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.


Crawling ( Opening old wounds)

For a bit of background… I detested Linkin Park when they appeared on the scene. I was a hardcore music snob and hated all the new (short haired) nu and rap metal. I only bought Hybrid Theory this year thanks to a podcast called Thrash it Out, thanks guys! Now I’m annoyed at myself because this album is ABSOLUTELY my kind of music.

I’ve been listening to it obsessively over the last week or two.
I had a meltdown recently, you may have noticed. And I have been VERY depressed, withdrawn, unable to focus, spending hours just laying in bed staring at the wall. Not doing anything I didn’t have to do, with a couple of exceptions in attempts to perk myself up.

I did have a very lovely time with my occasional bitch (don’t look at me, they chose that title!) which gave me some much needed relief. A ‘sleep’ later and I’m back down in the clingy shit filled pit trying with all my energy to just get through one day and pushing myself into something I’d be content to withdraw from. Something that forces me to interact with other people and I do deliberately partly for that very reason.

anyway, I digress. Back to Hybrid Theory. I’m listening to it right now, for the 13 billionth time. I should stop and pick something else, less depressive music. But I can’t. I’m stuck. I’m inside myself screaming to get out and I can’t. I need to get out of my own head. It’s somewhat of a cliché but music saved my life. Music, dancing, going to clubs was the only way I was able to connect to and/or express the lifetime of feelings I had repressed. Over the years, cutting whilst listening to something that has connected emotionally has become a valid and useful coping mechanism. The pain became a way to release pent up rage and pain, partly because as a young child extreme pain was the only time I would cry in front of my abuser so it became a thing. It has developed into blood letting, the more blood the better, which mean lots more shallower wounds OR three deep ones. Usually it works like the valve on a pressure cooker, letting me pick up again and carry on, until the next build up. Usually. Sometimes I need to repeat the process, try the other option. Or it just doesnt work. If that happens I’m way more prone to becoming suicidal, if I’m not already.

desperate to do something, trying not to put myself into danger, I decided to cut into some old scars that had long faded. Something that would be seen but that I can also pass off as body mod stuff and thus not feel self-conscious or spend the next couple of months exclusively in long sleeves. Listening to Linkin Park on repeat, a decent amount of blood flowed.

It didnt work. No connection. Not a single fucking tear. The only thing I felt was a manic joy at the blood and endorphins. No emotional release.

It’s also really fucking depressing that this album came out 17 years ago, covering things around mental health and abuse and stuff. (There is a reason I called them the Little Angry Ones when they appeared!) So, recently Chester lost the fight with mental health problems, after all this time he still couldn’t make it. I’m really struggling with thoughts about my future, I can’t picture anything other than failure. And if he can’t continue after such a long time how am I going to manage. In my mind I have ‘failed’ so many times. I can’t see/feel any successes and thus can’t see the point in continuing now especially as in a years time I’ll likely be a total fuckup, again. Logically I could argue against that, even show proof to the contrary. But my abusive depressed brain would not be able to see or recognise anything other that what it keeps telling me. Which is that I may as well give up.

Gimme a break!

Dear body…. You have got to be kidding me!

Just about recovered from major surgery after having a large endo cyst removed. Doing my physio (yayy good me) and did a breast exam at the same time, efficiency ftw. And I found a lump *rolls eyes so hard* I am going to hope its something hormonal and will bugger off soon. Though it feels different to the usual transient lumps. The prospect of yet another round of hospital appointments, scans, possible surgery etc…. well, I’m sighing right now. I’ve worked SOOOOOOOO hard the last few years, with a billion* medical things going on. Gradually reducing the amount of clinics and appointments I need to attend, it has literally taken up a massive part of my life, so each one I’ve been discharged/graduated from has been a small but significant win. And with all the other stuff thats happened in the two years I was away from this blog, stuff that hasnt gone away. Goddammit I Need a holiday! A real loooooong holiday. With No hospital, clinic, doctor appointments. No therapy group. No restrictive medication routine (which reminds me, I wanted to write something up on that, made massive progress there) No family drama. No life drama. And no arsehole neighbours!

Right now, the prospect of yet more medical/body drama is rather depressing. So I’m gonna grab me some spoons, deal with the stuff on my plate right now, try to get some rest, and go enjoy the fuck out of something. Anything. Maybe a cuppa tea! 😀

*maybe a slightly exaggerated number

Ever feel defeated by life?

Been struggling through post surgical depression for three weeks. Complicated by my therapy sessions and aggravated by my horrendous neighbors. With all of my family distracted by my cousin passing away recently and the closest geographically now away on holiday. Plus my closest friends now totally subsumed by parenthood. The last three weeks have felt terribly lonely. I don’t suffer much with loneliness these days, it used to be a chronic and powerful force in my life, years ago. I removed it and learnt to be comfortable with my own company. But with everything that’s happened in the last two years, my mobile restrictions and heavy medication after surgery have left me feeling broken and alone. 

I have developed a good friendship with my neighbor who has been a wonderful help and the only person to regularly check in to see hoe I’m doing and if I need anything. Without them I could well have ended up in hospital to get the support I required. 

I’ve tried not being angry at friends and family for abandoning me. They generally and genuinely have other priorities. Many are burnt out and distraught after my cousins horrific battle with cancer. Me with my porely timed endometrial cyst and oopherectomy simply don’t compare. And I’m not the type to continually demand that people keep their promises of help. That kind of thing I can do when feeling strong, when I don’t nessescerily need it. And others have offered help but life some distance away so asking them to pop over seems rediculous. Though one has been good with Skype calls to try keep me sane. But the sad thing is its not enough. 

Recently I was discussing in therapy and questioning my decision to remain without any significant other(s) it’s been needed for me to be able to focus on me and my recovery/metamorphosis. I barely sleep, spend a large amount of my time and energy on medical/health commitments and have for the last year begun (re)building my social life with artistic classes. So I really haven’t had the time to persue romantic entanglements. Which I’ve been absolutely fine with, until recently. Even when friends and family haven’t been so distracted, it would have been ideal to have someone or someones with whom I could confide and seek guidance. Someone who’s shoulder I am comfortable crying on, somebody happy to watch my favourite tv and cuddle up with in silence. Someone who would know instinctively what I needed at any particular moment and who wanted to give their time for me. That all sounds terribly selfish now I see it written out, and maybe the guilt and conflict of wanting all that is wrapping itself around the loads I’m already carrying and squeezing tight. Suffocating me, making it hard to breathe or move. Just what I need when home-bound by the operation. 

Doing the right thing

More big changes come my way. Something I’ve been trying to avoid for years, today I agreed, nay asked, for.
Sorry to be so vague right now but I’m still trying to get my head around it and the shame I have around the whole situation.
At least I am doing the proper thing and if not fully taking responsibility at least owning the crap.

Yep. This is my mess.

Anybody got an enormous brush & pan to sweep it up with?!

More labels

Yesterday was a big deal, sick I chose mental health over physical and persevered with accomplishing my targets.

A super early start for a volunteer shift at a morning rave, trying my best not to breathe, cough or sneeze near anyone… this plague is a painful annoyance.
After a slow lunch and time in the park, I had an assessment at a CFS clinic.

The short version is that they can’t currently help me, and that I have PTSD. Not really surprising considering my history, and the plague & early start made it all a bit much.

It’s settling in now. I agree with him, I did at the time, but the recommendations he’s going to make are a heavy burden.

I’m to get onto the waiting list for Trauma Therapy. Something that will, by definition, be traumatic.

I should be getting regular psychiatric appointments, outside of and separate to therapy. Conflicted slightly about this as I’d enjoyed the feeling of no longer requireing this. But I’ve known for a while that I currently need it, so I guess that’s a bonus.

And finally, he wants me to start taking lithium. I don’t want to, for a whole host of reasons, and my former psych who I’m about to be referred back to, knows this and knows my reasons.
He was successful in getting me to take carbamazapine. I’m still struggling with the side effects of that one several years after stopping it. It’s going to be one hell of a struggle to swallow that pill. Bad pun intended.

I’m not well enough to properly process all of this, and not sick enough to put it aside. I kinda want to curl up in someone’s arms and forget about it all right now. That’s not possible, so junk food and sweets it is.


Longingly I gaze upon the wilderness

Salt water gently caressing my eyes

so close and so very far

long gone are the days of freedom

long gone is the option to lose myself in the long green of my vision

A longing so desperate it tears a crater within the brittle cage that holds back a dark ocean of yesterdays.


The weight of bitterness too heavy to bear

Movement only in dreams, free to dance with the winds, singing limbs unconstrained by reality.

Life’s essence etches red tracks across the scarred landscape of the soft body.

The body that burns and grinds in protest at every shallow breath

fantasies of floods, red as death, washed down with the sweet saltines of precious tears.

Preparing, tidying up the failures of a lifetime wasted.

Leave no mess

leave nothing

but memories of failed dreams

Leave before compulsion drives this tattered fool further into darkness.

Already too deep to find a way out of the thick clinging stench of self-imposed prison.

buried so far down within torment, no chance of warming touch from sun

no freedom to move, no choice to be still

no peace

no quite

nothing but hell

Nature calls as she always does when darkness falls

Her soft voice whispering in the grass

triggering an embedded need to rejoin with her

My molecules becoming one with beauty, coveted so by a sad and jealous heart

Life’s beauty and ugliness pass by on missions unknown

Dreams of flight pervade my thoughts again

To be free of this cage

feathers where once were fingers

open air where once was hard ground

escape at last from this damaged fleshy prison

Never lasting the dream fades again to despair

Anger welling up, consuming, changing, until nothing but bitterness and pain remain

How do I tell the one I love that I am leaving

How do I ease her pain and show her this is the right path for me

I have failed myself and all my dreams

trained for incompetence

I’ve excelled at being the best loser

Ruined dreams lay broken at my naked feet

why change the habit of a lifetime

stay in the uncomfortable horror of the familiar

more than half a lifetime spent trying to untangle the painful mess, learn new habits, forgive old ones

Still I cannot overcome

I was made to be broken

and broken I am

Oh to touch the clouds, to soar above the trees, dive beneath the waves

Float motionless

gentle waves washing away the stink


floating on the wind

cycled again and again until eventually consumed by the star that birthed us all

No more pain

no more suffering

sinking into oblivion

sinking into bliss

Nevermore trapped by the obligations of blood, flesh and bones

what reason to remain

to endure

to mockingly care for the tiny handful of life’s wonders, chosen to comfort and teach

Nurture failed, thoughtfulness lost

compassion a distant tool, hard to access.

stupidly repeating the neglect of old

A pretender to the crown

kindness assumed

worth mis-given by innocents

Tricked, deceived, manipulated

their memories will be but false creations, manufactured by the ultimate lie

I am not who you think I am

Cannot continue with this pretence

cannot live any other way

Unskilled, inexperienced, I’ve fumbled my way through this new existence

chosen to extinguish bile filled chaos

a fire only dampened down

embers still glowing after all these years

ready to spark ablaze the tinder and dry wood of pains so long ago buried

I want to go now.

Set my spirit free

Once upon a lifetime I had all the potential, and no choices

later, decisions made have borne weak and sickly fruits

Poisonous distractions

demanding more than their worth

draining dry the fragile resources gathered through broken promises

This lie I’ve been living can end

false positives always hanging over

Leave that world

leave this world

numb to both

rejected, dejected. Unknown, never was

Nothing left for the nothing person

surrounded by a mountain of memories

blocked in

blocked up


set it afire

it means nothing to anyone else

just trinkets and nonsense

Many lifetimes crowded into a space too tight

stagnant with the rituals of traditions long past

if they ever were

Free me from this cage

which path to choose

rivers of red seeping across the fleshscape

threads of poison reaching inside and strangling all meaning from a battered soul

a bright explosion, coursing pain, possible regret

then blackness

sweet featureless unfeeling blackness

the answer finally found