Friday, May 30, 2008

More Rehab Than Amy Ever Needed

Backdating (The pun, is entirely unintentional)
17 May 2008 - 9:46PM

Online Dating, to a Serial, Abusive and Spurious Relationship Junkie, is akin to a heroin addict having a button on their computer that fires smack directly into the bloodstream every time they press it. I am a Dating Website, Skank-Whore. “Whore” seems to feel like an appropriate name for me at the moment as in my mind – I have bottomed out as an online porn star to all and sundry. “Like me – I’ll show you my arse?”, seems to fit how I felt on those pages – but it’s the old chicken/egg conundrum; did I become that way because that's all that was ever offered, or because that is how I make/manipulate men to stick around? The latter and indeed the former, are neither one a pleasant realisation. Since TRD left my world I have been spinning and clinging to the hope that I will again, find a lovely, gentle soul to coax me out of my black cave. (I was going to “hole” – but that metaphor is to close to genital orifice that I feel, at times, has lead many a merry dance to disaster)

Sex has always been my tool. It is my way to say “Good morning”, “Good afternoon” and “Goodnight” I use it to say: “I’m sorry”, “I forgive you” – I use it when I’m bored, happy, sad, listless and when I can think of nothing better to do. I also use it to stop people from leaving. That is and has been my constant companion over the years. It is the only way, I know how, to feel anything (but ironically also – not); the only way I know how to communicate. I have learned it is a way to keep a man distracted from really thinking about how much he hates me, or how: “We really aren’t really that suited”. I put on such a floor show with all the bells and whistles, that only those well aware of my deft and highly accomplished deflection skills, will suddenly realise that they have had to do nothing to reciprocate the pleasures bestowed upon them.

I have come to see deftness as my being more equipped than a top rate defence lawyer making a case for a plaintiff with seriously suspect accusations. I am constantly “on the job” because if I ain’t – that’s when 'they' have time to reflect on the reality of dating someone with more luggage than Louis Vuitton himself.

So, in wee small, lonely, tear-stained hours of this morning, 12:10 AM to be precise, I climbed into Relationship (Skank-Whore) Rehab. It was a bad place to be. I hit the delete button: "Reason for leaving?" the computer asked. "I had a bad experience using this service", I replied. "Actually make that several. Several bad experiences." I removed the Dating Website from both of my Internet Bookmarks Bar's on my two usual browsers and then just sat there, wondering what I was going to do next.

Thursday, May 29, 2008

"I Would Have to be Somebody"

Today I had counselling with Thursday and although I can't go back to the events of those fifty minutes that I was in session quite yet, I feel it a lifesaving (a word chosen carefully, respectfully and deliberately) measure, to mark this day so that I will never forget its importance and value and the landmark position it holds in the vast expanse that is my reconstruction.

The aptness of the following section of an email, that I shall copy below, is palpable in both its timing and foresight and I want to keep it here, close to me, so that I will never forget the words; the outstretched hand and ability in my Heaven-Sent Friend to hear/predict my silent and subconscious call.

"Keep taking a break from your work in councelling[.] I know you have to get so deep into it all to keep the process going but I want you to keep surfacing up with friends that love all of you, and I'm a special friend, if I do say so myself."

I am the friend that stays silent when her life is in danger. The friend who stays silent, when the unravelling of her world becomes so great, that when realisations of her darkest fears, finally find a voice - she retreats. I am the friend that doesn't think she is worth enough or alive enough to register in another's thoughts. I am the friend that doubts she exists or has the right to believe that she is somebody, that she is allowed to have needs and that she has every right to seek and find help in the most unbearable of her days.

Sometimes, if you are lucky enough, and can hear them through the other voices in your head, you find a life-raft that reminds you that you are someone, that you have a voice and that they will listen, when and if you choose to use it.

"I am at home now if your mouth or ears decide to open themselves."

Tuesday, May 27, 2008

Scribbles of Darkness Above my Head

"Could this person be the love of your life?"

(Subject line of a presumably, very chatty email, greeting me this morning from my Inbox. They obviously can't see the cloud of black doom that is hovering menacingly over my head. Or the face that says: "Fuck off", from under menacingly furrowed brow.)

"NO"

I haven't replied to a single one of these annoying emails that keep arriving post, historic/hysteric, deleting of my online profile from previous Dating Website. They, (the rival dating site) are obviously getting quite panicked by the apparent rejection of their oh-so-tempting offers of faceless, male wonders because the other day, they decided I was gay - promptly sending me a lovely and encouraging (almost congratulatory) email, welcoming me into their fold. (No pun intended)

They really can't see the stony, glowering face of darkness scowling at them. That made me laugh - writing that. I had visions of a Snoopy character being pissed off - probably Lucy - and it made me crack up. Maybe I'm hysterical? Oh, I do hope so.

Oh The Voices, They Do Confuse Me So

Heads are noisy things. They are full of voices. Voices inside my head.

Too many to listen to - my own included. Always shouting and complaining and moaning and wanting me to do

more, to do better...

to make more of an

effort. To play, to
stop,
to sleep to

get up.

I had a

bath

today.

I washed my hair.

I bought milk. Then I slept. I slurred.

I cancelled and slurred some more. I swallowed tablets like a good girl. I am angry. Fucking-hell-frustrated. I want to kill things. Or

break
them.

Or chuck them out of windows. I thought I would throw myself out of a window; once.

Sunday, May 25, 2008

I'm Goin' Dahn

I'm really good at this quiet thing. I have been just as busy - talked just as much and now I am slurring. The slurring started last night. My tongue feels too big for my mouth and I can't get the right words to come out - no matter how hard I try.

I hate this part - the slurring - because it reminds me of my Father. Since having his stroke he has the same problem with words, and when I open my mouth, and stumble, I hear his voice in my head.

I can't relax - well, I just don't know how to relax. Frankie made it sound all so simple, but it ain't. It's scary and I hate it. I am too twirly to sit still, so it seems my only option is to go back to bed. That duvet is fast approaching the top of my head and my only exile seems to be in the moments before sleep, before the nightmares and the vivid dreams about him (my Father). My head is FULL of him just now. "Just go away" "Please, just go away, out of my head and bother someone else for a while!"

"What do you expect you damn fool? You are trying to get rid of me with all this new: 'brain reprogramming, memory shit'. I am going to come back harder and faster and be more furious, just to prove that I will always be here. Always waiting - just like I used to, so that you are terrified to walk outside your front door, just incase I have found you again. You can't catch me, I'm the gingerbread man..."

I flirted with the Sainsbury's delivery man yesterday morning. In my nightdress and then he fell up the stairs and over my shopping.

"Yup, I'm goin' dahn mate"

My eyes want to close - off to bed I go.

Friday, May 23, 2008

"You, Doctor Martin"

Today marks the beginning of my self-imposed exile. I am the "laughing bee" on her stalk. So loud has been my time of late, that a quietness this way comes. A much craved for and deserved quietness. The batten's are hatched and the stock piling for foodstuff's is about to begin, online.

Since my return to home from London Town, I have been out and about tending to my friend's needs and bouncing from counselling appointment to counselling appointment with every breath. I literally come home, dump a bag and head out again and if I don't stop now, I know an almighty crash shall be the next item on my ever expanding, mental To Do List.

So in true, "I am aware of my body and what it wants to do" style (i.e. go an lie in that bed of mine and pull the duvet over my head) - I am imposing exile as a preventative measure. I am so self-aware, it is almost frightening.

Today the dishes shall be washed, the blood-stained bed linen - changed, the ashtrays emptied. I will finish the half completed projects that are now, gathering dust and I shall have some good, old fashioned Lady Time. I might even get the opportunity to empty my suitcase from my trip of nearly two weeks ago. Hand to mouth, no more - that existence is goin' dahn mate...

Maybe Belinda was right: "Heaven is a place on earth".

"You Shall Go To The Ball..."

I am sitting here, wearing a skirt.

It looks like the bottom half of my bridesmaid's dress that I wore to my best friend's wedding. Although this one ain't the colour of a Quality Street sweetie wrapper. But it is as pouffy. It makes a cloud around you when you sit down in it, which is altogether very pleasing. I also have my nightie on, hiked up somewhere around my midriff and my cardi full of moth holes, and my ballet pumps.

And as I sit here, waiting for my sleeping tablet to kick in - I think I am just about the funniest thing I have ever seen in my whole life. I should dress like this more often.

Wednesday, May 21, 2008

Little Nuts and Raisin Trees

It is my eldest niece's second birthday today. "Happy birthday, Little Nut!"

She is so amazingly beautiful and clever that she makes my heart ache and burst, every time I look at her. I would never have thought it possible to love a child that was not your own, with such depth. Every new word she utters I think she deserves a medal and I quite often burt into spontaneous applause at her antics - either that or my mouth drops open and hangs there - when she got her first tooth or when I first saw her holding a fork... A proper little person she is, with teeth and a voice. I watched her grow from a tiny bump in my best mates belly, to the "big girl" she is today and have adored every second. A prouder (Honorary) Aunt, I could not be.

She was quiet when I arrived at their house this evening for her birthday tea party. But moments later she was doing some impressive yoga moves on the couch and was pointing to things and naming them proudly, especially her "toes" and her "Daddy", her new baby sister and "soos" (shoes). She says all these new words as if they were questions - with a tiny upward lilt at the end of each one. Maybe they are to her? Maybe she is just asking to be told she is right - which we, of course, always do with proud and beaming smiles.

I had spent the early afternoon at home, making t-shirts for her with slogans on them (age appropriate, of course), and of course I was running late as I got to sleep at five this morning ("Yes a boy was involved, but his is virtual"). Her card that I made, matched her t-shirt and I wrapped all her treats up in bright red, spotty paper. She needed help from her Mama with the opening of the latest present to arrive, and although I was deeply impressed by my t-shirt making skills with the aid of an iron and some fancy printer paper, she loved the shiny, royal blue lunch box that was also inside - that held little pots with lids, filled with alphabet cutters. We spent a good while putting all the letters into the boxes, shutting the lids and putting them away, just to get them back out again moments later. Easy-peasy.

Her baby sister has grown so much in the month or so since I have last seen them all. She is another beautiful pixie baby. Luckily I have never had to lie to my friends that their children are lovely when they are indeed not. Well, I did have to once... But I rue the day that ever happens to someone I would see a lot of - "Poor little potato head". I got to hold her and sing to her: "Don't say a word you" and rocked her down from screaming. She was belting out of her lungs because the (in her mind, obviously heartless) window cleaner had come seeking payment and had interrupted her feed. A far cry from when babies scared the living crap out of me. A far cry indeed.

I caught my reflection in the glass of one of the framed paintings in their home, while I was holding my smallest niece and it completely surprised me. Me holding a baby, rocking and soothing her. I wondered, just for a moment if that would ever be in my world? I did ask the Magic 8 Ball some other questions, tonight, while I was there - just not that one - I think I'd prefer not to know right now.

It is on evenings like this, when I am stretched out on my friends couch and drinking tea, while all three of us yell and scream at The Apprentice while the girls sleep soundly, that I feel profoundly 'normal'. Not that I feel 'abnormal' per se, during the majority of my life these days; it is just that those times, the times when I am not thinking about my therapy appointments, or what needs doing in the house that I am just there, living in the moment, drinking my tea and yelling at the dumb-asses on the TV that I could run rings around. It makes me smile.

Tonight I am swathed in blankets as the four hours sleep I have accumulated over the past forty-eight hours have made me weary, cold and shivery. I have taken the Big Guns (Zopiclone) tonight, to ensure that sleep actually comes. I eat from the tiny boxes of raisins I usually use to bribe my nieces to love me - waiting for the effects to kick in - waiting for my eyes to finally close.

More counselling tomorrow with Friday. A far cry from the CBT style antics of yesterday and then I shall be free again until next week...

Tuesday, May 20, 2008

She Just Kept Begging

The father took the girl into the kitchen, after he had dismissed her friend. Moments before, the young girl had silently begged her friend to stay with her pleading eyes, the only language she had left. She knew something awful was about to happen and that he couldn’t do it if she was there – but her friend had left anyway. It wasn't her problem.

She was crying and shaking, when he started taking off his belt, and she begged him to leave her alone. She screamed and cried and backed herself as far back into the walls of the corner of the kitchen as she could - her hands were in front of her - preparing for the attack. She knew he would want to bend her over the table or pull down her trousers or underwear. She had heard the screams of her stepbrother and sister before, from behind closed doors. She was twelve-years-old and already menstruating, she was a great deal older. She had reached puberty; she had breasts and pubic hair. She knew he would be able to “see” her – especially in that position - she would be vulnerable to anything he wanted to see or do.

She was about to be utterly humiliated and defiled and she knew it. She just kept begging: “Please don’t. Please, please, please, please don’t. Dad, please” She thought she would lose control of her bladder at any moment and urinate over herself. She had no idea where he would... God. All she had to try to do was try to keep him and that leather from around his trousers away from her.

I stood in the doorway, for less than a second and saw exactly what was happening. I moved swiftly and directly between the child and the man. I put my arm behind me to keep her as protected and shielded as possible. I said nothing, until my voice, shaking with rage told the shocked man: “Don’t you dare touch her”. My teeth were jammed together so hard that they felt like one solid block of enamel – I hissed the barely audible words at him, in case I too lost control and flew at him, teeth bared and fists flying. I would have killed him if I had to – just to keep that monster away from that child. “Don’t you DARE touch her”, I spat. It took every ounce of control to keep my anger away from him. The child was terrified enough.

I must have looked terrifying to him – flying into the room and interrupting his glassy eyed rampage - his dirty and violent little secret. Someone had seen him now. Seen him for the monster he was.

My next move was to get her out of there. I turned and shielded her with my body. Gripping her hand in mine, we silently and at an almost running pace, moved down the hall to inner front door. All I could see was that glass door and knew we had to get on the other side of it – fast. Past that, I knew the main door to the outside world would be open, just a few more steps and we would be almost there. I had said nothing to the girl I was protecting the entire time I was with her. I’m not even sure I looked at her. Something in her must have known to trust me - inherently, because she just moved with me, completely and in sync, like two parts of the same whole. I don’t know where He was at that point – I didn’t care, I would have fought with everything I had, if I had had to. All the years of squashed down rage would have come pouring out of me and I would have fired it all at him - all of it – without hesitation. I wasn’t scared of him anymore. I never would be again. I was almost as tall as he was now, and I had years of practice keeping scum like him away from me.

We reached fresh air and walked, almost running with an illusion of calm, down the sloping slab and gravel path in front of the house to the street. We turned swiftly right at the end of the gate. It was only then that I turned to look at myself and simply said: “Run!” and we ran, still gripping onto our hands, building speed with every stride. The only other thing I said was: "Don't look back".

“Now, on the count of three we'll open our eyes”, Thursday said. “How do you feel?” she asked.

“Furious” – I said. “Absolutely furious

“Same time next week?”

“Yes, definitely” I said, smiling and feeling entirely invincible.

Sunday, May 18, 2008

For Eye Have Sinned

“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned, it has been twenty-six days since my last confession”

Twenty-six days, nearly a whole month, and a long month it has been. I met Triple Ex and found some peace, I’ve been to London to visit the Queen. I've turned thirty-one, received a message from my Father, cried in counselling, missed a few counselling sessions, started doing voluntary work and I’ve been ‘ditched’; again. I have also shunned a couple of dickheads, deleted my online dating profile, and I’m having some much required Lady Time.

“Yeah, yeah – don’t snort and splutter into your tea – just because I ain’t working doesn’t mean my days are filled with delirious happy indulgences of quality time – far from it in fact. I think I’m busier than I ever was, ever”

“Why do you always make me feel like I have to defend my situation to you? I have enough all engulfing guilt of my own, thanks - fuck off

“Freak”

I’m sitting here, in the late afternoon, with the windows open, fresh air flowing in and out of my cluttered flat and feeling a bit more in control of my life than I was when I last wrote. “Fate, you can fuck right off too, if you think I’m goading you here” Much more in control is probably more appropriate. “Don’t even think about it…”

I haven’t taken the time to sit and write mainly because there hasn’t been the headspace or the clarity to do anything of late, until this point – curled up, shaking and tearstained faces have been higher on the agenda. Today is the first time I can actually feel myself breathing. There have been days where events have forced me to turn to the bleakly lyrical in my writing; they just haven’t made it onto the computer and lie on scraps of paper littered around my catatonic home – like the words: “help me”, curiously written repeatedly, in shaking hand, inside a book of Su Doku. Now I’m picking up those pieces, and trying to make sense of them - unscramble all the events, the lows and even darker moments – and some incredible highs. Hopefully over the next few days I’ll get it all down. Unless of course the shit hits the fan again…