I did it with lots of poop

I did it! My last normal to bed normal to rise before I get back to swimming. I never, EVER,  want to experience that again. With anyone. The whole bloody experience is just one shit your pants scenario after another. My duck is coming home.

In a month and a day,  I have battled with parents over children, spent every week in my sons school, prevented him from all kinds of pre teen drama, pulled him out of the drama I couldn’t prevent, dealt with an ex that makes me question if I had shit in my eyes for twelve years, managed a daughter starting her first ever relationship, which involved some scary moments with her body dismorphia, maintained a home and my family, worked ridiculously hard in therapy, spent a weekend in Venice with my mother and managed to somehow got dragged kicking and screaming into a drama triangle that has resulted in the breakdown of many relationships around me. Including the one I have with my brother ( not so codepedant now aye). And of course managed a long distance relationship with my duck. No duck. No hugs of ok.

My haven’ts became good. A lot of things that have truly had me shit my pants at the start. I haven’t cheated. I did not use my go to whoreish ways, better yet I didn’t want to (probably didn’t have the energy either, u saw my do’s).  This one had me trembling with fear. I also haven’t drank like I would and like I was. No drink midweek and only during the weekends I went out, granted these weekends tested the liver but everything likes to be tested to know their ability. I haven’t harmed.  That’s right, another occasion to not have been marked out on my body. I have felt like it,at times so much my body had tears coming out of every pore, but still nothing.  I haven’t killed anyone and no one has killed me. Yet. Suicidal fantasy has certainly behaved like a rollercoaster but here I am typing. So all my shitty knickers and shit my pants fears have been overcome.

It’s fairly amazing. Miraculous almost. This would not have happened before therapy and it definitely wouldn’t have happened without it. Bloody soul sucking place. It also wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t decided to trust him. But I did, which also shows my projection has decreased. I accept I may be wrong to trust, who knows but what I have taken from it is that trust isn’t about the other person, it’s about your own sense of self. I feel I am now worth loving…. A little. That I am worth being treated well… Mostly. That I am on the most part (acting out aside and this month I havent)  a catch in ways. Yes I’m crazy and yes I fall and yes I reach out to bad mechanisms..  But I do have a good heart and up until now I allowed people to spit on it. I can’t be rid of it so it shall be treated with what it is deservant. I also have needs and their mine and not for someone else to validate. There is something about trust that always implies it’s the other persons duty to earn. The other persons power.  The other persons perception of you. It isn’t. Not for me I don’t think. Trust is there when you feel confident of your self. Your worth. You set boundaries and do not have them crossed. You love you. You trust you. You trust in your own judgement and your own self.

My duck I thought had the trust power, the ability to make it or break it. I thought he dragged that son of a….. all over Thailand. He didn’t. It didn’t get in his backpack. It stayed here with me. You see surely if you have no self esteem and no confidence you don’t trust. Because you believe no one will want you,  no one will love you, you are not worthy of them,  at any moment they will act on that,leave, find better. And if your batshit what does that make them for being with you? Even worse and more untrustable. But surely once you do not feel these things the trust appears and is yours. The trust is yours. You trust you. Trusting you is the hardest trust to have, it was actually where all my trust issues landed. Much easier to project that out. Makes truth in that a cheater will always accuse the other of being unfaithful. That’s me, I do this,  just quietly on the inside so I appear normal. I didn’t trust my own behaviours so why would I trust anyone else’s.

Don’t get me wrong. I have been jealous, angry, sad, overwhelmed,content, suspicious, all at once. Everything. I have felt everything since he has been away, I have ridden this train continously in circles the whole time. Just for once pondering my mind on my travels.

My last hurdle of this experience is to overcome the meeting him at the airport. Already pooping panties. I become all anxious thinking about it. I know I will suddenly become that five year old uncollected at school again but this time seeing a parent walk through the gate. I worry I won’t attach back, act normal, oh god what if my speech goes because my brain forgets my mouth under panick. What if.. What if..  What if. I hope my need and want for him back wins. I miss his skin. His warmth when I’m cold. I miss him more than I was willing to say.

There is a sense of a line to his return. Hopefully a line drawn to both of our acting out ways. A line to the hurt we have both been through as of late, together and alone, a line to the injustices we have brought to one another, a line that we now know if we love each other we won’t cross. No more risk. I hope. Idealistic.  I think it is forgiving I’m talking about. No one forgets these things but we can choose to forgive, we accept we deal with and decide if that other is worth having this from us. I partly think if someone Can hurt you so much then surely the love is so deep it has to be worth a shot.

So.  Today’s waffle summary. I’m shitting my pants all the time. I trust myself more and as a result I have increased trust outwardly. Even when it goes wrong. I forgive those I believe warrant my forgiveness and I feel able to accept what was, what is and what maybe can be.

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It was never about the shoes.

For almost thirteen years a witch lived in my attic, she haunted me every single night relentlessly. She would stare at me through my Bros posters and would creep along landings making the floor boards creek. Even as an adult the attic is one place I find hard to go into, you just don’t know if it was all real and it’s not a risk I ever fancy taking.

I have been overwhelmed these past few weeks with my thoughts forever drenched with my relationship ponders. I have pondered the love, can I love, do I love, can and does he? Are we both just to broken? If love is not adequate it shows in ones inability to care and meet the others needs. All the words in the world will not shadow the actions. I have questioned trust. Do I trust him? Myself? Monogamy? Honesty? I have questioned my sanity and ability to believe in my own mind,to stop the internal tug of war. I have stayed with many emotion and pulled apart every thought. To say I have worked hard is a huge understatement, I have been left struggling with my own safety, with my own sense of self and with my own mind at war.

I have spent two years in a relationship that has been filthed with the vulgarity that is grief. The past year being the worst. I have allowed someone to talk to me in ways they are aware causes me great upset. I have allowed someone to dictate how and what this relationship is. I have allowed myself to put my own needs behind theirs. My own progress. My own therapy.  I have exhausted my self and in hindsight caused myself much pain,  trying to heal someone when I have been without the skills to heal my own wounds. It’s been an incredibly lonely,silent and still, deeply upsetting year. I can not maintain this. Not because I have no strength because strength is something I have(something people in therapy have more than anyone can imagine) nor because I am tired, or have given up. But because I now feel I deserve more.

I’m not sure how to tackle this, the love for him and the love for me live alongside. Balancing this is new and scary and I have zero skills at managing this. It could go so very wrong. I currently think I need to lay down some boundaries that I will not accept having crossed. Not because I want to teach them to be more considerate, as has always been my motive, but because I don’t deserve to be disregarded. I want his brutal honesty. Like all women I know the truth and like all men he underestimates the powerful senses of a woman and the extraordinary senses of someone with mental health. Yes it has its odd pros.

My boundaries I hope are simple. If you love me within this relationship you will respect that I can’t be spoken to like shit based on your own issues. I can’t manage having attention drawn to me in public and I definitely can’t be in a relationship I know to be dishonest. So your truthful or get out. Also I need my needs met and the fact I’m in intense therapy to be considered. I am not to fix myself and crutch someone else.

Oz was very simple. I need to trust my brain. A bit like the scarecrow. I need to love myself, cherish and nurture my own heart,as did the tin man. Finally I must gain courage to speak out. To fight for my own self. For what matters. For what is okay. To become a lion. My dislike and fear of the wizard of Oz seems to make much sense. In transactional analysis the belief is things are set into place by seven years old. By seven I had shame binds, no sense of my own worth, my identity, I stopped loving myself from as young as I can remember and would sacrifice everything about myself for others. I was courageous when I should not have had to have been. Loved everyone but myself and thought about everyone and everything excluding myself. Against things I could not concept. Now I understand I should have fought for me not to stop someone from acting in ways they could not manage. Not fighting to save them from themselves. I should have saved me. Should have. Not could. I know this is beyond any understanding of an infant to do.

These characters are me. Are you. Are us. The parts of us we need to look after. Dorothy didn’t drag them along for company, she knew that they more than anyone needed to have their needs met. To be for filled. I just thought they could do a nice wee sing song, I didn’t see the importance of these characters. They where her too. Tote, cute dog, baggage. He was baggage. Pesty thing that wouldn’t stay in the basket and yapped every third scene.

Let’s talk about these witches. Bitches were not fighting over shoes (I blame them for my own shoe fetish, those shoes! ) they where fighting for the recognition of power. Their own worth. Their power of self. Glinda, stepford, supported Dorothy once, left the munchkin land to live in fear and at the very end told Dorothy she always had the power and she just needed to learn it for herself. Like a true failing parent! Like a parent ignorant, selfish and without love strong enough to conquer evil. Elphaba, willing to have a house drop on her sister for the sense of self. Her worth. Her own love. Something so powerful she needed desperately and would not give up fighting for. Finally the wizard, corrupt, evil, yet found the answers so easily his own behaviour became questionable. Like a man.

Shoes are the shiz, but this was not about fashion. This is life. Each one of us stood on that bloody yellow brick road. Each one needing to carry with us on a journey the parts of us most precious. To care for these parts when in alone in the dark, to meet our own needs. To fight against those wanting this skill of ours from us, the power of us. To not listen to those who present the part and fail obviously, put them in a bubble and blow away those peeps. To respect the ones fighting the battle for the same thing. High five the green faced witch as you pass.

I have always feared this film, the fear made me read, see the show, and have quotes from it put up in my home. Now I wonder if actually my child ego knew something I didn’t. A heart cannot be judged on how much it loves others,  or by how much others love you, it can be judged on how much you love yourself.

Now now lucifer…

The first betrayal of grandeur was from the right hand man of God. An angel named lucifer, created with a beautiful voice and of the most stunning appearance, who was blessed with everything a man could want. Or so anyone would believe but him.  His desires drove a darkness and the darkness rose blackening his soul, and to war he went. Of course God had that shit in the bag, or more specifically, he had the throne in a mofo trunk. God being the almighty won the war with the flick of a finger and the downing of a dragon. God cast his right hand man into the world and from that moment on a lifetime of battle commenced.

I know what you are thinking, every seventh sense man sounds exactly like this, you are correct. But what about the ones that start out as angels? What about the angels you trust and love ( without love is betrayal even possible? Ponders). Every one it would seem has the ability to become a devil. Everyone it would seem wants more than the ultimate.

I have spent two years being told that if I befriend men then I should know they are only after one thing. That when I meet men I am usually intoxicated and that there are no exceptions to the motive of men and my judgement is always impaired. I object. I do believe in opposite sexs being friends and I do believe that most people do not say hi whilst thinking what my knickers look like. Mr Duck disputes. So I have not accumulated male friends since being in this relationship, I respect he has insecurities and that it would cause him hurt I could prevent. I will not invite something that could cast doubt and ruin my relationship. He is always my right hand man and I need this ( cough to the Co dependency).

Trust is something I do not have, fools trust. I have always believed that anyone that trusted a partner should be cheated on as a harsh reminder not to be so gullible. I would snigger inside as if the words ” I trust them” translated to ”  I’m a dick. A big one”. Yet something in this relationship has had me beginning to explore that maybe I do trust this duck. Which has me squeezed into a corner cowering and screaming “noooooooooooooooooooo maybe I actually do love him”.  I won’t give him any credit for this tosh, I blame the therapy. Fuckin therapy is destroying my life.

When the duck migrated for winter I had thought that it would inevitably end the relationship. Splitting for me and of course cheating for him. To my surprise the latter didn’t appear to cross my mind. Terrifyingly I allowed myself to accept maybe. Just maybe. I love him. Properly. Like those weirdo normal people. Maybe, even worse, I trust him.

I’M A DICK. A BIG ONE. It came to my attention that MY Duck had been meeting swans. Yep swans. Gorgeous pre baby type swans. Not just that, he had also found it totally acceptable to add them to his social media and to have them liking all his shit in some Facebook code way of saying” I would”. The worst bit, it gets worse, is that days prior to discovery he had once again spoken about his friendships of opposite sexs code. Whist I challenged his views he swore oath he was to be heard and that he himself had not had the company of girls he would friend. LIES!  Sitting next to God for two years just isn’t enough is it lucifer?  So he hung himself with his own rope, probably the same rope he takes his dragon out for a walk with.

I think what infuriates me most isn’t the fact he did this, although I think it invites something when the relationship is already being tested, it’s the fact he has made me feel silly for thinking the way I do. For all those missed opportunities of having some male friends. For feeling like a total cheating whore for just chatting with a man over a cigarette in between my clubbing dance offs. And he lied. He lied about when they were added, vague about circumstances and was totally hypocritical. Because obviously he is now one of those men that only want the knickers. By his own definition. Throw making me appear neurotic for being cross into the cauldron and we have a whole heap of reasons I should walk away.

It matters not what he says about his love for me nor does it matter his explanation, incase you wonder apparently it’s an exception if your travelling.
“All husbands will be leaving the country shortly. Please make your way to gate 6”. Damage done. So whilst I sit pretty with my narcissistic crown and my mofo trunk, I shall for ever more be watching his wings. It doesn’t help when as of late he has lied over moods and purchasing items detrimental to our relationship, his own health and pushed me to question my own sense of worth.

This was the man I saw as my angel. The one I could trust more than any other. The one who I would challenge myself for and risk my beliefs and boundaries to be with. Who I thought would go away and heal and find himself and come back with even bigger wings.

My empire now at least means that whilst he adds and chats away for this month, I comfort myself with the knowledge I go out more, in ways that bring such opportunity. Now the rules have changed, I will not be making a step back with them as suits him. I shall be able to chat and meet and friend and get more likes on my pretty, jeweled dressed, head. I have not cast lucifer into the world, I have instead cast a book of stamps into the museum I build rapidly.

Lessons learnt :every devil was once an angel and every angel can become a devil. I should read the Bible more and I should never ever trust (A word. A promise. A Penis. A man).  Ultimately love and trust isn’t the one it’s absolutely made for the stupid. I am learning quickly what it is that I want from a relationship and I am starting to think I should be doing exactly what I want. I too can be the exception.

It’s not you it’s me.

No one gets it, no one’s see’s and it would be nice to be seen without showing anything. Because this isn’t asking for much. This doesn’t set up a problem for failure. But today was different, today I was very much seen and it came from an unlikely, to me, source. Probably a very likely source according to others, it was my brother. I have often questioned if this is a relationship of some form of Co dependency and in ways I do think so, but how do u break down a relationship with someone that has grown with you and you can’t remember not being in you life? Ponders.

To say I have been near the end as of late is an understatement. I truly feel my show is over and I am ready to bow out. I won’t. My kids trap me into this death sentence called life, but it isn’t stopping my mind from detaching and disappearing into autistic fantasy and suicidal fantasy.  I cried my three year old self out today. It came from no where,  in front of my brother who I like to remain in elder sibling role for. A little bit leaked and then more and more and more. I ended up sobbing my heart out. He listened to my mumbles and understood. Finally someone verified I was okay to feel this. I was right to find it too much. Until I spoke about my duck. It was in this moment my brother smothered me and said ” you are separating. This isn’t you. This is your demons talking to me”. Wahahahahahahahaha. More tears. Because whilst I know I can’t stop the thoughts torturing me. I can’t stop them feeling rational. I think all my thoughts are correct. I can’t trust him. He is a liar. He is selfish. Mean. Doesn’t care. He doesn’t care for me or my little me. I tried speaking to him about how I felt and he just continued to talk about his travels. I sit struggling and he detaches and is probably shagging away anyway. True.

So while I know they may be distorted thoughts (I lie. It’s real. I’m right) I think I don’t really want him back. It’s not the relationship or man for me. This seems like de je vu. I have been here many times. With him. With others. I leave these relationships because the truth comes to light quickly. I put them under the rug and move on. If you can’t escape easily at times escape for good on your one chance.

Now. Now comes the bit I hope is real,the ol’cliche “it isn’t you it’s me”. Why people mock this I don’t know, this seems to be the most honest reason people end relationships. I split, I am paranoid, I’m distrusting,  and I’m young,emotionally and mentally. This is not okay. Why I have ever entertained the idea of being in a relationship is a bloody mystery. It is not fair on anyone to be with me. This is not healthy, happy or normal. I can’t. I try and I try but as it stands, still I can’t do it. If I do then it costs them. Like now I don’t think I will ever not be resentful and hurt over him leaving, over what I see to be deceit of purchases that knowingly hurt me. Over me feeling I pick up after someone’s struggles yet left to struggle alone for a long time, to me it feels. Always feeling he does not show consideration to my needs and feelings. That’s not ok. I should not be so sensitive, but also I should speak more in the first place. I should trust myself more. I doubt myself too much. It’s like I expect someone else to show me the way then become hurt by the way it is. So really.  It is me not you.

I now believe I am not in a place, possibly never will be, to be in a relationship.  My desires, wants and needs are too ideal. I want someone to see me without me saying or showing. I want these insecurities comforted and I want my needs met. My needs are too way out there, too young, for anyone in their right mind to concept or be skilled enough to offer. In front of them is this functioning woman in her thirties managing family and home. How could they? So I think I am about to resign myself to a life repairing and recovering. I have soon to be thirty five years of hurt, badly adapted mechanisms, grief, shame and trauma to recover from. If I can.

If he wants and needs  a life where he can rebuild himself in what ever form it takes really I should take a leaf from this. Not lose myself to his. Likewise for him. The whole thing is now unhealthy, it’s rotted from the inside out because we where both too broken to see or repair as we went. I know enough of him to know he will be feeling the same. He will remember things I say and do and take them as a negative and rejection or disapproval, as a huge narcissistic injury. I don’t want to be another one of these in his life. If I did see this month through and attempt to continue I know I would find his hands tainted and his mind questionable.

So now what? Splitting is a vile thing. I wish I could express how ugly it is and how destroying it is on ones self and those around them. I take the fact that I lasted longer before splitting than I thought as a good thing. Not good enough yet.  I surrender to it, my white flag is up. I went to war and I lost the battle. For me I personally think until I learn to manage these triats and learn to hear what is right and wrong in myself I should be a lone wolf. For the sake of everyone.

I’m annoyed that I have put my children through this. Again. They attach and I rid. They attach and they leave. I’m allowing them to build cycles and beliefs that are not correct. I go into every relationship like it’s marriage with no exception,for better or for worse right? Realistically I’m not fit to make this commitment and I meet people similar.  My word would be squished in court on grounds of my unstable mind. So it should be no different here. I’m annoyed at myself, I’m annoyed at him and I’m annoyed at life for having power over it all. I’m taking the power away.

I do not understand still how I get to this. I don’t fully understand why, protection in some extreme form I guess, and I don’t understand the need for behaviours along the way. I know harm and suicide becomes a given, I want to escape yes, but my mind mostly. It becomes so intense whilst going through this process its like being hurt freshly every time I wake up. We both knew the splitting would happen,  we both knew and had no strategy,  not that I would have known where to begin with that. I find the emotions and thoughts so intense and divided that it’s harder to manage knowing he can heal and enjoy his time. Mostly because,at this time and in this moment, i think I have paid the price.  Corrr I could be talking utter shite. Knowing me this is most likely.  Today. In this night. It’s real.

Grief the complex arsehole

I remember being told by someone when I first started in therapy that I appeared surrounded by grief. Utter tripe. No one close has died that I haven’t accepted or am not at peace with. This in itself is untrue. I never accept death, I just manage to box it up well into a storage container marked Do Not Open.

Therapy of any form is tiring. Intense therapy is horrific. In itself I wonder if I should have therapy for the therapy. It’s a bit like the haribo advert, a room full of mixed aged adults all becoming very young for three days a week. It makes you vulnerable, it breaks you down to your core and as a group you try to grow up all over again at a quicker pace. Finding the most basic of tools most people take for granted yet we never had or have. I sit as a toddler it feels and have to rebuild my whole inner self, I tantrum, I get sad without tears, I revisit past traumas and dig into every relationship I have or have had. I leave at the end of the day like a five year old neglected to be collected from school. Dazed, sad, thoughtful and with all these confusing emotions.

I have been thinking and thinking and working and working on figuring out how I split. Why I split. How not to split and more so how not to totally ruin my relationship and love for my duck at this time. I have known for about a year this was coming and I knew it scared me. This would become a very live opportunity to understand it. I have begun to think of it as grief. Today I was asked  “has he gone? How do you feel?” Meh. I feel meh. I don’t care today. I actually truly don’t care. As if I have never cared. I do not give a fuck. I can’t remember life with him in it. When I force myself to try I don’t remember much good. I can only remember the bad. The good becomes fuzzy and unreal. He becomes like a memory that I can’t catch.

I have thought back over my week and my blogs. I got rid of him,anger,sad, hurt and acceptance.  I know in my head I have been asking myself why I didn’t speak out more. I know the answer. Who am I to change or alter his life? His dreams. It would not have been a fair thing to do. I did not want my batshit pooing on him. The same way I will shut down to avoid it pooing on my children. I will deny myself to avoid impact that I believe is poisoning.  I have always been able to deny my own needs and feelings for the sake of others. I become a martyr in my head, happily and naturally. Or not so it would seem, it goes somewhere,it does something. So all my, why didn’t I’s? If only’s.. become a bargaining process.  I have sat wondering who can experience this range of emotion. So intense. Each emotion like a knife in my stomach.  What is that?

It’s grief. I need to check this out in therapy,but right now I think I experience a form of grief at a supersonic fast pace. It’s got to be a defence in a complicated form. Complicated grief. It fits. I can do this with anyone. Anything. I have. No tears to long relationships breaking down. To people dying. To trauma. I fly through grief. I know from past therapy I don’t actually cope it comes out sideways remember. So surely I fly through grief and spend my forevers with a ton of shit falling out Sideways. Preventable grief? My fault grief? And ohhhhhhhh kick in the many Amsterdam cycles.

I can understand it as “normal grief” in others. Maybe that is why I find supporting my duck and his needs too easy. Because whilst it is from different circumstances the feelings are similar. Their live and fierce emotions and full of angry energy. At everything. Maybe he can’t meet mine because he doesn’t understand how I feel when actually it’s constant fast flitting grief,grief he gets. The repulsive thing about bpd is the black and white,there is no grey. If you feel it you feel like a child. Like an open wound to emotions. I am a three year old carrying a life of grief. Extreme sad, extreme anger,extreme everything. So maybe I’m not mad. Ish? What would any adult do if they had to feel this with an absent inner parent ego. No sense to self soothe. With all the added years of shame binds and self hate and no worth. What do adults do in grief when they believe they caused everything? Or can fix everything? Irrational. What do adults do? Because all I know now is to take away the pain because I can’t soothe. Only recently have I learned a fraction of my needs. I know to burn to stop the anger and pain to take away the self hate that will destroy. I know to escape into drink and music, men and recently drugs. I know to deny myself things like nice food or play with it, this cost me my gallbladder years ago. All old old behaviours. What do normal people do?

So I have gone through my stages of grief. I don’t know if it’s going to continue on this cycle until..what. Or if this is where I get stuck? It scares me somewhat as well as intrigues me. It was put to me in a support call to think back and maybe consider how a toddler communicate trauma? Tears? Tantrums? Odd behaviour. But no words will come. So needs don’t get met, fundamental needs. Is this where it adapted from? Do I act like a toddler unable to put words to trauma,to grief, tothe hurt of trauma. Hurt of not being noticed ( no one’s fault, who would know or guess).  Hurt of my main carers not seeing or meeting my needs that I tried to communicate. I would say so to all. Growing up feeling like their was a failure from my main carer allowing something. Trauma after trauma. Changing traumas. Things that become normal because no one soothes anything. No one protects or prevents. Sees me.

It’s definitely all connecting. It doesn’t explain everything. But it is starting to unravel. All the thoughts that get attached and mechanisms. The ocd. The anxiety I hide. I am forever a child unable to put words to anything,because I have never known it to be met,forever questioning everything about me. About being loved enough to be seen. I hate being seen. Probably because what then?  I never allow anyone to do any different. I almost guided my duck into doing the same. I sabotaged and he didn’t see. Because I won’t be seen. No words. No communication.

This blog is a ton of waffle to anyone I imagine,but it makes some sense to me. I have a huge headache and I am tired beyond anything. What an absolute ton of fuckedy upedy ness.  All this whilst raising three children, protecting them in a way that allows for no loop hole to impact them, meeting their every single need to avoid their future therapy. Never taking time out because I trust no one to look after them well enough. Keeping it to us and us four alone. Parenting in the fiercest protective nature,contending with the ex,supporting loved ones,remembering everything that comes with life..which kid needed the opticians when?  And running a home whilst stepfording is going to be the death of me I am sure. Yes duck. Please let me see the lovely time you are having.  It’s all ridiculous and oddly isolating and lonely.

Oh there it is,the screw this shit, the biggest escape and harm all rolled into one. The thought gives me goosebumps, it’s like someone surrounds me by air I can breath, it makes my head go light and calm. But no. Because then who would do the stuff I have to? Who would look after them? Even then there are too many neglectful people.

I know this is a huge contrast to my last blog. This one is gritty,ultimately I have to remain true to the purpose of the blog and tomorrow I will probably be totally different. It’s Monday and the first day back from the festive season. Surely no one is content right now?2e7befa2eb8202b3b5758a63719d97de

 

 

 

Seventh sense man.

I have more than often wondered how it is that I attract the weirdo men. I have attracted the, if I’m batshit what are you shitting, men. I have attracted the ones that apparently poo nothing then suddenly BAM! Diarrhoea. Then there are the men that just let out some wind and follow through.  However it is that they empty their craziness, I get the crazy. I hear the hypocrisy,let me just say now, I have enough crazy for an army at times. I do not want or need someone else’s crazy. Sadness fine, Crazy no. Two ill bats just create a vampire.

It suddenly struck me that I don’t actually attract this type. They find me. Men I have discovered have a seventh sense,probably because their sixth is weak. Have you ever received a text from a dude and you just sit gawping into your tea asking how they knew you and your manhub had just had an argument? Or you go out feeling totally cak about your looks and attract everyone so you drink more to cope? Or the occasions when they just say the right thing as if they had bugged your telephone conversation with your best gal, listening in to your rants and desires? I am telling you. This is their seventh sense.

Not all men have it. The “normal” ones don’t need it. Their confident in their abilities to get a nice girl, they don’t need to pray on anything. Personally I believe they make up a teaspoon of the male population. I also calculated into the equation the men whose women believe they are good yet everybody else notices the shit pouring out of the bottom of his trousers.

The seventh sense men are in one way or another shitting. Batshit,windshit, BAMshit. But it’s all the same product. These men find the vulnerable in you,with no effort, probably subconsciously on the most part. MOST USED LOOSELY. They know if your weak ( easy is an option to this. Insert if needed), they know if your craving attention, they know that if your five baby daddy’s down your gonna stick with what you get. Their ability to pin down the parts of you that you hate the most and compliment them is uncanny. Ruthless.

When Mr Duck and myself are quaking away, posting, tagging on social media. Nothing. When me and Mr Duck are swimming along loving life and each other. Nothing. When I am so besotted with my duck I could serve him up for dinner. Nowt. No birds near duck. No shit near duck. Life is quackingly great. It quack get better.

But what has happened is this. My duck flew the nest and migrated for winter, suddenly every seventh sense,  praying shitting bird is circling. I sat wondering why I was receiving these random texts, appearances from shitters on my phone all over the place. I mean I like these people! For now! But it makes them questionable. I couldn’t figure out how they sensed the vulnerability. Thank god they don’t read my blog.. One wine and a line of coke would have had me out the nest a day or so ago. But the point is they sense it. The sad bit is I’m currently gluing myself down because they have sensed it so well I have to use everything I have to not reply. Reminding myself that not one of them has anything better than my gorgeous man,that I am a morale woman and most of all, I love my duck. Yes I love my duck. I love wine.. Doh. I love sex.. Doh. I love love love attention.. Triple doh. That’s why I have glue,the best glue. Because despite my wobbles, batshit emotions and not wanting to,their senses are spot on.b001a92ae77938cd36028ca05cd69712

It’s this that has given me some comfort. Like cracking (so want to out quacking. Too much?) a code. I don’t find them,they find me. I am right not to trust the charmers, the ones that lay bread crumbs, the ones so bloody nice you want to strangle them and put them on mute. I always thought crazy attracts crazy. This is true with friends, but with men..nahah.. Vulnerable attracts man crazy, a man with a seventh sense. You are never getting away unless you crack it at the start or call in women’s aid.

The really good thing is, I have been tempted to dance with the devil as of late, the devil’s have knocked my door and asked for my hand to the dance floor and I have not put on my dancing shoes. I am somewhat proud of my batshit self. Not enough to put the birds of shit back in a box, maybe I will keep them as homing pigeons for when I really hit shit. Although for now I have been nice and told them to fly off gently.

But beware girls. They are everywhere.  So the next time you think, wow.. Not wow. The next time you think this one has it all ask yourself what vulnerabilities you have and if he is hitting them all then walk, he is not the duck for you. e600657aee65448904e94b3e9c19d93f

 

Survive next year. Keep the sins.

I’m definitely not one for new years resolutions, to me it is total codswallop. Resolutions are hopes that you actually could achieve but know you won’t. The only real thing about resolutions is that they are put in place to allow you to self sabotage and make your ways and behaviours justifiable because breaking them is the done thing.

I am going into the new year making a therapeutic decision. It’s one that sounds so simple to most but it has taken me a lot of work to believe. I am going to put my worth first. It’s a huge thing really, if you have none or little you allow a lot. What you allow will land and become. It makes confidence and self esteem foggy and also makes life messy and clunky. If I can’t do it for me then it becomes about my children, who should know they are worth the world and should never allow anyone to push their boundaries and adjust their own sense of self worth.

ef051d029e933539119dfd4ce17535f4As for the man,(Mr Duck I shall refer to him as in future, there is significance to this name I won’t explain as it will have you reaching for your sop sick bucket) I’m not sure where I stand. I’m still suffering conflict because I feel my worth has been questioned. My boundaries pushed. It’s a sign of character disregarding the one you love but equally shows they respect their own sense of self worth which is a good thing. So it will take thoughts and ponders.  I whole heartedly hope his experience offers him time to reflect. Time to heal. Time to learn what’s important and reflect on his own behaviours. I hope Mr Duck gains something. I do love him immensely of course. I love that my geek side and his can appeal to one another. I wonder if anyone else would match my pace for venture. He is as tactile as me, he is equally as childish to me in this way. He can be young and of age all together which I relate with. Two people with child and adult egos missing the parent one, stumbling through life together attempting to be the others parent when needed (explains how needs don’t get met easily.. Hm). We share an appreciation for pj’s and alike, we never argue and sleep on it, we let each other have freedom and are willing to say when we want that person back and finally who else would I feel such achievement in winning battleships against. I just wonder if the lack of my needs being met or recognised is going to pull it down. I try hard to meet my own but ultimately isn’t it a sign of caring to meet someone else’s? My coping mechanisms at this time I pray don’t win and another consideration is will our trust become stretched and break. An issue we both have. I miss him dreadfully however it becomes.

What has to be my biggest consideration above all is that I love my children and what I can teach them. A year of putting my worth first should aid teaching them their worth, making my boundary shield stretch and be present.  I would love to practice what I learn more and gift them with the knowledge secretly. Anyone that doubts a mental health mother is foolish. Most of the crazy makes them extremely good mums and if anything has to kill the children it’s the suffocation of love that kills,not the crazy. That is why mums take children in suicide. To protect them not harm. Debate away.

I am going to definitely take lessons from Mr Duck. I need to look after me and do what that requires.  Trips away with friends arranged. Venice in weeks. Prague in months. I am going to arrange life with no dependency. Co dependency is a dangerous game and a hard one to recognise, as well as a tough cookie to break. I feel it’s safe to say (therapy I’m sure in this statement)  I loved him longer and truer than he has I. Not based on his travel decision but based on reflection. Nor through deceit but through grief. Grief is a terrible thing and does terrible and peculiar things to people. It will either offer the gift of recognising the life they have or rob them of the little life they felt they had left.  The latter applies to him. I have to step back and accept my angel wings are defeated with him and maybe let him grow his own. I also have learned in future if circumstances have it, I will definitely be handing out application forms to prospective men. References will be required, any holidays booked to be stated, possibly a doctors note to state mental health issues and of course a CRB check.

So here’s to another year. It will probably be worse than the last because that’s the rule of sod. It is offering a year of life until the next. It is what we do with it, learn from it, and make of it. So it is a commitment of sorts. Let the diets, the gym, the drinking less and others such as go. There is a much bigger picture to a new year and your gonna need that shit to survive. Survive we will,its what we are born to do. So cherish the good, cherish the bad, and cherish every detail in between. Surviving is living and living alone is something we should cherish,especially when it’s something that many struggle to do. If you do it. Do it well.