Putting down food has been so far a remarkable journey. And I thought it was all about body image, for instance weight and size. Or about control, either lack of control and greed or total control and starvation and the use of laxatives. I never really did vomit. But I caned the laxatives. When I discovered them I thought I had found the "answer to all my prayers" as they say around the rooms of AA. I could eat and then the food could be disposed of rapidly. And I mean really at high speed. I found them in my mum's cupboard. I can remember the packet. They've changed the packaging these days and even changed the ingredients, if that's the correct term. It sounds too "foody" maybe, as if they are made of nice combinations when I use the word ingredients. Chemical components perhaps makes it sound more medicinal. I was using them for something beyond medicinal. The packaging was red and white and long. The pills themselves looked like large red Smarties and had a sweet tasting coating. How old was I? Maybe mid to late teens. My dad and I were going to lakeside, a show my mum had acquired tickets for. It was a man hypnotising the audience. I remember how thrilled and excited my mum was that SE had been so easily hypnotised and how funny it had been. I really wanted to be susceptible but I wasn't. I also recall worrying that people would think I was out with this man and they wouldn't realise he was my dad. I was in a stage of being a yon g woman and wanting to look that part and yet there was this vile relationship with my dad that sickens me now. It was all unsaid. And I didn't want to be looking too provocative with him beside me. This makes the corners of my mouth screw up in discomfort as I'm writing it. It was all inappropriate but also so subtle that it can seem ridiculous of me to be thinking all these sordid, twisted things, as if it was me and my fault all along. I was 17 or 18 now I must have been as SE must have been living and working with my mum, it could even have been later as SE had briefly worked for BA and then somehow got involved with my mum. I hated that she moved into my bedroom and there was a definite link between SE and my mum. My mum did become very close with people that were around my age of similar. I didn't mind so much as it kept her off my back in some ways, which as I was actively involved in behaviours I thought she would disapprove of me, was convenient. You see it's always got to be on my terms. When needy I wanted her 100% and when I was off gallivanting and up to no good, I didn't appreciate her attention and fuss. I think they were her me replacement as I was getting more distant in some ways. I would get very jealous though and reclaim her. I wanted all of her attention. In later years I think I was far more confident that she was there for me in her way. My mum was away travelling somewhere ("again!", she says resentfully yet also with delight for my mum's sake. I have such a mix of feelings with my mum. I can feel sad, lonely and angry for me but this immediately negated when I think of my mum being happy and wanting her to be OK and enjoying herself). I discovered these laxatives and took a couple. This meant that after I'd eaten the food was disposed of and I felt thin. It felt a if my tummy became concave and there was the wonderful feeling of emptiness. So I'd had the joy of the tastes, anything I wanted as it became and then the glory of being emptied afterwards. The problem was that very soon I needed more than two laxatives and my mum's were all gone before she returned. No one ever noticed or said anything to enquire where the laxatives were. I used to think that my parents really didn't know what was in the house with things like this. I would quietly take things and it would all go by unnoticed or so I thought. I got the impression somehow that I could get away with it. This escalated when I "borrowed" things more often from other people and didn't return their things hoping that they'd forgotten. They too rarely said anything. I did steal things as well. Eek, it's so uncomfortable taking ownership of these things. I was one helluva a mixed up kid which went into adolescence and adult years/. I still smart at the time stole ML's jeans and also the raincoat from school. I knew I was stealing and then hiding the goods. After ML returned to Paris I boldly wore her jeans until my mum noticed. She never did question me, not really but I know she was suspicious. I'd never her seen that look at me before, almost in suspicious disbelief. What is the word for that, there must be a single word that describes that look as we have such a wonderfully, colourful vocabulary.
Looking in the Thesaurus doesn't always work. How do people learn new words like this?
Sorry, I keep digressing from the main point, a little like Ronnie Corbett, but that's another story entirely. There I go again. Gosh I can remember how my mum laughed at these two. My dad too. But my mum would repeatedly laugh about little Ronnie's dancing legs. That tickled her.
What was the point I was writing about? Oh yes, perhaps I need to unwind backwards as I have digressed far from starting point. So to tell a little more about the laxatives. I think the start of taking the laxatives was like a very fine silk veil falling softly over me, almost unnoticed apart from what seemed like the benefits of being able to eat and knowing that I could keep control of my weight. Have my cake and eat it sort of thing. I used laxatives off and on from then. Sometimes more off than on for lengthy periods. Mainly in the beginning the use of laxatives worked as a bridge between overeating to get me into starvation. It worked because I'd start to feel thinner immediately and so I'd gain control over the eating, reducing and reducing intake. It's as if the feeling of emptiness was so, so wonderful that I could sustain it easier with every day. And of course I could then sustain that in reality for only a limited period of time before the food intake would start creeping up. But to begin with I wouldn't put on any weight or only very gradually. It gave a false sense of security that I could eat and stay thin. How I envied those types that were stick thin and fragile, bony looking types who cold look quite pathetic in the cold. Do you know the sort I mean? But I loved that look, there seemed something helpless about them that needed looking after. And people did seem to or maybe that was in my imagination. I wanted to be a little girl that people attended to. I wonder if that is connected with the absence of my mum from quite young. I can't quite remember how young I was but have a feeling it was from about 7 and 1/2 when we first moved to Farnham, 1977. I seem to recall my mum working part time for a while but soon got into the longer days. I would come home from school and she would leave a tray of things for me to eat. I also know that it wasn't long before I'd root around for more fodder. I think it was loneliness and boredom. But again I wanted my mum to be happy and she seemed so happy being at work. She was a somebody and she thrived on that. I can see that.
So the veil landed in the use of food to feed the emptiness in the house and absence of my mum. Then the laxatives fulfilled the need to be slim because after all my mum was always dieting and my dad was unpleasant about size. It was particularly difficult as I was going into late teenage years and changing shape. This coincided with my dad noticing my different shapes evident by his derogatory comments, his inappropriate sexual attention of course, and disparaging remarks towards my mum or anyone overweight. I should mention that he also has had a problem with his weight, shape and size, so I've no doubt today that his issues were more with himself but turned outwards and projected on to everyone else. However, understanding that does not make it forgivable especially as he has never before considered he may be the problem. Well I say that with the memory of saying "it's all my fault" when I was in the P Hospital. And also telling me at various stages of my life that he should never have had children. I have internalised that as him not wanting me specifically. I have learnt that it's not personal but of course it lands personally because he doesn't know how not to make it personal. He does not have that self awareness or discipline.
I'd love to be writing this as a piece of fictional literature, turning into a fascinating web of fictional story telling. But I think it;s just a need to empty myself of all of these thoughts and memories.
I am still not back to the main points but wish to continue with the realisations I am having regarding laxatives. I have sort of flash memories only of the progression of my use of laxatives. I recall when living with AV in Ealing I was using laxatives heavily. He enjoyed photography and was taking some photos of me in a very, very short leather skirt that I could only wear when very thin. It was not only short but tight fitting and I thought it was essential to be able to see my hip bones through the leather. The shoot was of the skirt and my legs in stockings and wearing very high heels, inspired by Tina Turners album cover. What is the album name? Ah of course, Private Dancer. I was using a lot of laxatives by this time. I mean strips and strips per day. I think there were 16 pills or more to a strip. Anyway whilst he was taking photos, a pain that had been niggling in my back to the side became excruciating. I thought I was dying it was so bad. I can still recall the pain today which I find fascinating that physical pain can still be remembered. Especially when reference is made regularly to the fact that women tend to forget the pain of childbirth. Anyhow, AV rushed me to A&E. Oh my gosh I remember them asking me if I was pregnant. I wasn't entirely sure and hoped not so when they asked and I thought the x-ray could be a way for any pregnancy to abort, I said "no". They x-rayed me and I recall seeing them looking at my x-ray pointing, thinking they could see a baby. Anyway, the pain was a kidney stone. They said they had no idea how I had a kidney stone but I truly felt deep within me, something intuitive, that it was linked with my use of laxatives. I have a firm belief about that. But of course I often don't trust instincts because I also am so uncertainty hat my thoughts, memories and feelings are real. Which is a point I wanted to write about. But to finish the story of the laxatives. I remember sitting on a paper mache potty on a table with a gauze over the op. They wanted me to pass water because apparently the stone was on the move, hence the agony I was in. These must be muddled memories because it surely couldn't be that simple that I went to the toilet, they caught the stone, the pain diminished and all was well. Apart from cystitis which they attributed to the stone and a kidney infection caused by the stone grazing my kidney. That's how I remember it. I wonder if that's how and what it was actually? Oh I think I remember this hospital bed with the potty on top and me on top of the potty also being in a sort of passing way for doctors and nurses, albeit a curtain was around me. I could see them walking by so they could surely see me perched there.
Another occasion of which I am deeply disgusted involved the very peculiar but regular as clockwork overnighting weekends with DG. I travelled from my annexe at my parents to DG's mother and step-father's, the gorgeous S & T. S would regularly comment about the need for extra toilet rolls as I would be there. I spent so much time in the toilet as there were always sumptuous meals, especially apple pies and custard etc. Of course, laxatives work to a point or so I believe. They can rid of the food but I hated the idea that the quantities with which I ate meant that sugar and carbs would be seeping into my system because there were so many. I took more and more laxatives to try and counter that possibility. I think my weight did increase. Anyway, DG and I would sleep on the settee. That's where he slept. It was a very tortuous relationship. He was pretty damned cold all of the time. We had sex on that settee, the settee where the parents would be sitting the following day. I had used so many laxatives and knew that I was waiting for the emptying but couldn't tell him of course. It was always secret!! But during sex suddenly the release occurred. Oh my gosh, it was embarrassing. I can't tell you how I just wanted the ground to open. And he was desperately clearing up with me because of his worry about his parents hone. Oh wow this is such a horrible memory. It's so horrible I am slightly detached from it, writing it as fact more than emotionally.
There had already been increasingly occasions when I was living in Aylesbury, in my lovely little flat, that I was losing the ability to time the feeling of the emptying approaching and getting to the toilet. And there is an interesting connection, I loved that feeling as it approached emptying time. It was painful and the holding in was all a part of the pleasant yet uncomfortable feeling. And there are parallels of this when I was little. I never wanted to release the "poos". I wold hold on and hold on liking the pain. This resulted in a lot of soiled knickers for which I was told off regularly but never did anything to change it. Neither did anyone ever try to understand the problem. It was a problem and I make links of this with sexual behaviours with my dad. I have no clear link but something coincides.
So the veil handed landed but it wasn't think enough, so more and more laxative veils kept landing as the use augmented. But it wasn't enough. And of course alcohol and drugs helped with the other very potent layer of men and sexual relationships. I was so terribly shy not to mention lacking in any belief that I was attractive or would be attractive to me. If a man paid me any attention at all I was so grateful I gave of myself utterly. He could possess me. But of course, after a period of time the control I had given over became a prison to me and eventually I would start emerging in the shape of rebellion and the desperate need to escape. Relationships after relationship went this way. even right up until the most recent one with JH and all the complete handing over of self. But I couldn't deal with the mistrust, which was also inevitable. How could a man playing such games be entirely trustworthy. I do not blame him at all or hold any resentment anymore. There is in me a "need" like a child for him to love me, like the daughter in me wanting him to think I am a good girl and he will love me after all. There is still the "fucked upness" over the role play and the neediness confused with love and adoration. I will not enter that game for today. This is relevant as he plans a visit to the UK in August, luckily with his kids. I am tempted to suggest we meet but know that it is not healthy for me. The irregular contact has tinges of something for me and continue heartache that he doesn't declare his love for me. It is so similar to my dad situation. An abusive situation with both and yet wanting, wanting their approval and love. Grr at me for being so messed up. I'm not suggesting JH is an abuser or not. No, no I am not making judgement on that. It is me that creates this in me and people fit the role.
It's 10:00 and I need to get on with some cleaning but I still haven't got to the point I wanted to write about. I will get a drink and return to write until 10:30 max.
OK. The kettle is filled with water and switched on to work it's way to boiling the water. Or the short version of that is the kettle is on.
I think I'm ready. That statement in itself maybe something relevant in that I needed to clear the way to start expressing recent revelations. It's true really because as the food is no longer being used, laxatives and alcohol and drugs went some time ago. And actually acting out with men stopped 2 years ago. And with all of that clarity is stirring me from all directions. Everyday is now the lessons that i was ignoring before. I am a late started as a result. Probably things I would have been learning about myself in my late teens and early twenties and so on.
What I am aware of is this need to feel vindicated. But I'm not sure that is entirely the process. Let me try and explain using the situation from yesterday. Well it started a few days ago, although overall it really started in January but hey that would just one big winding journey and I've touched on snippets of it through the year to date. L has been in a bad mood for a few days. To quantify that, a worse mood. She was picking on me over the preceding days but yesterday both S and I were in for it. Nothing we can do is right at the moment. I'm on holiday from work now for a week. So it helps to download this here and leave it behind as I set off with my friends tomorrow morning. Anyway, all sorts of things were going wrong for her. Finally, she realises she needs to let go of the clinical work and get on with the more managerial tasks she is being delegated. It must be horrid as she is getting further away from what she actually wants to do. One of the reasons I didn't want to do that job. She ha been determined to both and working late as a result. I am pretty certain she gets resentful that Sh and I generally get out of the door as close as we can to the end of our paid hours. After all it's hardly as if we a re rewarded or thanked by the P. Not a good company to work for. I have no shame in writing that in my personal writings. I would not advertise it by speaking broadly but if people come across this so be it. It's the truth. They pay us a wage. It's barely covering my bills but partly that's my choice for living so far from my work place, petrol costs are high. However, we have not had pay increases and sickness is deducted. They have generously given me a study day per month. Not something they have to do when all training is cut. Only special applications will be considered and not many of those. So all in all there is little investment in staff except to get on with a high work load which has been increasing under L's overwork ethic.
So yesterday S and I covered the clinical work. This was amazing that she was letting go. However, we returned to the office and she was despairing. She has so much on. A few time during the year I've mentioned this or that that might need doing only to be battered. Gradually I learnt to step back. Letting go of my need to control. Instead I've been learning and practising little by little to observe. And now it's turning crazy. She was very stressed and whilst I was sitting with my back to her on the computer she said in a funnyish tone that she wanted to throw something and then said "this!" as she violently threw a metal stapler against the cupboard door right next to me. It made such a loud bang. It was frightening. S made a comment about feeling frightened. I was remarkably calm. Am I just so used to such outbursts. I must say there are many similarities with my dad. Anyway, this is the situation. S said it was out of order and wanted to leave the office. S said she needed to calm and get a grip. She had previously been crying and wasn't wanting to take any action to change things in herself. All she could do was continue to say how bad everything was (don't I know I do that myself??). Sounds familiar to me. I asked what she wanted to do and she could only say what she wanted to change outside of her. Hence I had got on with the computer stuff. Everything is a rush so we have little time to process anything that is going on within the office dynamics. That's when the stapler flew. She wouldn't even take a momentary break just to level herself. Not my business.
The point of this for me is that I noticed her sort of funnyish tone. But the action wasn't funny. So I minimised the reality of what happened and yet slowly was aware that it had been a very violent and dangerous thing to do. Nothing untoward happened but that's not really the point is it? I am not sure. But then it was also an example to express dramatically to make people that I speak to realise how extreme things can be. I still don't really know if it's really that bad or not. IN my mind I've normalised it and yet dramatised it all int he same breath. Can that happen? What is this that happens? And yet the drama bit of the situation and within me is the part that says to everyone "See? I'm not crazy and over dramatising". Similarly, with my dad I think everyone will think it's just me being over dramatic and nothing is really that bad. I think everything from younger years was minimised and subdued. I was subdued by them. My dad would do things and never, ever mention it again. My mum would always say it's never as bad as I thought. Oh not about my dad, I don't think she could have known. I really don't actually.
So what is this process I go through of not trusting my own self and not even reacting to somethings until afterwards. It's a part of this suppressing within me. At the time it's not bad and then afterwards it hits me full impact. Same with deaths. At the time I think it's like a traumatised shock, little reaction and then afterwards dramatised fall out. Is that what's happening, a sort of shut down?
But then this is used to get people to see me and see the situation. It's all peculiar.
So realising this doesn't mean I've hit upon the answer. It's a little surprising realisation and to be observed in itself. So this is the way I am. No judgement, goo or bad. It i itself could be me looking for vindication that I am "fucked up". I already know that but it's like I want everyone to know it too. Why? There is nothing more anyone can do. I simply want to be seen for the way I am I suppose.
OK well it's way beyond 10:30, it's nearly 11:00 and little is achieved apart from a cleaned bathroom and slightly cleaned kitchen. There is a lot of tidying and hoovering and shopping and then dropping Looby Lou off. She is sleeping soundly beside me. I love that as she often takes herself off alone these days. At one time she would only ever be beside me day and night. Yep! She slept with me but no more. I wonder why? IN my mind I've neglected her so much that she no longer wants to be near me. She is close with GB but after all she spends every working day there and for 3 1/2 months whilst I was in Spain she lived there 24/7. And then there are the holidays away from her. She is there more hours than not. I love LouLou and hate seeing her getting old.
I hate that when I was man chasing I left her alone for hours. This was a period from October 1996 for maybe a month or more. Yuch! How could I have done that to her knowing she was such a me dog. It was cruelty.
I feel so sad and sorry for that and glad therefore that she feels safe and secure with GB.
Well any readers I'd be interested to know what your thoughts on my writings here....
Bliss
XX
Looking in the Thesaurus doesn't always work. How do people learn new words like this?
Sorry, I keep digressing from the main point, a little like Ronnie Corbett, but that's another story entirely. There I go again. Gosh I can remember how my mum laughed at these two. My dad too. But my mum would repeatedly laugh about little Ronnie's dancing legs. That tickled her.
What was the point I was writing about? Oh yes, perhaps I need to unwind backwards as I have digressed far from starting point. So to tell a little more about the laxatives. I think the start of taking the laxatives was like a very fine silk veil falling softly over me, almost unnoticed apart from what seemed like the benefits of being able to eat and knowing that I could keep control of my weight. Have my cake and eat it sort of thing. I used laxatives off and on from then. Sometimes more off than on for lengthy periods. Mainly in the beginning the use of laxatives worked as a bridge between overeating to get me into starvation. It worked because I'd start to feel thinner immediately and so I'd gain control over the eating, reducing and reducing intake. It's as if the feeling of emptiness was so, so wonderful that I could sustain it easier with every day. And of course I could then sustain that in reality for only a limited period of time before the food intake would start creeping up. But to begin with I wouldn't put on any weight or only very gradually. It gave a false sense of security that I could eat and stay thin. How I envied those types that were stick thin and fragile, bony looking types who cold look quite pathetic in the cold. Do you know the sort I mean? But I loved that look, there seemed something helpless about them that needed looking after. And people did seem to or maybe that was in my imagination. I wanted to be a little girl that people attended to. I wonder if that is connected with the absence of my mum from quite young. I can't quite remember how young I was but have a feeling it was from about 7 and 1/2 when we first moved to Farnham, 1977. I seem to recall my mum working part time for a while but soon got into the longer days. I would come home from school and she would leave a tray of things for me to eat. I also know that it wasn't long before I'd root around for more fodder. I think it was loneliness and boredom. But again I wanted my mum to be happy and she seemed so happy being at work. She was a somebody and she thrived on that. I can see that.
So the veil landed in the use of food to feed the emptiness in the house and absence of my mum. Then the laxatives fulfilled the need to be slim because after all my mum was always dieting and my dad was unpleasant about size. It was particularly difficult as I was going into late teenage years and changing shape. This coincided with my dad noticing my different shapes evident by his derogatory comments, his inappropriate sexual attention of course, and disparaging remarks towards my mum or anyone overweight. I should mention that he also has had a problem with his weight, shape and size, so I've no doubt today that his issues were more with himself but turned outwards and projected on to everyone else. However, understanding that does not make it forgivable especially as he has never before considered he may be the problem. Well I say that with the memory of saying "it's all my fault" when I was in the P Hospital. And also telling me at various stages of my life that he should never have had children. I have internalised that as him not wanting me specifically. I have learnt that it's not personal but of course it lands personally because he doesn't know how not to make it personal. He does not have that self awareness or discipline.
I'd love to be writing this as a piece of fictional literature, turning into a fascinating web of fictional story telling. But I think it;s just a need to empty myself of all of these thoughts and memories.
I am still not back to the main points but wish to continue with the realisations I am having regarding laxatives. I have sort of flash memories only of the progression of my use of laxatives. I recall when living with AV in Ealing I was using laxatives heavily. He enjoyed photography and was taking some photos of me in a very, very short leather skirt that I could only wear when very thin. It was not only short but tight fitting and I thought it was essential to be able to see my hip bones through the leather. The shoot was of the skirt and my legs in stockings and wearing very high heels, inspired by Tina Turners album cover. What is the album name? Ah of course, Private Dancer. I was using a lot of laxatives by this time. I mean strips and strips per day. I think there were 16 pills or more to a strip. Anyway whilst he was taking photos, a pain that had been niggling in my back to the side became excruciating. I thought I was dying it was so bad. I can still recall the pain today which I find fascinating that physical pain can still be remembered. Especially when reference is made regularly to the fact that women tend to forget the pain of childbirth. Anyhow, AV rushed me to A&E. Oh my gosh I remember them asking me if I was pregnant. I wasn't entirely sure and hoped not so when they asked and I thought the x-ray could be a way for any pregnancy to abort, I said "no". They x-rayed me and I recall seeing them looking at my x-ray pointing, thinking they could see a baby. Anyway, the pain was a kidney stone. They said they had no idea how I had a kidney stone but I truly felt deep within me, something intuitive, that it was linked with my use of laxatives. I have a firm belief about that. But of course I often don't trust instincts because I also am so uncertainty hat my thoughts, memories and feelings are real. Which is a point I wanted to write about. But to finish the story of the laxatives. I remember sitting on a paper mache potty on a table with a gauze over the op. They wanted me to pass water because apparently the stone was on the move, hence the agony I was in. These must be muddled memories because it surely couldn't be that simple that I went to the toilet, they caught the stone, the pain diminished and all was well. Apart from cystitis which they attributed to the stone and a kidney infection caused by the stone grazing my kidney. That's how I remember it. I wonder if that's how and what it was actually? Oh I think I remember this hospital bed with the potty on top and me on top of the potty also being in a sort of passing way for doctors and nurses, albeit a curtain was around me. I could see them walking by so they could surely see me perched there.
Another occasion of which I am deeply disgusted involved the very peculiar but regular as clockwork overnighting weekends with DG. I travelled from my annexe at my parents to DG's mother and step-father's, the gorgeous S & T. S would regularly comment about the need for extra toilet rolls as I would be there. I spent so much time in the toilet as there were always sumptuous meals, especially apple pies and custard etc. Of course, laxatives work to a point or so I believe. They can rid of the food but I hated the idea that the quantities with which I ate meant that sugar and carbs would be seeping into my system because there were so many. I took more and more laxatives to try and counter that possibility. I think my weight did increase. Anyway, DG and I would sleep on the settee. That's where he slept. It was a very tortuous relationship. He was pretty damned cold all of the time. We had sex on that settee, the settee where the parents would be sitting the following day. I had used so many laxatives and knew that I was waiting for the emptying but couldn't tell him of course. It was always secret!! But during sex suddenly the release occurred. Oh my gosh, it was embarrassing. I can't tell you how I just wanted the ground to open. And he was desperately clearing up with me because of his worry about his parents hone. Oh wow this is such a horrible memory. It's so horrible I am slightly detached from it, writing it as fact more than emotionally.
There had already been increasingly occasions when I was living in Aylesbury, in my lovely little flat, that I was losing the ability to time the feeling of the emptying approaching and getting to the toilet. And there is an interesting connection, I loved that feeling as it approached emptying time. It was painful and the holding in was all a part of the pleasant yet uncomfortable feeling. And there are parallels of this when I was little. I never wanted to release the "poos". I wold hold on and hold on liking the pain. This resulted in a lot of soiled knickers for which I was told off regularly but never did anything to change it. Neither did anyone ever try to understand the problem. It was a problem and I make links of this with sexual behaviours with my dad. I have no clear link but something coincides.
So the veil handed landed but it wasn't think enough, so more and more laxative veils kept landing as the use augmented. But it wasn't enough. And of course alcohol and drugs helped with the other very potent layer of men and sexual relationships. I was so terribly shy not to mention lacking in any belief that I was attractive or would be attractive to me. If a man paid me any attention at all I was so grateful I gave of myself utterly. He could possess me. But of course, after a period of time the control I had given over became a prison to me and eventually I would start emerging in the shape of rebellion and the desperate need to escape. Relationships after relationship went this way. even right up until the most recent one with JH and all the complete handing over of self. But I couldn't deal with the mistrust, which was also inevitable. How could a man playing such games be entirely trustworthy. I do not blame him at all or hold any resentment anymore. There is in me a "need" like a child for him to love me, like the daughter in me wanting him to think I am a good girl and he will love me after all. There is still the "fucked upness" over the role play and the neediness confused with love and adoration. I will not enter that game for today. This is relevant as he plans a visit to the UK in August, luckily with his kids. I am tempted to suggest we meet but know that it is not healthy for me. The irregular contact has tinges of something for me and continue heartache that he doesn't declare his love for me. It is so similar to my dad situation. An abusive situation with both and yet wanting, wanting their approval and love. Grr at me for being so messed up. I'm not suggesting JH is an abuser or not. No, no I am not making judgement on that. It is me that creates this in me and people fit the role.
It's 10:00 and I need to get on with some cleaning but I still haven't got to the point I wanted to write about. I will get a drink and return to write until 10:30 max.
OK. The kettle is filled with water and switched on to work it's way to boiling the water. Or the short version of that is the kettle is on.
I think I'm ready. That statement in itself maybe something relevant in that I needed to clear the way to start expressing recent revelations. It's true really because as the food is no longer being used, laxatives and alcohol and drugs went some time ago. And actually acting out with men stopped 2 years ago. And with all of that clarity is stirring me from all directions. Everyday is now the lessons that i was ignoring before. I am a late started as a result. Probably things I would have been learning about myself in my late teens and early twenties and so on.
What I am aware of is this need to feel vindicated. But I'm not sure that is entirely the process. Let me try and explain using the situation from yesterday. Well it started a few days ago, although overall it really started in January but hey that would just one big winding journey and I've touched on snippets of it through the year to date. L has been in a bad mood for a few days. To quantify that, a worse mood. She was picking on me over the preceding days but yesterday both S and I were in for it. Nothing we can do is right at the moment. I'm on holiday from work now for a week. So it helps to download this here and leave it behind as I set off with my friends tomorrow morning. Anyway, all sorts of things were going wrong for her. Finally, she realises she needs to let go of the clinical work and get on with the more managerial tasks she is being delegated. It must be horrid as she is getting further away from what she actually wants to do. One of the reasons I didn't want to do that job. She ha been determined to both and working late as a result. I am pretty certain she gets resentful that Sh and I generally get out of the door as close as we can to the end of our paid hours. After all it's hardly as if we a re rewarded or thanked by the P. Not a good company to work for. I have no shame in writing that in my personal writings. I would not advertise it by speaking broadly but if people come across this so be it. It's the truth. They pay us a wage. It's barely covering my bills but partly that's my choice for living so far from my work place, petrol costs are high. However, we have not had pay increases and sickness is deducted. They have generously given me a study day per month. Not something they have to do when all training is cut. Only special applications will be considered and not many of those. So all in all there is little investment in staff except to get on with a high work load which has been increasing under L's overwork ethic.
So yesterday S and I covered the clinical work. This was amazing that she was letting go. However, we returned to the office and she was despairing. She has so much on. A few time during the year I've mentioned this or that that might need doing only to be battered. Gradually I learnt to step back. Letting go of my need to control. Instead I've been learning and practising little by little to observe. And now it's turning crazy. She was very stressed and whilst I was sitting with my back to her on the computer she said in a funnyish tone that she wanted to throw something and then said "this!" as she violently threw a metal stapler against the cupboard door right next to me. It made such a loud bang. It was frightening. S made a comment about feeling frightened. I was remarkably calm. Am I just so used to such outbursts. I must say there are many similarities with my dad. Anyway, this is the situation. S said it was out of order and wanted to leave the office. S said she needed to calm and get a grip. She had previously been crying and wasn't wanting to take any action to change things in herself. All she could do was continue to say how bad everything was (don't I know I do that myself??). Sounds familiar to me. I asked what she wanted to do and she could only say what she wanted to change outside of her. Hence I had got on with the computer stuff. Everything is a rush so we have little time to process anything that is going on within the office dynamics. That's when the stapler flew. She wouldn't even take a momentary break just to level herself. Not my business.
The point of this for me is that I noticed her sort of funnyish tone. But the action wasn't funny. So I minimised the reality of what happened and yet slowly was aware that it had been a very violent and dangerous thing to do. Nothing untoward happened but that's not really the point is it? I am not sure. But then it was also an example to express dramatically to make people that I speak to realise how extreme things can be. I still don't really know if it's really that bad or not. IN my mind I've normalised it and yet dramatised it all int he same breath. Can that happen? What is this that happens? And yet the drama bit of the situation and within me is the part that says to everyone "See? I'm not crazy and over dramatising". Similarly, with my dad I think everyone will think it's just me being over dramatic and nothing is really that bad. I think everything from younger years was minimised and subdued. I was subdued by them. My dad would do things and never, ever mention it again. My mum would always say it's never as bad as I thought. Oh not about my dad, I don't think she could have known. I really don't actually.
So what is this process I go through of not trusting my own self and not even reacting to somethings until afterwards. It's a part of this suppressing within me. At the time it's not bad and then afterwards it hits me full impact. Same with deaths. At the time I think it's like a traumatised shock, little reaction and then afterwards dramatised fall out. Is that what's happening, a sort of shut down?
But then this is used to get people to see me and see the situation. It's all peculiar.
So realising this doesn't mean I've hit upon the answer. It's a little surprising realisation and to be observed in itself. So this is the way I am. No judgement, goo or bad. It i itself could be me looking for vindication that I am "fucked up". I already know that but it's like I want everyone to know it too. Why? There is nothing more anyone can do. I simply want to be seen for the way I am I suppose.
OK well it's way beyond 10:30, it's nearly 11:00 and little is achieved apart from a cleaned bathroom and slightly cleaned kitchen. There is a lot of tidying and hoovering and shopping and then dropping Looby Lou off. She is sleeping soundly beside me. I love that as she often takes herself off alone these days. At one time she would only ever be beside me day and night. Yep! She slept with me but no more. I wonder why? IN my mind I've neglected her so much that she no longer wants to be near me. She is close with GB but after all she spends every working day there and for 3 1/2 months whilst I was in Spain she lived there 24/7. And then there are the holidays away from her. She is there more hours than not. I love LouLou and hate seeing her getting old.
I hate that when I was man chasing I left her alone for hours. This was a period from October 1996 for maybe a month or more. Yuch! How could I have done that to her knowing she was such a me dog. It was cruelty.
I feel so sad and sorry for that and glad therefore that she feels safe and secure with GB.
Well any readers I'd be interested to know what your thoughts on my writings here....
Bliss
XX
