Time moves on without you.

They seem like strangers to me now, those people who've kept far more than six feet yet lay claim to be friends. I walked past without a glance, much to their annoyance as if belonging I seem to them.

What manner of folk thinks when they've not spoke, no utterance of words after mine, when times have been so strange, knowing they've left me adrift I would welcome them as if nothing has changed? I saw value in them, their worth to me great. Perhaps too much I gave credit where in due course misplaced. I don't know who they are but in time, with distance, I have at least learned I'm easily replaced. From doors shut where I left ajar, the light is fading away, another hinge shifts into view the chance to make friends again. One glance, one chance, more interest was shown than all the years I knew them. Slow and steady become my pace where once rushed, in haste, I was lost in every race. I can wait as long as it takes for in catching up with myself I know I shall be met with the worth I see behind their face. It may not be this time or the next, or it might. In shifting perspective I now feel what I knew was alright. He reminds me of them, darker in colour but very much friendlier, and disclosing at first sight. Not a distraction, I've faced the grave and alone moved on, not onto another but resolving my baggage I will not drag or heap onto the other, I am free to explore with caution this time but in hiding no more.

I wasn't born for 1984.

If I was to be completely honest; I let them hold onto me. I've not cared for their methods but their manipulation at least created an illusion of being wanted. I know not loved but needed and valued so long as I gave them the fight they could claim their own victory. I played my part well when walking away, saying nothing would have set me free from hearing their tyrannous scorn if not inevitably seeing the outcome. I knew whichever way I turned, the same would apply. I knew my fight for freedom was with myself to then wake up to a world of much the same war. The same rules that apply the honesty my family portrays in its dishonesty. The awareness of the only freedom I have is in being aware of the role I complete and how I got here. The rest then isn't a simple choice to play or not to play that role but to first understand the consequences when I don't, and instinctively I do, we all do, and then choose to live with or without them but always still a consequence when we do.

I chose to bear the former then because so long as I was in that battle I could divert my eyes from the war. A war I have lived prepared to win my own peace. My family isn't uniquely oppressive, it's a stark but not the starkest reflection of the wider government. I was not unfortunate, I was a result as we all are of the boundaries already set for us, the limitations made of our minds in ruling our lives and our ability to comply or not. I have only set myself free to live with this and identify the characters. The bleakness I see is the colour we all miss when we don't; when we see only the black and white rule book, looking only where the light is shone when what's in the dark is the finding. The shadows hold nothing to fear but in their avoidance, we fear everything and help create a frightening world imprisoning us all. A world we then seek to escape into delusion. And so it goes on. If I was to be completely honest; I'm not sure you can hear me.

Questions of sanity.

I must admit, I do question my sanity at times, you'd be reassured, I'm sure. Ironically, I think, usually after spending some time with 'normals'...the socially acceptable and highly, more highly than I at least, respected. I reach a point of non directed, unearned relaxation, no expectations, no pressure to achieve, or values placed on my person for what I do or don't do, have or not have and life feels attuned...I feel attuned to my nature with the limitations of a lifetime not being attuned has afforded, illness. Then and only briefly now I share time with them and I'm back to thinking I need to do something I can impress with, make plans, delay gratification, get a job when I know any job working for someone else will set my health back by a decade as no job will be flexible enough for me to do, and I can not yet think of anything I can do myself that won't add as much if not more pressure. (My writing is a practice for something but I'm under no lofty illusion I will write a best selling book one day but who knows, maybe someone would buy it if I get around to publishing...and writing it, I have to do that first.) Yet, find me on a beach with someone who believes the earth is flat and landing on the moon was a lie, some other someone who'd joined in with the 'normal' madness and escaped but now has no friends and I feel at ease. The misfits, the weirdos, the peculiars that are too often cast aside for being different...a different kind of different because some differences, so long as relatable I guess are accepted or at best perhaps tolerated. During these times of personal questioning, exploration...too much time on my hands, some would argue...I wonder if I no longer feel attuned because I'm in a position where the 'normal' stuff isn't the right shape for this square peg to fit in, if because it scares the shit out of me because I don't think I'm good enough...another stick to beat us with. Or if it really is shit, inhumane but hey, we all have to partake because...well, because that's what we have to do to get by, survive, right?. Which, of course, us strange folk are also doing and in so doing finding more and more creative ways to escape...but isn't everyone doing that too? I'm scratching my head until it's sore...and I mean literally, I colour my hair with products I've developed an allergy to because to not means I go white and I ain't ready for old, barely had any young that I can speak of without the trials that made my hair turn white early in the first place (no suggestion of products I can use, please, I've tried them and too stubborn to change some things. I won't use this to look for sympathy...those who know me know that's the last look I want to receive.) There's a sort of madness in this. So, back to whether there's insanity in my peculiarly wired brain or not...I did ask an esteemed psychologist once and he assured me I wasn't so sticking with that until proven otherwise, thank you. And no, before you ask, I believe the earth has a curvature and aside from the explanation given to me that NASA (national aeronautics and space administration) is the big lie to reap that vast amounts of money it does, I have no reason to believe man didn't land on the moon. But, what is about spending time with such people that suits me better than the 'normals'? I'll tell you what I think...in their world of strange theories they are quite accepting of other kinds of different, I have found. I don't get drunk with them, I don't feel a need, that being the only way to not feel agitated, left out or board as I drift into nothingness in a dress (frequently all three together), I feel adequately relaxed. We talk about all manner of topics, not just work, relationships, ownership and who said what to who..or is it whom, and who did this that or something other? I wonder if because they've been willing to see what's around them from an alternative perspective, albeit rather questionable and trust me, I do question and carry out research to expand my thinking as well as theirs which they often take on board, especially when they can no longer back up their own assertions, that's a challenge I do quite relish, in all honesty (a philosopher, I don't recall who at this time, once said the truth is found when the answer can no longer be contradicted..I think there's some truth in that) they are content listening to another's point of view and having the expansive debate. And, in keeping with an open mind I shall reserve judgement...the earth may yet turn out to be flat! My sceptical mind doubts that. Too much time on my hands? Well, yeah...that's what happens when who we are isn't afforded a spot on this land to inhabit securely and with health preserved and enough money to make as if ours to keep. I think too much...yup, just like you, we all think all the time it's just that some of us tap into those thoughts and run with them and at other times have learned to let thoughts pass on through uninterrupted, only hearing when they persist on drawing our attention, mostly at night when there's nothing else to hear...why I'm exhausted already today. It's a kind of therapy. I'm not fighting it any longer.

And why not spend more time on personal exploration, development and the relationships we have...the most important aspect of all our lives?!?! I find it incredible that most people don't in such pursuits of happiness and wealth. Perhaps it's the 'normals' who are insane after all, not I. Now, can anyone tell me why I set my alarm for 14.50 today? I don't have a clue...insane? moi? hahaha. 🤪

Making sense of change.

I don't know if I sabotage my happiness but it sure seems that way. I'm easily persuaded to do what I'd not set out, go another's way Or perhaps I need to walk that path to get out of my own obstinate way. Bring myself back to the grief I'm not done with, that refuses to go away. I don't know if I sabotage my unhappiness but it sure seems that way. Happiness is not a permanent state, it comes then again it goes away. The grief won't let go because it's not yet said what it needs to say. Or perhaps I hold on because in happiness I fear all will be stolen away. I think it's both I need to reconcile, to then sleep, to live another day. I don't want to go on like this but I do, it seems to have become my way. Let go the old, welcome the new, the pendulum of change swings both ways. For a while, I dance in between as I head in a different and reasoned way. Life is in permanent flux, yet I strive, I wait to be constant someday. A goal I picked up as I trundled down humanmade highway.

I don't know if I accept my natural state, but it sure doesn't feel that way. I need not beat myself down, this is how I repeatedly stand in my way. The old wasn't wrong, it was a way to get where I am today. The new isn't right, it's as far as I can see toward finding my own way. Free from the bonds of my past, free of another's fear of future's day. I may or may not get there, but I surely will continue along this way. In constant reach of the day my life becomes my own.

Projection anxiety.

I don't mind if you don't understand, I only say what I need. If I trust you I say more, if you're interested I explain. I don't care for being given advice based on what you think you know as if you know me better than I know myself.

As if you've heard what I said when clearly you've not. As if you know my life when you've not been there. There will be things you see that I don't and that's alright, point them out, I can take or leave if I like. Just don't tell me I'm in need when it seems more likely it's you. Don't project onto me what you need to do. If I'm a hypocrite, let me know. I'd hate to think I do the same which irritates us all so. I'm human too, the same as you.

Avoid problems and you'll never be the one who overcame them.

When someone avoids dealing with a situation it invariably falls upon another to take responsibility even when apart. Would I rather be the one who buries her head so I don't have to deal with the fallout when it comes knocking? Hell yeah. For too long I've been left to clean up the mess others leave behind so as to make life easier for themselves. But also invariably, denying there's a problem to be resolved leaves one feeling weak, lonely and constantly frustrated so would I really want to avoid facing difficult situations...no, not at all.

What I would like however is to no longer have dealings with those who avoid even if in close contact I have grown exponentially, ultimately at the other's expense as well as my own as I avoided taking responsibility for my own wellbeing. It's been opportunity that's come knocking, a chance to learn from past mistakes. I'm ready now, no more the need to be the fixer. A need I both instinctively and was asked to take on albeit resentfully for the love of a father. The price has been too high. From now on I shall be expressing an emphatic "no" at first sight of the buck being passed to me. The love paid in return is no love I choose.

Looking only we can see keeps us in darkness.

“Science is a bit like the joke about the drunk who is looking under a lamppost for a key that he has lost on the other side of the street, because that's where the light is. It has no other choice.” ~ Noam Chomsky

Are we liberated yet?

As women, we never needed to prove that we can be as equal in performing as men if not better, we needed and still need to disparage such beliefs that what men do, which many women now do also, is superior to a woman's position regardless of what privileges or not we are born into or attain. Equality isn't about having or doing the same, it's about the opportunities presented being of equal value whether traditionally regarded as women or men's roles or attributes. It appears we may have fought to play a part in a non egalitarian world rather than change the game. It seems to me that we have not so much gained liberation but an even greater job to do leaving us with too little time and energy to devote to our children what they require to grow into mature liberated adults. They are instead being influenced more by their immediate and age proportionately immature peer groups as we send them off to other institutions to secure their wellbeing and future.

Why has the most important job both men and women can do been relegated to the ethics of an oppressive workforce? Nurturing, caregiving parenthood traditionally viewed as a women's role whilst men provide the bread that now both parents generally need to work for. What as women in the 21st century have we gained with our fight for independence in reality at what cost to us all? Could perhaps such answers lie in the question of who were the women who instigated the woman's liberation movement and continue to claim its advocators and from what privileges they formed and form their views?

Confidence is found in understanding.

I used to think the more time I spent practising to be confident around people I didn't ordinarily would enable faith in myself to grow. A drive to face the fears that derived from the company of those whom I felt intimidated, insecure and unprotected as if such a push was what I need to motivate. Also enabling me to maintain a safe distance as they would me in emotional disconnection and avoidance. I found comfort there but not community. Only in the cracks of light shining out from behind closed doors did I find common ground. A semblance of home.

I now realise the more time I spend in situations and with people where I can be myself without judgement but instead acceptance and loving challenge, the more confident I feel around those who I don't ordinarily, nor do I wish any longer to be in such close contact with those who seek to undermine anything that makes them feel less confident in themselves. Such self esteem being too fragile to withstand the emotions arising from another's ability or attribute, be they borne of jealousy, resentment, saving of face but ultimately, fear, the emotion too often denied in rejection. As indeed was once mine to bear also. At the moment, I spend most of my time alone. Turns out I'm quite accepting of myself and don't hold back from letting myself know when I'm less than the same toward another. Confidence is not won on a battleground but instead found in understanding.

Behind the anger lies pain.

Looking back all seems quite bizarre, from where I am now and wherever you are. There's no clarity, no means to fathom what happened. You said we'd be friends that you wouldn't react but from where I stand that's no matter of fact. If you wanted the same then why play this game?

What stops you from telling me how angry you are that I put an end to the mucky affair? It makes no sense that you want from me recompense. If angry you say you are not with frosty hostility, then why not simply talk with me? Perhaps in admittance, something else is transmitted.

What education is the right education?

To hold oneself in high esteem because one has a degree of knowledge is to assume those who have chosen an alternative education is not of such high standing but who gets to say what is taught in institutionalised schooling is correct and all else is wrong or at best questionable? In challenging the narrative of what it means to be educated we open minds to the possibility that instead of gaining an education we are instead learning to become the oppressors when we put ourselves and others on pedal stools for holding privileged awards of merit.

One may have socially recognised qualifications but that doesn't necessarily mean one is intelligent or wise enough to know this doesn't place them above or make better than those who don't. But it may grant one privilege denied to those who don't. When challenged over such ideology they will rationalise the argument that the challenger is either envious or not educated enough to know what they say. In some circumstances, they may be right but isn't that the failing of the system rather than the individual? The success of the institutionalised educational system is in the oppressed becoming the oppressors, to serve the oppressors rather than liberate the oppressed. Liberation doesn't serve the oppressors,

it serves all of life for liberation is life itself, if not then we are not liberated.

Down the rabbit hole.

Down the rabbit hole she went and in there found herself. A frightened child who drank the drink she was prescribed and shrunk to fit the door into a surreal and confusing land. She ate the cake that made her grow, not tall but fat so she could fit no more aside from to her mother’s side. A mother who couldn’t stand for her daughter to be anything other than an image of her. Someone to shoulder the load too heavy for either to carry let alone child for parent where parent should be. She could not be herself for herself you see was a trip through the looking glass the mother didn’t want to see.

Now grown to fit the parent role, she took herself by the hand and with the help of strangers stranger than most who’s quest she also helped herself in helping them, she found her way back but back was not the way she wanted to go. That wonderland of curious and curiouser wonder had changed the way she saw the land, she could walk no more the path she took but create anew a garden filled with all the colour and madhats she could find. It’s time for the tea party to begin, leave behind those ordinary rules for ordinary folk and stretch those too long cocooned wings.

In cracked china we shall sup, in home we shall welcome all who steal queen’s tarts and giggle at their….what? Did you think I was about to say farts? Well, okay, that too. You’ll know I’ll love you no matter what.

We need a new world order before they make one for us.

Clocking in for my night time shift of worry and doubt. The darkest hour looms ever greater when thoughts steal and burn. The state of the world, the division, segregation, with no support system where will I turn? I know now what keeps me awake at night, the dreams that lead me to the worst of my anxiety at a time when I need more certainty. Threatened with illness, loss of home and income, I dread having no security. I often turn to fantasy the closer I come to possible reality, it's the only way I escape when gripped with fear. Working hard toward better health, understanding, independence, what it's worth when all can be lost in a year? Don't tell me to stay positive, calm and not to worry, you've never walked in my shoes. I don't need medication to help me sleep, tips on how to live a better way, I need to live in a society that cares about these issues. Daylight will come and I'll still be here, the world will feel much different but I'll have the same view. I'll have the same worry I can easily bury amongst the chores, my books and with hope alone in decorated hues. There are ways to save this desperate globe, those of us who live life closer to the bone know. Mine isn't the worst, I'm resourceful, I just don't want to do again what I've already faced, overcome another harrowed tomorrow. I look forward to the fall of this state, high rises in unemployment to enable corporate reduction of wage. The landlord's increases in rent, inflation high if only to witness more people arriving with rage. What a terrible thing to hope, the demise of a nation, selfish it may seem and centred around me. But if this is what it takes to improve what we have, to care at last even if for the self to heal the cuts then I am this she. Nothing will change unless we come together in unity to overthrow the corrupt. In revolution, there's blood, war and loss but without there's worse. We need a new world order before they make one for us. I ask in this sleepless hour, will you join the fight? Will you give more of yourself than words of comfort and charity? It's tough I know to face what's happening when in your life all's well when hidden from harsh clarity. It's a balancing act you see, one can not have more without another losing it all. It doesn't have to be this way. Parent's once taught us to share, what happened to that? How did that get lost in an adult's normal day?

Help me sleep, help another off the street, help children grow in safety, well fed with a future to look forward to. Help another look up to see what we have done, what we can do to improve what we help torpedo. In this long goodnight, I bid adieu for to dream I must pursue of something sweeter, lesser in burden. Because the closer I come out of denial the nearer I am to you, you to me are my life as my life is to you seems downtrodden. No upbeat note to end this nightmarish spiel, to raise spirits from the dank. We are not imbeciles to pity, to appease. We are capable of more. Again, will you reconsider your stance and come join the revolutionary ranks?

Sharing is caring.

Clocking in for my night time shift of worry and doubt. The darkest hour looms ever greater when thoughts steal and burn. The state of the world, the division, segregation, with no support system where will I turn? I know now what keeps me awake at night, the dreams that lead me to the worst of my anxiety at a time when I need more certainty. Threatened with illness, loss of home and income, I dread having no security. I often turn to fantasy the closer I come to possible reality, it's the only way I escape when gripped with fear. Working hard toward better health, understanding, independence, what it's worth when all can be lost in a year? Don't tell me to stay positive, calm and not to worry, you've never walked in my shoes. I don't need medication to help me sleep, tips on how to live a better way, I need to live in a society that cares about these issues. Daylight will come and I'll still be here, the world will feel much different but I'll have the same view. I'll have the same worry I can easily bury amongst the chores, my books and with hope alone in decorated hues. There are ways to save this desperate globe, those of us who live life closer to the bone know. Mine isn't the worst, I'm resourceful, I just don't want to do again what I've already faced, overcome another harrowed tomorrow. I look forward to the fall of this state, high rises in unemployment to enable corporate reduction of wage. The landlord's increases in rent, inflation high if only to witness more people arriving with rage. What a terrible thing to hope, the demise of a nation, selfish it may seem and centred around me. But if this is what it takes to improve what we have, to care at last even if for the self to heal the cuts then I am this she. Nothing will change unless we come together in unity to overthrow the corrupt. In revolution, there's blood, war and loss but without there's worse. We need a new world order before they make one for us.

I ask in this sleepless hour, will you join the fight? Will you give more of yourself than words of comfort and charity? It's tough I know to face what's happening when in your life all's well when hidden from harsh clarity. It's a balancing act you see, one can not have more without another losing it all. It doesn't have to be this way. Parent's once taught us to share, what happened to that? How did that get lost in an adult's normal day? Help me sleep, help another off the street, help children grow in safety, well fed with a future to look forward to. Help another look up to see what we have done, what we can do to improve what we help torpedo. In this long goodnight, I bid adieu for to dream I must pursue of something sweeter, lesser in burden. Because the closer I come out of denial the nearer I am to you, you to me are my life as my life is to you seems downtrodden. No upbeat note to end this nightmarish spiel, to raise spirits from the dank. We are not imbeciles to pity, to appease. We are capable of more. Again, will you reconsider your stance and come join the revolutionary ranks?

The ego of me.

I said I was determined, that I never give up. I said that was who I am. But is who I am what I do, a drive to sort out a mess or am I the child I tuck away from the chaotic stress? A need to fix not a person but the situation, to put right the wrongs, make all well as well as can be. Is not the person the coping mechanism or am I there, more in depth than she? How do we know who we are, the glance in the mirror telling us only what to see. A distortion in photo of what we want to be shows the world that really, as if not anything we are happy. I peel away the layers and under each I find another bruise, another cut so strip away some more in hope this time it’s enough, I shall find the centre as if the core holds the crux. A perfect being in nature we evolved, pure and touched, an extraordinary form to behold. Damaged layers encapsulated the babe where in should we seek find perhaps our soul? Am I my taste, the clothes I choose to wear when unconventionally adorned? Thrown off the shackles of subjective scorn, I bare the person I choose to be no matter who’s looking on. Strip away the covers, our past, the superficial displayers and what do we have? I imagine simplicity, light of heart and fearless when another we have in defence been crossed. A peaceful unassuming assurance, instinctively knowing where we find sustenance, where not to turn. Intune with our innate gut warnings and in readiness to feel when arrives love’s burn. Is it possible I wonder to live such an existence when surrounded by every resistance we are pitted against ourselves, in competition with fellow residents, our neighbours and cells?

To escape, it seems one must hide away, torn from the life we crave to share with all who just survive and view the freedom seeker taking another road as someone who must be denied. No reminders please of what for them a tease, a life fulfilled without need to please or urge to cover over all we need to heed. No paths of gold does he or she have a desire to stroll. The choice is ours, always is, will be. Do we lose ourselves in conformity or find that without the greed, the insatiable need we are instead met with more, we grow as tree grown from seed? People will steal away, they also offer gift an individual determined to be. Not in never giving up but in giving in to what is, what will be shall I perhaps find the fix, the words I search to free. Determined now as never before to let go of what I’ve not been able but asked to ignore, no more hold on. That's a part of me I've chosen to not forgo but adapt instead from now on.

She.

The closer this town gets back to 'normal', the unhappier I feel as others are excited for the return of the familiar. Where prior to the lockdown I was used to the noise, busyness and partook in the usual distractions, this time used to consciously not avoid how I feel, I am becoming acutely aware of how unhappy I've been for years, not living here but in living amongst people who I share too little affinity with. This transition is proving much more difficult than I anticipated based on past more successful manoeuvers in another direction.

I forget when hard on myself for not yet finding my own space to flourish, leaving the past where it's meant to be, that the friendships seemingly lost through choices made, where otherwise should friends have been able to deal with their own emotional states and not transfer onto another instead, there would have been no choice to make after thirteen years of close contact, eight years with all the other associated social group. That's a long time spent with people even if at an emotional distance to simply pick myself up and dust myself off. It hurts, it's scary, I'm sad for the loss. I still live here and so do they and this town isn't big enough to get lost in, only to be lost in. I never realised just how frightened they were to be known, as frightened as me I suppose.

Which did the liberation movement take us?

I wish the women's liberation movement had...instead, we are bent out of shape and fitted into a man's world with twice as much to do and often more and still grossly undervalued in our own right.

We're as much slaves to the system now as we were then and as of course are men. Because of this we have become increasingly disconnected from our innate selves when we could be shaping society emotionally. We've become more objective and subjectively reactive and opinionated and in doing so remained stuck with a system unfit for purpose and immature culturally.

On CPTSD

I now don't know why I've spent my life in fear of talking about the trauma I've experienced and the effects of this complex form of PTSD, which some specialists think should be called something else entirely. Treatment for PTSD isn't tailored for the seemingly haphazard nature of CPTSD. so a cure is hard to come by. Whilst some treatments may help alleviate symptoms of such associated co-morbidities like depression, anxiety, insomnia, physical pain (did you know it's the same centre of the brain for both physical and emotional pain?) and stress, they do not cure the symptoms of CPTSD. I have systematically, throughout my adult life explored and faced each symptom to untangle the cobbled mess originally formed during childhood, first experienced during my teens and subsequently later heightened over 20 years of 'domestic' violence where, no matter where I turned, there seemed no escape and far too little support despite all attempts to attain help and information from both professional bodies and family. Of course, hoping for help from those who provided more a hindrance was never going to be a productive manoeuver but still, we continue to try in vain until we are ready to accept this reality. I accepted long ago. CPTSD is a natural response when a vulnerable and sensitive child is forced to live in conditions that are very troubling, where otherwise an adult might not experience the same physiological symptoms of stress, and/or if removed from empathy it may be difficult to understand the child. Part of that trauma was the fear of other people knowing what was happening at home, the emotions that derived from feeling trapped in a war with nowhere to turn for help is what has carried through. The perception was to tell would have brought more of what I learned to traverse from and into an Alice in Wonderland covered fantasy world of my own vivid imagination. Even now when I share my story there's a simmering threatening voice lurking in my head telling me by way of a stress hormonal response, more a feeling than hearing of words, all the ways I am wrong for doing so, the disloyalty, guilt, shame, weakness, spite, inability to let go, pathetic, liar, attention seeking. None of which are my beliefs nor true. I don't have this condition or in this situation because I'm weak, pathetic, unable to let go, or in need of attention other than that which can help. I have nothing to feel ashamed or guilty about, I admit when I've acted unreasonable and make amends as I go along, and I don't talk about my past out of spite although there is anger and grief, relief and a sense of having achieved with an enormous amount of courage so much other people will not comprehend or recognise as progress, attainment as there is no material evidence or award for having done so. Quite the contrary, materialistic possession and opportunity for accolades has been taken, lost and thrown out because of the reminders it embodies. On the surface, it appears my life is lived backwards in a society where we are measured by such valued and skewed subjectivities. I am deemed the devoid of the requisite understanding derogatory term, 'loser', but it is conversely in what I have lost that I found so much of verifiable value that's exponentially worthy of more than anything money can ever buy. A strong sense of justice, honesty, fairness, respect, hunger for knowledge and sheer determination for freedom and independence, leading to interdependence, at almost any cost. Integrity means more to me than anything I can flaunt around as proof of my existence and it shows. My own family, my offspring, their wellbeing and holding us together has been my sole means of inspiration, that and motivation for my past not to be repeated, not to land on them. I was never going to be a loser. So why should I feel embarrassed or ashamed about people knowing where I am, what has led me here when what has got me here is my strength when I felt weak with terror in the face of adversity hell bent on destroying my life out of resentment, hostility because I said "no more", not the complexities of having been traumatised as a child or attracting people who will play their part in the continuance of my tale of treachery, ultimately serving as the catalysts to my awareness and connectivity? The answer is simple; I needn't! I don't, not anymore. Like me or don't, be interested or not but how you can not at least admire a little such tenacity from humble beginnings of life so shy, of innate attunement denied?

Avoiding it all.

The pitiers, the deniers, the bloody liars, how they piss me off. They get to continue unabated whilst I am left to myself. Onlookers don't know what's done, if they did would they care? It fills the emptiness to extend to another "there there there." There's no growth in repudiation, life stagnates, festers, rots the core. So why am I so bothered when I don't want to be there anymore? Have I joined the ranks avoiding the avoiders, playing the same game? Or is the price to pay for this liberation given another name?

Reconnecting for life.

Sadness was not permitted, not tolerated. Not the anger that is the usual repressive force in people's lives driving them deeper down into depressive existence, but no crying, that was a step too far for my parents. Anger was always waiting in readiness to explode, to react any other way than to stand one's ground and fight was a sure sign of weakness. Crying and cowering was the wimp's way... ...more to the point, it was an unwanted reflection of the pain and fear that permeated my family's dynamics. We had to take the beatings, the violent verbal lashings as if not a part of the game, as if it didn't happen to us at all, as if it wasn't meant to hurt. It's no wonder my cries in the dark belong to frustrated attempts to put the world right, to put my world right, detached from the grief lurking beneath. Reality has it that one can not think one's way out of that which ails us. We need to reconnect to our bodies when they tell us so often in vain that they cave in to send us a clear message we need to stop, take notice, take stock. Be at one especially if that means feeling the pain. What we avoid always brings us back to what we must face. The best way we can respect ourselves is in respect of that. 👇Excerpt from When the body says NO. ~ Gabor Mate.

Limitations in creation.

How we measure ourselves, the ruler, inch by inch we are notched up, another success, another failure, another means we profess. Are we really what the system tells us we should be, comparative by qualification, career or material possession as if a system is an external force we make our own obsession? Or are we the creator, believing because we give power to such superficial means to judge? What is our worth, our value based if not what we ourselves measure up against?

Told we can when we know we can not when all is stacked in another's favour, but still we break our backs in pursuit, that fruitless endeavour not meant for us but that other. We change the rules or we obey, either way, we lose. The former we are lost of value, the latter in stature. We think positive as much as we can endure to hear the mere creak of a door, never opened but firmly secured. Deemed negative the reality when exposed, a thing to dismiss in awareness transposed onto rosen tints, successfully we ignore the signs too painful to behold. But, if I should be so bold, what if we instead, the I we know is esteemed no matter what by this society we are told? What if with no stick to beat, removed of its power we nonetheless are valued by our own internal teller? Now there's a thought as in distraught this poem is laid to bare its inaccuracy in rhyming rules, haha says she, as if only I had a care.

Opening the floodgates to be found.

A childhood encompassed with competing for the attention of one man; my father, her husband and she was a fierce adversary yet it's my late father's quiet scorn for his having to deal with the emotional remnants of a turbulent day after his day in service of provision for the family I dread the most still. Work that, conveniently or not I shall never know, took him away from home for periods, as a child, felt like there might one day be no return. Faced with constant fears of abandonment, punishment, crushing guilt inducing accusations confusing any sense of who I was, I never knew which way to jump. One day a certain action would be overlooked, another admonished and another ridiculed, made light of for her entertainment. There was no way upon waking of knowing which way she'd turn at the drop of a hat but somewhere inside I learned to move fast, sense subtle cues, smell the recognisable warnings of her monthly cycle, the smell of a woman that remains nauseating to me. The clammy paste scent of fear burnt flesh became familiar too as my body already sensitive to stresses rubbed up against in refusal to breathe. With boundaries so blurred, I know not whose skin was hot from the fire, hers mine or anothers. Her terror became my living nightmare. My honed attunement, perhaps a reflection of her lack of connection became her resentment. Yesterday I unwittingly listened to the last few recorded messages she left over four years ago, the last time I heard her voice, and was surprised how much I was unaffected by her spiteful tone. Originally, when she left them I was shaken, trembled with shocked childlike torment that she could hold such hateful thoughts about her own daughter. Why shocked I don't know, she's always been this way with me in private at least. Her public persona took on the role of a proud mother as I did well in school and later my family, ignoring how she relished the drama of my propensity to attract destructive relationships. She'd label them the episode she was witnessing as if watching on TV. Dismissive mostly of how she undermined my ability to raise my children, one of which she stole as her own. I have no anger left toward her, I feel very little and think even less of her as each year passes. It's as if my past was a long ago forgotten life but of course, it is far from lost, seared into my brain are connections that won't let go, not from her so much as one could easily assume but immense sadness I've held onto in the dark where my dad was supposed to be to pull me back into the light, guarding me against the torrent of abuse that never ended, just walked away from. That is the abyss I have feared stepping into my whole adult life as if once fallen I could never leave, disappeared from sight, alone and frightened. Teetering on the edge, I can no more release those tears than I can tell him how much I love him still as his ashes have years gone into the air and sea. I instead cry in frustration at the love of a man I may never receive. This is my self fulfilling prophecy.

Oh, I know and understand the logic and reason of it all and don't blame anyone but knowledge is not wisdom and wisdom does not facilitate emotional release. Rationalising is merely another form of avoidance. A safe environment can provide and this is what I seek to create, more constructively these days I'm glad to acknowledge overdue progress. It's time to change the course of my story, to turn the page. It's time to trust this life I both love and hate.

Understanding addiction.

Addiction is not a life choice, the substance or activity used to ease the pain and anxiety is in as far as one can afford or is privileged. Until the biochemical nature of addiction is widely understood, such a culture of exploitation will continue promoting addictive behaviours.

The question to ask ourselves is not only why is addiction increasingly prevalent in society but why are some addictions considered worthy of praise and aspiration (insatiable work, sport, busyness, stress, perfection, dependant relationships, collection of material possessions etc) whilst other drugs are condemned to the gutter along with the addicted person...unless the person is considered of higher status whereby the addiction is blithely dismissed as merely eccentric? If the answer lies in who profits, why are individuals held solely accountable in such a toxic environment where support and respectful compassion are scant?

How about we think for ourselves?

We seem to live in a culture where more heed is paid to what a well known, though far less understood, celebrated idol thinks than expanding our own consciousness in the analysis of what they say and our readiness to base our lives around short quotes. Where memes and headlines are absorbed without investigating further the story. Where people with privilege tell us we can achieve anything we put our minds to if only we believed and pushed ourselves harder and we set ourselves and others up to fail in frustrated pursuit. Where people like me who challenge the narrative are considered a peculiar and inconvenient annoyance. Where the only voices of value are from those with an income earned or unearned but never unemployed or unemployable. Too little time prioritised to consider relationships and the roles we play in conjunction with others. And for why? To fulfil the needs of those who seek in denial of reality only to elevate themselves through material means...or perhaps to become the illusions they represent? We all create such a society so why not recreate in slowing down, smelling the polluted air we choke on every day, feeling the sickness of the chemicals we ingest and listening to the nonsense surrounding our delusions of what this world has become that we seek to escape in lonely fantasy? We helped make this mess, why not help clean it up?

Jason Mraz - Life is Wonderful Music Video

A drive in the car with music to set the soul free and a stretch of deserted ruinous beach in the rain has done wonders. Never let the rain put you off the great outdoors.

Exposed with nowhere to go.

When then I was also emotionally unavailable leading to my attraction of the other, I am since opened up, torn down the defences but what now to do with my anger when the other is still emotionally unavailable to hear?

It's a frustrating situation I find myself when said attraction has led to a transition not just from that one person but the group as a whole as most are also distant to their feelings and during a time when opportunity is without a key to unlock the door to the next leg of my adventure. I don't want to hear what they tell themselves; to get over it, just move on and forget how I feel. That's the very barriers I've sought to overcome and kept me repressed and ill. Punching pillows doesn't do justice, screaming into the silence leaves me hoarse so what does one do when the words can not be directed at the source of resentment, in part dead and buried in the past?

Shhhhh..what do you hear?

How we can talk too much and say too little.

The more I hear the less interested I am in meaningless natter showing off who we think we are, who we want others to think we are. It's what's not said I listen for and the silence I crave.

Relative perceptions.

Relatively speaking, when the balance shifts from feeling at one with a community forced to remain at home to one where life beyond continues unabated, what I do matters.

The stark contrast between the two states of perceived existence, the same life personified by a shifting environment exposes the deference toward attitudes hinged against differences. When all is equal I am accepted, when all is not my quality is in question yet who I am has remained the same.

Nirvana - Come As You Are

I realise my more personal posts may come across as seeking some kind of attention, help or the favoured social media hugs generally dished out, and for anyone in need of remaining positive, upbeat an' all that jazz they can feel rather like a downer. Permit me to assure you, they are merely reflections of varied experiences over time all accumulating to where I am in the here and now. The words reach my fingertips and are eager to type out in as poetic a verse as I can muster. I'm perfectly alright with what's deemed not being alright, sad, angry, frustrated, probably more than being happy...happiness being grossly overrated. They'd never be so many great works of art and stories to tell if we were all oh so very joyful most of the time. The world is a crazy place and none more maddening that living amongst the walking dead, the disconnected when all I strive is to be freely connected to my authentic self and thus the environment around me. The pull to play the roles others need in order for them to feel alive are everywhere, it seems actually being alive is an uneasy reminder of another's numbness inside. Our emotions are there to aid us so I let them do what they've gotta do and ride the rollercoaster no matter how frightening and dark. Lately has been more an endurance test than all the years of strife I needed to deal with. Ordinarily, I'd be on the fast track toward my next deflective wrecking ball in avoidance of facing the abyss of this thing called post traumatic stress disorder, once thought the bain of my life with no name but now considered part of my innate self animated. Now, with the road ahead locked down, I am forced to face instead. All manner of therapeutic processes has encouraged me to heal myself in order to slot in with society better, a culture of aesthetically appeasing denial, judgement and non acceptance. I think not. I've found enough of myself to walk through this life in acknowledgement the world of people is not a fair one if nature otherwise intends if intent is the nature of things. I don't expect another to fit into my world but I am walking my own path and that does not need fixing. If anyone cares to walk by my side then you are more than welcome, there may be some trips along the way but I always remain to help us both steady our gait should you wish. I may even take a dip into your pool of emotions but I won't stay so long, it's always past time I came back to my own. Of which is where I began this ramble, the why and wherewithal of this journey I am on. Of soundish body and mind, I declare my life to be favoured by me. I need no pity, sympathy or unsolicited advice even when I'm a hypocrite and offer to you a suggestion or three. Challenge me all you will, I shall surely challenge you back and relish every moment of in depth interaction as much as lighthearted banter and laughter. Mostly, however, I'd like to thank each and every one of you for sticking this adventure out with me in whatever way has suited you. The indomitable they say everything happens for a reason, those reasons I believe are what has occurred adding up to get us to where we are now, not some divine purpose for existing. Whilst no sense may be made at the time, in insightful hindsight, the light is turned on and it is that glow I head toward. Today, with the first refreshing nights of sleep for a two month period had I can again see clearer than I did yesterday. Tomorrow, who knows but for now at least life has my full undivided attention if the chores needing doing don't so much. And so, me maties, come as you are, as you were as I want you to be as a friend, as a friend as an old enemy..........No, I don't have a gun.

Am I there yet?

Outgrown once considered friends fall aside as wiser to their game I get. Overlooked I become forgotten, denigrated, downtrodden. They, it appears, uninterested in rising to the challenge I set. Again, I move on with journey anew alone but unfettered now untethered.

In time rested wounds heal, this day please tell me, am I there yet?

Reclamation of self.

What are these projections you offload on my back? I've not felt myself since you spoke. Yesterday I saw myself, today on myself I choke. My aloneness is not a reflection of your loneliness, my weakness of body not your state of dependency.

Your financial sufficiency does not render mine inadequacy, and your appointed status, not my inferiority. Your denial of you is not my reality but mine is mine to reclaim. Boundaries have been blurred, blindness occurred. I am not what you don't like about you nor am I what you devalue. My self worth is not attached to another's point of view, I give permission only myself to colour my internal milieu.

Lost at sea.

Clinging on to air, I'm unsure where I am, lost in a haze of confusion, uncertainty, exhaustion talking over sanity. My anchor is afloat. Where will I make land?

It begins with simple things, a morning cup of tea, a familiar tune, a book, sight or sound. I hate routine but in safe harbour, I am again found. One foot in front the other, one step at a time I will get to where my feet can stand the ground.

No more the drama.

From one drama to another, that has been the tangled profile dominating my life.

Two parent's needs to be rescued, I the unwilling aid turned victim instead to the victim turned persecutor when needs were unmet. Internalised guilt, always the bad guy, the blame, scapegoated was I.

But neither victim nor persecutor became my identity as it unravelled, nor rescuer but to myself removed from one drama to the other.

The invisible woman.

It's as if I only exist in a fantasy, remove the dream and I disappear.

To err is human.

I would happily give up material comfort to live in a society where kinship was the prevailing structure.

Sobering realities of other people's denial.

Lost in a hangover of negativity, everything that was right yesterday now feels laden with foreboding. Sucked into a world not belonging to me, denied connections yet dragged down with them all the same. On the surface, all appears light and laughter, buried deep with intoxication and edible avoidance lay resentment, grief and bitter desire for vengeance.

I felt it all and adopted as my own. I don't know why I didn't leave, again the child too fearful to walk and face the condemnation of being the killer of fun, theirs not mine. Echos of "what's wrong with you?" are once again ringing in my ears. I meant to stay away and would have if not invited under innocently false pretences. Once there it felt there was no escape. Back safely at home, I shall not be going back, of that I am surely resolute. Now to rid myself of the other's anguish and start MY day anew.

Dismantling capitalism from within.

Capitalism can not be dismantled without first dealing with inequality. Capitalism is dependant on exploitation.

I am not your projection.

It's the damndest thing when one is cast in a hateful light when offering respect, honesty and consideration but understanding such projections of anger belong to the giver's past and not for us to saddle ourselves with enables necessary separation of identity. The blurred boundaries, not knowing where one begins and the other ends leads to much confusion in relationships. Overlaps and overspills from past to present, person to person.

It can be difficult at times when we are walking in another's perception, lost in a life not of our making. Self awareness, confidence built on solid foundation that doesn't crumble when shaken as the delusion borne of insecurity surely is, is key to healthier functioning relations.

Live, die, repeat.

From the inside looking out, I imagine you looking in and I regulate my behaviour accordingly. I did not give you direct permission to control my life but permission I gave all the same for reasons that are revealed. My father's disapproving looks were all it took for me to jump inline with the step I instinctively knew he walked. But in my repeated story I see both you and I and learn which self I want to be.

If the handled person you need me to be suits, I play along and defiantly rally against simultaneously until I cheery pick the bits I need to act accordingly in tune with my own step. There is method to my madness, to all our idiosyncrasies and one day perhaps I won't need to recreate the same picture of my past to find my own way or maybe that is my way. The answers to the questions of our lives all lie within us, we simply need to stop looking where we can see and delve deep into the darkness where the light will surely be shone. The worst has already happened, how does it serve to relive the agony over and over again?

Learned helplessness.

I fall into the same disparaging trap you set yourself in the dead of night after the day sets on believing there is future to my dreams.

I learned from ashes a new life could be had, not this helplessness of yours holding back what would otherwise be, and so it becomes my prison too, far removed from you.

I am within you and you are within me.

The one in unrequited love is the fortunate one for he or she sees the raw beauty the other yet does not. We recognise ourselves in the other and the other in us.

Only when both parties are aligned in love for oneself unconditionally will redamancy triumph. We are connected in similarity, energised by our differences in willingness to let such stretch our imaginations toward possibilities.

The respect I have for you is not determined by the lack of respect you give me.

"Let go of anger," they say as I pace back and forth. The frustration in denying a fundamental element of human existence for behind that anger, you see, lay the tears. "Let go of anger," they say as their discomfort with facing their own sadness takes hold. Invite in that which we hate, embrace and love, correct a destructive mental state.

When dark turns to light.

What a strange sensation is to be turned inside out.

The transition from an illusory state of denial and repression to the surrealities of dreamlike existential days. The unreal is so familiar that when faced with the truth of it all the truth is hard to grasp as something real yet real it surely is.

On being loved conditionally.

When we begin life with a perception of not being loved unconditionally or not being important enough we can go through life testing other people's commitment, behaving in ways that may seem incongruent with a need to be loved and accepted as we are. A belief, known or unknown to us, that we have to prove ourselves worthy of love. If only we can get things right, be perfect enough we'll surely find what we need and want the most. Our skins may become thin to what we perceive as criticism whether such is the intent of the giver or not. Always in defence, hiding our vulnerabilities out of fear of being exposed as the unloveable, inadequate person we think we are. This, for anyone not understanding the dynamics of reenacting out our childhood, often alienates us from what we seek, inducing attack and abandonment instead.

We are the people who never quite seem at ease, never quite fit in, from all walks of life, there is no discrimination other than having parents or caregivers who for their own reasons from their own childhood have not been able to emotionally attach. Whilst some children will feel loved there can still be a sense of having to behave in ways other than feels natural to be accepted. The path of non-judgemental self discovery and care can become the parents we wish we'd had. Understanding leads to tolerance and compassion for oneself and others. 'It is not to see something first, but to establish solid connections between the previously known and the hitherto unknown that constitutes the essence of scientific discovery. It is this process of tying together which best promote true understanding and real progress.' Hans Selye. The Stress of Life.

Boundaries.

I hide from you when through your eyes I am hidden from view. My every step interpreted as a projection of you, I am lost, only finding myself in separation.

Respect will be the death of capitalism.

If everyone knew that to be loved and accepted is to be loved and accepted as we are without all the trappings of things money can buy capitalism would fall flat on its face in a heartbeat.

A walk on the Wilde side.

Looking back, I don't think I ever wanted to be in the kind of relationship with any of my boy/man friends that constituted a marriage. I feel easier in male company than with most females I encounter, I enjoy the straightforward robust and quick wit of my male experiences. The complications arise when they read into my desire for their company to mean I want more of a partnership with them. I recognise now that I have gotten lost in their story and only end the entanglement when I no longer feel attracted to their company. How they look has altered for me to fit in with the reality of the situation as I claw my way back to myself.

It seems to me that it's difficult for men to be close friends with a woman without the woman having to sacrifice who they are in the process. Or is that just my experience? I risk losing male friends when they enter a relationship with someone who finds my presence a threat even though in reality I am no threat at all. But that's a reflection of the insecurity within that relationship, not mine. I don't know if it's because of my relationship with my mother that has led to the unease around women or if the women I meet project a lack of trust as they backbite and bitch, compete in jealousy. I'm not competitive, I prefer to be direct in my interactions and perfectly alright with what many perceive as my peculiarities. I find greater difficulty being straightforward with women unless it's a woman similar in attitude as myself. Is it possible for men and women to be close friends without one or the other having a hidden agenda do you think?

Mingling with omnipresence.

Let talk about brain/body health.

How about we stop referring to brain-body connective health as mental health?

A message through time.

In time and space, I reside quite in another place.