Darkness There and Nothing More

I sang my Grandma to sleep.

It was the first of September, she was in hospital, we hadn't long lost Grandad. It very quickly went from Grandma being in hospital with a gouty foot, to Grandad being rushed into hospital, to him being released home with palliative care, to him being none responsive, to him dying, to Grandma loosing her leg, to them giving us a good prognosis, to them finding a clot, to them giving us an iffy prognosis, to them calling us in for her last day on earth. All within 2 weeks.

We were with them as many hours of the day we could manage, me, my brother, my sister, both their partners and my dad. I was at work when granddad passed - holding my dads hand but not knowing anything but the dulled pain and semi drug induced unconsciousness meant to help him escape it.
We flocked to them as soon as we heard, and held each other together, not knowing how to break to news to a still hospitalised grandma.
How do you tell someone fretting over their own health that their husband, the person they share a majority of their life with, the person who cared for them every day for the last ten years after they had a stroke and could no longer look after their self, has passed away without them having the chance to say goodbye?

But we did, we came to her en-masse (always a bad sign in our family), we held her while she sobbed and wondered over how to continue living.

We were all on compassionate leave for Grandad when we got the call from the hospital that Grandma was on her last leg (pun intended).

So there we were, clustered around her in the side room, away from any strangers who might gawk at her passing. Her steady stream of visitors, mainly nursing staff, had been a constant support throughout her stay, and they continued to filter in throughout the day - each one offering refills on coffee, tea, anything they could think of. Each one tearfully admitting she was their favourite before dismissing themselves from the room to try their best not to add to our grief by letting theirs show.

My brother put on music, his phone sounding small and tinny over the constant drone of a gas outlet pipe not far from her hospital window. A steady stream of the beetles, her favourite band, followed by some smooth jazz mixes, then back to the beetles.
We took it in turns to take breaks, splitting off into pairs. Two of us popping down to stretch our legs, gather supplies from the shop, pee, breathe, focus, pull ourselves back together - then brightly returning to relieve the other two to do the same. But most of the time we were all together.

We had ended up with a bottle of Baileys - her favourite drink - brought with us in the hopes that she'd be able to sneak a last drink in with us. As it was, she never woke up that day, except to occasionally stir when the pain got too much, crying for her mother in her sleep. In our gentle duty of keeping her lips moist with the combination of a slightly damp cloth and a small pot of Vaseline I asked to wet her lips with the baileys. Giving her one last taste of the drink, a neat parallel to the first taste of it she had given me on my dummy as a babe.

My sister left and returned from home with things to make her feel, even in her sleep, that she was home again. All she had wanted towards the end was to go home, the same as Grandad.
Her blanket from home, a stuffed animal, even one of her own pillows. Mixed in with the sound of her family and some music - we hoped it was enough to trick her unconscious mind into thinking we had gotten her home.

As the evening drew on, and our sporadic laughter and reminiscence became less stilted and less frequent, during one of our breaks, while my brother and father snuck out for a cigarette and my sister and I sat by her side stroking her hair and holding her hands I turned the music off and began to sing to her. Just Swing Low, though I tried a couple other songs and simply forgot the lyrics. Sticking with Swing Low meant less to remember. At first my sister joined in, while I stroked my Grandmas hair, watching her breathing even out from the laboured and painful gasps to a slow, and uneven sigh. My brother and father drifted back in and encouraged me to keep singing, despite my apologies for turning the music off. It had just felt right to sing.

And so, with my family crying quietly, sniffling around me, and my grandma's final breaths slipping away in front of me, I sang. Over and over the verses repeated themselves, my voice cracking as I could no longer see her chest rise and fall, but only watch the fading pulse in her neck.
Eventually I stopped and whispered that I thought she was gone, and suddenly we were all hugging, our tears coming freely finally.

I never thought it would be so hard though, to sing to her. Or to try not to remember all the time.
Before, the only death I had known was sudden, unexpected, and after the fact. Even watching my Grandad fade away didn't prepare me for the emotional onslaught of that day.
And no one seems to understand how broken it made me feel. It was a beautiful thing to do, I've been told a hundred times. When I tell people I sang her to her final sleep they say that it's nice. But it was heart breaking.

I now know the difference between loosing someone and holding their hand as they die.
It's a lesson I hope my nieces and nephews, or my children (if they should become more than figments of my imagination) never have to learn. I never want them to feel this. It's bad enough that they will have to loose people - hell, my nieces and nephews have lost more than their fair share already.

I don't regret any of it. That's something that I should really point out at this time.
I would do it again in a heartbeat. To know that she left peacefully, surrounded by love - it's all any of us could really ask for (except maybe a warriors death filled with honour and the blood of our enemies). Part of me felt obliged to step in where Grandad no longer could, too. One last act to make him proud.

Odd, my life continues through each dark day with the promise to live for those still in my life; my family, my friends, my nearest and dearest... yet my accomplishments are mostly things I do in the hopes they would have made the people I have lost proud. My Mum, my Granddad - they were the ones I looked up to, the ones whose praise really counted because it had to be earned.

Now I look to my brother and sister. My guiding stars in all this chaos.
They support me even as they fall apart themselves. Holding me up through my pain and misery, even if it means buoying me up on their own tears. I'll never understand why they are so good to me, why they love me so intensely - but I love them back just as fiercely. That feeling of not deserving the level of kindness and caring they bestow on me without a second thought. Of not being good enough to possibly be allowed to accept that level of unconditional love.

It's that feeling, that emptiness, that darkness inside me which reflects the holes in my life that the people I've lost have left. Not just those who have died, but those who have moved away, those who have lost touch. Those people whose lives I built my being around. In life, I have defined myself more by the people I care for and about, than I have by the things I do or preferences I may have. My obstinance, determination to go against the grain, and know-it-all attitude comes from trying to impress several of those people. My patience and empathy developed from trying to emulate the people I admired.

In a way, the holes they have left in leaving are like footprints in the sand, leaving impressions on me that sometimes get mixed in with the cement and stay with me forever, and sometimes slowly fill with water and fade away. I try to keep only the good bits, and let the ocean of time steal away the bad ones. Hopefully one day that ocean will wash enough sand away to reveal the gemstone heart I want so desperately to have or be. But maybe that's not for time to tell, but for me to forge. For though I hope to know, at the end of my days, that dark is right - I want to fork lighting with my words before I go.

As always - Blessed Be xx

Rain Drops and Roses

Today is not a good day.

I've been dating the most wonderful woman lately. She's funny, smart, beautiful and kind. She challenges me, supports me, makes me want to be better than I am and believe that I'm good enough for the first time in a long time. We have fun together, and snuggle up to watch tv. We do crafty bits together and cook together and spend as much time together as possible.

But there's a hitch to this fairytale. She has MS.

If you don't know, MS stands for multiple sclerosis, and it's an auto immune disease which enjoys targeting the central nervous system and the brain. Apart from the fact it causes my dream girl to suffer from brain fog and confusion, occasional paralysis of part of her face, and has completely taken the use of her legs, what this disease mostly does is cause her pain. Excruciating, unbearable pain. And let me tell you now, one of the hardest things in this life is seeing someone you love in pain. Especially when there is nothing you can do about it.

One of the other hardest things in this life is seeing fear in your lovers eyes as they clutch their head in pain and stutter out a description of some new pain and odd sensation that they have never dealt with before.

Most of the problems MS causes, such as the painand mobility problems, are generated through lesions on the spine and brain.
So every time a new symptom appears  (and stays) it tends to mean there is a new lesion. And the fun thing about lesions is that they get worse. And worse.
So, for example, a lesion in your Cspine could worsen until you were paralysed from the neck down. One in the speech centre of your brain could worsen until you could no longer speak. One in your ocular center could eventually blind you. And so on.

Not only is all of the above true, but - as with any illness - it gets worse when you don't feel well.

It's been months now, and neither of us can shake this cold/chest infection. But tonight seems to have worn her down too much.

The pain is so bad she keeps bursting in to tears. Her speech so slurred she can't stand the sound of her own voice. And all I can do is hold her while she cries.

No. Today is not a good day.

As selfish as it is, it's so hard. There's been no one to talk to about it.
There's no way to vent.
So this is me venting.

It isn't fair.

It isn't fair that our lives have always interacted in these little ways that we never knew about. It isn't fair that we both got stuck with assholes through our lives when we could have been together from day one. It isn't fair that we never got to dance together. It isn't fair that this stupid illness has taken the mind and mobility of the woman I love before I got to hold her and love her. It isn't fair that I am helpless when she's in pain. It isn't fair that I watch it take her away one piece at a time, and I wake in the night terrified I'll have lost her completely.

And it's not fair that she's worth it.

Because she is. She's worth every bad day. Every sleepless night. Every frustration. All of it. I'm not going to give her up. Not even if I end up with only a thousandth of who she was. Because she is perfect. She has my heart. And even the tiniest part of her is still incredible, and I am honoured to be with her.

Tomorrow might be a good day. I hope so. Until the next good day I'll focus on the good things. The warm woollen mittens. The puppies and kittens.

Keep your head up. Thank you for letting me vent.
Remember to smile on impact.

Blessed Be xx

Inappropriate Desires

Okay - hands up - who here has ever had the urge to full on kiss someone they were hugging?

Good, you can put your hands down now.
I was worried I might be the only one.

And to those of you who didn't raise your hand... well, this post may seem a little strange to you.

So lately I've been noticing that I get these really inappropriate urges to kiss people that I just shouldn't. Before you start to worry I haven't ACTUALLY kissed any of these people. I don't think.

Let me explain a little.
I have a lot of friends; and by that I mean I know a lot of people who I hardly ever see and don't really talk to, but that I don't really hate and who I don't think hate me.
Conversely I only have a small handful of good friends (not including my family). These are the people I text, occasionally call, and even sometimes get to visit or see or hand out with.
They're also all guys.

Now, I don't hate women. Not in the slightest. I work with a lot of really great women/girls who I love spending time with at work. But when it comes to real friends (outside of work/school) I've both not had that many girly friends, and not stayed in touch with any of them either. I could explain why, but in short I just drifted apart from them due to not being bothered about their drama's.
And yes - most girls/women I know have CONSTANT drama's going on. Including myself.

So yeah, back to my point. I have a few really good friends and they're all guys. Some of them are ex boyfriends, some of them are friends I made whilst in a relationship and who wouldn't touch me with a barge poll in that way. Some of them are the kinda guys you sort of flirt with but never in a serious way and you just kind of hope they aren't actually into you because that'd be a sad, sad day.

To put the rest of this into perspective I should say I'm a very tactile person.
I like to hug, to high-five, to sit with my legs over other peoples, to tickle, to stroke, to be close in general. Only with my close friends, like, but yeah - uber cuddly person right here.
I'm also a little orally fixated, which explains a lot about my waist line and is one of the biggest reasons I'm glad I never started smoking. I chew bubble gum, eat tic-tacs, drink through staws - anything to keep my mouth occupied. I was probably even one of those babies that kept putting stuff into their mouth up to a rather old age.

So you add these three things together and you get me, stood hugging one of my friends, desperately trying not to kiss them.

It's so freaking awkward I can't begin to explain.

Because how do you react to one of your mates just randomly reaching up and kissing you?
I don't know about you - but that would seriously freak me out.
Like "Woah - what the hell? I thought we were just friends! What are you doing? Get your mouth off me freakazoid! RAPE! RAPE!"

Okay, maybe that's a slight extreme exaggeration.
But still!

I put it to you -  Would you be freaked out by a friend kissing you whilst you were giving them a platonic hug?

I mean, it's not like a grope or something. That'd be way creepy and rude. It's just a kiss.
So why does it feel like such an intimate thing?

What is it about our mouths that makes them such no-go zones for everyone but our partners?

Maybe it's just because they're so sensitive.
I mean, the closest thing in sensitivity must be something like your genitals - surely?
So maybe that's why we're so careful about who gets to play with our lips...
Or maybe we're just so socially conditioned as to who we're supposed to kiss and when and where that it seems so totally wrong to kiss people if we aren't "in-love" with them.

Or maybe I'm the only weirdo who actually gets these urges.

We shall see.


This rant was brought to you by the power of magical interwebs.
Don't forget to tip your local Pagan Broadband for their assistance in this matter - mages have feelings too.

Yours, as ever,
Lolly

PS. A rant is for Christmas, not just for life...

To Mum - Our Garden

Hey Mum,

I started faffing around in the garden today.

Well, I say today - it was this afternoon/evening when we got back from having Sunday dinner. Pete's a good cook, but it's not like how we used to make it.

I suppose things are never quite how we did things.



So this is what the garden ended up looking like after a quick tidy up.

All I did really was pull weeds and grass out of the shale we put down last year. You were right, it's made weeding it SO much easier!

Though we do have an ant problem that is thriving under that covering... whoops.

But hey - this is the other side of the path:

As you can see, it's gone a little mad!



I have no idea what's happened to the chives!

It looks like there's nothing left of them doesn't it!
I might have to invest in some more just to add to it.

They're flowering beautifully though. So that's good.




I'm also going to HAVE to do something about the Bay tree - you wouldn't believe how mad it's gone, look:

I'll have to get either Shimbo or Wayne to come have a chop at it. Though Libor is up this weekend, and he's tall... so maybe I'll get him to do it.

I promise not to let Geoff at it!! haha


Also, the spider mites have been attacking it again:


I can't remember what you used to do to get rid of it. Was it a spray?
I'm going to try trimming it off next weekend when I'm down and see if that helps... really wish you were here to help though.



Also, I think the Cats have been sitting in the Lavender...
 something just gives me a feeling about it....

It was sprawled out on the path, so I've tried to train it to either side of the tiger lilies... I guess we'll see in time whether that was a good idea or a catastrophic one. Not that you'd mind - I know you didn't really like the lavender all that much! It hasn't flowered since December, since you left... maybe it knows haha.

Not sure what's going on with the St. Johns Wart, it looks dead, but I have a vague recollection that it used to do this all the time.

There's still green growth on it, and I didn't pull any of the dead looking stuff off just in-case it isn't ACTUALLY dead.

 I suppose time will tell on that.

Sorry if it ends up as just a dead twig... but I never liked it anyway hahaha

In other news, the Apple Tree is definitely in a better place! You were probably right about it getting too much sun in the centre of the garden, because it's thriving near the wall.


Well, Maybe not 'THRIVING'...

... it does still kind of look like a twig with leaves glued onto it...


But look! No black stuff on it!


I'm hoping one day it'll actually blossom and everything. How long has it been growing now?

Can't believe how long it's taken for that little seed to be more than just a tiny twig - but we were always amazed when it survived, weren't we? So it's doing well.

We've got a newbie in the corner too - I think it's a weed, but I liked it, it's pretty, so I'm leaving it.

Besides, it's not interfering with anything yet - and you always said that weed is just a plant growing where you don't want it to. If it starts taking over, I'll pull it out.
The Strawberries are blooming now too!

Fingers crossed in a month we'll have some lovely ripe red strawberries to steal for the kiddies.

Remember how awesome it was the first time we got a harvest off them??

And how Chris and Zak used to love to pinch them when they lived here?

Speaking of harvesting - look at the harvest I got from the Rhubarb this time round!

 It had been left to its own devices because no one realised it needed chopping back.

You should have seen it! The corner was just a mass of leaves!

The head is starting to split too, so me and Rachel are going to try and divide a bit off for her to plant in the new garden.




You'd love her new house mum, it's beautiful. You'd be so proud of her. I know you always were - but the way she's managed to move on with everything and make a new start. She never gives up, does she? Just like you.


                 Neither does this fecking ROCK!! It has gone crazy again!

 But it's covering the edging like you said it would.

So much of the garden has gone totally mad.

It was so overgrown when I got back yesterday that I was starting to think we had a rock jungle rather than a rock garden.

Some of it is growing in a good way - filling in the spaces you were talking about, but there's still gaps that I don't know how to fill in...

 Maybe you had plans for what to do with this part, but I really don't know what to do. I'm hoping Rachel with help.

She's got much better green fingers than I do, but it feels like this is OUR garden... and I don't want to loose that part of us.

Speaking of lost...

You wont believe who got swallowed up by the ivy!!



So yeah, just been trying to get it back to how you would want it if you were still here.

I hope I've not done anything too wrong!!

There has been a slight migration that I've kept by the way.

Right in the middle of the stones, a little flower has managed to break through from the edge, and has ended up in the white stones... I thought it looked so pretty, and made me think of you - and how you would never do things quite how you were expected to, or how people wanted you to - but how you made it perfect anyway. So I'm not going to move it.


I love you mum.

I'll keep the garden nice for you - like I always promised when you weren't well.

I miss you.

xxxxxx

Mum

There's so much going through my head right now.

Most of it's music, so this post is packed with it - sorry...

The main song stuck in my head is the song mum told me to play at her funeral, I Hope You Dance...

It's what mum always wanted for me, for all of us, to always hope and reach and try... and I know it's not what I always did or do... which hurts.

From the moment my sister blubbered out the news of her death, with my dad and brother stood there holding me, I've been swinging between numbness, despair, disbelief and some form of acceptance. It's the songs that keep getting stuck in my head that bring the tears back 

So many people have been sending condolences and offering help, or a shoulder to cry on... but it's my family that's the biggest strength atm. As horrifying as it sounds, I'm just so glad it wasn't dad instead. Mum's emotions would have made it virtually impossible to deal with loosing dad - not to mention I'm a right daddy's little girl. Still, it's a small comfort.

The shock of it is what's upsetting me the most. The fact that she had been in so much physical pain for so long, and that she was getting better. The injections of collagen had helped with her pain levels and mobility no end, she was able to walk - even dance... though I missed her dancing because of not being able to book a hotel for the party...

Mostly, I'm hurting for my dad. Mum was his soul mate - or that's what he always told me... it was there in how he looked at her, how he spoke of her, how he looked after her... at 50 he's too young to have that ripped away. I mean, when my brother in-law committed suicide it was horrific for my sister... but he hadn't been a good husband, not in the supportive way that mum and dad were for each other. I know they got on each others nerves at times, but through everything they stood together.
25 years of love, plans, togetherness... just gone in the middle of the night... when there was no reason we knew of.

Sudden Catastrophic Heart Failure

Now we just wade through lists of people to contact, paperwork to fill in, meetings to have, things to organise. The wake, the funeral... then all of the stuff that needs sorting out besides that. And all the time trying not to hurt. 

Mum always said that the love between a parent and child was one that grew towards parting... and in a way she was right. But I wasn't ready - none of us were. There were supposed to be years yet. She was supposed to be at my wedding. She was supposed to hold my first child - if not all of them. She was supposed to tell me I was doing everything wrong when I became a mum. She was supposed to hold me when my heart broke. Cry at my graduation. Try to take over when I moved house. Instead she isn't even here for Christmas. 

I know that, when anyone dies, you wish you'd had just that bit more time with them. That you could have had more... that it's normal. But it doesn't make it easier. 

There are times when you just want to scream and cry because it isn't fair. To have your grandparents out live your brother and your mum... it's wrong some how. And there are times that I'm so mad at her for leaving. For leaving without saying goodbye. Which I know is stupid, because it would have been even more of a surprise for her than it was for any of us.

Part of me is wishing I could believe there was more. A heaven where she's looking down on me... or some weird spirit thing where she's still here in some way. But it's not in me to believe. I don't know if it's harder or easier to feel that she's just gone...

There's a speech to write for the funeral... and I don't know what to say.

"I miss you" isn't enough... and everything else I could say is far too long. That she wasn't a saint, but she tried (well, most of the time). That she was a great mum, even if she was a batty old cow that repeated herself and was sometimes far too harsh. That she was the perfect counter part to dad. That she wouldn't want us to be sad

There's these rings that she always wore, and dad split them between us... and even though I'm not a ring person, and they don't really fit, I tend to wear mine almost every day. 

Life is on hold for now... and I don't know why. Well, I do... it's just... it feels like it shouldn't be. I loose days (if not weeks) at a time lately. I just don't know what happens to time, it's just gone. I suppose that's it isn't it? Time has gone, or stopped working. 

Dad turned to me the other day after waking on the sofa and sighed out "It wasn't a dream then?" - it's hard to know he's feeling that way, same as us, hard to know he's human and hurting.

A week or so ago I asked what he wanted to do and he simply said "Find a way to go back 48 hours..."

But there's nothing I can do... nothing any of us can do... nothing but carry on. Keep going. Death is like that...

Christmas is going to be shit though

I love you mum

What kind of world is it when people like you are ready to kill?

The final question of the interview, and I think of what I know of the character I part play, part parody, part ignore completely. 

I have no emotional connection to Ulrike, even after the intimate voice has told me all about her - my - life. How my -her- parents died. How she loved her children. How I screamed and fought the police when they arrested me. How I struggled and cried out, lifting her feet, during my identity parade. 

This is not me, and I'm torn between her reply and mine. The fracture probably obvious throughout the interrogation - sorry, interview. Because, even though I understand her, and know now where her actions first became thoughts, I still don't connect with her. Because they weren't my choices - and they weren't how I would have reacted. 

My anger may burn hard, and normally result in my fist or foot in someone's softer area's - but when challenged I go cold. Icy venom pours from me, rather than screaming fits, and curses. I don't argue like that. No - too many hours spent with too logical a father to argue like that. At least, not about this.

"What kind of world is it when people like you are ready to kill?"

It's supposed to make me think. It's supposed to make me question what my morals are; but instead a stream of answers run through my head and I have to hold them back.

A real one.
A safe one.
One where I won't be messed with.
One where I can protect what's mine.
The one outside these walls where everyone is secretly ready to kill. 
It's the kind of world where choices are everything.
One where change is imminent.
It doesn't matter either way, because it's the fact I choose not to that makes me who I am. 

But then I drift out and remember that I'm not there. I'm not part of the art project, I'm just reading about it. Hell, it took place in Venice - I've never left England. 
So what is it about this 'Moral hazard' crap that's got me so sucked in?


A tram looses control and rolls down its tracks. In its path are five people. You have the choice to pull a lever and switch the tram to a second track - but there's someone tied to it. Do you sacrifice the one person to save the five?

Well, personally, no. 
Why? Not because I'm a heartless bitch who couldn't care less if five people died. Not because I'm a wimp who's afraid to make the decision. But because I see a huge error with the wording of this problem:
Why point out that the one person is tied to the tracks, but not say the same about the other five? It's simple to assume this means the other five are not tied down. Therefore, they can get out of the way. The person tied down can't. Who in there right mind takes away one persons choice just to make five other peoples lives easier??
Answer: 90% of the GEDC's in the world. Yeah, that's right - 90% of people living in a non-poverty stricken country do this every day. They take away the rights of the poverty stricken who have no choice to make life easier for those with money. Sweat shops, non-fair trade, and the millions of other ways we exploit people in "third world" countries. 

You know what? The reality of moral judgement is actually this:
A tram looses control and rolls down its tracks. In its path is a person collapsed on the rails from exhaustion. There's a switch in the track that allows you to aim the tram at 5 people meandering over the tracks instead. Over that switch stands a business man, his lawyer, and his insurance broker, who decided that a dead person can't sue them for endangering their life - but five people who might get injured will probably win in court. And it doesn't matter how hard you push through the guards they have set up around them, you can't get to that switch, and you can't get the business man to change his mind. All you can do is try to race towards the collapsed person and drag them off the tracks. Are you willing to risk death to pull a complete stranger out of harms way?

No?

Welcome to the real world - where politics and morality turn into who has more power and who's too scared to risk it. After all, if you die trying to save them, you can't tell people how mean the business man was. 

Our lives are so wrapped up in fear and miss direction that the terrorist issue is a kick back at - like a child kicking their parents when they see that they aren't as wonderful as they'd always thought. Society takes the parental role, punishes the naughty child for attacking Mummy or Daddy, and looks to everyone else for support. After all, politicians know best. 

So how do you get to punish society for its wrong doings?
Simple, you show the world how bad they've been. 
->Insert some graphic photo of people thousands of miles away dying and expect someone to care.

You can't expect the general public to take responsibility for the 'crimes' of society - and you can't expect the people who are in the position of power to give a crap. How do you think they got there in the first place?
Everyone knows you have to step on the down trodden to get to the upper echelons of power and authority. That's what the pyramid on your money is all about, remember?

So what can you actually do?
Sit and get angry, write something, complain about how the world is corrupt and there's nothing you can do about it...?
No, it doesn't help - but can you think of anything better? Anything that would actually work??

The world's gone mad. 

People complaining about invasion of privacy. Of technology taking over their lives. Of not being able to get any peace without someone interrupting it.

Are we actually that blind?
Are we actually that stupid?

HELLO!!! IT'S CALLED AN OFF BUTTON!!!

You don't want people to know everything that's going on in your life? Don't post it all on Facebook!!
You don't want to be called all the time, or text constantly? Turn off your phone!
You think there's no way to live without technology in this day and age? Get a freaking brain already.

Technology is here to help. It's not here to take over. It's not here to invade your privacy. It's not here so you become dependant on it so that the government or whoever has another control over you!
It's just an AID!! (not to be mistaken with the other one that has an s on the end of course)
You choose how far you integrate it into your life on a daily basis. 
Exercise some self restraint for goodness sake!

And if you're one of those people who doesn't feel the need to answer ever phone call, and every text, and every facebook notification that you've set to come through to your smartphone, and every game notification that pops up on your tablet pc; if you don't feel the need to update your facebook status with whatever inanety has just popped into your head every hour or so, if you don't feel you have to check other peoples status's constantly, if you don't have to check your twitter account regularly, or your emails, or your MMORPG, or your Ebay... then please ignore my rant, as I'm sure you already have thought of this and can exercise perfect restraint.

Honestly, if I have to hear someone complain again about another person updating their status too much, I'm going to write a status on a piece of paper and forcefully insert it into their cranium. And that status will be "If you dislike it so much - stop reading them!!"


And now, I believe, my rant is winding down nicely and coming to an abrupt end.

If you want to know about the art project, check out the link Ulrike and Eamon Compliant 


As always, I wish you well in all your endeavours.


Blessed Be
xxx

Marks of weakness, Marks of woe

You know when people say something - something and nothing, a throw away comment - and it sticks with you just because of how it made you feel? Recently someone told me to "Stop whining" because I was wishing my room would sort itself out.

Now, to explain the context that this person didn't understand:
My room is currently upside down. We decided to move things around to try and make it more livable, more accessible, more... well, more manageable. However, with there being two peoples stuff filling a small bedroom - that isn't easy to start with. In fact, even if I'd worked straight through and not had to stop it would have taken at least two days to finish. 

So, my room is currently just about working - there's still a huge pile in the majority of the room that's left to be sorted out when I have time, but I can finally get in and out of the room, use the bed, and actually use the desk to do some of the work I'm woefully behind on. At the point of writing that I wanted my room to sort itself out there wasn't even room to get on the bed. 

Why didn't it all get done in two days?
Well, because the other person who's room it is was working earlies... but got sent home ill, so needed the bed (which was piled up ridiculously high with things that needed to be organised into boxes and either stored back away or thrown out) so everything  got dumped on the floor. Two days later he was well enough to go back to work, but came home early again because the entire place had to be shut down (well, in a nut shell at least). So nothing got done for a good three or four days. That's four days of not being able to do anything in my room - which is the only place I can actually do any work. 

Hence, the next day, once my he'd gone off to work, the plan was to finish as much of the bedroom as possible, and finally get on with work again. I'd lost about a week at this point, and was just wanting to get on with it. Hence, in frustration I wrote what I did. 

To then be told to stop whining was just fucking irritating. 

So irritating it still makes me swear apparently!

I think, mostly, because the tone I had written in was purposefully up beat. And since then I've been stewing. Of course, at the time I did the sensible thing and ignored it; but after a day I got even more mad and started thinking up things I'd have liked to have said (but didn't really want to cause any hassle by doing so) - things like "That wasn't whining, it was barely even complaining - lets take a look at everything you ever say and see who's the whiny little bitch, shall we?" 

But more recently the tone has changed in my head. Because I'm not just mad at them for saying it, I'm mad at them for never talking to me and not knowing me, but judging me because they can. That person doesn't know what the hell I go through, or have been through, mentally/emotionally let alone physically - yet they're willing to have a dig at me in public? 

So the comment in my head turned to "Gee, thanks for helping with my severe clinical depression there...", but the reply (now too late to bother with anyway) would have just elicited derision at claiming to have depression - along with some kind of "cheer up emo kid" type of dismissal.

Which is what prompted me to post this actually.

The sweeping generalisations people make about depression when they have no idea what so ever what they're talking about. I was diagnosed as having severe clinical depression 6 years ago when I was 17. I hadn't felt any differently about life or myself since I was 13, so it's pretty safe to say I've been suffering from it for 10 years. I tried the treatments, and the counselling, and a bunch of other stuff which all managed to make me more suicidal than just dealing with it on my own. I'm not the sort of person it works for apparently. Something about being able to work out what my core problems are, how to deal with them, and so forth faster than my therapist could just made it seem redundant - and the pills, well, lets just say I'm never touching those again!

So I know a fair bit about what it's like to live with depression every day. 

I know a lot of people who have it too. There are some who make a big deal out of it (like a certain someone I happen to know had 'mild' depression who used it as an excuse to never do their course work and got themselves kicked out of university) others who self harm repeatedly because of it, some that take recreational drugs to deal with it - and some that just plain take it out on everyone else. I've also lost some people because of it.

Therefore, from an insiders view, let me tell you:
Depression is NOT when you feel a bit rubbish.

It's NOT a cry for attention.

It also does NOT mean that a person will self harm or attempt suicide.

It ISN'T a weakness.

and it certainly isn't something you can understand if you've always been an upbeat kind of person with no real issues.

It's a mental illness, yes. And it occurs in at least a third of the population of the world. More people who are intelligent get it than those who aren't. It can be a fore runner to other mental health issues such as psychosis, schizophrenia, or paranoia - in fact, most people with depression have a mild (to severe) form of paranoia anyway. 

But put it this way...

Depression is when every day is a struggle, and a day where you don't have to spend five or more minutes convincing yourself to get out of bed and face the world is a damn good day. A bad day is one where you just can't get out of bed, and even consider forfeiting urination just so you don't have to move away from the imaginary sanctuary your quilt offers you. Those are the days where you force yourself to sleep again and again just to escape reality for a little longer.

Depression is when your brain wont let you see that everything that goes wrong in your life - and anyone's life you're connected to - isn't actually all your fault. When you feel like you have to apologise for everything - including the weather. When nothing you do seems good enough, or worth a damn thing - but you keep trying anyway. When all that little conscious of yours will say to you is "You're useless. Just give up. What are you still bothering for anyway? Everyone hates you. You aren't worth their time."

Depression is when you have to either walk away from the kitchen, or concentrate damn hard on the vegetables you're preparing, because that knife only looks right in your hand when it's pointed at you. 

Depression is where you spend a majority of your life trying to convince yourself that things are actually worth while. That YOU are actually worth the energy. 

Some days are always worse than others, and there are always certain people you feel you have to hide it from. Sometimes it feels like you're breaking down inside and nothing will keep you from falling apart. Sometimes it feels like there's no point going on.

Other days you can be fine. Absolutely normal. Pessimistic, but not too much so. 

It's like arthritis - sometimes it'll flair up really badly, most days it's about manageable, and some days you don't even notice it. 

Most people who have depression and deal with it on a day to day basis hide it so well you wouldn't even notice.

For instance, mine has it's own lovely brand of social anxiety that comes with it - for me that basically means that I get claustrophobic around people, especially large crowds. But I deal with it by going to the toilet when it gets bad, or standing outside on my own for a few minutes. I would take up smoking for an excuse, but I just can't stand the idea of purposefully inhaling smoke... so I guess that's out of the question!

It's something I try not to make a big deal out of, and my friends are all used to that little quirk. "Oh, Lauren likes to go outside on her own." or "She just spends a lot of time in the bathroom - I assumed she was doing a number 2"...

But occasionally you have to explain; and when you do people are so shocked. 

"But you're so fun and outgoing!"

... yes, because everyone with depression dyes their hair black, wears excessive eye make-up, listens to doom metal and is completely unsociable... 

For me, being strong means not crying when everything feels like it's going wrong (and probably isn't). It's being terrified of leaving the house - but doing it anyway. For me, being strong is constantly trying to get on with life - even is there's a part of me that wants to give up forever. For me, and I think for anyone with depression, being strong is not letting the set backs knock you so far back that you can't face life any more (again). 

And yes, every day is a fight. 

Mental health problems don't just disappear, and there's no cure for long-term severe clinical depression. Post-natal depression is treatable because it's a partial hormone imbalance, and they put you on huge doses of anti-depressants to help you in those times.

People think that's because it's worse than normally occurring depression - but it isn't. It's because that mother doesn't have to be on it for long. It's a temporary measure. Someone with clinical depression has it for years (if they're lucky). You can't force that kind of chemical into someone's system for that long in those high a dose because you'd kill them. 

I guess I've given an odd impression at times, because I'm so used to how I am. On good days, if I end up talking about it with people I can be very light about it - as if talking about wanting to buy a shiny new toy rather than about wanting to die... but that's tough. Just because I accept who I am doesn't mean it isn't still hard. 

Sure, the acceptance helps you deal with it - and I will never put that down! Accepting anything that people say is "wrong" with you, just knowing in your heart it's a part of who you are, is the biggest step. I don't care if it's the first or last - it's the one that makes the biggest difference. If, after accepting it, you still don't like it, then you can start to do something about it, but trying to change before that is denying who you are and is at least ten times harder.

I think I've rambled on long enough now. Hopefully I'll be able to leave the throw away comment alone now and stop revisiting it. Or at least stop being so pissed about it.

As always, may the Goddess (or God, or Allah, or Buddha, or anyone else you're happy with) light your path, give you strength, and protect you (especially from yourself)

Blessed be

xxx