The Eve of Change: from Scotland in Doubt and Hope

This post has been stewing for a few days now, but the death of my iPad until its replacement today has delayed my posting, perhaps for the better. Like the lovely Kim over at Painting with Shadows  ( http://kimayres.blogspot.co.uk/2014/09/the-night-before-night-before.html ), I feel the need to record what's on my mind as we face the biggest vote of a generation on the future of our country. And one in which every cross in a box matters. 

As I sit here with my dog and a glass of wine in the middle of a week off, writing this somehow seems more important than heading out and catching up with people and enjoying my break. I need to write it out. I need to solidify my thoughts. Not convince or challenge anyone else, but so I understand my own thinking. This decision hasn't come easy and hopes and doubts are still running round my head.

This is one of the most challenging decisions I've ever made. Not because of politics but because of the impact it has the potential to have on so many for so long. And I have thought deeply about it. 

I'm not sure when my decision was made. 

Where to begin? I have a friend who is an ardent supporter of the idea of an independent Scotland. I remember evenings listening to him ramble on the subject in amicable debate and thinking that I understood his passion, admired it, but that the whole thing was ridiculous. So how I did I get to where I am today?

I don't really know. What I do know is that sometime last winter I started listening and reading. Asking questions, challenging the views of those around me. 

In that time I've also witnessed our parliament in action, first hand, engaging with and listening directly to those whose stories and bravery in sharing them have now changed laws in Scotland. I've seen MSPs, ministers and the first minister get to know personally some of our society's most vulnerable and act on their behalf. Decisively and across parties. 

It is this local, grass roots, human connection that's helped me believe in the power of more local politics so vastly different from the top down, unelected, elitist actions we see from our governors in Westminster and the Lords. I've learned about the statistics and structures of other countries that back up the view that this is the most effective, democratic way of achieving positive change. 

I've seen the gulf between rich and poor in the UK widening to an unforgivable chasm. And I know £billions  will be spent on pointless, dangerous weapons when around me every day at work I speak with homeless young people, and those with jobs still struggling to feed themselves. 

I see a political system which has evolved beyond principles to protect the careers and egos of those within its workings. Where is the fight, the belief, the vision of previous generations - regardless of political hue and opinion? 

At some stage in this journey, the word 'Yes' kept intruding my thoughts. Yes! 

How could I, the middle class, middle management, establishment girl with a pension and a mortgage and an English/ Anglo Indian heritage be thinking this? Perhaps it's my way of honouring the history of my working class father? A man who started with nothing, not even a functioning family let alone resources, who benefitted from a free education and belief that he could be something too. He could succeed and did. 

In this success, he and my mother never lost sight of social justice and fairness. Both in their own ways had broken their moulds, challenged stereotypes and predestined futures to be different from their pasts. Both hung onto bits- nice manners, church and history books, pubs, extreme fairness and a healthy disregard for the establishment.

Perhaps I am clutching at straws in looking to my past to understand my current views. However, historically we tend to vote like our parents and the familiar.

Rose tinted view? Maybe. But I do remember me, my brother and my sister being driven by mum to one of the most deprived housing estates in Europe to show us why we should never take for granted or assume our private education, music classes and warm home were a given.  Those shuttered windows and graffitied streets have never left me. 

As I sit here tonight, I still am scared and rattled by the past few days of politicking. 

After realising my yes! had stuck, I started to talk about it. I started to say in public this is who I am. This is what I believe. I have the blue sticker on my social media profiles. Nonetheless, I kept reading, absorbing opposing side's literature, statistics, listening to speeches, debating, talking often with as many people as possible. Still in challenging my views it, Yes!, was still there. It had become part of me. It spoke loudly to my greatest priority, social justice. Equality. 

Over the past ten days or so, I've managed to read and absorb more. Still finding myself repulsed by false sentimentality about a Britain I don't recognise and have been feeling very uncomfortable about since the campaigning for the last general election as words coming from candidates mouths made me feel like I was living in a colony. The wealth and 'City' seemed so alien to the poverty, damage of addiction and unemployment I see every single day. How could these politicians really be belittling those who have so little prospect and who deserve our service rather than the punishment of greater benefit cuts?

But, during these last days I have also been rattled. I sit here with doubts. 

My mother is voting No, as she doesn't like change and swears she'll return to Cumbria if independence comes. My sister is voting No because her partner will leave Scotland for London with work if independence comes and she is unconvinced by the dreams and lack of fact for the unknown. My brother is voting No because he hates Alex Salmond and can't be persuaded to see that we are not voting for the SNP but for or against an independent state, regardless of who's in charge. Will my family become separated by its outcome?

Friends, mostly London Scots, have been lobbying me with pro union information and views. One has even taken to emailing me reports from financial institutions, one of which she is employed by. Her emails speak of the waste of dividing a nation and her disappointment at not being able to vote.

A visit to my financial advisor also makes me nervous. What future for my job? My mortgages? My pension? 

This uncertainty scares me. 

These doubts are equally challenged by the happy, social activism and Yes-ness of others. It feels like our whole city is alive. People are debating at bus stops, waving flags, sticking stickers on their children in public rallies, it is fun and peaceful. Described eloquently here as a 'butterfly rebellion' http://bellacaledonia.org.uk/2014/09/14/the-butterfly-rebellion/ . 

What if I do the wrong thing? What if I vote for something that turns out to be the emperor's new clothes? There is equal and opposing 'fact' issued in great swathes from both sides. If I vote for the status quo, then surely we can fight from within? And, perhaps, achieve my ideal: a federal UK. 

For me, none of this is about nationality. I happily encouraged a reluctant Greek girl to vote, as she is as much part of our land as any Scot and she has made her life here. For me, it is about community. It is about people being able to effect change and for votes to count where they are made. 

If I vote Yes, then I will rule out this half way house forever. But, if I vote No, then is it even attainable whilst the divide between rich and poor grows perhaps irrecoverably each week a politicians protect their jobs?

There has been much talk of hope and fear. This too speaks loudly to me. The status quo is not good enough. Either way lies uncertainty. And so my brain begins to somersault again. 

I appreciate this post has been a long one, and if you've read this far, thank you. It is something I needed to write to make sure I am sure of why I've made my choice. 

I've battled my Yes! And it seems it is still there. It speaks to my principles and not my bank balance. It speaks to 'us' rather than 'me'. It speaks of change. It scares me but it is hopeful. It speaks of rebuilding a system from the ground up. From people and community. 

Wobbling, but winning. Yes!

The bones of your face

I run my fingers from the dark patch on one collar bone along the line of smaller moles on the other. My palm is flat against your warm chest and I just want to know you.

As my head sinks down against you, I can only rest. Breathe you, feel you. And wonder how we got here.

Almost a year and a half have passed since we had the first of these moments. Moments of connection and need, real and so very simple. Moments that will not release their grip. There is no 'us', but we are not 'he' and 'she'.

I am disarmed by you.

You ask me why it must be all or nothing? It needn't be so.

The bones of your face and head are imprinted on my hands. I can feel your skin as I type. My thumbs can trace your brow.

You kneel in front of me imploring me to give you what we both want. I cannot: not here, in your world. I want to and I will, perhaps, one day soon.

The worst choice

The only inevitability of life is death. We all know this. It doesn't ease the pain of the journey.


My father has been on this course of antibiotics for three and half days. They aren't working. Tonight we are told he probably won't get any better than he is now. He lies in a hospital bed struggling to catch his breath through the infection. Limbs diminished, bruised from nurses trying find a suitable vein, but still with a grasp surprisingly strong as he holds our hands. Does he know it us, what is happening to him?

This is the greatest loss I have ever faced, and I know it will be awful. Worse for Mum, the love of his life.

I will miss him.

This week there will be decisions to make. Keep him 'nil by mouth' while his lungs try to fight the pneumonia, and he is starved of food or let him comfort eat whilst the infection deepens filling his lungs and starving him of oxygen. How do we even begin to contemplate either?

I always imagined that my dad would walk me down the aisle, see his grand children find their way in the world, see me settled before leaving me. Instead, I sit here alone with my laptop and a glass of rioja for company wondering how much longer he will cling to life, to us.

Another letter to the man who is not my lover

Even though it'd dark, there's a daft bird singing outside when it should be sleeping, as should I.


I'm glad you came to chat this evening. My colleagues appreciated meeting someone who once lived in the amazing place we work. To us it's an office, to you it was home as it is to all those people who cannot live independently. You humoured those young people and befriended them. I love that about you.

We mumble words of need and apology. Apology for what has been said and wonder what to do with them.

I wish I had 24 hours with you: To talk, hang out, figure out whatever this is or isn't. Work the fantasy out of our systems...

You are careless with your affection. Paying me a little too much attention, whilst telling me it might just be easier if you'd never said anything. I can only agree. It's fine for you. You get to go home to a partner, a friend and I return to reruns of old soaps and a bottle of wine. You ask if it would be easier you ignore me, That is just as suspicious as paying me too much attention. It's also disrespectful of our friendship. I tell you 'you are my friend first and foremost', and that's how I will treat you.

I just wish we had a time and space away from it all just to talk, to sort through the mire that is unfulfilled longing.

I don't need anything from you, other than some kind of resolution. Even if that resolution is that your words are disloyal, misplaced, regretted. I just can't continue as is. Seeing you with her pains every part of me and I need to move on, and it's only with your help that that's going to happen.

What do we do?

I miss you too.

A hastened decline?

My father hasn't eaten since Tuesday night. He was nil by mouth and until he was settled, but now he's struggling to swallow. Because of the holidays he hasn't been seen by the necessary specialist staff.


It seems he's had a massive seizure instead of a stroke, which is in many ways, great news. Easier to recover from and to treat. However, i'm terrified that he will end up another case of someone who declines rapidly because of hospital stays and not because of the reason he ended up there. The general wards have no idea how to care for someone like him. They didn't realise he could eat on his own, or walk or was alert.

Two good nurses spent a long time with me today talking it all through, but they're worried. Worried he's not managing to swallow water. At worst he could end up being tube fed. If that happens he will never make back to the unit where he's comfortable and well looked after.

I am so scared that he won't get back to his 'normal'.

It breaks my heart to see him in a place where they're trying their best but don't have the skills or the knowledge to do what he needs. He can't fight for himself. We must do that for him.

Days like today are lonely. I've done my running around after my family, got through what needed to be said and done and now I'm just sitting here typing, crying.

There's an invite to the pub, but can I face a group of near strangers with only a couple of familiar faces? I know I don't want to be here on my own wallowing. I just want some comfort, somewhere for my words and tears to go. Someone to listen, to be looked after. Instead, I just have to carry on, pull myself together and try and brave the world.
 
I want for Dad to be treated with respect and care, and not to be a victim of a system not geared t deal with dementia that is stealing him little by little.

Unstuck

Last night I saw the musician. The man who three weeks ago blind sided me with his words. Words that I didn't, couldn't, see coming.

We sat in my car in the small hours of the morning like teenagers. Not going home, not wanting to leave each other. The last time I saw him felt like some strange dream. I had no idea how he felt.

I don't know how to capture the intensity of this emotion, his words, my feelings. I am tired and confused.

Our hands tangled and untangling, foreheads pressed together, just sitting. Desperately trying to figure out what to say.

He tells me he is at risk of falling madly in love with me. He tells me I am in his head, his thoughts. He misses me.

I love these words. This time I believe him.

What to do?

He is in a relationship. He is not married and has no children. They have been together for a long time. I suspect he stays because it is familiar and settled. We daren't talk about it. I don't want to know.

He asks me if I could cope if there was a transition from there to here. I don't know if I answered. It is pointless. These are just words.

I will not be a mistress. He doesn't want this from me anyway, but still I need to say it. I tell him I deserve a whole relationship, that I am angry that he can tell me how he feels without any thought to what I am to do with that information. I won't have my heart played with.

No matter how hard I try to fight this, and stop his words, I can't. He asks me if I feel it too, and I can only say 'yes'.

There is only one other man in my past who has spoken to me so intenesly. One man, who truly and passionately loved me. I ran away from our relationship because it was too much when I wasn't ready. That was a decade ago.

The musician is talented, clever and attractive. He is a well known face in my little corner of the world, so I was always surprised when he took the time to chat to me. I am surprised to discover that he comes a little unstuck around me. He's wondered why I'd bother with him. He tells me he is nervous and excited when he sees me, that he babbles and fumbles for words whilst trying to impress me. It looks like he and I are a little in awe of each other. Blimey.

Eventually, we agree we must go home. We agree we need to think. We agree that we need time to find out if our thoughts are just madness.We agree that we will not have an affair. We agree that we will let each other know if minds are changed, risks run from.

I suspect, however, that we may freeze. Neither of us pursuing the other because he is someone else's.

The thought of him is dangerous. He makes my heart sing and it terrifies me.

Invasion

Mouse, well probably mice, have invaded my drawer of baking and dried goods (like noodles, flour, sugar and spices bought in bulk- useful store cupboard things I've built up over a long period and will resent replacing!). I am p***ed off and fearful in equal measure! I know the mouse/mice are probably more scared of me than I am of them. I've had lots of helpful advice from friends, which is greatly appreciated, but I'm struggling to put it into action.

I hate that my house has been invaded. Spiders are bad enough, but mice? Not good.

Mostly, I'm quite content living on my own. I manage to do most things by myself. I can paint rooms, hang curtains and have my own electric drill but occasionally I hate it. This is most definitely one of those occasions.

Did I bring a creature home with me from my camping trip, or is there a wee hole somewhere and the colder nights have tempted them into my warm home? I'm just hoping and praying its just a cunning visitor, not a whole family....argh!

There is a single drawer where packets have been chewed through and a drawer of plastic storage containers that shows evidence that they've passed through there too. I've washed out most of the plastic containers and will finish the rest tomorrow but I just haven't quite rustled up the courage to tackle the drawer. I suspect wellies and rubber gloves may be required for me to take the next step.

I cope with so much, and survive well enough on my own. But sometimes I resent it. Sometimes, often, it just makes me sad. Sometimes, I just want someone else to say it'll be ok. Sometimes, I am lonely.

Mostly, I am ok.

Today I just want someone, anyone, to help me be braver and who'll check the drawer has no residents before I chuck everything out. Instead I'm feeling like a ridiculously daft girl who's procrastinating about something that just needs dealt with.

I want my house back.

My Career: A Tipping Point

Today has been strange. Tomorrow could be stranger.


Tomorrow I could have two existences to choose from, the continuation of my long term contract or a big scary exciting job. Or none. A board of directors may decide to change their strategy and not renew my bread and butter contract, and someone may decide not to offer me a job that is so close I can almost feel it.

I could have it all to pick from, or nothing. It is terrifying and exciting. I am on the cusp of three very different futures: employee, freelance consultant or a blank slate.

The positive, optimistic, professional me trusts that I have done enough for those who hold the decision making powers to vote in my favour. But, there is part of me that knows that the whims of others may leave me having to rebuild.

I must have faith and hope that out there is a bright future. For now, it is all out of my hands.

He is Alive

Today is a day I don't want to go through again for a long, long time.

My beautiful, wonderful four year old nephew has spent eight hours having surgery on his heart. He now has a goretex artery. He really only has one functioning chamber, and had his first op two years ago to help re- plumb him and keep him going until he was big enough for today to happen. His situation is extremely rare.

Over the past months he has been getting more tired, breathless and blue on a bad day. Oxygenated blood gets round his body more by luck than by design, hopefully today will change all of that.

It's so easy to forget he's not a normal wee boy. He is a cheeky monkey, who is learning his way in the world, obsessing about Ben Ten watches, demanding just one more story and refusing to eat certain things although he loves broccoli and asparagus! His 'go faster stripe' or 'zip' is, of course, a constant reminder.

He is the most important person in my world. I don't have kids, but I do have him. He lives round the corner and we see each other often. We have things that just he and I do together. We're growing a miniature garden at the moment. It would have been all tomatoes if he'd had his way. Instead there are beans, broccoli,carrots, potatoes, pumpkin and some ill looking radishes. And, tomatoes. We laugh and he hates snails. He gave me into trouble for throwing one into the next garden the other day. He reminded me that I should be 'nice and kind'. Sorry snail.

He is still intensive care, and being sedated over night. He has been in my thoughts, hopes and tears today. The dreadful thought of it all going wrong and the pain that he will be in when he wakes nagging me. The endless hours, minutes and seconds endured by my brother and his wife. The thoughts of eating his first home grown radishes and learning to like bugs keeping me going.

He is OK. He is not there yet, but he is strong. He will get through and we will all be right there beside him.

He is alive.

A little composure

Ok, time to pull myself together and and acknowledge that a panic is simply that and it will pass. It is passing, helped very much by the wise and kind words of others who have taken the time to share with me. Thank you. You know who you are!


I am nervous about seeing him. But, I am seeing him tomorrow.

The last night we spent together pressed too many of my buttons It was not his fault but simply what goes on my head. Old wounds twinging and sending me into a tail spin.

When I saw him last weekend, we had both had other commitments and met at his house afterwards, taking advantage of me being in the same city for the evening. It was lovely, but come Sunday morning it felt like some kind of 'booty call' (for want of a better phrase!!). We hadn't spent the evening together, just the night. Albeit he'd made efforts to plan a lovely breakfast and we enjoyed a lazy morning.

It put me right back to that place of feeling that 'something is better than nothing', that devalues me, where I allow myself to accept crumbs from the table, where I allow myself to be led on because I don't feel like I don't deserve any better. I know this is a fallacy, but it takes me huge efforts to remind myself that I am not that person any more.

None of it is helped by me recently allowing an ex to take advantage me (there is only so often you can brush someone off, knowing it is dangerous territory, when the their words and actions make you feel wanted and attractive), lead me on, and ultimately destroy our friendship. He knew my weaknesses and disregarded them all. What's worse is that I let him, even apologising for being angry with him when I had every right to be.

David has done nothing wrong. There was absolutely no evidence to suggest that I was only there to entertain him, but that sinking feeling overwhelmed me and I tried to remain composed but succeeded only achieving an odd mood, which he picked up on. I was so pissed off and shocked at my reaction to it all that I cried all the way home in my car. I wasn't upset with him, but at all the situations in my past that had led me to that place.

I apologised by text when I got home for being a bit odd, and told him that there's perhaps some stuff I need to share with him next time. That time has come. The time where I let him see what's on the inside and hope that he finds something he likes. At least I will be honest and allow myself to be vulnerable. This will be a huge achievement no matter the outcome.

Wish me luck....

Taking chances

I don't want to turn this into a blog which has Dating as its primary subject, but for the moment I need to stick with the whole Bridget Jones thing. It's what's on my mind, and processing it all here is the best outlet I have. So, apologies and thank you for bearing with me!

The Canadian, - calling him my his real name makes it feel very real – is lovely and being smart is hard! David, there, I said it. He is David and he is nice.

He is nice, and cheeky and gentle and insightful, and I am scared and excited.

Trying to take thing one step at a time is so at odds with my last couple of significant relationships, which is, I guess, why they ultimately failed. They were built on shaky foundations. Houses built on sand.

As much as I am trying be brave and not run from this for fear of failure, I'm also scared. All of which is normal I guess. I need to be measured and honest. I'm managing so far and he's respecting that, responding well.

I'm feeling good about it all after another lovely evening. I'm also feeling weird because it's gone beyond a few casual dates, which means now I, we, need to build those foundations and see what happens. It means I need to do this without losing track of me. I need to remember that I will be ok if it doesn't work out, that I have a life and friends and and a career and hope. But, right now I also need to take a risk and believe that I am loveable.

Exhausted. Head and heart.

I'm shattered after the fortnight from hell.

Huge work deadlines, continuing saga of the sister's grumpy boyfriend impacting the rest of the family now and has us arguing rather than supporting each other. The exhausted me hasn't helped the situation at all and compounds all my fears and insecurities.

Big day today in getting work moved forward, presentations etc. I feel like I've been on some crazy job interview. The rational me knows I'm good at what I do. The tired emotional me feels like a fraud and is terrified of everything falling to pieces. Doubting myself and my abilities.

Even the fun stuff feels like hard work and I'm longing for the security of having an employer whilst knowing the freedom of the freelance life makes me happier.

I can't think straight or take an objective view. It all feels like it's my fault (whatever 'it' is), that I'm not good enough. The devil on my shoulder is shouting way louder than the angel can compete with.

I know it will pass. I know it will be OK. But tonight? I'm not OK. Maybe I just need to write it out of my system.

A day when the worms are winning....

Today is not a good day. An early morning counselling session has left me struggling.

Over the past few weeks we've been reviewing everything from the beginning, in order to figure what still needs to be faced, head on, no putting it off, plan of action required.

I've looked at the lists, heard words that I wrote at the beginning and I know that I've moved on from. I recognise them but feel differently now. I've achieved a huge amount. But....today's 'to do' list is hard. It's the stuff that has held me back always, and will be the hardest to confront.

It reminds of my greatest fears.

It's a day when I feel that I deserve nothing and that I know that I don't know how to accept kindness or love. A day that I will look at anyone who's offering their support and think that they are are mad.

I am sad and scared.

It's the stuff that I'm scared to dream about or want for my future, because it all feels so very far away and I know how much work I have to do to get there. I will do it.

Today I am glad I'm here on my own because I suspect if someone said the wrong thing, tried to be too nice to me or told me how to feel, or pressed an old button I would probably push them away, cry or scream.

It's a day when someone could easily be a target for all my hurt, anger and fear. It's a day when I all really need is a hug and to be listened to and to feel safe.

It's a day when someone would have to be hugely patient, and see past the ugly words and know that they are looking at a hurt little girl.

It's a day when I must do this for myself.

I have too much work to do and I can't concentrate. I will try. I must.

Boys, nerves and outings

Hmmmmm..........


I have a date tomorrow night.

I am nervous and excited . As nervous and excited as I was in preparation for the first of these such outings, probably about twenty years ago? In those days the thought of holding hands in the cinema, the thrill of a sneaky cigarette and a good night kiss could have my mind racing for days.

Still, I am wondering what we'll talk about, what I will wear, will he like me?

This time, however, it'll be red wine, dinner, civilised chat and the rose tinted glasses have been long ago discarded. I think the thing the most makes me nervous is my uncanny knack of choosing inappropriate or unsuitable men. How do I spot those red flags before I find myself in another situation that's all wrong for me, or accept it could be right?

Arghh!

Today will pass, I hope it hurries up

Today I am unravelled and upset, and I don't really know why. I know where it's come from, but I'm not sure what it is exactly. Partly it is not feeling respected.


I have no idea what to do with it.

My morning has been a write off. I am tearful and pissed off and frustrated and wondering if I will ever be able to make this better, or if I should give up trying and accept that it is what is and I that I'm not going to move forward from here.

I am tired of being angry. I am tired of fighting to keep my head above water. Most days are not like this, but this one is. Pressure builds and must, from time to time, be released. 

I do not want to be told how I should feel or think.

I just want to be loved and cared for. I want a hug. There is no one to give me a hug, and no one to ask me how my day is, how I am, and let me cry, make me safe until I've let it all go and I'm ok. I have to do this for myself. And I will try.

I will just have to pick myself up, dust myself off and carry on. I need to focus. I know I shouldn't, I know I should go with this and allow myself just to feel and 'be' whatever comes along, but that's not going to get my work done and pay the bills. I can't take a sick day because I earn my money by the day. My time is billable. Clients and deadlines.

I won't give up, I will keep fighting, keep trying because I have to. I can't go back to where I was, but right now the slope feels very slippery indeed.

Bugger.

My mother thinks her cancer might be back. I know she's serious because it's taken her over month to tell me, and she hasn't told anyone else. Smaller problems are shouted to anyone within ear shot.

It's six years since that first phone call to me which she didn't tell anyone else about either. She was diagnosed within the week. It's been a bloody hard slog for all of us. We always knew that it would reappear, and I guess I must face this very real possibility head on. Bugger.

I'll worry when we have facts, and in the meantime there's nothing to do. Well, I say that. I will worry, in a background noise sort of a way, but will try not actively think about it. At least today she has called her nurse.

Trick or treat?

Last night an email hit my in-box that made me cringe.

An old friend is having a Halloween party. It'll be a fun evening with good people; no bullshit, no agendas, just simple straightforward giggling, conversation and so on. No pressure.

So, what's the problem? Fancy dress.

The last fancy dress party I went to was an ex's 40th. The location, format and company for the weekend were perfect. Problem was that the more he looked forward to the idea of dressing up, the more I felt awful. The Elvis costume was booked for him with much glee.

I was already nervous about the weekend as it would be the first time I would meet his family and many of his friends who live in different parts of the country. I offered to do the catering, which I enjoy, as a birthday present. Added worry, but also fun and something I could do for him.

The closer we got to it the more hideous I began to feel.

I wear clothes because I have to. I have a completely neutral view towards them and my body. They serve a function, and I do my best to look reasonable, but they hold no joy for me. I wear simple things and quirky jewellery (I love vintage beads more than anything). I'm not glamorous, but can be elegant. I never wear anything that makes me stand out from the crowd.

Fancy dress makes me feel awkward and shy and clumsy and fat and ugly and self conscious. It is not fun. I understand that some people think it is.

I tried not to say too much about as I didn't want to spoil his excitement and any minor comments were brushed off with 'you'll be fine' kind and conciliatory responses. I didn't tell him how sick I felt about it all.

When it came to it, I had a friend help me do my hair and I reluctantly got organised. I was running later than everyone else as the food took first priority. I wanted to run away. I delayed going into the hall. Got into ticked off for being slow and eventually emerged. I refused to be made a fuss of in thank you speeches, and luked in a corner. I didn't want anyone looking at me. Of course they were - 'Who's the girlfriend?' 'what's she like?'....

Horrible. I felt like an incompetent child and didn't behave as socially as usual. Typically I'm a great hostess, and I let myself down that night.

So, I have to face these demons all over again on the 31st or will I just make an excuse and not go? Will I go and not dress up – disrespectful and fun-spoiling? Will I put on a brave face, drink too much, smoke too much, hate every second?

These people are friends, they love me and accept me for who I am. Why can't I do the same?

Why can't I bring to bear the confident, creative, clever girl I am in my professional life to a world of devils tails and witches hats and cross dressing?

I will paint on a smile and endure.

Deaf Ears

I don't need to have the last word. I don't need to be right or wrong. I just want to be understood. I sometimes wonder if I'm speaking a different language. I am trying to stop editing my words so that I do not offend, or upset, or challenge losing my voice along the way. I am trying to be truthful.

My mother has spent my life telling me that 'if I say black is white, black is white'. Any attempt at putting across another opinion or asking her to see someone else's view met with that helpful remark. I learned that it was her way or no way at all.

I didn't shut up, I kept fighting, kept trying to be heard, kept getting shot down. I was relived when I left home. I was tired of trying. Tired of fighting. Tired of not being heard. I learned to save my energy for the battles I could fight and hid the rest.

In all those years, I don't know I ever told my mother about the name calling, and the like. I remember being told about sticks, and stones....' Perhaps I did try. I know I stopped telling her things. A recent conversation has shown she hasn't got any idea of quite how much I put up with, and probably never will.

Any argument or discussion where I feel I am not being understood still stirs up that urge to fight back and be acknowledged in some way. I am thirteen again.

If someone tells me 'there's nothing else to say' or 'let's leave it there' or 'let's agree to disagree' or, or, or.....

It lights an old touch paper. These words translate in my head as 'your views or feelings are unimportant, I don't care, I don't want to know what you think, I don't respect you, I don't love you'.

I fight back harder than I should because I am thirteen again, not thirty something, and I am trying to be heard. All I want is for someone to ask me 'what do you think?' or 'I don't understand, why don't you tell me?'. Is that so much to ask? Perhaps it my responsibility to be more eloquent.

But am I thirteen again, and hurt, and scared of everything slipping through my fingers. I fight back in a fit of unreasonable proportion. Or, I am silent. Choosing my battles. Or, I am silent. Scared of my vulnerability.

She still doesn't listen.

Sleepless

I woke in the middle of the night with a start. A noise had disturbed me. Was it the front door, a window? Someone in the house? I gave myself a fright. Panic.

I'm sure it was just my mobile phone battery dying, reminding me to plug it in. Another lost hour of sleep.


Sometimes I hate living on my own. I light candles and switch on the TV or radio in order that there is something living and bright and noisy.

Finding freedom

I haven’t felt much like writing much these past few weeks. Maybe working full time again has just occupied enough of brain instead. After a weekend in Cumbria, and now typing from the west highlands I’m in reflective place again. So here we go…

It’s been a strange few weeks. An encounter with ex, that should never have happened, but weirdly I’m ok about it. Perhaps we have proven that he and I will never have what we both wanted from one another and can never go back.

However, a had a significant moment of revelation about the effect counselling has had on my life. Not only my ability to let the ex thing go, but in in translating feelings that would have once overwhelmed me. I was at a music festival watching a band amongst a crowd of folk. I turned round to realise my companion had disappeared without a word. Another, had gone for wander so I didn’t where she was either. I had a sudden rush of panic of being alone in this crowd. Ever since being mugged last year, crowds have freaked me out a little. I think they perhaps highlight my vulnerability and always need to know where my escape route is. I looked all over the marquee and couldn’t find either person. I had to get out I had to know where they were. I was scared - of what I don’t know - but there it was. I eventually found them. In previous times I would have confused this feeling of fear with being angry with my companion with having abandoned me. Instead, I was able to calmly explain to my friend, when asked, what was wrong. Had he simply let me know where he was going, and when he’d be back, I would have been fine. He wasn’t to know that I’d end feeling he way I did. I told him what had happened, and why the situation made feel like it did. For the rest of the weekend, he simply told me if he was going somewhere and when he’d be back and it was fine. A year ago I would have been angry with him. Perhaps not telling him, and telling myself that I was being silly, or perhaps been grumpy and let him know I was annoyed. The beauty of being able to simply express and understand my feelings is a new gift. Hard won, but wonderful, and let a situation pass so much more quickly. I finally feel like I’m free of my anger and confusion and fear of my irrational behaviour I have now have a language for it.