Wednesday 16 November 2016

number 9

So we the numbers one to eight have given up our place as focus of attention to number nine. Number nine, you may remember, is our body and numbers one to eight are the shadow voices. Shadows of long gone personalities.

For the last 4.5 years numbers one to eight have rightly had the focus. They have needed it. Talk therapy has been the required space for them all to unwind and have space. We have become friends and learn to respect each other for the different qualities everyone has.

About a year ago we came to a quiet dramatic realisation that there was another thing, not a voice but a sense of something being there. Over the months we all realised that we had killed number nine. As therapy went on we all reached out to number nine and we were utterly mortified that she had been eliminated by us.

So out of respect we all agreed to sit back and allow number nine to tell her story. We have started body psychotherapy. Body psychotherapy involves touch. It became apparent pretty quickly that number nine was no easy character.

You see number nine is probably not even the age of nine yet. She is so young she has very little understanding of anything, she is innocent and trusting. When she speaks its with such joy and hope. So why is it so hard. Imagine you had a young child who was all the above and you had to give her to the big and the bad. Imagine how it would feel to leave something so innocent with something that you knew was only going to cause pain and when that pain had passed there would only be more and more pain until there was nothing left. No shadow no nothing. Nine was going to die.

We the eight have been so angry this week and everyone is in upheaval. This being the third session in body therapy, number nine has been seen or at least is being seen but she's being seen before it all goes wrong before we have to abandon her. Its like watching a disaster in slow motion or a horror movie.


  • We want to change the script! 
  • We want her to live! 
  • We are doing this so she can live and feel! 
  • We want to not have to leave this time! 
  • We want to stay whole and protect her! 


It was impossible before. So starts this new journey. Number nine, we eight make you a promise we couldn't keep all those years ago. We know what is ahead but we will use all we have learnt to help you process. We are older now  and have older skills; and we are so so sorry we couldn't have done this sooner.

Thursday 25 August 2016

Communication and Multi-tasking

As my two kids approach 10 and 12yrs of age it is becoming apparent that I need to learn some new coping skills. As I have discussed, in previous blogs, as babies and young children I communicated by using a language I had made up. It's been quite incredible to witness how much you can communicate by 'babbling' the emotional content and using hand / eye movements to direct a young child.

It has all worked very nicely, my oldest is fully fluent in understanding my language and my youngest can even speak it back to me breathing her emotions into the various sounds she creates.

As you can imagine it's all very simple to understand, it basic life. Often my children know our routines so well that we don't even have to speak to each other. We can just show our enjoyment of being with each other through silent practical ways that give each other joy Lining up and organising a bedrooms shelves, producing a still warm soft blanket out of the tumble dryer at TV time,  and counting out 'Snack a Jacks' in a pack even though we know it says 12 on the side. One of my favourites I like to do it is find a new plug in smell that makes the flat feel cuddly or change all their sheets and make the bed beautifully into 'nests' and you can't wait to jump in.

However as I have said this is all fairly basic calm life, it's not lives multi tasking over several levels; it's more of a being together rhythmic stream.

So whats wrong? It all works very well?Well it has done up until now, I acknowledge that now is the time my kids quite rightly want to become less dependent on me and my hubby. They over these next 10yrs will want to grow and grow into their own identities with their own plans and adventures.

In short our home is morphing from a singular to a multiple existence. As my kids voice and act upon their needs and wants our lives intertwine even further with friends staying over, going out, interactions and plan making with other parents etc. You know what I mean, the list goes on...

These other streams of life do not know my language and I in turn struggle to navigate in theirs. They don't 'get it' when I disappear to my room or put my headphones in and wander out into the garden. My kids know to look for the intent behind what I say, not literally interpret my words. 
  • That shiny pole = the hat stand
  • can you put your clobber in the brown tub = can you bring me ur washing from your room, and put it on the washing pile in the kitchen.
  • have you got your pots on = have you got your shoes on.

All my life what has come out of my mouth has never made literal picture sense (unless I'm working my way through a monologue on a subject that I'm passionate about) and the other poor person is just left listening.

Other streams of life they do not know:-
  • That,standing to close to me can make me panic
  • That, tapping my arm to get my attention is unbelievably hard to deal with for me.
  • My inability to unravel an argument over a game, as three 'streams' tell me their point of view at once.
  • I learn people don't do what they say eg "I come at 'about' 8pm" and then don't turn up till 9pm, leaving me working through possible solutions and scenarios whilst being frozen in the 'Unknown of what on earth 'about' might mean. 
  • Other streams arrive with, socks that are not pulled over their feet properly, causing them to flop around as a Wii game is conquered.  
  • They sit were I usually sit (not knowing that having people sit on both sides of my is just to overwhelming). 
  • They don't know that phones in our flat are never held to your ear they are only ever talked to on loud speaker, if answered at all.
  • Other streams I struggle to use a knife and fork so spoons are often used due to total lack of food to mouth co ordination.
  • Also 'other streams ' are often shocked as 'Carwen / mum' always has several micro naps throughout the day leaving the kids always have first dibs on the lounge.

I wish this blog was an amazing poem cause I'd want to end it like this.

against the 'other streams' I have nothing,
Except a want to work out how to love em,
For on this journey I'm bound
 to let my little ones identities be found
And as they swop and wobble
My freak outs I will nobble
Cause I want to stay in the pack
Even if I have a rainbow on my back.

Thank you to all who walk with us in all their beautifully stream uniqueness. 


Updating memories: part 2 - school life.

Today I got a splinter in my foot.  I kept gardening, ignored the little jolt of annoyance and altered how I walked instead. Having  put the kid's clothes away and made dinner, I then went out to carry on gardening.  Splinters and I have a very special relationship whenever I get one, it seems too small to be bothered by.

I tried to ignore it, wipe it off, but this splinter won. I stopped and dug it out. It irritated me the ‘instant’ relief that I felt. How could something so small affect the entire body. Splinters remind me I have processing to do. For me ignoring and storing tensions in my body because of painful memories is a very practical problem. It affects not only how I think, but how I physically  move my body and am able to cope with life.

 If you haven't noticed already, I'm waffling.  As I write now I'm not sure I can process this next set of memories.I want to put them into words. Words to the experience seem a cheap option. As a veteran memory blogger I know that this probably means that it is important to try.

So here goes: Boarding school (school life).

This is my third attempt to write about the subject. I find it incredible that it can still make such an impact (splinters, splinters, and more splinters).  My brain  and body moves rapidly  between different ages. I try to clasp at some point of reference to write about.   

What was robbed from not just me, but those around me in the three years that I and they were there seems beyond meaning. I suppose, if I was to put it in a nut shell, boarding school for me was the place my behaviors and I were broken. 

I once heard of an experiment were they put a rat in a wire box cage. They  gave it electric shocks though the cage. At first the rat is able to do something to stop the shocks by pressing a lever in the cage. Then they take the lever away. The rat is periodically shocked with out rhythm or predictability over a long period of time. At first the rat fights back and runs around trying to escape or find a physical position which would stop the pain of the shocks but in the end the rat gives up. It can't find anywhere to escape.  The door to its cage can then be left open.  The rat won't even move to escape and hope has gone, any thought of rescuing itself  have gone and the rat endures and lay motionless.

At our African boarding school they used stress positions to achieve this same effect with us. The school could brag that they did not beat their pupils. I can't, and probably never will, decide what was more painful. Being put in a stress position for an unspecified amount of time and enduring the burning fire that would rage through your muscles; or being made to watch someone else go through the same experience, mirroring their pain but being unable to save or help them, being unable to predict how long it would go on for.

I'd heard a story of modern terrorism. In order to put fear into a village, militants would take a few people and torture them in a horrific visual way.  Then they would kill them and dump their bodies in the middle of the village.  All the village could see what had happened to those who had been taken. When the soldiers arrived to ‘take’ the village  it would just give itself over without a fight because of the fear that had been induced. What the village saw created such fear the minds of the village were broken before the militants arrived, that is brokenness.

We had every minute of every day ruled by fear.  Our food, our sleep and our bodies, nothing was off limits. After a few months of stress positioning I broke and 'they' felt they had achieved 'their' goal. On top of performing the stress positions I became compliant and would run until they let us stop. I would stand in line until they said move, sit with my back straight and stand with my eyes facing straight ahead. I, like the others, would move to complete what ever task we were given with the efficiency of a well drilled soldier.

Totally hopeless and broken, no one was going to help and I could not help myself, we even broke the thought of being able to help each other. Life became a personal mission of survival.  My parents kept taking me back every Monday morning at 6am and pick me up every Friday at 1:30pm. Being a weekly boarder I had to try and keep switching  between two opposing worlds; two totally different sets of rules. In the end I withdrew and detached myself from either world. This personal isolation and lack of trust or help from anyone only added to the hopeless,and confusion.

I also didn't understand because other families' children on our farm went to a local school. I Couldn't get my head around the fact that my mum would travel to my school on a Monday (to drop us off) and a Wednesday (my mum would come to my school and teach RE). Friday (to pick us up) and  Saturday the we would watch sport in my older sisters boarding school down the road (and pick her up). Sunday we travelled back to my school had church in the school hall. Why couldn't my mum let me be a day scholar it would only mean making two extra trips on Tuesday and Thursday?

Wednesday's were particularly were challenging for me. I could hear my mum's voice down the corridor as she teaches RE, and could see our car in the car park and yet was totally unable to make any contact. It made me very angry.

So what really happened?

Apparently to everyone else I was making wonderful progress and the 'new' way of controlling my behaviors was working well. For me it was like living in a slow painful descent into death.

In the end I did not say when:

- I fell over the banisters down a two story stairwell. I only got found out when I fainted later in the day.

- I did not tell any one when in sick bay I had ants attack my soiled pants, I just got up washed them out, put them back on and got back in bed with the ants.

- I did not say when the matrons made me stand in the kitchen freezer room and threaten to lock my in by playing with the door.

- I did not say when I had not had enough to eat because the prefects did not like me and the head of table handed out small portions to me. There were periods over those three years where I would walk around the day scholars begging them to share their sandwiches and crisps. Sometimes at night I would eat my toothpaste.

- It didn't even cross my mind to complain about anything or tell anyone if I was ill.

- I once had a very bad case of conjunctivitis. Every morning I would make my bed perfectly with my eyes crusted together. Later in the  bathroom I ripped the gunk out of my eye lashes not worried about my eyes but worried about it putting me behind schedule.

Any part of my world that allowed for any expression of individualism gradually became deeply deeply hidden. I secretly hid biscuits from home and sneaked them in,  stole matches and lit rolled up pieces of newspaper behind the out door school toilets. I used to keep a handkerchief  hidden in my sheets and I would suck my thumb at night whilst stroking my nose with it (tracing a specific pattern over and over again). Sometimes I would get my hands on a bit of chewing gum, I would guard it preciously by sticking it in the top of my mouth for most of the week.

I soon realised that the part of the school I inhabited was seen and treated very differently to the majority of the school. (I'm sorry I have not explained earlier the school run on two systems. Red stream: those pupils considered academic and green stream: those who were considered unteachable). Those of us in green stream were by all accounts the lowest of the stupid and the most unruly of the unruly (and we knew it). Everyone else had the power to make our lives miserable, be it through condescending attitude or power like the matron's teacher prefects.

There are other things I would like to mention as I'm not sure I will ever blog about this part of life ever again are these;

- The hospital that sat adjacent to the school on a Thursday evening would burn all its human contaminated waste, the smell was sickly and deathly (hated it). At that time (in African news stories) it was in vogue to put tyres round people's head full of petrol and set them alight. It would be reported and I always got scared of those images mixing with that smell.

Then there were the stories our dorm prefect would tell us to scare us at night.

- Stories of ghosts and babies being flushed down toilets to die and getting stuck in the pipes.

- Of prisoners who had their faces slashed and then were hung upside down with bags of rats tied over their heads.

-      Poor unfortunates who were wrapped in barbed wire and then force fed water through a hose pipe being pushed into they stomachs until they drowned. 

Zimbabwe as a country was fairly young into its independence and I'm sure some of these stories were made up but at the time I believed them all to be true because of the general evidence around me.

Then as I mentioned before there was the horrendous experience of watching other people being ‘broken’ through punishment.

- Winnie who had an incredible fear of heights but was made climb on top of the dormitory cupboard and sing nursery rhymes. 

- Gwen who would wet her bed every night and always smelt of stale urine having to endure matrons calling her dirty and filthy on a daily basis. Tears would silently run down her face even as she heard their footsteps outside.

-     Irene whose two front teeth were literally rotting in her face and who be ridiculed for her bad breath and ugly face.

-    Those who were forced to sit in cupboards with the doors shut.

-    Others would be tied to their beds at night by the prefects (sometimes by their hair so that in the morning they would be watched struggling to part hair from string and laughed at).

- Of the fear of anyone finding out it was your birthday which meant you could be carried and  held in a bath of cold water and your bed ‘Apple pied’.

- Of those that were made to stand on ant's nest and not be allowed to move to flick the creatures off until there was enough for the prefects to laugh at there dancing.

- Of all the times pupils were humiliated by being made to eat alone at piggie's table in the centre of the dinning hall for just dropping some sauce on the table cloth.

- Of all the times we were made to kneel in front of the prefects beds balancing bibles on our up turned hands until your whole bodies would scream with stiffness.

- Of all of those who survived all the above without showing anything or  saying anything but who apparently had done 'very well’.

Wherever you are, I want you to know you were seen! I saw you and it was not right! You are not stupid or born bad! 

I wish I could have stopped it! 

I wish I could have stuck up for you and made difference!

 All these years I have carried you in my stomach. Every time I see anyone dis empowered, or bullied, I remember you all. I have not forgotten. I will never forget that humans can actually enjoy humiliating other humans with no compassion or empathy, and even enjoy the power it gives them. I hope that someway you have managed to break free from the label we were all given. That you have had the the chance to get free of 'boarding school'. Peace be on us all.

So there I did it! I survived boarding school from 9-11.5yrs.  At 11.5I got sent back to England to live with my grandma, after completing an intensive training course in 'morphagraphs' so I would reach England able to read and write.

Thank you for reading and for letting my young me be heard.

Monday 25 July 2016

Written in September 2014

The pattern of "Sorry"!!!!!

Sorry

From pretty early on I learnt the word 'sorry'. In my younger years it was my violent behaviour that made me say it but even back then I used to feel extremely frustrated at people not understanding why I had flown off the handle.  To be totally honest I didn't understand either as was too young and used to believe I was an awful individual.

 An example of the build up to 'loosing it' would be a sound or a feeling that would overwhelm me. 
Unable to process the invading stress would result in me launching myself at whoever or whatever was creating the problem and attacking it. 


By the age of four I had scarred my sisters face and thrown her down the stairs and, quite rightly, both my sisters we're scared of me and kept their distance. Now I'm not talking about obvious stresses that everyone can understand creating this behaviour; my stresses, built out of nothing, escalated rapidly and left all involved in shock. let me give another example.  Once aged five I had been put to bed excited, my mum had told me she was going to the shops to buy us all new pillows and was leaving us in the care of my dad. This you must understand was extremely rare, I felt scared in the dark and she would not be there. I also wanted a new pillow. So I started to act up and in the end my mum came into the room I shared with my little sister. She said "If your not asleep when I'm  back then you won't get a pillow".  I cried more, the threat, my brain processed it as an unsolvable problem. "If I sleep, how will I know when you come back to get the pillow???". So I tried holding my breath to look asleep which also failed and gradually the dispare gremlins arrived playing in my head with no ability to get out of the loop, couldn't get to a new view or thought that I could get my reward the next day. Neither did I believe that the situat could ever be ok as it seemed impossible to be asleep and awake at the same time. I took my mums words literally. My brain even at that age was over thinking and became overwhelmed by all the possibilities It came up with to solve its predicament. My body got wound up and full of anger as each thought or action failed.

The next day it was questioned as to weather my behaviour had been 'good' enough to have my pillow. I remember getting even angrier at myself and everyone else, because as it turned out, I had been asleep when she returned home,\ so in my eyes I had done what was required even though it had been really hard to achieve and still made no sense. I remember thinking "you should be calling me a good girl". 

My head interpreted the whole thing as, "you all lie, you are all unsafe, cannot be trusted and you are confusing". This view point extended to not just me but all the people around me.

Now I'm not trying to justify my behaviour or blame anyone. As soon as I was old enough to I completely detested my actions and their consequences. I hated being around people and always 'let myself down'. Being on my own was the only time i felt 'safe'. (I often wonder if it was that hatred for myself that created the first episodes of disassociation as a way of coping). 

The golden word 'sorry' I pretty quickly learnt made every thing ok. I learnt that if you say sorry bad situations can end and essentially 'sorry' with looking sorry can pretty much stop anything. I also learnt that you must appear remorseful for a period of time to complete the process.

Back to present day and one thing that has remained as a permanent  thread through my life is the problem of understanding others. What are they saying? What do they mean? I look at their mouths moving like a babbling water. I know that if I can find the process of behaviour they are talking about, I can see were they are going. This ability people actually find very helpful. Quite often I hear the words "Carwen your so clever", it makes me smile because to me its not being clever and still don't understand why the clear patterns are unseen by others. I think, "but it's logical, if this happens it will lead to that. That will produce this outcome! Logical". 

Along with the good also remains some problems, what if you are given a situation that is new? or no logical process can found for? or if my vision of the situation is blurred by wrong reflection?  So the struggle with overwhelmed and  frustration remain.

 Frustration that still boils over far too often; now older I am happy to say I no longer get physical. 
I mostly swear or touch things because there potential 'feel' intoxicating. I repeat sounds people make or cant cope with certain sounds peoples body movements make and comment on them at the wrong times. I still, up until recently, would after being inappropriate (usually verbally) look all confident on the outside but inside be in bewilderment and just immediately say "sorry" thinking "I'll try to work out what had happened later". I learnt by giving an apology first and assuming I had got it wrong 'again' was the safest most socially acceptable way to deal with things.

Looking back does that mean all the saying 'sorrys' were lies. Not at all! Under the behaviour, the loosing it, the jumbled words and swearing; I hope those that know me know I am not someone who enjoys causing problems. I'm not someone who can bear having any kind of relational issues with anyone.

It would be great at this point to move swiftly on to a lovely ending, but that would make this blog a half truth. I must point out that being someone who can't instantly interpret situations and can 'appear to acting badly', also left me vulnerable to influence. Not all the world is kind and forgiving. Without having a proper understanding of of peoples intent I ended up in quite a few situations that I should never have been in. The habit of assuming I must be in the wrong meant people could easily manipulate me. The years were unsafe and at times incredibly painful. However it is also in dealing with the repercussions of those years that I have been able to understand and to learn to trust humanity again. To see not all people are not dangerous; controlling or full of bad intent. For the first time in my life I can now look at people with less fear than I ever have done and enjoy more connection to relationships than originally thought possible.

Most people just need to know you struggle and then they are very accommodating. There are and always will be those who just think you are badly behaved or unequal to them but for those that stumble with me through the maze of complicated human interactions, I find it all rather rewarding and very much like being part of the weave of human existence . Thank you to all my friends, you know who you are!

And to my sisters I love you very much and look forward to seeing you both at little mans birthday in couple of weeks.


Saturday 2 July 2016

Exhausted

The Heaviness is back, I am upset it is summer. The garden is full of lovely little rewarding jobs. The sun is shining. Yet it seems to me to be a million miles away. Hearing is hard work seeing is hard work, moving just seems an impossible dream. Then there's the guilt the heavy uneasy guilt. My kids are watching TV, I want energy I want to be outside showing them things. I want to be riding my bike with them or cutting the last two cauliflowers they have grown for tea.

It all seems impossible. I am full, every sense is 50% over its ability to function. My brain is so mashed with sounds voices and banging. The thought of having a conversation, seeing someone makes me want to cry there's nothing left to produce any words. Sitting static and bewildered in my bed I congratulate myself for even sitting up. Writing this blog is helping. It helps to start the process of unpicking enough to at least move.

I will move, I will make it to the garden bench. Soon.

Tuesday 31 May 2016

I don't know why?

I am in one of the happiest places, I'm on holiday. The same hotel complex we have visited for the last six years. We are recognised by the staff and we all in turn know thier names. They have watched my children grow over the years from buggies to the now confident key caring independent selves.

It is a safe place. We all know what we can eat and where, what pool is what temperature and what restaurant plays the football. Yet amazingly there are still incredible things to be discovered, first times that neither I nor Zippy thought would happen.

Example 1.
Zippy and I are sharing a bedroom for the first time, not just sharing a room but we have zipped our single beds together! Zippy and I have swapped places - he has lost three stone and now does not snore and I have started to snore (LOL - I'm getting my own back).

Example 2.
I am wearing 'just a swimming costume!'. For those of you, who have been on holiday with me, will know I usually wear at least one pair of cycling shorts, one costume and a knee length dress.

It all amazing!!! It's all victories and moving forward moments. BUT! I need to be truthful to myself and have a blog rant to get tensions OUT!!!. Also because I can't be bothered to drink to relax as my liver hurts. Yes my liver is protesting or maybe it's my gallbladder (humph) so I need another way to go RAAAAAAAAAAA!!!! SO here goes!

I love swimming and playing catch with the kids. Finding myself switching ages, I get caught in different memories. Wearing Just a swimming costume, something I have not done since childhood, also messes with all my senses. I love it and feel free, the wind hugs you and the sun strokes you (body memories start to fight); Ages switch and flip through my brain and body.  

Back to the present those are my children, I am not a child. I organise everything, fold all the towels, make the bed, and clean the kitchen; my age returns. Then fear creeps around and I realise I have no control over my food but this year there is an abundance in our fridge, thanks to the lovely Mrs P, and we have food vouchers. I switch ages again and talk to all my selves reminding them we are all safe and will not go hungry. Coming back to 2016 I try to remeber what my children have eaten, what they might need to eat, whether thier behaviours are hunger based, over stimulated based or sleep needing. 

It would be lovely to get rid of all this ridiculous worry by having a pint of a large bicardi and coke, as this option is not available I leave you with the following;

What about sun screen?
When did we last all use sunscreen?
Check, check no one is burnt...
How many calories have we consumed?
What's the time?
Where in the day are we?
Who is with me now?
How old are you?
Where did you go?
Is there anything I can do to help you?

Climb back, climb back.... Don't run from each other, if we run we will just keep colliding, Who are you? Where are you from? How can I help you? Would you walk with me? Can I introduce you to my own children? Who are you? Where are you from? ...... Roll over!...... Oh it's just Zippy. That body heat is not a threat. That breathing is not going to kill you. In fact the heat is OK too. It's not going to be something you have to endure and survive... Walk with me my ages... Walk with me.... Let me walk with you in the heat that is to be enjoyed and celebrated and maybe I say thank you to me clever liver for helping us all dance through our panic and fear. All my ages, all my voices - we are safe! Let's rebuild and keep mapping a new memory path whilst respecting and grieving the old.

Wednesday 6 April 2016

Updating dysregulating memories, an experiment part 1.


My therapist and I have been working on updating some of my memories. The concept is simple by discussing certain memories as an adult I can re-label them with an updated adult perspective, discharging some of the emotional impact they have. This should hopefully mean that I am then able to process some of my triggers more calmly.

Triggers that currently when sparked off can whirl me back to the past and to the age / feeling of a situation, often accompanied by some 'interesting’ unwanted  present day behaviours. The process is also helping those parts of me (stuck at that age) to have, for the first time, their own voice. It also gives a first chance for them to speak and be heard in a safe place.

Before I write any examples down there is just one thing that must be made clear. I am only giving you my bias of the situations and no one in my family has ever purposefully been vindictive or malicious. Each member of my family has their own tail to tell; this is me giving mine. I understand that my actions and behaviours gave those around me a real problem, but I think now the reasons for the behaviour would be better understood.

In fact my family were, at the times I am writing about, very giving and were trying to love all those around them. They were brethren missionaries. It must also be acknowledged  that some of  these same strict / rigid  beliefs were also the ones that made me and my family  fall short. I often looked embarrassingly spoilt and ungrateful in the face of the hunger and need surrounding us. It made my need look ridiculous and arrogant.

Example:

We were once in someone's garden and I had been in the pool (we were living in Africa at the time). Suddenly I saw a small spider land on my mum's flowery dress. I knew spiders were dangerous where we lived. I rushed over all sopping wet and slapped the offending creature off my mum's sleeve. Dads response to this was to grab my arm in front of everyone (about 15 elders and their wives) and wallop my behind. As a young child this humiliated me incredibly and I then had to live with the story:

"Do you remember that time she just rushed out the pool and hit her mother!"
 "If that were my child I would show her some real discipline” 
“they let her get away with far to much ".

Example:

My mum used to love cooking everything in a pressure cooker. (Our chickens were tough as old boots). Unfortunately this meant that as I saw the pot go on the stove I would panic, dreading the intense hissing sound that the weight would make as the pot came up to pressure. I would then brace myself for the even louder chronically high pitched screeching that the pot made as it was placed  in the sink and the weight took off. This evil pot was part of my life from about 3-10yrs old and got me into a lot of bother.

 "that child's disappearing  again"
"stop overreacting!"
 "why do you always runaway when it's time to eat come and sit here in the kitchen with me now!".
“You need to learn to just get over it”

Example:

As I mentioned before part of my young child hood (5-11) was spent in Africa, Zimbabwe.  Every year or so we would take a trip to South Africa so we could renew our visas. These trips were always surrounded by fear. I knew this because I heard a lot of prayers about what could or had happened to others. The trip its self took over eight to ten hours and we had to pass through many army controlled road blocks on the way. Checks and bribes had to be met whilst soldiers would surround the car with a lot of long large guns. 

There was the real threat of kidnap and being held for ransom and the car being stolen by opposing political parties or rebels. During the last few hours on the road before no mans land and the boarder of South Africa hostility was notorious. So much so that my dad would speed as fast as he could on the bumpy pot holed tarmac. The atmosphere in the vehicle would grow intensity this last hour or so. It did not matter what was in the road; a dead animal, a crashed car or a person. There was only one rule the car must have - NOT STOP!!

Next came a boiling hot wait in the car. It's windows up and doors locked shut and we would join  a queue of vehicles creeping closer and closer to yet more soldiers and guns at the exit gate. 

My behaviour before after and during these trips was apparently:

 “extremely unhelpful, rude and ungrateful”.
"why can't you just sit still like yours sisters"
 "stop starting fights or I'll stop the car and leave you in the road”
" not one more word out of you young lady or your father will smack you when we stop!!" 
"sit there and don't move!"
 "If you don't stop crying I'll give you some thing to cry about".

Try as I might I couldn't contain myself or calm down. (I was different to my sisters but that's not what this blog is about). By the time I was 8 I had at least  managed to stop wetting myself on a daily basis but my mum had had enough; nothing she nor my dad did could control me.

 "troubles your middle name!!".

Daily life For me was a battleground:

 "don't give it to her she has butterfingers"
 "when is that girl going to learn to run in a straight line?"
" why can't she just sit still!"
"I just washed that, I should make you wear a bib!".
 "Your spoon goes in your mouth not down your front!".

Gradually my belief that I was a different, horrid and ungrateful  person grew.  As my sisters became more delicate and girly, I became ever feral, restless, angry and withdrawn from people. Mum kept taking me for hearing tests as she was convinced I was deaf. I had to wear an eye patch for my double vision (which being in Africa my mum made out of some old curtain material and elastic) and it was yuck yuck yuck way to itchy.  My left ear developed banging internally and without rhythm. It would drive me mad and the world could never be silent. The plugging of my ears with oil and cotton wool over and over again did not help and only further irritated me as it kept running down my neck. In the end I was told I would have to:  “learn to live with it”.

 My behaviour became more exaggerated and  I would throw myself at anything that challenged me in a fit of blind uncoordinated energy:
  • An un-climbable tree.
  • The python that lived in the ant hill next to our house.
  • I would jump off the kitchen roof over the storm drain (seeing  if I could land close enough to the cactus but not in it).
  • Steal the local's guinea pigs and rabbits from their overcrowded hutches to give them a better life in a cage I had behind our house. The locals would be angry that a thief was stealing there food. 
  • I blocked up our drinking reservoir with fish I had stolen in crisp packets from the fishermen at the dam (I couldn't stand seeing them gulping and suffocating).
  • Didn't mind the bruises and cuts I gathered and started a daily ritual of counting and picking at them.
  • Dropping an extremely heavy garden roller handle across all my toes at once.
  • Climbing through a wasps nest in the avocado tree.
  • Secretly starting fires all around the garden,
  • Making my own toilet behind various lumps of rock
  • Returning home from yet another day long bike ride / adventure in the bush with a tractor thorn clean through my foot (it had to be removed with pliers from the workshop).
After these ( and various other events ) my very unhuggable, feral and angry self ended up being put in a boarding school.  My 6th school and third country, now aged 9...


Thursday 31 March 2016

Trust

Your so brave!
Your doing so well!
You've come a long way!
Keep going!

People often say these things, but what they don't know is that inside there is very little feeling. Days are some times broken down into moments or hours, and hours into minutes. Process and patterns are the slides which keep you moving. Process and patterns become the tried and tested formulas for being 'appropriate'.  If a situation or an event occurs once the correct pattern of behaviour / speech is found and matched, it is then employed and that apparently means you are doing well?

Sometimes the formulas let you down and you miss what is meant or a trigger can send you spiralling into uncontrolled panic. Then there's the fall back position of frozen silence. Silence is something very few understand but silence has been my friend since I can remember.  Silence is always filled by other people as people like filling the gap.

"Your so brave, look how far you've come"

"I'm actually a lot further behind than you see my friend"

What it's actually about is trust. Trust is being able to let your guard down and know that your safe. I get scared at the reality of how little trust their is inside me. But my real goal is not to be what looks right to others; my real aim is to feel trust. 

Sometimes I look at my children and I hurt inside as they have trust naturally there. I look at people around me and they have this beautiful 'trust'. I can't remember anyone that I had to trust until I was in my mid twenties and  it has taken me until now (aged 39) to realise that my trusting is still only functioning at about 30% (but at least its now there). I'm not ashamed of this or even care what happens next. Maybe 30% will be all it ever gets to but at least I know know what it is.

Wednesday 24 February 2016

The most radical thing I can do today is....

The most radical thing I can do today will not be painting the other half of the bedroom that Zippy and I are making, as my temptation suggests.

Nor will it be:
  • Drilling seven new cupboards to the kitchen wall
  • Moving all my art things out of storage
  • Taking all and everything we don't need in the flat to charity shop or recycling center
  • Putting a tarpaulin on the lawn and digging out all the garden waste and making a new pallet compost bin
Temptation!  Suggestion! Frustration! 
Temptation!  Suggestion! Frustration! 
Temptation!  Suggestion! Frustration!
NOW!!!NOW!!!NOW!!!
'I am more important!!" 
"no I am more important!!!!"
 "achieve me and I will be the answer!" 
" no I'm the answer!!"
Run freeze run freeze run freeze run freeze run freeze!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

It will not be:
  • Clearing out my daughters room and scrubbing the paint off her window
  • Painting four pine wardrobes, five chest of draws and four side tables
  • Hoovering the flat to within and inch of its life
  • Cooking mushy peas from scratch
  • Painting the floor blue
  • Swapping all the mattresses around

  • It will not be giving into all the voices dancing and colliding as they shout and whisper what "should be done?". 
  • It will not be giving into the frustration of the looping 'One Direction - Story of My Liiiiiiiiiiiiiiife'! Stupid Unfinished song line that I woke up and that is presently is trying to knock Kate Bush (CBE) of her perch. 
  • It will not be giving into the need to hide in bed and lock the door and wish the day away, whilst simultaneously thinking I actually have enough energy to run twenty marathons and cook dinner for half of London.

Actually the most radical thing I can do today seems harder than all those things.  
Today I need to have a shower and wash my hair.

Wednesday 13 January 2016

 I was not some one who looked liked they needed love. I was not someone who made it easy but let me tell u what I am I am the most loyal person u will ever meet I am someone who never never gives in I fight where no one else is prepared to tolerate. If au have my trust U have my heart and my blood . When I believe in some thing I believe in it 
 When I see something theta wrong I fight it 
 When I don't understand or comprehend I can't fight of my uncomfortableness I fight it 
 When I see live I distrust it except ur I love it
 I am the Samaritans friend
 I am the person who would offer to go in Daniels place to meet Goliath
I will go beyond and beyond again

So for all u that think ur equally determined to love me, I say thanks u I say thank u on behave of all tgh