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For now I’m at ease…

As I sit here writing this, Breaking Bad playing, housework piling up – I’ve finished my cup of coffee and the floors should be well and truly dry now but I can’t find the motivation to get off my tired ass. The kids are at school. My husband is at work.

Not entirely sure why I’m writing this, thought processing I guess.

I’m in the process of having my left arm tattooed, a sleeve. It’s something I have wanted done for years and It’s made me one happy bunny. It’s not finished yet but most of the scarring is covered and I love it. I no longer feel on edge if I’m around new people with my arm uncovered. I no longer look at my arm and think ugh. I’m no longer consumed with worry about my kids and what my scarring may mean for them, the irrational thoughts that they may be excluded or bullied. No one will ask me what they are or how it happened. No more looks – well, not those looks anyway. And I will love it even more once it’s finished, I’m itching to go back and get some more done! I’ve always loved tattoos, if I had my way I’d be covered – too bloody expensive though! I try not to think about how much my arm has cost so far or how much more it’s going to cost, I’m not really used to spending money on myself, it’s not something I do very often!

But this sleeve is worth every penny – the reluctance to write that was unbelievable. But it’s been good for my mental wellbeing, however ridiculous that may sound. I don’t feel so shitty about myself. I know they’re still there but no one will notice them now and that has given my confidence a boost. The embarrassment is gone. The fear is gone.

Sure there’ll still be that conversation with my kids, there’s scars in other places that they will see and they will have questions about things that people will no doubt tell them. But I will cross that bridge if and when. For now I am at ease…

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Prolific

I decided to do the weekly photo challenge and the photo didn’t load! So this entry was published with no photo, I’m now adding the photo – I hope…

Whenever I come across the word “prolific” my mind automatically thinks “serial killer” 😬

I know, there are better thoughts my head should gravitate towards but the topic has always intrigued me. Does that sound weird? I mean, I don’t admire them or condone their actions, or anything. I think they’re evil creatures, vile. But the psychology of it intrigues me, the history and forensics. Despite similarities, each serial killer has so many differences to the next. There must be so many categories and sub categories.

I dragged my husband to The Crime Museum not so long ago. It’s not his sort of thing at all but, as it was my birthday, he humoured me! There’s so many things there, from actual hanging ropes to the old death masks. There’s weapons and drugs, real evidence from crime scenes. There’s a nail bomb cut in half to show the true horror of what gets blasted out when they detonate. The old visitors book, Pierrepoint’s signature among others are in it. It’s quite surreal being in there. It tells a story of progression within law enforcement and forensics, of how it’s improved over the years. Amazing!

I’ve always said, I’d quite like to interview a serial killer, I know that sounds weird and morbid but it interests me. They are so different to us, I have so many questions. It would be interesting to actually see how they act when questioned. To judge for myself if they have any remorse. It would also test me, could I actually sit there and hear the details? Reading them is one thing, hearing it from the horses mouth is, I assume, much harder to stomach?

In a different life, one where I didn’t completely fuck my chances of having a career, I would study criminal psychology. I would pursue a career in that field. Oh well, I guess it will have to remain a “hobby”.

An “ugh” day

So, I’m having an “ugh” day. A miserable day. A day when all I want to do is go home and wallow! A day where I look in the mirror and think “ugh”.

I know everyone gets these days, I need to just get on with it but it’s hard. I’m worn out from smiling and communicating, it’s really not a good time to be around other people but I am at work.

The thing I have noticed about being in this mood is that I go from miserable to laughing uncontrollably when something manages to penetrate my humour block. It’s like I feel too much. I have learned to be careful what music I listen to as certain songs can make me sink deeper into the “ugh” and it’s really hard to pull myself back up.

My head is whirring, it won’t switch off. Panic attacks become more frequent- not full blown hyperventilating but chest pain, fast heartbeat and this feeling of being unsettled all the time. There’s a state of confusion and I become scatty and forgetful to the point that I don’t trust myself to remember anything important.

Paranoia, I guess. I look at the time and remind myself of the day and what time I’m supposed to finish. But this process is a kind of panic every time, like I’m worried I’m wrong. I’m worried I’ve got something wrong, half expecting a phone call to say I’m supposed to be somewhere. I’m going to be late picking the kids up, even though there’s no way I will be. I’ll sit in traffic, irritated and anxious – what if I don’t get there?

Ridiculous! I sound crazy!

Ok, so I wrote the above earlier today, I’m now at home in bed. I wasn’t going to publish it but I figured why not. My head is still whirring and I’ve had some pretty big mood swings all day, I’m tired. I apologise for the doom and gloom!

Goodnight to anyone that happens upon this blog x

The “ball pit”

It’s Sunday and I have decided to take the kids to one of those places that we like to call a ball pit. But it isn’t as the name would suggest, there is no pit and there are no balls, other than the one being kicked into the goal in the corner and the odd few plastic ones. It is a play centre. Some play centres do have a ball pit but not this one. Anyway, I think I’ve made my point and should move on!

I’m sat on a hard green bench, coffee in hand, trying to write this while waving to my daughter every couple of minutes as she shows me what she can now do all on her own. Her brother used to help her on the tricky bits, pushing her bum up and over anything high and laughing as she went head first off the other side! She still needs him though, just to be there. If she loses sight of him, she panics. He is her protector, her comfort. It’s lovely to see, he’s so thoughtful.

I’ve just looked up to see where they are, he has managed to get her over to the football area and she is watching him kick the ball. In a minute she will get bored and they will move on. But, for now, he’s kicking that ball as many times as he can for as long as he can get away with!

There’s not even 2 years between them, 22 months. Yet he seems much more capable. Even 2 years ago, when he was 5, he seemed to be able to do a lot more than what she is doing at 5. It amazes me how different they are. In this setting he revels in his ability to get away from her, he’s in control, a leader. She needs him. At home, though, it’s very different. She is the leader, little miss bossy boots! She has a great imagination for role playing and likes to be in control. He seems to like to follow her lead although, I think, sometimes he just likes the quiet life!

20 years!

It will be 20 years this July. 20 years! It’s strange because sometimes it feels like it was yesterday yet, other days, it feels like a lifetime ago. I was 14, my sister 17 and, there we were, giving a kiss to his forehead and telling him we love him for the last time. He stopped breathing, it was surreal – it was all happening too fast. Then all this brown liquid came out of his mouth and onto his chest. It shocked us, we weren’t prepared for that – hell, we weren’t prepared for any of it! The nurses quickly ushered us out of the room and into another room with our Mum – a family room I’m guessing. Mum had stayed outside of his room out of respect, she wasn’t his wife anymore.

His wife had left the hospital. She had given the thumbs up for them to remove his oxygen and then left. She hadn’t told us, she said she was leaving to get something from home. She let our brother leave too.

She even tried to take that away from us, telling people it was her who was there when he died. Her and our cousin. Why? Why would anyone do that? Was she worried that people would judge her for leaving? Was she worried that people would realise she’d been with someone else? That they’d only stayed together because he was dying! Their marriage was over. But, of course, no one could know. For the kids’ sakes – not us three, those 3.

Well, we sorted his grave out last week. The last time we did that we got a shit storm of abuse thrown our way. It’s not our plot, we can’t touch it. 19 years later we’re saying “fuck you”. She didn’t do a damn thing to it, it was neglected to the point that someone had mentioned it to us. How embarrassing to be told “Not being funny but his grave is a mess, it really doesn’t look good”. So, we cleared it of all the crap, dug down, laid tarpaulin and then stones. We got a few bits to put on. It looks better, 100 times better. And we feel great!

He’s our dad so hurl as much abuse at us as you like you hateful bitch, we’ll just smile and raise a finger 🖕

This may be a long one…

I don’t know if it’s my age or what, but things are whizzing round my head more than usual. Maybe if I write it down I’ll settle a bit. Or maybe not…

I was a melancholy child, very shy and socially awkward. As I grew so did my anxiety.

Depression.

I never really felt like I fit anywhere. My Mum wasn’t affectionate, I was generally left to my own devices. My Dad didn’t live with us. Then he died. I was 14.

Anyway, I plodded on, my friends kept me going. They’ll never know what they did for me because I didn’t even know until now! Without my friends, I’m not sure how I would’ve gotten through school. They kept me sane, well kind of!

But then I had to enter the real world and, wow, that did not go well. There are many things that didn’t help my situation, too many to go into – shit, I’d be here all night! But, one of the first things to screw with my head (after I left school) happened when I was 16. I met a boy.

Of course, I was head over heals for this boy. He was amazing. Although he was the same age as me, he seemed older. He had facial hair, proper stuff not the bum fluff all the boys I knew had. He was already drinking regularly in the local pub. He played pool with his cousin. He was cool.

He was my first.

After roughly two weeks of bliss, he started to change. Or maybe he was just being himself, I don’t know? He was drinking every day to the point where he would pass out. He would disappear for days, sleep with other people and be a general asshole towards me. He threatened me regularly, once burning me with a cigarette. He dropped a sofa on my arm (big leather sofa with a wooden bottom)after a row, I was reaching under the sofa to retrieve a cigarette he had dropped and made the mistake of saying to him not to drop it – that smirk, I can still see it. I witnessed him strangle his mum half to death. I had my first miscarriage. Then I was told some other girl was pregnant with his baby. I confronted him.

We were in the pub with his cousin, he was hammered as usual. After reassuring me that this girl had gotten pregnant before we got together and that I’m the only one for him, he proceeded to get even more drunk. Something weird happened when I went to the loo, his cousin came in and tried to kiss me. I pretended I didn’t notice and walked off. When we left the pub, they walked me up the road towards my house. We got into a row. He started to tell me that I shouldn’t have confronted him because it was none of my business – he shouldn’t have found out from me that he was going to be a dad. Apparently I was bang out of order. He threatened to beat the shit out of me. He told me he didn’t love me and that we were finished. By this point, we were walking on the path by the woods. His cousin was trying to calm him down. It wasn’t working. “Go on, fuck off in there” he was pointing at the hole in the fence, into the woods. “Fine” I stormed off into the woods and stopped behind a tree to see what they were doing. They were talking quietly. Then the cousin came over to me. I felt safe around him, he was always sticking up for me. But he was weird that evening, trying to kiss me in the toilets and now he did it again. I pretended, again, that I hadn’t noticed. My now ex boyfriend was coming. The cousin grabbed my hand and pulled me deeper into the woods. He was laughing, we were running from him. I really wasn’t sure what was happening, I didn’t know what to think. We stopped. He told me to “watch this”and he whistled. We heard a whistle. So he whistled again. Another whistle. He led him right to us. Before I knew it, the cousin had disappeared and it was me and the ex. He’s trying it on with me. I’m saying no. He’s starting to get a bit forceful and I’m still saying no. I couldn’t believe he was expecting sex after all that had happened. I was angry. He’s grabbing me and trying to kiss me, I can’t even remember what he was saying. I’m starting to panic. All I can see is trees and bushes. It’s so dark. He’s got me on the floor, pulling at my clothes. I’m telling him to get off, telling him he’s hurting me. It’s like he doesn’t hear me. Am I even saying it? I’m sure I am but it’s like he doesn’t hear me. How am I on top now? Get up, get up. I can’t, he’s holding me. I’m on my back again. I’m pushing him, hitting, kicking but he’s on me, like full weight. Now I’m covering my face, I’m letting him. Why am I letting him? All I can think is it’ll be over in a minute. Then I see him. The cousin. Staring from behind some bushes. What is he doing? I’m shouting that he’s there, I start to kick and hit again, not sure what I was expecting but it worked. Or maybe he was just finished, I’m not entirely sure. But, nevertheless, he got off me, stood up and looked -protesting that I was seeing things. I’m quickly getting my pants and trousers on. He’s coming back over. Shit. I call to the cousin, telling him that I’m not stupid I can see him. Out he comes. Suddenly it’s a joke, he’s taken the ex’s clothes and ran.

I look around, dazed. I can’t see my trainers. Where’s my bag? That shit, he’s taken my stuff too. My phone is in my bag! Luckily I had gotten my pants and trousers back on. There he was, stood in just a t-shirt. My mind is racing, I don’t know what to do. He’s so hammered he can barely stand, it’s like it hit him all of a sudden. He falls into a bush and can’t get up. I think I went into auto pilot. Before I know it, I’m helping him up. Why was I helping him up? I took his hand and I pulled him up out of the bush. I remember feeling very confused. I’m yelling at him to call his cousin, I want my stuff. “He’ll be at mine” so I followed him! I followed him? What the actual fuck?! There we were walking down towards his house, me fully dressed other than my trainers, him naked from the waist down. As we got to his house, I was silent. I numbly followed him in and sat down. I’m in his house. The cousin wouldn’t answer his phone. I’m getting agitated now, I want to go home.

In he strolls, smiling as if it’s all been one big joke. I pull my trainers on. Where’s my bag? He didn’t take it, it’s still in the woods. Mid conversation I notice the ex has passed out as usual. I remove the lit fag from between his fingers, put it out and go. The cousin is following me. I keep telling him to leave me alone. He says he can’t let me go back to the woods alone. I’m scared, what if it’s not in the woods? What if he’s taking me back there for something else? My heart is racing, trying to think of a way out of this mess. We get to the woods, we find our way straight back to where we were and there it is. My bag is just laying there. Had it been there the whole time I wonder, or had he put it back?

Now he’s insisting on walking me home. I’m still scared but a little more relaxed now, he hadn’t done anything in the woods. I’m walking fast, the quicker we get there the quicker he will leave me alone. No such luck, he’s following me in! Talking to me about the pill. The pill? Why is he asking me about the pill? Yes I’m on the damn pill. We sit on the sofa and he proceeds to tell me how many other girls the ex has slept with behind my back and how I deserve better. He kisses me, I freeze. Shit. I’m kissing him back but kind of pulling away – trying to brush it off. He touches my breasts, I feel sick. I can’t. Please don’t.

He doesn’t.

We sit in silence. He falls asleep, I stay wide awake until morning. He wakes, we say goodbye and he leaves. A wave of relief, then confusion, then shock.

It all sounds so ridiculous. I tell no one. Then, one day, about 6-8 months later I told someone close to me. I fumbled through the details, embarrassed. I didn’t use the word. Then she said “It’s not rape, he was your boyfriend”.

A mix of thoughts and feelings whirled around my head for a long time. It tormented me for quite some years. I confided in a select few people after 3 or 4 years. I told my psychologist. She asked me why I call it “the incident in the woods” so I told her “he was my boyfriend so it can’t be rape, right?”

Wrong.

I needed to process this. I needed to think clearly. It was just another thing in my mess of a head. It took years but I finally came to terms with it and can now see it for what it was, or what I think it was. Looking back, I think they were planning a threesome. I think they were expecting me to comply. His aim wasn’t to force me, things got out of hand, he took it too far, I don’t even think he remembers what happened that night. You see, my ex is many things, but not a rapist. Yes he’s a vile human being and he makes my skin crawl but I’m not scared of him anymore. I don’t shake when I see him, I don’t panic. That night, things got out of hand and, yes, it has scarred me but he is not a threat to me or anyone else. It was horrible and shouldn’t have happened, but I believe it could’ve been a lot worse and I am grateful it wasn’t. I have put it behind me.

As for the cousin, he wasn’t anywhere near as drunk. He stood there and watched us, he watched me trying to get away, he heard me shouting. He knew he was hurting me and he just stood there and watched. Was it fear? Was it that he didn’t know what to do? And what the hell was he doing after? Taking our stuff. Following me home. He drew out the night longer. He couldn’t just leave me be. What was that about? I guess I’ll never know.

So, there you have it, I was raped. And, yes, it was rape. I said no.

My girl

So, my little girl of 5 broke her 1st bone on Friday 😬 The tip of the middle finger on her right hand is in 3 pieces! It makes me cringe just thinking about it.

My daughter, the shy and reserved one who wouldn’t say boo to a goose. The child who clams up around people she doesn’t know. She cries at the mere thought of doing anything out of her comfort zone and crumbles when “put on the spot” with all eyes on her.

But she also has this secret strength that people rarely see. But I’m beginning to see it more and more and I love it! She is head strong and determined, independent and logical. Her confidence is growing. This time last year I would’ve had to have donned a lead apron so that she could sit on my lap for the X-ray. Had anyone tried to speak to her or, worse still, touch her she would’ve cried. It would’ve been an ordeal! Ok, so she didn’t really speak to anyone but she nodded and shook her head in the appropriate places and complied completely with what they were asking of her. As I stood behind the screen and watched her have her X-rays, at first there was this moment of “oh shit, she’s not going to like this” but that familiar feeling of dread quickly changed to relief, surprise and then this wave of absolute pride came over me.

She is this petite little thing, with a mixture of myself and her dads personalities. The shyness comes from me, the confidence from my husband. It’s funny because each part is so different to the other! I used to be able to predict her every reaction, dreading the drama, trying desperately to prevent it. But, now, she surprises even me. It’s great!

I guess my baby is growing up!

If you don’t fit in their little box

“So you’re straight now then? LOL”

You know, I can pretty much guarantee, people wouldn’t have batted an eyelid had I married a woman. That may sound funny, but I have discovered something on my journey through this complicated thing we call life; if you don’t fit in their little box of small minded expectations then you’re obviously no longer welcome in their “wonderfully accepting” inner circle.

You see, to cut a really long story short, I discovered that I am bisexual. And that’s wonderful to them when you’re sleeping with or in a relationship with someone of the same sex. Dabbling in the “straighter side”of bisexual is only permitted in moderation and can certainly not result in marriage – having kids is ok but God forbid you’d spend the rest of your life with someone of the opposite sex! And if you happen to stumble into a long term relationship with someone of the opposite sex then of course you absolutely would not be able to stay faithful to that person. I mean, how could you possibly live without the “gayer side”of being bisexual?! But if I married a woman that would be immediately accepted and I would even get to keep the bisexual label, even though I absolutely would not feel the need to cheat on her with a man because apparently that only applies to the former situation.

My situation.

My husband and I have been together coming up 13 years, married for almost 8. And I can assure you I have not cheated on him with a woman or a man and I never would! But, yes, I do still class myself as bisexual, that doesn’t change because I’m married to a man. Just as it would not if I were married to a woman. It’s not a hard concept to grasp surely? I see my sexuality as kind of irrelevant now I’m married – I’m not sleeping with (or doing anything else with) anyone other than my husband. So I guess it shouldn’t bother me what people think or say. But it does. It’s the sheer ignorance from the very people that I imagined would understand my sexuality. But, it appears that for some, it’s a case of keeping up appearances.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve never been what you’d call a social butterfly. It’s not about my social life, it’s about people’s opinions and how cynical and judgmental they can be. The fact that the very notion that I could be happy and faithful in a relationship with a man seems to be something of a joke to them. Like, somehow that makes me a fraud. As if it wasn’t bad enough that I had to prove to certain people that I wasn’t using my husband “for his sperm and his money” I then had them bitching between themselves that I must be in denial. I would imagine the words “back in the closet” were being thrown around left, right and centre.

I feel I’m rambling a bit now. It’s difficult to put something like this into words because it’s hard to explain what it is I actually have a problem with. I guess it just bothers me when people form unnecessary opinions of me. It’s frustrating that people can be very closed minded, especially those who are perceived as being open minded and accepting of all matters of sexuality!

“So you’re straight now then? LOL”

“She’s just using him for his sperm and his money”

How about this; I am happily married to someone and we love each other very much 😊