Tag Archives: LIFE

Cold World, Cold Hearts

In these times where this government (or Satan’s minions – take your pick) state that people need to “come off long-term sick” and “go back to work”, I have found for myself that actually employers do not want people with long-term health issues on their employment list. In fact, I have just been “let go” because I am not well enough to do everything they require of my for the minuscule pittance they pay me.

This is despite the fact that I have gone to great lengths to try and continue to work the best I can, and (in a great irony) made myself more ill by going to work when I was really too ill to work, to help them with important reports so they would get done. If I hadn’t done that I would not have complicated my already fragile health. I had pneumonia (as well as other health issues). I went to work anyway because it was important to them to have these reports done, because there was no one else to do them. For 2 weeks I pushed myself until I literally couldn’t move. I struggled until I literally couldn’t get off the floor or out of bed on my own. I did it through a pointless sense of loyalty to an organisation who clearly didn’t care. Yesterday I received an email basically stating I was too ill to work for them, in their opinion. They didn’t want someone who was ill and struggling.

Oh, and did I mention they paid me pittance for this too? It’s the worse-paid job I’ve had in years. I took it because it was for – what I thought – was a worthy hospital. Is it irony when the NHS tells you you’re too sick to work for them?

I was working from home and in the last couple of weeks had the equivalent of 4 people’s jobs dumped on me – with no pay rise (and yes, it’s the worst-paid job I’ve had in several years and I wish I hadn’t taken it, because my outgoings went up considerably shortly after I started it). I struggled to go to work until I literally couldn’t move – emotionally blackmailed into it, because there was no one else who could do what I did. Everyone in my team had already abandoned this ship. It was just me left – and also my ex-boss who still had half a finger in his old role because he also left before they found someone else to do it instead.

To be honest – apart from the money thing – I’m rather relieved. The area I worked in was unravelling quickly and there was no proper organisation or management in place. My two bosses left with no substitute in place, leave me – a consultant (a temp) – alone to deal with everything (as well as the jobs of 2 other people too, on top of everything I was already doing). There was no longer any structure, training, organisation, or semblance of sense anywhere. I’m glad I will not require to carry any burden of responsibility for this – and I am certainly in no condition to do it now.

Between the pneumonia, my rather delicate condition before it came, and pushing myself to run a 3 hour round-trip commute after walking the dog for 2 hours and working for 6 hours each day for two weeks, I have now crashed and burned. Chronic pain that was almost durable before has now become unbearable. Stupidly strong painkillers finally dull the pain enough for me to walk about without crying. Before I got them, I couldn’t move without unbearable pain just taking my breath away, like I had been punched in the stomach. I can’t understand why I have this – after all these years, perhaps I will now find out (I’ve finally found a GP who’s willing to help me work it out), but what I do know is that it hasn’t made life worth living much. I am just lucky I have people, and a dog, in my life who are willing to help me.

Apparently, what I can’t do it work. My own (ex)boss told me that in no uncertain terms. When the idiots in government decide to penalise ill people for deciding “not” to work, they should probably check whether employers are willing to employ people who aren’t perfect. Who aren’t super-healthy. Who have medical conditions or disabilities that make life difficult. Business models in this country to not allow for people with health or disability issues to work in the capacity they are able to, and certainly not for liveable salaries. It’s not acceptable to work from home, Skype into meetings, or have the company/organisation help with things to make things easier – like cabs to work, which I cannot afford, but if offered I would then be able to get to work with no problems (I can’t travel by bus or train right now, thanks to the fact I can’t really walk far or for long, I cannot manage stairs, and I am unable to drive now).

If I didn’t have to do things like pay for stuff it wouldn’t be so bad. But unfortunately, shops tend to like you giving them money for their things. It makes life difficult when you don’t have any to give them. It usually means you can’t have things like food, which is unfortunate when they’re rather necessary.

Making ends meet was difficult enough as it was. Now, I really do not know how I will manage. This is not exactly a society that cares to look after its vulnerable people. I’m not exactly elated I seem to be one of them.

I can only hope somehow this is some way of changing things up in my life – foxing my hand and heart towards something that ends up being better for me that the path I was on. Perhaps that is wishful thinking – a false light in the dark. But since the alternative is giving into depression, I’d rather hang onto that. It’s a nicer thought that comes with hope. And without hope, there’s nothing.

 

Fall or Fly

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Bring Me Home

Still living in a world without you…

 

The darkness still sits inside me. I think I’m over it… I thought I was over it. But it’s like the ghosts – the demons – still live inside me, and I don’t know why. It’s over – it’s been over for such a long time. So why am I still afraid?

The pain still feels like it’s tearing through me – but it’s been more than a decade since the knives sliced through my heart. I still feel like I’m there, feeling every stab and tear, feeling every word and tormenting ache. I feel like I never moved on.

Ten years since I left the pain; nearly thirty years since it started. So why does it still haunt me so? What is my exorcism to be, so I can finally leave it behind?

I know… It’s my life – it’s real, it’s true, it’s mine. I cannot run away from it. I don’t want to – not really. I want to learn from it, mature from it, be a better person for it. Instead I am burdened and tormented by it. But where it should be left is in the past. It has no place in the present. It has no place in my heart. The only place it has is in my history – and it’s been and gone and done with.

You’d think I’d be simply relieved it’s been and gone and done with. So why aren’t I? Why am I hoarding this poisonous toxin of agony to the point where it’s killing me? The residue of my past sticks to me and it feels like there’s no getting rid of it. I seem to have a personality incompatible with getting through this – obsessive, intense, analytical, introverted and socially inept… It’s not a constructive character to be able to bounce away from being dragged through Hell and expected to function well afterwards – especially when functioning wasn’t an easy thing to do in the first place.

But in attempting to get away from these “character flaws” (as I’ve seen them) I’ve attempted (on so many occasions) to mask them – be something I’m not. Without accepting what I am, and attempting to realistically modify myself and grow appropriately – without hiding behind smokescreens of fake interests. The only identity I seem to know is “Victim/Survivor”… So I suppose on some level it’s no wonder I continue to “fake” personalities.

…So is it strange I feel like I fluctuate between being super-obsessive and bossy – actually, dementedly overbearing – and slinking into a bland nothing of no opinion whatsoever, trying to be nothing but agreeable? I can’t find the middle-ground, where I feel I’m allowed my personality, my opinion, but I’m also laid-back about things. I have little – no – social skills… I struggle with interaction and guess what the “right” thing to do is – and I can’t seem to learn. I don’t really know how to behave around people.

 

There’s a part of my brain that says, not worry about it – it’s just who I am and if I want to learn, then I need to just be comfortable with this fact and then I  have a platform to learn from. I suppose by that, I mean that if I’m not willing to accept who (or what) I am, then I can’t really ever learn to expand on what I am. Instead I keep pasting over faked attempts at pretending to be like other people. And I’m not. A fact that frightens some intense part of my brain. I was bulled from the first time I walked into Playgroup because I was socially inept, different, quiet, academic. The kids started first, then from Primary the teachers enjoyed joining in. Openly so. It was not a pleasant experience, and I think – I strongly suspect – this is the reason I am too scared to be myself. It’s a little overwhelming when people are responding so negatively to you for who you are.

I know on some fundamental level what I am – but I suspect an equal fundamental problem is that I’m afraid of it. No, I’m not horrible or evil. That’s not why… It’s because I’ve always known (I suppose the right word is “suspected”, because I’ve never had it actually confirmed) that the reason for my lifelong torment at the hands of others. I think I’ve just got to the point where I simply rely on reacting to what’s going on, hiding myself behind it.

I’m somewhat scared I don’t even have a personality anymore – not a core one. I worry I never even had one in the first place. I’m scattered everywhere, stretching myself over so many things. I’m not sure what I truly like, what I’m good at, what I can do – and what I shouldn’t do. I feel like a chameleon without a home – just changing all the time, with rapidly-changing background to sync to. I’m exhausted from it. I just want to be “me”. Whatever that is.

But I feel – somewhere – like I do have a home. That I could have a home. A real sense of my own self… But it’s hidden. Like the centre of a horribly complicated maze. Trapped within the ruins of my life; the ashes of what has been. The fires of Hell long burned out within me, but has left nothing but rubble and ruins. I stand in those ruins, looking around me, wondering what’s become of me – of my life. My existence. Am I building or rebuilding? Am I creating a whole new life or am I having to create one from scratch, because I was too young when the fires started burning to have started one in the first place?

 

At end of all this, I just want me… Myself. Something that’s really real and genuine within me. I feel like dropping down, calling up and begging to be set free from myself and my questions, my torments. I feel like calling out Please Bring Me Home To Myself. 

 

 

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Losing Control

Losing control… I would say that would be a fair understatement of where I’ve been for quite some time now.

I’ve been convinced by the demon in my head that I cannot exist with or without it… The twenty-odd years of 24/7 brainwashing has worked and I think I cannot shake this conviction from my heart. With its departure from most of me, my life seems empty… I am, I think, in effect grieving for the loss of it. I don’t know how else to explain that nauseating feeling of loss, and feeling very rather lost since I’ve taken its reins and banished it from controlling my life.

Its ghost is there, in the background, telling me I’m nothing without it, and I do feel that. Its been there since I was a young child of eleven. Possibly longer without my knowing it. How do I possible define myself now a prominent part of me is suddenly missing? I have to suddenly go out and actually find out what’s left and build it back up to be a whole person again… A tough task when you’ve made a dent into your thirties. After decades of fighting for survival against the demon, against trauma, against the world, the most taxing thing in my life is ensuring BT and the landlord get paid on time, and maybe what game I’d like to play. And nothing really intimidates me anymore – I’ve seen worse – the worst – and survived to care about nothing more important than whether I prefer Mr Muscle or Cillit Bang (… read it properly…!) … Its a different world. And frankly I do not understand it.

I find myself overwhelmed with this task of managing a “normal-ish” life, whilst also failing to understand how people find it taxing. There’s nothing big to worry about… Its probably why they invent “problems” like “am I skinny enough???”, “can I ‘have it all’ and still be skinny”, “I can’t afford to go to Florida AND Australia this year…”, or “oh dear, I can’t choose the best nursery for my little darlings”… After going to Hell and back, I do not understand how people can be so intense about making these frivolities “problems”. Me, I get confused why it matters and why I’m supposed to take precedence with things that – the grand scheme of things – matter not one whit, and is nothing you’ll be thinking about when its time to follow the light from your deathbed.

In the middle of all this, I also know that am not “normal”… I am internally battle-scarred and rather hardened, carrying cynicism and little sympathy for others who fall at even a minor hiccup. I do not, and I am not going to, play by these daft and pointless rules of society’s “pretty” existence – I’m not interested, as its barely a facade that keeps itself together. People go out of their way to live up to imagined expectations (I mean who made this “perfection” crap the “law”…). I cannot do that, and I will not – cannot – play their silly games. I’ve been through too much to feel such things can possibly be so important that they make you miserable. Find out what real misery is – then maybe you’ll have something to say that’s worth your whining… It may sound cold to anyone who hasn’t faced trauma or real hard times, or someone who hasn’t looked death in the face and then turned their back on it. But that is how it feels when people who don’t have it so bad go on about things that don’t really make that much difference in the long-run of life.

In the end all this makes me feel like I’ve totally lost control of myself and my life… And to be honest, like I never had it in the first place. It – the demon – has controlled me almost my whole life, and I have done some awful things to grasp some of that control back, but I never succeeded. I still feel lost; scattered to the breeze like I have been crushed into so many pieces I have no hope of being put back together again. Without my “arch enemy” to fight, I feel my life has lost purpose – that is has no other purpose… And, really, it doesn’t. Everything in my life as been governed towards fighting it. I thought being its mistress would lead me to peace – instead it leaves me feeling empty and without focus.

I honestly don’t know what to do without it. In gaining control of the monster, I seem to have lost control of my life.

It was very far from what I expected.
I suppose you should be careful what you wish for… It might just happen…

 
Now that it seems to have happened, its not the outcome I wanted at all. And I feel lost…

 


Freedom from this Labyrinthian Realm

Feeling lost has been a confusing and heartbreaking experience. Nothing is “OK”, makes sense, or is worth any effort when you are lost inside your own mind. My focus has been gone, and so have I…

 

I unfortunately only just came to realise that last part though.  I nearly lost far more than myself because of it. I didn’t exist, and it was only after what felt like almost a divine-like epiphany did I actually finally come to realise I hadn’t really existed for a long time. Not the me inside, screaming so loud and for so long to be allowed out. I was a walking zombie, with empty eyes and a tempestuous shell driven by pain, fear and confusion. What had happened, and was happening, to me had drained me of my very soul and had left very little, if anything, behind.

 

I haven’t sung, written, made music, or read much – if at all. All the things I have always previously adored were nothing but a burden to me. I wanted to do all those things so much, but they were simply too much effort for a scared, unfocused and rambling mind like I had. Lost in a nightmare of a labyrinth, with no idea how I got in and with no way out, I felt always destined to wander about inside it with no way of solving it, allowing myself to be free.

 

It was music that came back to save me from this Labarynthian Realm. Something in the music shifted something in my mind, leaving open a black hole of realisation I had never experienced before… And I was startled, shocked, and appalled to see for the first time what I had really become. The skeletal-like remains of my personality and character were not what I expected to see – and I had never realised quite how deep inside Hell I had fallen.

 

I have been here before – many years ago – in a similar situation, and when the trauma-coloured glasses fell from my eyes, I was horrified to see what had become of me. Sixteen years ago it was because I was anorexic and didn’t really know it (or, in all honesty, didn’t want to acknowledge it) – then one day I saw myself for what I really looked like, without the help of the vile disease looking through my eyes for me. I was left horrified and shocked at myself for allowing myself to be taken in by it so – and now I feel almost exactly the same way again now, all these years later. And the things that I have done (and in some cases, not done) leave me feeling immensely guilty – and in some extreme cases, sickened and overwhelmed by what I had done, and had been reduced to.

 

Yet somehow, I now feel some hope. And, even more importantly, I feel more like I’m on a path towards myself. The me that has a personality and bright eyes and a smile… not a glassy-eyed shell devoid of apathy and running on pure selfishness. I am well aware I am never going to be anywhere near perfect – I have a past that is deplorable and affects me still, and an illness that sucks the life out of you like a greedy vampire that won’t stop. I am no longer skin-and-bone, but food still terrifies me, and I am still learning to co-exist  with my paranoia and perpetual fear of everything (I’ve given up trying to override them)…

 

However, I have hope I will be at least in touch with myself, feel a little better in my own skin, be more accepting of who I actually am, and treat people like heart-felt humans and real friends – and not inanimate objects who’s sole purpose is to revolve around my tempestuous hyper-sensitivity and make me “feel better”, whilst enduring my erratic and frightening behaviour. I have hope that in time I can learn to be focused on the things I want to do and like doing, without having a panic attack about just the thought of it. I want to write music and sing again, write the book(s) that have always been tumbling about in my head, read as much as I used to, and have some self-confidence and self-belief. It’s going to be baby steps, but I also hope that the projection will be forward, even if progress isn’t at breakneck speed. Moving forward, even slowly, is better than staying still – or worse; going backwards.

 

I think I have managed to pull myself from the brink of what could have been a huge disaster in my life. I’ve had too many of them and could never have survived yet another one. I hope I will learn to manage the black demon in my heart better, and that I become the Queen of my own realm – not a victim to another one of madness and hopelessness, being lost and wandering blindly and in vain.

 

One day I hope to be the person I know I really could be. Until then, I’m going to keep on working on it…

 

 

 


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