when we were in college, I didn’t recognise her, yet she still had her walking frame and though she did kind of stand out, I didn’t specifically associate this girl as her!

I have helped several complete strangers, one of which was an old lady in her eighties, she had her shopping bag on wheels caught in a drain and I was walking past and pulled it out without thinking.  She stopped me for a moment to thank me, and I said think nothing of it and walked off.  The old lady tried to call me back but I was late for work at the time and told her so – she eventually found me, it was easy because I was in uniform and she came to my workplace to seek me out and told my manager how nice I was to her and that she wanted to do something for me.  But I wouldn’t let her, she was so surprised at my kindness and said it was so rare these days that she tried to work something out with my boss.  But I wouldn’t let her reward me, she always remembered me as after this day, whenever we passed each other she’d say something friendly.

This same job place, there was a woman who was having a heart attack in store, she was frightened and the company said that in first aid situations like this, if you are late for your duties forego your humanity and get to your post – but I couldn’t leave this woman who was scared for her life.  I was reprimanded by the manager for being fifteen minutes late for the checkout services, but I wanted to go with the woman on the ambulance like she requested, but I was told I would lose my job.  She died, but later on in the week her daughter sought me out and told me what her mother said about what I tried to do for her and she gave me a gift.  Meanwhile, they spoke harshly to the manager about their mistreatment of me.

I also found a lost child, a young boy around ten years of age who couldn’t speak English, his mother couldn’t speak English either, when she found I was comforting her little boy and trying to find her, but her actions spoke louder than words.  Because she gripped my arm and bowed her head several times to my arm and I presume was thanking me wholeheartedly.  I think they were Chinese but I am unsure.  But that little boy could have come to great harm where he was, because he was so frightened he was curled up in a ball crying when I found him in a place where a car could have parked and hit him as in that area, cars often parked up onto the pavements without thinking.

I have also rescued a handful of people from suicide, spoke them through their hard time online (people I never met, but had online friendships with). 

A few people have also turned away from a life of crime because of comforting words I supposedly had said to them which changed their ways and even gave a child a father.  What I mean is, I had a friend who fathered a child and his instant response was to run away and pretend she didn’t exist because he wasn’t ready to be a father.  I told him to speak this through with his girlfriend and work something out together about it, because running away will only cause both his girlfriend and daughter to hate him potentially.  He told me he was brutally honest to her about how he can’t commit to the child but he will do whatever he can to help her as long as he doesn’t have to live with them.  This worked out fine for them and in as little as eight months down the line he felt he had value as a father and eventually moved in and married her and now he is a happy present father.

A lot of people mess up their lives because they are afraid of being honest, because they think that their honesty is going to make things worse… how ironic, it is usually always the opposite!

Whenever someone has difficulties in their lives and they need a loved one to fully understand, they normally choose not to communicate it and things blow out of proportion.  I often suggest, well just tell them, but the answer is always – “I can’t, because (insert irrational fear here).  Those who have felt confident to do so, come back to me a few days later, thanking me, because, literally – their fear was worse than the reality of it!

My attitude is this… if a person hates you for your honesty and mistreats you for your honesty, then they don’t love you enough to be worthy of sharing your life!

Believe me when I say, there are more than enough people in the world who will share your beliefs, your traditions, your ways and ideas, you have just got to make the effort in looking for them and the only way you can do this, is by living your life as honestly and as openly as you can!

That is the key to good relationships – open honesty.

Thanks for reading!