Mind games

Remember the song?

You’re so vain?

Don’t be so touchy it’s not always about you

Though guilt and shame must haunt you

If you contest that it’s not true

I can’t be responsible for how you think and feel

If you think I’m writing about you, maybe you are ill?

Oh sorry, I thought you were playing

Another mind game with me

I thought I’d join in and play with you, like you tried to play with me!

It isn’t fun is it, when the trick is played on you?

Life isn’t fair is it?

Oh poor old you!

Sex and poetry

A warning first and foremost as this post digressed hugely into talks of so-called sordid activities and smut, when it was namely about my poetry. 

Sometimes I write poetry and delete it thereafter because I am ashamed and I don’t want anyone to ever see it; other times I write poetry and I can’t bear to destroy it, but I am also slightly ashamed to want to publish it anywhere, so what do I do with those?

I put them into my cloud in a file called “Never Publish”.  What is the point of this you may ask?  I may as well delete them like I have others, what makes these ones so special?

Honest answer is I don’t really know and for some, I know that I need to verbally read these poems out to people for their opinions before I publish them.

Most of the ones I lock away in shame are about sex and some other non-sexual but dark views, views beyond suicide or graphic detailing of body horror, many of which are from my past bad memory stores. 

Some of these poems pertain to the BDSM lifestyle and others to the occult – and because some people can’t understand a writer who can write from different perspectives of their own and they often label the author as being “whatever” label fits at the time pertaining to the subject they’ve written at the time; I am quite nervous to be branded a “whatever” wrongfully.

My point is.  I believe a whole caboodle of things and I write from many perspectives; I am able to separate another person’s point of view away from my own and write as though those were my thoughts and feelings and I think to be a good writer, this is an essential skill to learn but it is fraught with difficulties and discrimination from others who may misinterpret you as a person.

This is why I don’t share a few of the things I write and I won’t even do so under a pseudonym.

Some poems are created and burned alive screaming, some are written and hidden in shame and others published online or waiting to be sent to a poetry magazine when I feel confident that I am a poet.

I’ve been in denial of being a poet for years, how is that for amusement?

I have often been heard saying “I’m not a poet, I just write poems from time to time because I am bored, I’d rather liken myself to a lyricist who can’t compose because I can’t access my software anymore”; Look really darling it’s the same thing, but try drumming that into me… it doesn’t always register.

Tonight I wrote one of the NEVER PUBLISH poems and they won’t even be published, why?  Because it pertained to quite graphic sexual acts of sodomy and I knew that for some people this could be offensive.   I just wanted to write something dark and sordid because I am feeling more than a little playful and dirty tonight and yes, I am quite open to say that sodomy for me is not a sin – so that’s what I came up with and I didn’t mean to offend anyone with it but rather entertain lustfully – but I had my reservations because of the sensitive people in society who will think that I am just either simply disgusting or that I am offensive to their sexuality.

Whereas to me, I was merely celebrating it in true revelry and the poem really showed the primal urges of humanity at their most base and animalistic level, but I know in some ways I went too far! 

Sex can sometimes make us feel dirty, make us feel like unwonted creatures and this is what was portrayed in the poem I stashed away.  True delicious filth and yes a woman can relish in homosexuality of men and sodomy in general, I relish in pleasure by definition and I enjoy observing the pleasures of others, is that so evil of me? 

Don’t answer it, I don’t want to hear those dogmatic views. 

I don’t think that’s an act of evil, do you?  Not if I love it, not if I don’t judge it, not if I don’t hate it… what do you think?

I have personally done a lot of art over the years pertaining to sex and what some people in society would call “Sleaze or smut”; I like drawing sexual figures, sometimes in abstract, sometimes in caricatures and I get immense pleasure from it.  But, I was raised to feel ashamed about being proud of sex and my sexuality and you know… stay a quiet good girl and don’t show public feelings for whoever you are with.  Shocking girl!

Who do you think you are to constantly be touching your partner as you are out and about, don’t you care that you might embarrass them?  But for me, no… it’s not like that, I like touching and being touched, if I give a person the permission to do so that is!  Being in a sexual relationship with someone, why not?  It’s a given, isn’t it?

I like the protective reassurance of a man who constantly touches me in public if I am his – holding my hand, guiding me to places, snuggling up against me and warning the world off with one glare over my shoulder as he embraces me from behind.  Why not show the world how you feel about each other? 

My only concern with this is that I am so easily turned on the whole world will know I am gagging for it and can’t control myself, that’s my only fear with it! 

My whole life I have been a very sexual being from quite young – mostly with myself as pitiful as that sounds – ha-ha!

Time and again I have entered relationships where the other partner has not been very tactile and to find someone who likes to be touched in my experience seems rare and few and it’s disappointing to say the least and it affects my confidence as a lover and often makes me feel rejected by them and used – I say used because it is like they can touch me when the feelings catches them but I can’t touch them!

I’ve got out of the habit of being tactile myself and now I am free and available again to look for a new relationship I am afraid that I may come across as rigid as over the years the touchy touchy me has been trained out! 

Yes anyone can be sexual and they can have lots of sex and talk about it whilst they drool, but do they really understand it?  Do they really have what it takes to be a genuinely sexual person who isn’t shy about it?  I am no exhibitionist, but I am proud of my sexuality. 

For me sex is more than just dip and go or rather in my experience with men I’ve had dip and collapse in five minutes flat! 

I am no whore and I am not constantly gagging for it with any Tom, Dick and Harry, no offense to any Thomas, Richard and Harold’s out there – however, I am not a person who is just all talk either, like most potential and actual lovers in my past appeared to have been.

I’ve had lovers who are look but don’t touch, I can penetrate you, but you can’t do a thing to me, I want you to suck me but I won’t suck you types.  Selfish lovers, lazy lovers… I am not like that.

I am a snuggle type too, I don’t like going off to my own side of the bed clutching a pillow and not touching my partner whilst I sleep – I expect to be snuggled most of the night or be touched in some way – I don’t like how people join and then separate so readily like they don’t matter to each other.  The only time this is marginally ok is if it is a super heat wave!

I don’t like the fuck and sleep aspect either, where’s the pillow talk and the extra tease?

Why is sex always rushed a two minute breast fondle, a five minute dip and an all-night collapse… what the heck is that all about? 

One of my exes once told me that my drive is too high, I need to get it seen to, it’s not right and it’s not natural.

I’ve been told so many times that “It’s not right or natural for a woman to like porn; it’s not right or natural for a woman to think about sex so much to the extent of writing about it or talking about it or drawing lewd pictures of people having sex as often as you do”, apparently.

It’s not natural for a woman to be overly sexual, talkative about being overly sexual and proud of it either and being very open about what she likes and dislikes regarding it. 

But the thing is it is; only few women do, because most aren’t brave to voice it and do it, because of backlash.

Because as women we are meant to be docile and discreet and good little girls!

The girl who talks about it a lot must be a whore, must be dirty, must be tarnished goods – they don’t believe that a sexual woman can actually be good and loyal and clean and not whores at all.

I’ve had many partners in my time who had their sexual pleasures with me, but not many of them ever actually penetrated me, surprise, surprise and not all of them have been same sex partners either.  Most of it was heavy petting and BDSM games without any vaginal penetration outside of toys.

If you think about how many sexual play partners I have had there would a few, but how many were penetrative and actually performed proper traditional sex with me?  Two consensually!  That’s all, two – but to think about my sexual experiences and the number I have played with, you’d think I was a whore, because you would have wrongly presumed they all put their member inside of me somehow and they hadn’t.

Primarily because I do not like taking contraception, but that’s a different subject altogether! 

Women will have a hard time believing that there are men in this world who can be around a naked woman playing with her bits and never being tempted to thrust into her within minutes, but in my experience they do exist and they appear to be quite common actually.

I’ve slept with several men who never touched me too, just sleeping with them and never doing more than just kissing a little and a hug now and again, women too.  Yes this can happen, no sex. 

Sex shouldn’t be taboo, it’s the most ancient activity in the world and we’ve been doing it for millions of years and if we hadn’t have, we wouldn’t exist, would we?

Societies are prone to trying to hide their most primal instincts and they shouldn’t – it’s not healthy, in fact it’s very mentally damaging.

I am contemplating getting a smaller bed in my bedroom so I can bring my art table upstairs so I can do more art – because as I am getting advanced in years, I am becoming much more shameless and a lot more embracing my true self and the art I want to produce is not really something for a thirteen year old boy to feast his upon! 

I want to write more sexual poems and I want to draw more sexual pictures.  I accidentally took the wrong sketchbook with me to the dentist a few years ago and dropped it, a woman picked it up for me and wide eyed saw the nudes and the sexual art I had done inside the book and she said to me – Oh my goodness, you are just like Tracy Emin only better!

At the time I had no idea who Tracy Emin was, but when I researched her, I liked her ballsy art, but mine does appear to be more graphic and doesn’t leave much to the imagination! 

When I was quite young, I was unprotected from the adult world and sex was thrusted into my face at most angles, my innocence to these sorts of things went when I was around four or five years old; things on the TV, sordid parties I observed through the bannisters my parents had all sorts of things and I often found things around the house that were quickly snatched from my hand only to learn they were mummy’s toys.    

A huge contradictive upbringing I had, devout religious parents who literally believes in beat the devil out of the child, spare the rod and spoil the child and children should be seen and not heard types – but at the weekends getting pissed in front of the said child and partying like we’re in Babylon!

Oh and don’t forget the small one serving bottles of babycham for the kids to make them grow up more human!  You get that from the age of five, after your fifth Christmas and every party thereafter! 

When I was a lot younger I thought I’d have healthy lungs to pollute so I can smoke, because I have a smoking fetish and I always saw myself as one of those ladies who had cigarette extensions and called everyone Darling and wore a red silk turban with a brooch in the centre and laughing like a kookaburra at cocktail parties.

I used to watch late night TV alone in my bedroom on my black and white TV, mostly looking for Godzilla but oftentimes there were adult movies and gameshows on channel 4.  I watched them as a child without a real bedtime when I was home educated and nobody bothered me after 2am. 

I’d watched all sorts of things that would make a decent parent cringe!  I was told never to reveal my favourite shows to people outside the family if they ever asked, because I liked things such as “Tall guy”, “the man with two brains”, “euro trash” and “band of gold” as my childhood favourites, the latter is a program about prostitutes! 

I remember sitting with neighbour kids and cousins some nights watching these shows and we used to have big discussions about it all and what we’d do when we grow up!  Some of those were suppositions of whether or not we would sell ourselves or not if we were adults! 

I fully planned to grow up having all sorts of cheeky things around my house like penis ornaments and big red lips leather sofas and all sorts of funny, quirky things just for a laugh. 

You’d be surprised of the imaginings of a 10yr old that was raised unprotected from the adult world!

I tried smoking as soon as I became of legal age and after just six weeks I gave it up because of a chest infection, I was sad, because I had only just perfected blowing circles and got into the fun hobby of blowing smoke into bubbles!

I always liked a smoky room until I developed asthma in my early 30s. 

How I got into talking about all of this when this post was meant to be about what I am doing with my poetry and art, I have no idea – but I am having fun with all these revelations and no I am not drunk.  I haven’t had a glass of wine since Christmas!

And you can stop the “yeah but what else have you had in the meantime?” snipe too, I have behaved myself, so now so should you – you naughty, naughty readers you! 

So there you have it – well you are lucky, lucky people if you do…

So now you know, that there is more to me than just snuggles and rainbows, there is a very passionate woman inside of me who is learning to embrace the idea of coming out in full fervour and using her passions for both sex and creativity to the fullest of its potential and to Hell with the prudish shoot downs from a society who is waiting to suppress my most primal expressions!

I’ve been trying to behave for decades and its boring as heck!  I am bored of men who just don’t have it in them!  When I want a pervert they are either excessively so to the point my stomach churns or they are just all talk! 

It takes a lot to make my stomach churn by the way, believe me! 

Now, does this mean that my poem about sodomy is going to get published now, right here, at the bottom of this post (no pun intended). 

No.

Spoil sport, I hear you say!

Sorry, maybe someday, but not today…

You’ll get some smut eventually, but goodness knows when!

Thanks for reading and remember… God said go forth and multiply!  I often wondered if that was translated exactly true to word?  was it actually “I deleted my true idea of the translation due to the idea that an atheist (Paul) heard it and though it was blasphemous for some people and I am not an atheist at all but found it funny, so I got into a flux and deleted it! 

P.S There is likely a similar and more edited version of this on my blogger account in a day or so.

Nails are gone

My finger nails grew long for me, I was deliberately letting them grow – but alas, they were not meant to last!

I broke four finger nails over a two day period because they got caught on things and tore at awkward ugly angles and when my thumb nail broke yesterday evening I had enough and cut them all down to the same size and now I am starting again.

I miss my nails and I am a little disappointed that the kalimba can’t be played until they grow back, which could be about two or three weeks again.

I broke one nail by banging my hand on the desk clumsily as I sat down.

I broke the other one trying to pull a note book out of a box and it got caught on a ring binder. 

The other two were cracked and peeling for some reason or another, representing what I can only describe as filo pastry and were paper thin, much thinner than all my other nails and tore like paper too when they broke!

An ugly ridge formed on another finger nail when that was snapped backwards when I got it caught on my trousers when I was getting undressed and so that finger nail stuck up in a weird way and wouldn’t’ go down again – that’s why I got frustrated and cut them all the same size to start again.

It’s ridiculous having them all at different lengths and one sticking up like a horn!

So I don’t have nice long nails anymore

Shame really.

Thanks for reading…

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! 

Produce amazing literature

I have a remedy for this and a remedy for that

Which idea to pick of mine?

I have an idea for everything; my mind is like a shop of time

I will make it, I’m sure I will

For each idea I have, is a time I should kill

Every little thing that’s me, is all the ideas that you can see

How you will write them I do not know

For I do not follow the path you go

I have my own and a wonder it is

It’s a shame to steal another’s bliss

It’s a shame not to accept who you are

If you did you’ll go as far

As I have come with my ideas

And through the blood, sweat and the tears

Produce amazing things to see

In literature, that is made like me

Secretly missing myself

If you have been following my blog for a while now it would be no news to you that a major part of my life is about transition; you know already that I have been on a journey of trying to define myself to my own standards and finding my true self whilst escaping the oppressors of my past who suppressed the real me as an individual.

But did you know that there are some things about me that I still regard with shame or view it as mere stupidity? 

As I am advancing in age I am feeling more stupid about wanting certain things for myself, as aren’t I by society’s standards getting a little – well advanced in age for such silly nonsense?

Which such things am I on about exactly?

I am talking a hard swallow right now to admit the truth to you properly, I kind of did it on Twitter on New Year’s Eve but now I am saying it here…

I have never got over a big transition that happened to me as a child, when I was around six years old – literally my whole world and self was turned upside down and I felt I lost my identity in more ways than one!

As you know a large part of my healing is the healing of my inner child and searching really deep in my past and subconscious as to why I have allowed things to control me and dictate to me who I am, rather than being who I really am!

Recently I shared that when I was six years old I was removed from a very large family into isolation and having almost nobody for several years, it got better again around the age of ten to thirteen but mum then removed herself a second time from even more people and then again a third time when I was in my early twenties.

But also at that time, my body changed vastly the child in photographs of 1987 do not reflect the child in the photographs of 1988.  I was very thin and small for my age, I had pure white hair almost like angel hair, in fact I was nicknamed The Angel of Burnt Oak because of the pageant I went into as  my hair was naturally white and unusual, like angel hair!

Then for some reason in just a few short months my hair got darker and darker and became a medium brown, I started to gain weight, I started to become one of the tallest in class and I felt like I had turned into a monster.

My mum also felt that I had turned into something embarrassing too, she was no longer proud of me and she was my biggest bully during that transition and for most of my childhood because of it, because it shocked her as much as it shocked me!

So many major changes really upset me emotionally and I think it scarred me to this day.

A year later I decided to give up my dream of fashion design and being involved in the fashion industry, a dream I had from the age of four, shattered by the age of seven because my mother told me wrongfully that fat girls can’t be models, especially fat brunettes – that I had to face reality and accept that it’s no longer my path, so ashamed of me she stopped the pageants and karaoke contests.

At the age of eight my weight got worse because I was early to start menses and developed breasts quite quickly after that, rare so young but not unheard of said the doctor.  I got worse still when I was ten because I suffered a head injury from my mother which meant my eyesight got damaged as I had astigmatism which nobody knew about and that meant I needed glasses.  You have no idea the trauma that I went through with that one; my mum was already begrudging all my other changes – now this!

I just felt like I got uglier and uglier as I got older, is it any wonder I had a nervous breakdown at the age of twelve when I needed residential psychiatric treatment for a few months and developed both bulimia and anorexia for a while?

Anyway, weight came and went, came and went, like a yo-yo, one year fat, one year thin, it never really stabilised until my mid-twenties, then got worse again around thirty three when I got sick.

So what I am delaying saying is… yes, I am forty now, exactly forty – but I want to be who I feel I should be.  That is a slim, toned woman with my original angel hair.  It’s not bond, people mistake that – it’s white, but it’s the kind of white that looked like it had tinsel in it… if you get me?

Around three years ago I shared these thoughts with Paul, about how I miss that and how I would like to be like that, but it’s stupid to think a woman my age could look like that now and Paul wanted to know why I thought that?

Because it would be like mutton dressed as lamb wouldn’t it?  White hair all of a sudden, dressed in my favourite kind of clothes and colours, sort of Barbiecore, Moschino and a bit kawaii or rainbow Goth – I’d look ridiculous wouldn’t I?  Especially on the days I wake up and feel more masculine like a regency gentleman or a Beau Brummel dandy?

Though I’d admit, slim and white haired dressed up on a dandy day would make me look like a very neat androgynous version of Lucius Malfoy!

The funny thing is, when I realised why I am uncomfortable in my own skin things changed in my body again.  When I admitted I missed the six year old me in looks, I started to get flecks of white in my hair – ok its age, yes I know, I am not stupid – but you have no idea how those little flecks of white made me smile and feel more at home with myself.

What is strange is my appetite has been transitioning back to how I used to be too and I am losing an average of one to three pounds a week ever since. 

The more weight I am losing, the more white that is appearing in my hair, the happier I am getting with myself.

I think I will never be happy with my nose and actual face shape, because I want defined cheekbones and an angular sort of face, that’s not going to happen with an inverted triangle like me… but the rest is going to be OK.

A white haired Jessica Rabbit is probably stretching reality too much, but that’s what I really want to be!  Ha-ha!

Make all the men go loopy with my French and Italian skills too!

But meh, back to reality, I still have fifty pounds to lose and I am only a third white right now.

But yes, I feel stupid and a little embarrassed sharing this with you all… I don’t know why I should feel that way but there you go… I do.

I still haven’t had news about the braces I am supposed to be getting or the extra filling I need for another tooth, our dentist is over-stretched.  I am disappointed as its delaying my goals by several months!  I am embarrassed about the lost front tooth so much so it is making me debate whether I am confident or not to show my face on YouTube after all, it’s noticeable but thankfully it’s only a half gap, not a full one because the tooth was kind of sticky out at an angle before it was removed.  Other than closing the gap, my teeth are quite nice now.

In the past few weeks I have been letting my nails grow again, but I keep accidentally ripping flesh off myself in my sleep and although I love my nail now – I can’t help but think I am one step away from cutting them short again, because I am just so sore right now! 

A home French manicure is my favourite way to have them and having nails means I can effectively play my kalimba again!

So I am trying so hard not to cut them down!

Thanks for reading!

Why I smile when I am sad

Shame is a feeling I am familiar with

Anger is a feeling I have lived with

Envy is a feeling I still experience and share with shame

As with pride it is the same

I know all too well the crying game

As sadness rips my heart again

And bitterness takes control of me

Whilst I look at others in their glee as they glance and then look down on me

I have seen the cunning face of those people who will disgrace

My name my status my love and care, they enjoy it I swear, I swear

But they don’t know the love I have

The forgiveness I give when they’re bad

The joy I have when they say they are sorry

But not many do so it is a quarry

That many do not like to go and so they continue spreading woe

Because they can’t stand to be so deep

They’d rather forget and stay asleep

To the pain they cause and the harm and shame

They keep on repeating again and again

Some people learn and others don’t

Because it’s too hard so they won’t

But I have seen some better men

Who have changed their ways and turned to Zen

I have faith that not all is bad

This is why I smile when I am sad

Naturally Glamorous

My weird contrasts are even astounding to me.

On the one hand, I am a hippy nature’s child running bare foot in the garden catching frogs, collecting snail shells and taking home pretty pebbles and rocks from the woodlands on my walks and making leaf nests and mud pies with children; then on the other hand I am spellbound by shinies, fluffies, heady scents and glamour!

Since I was very small I have struggled with who I want to be – which one do I want to be…  sugar and spice and all things nice Elizabeth Taylor… or up to my knees in mud with autumn leaves in my hair in dungarees Elle Mae Clampett?

All my life I have had people say to me unless I can make that decision, people will always think I have a split personality and mental problems and nobody is going to take me seriously either way!  I have to make a decision… I never could.

As I am getting older I am trying to define myself and narrow myself down, but these two basic personalities in me just can’t be cut away…

They are both too prominent, but I have to say Sugar and Spice is more neglected than the Natures child in me, because I never had anyone teach me how to wear makeup and style the hair appropriately.  I know how to spruce myself up nice when I need to, but I tend not to wear makeup unless I get offered one of those free make overs at a cosmetics store, which I used to go to often when I was on the dating scene.

So there are a few people in the world who doesn’t know that side of me.

I have to admit, that side of me is filled with guilt and shame, because nobody likes a vain person – nobody likes a show off!  Well not in the circles I’ve ran in.

I used to tell people, I don’t do it to show off, I do it to feel nice and happy in myself – but the kind of people I knew didn’t think I was telling the truth, they thought that I thought I was better than them!  I never did and never do – because quite personally, I think I am hideous!

The only thing that is ever going to change my mind about how pretty I am or not, is being on the front page of a big fashion magazine without any criticism headlined and that’s probably never going to happen!

Out of all the major Hollywood stars I saw on TV and in magazines growing up, the one that impressed me the most with her regality and beauty was Elizabeth Taylor and every Christmas on my present wish list is always at least one perfume from her brand, which I tend to get!

I look at stars today on TV and I wonder what has happened?  What has happened to the traditional glamourous woman?  There are less than ten major celebrity women that impress me these days and the one that impresses me the most is Lady Gaga, as she knows what real traditional glamour is!

Paul used to say I scare him, because when I become an author he is sure I’d be a best-seller and he is sure I am going to need to be like Roseanne Barr, where I have to buy a house just to store my clothes!

Does he actually know how little authors get?

I don’t think I will be that excessive, but I can see myself having good quality evening wear where they may need to be stored in a preserving way, like museum pieces.

But despite how much I love glitz and glamour, I find it morally difficult to justify the expense and this is where I have a lot of inner conflict!

I have a tremendous guilt conscience about money and being thought of as better than someone else – because it’s not me… I am nice, I don’t brag, I hate hurting people’s feelings, I genuinely care for people who I think are less fortunate and it hurts me to think that they often think so little of me in return. 

Because I have never always been this poor, I have said it in the past and it is true!

My grandmother comes from traditional aristocratic stock, she never liked how much I love costume jewellery, because to her, it is cheap tack – but to me, I liked how they shine and look – to me it’s not the cost it’s the look!

She never under understood that for me it is aesthetic not saleability when family falls on hard times!

She always said when you get the money, buy lots of high value gold and keep it in store as you never know when you will need it for a hard time! 

I collected a lot of junk in her opinion over the years and many of which I gave away to charity about four or five years ago as I felt I will never be well enough to ever spruce myself up again.  In fact, up until late last year, I really thought I’d be dead by 45 as I was getting sicker.

But I am getting a little better, though I am going through a health blip right now with a chest infection – it’s not as bad as it used to be!

I started talking about this subject because I found something I thought I had thrown away a long time ago, it was hiding in the back of a rarely opened drawer – a massive fake diamond ring, made of plastic but it’s on a cheap silver base and I mean it is massive!  It’s larger than a postage stamp. 

I wore it today and I felt very nostalgic and kind of sad.

I looked in the mirror whilst wearing it and that was a big mistake… instant fallen from grace feeling – I don’t often eat my feelings unless I am angry, as I am an angry eater… but today I ate my feelings of sadness with a mince pie and felt instant regret and shame.

Tried to cheer myself up with “Well it is Christmas”!

Didn’t work, sat my buns down on the bed, typing this up and hoping this time next year, I’d had reached my weight goal and I had reached my self-employment goal and I would feel a little like the old me again!

But who knows, maybe I’d have pulled my finger out and got a best-seller and got this weird 100k deal Paul imagines I’ll get!

Lol, yeah right…

So why do I hate talking about this sort of thing?  Because I have lived a very good life in the past and when people know you have money, the vultures come out or the people who hate you and guilt trip you into their sad stories or force you to believe that it is your duty as a wealthy person to donate 75% of your money! 

Not a lot of people will actually listen to well off people, about discrimination – because they sarcastically say “aw yeah, poor little rich girl”, so I have been made to feel ashamed of having better and it is hard not to feel guilt when talking about these things!  Especially since a lot of my former social circles have abandoned me and I am quite literally alone in the world, without people who understands me and my side of the coin! 

But in my experience, aristocrats and the wealthy are more discriminated than other types of people, but we can’t voice it, because nobody can believe we have a hard life too and most think, we deserve the shit we get!  But it’s all just spiteful jealousy.

Well I am like you now… good laugh isn’t it, bet you feel great about it, one less rich bitch to worry about?

It’s hard not to be bitter about this sort of thing!

Thanks for reading!

Meet my shadow

Would you like to see my shadow?

My shadow self, I mean. 

Do you even know what I am talking about?

No?

Well, a shadow self is the dark side of you – the personality traits and habits you have that you are not proud of having and try to repress, the things you feel shame about, the things you fight hard against.   For many people its things like anger, sadness, rage, jealousy and cruelty and habits like addiction, self-harming and so forth.

So, do you want to see my shadow?  Or at least the bits I am willing to share about it?

If not, then tough – because this is what this post is about, my shadow self!

A lot of the shame aspect of my shadow isn’t so much my real feelings about them, but the kinds of feelings I was beaten into believing is shameful about them – brainwashed brutally by others to supress about myself. 

Some things about my shadow self, I am actually rather proud of and I want to bring it out into the open a lot more.  But because I was brutalised into shame for those things, I can’t help but burn up all over whenever I dare think about being that person!

When I was a lot younger, I am talking adolescent age; I took up smoking for a few weeks until I developed a bad chest infection. 

It is one of my hidden fetishes as I found smoking sexy in some ways and still do; even though it’s not sexy at all really… it’s dangerous for the health.  But I am definitely someone who finds certain styles of smokers pleasing to look at.  This is one of the things I feel shame about, because it’s a selfish act – I am not thinking of the smoker’s health here, just my own lust at the aesthetic of at looking at them.

I took up smoking because I wanted to be that sexy smoker with the cigarette extension at posh parties, but my chest couldn’t take it, so it soon stopped!

I won’t go back into it again and my own guilty conscience could never use anyone for that aesthetic, as I really do care about people I love.

Although I am a very open person and I have lived with polygamists and been involved with open relationships, I am a jealous person – if I know I am not getting the quality of attention and care I desire; if neglected too long I can be positively vicious or over enthusiastic, depends on the person and what happened between us.

I admit I can be a vengeful person, but I tend to decline from violence whenever possible because I have a problem that can’t be managed well, when in a violent situation.  I am afraid to admit that I have been physically brutalised so much in my life, I have the same traumatic response as a war veteran. 

If violence is not easily avoided, I zone out, go red and attack back to the extent I can’t relay what I did to the person, other people have to tell me.  It’s like I go into a trance or something.  This is why, if I feel a violent situation is going too far I have to do the so-called cowardly thing and walk away!  It’s a huge part of the PTSD I have.

I know it sounds counterproductive, but this is where another fetish of mine comes in useful – I have been involved deeply in the BDSM lifestyle as both sub and dominant.  I prefer sub when I am in a relationship where I completely love and respect the man, it’s hard when I don’t love deeply or respect them enough to submit to them  It does matter to me, I can’t just submit to anyone.

But a good trusting dominant that I love and respect, knows what boundaries I have and respects them, pushes them from time to time as they build trust with me and it actually helps with the PTSD over a time. 

It’s hard for me to top a guy I love and respect though.  I prefer not being the dominant partner if am honest with you.

Which leads to another shadow trait I have – intense pride, I feel a lot of pride when I am a submissive to the right guy – I am proud for being what they need me to be at the time, I am proud to help, proud to do things… if those things make me comfortable and they respect my boundaries.  Now for those who aren’t involved in the lifestyle, you may feel that a submissive can’t have boundaries – but they do, in fact they are more respected than vanilla/regular relationships in my opinion.

I am so happy within myself when I feel needed or given a task or I have successfully done something for the one I love.

Another thing is, I need a man who likes to take control like that – especially if they have high standards, because I do not thrive without someone like that in my life.  I go stagnant, I don’t look after myself properly and I let myself go; Which is strange because I am a proud person and I am very vain by my nature, but again, society has brutalised that out of me… so when I am not in a controlling relationship with a vain guy who has high standards, my vanity flies out of the window too – because I am naturally also quite modest.

Because I was made to be modest, it is unacceptable to be vain in the religious communities I was raised in.

Paul is not a vain person – he doesn’t care what I look like, he is just happy having me around or was until recently.  But I know from past experiences, when I have had a guy who does care and does have high standards, I never slack on my beauty regime and trying to look my best, because I don’t want to fail him!

It’s hard to get the motion going without someone like that in my life, because I don’t have the inclination to do it just for myself, because I don’t get the same sense of pride from it.

I am also ashamed to admit I thrive on praise, if I don’t get enough of it, it doesn’t feed my pride so I become like a hungry lioness that starts to rebel because I haven’t been acknowledged enough – yes, I admit I am hard work!

My dream would be to be part of a couple where we motivate each other, we have similar needs but are polar opposites, I am submissive they are dominant, but we both need each other for the praise and challenge to make each other the best that we can be for each other, with true team work.

Though saying that, some of my fetishes seem to put the dominant into a bottom role at times, I love foot fetishists, I love having my feet sensually acknowledged and that can be difficult thing to broach with some dominant men.

I know the shadow aspect is more than just sex, but I am following a pattern of thought here, from one thing to another and it just so happens to be sexually related right now.

To the right dominant I will be completely 100% loyal to and could do almost anything within my limits for, not just in the bedroom, but in life too.  I have a strong sense of integrity though, which can put up certain blocks for how much the dominant can harness me.

I will do anything for them, but if it goes against my hard-core beliefs, you’d have a hard time convincing me to do it and that’s where another trait of mine comes into play.  I am renowned for being stubborn!

Yes I have stubborn integrity!

If I don’t respect or love someone deeply enough or if my integrity is being challenged, I am so incredibly stubborn and forthright that nothing will stand in my way to maintain my poise and position on the matter and I will respond to it viciously if I must.

I remember an old Lord who met me once, got off on the wrong foot with me with his naughty disrespectful behaviour (non-sexual) and I told him a few home truths and I got the nickname “Sparky” from him!

Another shadow trait I have is self-harming if I believe I have let people I love down or humiliated them in some way – I also self-harm when I feel humiliated or stupid, or if I am too stressed without support.  I just go and sit in the corner and scratch myself to pieces with broken glass!  Though that happens rarely these days, in fact the last relapse I’ve had with that was about three years ago.

What’s worse is whenever possible I will try not to cry in front of people, so people never really know how upset I have got over things as I tend to hide myself away, though lately that’s getting difficult to do as I am getting more emotional as I am getting older. but a good master or dominant man will know to always double check on me.

Another part of my shadow self goes back to fetishes again, I switch easily from sub to dominant to alpha submissive on sister subs if I am in a polygamous household.  I don’t like dominant women and I have a hard time having any woman try to top me, in fact – just don’t even try to go there!

But with other submissive women I have a playful dominant streak which can sometimes be too teasing and borderline cruel; I have to be reined in at times – but it depends on who the other person is; the less I like them the naughtier I get with them.  Yes, viciousness is a part of who I am at times – but it rarely rears its ugly head, because generally I just want to be nice and helpful most of the time!

Another thing, I am a huge attention whore – I mean, I don’t just like being acknowledge a bit… I like a lot of hands on attention and I have been known to be called “exhausting” by some previous relationships on both a physical and mental level.

I need a lot of touching, snuggling, feeling, playing – you get me?  When I am not getting that I tend to talk people to death, or at least that’s how they make me feel at times.

I often think that I need a dominant man who can handle all that but also socialises a lot, so he can take me out to a party or something and point me in a direction and say “look, friends, go talk to them” and nudge me over to them so he can have a break lol.

Another thing is, I have to be boring at events etc. in that I only drink three glasses of any kind of alcohol, unless they are shot glasses then maximum seven.  Because to me, I love alcohol and I think it could be all too easy for me to follow my family down the alcoholism line.  Because to me, alcohol is really nice and it’s like soda to me!  So I avoid it, because I know myself well enough.

I have had ex alcoholic boyfriends in the past and I have respected them enough to NEVER drink alcohol around them, because I know addiction is hard.

If you hadn’t noticed yet, another shadow aspect of me is sex addiction.  Actually, it can be a real problem if I am with a very erm… playful guy?

I am one of these people that gain more energy with it, I am very lusty and have a high libido – same with normal exercise too – if I am lethargic and can’t be motivated to do much due to laziness just make me exercise – if you are in a relationship with me, sex is more fun! 

I have been complained at for having such a high drive that an ex felt I used them only for their body… so… lol

Up until recently I was very embarrassed about being super childish and repressed it hugely, but healing my inner child is bringing the childishness out more and more and though, sometimes it can be a bit much for a forty year old woman to act the way I do… I am happier for it!

I can be bratty at times; if I know I can get away with it with people.  I am talking Verruca Salt here, but then again I am easier to please than her as I have modest desires really!

All I tend to want are fluffy cushions, snuggles, pets, books, endless art supplies, perfumes and a virile dominant man – what more could I possibly want? … Oh and a big kitchen, a happy family and a good sized garden… nearly forgot those essentials!

I avoid eating candy outside of ovulation because it makes me hyper.  I am talking squirrel on caffeine kind of hyper!  Give me candy during ovulation should be a part of any man’s survival manual if they are in my life!  I turned into a right monster when sugar deprived around then!

Just imagine a 40yr old Verruca Salt shouting “Give me candy now, or I will scream and scream and scream”, you kind of get the message… though I am polite, so I am likely to say please, the rude part comes if anyone dares say no to me at this time.

People give in, because when I scream, it’s reminiscent of Madeline Kahn.

So there you have it – my shadow in all its glory…

I can’t say I feel any better for sharing it – if anything I kind of feel embarrassed about it and might hide for a year or two over it… but never mind.

I may just plod along.

Thanks for reading!

Who is Catalina?

DISCLAIMER – EXTREME TRUE LIFE BODY HORROR MEMORIES

There are things I thought I have shared on my blog, only for me to find that I can’t find where they are when I want to refer back to them; what I have done is, lost the confidence to post some things and put them on a private journal on another site, like blogger; where only invited people can see what is there, because sometimes I am ashamed of my past.

Even the things that I should be shameless about because those things weren’t my fault, I feel I should hide them because it is too graphic for my audience.

But I have to write those things sometimes, as a form of therapy to myself – also as I write things down it is easier for me to zone out and just read out loud for Paul to know things about my past, without me feeling too attached.  Because I can zone out and read something out loud, it’s a weird skill I have developed over the years to protect myself from hurting again.

I don’t think anyone can understand how that works, I know I don’t.

One of those things for example is an explanation about who Catalina is to me.

I thought I had shared this here, but apparently not – or at least I can’t find the post using the keywords I was trying to find in order to reference for you who she is.

So, this is why this post exists – to tell you who she is to me.

This is why I have to state right now DISCLAIMER – THIS POST IS NOT FOR THE LIGHT-HEARTED.

One of my exes put me on birth control against my will so that he could have unprotected sex with me whenever he liked, he made me have the Depo-Provera injection – however, my mother didn’t trust me when I told her that I am on Depo-Provera and so she too, forced me back to another clinic for the mini pill and another injection on top.

I told the doctor at the clinic mum doesn’t believe how I got that bruise and the doctor said that if I had a double dose so quickly like this as well as have the mini pill, I could permanently damage my fertility in the future – mum was eager to make me do it and forced the doctor to agree too.

So I had it done again.

My ex, who I will name G here, was happy to do as he pleased even though I was suffering really badly for a month with a very bruised back.

He and I were confident there would be no unwanted babies coming our way, for him anyway.

Unfortunately for G and my mum I am one of the 4% that seem to be able to get pregnant on contraception whether it is in double doses or not.

Believe me when I tell you, I freaked out by this as both homes would have kicked me out if they knew I was pregnant!  But I love babies and I could never abort, personally.

So I continued in our relationship, hoping he’d grow to like the idea, but instead he thought I lied to him, because he worked in the medical profession and in his eyes this was impossible!

He was already domestically violent to me before this happened, but after I told him about the pregnancy test and showed him the evidence of it, he got more violent with me.  He completely denied the fact that the test was genuine and wouldn’t acknowledge or talk about it with me.

I started to suffer during my pregnancy and I wouldn’t tell my mum I was pregnant at all, because it would have been a mixed race baby and she told me at the time that she’d beat me up and kick me out and burn all my stuff in her house if she thought for one minute I would be pregnant with a Peruvian Indians baby.

I couldn’t get medical assistance to see how the pregnancy faired in London with mum, when G sent me back to my mother for weekends and the occasional week and I couldn’t go to a doctor in Wickford, Essex because G wouldn’t let me sign up in the area.

I started to lose a lot of weight because of extreme morning sickness and I started to get really bad bleedings and I felt I needed a doctor ASAP, so I begged G to get me to a hospital as I was getting really ill – all he could think about was how horny he was right then and wanted to have me immediately, no matter how I felt.

So frustrated he beat and raped me, this made the bleeding worse and he went for a shower humiliating me about how the bleeding was on him and how I need to get cleaned up.

When he got out the shower the bleeding got a little worse and I started to get a lot of pain and I told him, I believe I am about 5 months pregnant according to the dates and the size I am.  This made him furious and he told me he will show me how much he believes I am pregnant and full on punched me right in the stomach and stormed out of the house, telling me to sort myself out and get the idea of a baby out of my head!

The bleeding got worse right before his eyes and I said, I need an ambulance!  He just turned on his heel and left me there, with no phone.  He took our only phone and we lived in a dense rural place.

I bled hugely in the bathroom and had to cope on my own, I struggle to this day seeing pictures of foetuses and premature babies because of what I saw that night.  She was almost perfect and weirdly transparent.

When he came home in the morning I was still in the bathroom on the floor unable to do much because I was distressed about the dead baby, he forced me to flush her down the toilet and said she’s just a clot, but I knew she wasn’t.

He then threw bleach and towels at me and told me I had to clean the mess up whilst he went to bed.

Her birthday would have been the 7^th of November had it have been a normal pregnancy to full term.  This day has always been a day of remembrance for her.  What makes it hard for me is that nobody acknowledges miscarriages as child loss.

She was definitely a girl, at 23 weeks, she could have potentially lived as a premature baby had I of had the proper care, there is a 50/50 chance at that stage.  She might have been disabled, but she would have potentially lived.

So, I named her Catalina, because I couldn’t live with myself without acknowledging her life and giving her a name and I knew I would have honoured G’s family with naming her after her aunt, the one who raised G.

So every year, on November 7^th I light a candle in remembrance of her, because it is what my catholic family would do.  My aunts Catherine and Christine would understand this about me – but not many other people understand it.

She’d have been 19yrs old this year, probably going to college now or working full-time, I expect she’d have been short and a little stocky, as her dad was 5ft 6 and chubby and I have weight issues too.  She’d be half Latino with an Islamic great grandparent by all accounts, with all of my ancestral mixes rolled into one.  She’d have been quite a diverse little lady.

Henry once asked me about the candle on November 7^th and was hurt when I wouldn’t tell him once, but it happened so regularly, that when Henry was 8yrs old, I finally told him about her.  He too, lights a candle and even bakes a cake every year for the family on this day, to remember the big sister he never knew!

I am unsurprised if people don’t believe me – because it’s very rare to get pregnant when you’ve had contraception, let alone double doses, but a lot of people struggle to believe me, because of the violence and the lack of care around it too, nobody can believe in evil people.

Because I couldn’t seek any medical attention whatsoever about this, I had no after care.  I bled non-stop and heavily for several months, my mum knew about the bleeding and took me to the doctor – but she never knew the cause.  When the doctor examined me, they blurted out how I’ve had a miscarriage, but I said, that’s impossible – mum you tell him.  Because she was in the room and I was terrified about her finding out. 

Mum told him, he is a useless doctor, I felt bad for him – but I had to keep it quiet.

He diagnosed menorrhagia.

I hate lying, but I just had to.

What is terrible is that this caused a lot of long term mental damage, not only because of what happened to me – but because my mum forced me to watch a pro-abortion documentary to sway me into the mind-set of accepting abortion at any stage the woman wants it.  Unfortunately the documentary she chose was a pro-life documentary, documenting what exactly happens during abortion and the scenes were uncut and horrifying.

Not something I needed to see after what happened to me!

My mum was disgusted about it and she was the one who became swayed to a new way of thinking!

I believe anyone should be able to do anything to their bodies – don’t get me wrong.  But I find it hard to accept abortion on a personal level.

Sorry about such a graphic post.  But I needed to explain who Catalina was and how big an event this was for me and how it has affected my life forever.

Thank you for reading!