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.

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