When faced with my demons I clothe them and feed them…

Archive for December, 2012

2012 in review

The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2012 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

600 people reached the top of Mt. Everest in 2012. This blog got about 5,700 views in 2012. If every person who reached the top of Mt. Everest viewed this blog, it would have taken 10 years to get that many views.

Click here to see the complete report.

Christmas at Mum’s

Hey folks. Happy Christmas and New Year to all of you. Christmas Day for me is at my Mum’s shared with her Bengal kittens and my lovely seventeen-year -old son. And yes. So far, he’s been lovely. Very sociable and chatty. We compared notes on the ‘dark’ movies we both like to watch online. His behaviour was immaculate and he was a pleasure to be with. Well done J.

I feel fortunate to have any company at all for Christmas, let alone my two closest people in the world. Not all are that lucky. M for instance is on his own in prison. I wonder how long they are let out of the cells in honour of the season. Such a shame if they have to eat Christmas dinner sequestered in their cells as they do normally. On the other hand no washing-up or general Christmas mess for them… I’m a thoroughly lazy bint at the moment, not liking the idea of sweating over a hot stove later. Shame we can’t just eat lentil soup as I did on a previous lone Christmas. Yes, I’ve known lone Christmases before, and have never minded them to my recollection. Thoughts go out to those who have no choice.

What can I come up with for a Christmas message? Hmm, not a lot. Bengal kittens like to rush around the house getting into mischief with random objects. I thought I’d lost an ecig earlier but my thoughtful mother had put it somewhere safe knowing Nala’s predilection for anything that looks like a pen.

The Christmas service is on the radio with beautifully sung carols. This is the best part of Christmas. The longueur comes later with what feels like a week of bank holidays and the torpor of overeating. Being vegan is an advantage there. The food is not so heavy on the stomach. Mum is making spelt flour pancakes for breakfast. I’m so lucky to have a mother still living, who still has all her marbles and is pretty fit and active for her 80 years. I hope one day J will feel the same about me, though I am not the good parent she is. But while there’s life there is hope. I may be able to prove myself more useful in the future. Lack of good parenting ability is in my genes I’m afraid. My brother inherited it but I was at the back of the queue. One thing I have inherited from my Mum is lack of good judgment in choosing partners, as this year’s events have made more than clear.

That’s all for now. Thanks to everyone who has persisted with my blog over the last year, narcissistic though it often is (I inherit that from my Dad). I haven’t had a single negative comment in all that time. You are all lovely.

Zoe xx

 

 

Seasonal Mutterings

Hi Peeps. Well here it is, merry Christmas, everybody’s, ah. Hoping to survive it. Just wanting it to be over. Or is that just me and my select band of brothers and sisters?

It’s been reasonably painless so far, except that Christmas dinner last week with the Women’s Group. I felt so out of it. Usually I go to such events, dreading them but am then pleasantly surprised. This was the exception that proves the rule.

The application for a personal budget malarkey continues apace. My care coordinator continues to offer me no support whatsoever in filling in any of the forms where we have to make a case for what we want. I’m on my own with that, and it’s even worse than the dreaded DLA form which at least is familiar. God knows what hoops of fire lie in wait for us next year when DLA is abolished in favour of Personal Independence Payments. Carefully avoid any reference to disability, huh? That’s the way to go.  Let’s patronise the f***ers instead. Squeeze ’em till the pips squeak.

Gimme a job! Can it honestly be any harder than filling in these endless forms? I’ve a friend who bangs on endlessly about his fears of being stuck on Jobseekers instead of Employment Support Allowance. The amount of energy he puts into ranting and moaning about it could be better employed elsewhere, I can’t help thinking: maybe I’ve just got compassion fatigue. Who would give me a job though? It’s been twenty years. Have to get back to the drawing board with the old CV, but it’s hard to make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear.

I’ve been contemplating voluntary work again. It’s a bit overwhelming. I have to turn down so many opps, I begin to feel worthless after a while. There’s got to be something out there for me…

I have done zero Christmas shopping. Sent zero cards. Going to head out to the dreaded Wood Green tomorrow. Or preferably Muswell Hill if possible. It all seems slightly insane to me.

Love, and season’s greetings folks! xx

She Came, She Saw, She Cleaned

Whew. Lovely Bulgarian lady with a big smile to make up for her lack of English came and did my house proud today. That cheered me up no end. She even went 40 minutes over her two hours. What is it with these east Europeans. They have a fantastic work ethic. No wonder they’ve taken over. She just made so light of the dirt and decay. Which, naturally, was not really as bad as I had thought … She motivated me to do some cleaning and tidying myself. Which was just what I hoped would happen. Someone else cares about whether my house is clean or not. That’s all I really needed.

Best thing I’ve ever done, to hire a cleaner.

After all that excitement I took myself reluctantly off to DRA in central London. It was a small meeting, but good, and we all hugged afterward wishing each other a happy Christmas (it’s the last one until the New Year). Afterward my friend R and I went for a tea. I began to think about buying a new computer monitor, and when I got home I ordered one online from Amazon. Spending around £100, and the reviews are glowing. I’m looking forward to some High Definition, stunning colour and contrast etc. My current one is M’s brother’s cast-off and not up to much at all, plus it’s really small.

It’s amazing how many things can be done online these days. Not an original observation I know.

Phoned up the foster carer. J is up to all his usual tricks of refusing to leave the house to attend appointments etc, getting peed off because his internet is getting switched off at 10pm. He doesn’t seem to know he’s born. Acting like a big baby. He hasn’t even committed definitely to what he wants to do for Christmas. Hasn’t told anyone what he wants as a present either. Pain in the fundament.

All in all, a good day. Much better than yesterday. I was wakeful in the night and felt quite alone, scared and vulnerable. The cat is my only reassurance. I know if there was an intruder she wouldn’t jump up on me and purr.

Zoe xx

 

Sunday Supplement

Hi folks. It’s a beautiful sunny Sunday, and I’m a bit more settled than I’ve been on recent Sundays. I’ve been busy with socialising and being out and about for the last week. It actually feels OK to take a day off from all that and just please myself, mooching about my house and generally doing what comes naturally.

I’ve engaged a cleaner to come tomorrow morning, and am already fretting about what she will find. I feel I should clean for the cleaner but still have barely lifted a finger. What I really want is not to have someone do it all for me, but someone to give me moral support and maybe work alongside me. The motivation to do it in the first place. The feeling that it matters what sort of state my house is in. I fear that only another person can really do that for me.

My self-neglect does not extend to neglecting my food, sleep and personal hygiene, but it does extend to letting the place go. This stuff is important. I deserve to live in a reasonably clean and tidy home, whatever lengths I have to go to to achieve this.

I’m also a bit embarrassed. She will probably be puzzled as to why I can’t do it myself. And dirt and mess is quite a personal thing. Ah well. We’ll see how it goes. I hope she’s understanding and doesn’t secretly despise me, lol.

My son J phoned last night. He had received my letter, originally written for his birthday but sent a week later because I didn’t want to upset him in any way. He found it a nice letter though, and it made him cry a bit. He’s cried a few times he says. He’s been contemplating his disinclination to live and his dislike of other people. He admits he is unhappy though. He doesn’t like the foster placement and has argued with the foster carer. He complains that she is nothing like a counsellor. The social worker had been to see him and given him to understand that no move was planned for the time being.

In many ways I can relate to my son. I don’t much like living either, it is a necessary evil in my book. There really is no alternative, so we must make the best of it, hey folks? Life goes by quicker when one is productively engaged, so it’s certainly not in our interests to sit on our arses doing nothing. I too am most comfortable on my own and messing about on the internet. I too am ambivalent toward other people (as to myself), and recently have struggled to like them unequivocally (and not to judge and be annoyed by them secretly). I think I manage, with a greater or lesser degree of success, to hide my feelings. He may not have yet developed this necessary subterfuge.

I made it clear to him that I would be delighted to have him back living with me under some very important conditions. He has to be doing a bit more than what he currently is. Getting up in the morning, washed and dressed, eating meals downstairs, keeping his room reasonably tidy, engaging in some social interaction and realistically facing his future; these should be givens. He also needs to get out and exercise in the fresh air. Contribute to the running of the house. Begin learning to cook and prepare food for himself. See a counsellor once a week as a bare minimum.

If he’s genuinely mentally or emotionally unwell he probably needs more intervention than just a counsellor/therapist once a week. He doesn’t think he is unwell though.

Poor old chap. Bless his poor suffering heart.

Zoe xx

Written and Sent

Hi M. I’ve just reread the emails I sent you so far. I was shocked at how conciliatory I was toward you, and that I expressed gratitude for your ‘caring’ for me when I was in a bad way mentally. You always had an agenda, I realise that now. I’ve been extensively researching the subject of psychopathy and I’m afraid you fit the bill. I realise now you never cared for me and never will…you are a disordered individual who can’t love, full stop. I would only be hurting myself and setting myself up for further hurt if I continued in contact with you. It’s a sad thing for me to come to terms with as it is.

When I visited you I realised you had no remorse, guilt or shame for anything that you’ve done. Instead you continued to wallow in self-pity as you have done since I’ve known you. The crime you committed and where you now find yourself as a result is the consequence of your own actions, but instead you continue to deny this, and  bang on endlessly about your physical ailments and the hell you are enduring. You even try to get my pity/sympathy by talking of killing yourself.

I’ve already told you I feel no sympathy for you at all these days, regardless of your sad childhood and all the ‘abuse’ you’ve experienced in your life. There is absolutely no excuse for your behaviour. You have no fellow feeling for other people with mental disorders, and that includes me. You simply see a victim that you can manipulate, dominate and control.

Why could you not hold your fire with this guy in the knowledge that he had problems? To attack someone with a knife outside a mental health day centre: well, it says it all really doesn’t it M? You believe you are unique in your suffering and care not a jot for anyone else’s.

Regardless of whether you are invoking words of love or not, you are actually very dangerous to my peace of mind. Your romantic talk is a sham designed to try and keep me hooked, as a source of supply for your narcissism (and money, never forget money!)The advice of those who know about psychopathy first hand is to have no contact whatsoever.

I still have some of your stuff at my house, including your art portfolio and you’re lucky I haven’t just thrown it away. I don’t want to see you ever again, but know that I will have to see your face again unfortunately for me. I even ask myself if you had the feeling you were shortly going to blow the goodwill and help you have received by offending again. Is that why you deliberately left some of your most treasured possessions at my house: to keep the connection with me alive and the door open for you to come back yet again?

Don’t waste your breath with words of love M. They only make me laugh. You are so transparent.

Blechhh.

Hi Peeps.

I have little spring in my step or tiger in my tank right now. I’m invited to several Christmas parties, but I want to flunk them all. I will struggle making small talk. I won’t find it easy to feign an interest in others’ lives that I don’t feel. I’m not good at subterfuge and faking it, though lately I spend most of my social time doing just that. I’m tormented by thoughts of my own inadequacy and comparative worthlessness. I don’t like confessing this. I fear alienating even you, loyal and patient reader.

But what the heck. You’re probably able to relate at least a little bit. I’m still human aren’t I? Not some kind of ill-fated freak of nature.

As well as recovering from a psychopathic ‘relationship’, I have chosen to invest myself in several different support groups. Three of them are for ex-addicts. I’m even a failure at being a proper drug addict, lol! This wretched condition of bipolar pushes all other problems to the side. It’s hard for me to admit this, but even harder to pretend to be ‘normal’.

Today I’m going to meet a friend for coffee. Needless to say, I don’t want to go. The day I skip out of the door looking forward to socialising has not dawned for some considerable time, and when it does happen, it is probably a sign of encroaching hypomania. What a doggone life. I’m damned if I do or don’t. Caught between a rock and a hard place. The devil and the deep, well you get the picture…apologies for a surfeit of cliches. I am a cliche right now.

I want to flunk out of life itself. Yet that’s not an option, dammit.