Top of the wheel

I’m not setting goals anymore in regards to novel writing, they get done when they get done but I haven’t given up; Yes I’ve had a respite since September 2022 and that is a long time, unreasonably long, but I had to have it due to mental health healing.  I had a hard time, there were lots of things happening in my life I had to think about – think a lot.

Lots of things in fact, lots of different problems to solve and many of them just needed me to try and calm myself enough to allow myself to think, then once I had managed to do that, I needed to calm myself again and stop thinking in order to heal from it all.

There was grief, death of a relative, a revelation I wasn’t sure was a trick or not, an announcement, an opportunity, a break up, a diagnosis and so many things all rolled into one major thing for me – that I could not cope.

Ultimately my entire life has been turned upside down and I am still in the situation of not really knowing if it is a good or bad thing just yet, I am still teetering on the edge of trying to determine which – it could be either!

It’s a strange situation to be in.

I feel at the moment I am standing on top of a wheel and if I fall backwards I will land in shark filled waters and if I fall forwards I will fall safe into someone’s arms.

At present I am still on top of the wheel.

It’s like sitting on a bomb really.

My mind has been so preoccupied with all these things that I haven’t been able to keep to my reading goals, my writing or practising of my art.  I haven’t even been able to hold a conversation without my mind wandering off, worrying about things.

It’s only been this past week I have manage to slowly and surely restart my habits.  I have started to write a little again, I have started to read a little again and I have even done some art.

Not as much as I would normally do in a day, in fact, I am doing less than ten paragraphs every couple of days towards anything, my one poem a day has become three or four again; my art practises are happening every couple of days.  It’s more than what has happened between September 2022 to March 2023 in any case and I am proud it’s coming back together again.

The frustrating thing is this – my typing speed has got extremely slow and I can’t seem to speed it up again.  I used to write 90 to 120 words per minute and now I struggle to get above 40.

I am making a lot of spelling mistakes and errors, cognitively I am suffering a lot and I don’t know what to make of it.

My Easter Project and Project AD has hopes to be finished before Midsummer, but I am not going to force myself, it’s still early days for me, I still haven’t fully healed.

In reality, I need a holiday – get out of this environment, get out into nature and remember how to laugh and play again – playfully scream – wash my hair with the rays of the sun – chase faeries – hug trees – and try to learn how to feel happy again.  Because happiness is a distant memory, one I am not sure I can remember how it feels anymore.  Strange as that sounds…

I also need to learn to trust again.

Trust in the process, trust to love again, trust that I have self-worth, that I am someone deserving and someone who can be free to laugh without someone complaining about the noise or worrying I am going to get over excited and hurt myself.

Because a couple of years ago I was bedbound sick and laughing really did hurt me, because it would cause a coughing fit and my spleen was swollen and so it genuinely was rather painful to laugh – but those things are behind me now.  But still, out of habit I have people trying to calm me down, because they’ve forgotten how much I have healed.

I need to lose myself in feelings that are opposite to negative ones – I need to, because I don’t feel very human anymore.

There are times I have sat back and realised all the negativity around me, all the bitterness, envy, jealousy, contempt and discomfort and I wonder what am I becoming exactly?  Am I becoming a demon?  Because the only things I can feel are variations of darkness…

It’s a scary place to be – see, there – fear – another negative emotion… but you see, I try to remember something a motivational speaker called Mel Robbins once said – that fear is the exact same chemical in the brain to excitement and that you have to change your perspective and realise when you fear something that you might actually need to try and tell yourself it’s exciting, rather than something to fear.

Odd… but I am trying this trick.

I am on the cusp of something amazing which is about to happen in my life and all I can think about is how scary it is – I know there are wonderful things coming with it, especially a lot of love and tenderness and protection – but I still can’t help but focus on that one major problem.  I have like 30 pros and only around five cons to this chance, yet it’s the cons that are taking up brain space!

When you see it like that, you realise there is something seriously wrong with how you are wired!

Wired might not be correct actually… trained is perhaps the best way to describe it.   Because I used to be such a Positive Pollyanna and it has only really been in the past decade that the Pollyanna in me has started to die.

I need to do what happened in the book Pollyanna – I need to find my tribe to help resuscitate me, bring me back to the light.

Although saying that, I think I don’t need to, I think – if I am reading things correctly, my tribe has come to find me and all I need to do is wait a little while longer, then reach out my hand fearlessly and say to myself – I am excited to be a part of your life!

Thanks for reading!

It’s just not me

I like to be organised and tidy, but if you saw my home you would accuse me of not being honest about that!

The thing is, it’s true – however I am in a constant battle for space and living with people who do not pull their weight around the house.

A large part of my depression is due to the blockages in the house.  What do I mean by blockages?  Large piles of stuff in certain areas, literally blocking my access to books, files, art supplies etc at best it can take me around fifteen minutes to access something I want – I can’t just decide to fetch something and take it away and be immediately productive.  Sometimes the blockages are quite dangerous and have heavy stuff there, so I can’t access thing without inconveniencing Paul in helping me get to them. 

As time is going on, more of these blockages are occurring around the house in more areas that used to be mine and they are blocked by things that are not mine!

A simple idea of getting on the exercise bike needs fifteen minutes of preparation beforehand, because people have used it as a coat, hat and glove stand and used the seat as a place to pile books.

I fight hard to tidy things away, but other blockages means I can’t move some things from one place to another easily without causing another major blockage.  Paul is definitely reverting at a faster pace than usual to his pack rat past, because it is him who is causing these blockages and piles to occur!

Since we have decided to separate he isn’t even trying to stop himself anymore just to keep peace.

He doesn’t care how this affects my productivity in all areas of my life, he doesn’t care how this is actually affecting my independence around the house by accessing things – he just cares about his own convenience of stacking things!

It drives me around the bend, because I am quite OCD and particular about things.

But being the woman of the house, who gets tarred for how it all looks smells, etc?  Not the man I can tell you, not the kids… it’s always the woman’s fault!  That’s just society’s psychology.

If there is a woman in the house, she is the one to blame for how good or bad the house looks inside, she is the cleaner, she is the organiser, she is the one who gets the bad rep for the shittiness if she lives with slobs and happens to be sick!

It’s how I was raised, I was brainwashed by my mother than if I don’t get a handle on Paul quickly, visitors will think I am the dirty cow – I am the lazy woman who allows this to happen and I have to tell you it has always made me paranoid that people will think about me like that!

Because it really is not me!

You know I rebelled a couple of times living here – I actually decided to play them at their own game – throw wrappers on the floor without bothering to pick them up because I got pissed off.  Those wrappers stayed there for days until I got mad enough to literally knock myself out and clean the whole room over an eight hour period, only for the room to look similar a day or two later.

It is normal for people to leave used tissues anywhere they like and throw their wrappers on the floor if it is by the bin, it’s excusable to them – sorry, and for me it isn’t!

Was given the disgusting excuse of how ordinary poor folk live like this – I am sorry but they don’t!

I’ve lived with poorer people than this in the past and they certainly aren’t dirty or messy!

They have their pride, he doesn’t!

The kitchen is fully Paul’s abode, the kitchen is the most disgusting place in the house except for the tops of the units and that is only because I insist in a food preparation area Paul you’ve got to keep it clean!  In the past he didn’t care, I trained that out of him at least!

Why am I telling you all of this?

Because I can’t access my books and art supplies in Paul’s bedroom anymore because he has caused huge blockages – I can’t access half my crystals – I can’t access any art supplies except for a box of sharpies and inks – I can’t access my new laptop – I can’t access the memory files – I can’t get to two thirds of my writing files or my musical instruments – I can’t access the tin food cupboard or the plates if I am hungry when Paul is out – I am finding more and more things out of bounds!

The amount of things I have had I have given away to charity in charity bags of mine over the past few months in order to try and shift things to make room and still there is no more room.  He stacks things differently in a way it takes up more space and I am left in wonder as to how the fuck he managed to do that?

Paul has a very strange incomprehensible phobia of putting up shelves, to make space.  He tells me to put shelves on the walls will make the walls fall down – this is a stone house…

Doesn’t make sense to me!

All I know is, several times this week I have wanted to review previous works done and I can’t find them!  I have also wanted to do some more art, but I can’t access the stuff!

I am going crazy… you have no idea how much at this point right now I actually want to SCREAM!

I really feel like jumping up and down on the spot screaming and screaming and screaming because of it – I want to scream at Paul for it, I want to scream him into action.  But I won’t, because I am passive and I don’t like negativity and whenever I try to assert myself with Paul he screams and usually takes out the mess blame on my son, which in turn starts him screaming and hurting himself and the Paul feels better because everyone feels as shit as he does and he knows that it’s just a screaming match and nothing else will happen.

So he can sit easy for another few weeks until I blow up again!

I don’t leave my bedroom unless to eat anymore.

Around September, I think I gave up. I’ve hardly done anything, because what’s the point? I am using energy without seeing rewards! I vacuumed three days ago and cleared my own personal corner in the living room. But, you can hardly notice now. I saw a banana skin left on the 3 seater that Paul and Henry shares, took 3 hours of nagging to make them throw it away in an actual bin! I’d have done it myself, but there was a pile of junk in front of the sofa where it was and Henry was sitting at the other end blocking access and wouldn’t give me it!

The horrifying things I have found around the house when cleaning I can’t mention, due to humiliation and disgust! One major thing is I have weak lungs and we do have black mould, but Paul won’t help me with it. I cant have my arms above my head for prolonged periods due to black outs and its above the window. Paul just doesn’t care, I sometimes wonder if my depression and apathy is actually a sort of empathic soak and not really my own problems at all. I am like a sponge, I totally absorb the energy around me and reflect it back – when around the wrong people, I become the wrong sot of person, but quickly become a different person around different energies.

That’s me.

That’s life here. 

I hate it.

I hate it so much!

It’s not me to be like that, dirty, apathetic, depressed, giving up – it’s not me at all!

Thanks for reading.

Precious time

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rich enough to put in research to life extending sciences!

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

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

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

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

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

Thanks for reading!

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!

Toxic quotes

My personal development is increasing exponentially in the past few weeks, particularly in regards to mental strength and adaptability.

My thoughts are starting to change about myself and other people, since I have decided to follow the flow of things and look at things from a different perspective; a perspective of a separate person to myself.

Basically, I have started to detach myself from my own thoughts, because my thoughts aren’t really my own, but the toxic memories of what other people have put into my mind about myself and others.

In other words, my negative thoughts about myself and other people are purely quotes from my suppressors reliving themselves in my mind, time and time again.  The only way around this, is to decide to detach myself from those normal thought patterns and regard myself as a separate being – a being I love and want to protect and nurture.

I have mentioned before, that Mel Robbins has said that when you look in the mirror you need to see your own reflection as a person you love, you need to high five yourself and treat yourself with the love, respect and kindness you would, a relative that is close to you!

This seems to be working a lot for me, also my self-value is changing. 

I still have a long way to go in regards to my confidence, but I am no longer pushing my toxic quotes onto what I think others may or may not be thinking about me. 

For example; I feel I am too ugly and fat to be loved by someone genuine.  This is a toxic quote from many people in society that I have put into my own head and believed for many years.  However, many large people and people who are not aesthetically blessed are deserving of love and are loved by people.  So why am I not saying this to myself more often?

I am worthy of love too and I am presuming that the entire world is shallow with this view and it really isn’t.

I should not define myself by my looks, but by who I am inside.

When you detach yourself from your toxic quotes, you begin to see clearly – you begin to see the pain that you are in and you tend to yourself as you would someone you love and support.  You would never lie to that person, you love them, you don’t say dishonest things to them to just bolster their confidences if it wasn’t true, would you? 

So why should it be any different for us?

Why have we allowed these toxic quotes to brainwash us into believing our self-worth is less than we deserve?

Because we care too much about what other people think!

So we think, it’s all true and it’s not.

Is it fair to believe that someone who is interested in you is really a shallow person with ulterior motives? 

Is that a good way to start a new relationship? 

No it isn’t, you are judging the new person in your life because of your own insecurities and that is unfair to the both of you!

Detach yourself from your toxic quotes when you identify the negative thoughts about yourself and a new person you believe could be judging you, when you don’t really know it’s a fact or not. 

See yourself as an observer of your thoughts and act in accordance to them, as though you are someone you genuinely want to love, support and protect.

These methods are working for me and please believe me when I say, I have had a lot of push and pulling in my head over this, but love is winning as it always does!

Happy reading!

The spirit of everything

The weird thing about me is that I have a lemon tree in the living room window called Cyril.

Why is he called Cyril?  Because Paul named him it, when I was thinking about what to name him?  I thought Citroen, but Paul thought Cyril was a good idea, so it stuck.

Yes, I am in the habit of naming my plants as though they are individuals, the same as I used to name any fish I can identify in an aquarium I had in the past.

There is no shame in naming animals, plants and things in general.

I was bored four years ago and found a nice ghost shaped rock; I painted the said rock blue and white, attached googly eyes on it and named it Rocco.

Rocco sits on a bookshelf in my bedroom, amongst perfume and little gnome ornaments.

When I walk into furniture or walls I apologise to it, sometimes if I am in a bad mood, I will slap it and say how inconvenient it was to move just then! 

I am the sort of person that sits watching TV and talks to it like the people in the TV can hear me – no don’t do that you stupid person!  Or, yes, I just read that in this book over there called “what not”, Paul has grown used to me talking to anything; it’s what we call our normality. 

Paul laughs when he hears me accuse the furniture of moving to block me, but I am still not so sure that they don’t move occasionally… because sometimes, it’s like they see a danger I wasn’t aware of, because usually when things like this happen to me, there is someone else charging around the corner of a door or other things. 

I still can’t help but remember what my grandma said about the fairy ancestry in Ireland she claims we have.

Paul was a complete atheist before meeting me, but he admits since knowing me and seeing the strange things that go on in this house since I moved in with him – he can’t deny there is something else.  He has said, since I have moved in, this is definitely a fairy house!

Why did he say that?  I asked him – he said well, since I moved in there is a new energy in the house, he sees shadows and coloured lights occasionally, hears strange mutters in the dark corners of the kitchen at night and food goes missing! 

Although I am a fantasist, I am also quite analytical.  So I said to him, how do you know that I haven’t sleep walked downstairs in the night and ate things?  He said, because when you were in hospital for a week having Henry, it still happened and the mutterings got worse.

I said, did you forget to feed the house spirit?  It was this time that Paul didn’t realise I left offerings every night for it, and so, he didn’t leave things for the house spirits whilst I was away.

Paul heard a crash downstairs one night, after I gave leftover beer as an offering in the kitchen, when we came downstairs we saw saucepans everywhere and Paul claimed he heard a woman mutter about “giving blooming alcohol to him, never leaves him alcohol”!  Then we heard what sounded like a cat fight outside.  So now we never leave alcohol, because the female house spirit doesn’t like her man to drink it!

My grandmother told me that the house spirit always follows the family, they don’t belong to the house – they belong with the family as they are family too!

Whether they’d follow me when I move out or stay with Henry, I am unsure, maybe they’d split the family, some will stay and some will come with me?

We’ve discovered there are seven fairy occupants living here, with lots of occasional overnight visitors.

As much as Paul used to be a sceptic, even he has claimed at the corner of his eye he has seen what they look like and he describes them exactly as I know them to look – because I am clairvoyant; or mad, whatever the case may be.

Dora Lilac-Switch is the head of the house and she does use a lilac cane as a switch to keep the others in line and Paul has complained he felt a sting across his calves when he spilled something in the kitchen and couldn’t be bothered to wipe up after him!

Paul has talked me into eventually writing a book about the brownie goings on in this house, but it might not be done for a while yet.  I have about seven other projects to do first.

Ray our house rabbit used to get tired regularly to the extent he wouldn’t move the next day, Paul started to worry about him, but I drew up a diary about when it happens to see if maybe he was allergic to fruit and veg we gave him.  It turned out the tiredness coincided with common fairy and pagan party dates, which made me consider – has the faeries took him to the party with them?  Fairies do get along with their animal housemates according to legend.  So, it seems they do.

Especially as his fur it usually roughed up and after he is over the exhaustion of it all, almost like a hangover and he goes into a bad mood for three days, like he missed the freedom!

My brother was also a sceptic when I lived in London, but claimed one night he saw a little man in his bedroom eating the leftover pizza on the floor – though my brother was drunk, he still saw it and that little man visits here from time to time, I think he follows my dad, so he doesn’t live here with me anymore; though dad has never said he has seen him, I knew his name to be O’Hara.

There is another little fairy called Lara who is childlike and she has the habit of knocking my drinks over if I have forgotten to water my houseplants for a while.

Dora helps me remember not to burn things on days I forget to put on timers, by chinking glasses in the kitchen loudly together.

Dora also helped me with the bad neighbour by talking to the magpies and they swooped down to attack him one day, but one nearly got knocked to the ground as he managed to swipe at it.

If it is mental illness and not reality all of this, then it is something I don’t want cured as it is excellent story material if nothing else.

But Paul and my brother were hard-core sceptics, scientists and physicists and they won’t let me think that it’s just my imagination – because how could they see my imaginings? 

Being analytical myself and also a former student of psychology and social science, I said this; “it’s quite simple, it is a form of mass hysteria”.  They won’t have it!

I never finished my degree in psychology and social science, I wished I had, it was fun.

The meaning behind this post?  None specifically, just something I wanted to share and something a bit fun about me and my home.

Happy reading!

Existentially challenged

For a woman I am strange, I think anybody who knows me in real life will validate that.

But what exactly do I mean by strange?

Perhaps I mean dorky, weird, and eccentric but also some people have labelled me as confused or having a split personality.

I might do, though I prefer the stance that I am existentially challenged.

I am a female, that occasionally wakes up and wishes for just that particular day to be a man, but it’s only occasional.  On another day I will wake up and want to be kawaii or gothic, or a child or an adult, or anything as the feeling grabs me and it is often a part of my depression when I can’t morph my body into how I feel for the day.

Mostly though, I want to be tall and strong athletic looking woman and have perfect long straight brunette hair in a long plait, wearing a tight white camisole and black jeans and heeled boots and don’t have the need to wear spectacles.

But alas, I am fat and hideous, my hair is the colour of straw with flecks of white and I indeed need spectacles.

Image aside, this isn’t what I meant when I first started the post.

What I wanted to say is that, I am strange because I am like an old fashioned man, or rather an old man.  I say this, because some people online believe I am not a woman at all, but I am.  I am just a weird one that’s all.

I was a weird little girl too. 

I was a bug catching little girl, who had pet snails that escaped in the night in my bedroom sliming the walls in the morning, creeping my OCD clean freak mother out with the things she’d find hiding in my room every morning.  One day she found a squirrel I had tamed, sitting on the desk looking like it owned the place and it screamed at her when she screamed at it.

I was a frog catching little girl too and I’d scrump my neighbour’s apples, well, I used to pick my neighbours apples from their tree that was above my swing, which she allowed – to be a true scrumper meant I stole without permission, but that wasn’t the case.

As a child my biggest emotional and creative influence was my dad and two male cousins.  As a child I had more male friends than female and as a child I loved things that most little girls shy away from.

I was the little girl who asked for matchbox cars at Christmas, Gremlin and monster toys, scalextrics, books, art supplies, dinosaurs, trump cards and anything to do with wrestling.

I was the kind of little girl who scoffed at soap operas and sat down with her father and grandmother on a Sunday afternoon watching horse racing and Laurel Hardy movies and other oldies.

I’d learn all the words from those old movies, so that when mum worked the night shift at the retirement home she worked in, me and dad would re-enact them together fully, like we were putting on a spectacular theatre production. 

Sometimes we did for my aunts when visiting grandma on Sunday afternoons if they were visiting gran too.

I was the kind of little girl who made solar system models and studied encyclopaedias like a bible, because my access to education was sparse.

My dad was mostly into science, war and film history and gardening and he was the most active in educating me those things.  I got heavily into understanding the history of automobiles and aviation and some of it still sticks to this day!

I was like a son to him, I am sure.

My mum I think was jealous and that is why she treated me badly, I didn’t grow how she wanted me to.  She wanted me to be image obsessed, watch all the soap operas with her, devour all the romance books she bought and gossip about people behind their backs viciously, like some plastic girl from the movie Means Girls.

Which was odd really, because she as a tom boy too! She never taught me make up etc, it was like she had hoped that me being a girl I would teach her those things – but its a mothers job to teach the girl!

But I wasn’t like that, so she made my life hell.  Really, it was like living with a school bully with no escape, she only backed off me when I caved in and pretended to be the Barbie she wanted me to be, which was difficult as I was a fat child who was a bit of a jock.  Yes, you do get fat jocks!

But I’d rather go to a local park with my dad in the evenings and play on their big adventure playground pirate ship and re-enact scenes from The Voyage of Sinbad or Blackbeard the pirate, with my dad and if I am lucky, my cousins.

I am still very masculine to this day in my ideas, hobbies, likes and dislikes.  I even took a psychological test once to find out what I am and found out my brain is a lot more masculine than an average woman, in fact, significantly so.

I am bisexual, I do like to cross-dress and be masculine from time to time and I don’t make friends easily with women, unless they are similar to me.  Usually creative, hippy or bohemian, or tom boyish too!

The strange thing about all of this is that I am also glamour puss. Weird contrast I know, but I love dressing up elaborately, like a proper classic Hollywood star, but I can’t be in perfection mode all the time, it would drive me up the wall.  I love maxi dresses and sandals, I like jeans and camisoles, rainbow coloured dungarees and weird shit like that, oh and cosplay. 

I am a chameleon I suppose, yes, I guess that’s the right thing to say about me – I am a chameleon.

You never know what you are going to get day to day and if you are comfortable in rigidity, we can’t get along, because I have to flow with my emotions.  Don’t judge me for changing my style yet again, get used to it, why so stiff and judgemental?  Don’t be stiff… unless of course… I digress! 

It’s the flow again, the water that is me.

I’m like a river, now isn’t that going to be a lovely poem?

I am off to write it now…

Happy reading…

Hedonistic pride

My life was an agreement

Born to serve

Born to live up to expectation

Stripped of honour and friends

Kept in a box, away from the world like some dirty secret

Kept silent by oppressors

They need to keep me down, lest I run away

But they forgot I was made from them

Stuff of stubborn integrity and hedonistic pride

Those were the qualities of my parents

My father’s integrity wore into me

Making me love the world and keep to strong morals

Don’t lie, don’t steal, be honest and stay real and learn to forgive

Whilst my mother put everything aside for fun and dance and games

Throwing people into the garbage if they didn’t think the same

She tried to clone me as herself

But instead I was repelled from her toxic potion

Deny me of emotion?

I grew cold and hard

I saw through her and I read books

Lots of books on psychology and how to

Books about courageous people and faking it until you make it

Eventually her crocodile tears didn’t move me anymore

That made it easier to walk out of the door

She only cried to keep me

But those tears were not real

She had my life to steal

You are a girl, you should be my nurse

I would graciously stay and do it too

But she wouldn’t let me live and drove nails into my heart daily

Until I grew to hate my biggest bully in life

No more excuses for her

She sought to destroy everything about me, so I would have nothing but her

A mother’s job is to nurture and she didn’t let me thrive

Stole every ounce of energy, confidence and more she tried

But I was half like her you see, I had hedonistic pride

I wanted to live and to party too

I wanted to sometimes to wear her shoes

I loved her but she didn’t me

Because if she did, she’d let me be free

A mother wants the best for her kids

She needs them to thrive

So they survive without her

But this she did deny

I chose to leave but keep in touch

I had a son and home

But she sought to destroy my little life and knock me off my throne

I saw the emotional poisons she concocted for my boy

I had enough of her, using me and him as toys

So I said goodbye one final time and closed my door to her

Because it is life that I prefer

Not to be locked away alone

Having no one left for me, when her life has turned her to bone

Happy Birthday to me, this poem is about why I existed and how things didn’t work out for the planner.

The workings of my brain

So I demanded room for my writing in the house, away from all of the noise and I have won; I have said this before, but I am proud of this little victory, it means a lot to me and my writing.

I have made peace with my body too, I am no longer trying to control its habit of dominating me but now working along with it, going with the flow; I’ve learned to go with the flow because my Chinese astrological sign is the water dog, when I go against the flow I get into all sorts of problems.

So instead of forcing my body and mind to do things it doesn’t want to do, I have decided to see what my body wants from me instead. 

So, when my brain is most likely to be active creatively, instead of forcing myself to stay asleep or go to bed at a semi-reasonable time; I have decided to let my brain do what it needs to do in order to get things done. 

Doing things this way has proven that I am losing the habit of procrastination, because I am not using up my energy fighting against my flow.

This is all well and good, but when I have deadlines to fulfil for my publishers in the future, how will I fare then?  My brain has to get used to the idea of doing some things it doesn’t like at times that might not be suitable for it.

So far this week I have started to write as soon as Paul goes to bed, this is the best time for me, because once Paul is in bed, the whole household is still and quiet – except for me, I look like a ferocious grim reaper tapping away at night in dim light with the strange gnarls of steampunk in the background.

It is autumn and I am getting cold in the night, so I am wearing hooded navy blue fleece pyjamas, with the hood up and a hot water bottle stuffed up my vest.

A grim reaper using Morse code to contact the dead or at least that’s what comes to my mind when I see myself in the mirror as I glance up.

Half in my bed with a little adjustable table, typing away; with ten books at the foot of my bed and a note pad, chamomile or green tea at the side table and the sound of a windy steampunk world all around me; it is as cosy as it sounds, or weird, whatever your persuasion.

I love my space.

I fought hard for this space and it is pretty here, the best room in the house.

I have a trio of different coleus plants in a huge pot in the window with a crystal hanging down at the centre catching rainbows to throw at me as I work during the day; because sometimes I do write during the day, usually around 1pm to 3pm as that’s the quietest time of day for me when Henry is at school and lunch is done.

I have my purple fleece blanket, my Alice in Wonderland and dragon collection all around me – to see my bedroom you’d think I was a teenager; you know, that girl from the movie Labyrinth Sarah? My room is like a homage to the movie, with the Brian Froud artwork here and there and the amount of fair folk and goblin books I have in the room, you wouldn’t know I am forty tomorrow.

Yes, I am forty tomorrow.

So that’s when my life is going to start, I’ve always planned it.

Just because tomorrow I will be forty and my life starts doesn’t mean I will grow up however, I will never grow up and you can’t make me!  I will still keep my strange and dorky childish things and I will still lack a sense of responsibility and I will always need a daddy figure in my life.

I won’t change that about me, it’s something I made peace with a long time ago and it is the thing about me that I am most proud of, more proud than any of my accomplishments to date.

Strange I know, but at least I know who I am and who I want to be in the future.

I didn’t choose to lock away my childishness because it didn’t suit other adults around me, I didn’t choose to lie to myself and regret it for the rest of my life.

I chose to be me, the best and most honest version of myself possible.

But I digress.

My post was about what my brain gets up to, or at least that’s what I think this post is about?

My brain is the most creative between 8pm and 6am, but I tended to try and relax with books or YouTube from midnight until I sleep around 3am, just because it’s more reasonable than sleeping at 6am.

So I thought, OK, give into the brain and work as soon as Paul goes to bed at 10:30/11pm and write until 6am, but get this… my brain works only until around 2am before it actually decides it is sleepy now.  It never does that.

In giving into my brains demands, I am now sleeping three or four hours earlier than when I chose to ignore it – are you baffled by this?  I know I am!

Though saying that, twice this week I have woken up because my brain had a random idea I had to write down – but ultimately, I am sleeping earlier and longer.

My brain is a funny old thing.

You know if something is complicated I will breeze through it, if it’s easy I fail.

Take eggs on toast for example, I burn the toast and break the egg yolk with egg shell in it, but make me do cakes, soufflés, pies and whatever I am a champion in the kitchen!

I am the same with sawing wood, it takes me twenty minutes to cut an inch into the wood with a saw, but I can carve any piece of wood into a pretty statue if you give me a whittling knife!

Don’t ask, because even I don’t get it.

Well, there you are an introduction to the ways and habits of my brain – I hope you enjoyed the somewhat weird insight.

Thanks for reading!

Songs that seem written for me

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

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

The Lady is a tramp;

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

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

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

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

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

Pain by three days grace;

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

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

What happened?

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

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

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

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

It can’t rain all the time;

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

Crush Em;

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

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

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

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

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

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

Champion;

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Smile;

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

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

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

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

Dollhouse;

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

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

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

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

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

Rose Garden;

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Touch-a-touch-a-touch me;

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

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

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

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

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

Cry little sister;

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

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

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

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

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

Happy reading all!