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July 07, 2019 2:36 am

North Wales | 11°C

 

I’ve just seen the date at the top of this iPad a moment ago…

It’s 7/7 — the day things changed forever…

7th July 2015

14 Years Ago Today

And it will never “Just”… “Grow Old”… We were there. In the middle of it. SN was outside a few hundred yards away from That Freaking, Frikkin Bus… Maybe not half an hour after it blew itself up…

We watched it all as it unfurled itself on the news. Heard those Ambulances’ sirens dull on the TV as they raced further away from the scene… Only to get louder and louder outside my window on the way to the Trauma Centre in the Royal Free, Hampstead. It made it a chilling reality

The worst thing, however, was the fact that SN was inadvertently out there when the Tavistock Square Busexploded. The bomb had not long gone off, maybe only an hour or even half an hour. Entirely naïve of the situation, she had gone to meet her parents coming in to Euston from North Wales to see her graduation recital at Arts Ed.

If she had gone sooner, as she says, she decided to go take the mail upstairs to our apartment (Oakley Square, Mornington Crescent, Camden)  instead of leaving right away, she might have been there when the bomb exploded… Heard It… Saw It… Hopefully nowhere near the circumference of the shrapnel trajectory…

As she also pointed out, we would walk past there to get to town. If she hadn’t been having her Recital that day, who knows where we would have been. There’s a place close by we liked to have breakfast in, I’m certain. We could have been going there, done that… It all doesn’t bear to be thinking about… 😖😢😞

But SN was in Euston a little later, thank goodness… She says there was an air of something … wrong… there… But no clear indications — perhaps a fire down in the Tube line? That it wasn’t until I called her, she didn’t know anything had happened.

For me, it had been a very long nightmareto get hold of her. Phone networks were already being jammed (the cell phone networks in 2005 were still really in their infancy stage compared to now…), and I could not get hold of her. For ages… Minutes and Minutes… Which is forever when your best friend might be in serious danger…

I had known nothing was wrong until C (my sister) emailed me to ask how I was, if I was OK. I obviously told her I was fine and at home. And asked why she was asking. She told me to turn on the TV. Any. Channel

With that, my blood went cold and turned on the BBC… The first thing I saw was the fully exploded, destroyed and ripped out backend of the No. 30 Bus in… Tavistock SquareWhich was… Right. By. Euston. Station…. 😱😟😟😟😣😣😣😣😣😣🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯😖😖😖😖😖😖

So, I flipped and started ringing her frantically, until I finally got an answer. And I nearly wept outright with overwhelming internal relief.

She came home — walking bravely despite all the horrors going on…

Her parents had been Evacuated back home from Watford Junction Station anyhow, and all Central London was in a serious Lockdown.

From then on… Well… It just go worse and worse. We were glued to the TV to get as much information as possible about it all. It. Was . Fucking. Terrifying

SN got quite serious PTSD from it… After all, she was thereThat is one seriously Majorheadfuck…

She seems to know how to deal with it well… She has a really, really powerful internal Strength of Will, and bears such a burden with dignity and Strength, despite the Fear and heartbreaking anxiety anything that triggers or reminds her of it… She still carries it with great Power and Grace, in my eyes. 

Not many people understand this. Her parents were kinda there — after all, they themselves were evacuated from London on the train, not being able to get hold of SN and know if she was OK. Not sure if they ever did grasp the reality she was near enough to have been kinda involved in it, too, if she’d have gone any earlier, though….

So, every 7/7 we talk about it. Discuss it. Get our Trauma and Anxieties out to someone who can commiserate and empathise truly. We went through that together. We still go through it together.

The date brings things to the fore too easily, the memories still vivid despite pretty much an entire Decade-and-a-Half having come and gone hence…

It. Just. Hurts…

Powered by Journey Diary.


JUNE 2019 — Daily Mood Chart • Disturbingly Not Good… 😔

I use Dailyo diary and mood tracking app for this:

https://www.daylio.net

This just about says it all… 😞😖😢

When you are going through it, it’s bad enough… But to see it like this… You really do get to see “in black and white” as it were…

It was terrible to go through. It was a Hellish Month! 😰😖 … I hope that this next month will be at least somewhat better.

I’m not holding my breath or anything, though… 🥺😞


The Hair Dye Rollercoaster

Dying Hair.

I rather imagine that to most people, it’s not that big a deal… Or maybe it is, because, well, it is their hair. But whatever that truth may be, mine is that of… well, if it goes wrong, it’s a Mega Disaster of Exreme Proportions. What am I talking about? Hair dying going very, very wrong. Not the “it’s gone accidentally green” kind, mind you — for me, all it has to be is the wrong shade (especially if it’s too dark). It’s a very, very real concern for me, when I have to start using a new hair dye, because my usual one is somehow available no more.

The very words new hair dye just fills me with dread. It could mean anything — a wonderful new find, or a complete disaster of epic proportions that scar my red-hair-loving sensitivities. There have been more than enough disasters. I’m too old and too experienced, and far too Aspie now, to cope with anything other than perfection. And I cannot guarantee that if I have to use a completely different kind of hair dye, and just do more than basically hope for the best…

As an Aspie (ASD/Asperger’s), I find any change incredibly distressing… Add to that, my finding out my favourite hair dye was now unavailable and had ceased to exist. Not only that, I’d not long had to go and find it as “the new hair dye”, because my former favourite dye had been changed just enough so that it was now unreliable, even had an unstable and unseemly colour to it… and I had been using that one for years. It was not good.

All this, along with everything else, was making things not too easy to live with, when it came to my hair. My hair means everything to me, and dying it red — no matter what shade of it that I’m after at any one time — is the biggest part of it. Without it, I wasn’t me. I couldn’t self-identify in any way if I didn’t look down as see red tresses. If I looked in the mirror and saw even a small amount of “Badgering” (where the regrowth is a mixture of heavy grey and nearly-black hair that is showing well enough to be obvious), then I started getting a little anxious it was no longer red.

An Aspie’s Dilemma — Fear vs. Roots

It might sound silly, or dramatic, to others, but so much swapping and changing was all starting to feel like Trauma. It can be downright traumatic to endure any changes when you’re ASD; but something that beloved [as my hair] being forced to undergo so many of them in a relatively short space of time (for me) makes it too, too hard.

This felt like Trauma, on top of Trama, on top of Trauma. This current rollercoaster of hair colour was emotionally exhausting, always having to go and find a new one that would suffice, and then having to use a whole new dye, forced to repeat the scenario over and over again, when this recently “new” one is discontinued or no longer available for some other reason.

Not only is all of this going round in my head to deal with, but there is also the part where I’m trying to come to terms with the fact that a replacement is required at all... My mind simply cannot comprehend why it’s necessary to discontinue or change something that just works. That fact is also difficult to comprehend. When it does happen… It’s always a split second moment of being hit with the feeling of utter grief and despair of the loss (yes, honestly, that is how I feel!), soon replaced by a sense of just freefalling and panic. What to do now? What am I supposed to do, what am I supposed to use, to colour my hair? Where do I go? Who [in the hair dye universe] do I turn to now? How could this happen? Why me? … Seriously. 😐 🤨

It runs through my head, over and over again, like a mantra of pure terror, of utter panic. It usually sends me into a frantic, fevered hunt all over the internet for something to replace it. Quick. This super-fast pandemonium is only halted by finding something that will… suffice… at being my answer.

I do hate doing at that though… It’s a sensation that I would rather never experience. Ever. I was saved from it for many, many years — but then the company went and changed it, somehow, and then I had to go to find different ones. Then a few months after I managed to find its replacement, that ended up discontinued without a word of warning. Leaving me with absolutely nothing with nowhere to turn. Just Charming...




This is how I have ended up with this choice — Garnier Olia. It has some lovely reds on offer; the one I chose (after some long pondering), was 7.40 Intense Copper.

My hair was dyed a very similar colour from my last one — therefore, to me, this felt like it showed the most promising liklihood to be an adequate replacement.

So, terrified and with great trepidation, I chose it and waited to find out the fate of my hair with this one.




New Beginnings. Again.

Starting the process of using a new hair dye was a Big Step. I had to try hard to convince myself to do it. In the end, it was the Badgering — at least 2 inches of the that damned regrowth by now — that did it in the end, and pushed me over the edge. I just couldn’t take it staring at me anymore.

The process wasn’t a complicated one, about the same as all the others, but it was more elegant and better thought-out than any other one I’d come across. It was rather clever and thoughtful to make it so you could use the box itself as a steadying stand for the applicator whilst you poured the Developer Creme and Colour into it.

For someone with dexterity issues and weakened fine motor skills, who is now very clumsy from it, this Hair Dye Set/Kit was the easiest one I have come across. For me, it is the most “fingers-friendly” of them all. I really liked using it, and I was constantly surprised as to how different (read: “easy”) it was to use to the others.

It also certainly didn’t hurt that it all came in some lovely packaging, too. The box itself is very elegant, sophisticated and eye-catching, with most of the front of it showing just the hair colour, not a model with it on, allowing you to have a better idea of what shade is to be expected when using it. The bottles and tubes within are pretty and easy to use — not to mention the tear-shaped bulbous applicator that is a fantastic shape to use it, and makes applying it, even with my rather struggling hands and fingers, easy to manage.

If the Kit itself was well-made, the product — in my own opinion — was just as much so. It was easy to use the dye, because instead of it being a form of… sticky, goopy, watery, well, goo… it’s a thin but creamy-esque texture that was easy to put on. It went much further than the average bottle of dye. It covered pretty much all of my hair quite well (and I have really long hair) and I only used the one bottle to complete my hopefully-not-too-different transformation.

I leave dye on to marinade/cook way too long — but I find that it works a treat. It’s not 30 minutes, like on the box… Oh, no. Mine is more like, 3 hours. Oh, yep! But afterwards, I get a pretty great colour, better than I did before.

To add to this, I also wrap it up in a plastic shopping carrier bag, tied around my head. This helps keep it from drying out, helps keep it safe — and things safe from it! — and allows it to marinade better under there. They’re quite the rarities now, but I end up getting a few of these plastic carrier bags from some places, and mainly Subway sandwich stores, due to requiring to carry multiple items on the back of my wheelchair, and of course, I hang onto them all to dye my hair with!


Shiny. New. Hair!

The rest of it now, even for me, is a piece of cake. After the required Marinating Time, it’s into the shower and the dye comes streaming off.

The rest, as they say, is history!


Surviving Hell — Take Two…?

Returning to the scene of a “crime”… a Trauma… to put it to bed? It turns out you should first think very carefully, thrn realise what you’re getting yourself into — and that you really are ready to face the ghosts still there…

After being in the Premier Inn for 10 days… Ten awful, awful, traumatising, distressing days… The ordeal is finally over. It’s been so, so very bad. Then… It got worse. There are some things, though, that will still remain, to add even more Trauma inside me, from going back there again…

Left hotel after a very bad, very long night before and one horrific argument. Mam came to help, then Dad turned up later to take things back. We managed to get out by the 12pm deadline to leave… somehow.

Had really, really extreme hard time all day, today. Feelings of immense dread, terrifying fear, of floating pointlessly through a dark space black hole, waiting to kill me… Numbed. Paranoid. Lost. Alone. Floating through nothing into an inevitable end. Dead and dying already, and simply waiting for it to come. Overwhelmingly depressed and in despair, and zoned away from reality, almost in complete disconnect.

A lot was let out in Costa. Hiding under hood of my EMPsquishy jumper” (long story behind that name…) I cried, for the horror I’d endured since the last time I’d come. How events — and selfish decisions made by other people — destroyed me. Took the last of me away from myself. Right here. That Premier Inn. That room. Room 9.


Where Mam had a huge blow-up at me, and stormed away. Where the police were called by my father against me, when I went outside into the freezing night to feel better, like I was a vulnerable child who knew naught and was missing. Where my selfish mother destroyed my insides enough to send me outside into the night, alone, to which my selfish father called the police to fetch me like I was a frikkin three-year-old. The incident that made the c****s at Rosalin Mental Health decided to utterly utterly destroy everything inside me, cause an atom bomb in a volcano Meltdown of all Meltdowns (despite being “ASD Trained” — utter frikkin BS…!).


A Trauma To End All Traumas inside me. All of it. The last straw against any trust in Professionals.

The break inside my brain the made me refuse medical help, until I nearly could have died. The six gods-and-spirits-damned weeks I spent with cannulas in my arms to pump in IV antibiotics infusions into me, until I was safe. Until there was more Tazoan in my veins than blood, or even coffee.

I missed my first niece’s christening. Instead of waking in a hotel by Southport that day, I awoke to a bunch of lines in my arms in a hospital bed. It was terrifying. I’d been screaming my lungs out from overwhelming waves of horror agony, all day, every day. Now… They were less… But I had blood poisoning. Sepsis. Staphylococcus and streptococcus. A “Horrific” UTI (their words). A bowel infection. As well. That had also caused it. And I’d refused help because that… cow… at Roslin, who destroyed my brain. My trust. My life. My soul.


I went back to confont it… Confront It All. I went for my birthday. For the day of the Anniversary of my hospital release (8th March). And it destroyed me all over again. The agony inside. (Where there’s Feels). The agony outside. (In my body). The Desperation. The Loneliness.


I was thrown once more into the Nether World Void by “Professional” mental health “specialists” who knew absolutely nothing, who destroyed my insides without thought or care. Suddenly… I was 12 years old once again; left utterly destitute inside, once again… Devoid. Of. Everything. I went through all this; had already been through it all once before. All. Of. It. Now, after spending over Two damned Decades trying to overcome those feelings, I was thrown into them all over again… By people who did it the first time round — Parents and Mental Health imbeciles… It was Hell.


PTSD is Hell Itself. It’s haunting, tragic, terrifying, and never lets you forget. I’ve already been through it once — where I saw it take away my memories, disintegrate my life destroy my soul. All whilst I was a child. Now, as an adult, somehow, it seemed even harder to manage, especially the Flashbacks. They never seemed to stop.

I spent the entire time I was there, in that very same hotel as this all started, being haunted by my experiences, by the feels, burdened by Hate, Angry, Trauma, Destitute, Depression, Despair, Aloneness. The others with me, the friends I had taken along there, they suffered as well. Trying to keep me there with them, in the present, but instead, I simply remained trapped in my head with the Flashbacks and the nightmares, apparently there just to rain nothing but bad karma and hard times upon us.

I was processing it all. Reliving it all. Being drowned by it all.

And… Then, I realised it— It. Was. Over.

All. Over.

It was too much to bear. To be inside all of that so much — not only for that trip, but for the last year.

The Pain. The Fear. The Grief… It all came out, along with the new things I had been left with. Like 3/4 of a body I was left entirely unaware of, thanks to all this Trauma… A total of more than Five Years of Emotional and Physical Trauma, cumulating in all this. Trying to find “Life and Meaning” in the middle of it. I know of neither, right now. It helps immensely I have S. There are no words to even begin to cover what she has done and continues to do for me, inside and out. There’s also doggies Soul and Buddy. And also there’s “Universe Sister”, Boo. And my Parents… They finally Get It. That I am damaged, destroyed, have ASD and Alexithymia. And that I also still have to be a grown up, despite all this leaving me much younger in capability than my 17 month old niece.

But it’s too little, too late, now. The damage is done. Cannot be undone. It’s just… more Sellotape, more of that flimsy repair-job-paper-and-string that barely keeps me (metaphorically) putting one foot in front of the other… Frankly, I’m beyond tired of the all crappy repair jobs done to me, and really tired of people thinking that that’s actually an Okay and Acceptible thing — to screw up, to hurt, to damage and harm as they please, then just muddle a crappy, makeshift “fix” to patch up what’s left of me back together…

If my breaks were like scars you see on a vase, there would be no vase… Just endless spiderweb lines of cracks…

I’m left with the detestating consequences. My life is destroyed even more. I’m the one who can’t walk or feel her body. I’m the one who’s Traumatised.

I am the one who needs to deal with being stuck unable to move. I realise I have be “reprogrammed” to work within these new physical and mental parameters and boundaries, and be the best within them; to make the best of them. The old ones are done with. They are no longer Valid. By still putting my expectations within them, I am harming myself badly, inside and out. Emotionally, it’s draining and disappointing — and that Disappointment Dragon sitting on my head needs to, frankly, leave. Forever.

Maybe in having set myself within these new ones, to properly (re)survive(?) the horror and Tempest from Hell that these last 10 days in that Place have created, I really have done something good for myself. Maybe.

Time will tell… Even if you do not like waiting for it.

I don’t.


Life In The Doo-Doo Lane…

Sometimes…. Just… No.

It’s 12.21pm — Sitting in Table Table, heavy nausea in my tummy, not enough food or coffee anywhere near me, miserable because it’s my own fault I’m here right now, and wishing I was still stuffed in my bed, either awake or asleep.

… Adulting is Hard…!

All my fault because, apparently, my brain thought it was a good idea to not close the stopper on my cath leg bag last night, causing it to leak all over my side of the bed. And then, just for good measure — you know, because that’s not quite enough destruction — I spilled half a cup of coffee over the side of the bed too. Whoopee. Yey.

Grrrrrrrr….!!

Context — I’m in Table Table with a companion, S. We’re in Caearnarfon Premier Inn, to celebrate our joint birthdays (born exactly one week apart, precisely the same year). Sounds Strightforward, right? In theory, absolutely. In actuality…? Oh, Hell No!

It was all going to Hell in a Handbasket before then, anyway. That was the main reason for going — some R&R. Except, from even before we left, it was all going wrong. It should have been a sign. But since it wasn’t bight, neon, and flashing in screamingly-loud electric-blue… I missed it. And, so, the games began. Nothing has gone right, and this is the latest in the boo-boos list. And relatively speaking, not even that bad.

… I’m sure there are many, many more of them still to come!


So, we have been forced to allow housekeeping into the room. Therefore, I am hiding from them in Table Table, until the coast is clear to return to the room, and the scary strangers are gone.

… Dear Gods and Spirits, I feel like crap. I wonder if this is what hangovers feel like…? If it is, I finally feel sorry for the bastards who have one — although, theirs were knowingly self-inflicted, and mine was most definitely not. I would never knowingly do anything that did this me!


13.50pm…. Finally returned to the room. Only… Nothing has changed. Except a towel that was on the floor for them (so they know it’s to be taken) in the bathroom was removed. I’ve done a better rush-job at making the bed whilst in a super hurry than they did now — it looked like no one had even bothered, to be honest. I’m not sure they had, since I’d also made it this morning.

Cups changed. Towels changed. Bed linnen not changed. Have I been in hospitals too much, or in posh overseas hotels too much, or do Housekeeping just not change bedding anymore…?!

This was a pointless morning; they did nothing useful….!😟 I’d have most certainly been better off staying in bed and not killing myself trying to get out of this damned room before they got to it…


So… that’ll be one more boo-boo to add to the list!



Anniversary of Hell…

Today is the anniversary of when I first was taken into hospital

On the 28th January 2018, I was booked into a Premier Inn, to go to my niece’s christening the next day.

Instead, I was carried into hospital, barely semi-conscious and screaming so loudly apparently they had to put me into a former office/storage closet, until they had a bed to feed me tramadol and morphine … I woke up in a hospital’s SAU (Surgical Assessment Unit) instead of a hotel… and my parents lost over £200 for the booking… 😢🥺😖

My brain is trying to process it, rather unsuccessfully, to be honest.

However… I like the fact the anniversary of my leaving coincides with one of my new physio appts. I think that’s telling. I could not even wheel myself through the hospital back then.

To celebrate it with something that would have been so alien to me back then, doing what I thought was impossible — like being able to sit up a little on my own, or hold myself up on parallel bars for nearly a whole minute so my body is “standing” upright (as in, I have managed to become strong enough now to hold all my bodyweight enough, so I could raise myself upright on them)— is almost confounding … 🤯


Anxiety & Chaos — The Antithesis of the Aspie Mind…

Anxiety and Chaos rules my mind. It feels like it’s been long buried under mountains of agonising pain, sorrow, grief. Fibro-Fog, medication, and more and more Chaos and Anxiety. I can feel my mind still there, calling, struggling to be freed, to be heard… yet, there seems to be so little I can do about digging it back out.

As long and all this overwhelming Anxiety and Chaos rules me, rules my life, is forced upon me – truly, it seems that no matter what I do to prepare against it, it floods and breaks through my defences and laying siege until I can do nothing more against it. – it will Rule me. It overwhelms me. Then, it eventually takes over me. My life. And now, it just simply continues to do so… because I have only so many spoons at all, and that number is barely above Zero, and none of those spoons are even remotely strong enough to fight against the sheer mountain of things that continue to suffocate me every minute of Every. Single. Day.

With no Short Term Memory to speak of, and pretty much no Long Term Memory to fall back on (although, thankfully, the odd one can be brought out with certain triggers, unfortunately few and far between), it’s like I am nothing and no one.

As an Aspie, who once remembered everything and anything just about, this fact is near killing me inside. I still don’t know what to do with it – the grief and frustration of going through this, being forced to live without something embedded into me, that was an intricate part of me… Quite often, it is all too overwhelming. Even the inability to control my environment was entirely reliant on this… and without it, Anxiety and Chaos reign entirely. It is painful and frightening, and there seems to be nothing I can do about it – and I feel this because I have gone through everything I can think of over these past Five Years this has been happening to me…

I physically cannot move – my condition leaves me with only the shoulders and arms and what is above it; pretty much nothing else is movable by my own conscious will. I must remain on the floor whilst upstairs because my chair (or any chair) cannot fit up here; the house is too old and the landing is far too narrow to accommodate one. This means that I remain next to useless up here – unable to move or control my own environment in my bedroom. Despite assistance, there is no way to keep it sane without someone perfectly able-bodied to take things out and put them away as required. Whilst I may be able to retrieve something, putting it back may cost too much spoons, or be too difficult – or worse, I might forget.

I have been numbed by the sheer and exhaustive amount of confusing and destructive emotions that keep washing over and drowning me. I do not like emotions – actually, I loathe them, and wish they did not exist. And, quite frankly, there are definitely far to many of them. It’s a cornucopia of horror that I flail at, until I fall victim to my terror and end up falling and drowning beneath them all. “NT” people have called this dead numbness “depression” – but I’ve studied psychology for years, and what I have has never quite been fully described by that theory, and it does not fully cover what it is that I experience.

I am TMI (Too Much [Sensory] Information) when it comes to all these emotions – and all are fuelled by my two arch enemies: Anxiety and Chaos. I literally cannot live like this – I barely even exist like this. To live, to participate in… well, something, anything… to do what I love again… That would be Everything.

So, by that measure, it seems that right now I would have nothing…?