An Ode to my Mother

you carried me with you,

you created a monster,

you gave birth to a girl,

whose mind is an impostor.

not what you had in mind

when you wanted a baby;

you spent half your life

trying to save me.

I know you tried to do

everything you possibly could,

you always tried to love me

the way a mother should.

I was born broken

in sickness and in trauma

but its not your fault

I never really had a father.

I can only promise to forgive

but I’m sorry I can’t forget,

that you spent half your life

living in regret.

your hurt and hatred

passed onto another generation

such tragic magnetic chaos

from an awful situation

I can’t thank you enough

for everything you have done

I’m sorry I can’t be something better

but whats done is done.

even when I’m mad

or when I think I hate you,

you are still my mother

I can’t do anything but love you.

I could shout a thousand apologies

I could stand naked in the rain

but that wont make up for anything

or any of this pain.

I am a part of you

you are a part of me

we carry the same pain

the same burden, unfortunately.

I can’t think of the right words

to tell you how much I love you,

or to explain how I would break down

when the day comes I should lose you.

I can only try to appreciate

the little things you do

this is an ode to my mother

I love you.

 

 

 

When Life Gives You Lemons

I say fuck the lemons, just give me the tequila! (totally irrelevant and ironic)

 

It’s safe to say this year for me so far has not been the greatest… Let me break it down for you…

  1. I ended up in hospital after drinking a litre bottle of Famous Grouse and attempting suicide for the 4th? time.
  2. I was then admitted into a psych ward (a Spanish one I might add) for 48 hours due to the continued self deprecating suicidal thoughts… (Stay tuned for a special blog on this one)
  3. My boyfriend then broke up with me and fucked off back to Manchester the selfish little prick, so yes, another relationship bites the fucking dust… yes it was a “new” relationship but one I had yet again invested myself in all the same.
  4. I had to start therapy again, and after a good year or so without it, anyone who has been there will know it feels like taking ten steps back and it fucking sucks.
  5. I lost a couple of clients with my little “cleaning business” but then I guess I did gain a couple too, so maybe this one doesn’t count?
  6. I was also in the process of trying to find a housemate to share with me where I currently live so I didn’t have to stress too much about the cost of rent and bills all by myself… I found someone, a great guy actually, who unfortunately pulled out last minute as he got onto a personal training course back in the UK. Something which I SELFLESSLY told him to pursue but as it transpires, it’s s course you can basically do from anywhere in the world (anyway, minor details)… regardless… you wanna know how I know you can do it from anywhere in the world? I did my own research for my own benefit because it is something I have always been interested in . Going to the gym really helped me overcome addiction and gave me coping mechanisms that helped with my depression and anxiety.

 

Anyway, Long story short…. I am a firm believer in that everything happens for a reason.

Why did I meet this guy, this “potential housemate”? Why did he talk about personal training etc that INSPIRED me to push myself and pursue my own fucking dreams of becoming a personal trainer myself?

Firstly I wouldn’t have met him had I not been in Spain, not looking for a housemate and almost certainly if I had still been with my boyfriend.

At the time the pain of another heartache was all too much to bear but now, in hindsight and what a beautiful thing it is, has showed me that it ALL HAPPENED FOR A REASON. I have been through all this shit to find my path again.

I lost my way. Again. Had my heart broken, Again. But this wasn’t all for nothing I guess, because now I feel like I see my own future again. Me myself and I.

Life teaches you a lesson and you hopefully learn from it and move on.

Well fingers crossed, this time next year I could be running my own fitness studio, or as I pointed out to my parents earlier, this qualification combined with my university degree in creative writing…. I could end up writing for a magazine such as women’s health.

See?

I think everything does happen for a reason?

And you know what? Fuck the lemons, give me that shot of tequila any day.

Sink Back Into The Ocean…

This is a monologue I stole from the end of the last episode/season of The Affair which resonated with me so much I just had to share it.

“What in God’s name do you think you can do to me that I haven’t done to myself a million times? I have been in pain my entire life. And maybe that’s what makes people think that I’m weak. And maybe that makes people treat me like some sort of receptacle for all their grief and rage and disappointment, but I am fucking sick of it.”

“I just want to live a different life,” she says. “I want to live a different story. I’m still young. I can be someone else. Someone who deserves love. Someone who can be happy.”

I always make the same mistakes…

Not too long ago, my mum said to me “The only person you can rely on is yourself.” And oh my god was she right… (Just don’t tell her that). It has stuck with me ever since, because people will inevitably let you down. The thing is, is it their wronging or yours? Maybe (for arguments sake) if we didn’t have such high expectations then we wouldn’t get so disappointed, right? I have to admit I do have high expectations but I think maybe the reason for this is that I expect from others what I would do for them. Surely that doesn’t make me a bad/needy/neurotic person? Sometimes it really feels that way though.

Up until fairly recently I pretty much depended on other people to define me. I surrounded myself with anyone and everyone because I was terrified of what would happen to me and my own head if I was alone for too long. But the thing is, the people I surrounded myself with were not very nice people at all, in fact they were really toxic and narcissistic and basically drained the life out of me. I’m not saying I am perfect by any means (pretty sure I’ve said this a thousand times) but I think I at least try to acknowledge my mistakes and attempt to make amends with the people I have hurt or done wrong by. Granted, it has taken me a while to realise my problems but hey we live and learn right?

It took me a long time to accept and move on from all the bad stuff that happened to me and all the shit people put me through. It took me even longer to accept that this was in fact a blessing which had made me stronger and wiser and (I would like to think) a slightly better person.

In a perfect world, yes. But unfortunately the world we live in isn’t perfect and shit happens. ALL THE TIME.

It’s heartbreaking though when you really love or care for someone though and they just let you down. How much disappointment can one take before saying enough is enough? Does it make you a weak person for wanting to forgive people? Or does it actually in fact make you that much stronger and wiser because of all the pain and suffering your heart is willing to take? Forgiveness feels like a heavy burden to bear and it may not always be easy, but you have to let things go, sooner or later, one way or another, otherwise you will just hold onto the heartache for the rest of your life and for what? It’s a form of self harm because the only person you are truly hurting is yourself.

So be kind to yourself, love yourself more than anyone else and let that shit go. #sorrynotsorry

I don’t like the drugs but the drugs like me…

…as Marilyn Manson once said.

I have always had this love/hate relationship with drugs and with myself. Ever since I could remember, I always wanted to escape reality. When I was younger, I buried my head in endless books to escape, finding sanctuary within the pages. Then as I got older I unfortunately discovered a more destructive way of escaping; drugs. And I couldn’t get enough of them.

I started drinking when I was about fourteen years old. I can remember the first time I got seriously drunk and feeling so utterly free with my new found confidence. Then I started smoking weed at sixteen, which turned into something more serious by seventeen, when I had my first run in with the police for drink driving. It was then I tried cocaine for the first time. By eighteen I had a bit of a problem with it as I started dating my dealer and he was the first boy to break my heart. It was long after I was diagnosed with depression as well. I do wonder sometimes if it was the drugs that triggered it all off or the heartbreak. Or maybe it was a bit of both? Who knows. One thing I do know for sure is that this was just the beginning of my chaotic and destructive life.

After being diagnosed with depression, the doctors tried to put me on anti-depressants but I refused to take them. I saw this as almost giving into depression and thought it was a sign of weakness to take them. Instead, I had some private Cognitive Behavioural Therapy whilst I was attending Milton Keynes College and things started to get a little better for me. I was lucky enough to get my Diploma in Media Production and start moving forward with my life. Sort of.

I ended up taking a year out before starting university and my main focus was on having fun and getting totally wasted and just enjoying being young. My step sister and I moved out when we were about seventeen or eighteen and we held the best house parties. One house party we had in a house share with her boyfriend at the time and my gay best friend. We had speakers stacked up to the ceiling and a massive nos canister in our living room. I stupidly posted the party on Facebook and about three hundred people showed up. The police ended up raiding it with riot vans.

But it was at this party I tried Ketamine for the first time and I fell head over heels in love with it. I remember walking down the stairs into the front room and I kept saying over and over “I’m walking on marshmallows.” For me that was one of the best experiences I had ever had, as I was able to totally let go of all inhibitions. I felt invincible and I genuinely had not a single fucking care in the world. It helped me forget all the shit that had ever happened to me and just made everything seem so much better. It was a beautiful and dangerous love affair and I started doing it nearly every day.

A year or so later I somehow managed to get into my first choice university, which was The University of East London. I remember pulling up to the entrance and saying “I don’t belong here, turn around, I don’t belong here,” yet ironically it was the only place I ever felt truly myself. It was one of the most terrifying and most amazing things I have ever done and I will never know or understand how I ever did it- my love for drugs didn’t stop, if anything it got worse. I sound like such a fucking cliche but it literally fuelled most of my creativity. And I was happy.

I graduated University and shocked everyone including myself. My mum admitted to me that she didn’t think I would make it through the first year and to be totally honest with you I don’t blame her for thinking that- I changed emotions and directions as quickly as the wind changed the sea. I was a little unstable at the best of times. But the most satisfying part of it all? I was basically on drugs the whole time I was there, yet I managed to graduate with a high 2:1. I once even gave a presentation to four of my tutors on NO sleep, still half cut on pills, mkat and half a bottle of wine. And I got a first. So yeah, you could say my graduation was an accomplishment.

After I graduated, I fell into a low paid but steady job working 9-5 doing office admin. At weekends carried on taking drugs and partying – it was the only thing I knew how, the thing I could do best. I managed to get a pay rise, then a promotion and another pay rise. I was doing pretty well; I was happy, I had friends and a good job, my own place. I was attempting life as an adult and I was winning for the most part. Until I met “Him”.*

After he came and tore my world apart, the really bad drug habit turned into one hell of an addiction. I was easily sniffing six grams of Ketamine a day, along with GHB and cocaine and anything else I could find to numb the immense pain I was in. I was something I never thought I would be. I never admitted to having a “problem”. I was a full blown addict. I then started drinking loads again. Things got better then they got even worse. I started smoking crack everyday and on the occasion heroin, something I am so ashamed to admit, it makes me feel sick. I wasn’t this person, surely? I hated myself so much, I honestly didn’t care who I was anymore. I just wanted it all to end. I wanted to die.

But I didn’t die. I have no idea how, but I managed to fight my demons and my addictions. I wish I knew how I did it so I could give you some advice, but I honestly don’t. The only thing I know is that I just somehow managed to keep on fighting and keep on living, even when life was no longer worth living and I was not a person worth living for. It took a lot of strength to do that, but if I can do it, so can you. Don’t give up.

If you or anyone you know suffers with addiction, the Narcotics Anonomous UK helpline is 0300 999 1212.

*See blog “10 Things I Hate About You”.

 

10 Things I Hate About You…

I was just 24 years old when I thought I had it all figured out. I had a good steady job, new and exciting yet serious relationship with a boy. (I say boy because he doesn’t deserve to be called a man.) I had friends, a social life… I was having fun! Everything suddenly fell into place and I could see the start of a faint sketch of what my life could look like. A decent blueprint. Or at least I thought.

It started with him telling me my friends weren’t “good for me” and that I shouldn’t spend so much time with them. He was very convincing. Slowly but surely, one by one, my friends stopped calling or texting to the point I stopped going out or doing anything but stay at home with him. Before I knew it, I didn’t really have any friends to turn to when me and my ex had a fight and I had no one to talk to.

Then somewhere along the line, whilst I was building him up, helping him do better in work and getting a new job (higher paid than mine, I might add) he started making small digs at me and my life. He kept calling me crazy when we had arguments, he sat and looked at me in disgust when he was supposed to love me. He told me over and over that my “skirt was too short” or that my “tits are on show” when they clearly weren’t and although none of it was true, he was making me feel self conscious and exposed and unworthy.

Then, when I managed to bag myself a job in the same office, doing what he was doing (the job I encouraged him to get) he clearly just couldn’t handle that and used it as another platform to abuse me from. He would walk past my desk making snide remarks about the way I looked, or the way I was dressed. Nothing so obvious that I could pick him up on it without causing an unwanted argument, but he slowly but surely chipped away at my confidence and self esteem.

I hate to say it but I was blind. Unfortunately, it didn’t stop there.

We moved into a new flat together, a flat which was miles and miles away from any of my family (who had been totally immunised with his narcissistic charm) or my friends (what was left of them). Granted, we had a bit of a drug problem together (something he also liked to blame entirely on me) so we did argue a lot and things got quite bad. I was starting to get depressed and anxious and started doubting myself so much I was basically an empty shell. A shadow of my former self. But we still spoke of a future together; we talked about marriage and having children together. There was still hope.

Then, like a punch to the face, he turned around to me one day and said “I’m not doing this anymore” and left. Just like that. He packed up his things, barely shed a tear and walked out on me and the life I thought we had been building together. Just. Like. That. We had only been in the flat a month or so, which my mum had bought as an investment for her property business. I had also just got a brand new car on finance which was in my name as the main owner. He was a coward.

And the worst thing? I STILL had to work with him.

Less than a week later after he had broken up with me, I went into work feeling like I had just been to my own funeral. I sat down at my desk, nothing was in focus. I felt weak. Suddenly I couldn’t breathe, my whole body was shaking. This is it I thought, I’m dying. I’m having a heart attack. And that my friends, is the first time I experienced a panic attack. It was brutal. This was the beginning of a dark and lonely journey into the discovery of who I was.

But in hindsight? I had a lucky escape. I could have had it worse. His behaviour shows common traits of a physical abuser too. I’m not saying his words didn’t physically hurt me, because they did. But I came out of it alive. I am now healthy, happy, and drug free.

In the end, I have to say I learnt a valuable lesson, in love and in life. And in a weird and slightly bitter way, I have him to thank for it all. Who knows he might be reading this now, relishing at the fact I’ve sat here and written about him, his narcissistic ego getting a fucking hard on. If he is then all I have to say is: “You didn’t break me, in the end you saved me.” I was given a new lease of life, a blank canvas in which I painted whatever the hell I wanted. And my life is beautiful.

These are the things I learnt from my emotionally abusive & narcissistic ex. Luckily, I got out. If you or someone you know has been or is currently being affected by emotional or physical abuse the hotline for victim support is 0808 168 9111 or go to http://www.victimsupport.org.uk.

  1. I am worthy
  2. I am good enough
  3. I’m not “crazy”
  4. I am independent
  5. I built you up and you tore me down
  6. You will most likely do it again…and again
  7. I am not a victim
  8. I was lucky
  9. It could have been worse
  10. Thank you

 

Follow your dreams

Scared of chasing your dream because of your mental health? Me too.

Ever since I can remember, I have always been in love with words, language and literature. From a young age I would bury my head into a book to escape reality. My reality was my parents having violent arguments, being bullied at school for being tall or having a weird name and just generally being totally misunderstood. I would pick up a book and the words on the page breathed life into me and my unhappy childhood. The stories I read were a place I didn’t have to explain myself or give into fear. They taught me how to dream, to love and to believe.

It was from my younger self that I continuously grew this unconditional love for words and how they made me feel and express myself. When I was in my early teens, I tried to learn guitar so I could write songs to share with the world. Unfortunately I grew bored and frustrated with learning how to play it (I was always a little impatient, even now), but what was left instead of songs was my first selection of poems. I was just 15 years old. 13 years later to this day, I have a bachelors degree in creative writing and I still absolutely love to write, especially poetry.

So for me, my BIG dream is to one day become a well known and successful writer. Well, technically I am a “writer”, but I don’t make a living out of it properly and I’m certainly not well known or famous. Is that really how we measure our success? Not entirely I guess but it would be nice to be somewhat recognised for our “art”. Although I love to write and it is a massive part of who I am, it completely terrifies me that I am just not good enough, nor will I ever be. And this makes my dream feel even more unreachable.

You see, my “illness” is awful and unpredictable in every way possible. I wake up some days totally consumed with depression and suffocated with anxiety. It is crippling. On good days, I can get out of bed and communicate with people. I can even write a blog or two, go to therapy and go to the gym. But this is currently as good as my days get at the moment, and although it still doesn’t feel good enough, it is a massive improvement compared to a year ago, or even six months ago. I still lack motivation even to get up in the morning, even on my better days. I live in fear of not only not living up to my family’s expectations, but the expectations I have of myself. And those are the worst ones. My inner monologue haunts me every waking moment.

But these thoughts and feelings that hang over me like an unwelcome cloud of invalidation and deprecation will not force me to give up on my dream. I will not let it. Although it currently feels unobtainable, I know if I put my mind to it and work hard enough through the tears and anxiety, it will be incredible once I reach my goal. I believe hard work really does pay off, eventually. My experiences in life have taught me some valuable lessons and I will continue to dream, to love, to believe. Because if I don’t try and keep trying, I may never know.

It’s a huge climb to the top, but the view is magnificent.