My mother.

My mother.

The fact that I had to speak with my sister about having a safe place to run to worries me.

The fact that my sister burst out in tears as I spoke terrifies me.

My sister, the one with the wittiest come backs and the sharpest mouth, who goes around with a massive front like the world doesn’t get to her. As an older sister I have never felt more like I have failed her. I should have been the first to notice it was a front, a facde, a way to cope; as I did the same. I acted crule. Distant. Looking back I acted as if no-one cared about me and I didn’t care about anything. I bulit a wall which delevoped into a castle to keep the ‘princess’ safe, and of course it came fully equipped with a fire breathing dragon – my anger. My sisters castle whilst built under the same circumstances; her dragon didn’t breath fire, hers had came equipt with a smart mouth that could cut even the toughest if people down.

Tonight, I told my sister that if she needs a break from my,(our) mother to come to me. That my partner and I will at the least have a sofa with her name on. That she is welcome in our home until things where she lives have calmed, that I will walk back into the house we should call home with her – side by side. Tonight I told my sister that although I am moving on and moving out I will be there to help and defend her. That she could borrow my dragon and seek refuge within my new castle.

I do not want to doubt that our mother tried her best with me and is trying her best with my sister and brother. But there comes a time where trying is not doing enough. When trying becomes empty promises continuously washed away by lack of change; there’s only so many times you can allow youself to be deluded by the improbable. What you’re left with is your own children, your children who should be able to trust their paretns to protect them from harm, understand that blood isn’t always thickier than water and that sometimes friends become the family you need as well as deserve.

Our parents gave us all that they didn’t have growning up. Our parents worked hard for the money they earned to spend it on us first and themselves second. But money doesn’t buy happiness – that saying is not just a saying, not just some fiction strung together to impress and inspire the young and niave, to keep the less wealthy in line. This saying is factual. Money does not buy happiness. I am not saying as kids and as we are now we aren’t happy, for we, i’d like to believe are and will continue to find happiness and comfort in the small things, the assitance of friends who help us through the hardship; friends who become more blood than blood itself. We find it buried within the days without arguments or worry of an argument as we walk through the door. Days where we don’t tip toe around the house for fear of an eruption,collision, disruption, days where our voices don’t fall upon deaf ears or to be met with the respone”respect has to be earnt” What I’ve come to lean is this, that phrase is a two way street and if you as parents can’t automatically respect the ones who look up to you with all the love in the world and more – then why should you receive my respect let alone trust.

I am not going to go into depth of specifics for there’s no need. People belive what they want, and who are you to believe the words a stranger has typed. I wouldn’t. Not whole heartedly. So no I shall not ransack my mind for the events I call trauma. I shall not relive the memories I chose to forget from a childhood best forgotton and moved on from. Yet still the damage is done and it continues to be an issue.

Instead i’ll say this.

My mother, is a specifc person. One I believe wants to do good but can’t always communicate it well. She, I, belive has gone through somehting of her own which she won’t express to her children, or perhaps just me. I belive that she believes, or at least once upon a time, that she was a bad mother – because I heard the words come from her mouth. My mother is not a mum to me. But I prayed she would have been more of one to my siblings. That she would almost learn from what binds us (my mother and I together) and take a less defensive stance with my siblings. Sadly I use to wish for this change as I grew up and never saw a change and have no eveidence that this change will occur, yet I shall remain hopefull however I will most definatly keep a strict eye and ear to the ground in regards to the on goings with that household because the second I become aware of somehting that should not be occuring my newly and well trained dragon will come out to defend again, only I won’t be the one to defend.

I would like to state that I am not a mother yet, I do not fully know the stresses and pressures a mother faces. I do however know how to be a decent person. Everyone knows how to be a decent person, it’s just making a conscinous choice to help others and not to berate unnecessarily. Now some people will look at mine or my siblings life and question why I am complaining. Since we didnt go a day without food or go to sleep without a bed.

I am writting this because for 20 years I have delt with my mother and the second I moved out for uni I recived a text from my sister saying “mum’s doing to me what she did to you” and it broke my heart that my sister is going through what I went through, that i’m not there to help her. I should be able to trust my mother, it worries me that I can’t.

Today I had a conversation with my sister about a safe place to run to and it makes me happy that she knows she has me.

I hate this feeling.

I hate this feeling.

I don’t understand where it comes from. I don’t know why it happens. All I know is that once it starts I can’t seem to get out of it by myself. I don’t even know what it is.

The intensity could drown me in my own tears if I did’t at least try to fight them back; regardless of if I am alone or enclosed by a swam of people. It’s so sudden, like a switch has been flicked in my brain. Removing all feelings of security and comfort, replaced with doubt, fear and self loath. It won’t stop. The one thing to be grateful for is that it doesn’t happen everyday but in someways doesn’t that make it worse? The not knowing, the sneak attack my own brain can perform, the uncertainty of it all.

I’ve just had a really nice day. A barbecue with my family underneath the protection of the glowing sun. Burgers, hot dogs, Kebabs. Potato salad, olives, cocktails. Flowing conversations about my blessing of a relationship accompanied by jokes that filled the air with laughter and our faces with smiles. Once finished I met an old friend where we went for drinks and then to an arcade. One of the small ones attached to a bowling ally. The clanging of fallen pins and heavy bowling balls echoing which chaperoned the dropping metal pennies all to synchronised with five second theme tunes as a new player takes on a new level on space invaders.

Yet despite this, I still feel like I don’t belong, like i have no one to talk to but here’s the catch I do not even know what I would talk about. This feeling that everyone has someone and I am just an after thought, just there waiting to be picked. I hate it. Feeling as if no one actually cares about/ for me. Everyone would rather be with someone else. How do people fit in? How are people accepted? Why can’t i seem to do? Why do i always convince myself that I am an outsider, invited out of pity. I hate this feeling. Worthlessness. I want to do more to fit in with people, to help more but lord knows I get anxiously awkward and just make things worse for myself. There has got to be a way to fight this though do I have the constant and consistent energy to? So many questions and with too few of an answer. Days like this I long to be’normal’ to be happy. To not have to burden myself with the deep dark dungeon of my imprisoned mind.

I know I can talk to my partner about this, however, I also know that he has so much going on and so many other little stresses that he doesn’t necessarily need my addition. Or even still, the guilt I would feel about bringing down his mood to match mine – isn’t that just selfish ? He’d still be there though, to help me as he has done before.

I have previously started to see someone for my anxiety so I hope to bring this up to her and get her wisdom but until then this shall be my outlet. My source of sanity and sanctuary. A place to escape the confinement of my conscience. Therefore I shall be thankful for this.

I’ve been delaying writing about this, which is somewhat ironic.

I have a massive issue with communication. More specifically I dislike telling people my opinion or true feelings. The idea of burdening someone who is most likely going through their own stuff, with my additional issues makes me feel like I’m being selfish and definitely guilty. Moreover I also believe my reluctance to express myself has to do with the relationship I had with my mother growing up. For whenever I did express my opinion it would result in world war 3. Primarily I believe my mother to be a factor because we have never seen eye to eye and it didn’t help that we have the temper so when things didn’t get communicated correctly we would collide.

As a result of this being a weekly ritual I think I’ve carried the concern that if I express my opinion, then someone will disagree or not fully understand my point thus causing an argument. So to prevent this I would simple agree or shut myself off from the situation. (This route is most common I’ve found with me when already in an argument and fear that expressing myself would only make it worse – “if you have nothing nice to say than don’t say anything at all”) .

I’m not 100% sure about what my deal with not being upfront and honest with my emotions is, that I’m still trying to figure out. Most commonly when someone doesn’t open up about their emotions it can be due to the fact that they don’t won’t to be vulnerable, particularly with those they often care for the most.

I suppose in my case that could be a viable evaluation of myself as well but I’m going to leave the diagnostic to the professionals.

Despite all this there are only 2 situations I’ve come across so far where I have expressed my opinion without regard of how the other may take it:

Situation 1 – when I’m so far beyond angry or annoyed that I loose my filter and whatever I’m thinking just blurts out.

Situation 2 – when Ive been drinking and the time comes for me to stand up to a friend most commonly against a guy who won’t leave us be.

(28th May 2019)

The Enemy That Is Isolation

The Enemy That Is Isolation

For as long as I can remember I’ve always lugged around around the weight of being an outsider.

The feeling of being an outsider and isolated from those you hold closest, is one that creeps up on sporadically. It’s as if it hunts me down. Preying on me from afar so I don’t notice, lowing my guard due to a false sense of security, all the while observing my every emotion. Logically waiting for the perfect moment to strike . To consume and plague my mind, my thoughts, my emotions. Making the good thoughts sour whilst the sour thoughts turn to darkness.

All I’m left with is an eternal war that seems to never have an ending. The constant battle that manifests between serotonin and the enemy that is isolation.

As that battle escalates another one begins – to cry or to hide. I find myself trapped between if I should maintain a fake facade that I’m perfectly perfect or to allow myself to confine in someone I trust. The main issue I have with this is to be able to to talk to someone I trust I have to first believe that I can trust them and they do care for me. Isolation has many a time made sure to inform me that any said person I trust and care do doesn’t reciprocate those feelings. In layman’s terms I’m left feeling like no one could give any sort of flying fuck, shits or cunts about me.

In order to win the war I need to learn and truly believe that the issue is not that no one cares but rather just the monster.

(26th May 2019)

We don’t function well as human beings when we’re in insolation

Robert Zemeckis

Fear As Motivation

Fear As Motivation

My motivation for life has been made abundantly clear to me the past few weeks, it’s fear. Fear is the sole thing that gets me up 2 hours early for work when it’s a 30 minute walk down the road. Nevertheless fear is also the reason I don’t do a lot of things.

When presented with something I’ve not myself come across or done before my mind floods with ‘what if’s’. Successfully drowning any positives or good experiences that could come from it. Basically in this sense fear is like a tall solid brick wall that casts a deeper than black shadow over me.

For myself to actually leave this metaphorical shadow and get back in the light and earth logically I’d have to break down the wall. That bits obvious yet what isn’t so obvious is how I’m supposed to be able to do that. This wall has been ever growing for years whilst I’ve been cowering as far away from it as possible, hopelessly attempting to pretend that it isn’t there.

“Everyone is scared of what they don’t understand”. That probably explains simply why I fear this wall so, I don’t understand where it came from or when it first started to be built. Was it built slowly over a period of time? Has it just always been there? Did one act cause it to form over night as it were?

We are more often frightened than hurt; and we suffer more from imagination than from reality.
 Seneca

24th May 2019

Dealing With Stress.

Dealing With Stress.

Everyone deals with stress in their own way. There are those of us who count to 10, others go for a walk. I, however, take the approach of having a complete breakdown – but that’s okay.

Stress and anxiety and the two things I feel like I have always dealt with yet I’ve never known where they stemmed from. Think I just always assumed it was simply who I am( to be cheesy ‘ part of my DNA’). To backtrack slightly by “dealt with” I definitely mean by not dealing with it at all. I use to write about what would make me feel anxious or stress, it helped for a while. Until it became apparent that my mother would leave comments under my entries to infuriate and frustrate me – my mother is an entry for later. Long story short writing no longer felt like a private, secure outlet; so I proceeded to find an unhealthier alternative to cope.

In situations where if experience high levels of stress or anxiety I would turn to pinching my hand; between my thumb and index fingers. This act became a way of distracting my mind by allowing myself something else to fixate on. The discomfort or pain would block thoughts of worry from penetrating my mind. If I remember correctly I began doing this about 4 years ago, in my last few years of secondary school, but not thinking much of it or regarding it as that much of a big deal, it continued.

The pinching wouldn’t occur every time I felt like I was drowning in stress or worry only on occasion. Still I don’t know what exactly triggers it but I wish to find that out with help.

(23rd May 2019)