Peace in Rest?

Today marks the second anniversary of my brother’s dwath. Im getting together with some family to spead ashes in the same place as our grandfather was.

We didnt fokkow the original plan on funeral day due to weather conditions and a general lack of enthusiasm for anything other than that specific plan. The first anniversary was just a few months after the horrible inquest and a month after the dwath of our cousin following a shirt battle with cancer. Which overlapped the inquest.

So this year we feel able to get together and do something. It’ll be a fraction of the attendees from the funeral but im relaxed to know neither parent will be there.

Im still full of conflicting emotions. We weren’t on contact at the time he died, and now I’ll necer get the chsnce to change that. Which I had hooed would happen one day. Id also hoped hed be abke to pull through his triubles safely, without hurting anyone, primarily himself.

He was irritating, agressive, a thief, maipulative, irresponsible, without drive, confused, scared, caring, loyal, very unwell, and without the tools or courage to deal with historic abuse or current life. And I miss him. Not the him that i last spoke to but the one that I connected with and had some fun times with. And i miss the potential of what could have been had he managed to get the type of help he knew he needed.

I hope that his unfortunate death really has solved all his problems and that if any essence of him remains that he’s exploring the universe in peace. Getting into all sorts of nonsense and making friends with alien spirits, adventuring and having fun.

And maybe one day we that remain will find peace too.

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Happy Happy Joy Joy

Or if not  Happy Happy Joy Joy at least mild to moderate pleasure.

Right now I am feeling okayish….the best I’ve felt in ages! So while I’m able I will try to think about/list some positive things. Fuck knows I need a break from all the depressing negative shite…!

I have to admit, this is hard. While there are “good” things around me that feeling doesnt stay long and the lies of depression make it difficult to recall any positive feelings, even if I think about something great, It’s hard to feel it. So far I’ve been avoiding this post for two days…. a couple of sentences a day, not bad! Lets just get to it.

Things to be proud of:

  • Completing an intense course of therapy
  • Getting out of bed most days
  • Trying and keeping going
  • Taking responsibility

Things to look forward to:

  • Seeing my sister and her family
  • Dream holiday coming up later in the year
  • Long term, having made greater steps towards life goals
  • Going to the gym
  • Walking, anywhere. Preferably without pain but thats a whole other matter
  • Gardening

Thing to be thankful for:

  • A (relatively) safe home, its not great but its mine for now
  • Healthcare. It might be fucked and going down the drain but its mostly been there
  • Clean running water. And all the other piped in utilities and luxuries ie: internet!
  • Friends
  • Some family I adore and who are still alive
  • Benefits. Again, being ruined and stigmatised by govt, but without anything….

I might on occasion return to this and update it. It seems like a nice idea to keep me grounded in some positivity. Only time will tell if I do.

 

#MeToo

TW/CW sexual assault

I wrote this last night, please excuse any spelling mistakes.

Well this is a difficult but overdue ramble.

Part 1.) in the last few months I have been struggling to come to terms with a long history of sexual assault, abuse and rape. Getting my head out of the programmed self blame bullshit. Allowing myself to be angry, at ALL of the people who hurt and abused me. Including my mother for mind fully putting me in situations where I could be assaulted. Whilst simaltainiously accusing probable innocents of abuse and denying me the right to know certain family members, permanently ruining that relationship for her gain. Not for my sake, for her so she could get attention.
I was 8 the first time a fully grown man many times my age touched me in ways I really didn’t like. One of her boyfriends, the first in a pattern of partners who were more interested in me and my younger sisters than her. She was so obsessed with paedophiles that she was drawn towards them, married one of them, but wilfully blind and obstinantly disbelieving of my claims. Nothing new there.
She made me afraid of men particularly my uncles. When they had never shown the slightest hint of being interested in me sexually, she literally jumped at the chance to accuse other men of assaulting me while watching her boyfriend grope me. One day I came home from primary school upset by something that the deputy head had said/done.
She asked what was wrong, a small miracle in itself, as soon as I mentioned his name
THE FIRST THING OUT OF HER MOUTH was did he touch you inappropriately?? Not, Are you okay? Not, can I help? Not anything that would imply she gave a fuck about me. I hadn’t even finished what I was saying before she jumped in with that all too eager question. As soon as I did say what had happened she lost all interest. The epitome of the loving caring parent that she was.
This was just the beginning of approximately 30 years of abuse, manipulation, internalised misogyny, casual assaults and rapes. Every time that I dared to tell someone I was told I was over reacting, that id provoked it, that I deserved it or that I’d simply made it up. Such as when a “friend” assaulted me while I was blind drunk and trying to sleep, my boyfriend and several friends were in the next room. He later claimed to my bf that I had fantasised it, because obviously everyone with a diagnosed mental health condition is never to be trusted and Id clearly imagined it, halucinated it. My arsehole boyfriend chose to believe him, convinced me not to discuss it with anyone else, lied to me about the deal they’d made between themselves and basically treated me like shit, nothing new there… Picking up on the pattern yet? It was a couple of years later I found out about the lies and my friends found out about the sexual assault and cover up pact.
Or the time I was raped on holiday. The friend I was traveling with did and said nothing to comfort or help me, obviously it was my fault. It ruined what had been a fun holiday and being my last night there it tainted the whole thing. No matter my age, the situation etc I was expected to shut up and be grateful. Not to cause trouble or was simply not believed.
Even when I was believed there was “nothing that could be done to prove it” a favoured line of the police, even with evidence.

Thats not even to mention the countless times in my life a man has touched or groped me without consent, to then get pissy at me for being displeased, usually outright denying what they had very clearly just done. Because of course, its them who’ll be believed, its them who have a “right” to mine and any other feminine body, its them who have old society and the law on their side. And of course every time I was assaulted or raped by a partner I told nobody, because, well I’m sure you can work out why.
Obviosly this stuff has been with me my whole life, but the #MeToo movement brought up a lot of buried memories and feelings. And I’ve been having yet more nightmares of late, whole days of laying on my bed staring at the wall, weeks of isolating myself unable to communicate with anyone.
It’s not the only thing going on inside my head, it’s a cluster fuck of demons up in there. But it’s front and centre most of the time.

The recent accusations against a certain “Nerd mogul” hit me hard. I don’t want to but totally do believe it. I’ve been extremely uncomfortable feeling like I’ve allowed myself to be duped again. I had been drifting away from their podcast due to some red flags that I was picking up mostly subconsiously. I’ve been betrayed and so has everyone else.
I’m not a big crier, even when I need to I can’t. In the last couple weeks ive cried three times. Make that four. Which brings me to
Part 2.) I have just watched the 1990 adaptation of The Handmaiden.
I’ve not watched the Hulu show (yet) as I didn’t feel able to deal with it, nor have I read the book. So even though I knew I was in for a rough night, I knew the basics, I was not familiar with the story itself.
Fucking hell its ptsd city here right now. I’ve just had an alcoholic drink, which I feel guilty about, not for the drink itself but because I chose to still have a drink and carry on with my plans instead of getting myself away and home. and have started punishing myself for doing that. Alcohol is Not the answer, neither is punishment. And I’m not home. I can feel an angry manic period coming on and am worried about my typical coping mechanisms (such as drinking)
This stuff clearly needs facing and embracing as my truth.
I did at times put myself into risky situations, those rarely resulted in sexual assault even if I did things I regretted. Its nearly always a partner, lover or so called friend that will claim their right. It was the “safe” people who needed to beware of, not the randoms I met while doing stupid or risky things. I did this because I grew up having been put into risky situations, with no self esteem and a belief that I was worthless.
I ended up in abusive relation after abusive relationship, repeating patterns until, with help, I could start moving away from allowing abusers to torment and manipulate me.
Right now I am all kinds of angry and hurt. Blaming my mother but not wanting to as is does me no good and she was/is clearly very unwell herself. Not that that excuses her behaviour as she would have me believe. My mind is full of memories that are so horribly familiar within that film, I feel sick, I want to tare my heart out.
I now believe that I am worth more, that I have power and choices. And that someone else saying that my experience is nothing to complain about does not invalidate it.
There is a huge amount of survivors guilt, self blame for letting it happen and for not always pushing for recognition or justice. For allowing these people to continue to hurt other people. For not protecting my sisters despite not having been in a situation to do so safely.
However, there is a small feeling of progress at having felt able to go watch a film that I knew would be difficult. I do have a habit of deliberately triggering myself though historically that would lead to various forms of self harm. Hopefully this will be cathartic. And while I’m under no impression that this rambling is going to save somebody else, I do hope that my post will contribute to the growing confidence of survivors to speak out and be believed. Without shame or doubt.

It was not my fault, ever. I can’t heal until I accept that. Though I expect a lot more nightmares while I process, here’s to the beginning of a life free from the pain I’m currently in.

If anyone is experiencing abuse, has been assaulted, there are options. Get help if you can. Talk to someone. Decide how you want to progress, keep yourself safe by looking after your needs and know that I believe you.

Whoever invented feelings needs to be shot

Hello stranger

Its been a while! I’ve almost managed to post a few times, almost.  And I would post more if I had the spoons.  Mostly I just write something out in my head and log it for later, occasionally I make actual notes! Just found some from last week…

Ignored by croud. Checked in by photographer. Lonely (tired)
Referred to as a friend by someone I admire. Feeling lost, lonely, unsure, worried about potential drop and inability to sleep and the work load demanding attention.
2 long hard days, 4hrs sleep and off to a rave. With a painful knee.
Tired. Tired. Tired. Sore sweaty and stiffening.
Needing contact and companionship. Need someone to UNDERSTAND how I am feeling and to comfort me to help alleviate the empitness, fear and trepidation. A common factor when unrested, such as after raving.
Acutely aware of self isolation, withdraw,
Dreaming, wanting, needing to complete the million tasks with no spoons to accomplish all the things that are impossible even when well rested
Scared of being exposed. As a fraud. Imposter. Interloper. Unwelcome loser. Rejection. Bring laughed at, whispered about. Paranoid. Distracted. Hungry for more, for change, to be different to be someone else.
Cheery fucker aint I?! If its not clear this was just after a club event, after which I was alone, again, and pretty fucked off. These are common themes for me, and have been powerful lately, I’ve actually been feeling lonely and alone. Like I do now, so much so that its ripping a great gash in my chest and crushing my head in a vice.
Because of life choices that I have made (solo poly) to give me the space, time, spoons etc to focus on Me and my health, I have created a situation for myself that is totally fucking with me now. My choice has not only been good for me but has been absolutely fine with the exception of a few times when I’d like to have some company.  Well today a friend asked me what do I need? I didnt want to answer because the answer hurt, made me teary, made me feel vulnerable and at risk of harm.
I need cuddles. I need to spend a couple of days just laying around, hugging, chatting, crying. With someone that understands me, or at least tries to (unlike some people) someone that cares, whos compasionate and caring. Who wants to look after me, care for me, hold my hand, comfort me, hug me.
But thats impossible. The result of isolating myself. So here I am, despirately not wanting to feel, taking gradually more detrimental actions to numb myself, causing harm in the process. Why cant I just wish it all away?

Can’t think of a title 

Someone got me good the other day, real good. In my therapy group one member brought up a subject (referring specifically to me) that’s been brought up loads of times in the past. One that I’ve spoken about myself. Maybe it was because of who said it, though I can’t figure out why. Maybe it was the immediate circumstances, or the topic that led to it, or my state of mind. I don’t know. Whatever it was doesn’t matter right now. What matters is how the fuck do I deal with it. 

It was a challenge, in every sense of the word. I can’t hear myself someplace at the back of my mind shouting ‘it’s what I need’ I got quite upset, for a moment and steered away to avoid crying, it’s bonkers that that’s still a big problem. But that’s another story, or is it. Although I felt and was very calm, I did my best to stay present and keep listening while people continued to critique me. My voice wavered just before I almost cried. My chest was tight with emotions and my vision narrowed. I’m sure that it was written all over my face and I could feel the sympathy eminating from others, couldn’t meet their eyes, only the eyes of the facilitator, and the person who raised the original point. They did not look back at me. 

As I write I’m making more connections between them and my mother, which would go a long way to describing why it hit me so hard. Right now I want to hit them, hard. 

I’m terrified of having been institutionalised, by the backwards thinking self serving government, by my actually severely ill but despirate for attention so will make herself ill mother, by schools, society, the whole fucking lot. But mostly by my parents, both of them are equally responsible, just as I am not responsible for what happened to me as a child. Nor for what happened to my siblings either. 

I have worked so fucking hard to not be them. And every time I think maybe I’ve made it, I realise that no I haven’t. I’ve just hit another wall. I am not responsible for then, but I am responsible for now. 

I am responsible for shaking off that bullshit they saddled me with, that’s kept me down and behind my whole damn life. I have to stop being like them, stop being scared of not being ill, stop being scare to take chances. I am not sick. But I am damaged, and that I need to repair. I can’t tell my sister that the only reason I don’t end my life is because I don’t want to hurt her. She’ll probably, hopefully, never read this but if you do, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t  couldn’t protect us all, I’m sorry you got hurt. And I’m sorry our brother got hurt. I failed. I failed to protect you, and now you don’t need me. I have no purpose. And I really need to find my purpose or I can’t go on. I’m trying to come to terms with the idea that it make take me time to realise what the fuck it is. Trying to get comfortable with the idea of just being okay to soldier on and be patient while I figure that out. And with trying to figure out if I actually want to keep living. Coz right now, it doesn’t appeal. 

Why so difficult?

If you’re a Farscape fan that question will be familiar to you, if you remember the episode. In it are a couple of bumbling characters that ask that, a lot, and it annoyed me loads. Though mainly because an arsehole ex and their sex pest flatmate took to saying it, Fucking Loads, after seeing the episode in question. Urgh, I wanted to punch the pair of them (and not just because of that!)

Recently its been popping into my head periodically. Life is difficult, its always been difficult. I perhaps naively thought that things would ease off the further I got with my therapy and self improvement. But no, it just changes into a different flavour of difficult. People are still fucking horrible, the government still lies cheats and steals from those that need help, age insists on proceeding and making its presence known by affecting the health of both oneself and loved ones. Habits and patterns are hard to break, and even with the greatest will and honest desire it can be tortuous to move away from unhealthy behaviours and thoughts. A huge desire to be different doesn’t automatically make one different. Old worn in behaviours, things that depress, anger, agitate and even harm remain strong and can after years of work still override new, healthier, choices.

If things were difficult before my word they’re sure as fuck difficult now. When you’re exhausted, you’re vulnerable, you’re tired of fighting, tired of feeling like a worthless piece of shit. Thats when those old habits just come sweeping in, wiping away any positive feelings. Making it so very hard to practice ones newer more caring actions, the things you know have the power to improve mood, self caring self loving self affirming actions that can stop a depressive slump in its tracks. Or blocking that pathway that allows you to recognise and appreciate the positive things and achievements.

Why, why is the self destructing bullshit so fucking strong despite all the hard work and determination to move into a ‘better’ way of living. Why does depression come along and remove all impetus to do that one thing that would make things feel less awful, or at the least stop things from getting worse. But no, depression loves itself and encourages everything that feeds it. Anger feeds it, ill health feeds it, relentless outside forces feed it. Repeating old patters, despite so much effort to change….  but why? It really cant only be because even though life has been hellish, its what i’ve always known and therefore a ‘safe’ if extremely painful place to be. It cant be just because I was conditioned to hate and disrespect myself. So why is it so hard to see, recognise and be proud of my achievements. Why do I cling onto things that make my chest tight with stress, my jaw hurt and migraines aplenty. Things that I fixate on because I feel powerless to deal with them. Other things that I cant deal with because I haven’t had a good nights sleep in over 30 years (slight exaggeration, I’ve had about 3 or 4 good nights since around 1984) There are things i can do to help, that will ease off some of the stress, that will help me to cope. There are ways of thinking that would improve my mood and make it easier to handle those lovely little surprises life likes to throw our way. Small things. Big things. Easy things. Except they’re not easy when you’re wired to suffer. Its not easy to feel the contentment of success, or love and friendship, or reached goals. And with the literal years of therapy and commitment to becoming my own person, its still fucking difficult to just be a human being let alone a productive and happy one.

How many times can life kick me down before I just stop getting up again? And will I ever discover my raison d’etre? Because without that all this hard work is utterly worthless. I would really like to be making long blog posts about happy things, about things that I have succeeded in, about goals that I’ve reached or surpassed. Its not like those things dont exist, they do, but i’m stuck dwelling on the things that didnt work out. The stuff that I wish I could stop doing, things I wish I could forget, feelings I dont want to feel anymore. It just wont go away. Where is my peace? where is my reward for steering away from what I could have become? Where is that thing I dreamed of as a child, a life where I wasnt constantly afraid, angry, depressed and desperate for it all to simply stop. I still dont have a reason to keep going. I dont know why I am putting so much effort into changing myself. I dont understand why its all so fucking relentlessly difficult. Nor why I find it so hard to not be a miserable negative wanker.

Representation & My Search For the 13th Doctor of Bass Players

Pondering Fandoms

gui5

I keep talking about music, in life and in this blog, because it’s what’s on my mind. I podcast about music, listen to as much music as I can (for the podcast and because I feel like I have 20 years’ worth to catch up on) and I love the fact that I’m practicing my bass at least every second day to stay sane not just because I “should”. So, with that in mind I wasn’t expecting thoughts about representation relating to Doctor Who and the new, upcoming female Doctor to necessarily enter into the equation because of music. I thought I had made up my mind and come to a fair point of neutrality even if I couldn’t quite understand why the gender of the Doctor was that important to these people. Wasn’t the most important concern whether she was the best actress for the job? (Spoiler: yes…

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