Interesting Fireworks Photos – (IMO)

This morning I went to clear my camera when I realised that some of the images I took at last nights firework display, hadn’t transferred.  Among all the appalling shots,  I did quite like the following ones because of their colours and shapes.

The first shot below, a close up firework shot was taken when I had the camera set to the wrong ISO at 400, it also used a 2 second exposure time so I am not sure how it actually came out so clear.  I guess the more practice I get, the more I will understand how shots evolve…

I absolutely love this next shot, it reminds me of a flowing horse main or a tidal wave.  I especially like the rusty colour, but also decided to mess around with hues in Photoshop to produce the second image in purple.  The original shot, taken as seen below, was shot at a 149mm focal length, ISO 100 and 3 second exposure at f/11.

Image below – hue adjusted in Photoshop.

Finally I just love the neon glow of colours in this shot, especially how the smoke captures the colour too.  This image was also shot at ISO 400, so I assume there would be more detail where the white flashes are, if I had remembered to lower it before hand!  Focal length was 70mm and a 4 second exposure time.

All images taken on my Canon 350 (EOS Digital Rebel).

Paralysed by Emotions

I think I understand why women find it so hard to leave a domestic abuse situation, because if they feel anything like I do now, the pain of walking away from the man they love is even more painful than anything he has ever done to me.  This sounds crazy even as I write it, but I am simply writing how I feel right now.

I took an injunction out against him on Thursday and since then the pining for him and the sense of loss has multiplied, ten fold.  Each day isn’t getting easier, it is getting worse.  I don’t want to leave my house because he lives close by and if I go out, I look for him.  I mean, I don’t go out of my way to look for him but simple things like passing the park, going to the local shop etc, places where I might have bumped into him before, I look out for him.  Yet if I see him, I will probably break down in tears, or my resolve will weaken or my body will shake.  It is better to stay indoors.

When I go to bed at night, I look out of my window to see if he is walking by, even though he isn’t likely to be and can’t anyway because of the injunction, I still look for him, longing. Then I get into bed and sleep on the side that he would sleep on when he stayed over, because my side doesn’t feel right without his arms around me, despite the fact we rarely got chance to spend the night together.  Then I wrap the duvet around me and hug my pillow so tightly, imagining I am in his arms.  How could I have felt so safe in his arms, with all the fear he was able to instill in me?  Perhaps because when I was wrapped in his arms, I was safe from his outbursts?

I find myself often in a state of suspended animation, about to carry out a task when thoughts of him enter my mind and suddenly I am frozen to the spot, lost in my daydream. Or I will be staring at my phone, willing for it to ring, willing for him to call me or to text me.

I check my emails constantly, wondering if he will in any way try to reach out to me again.

And now I am at paralysis mode.  It took every ounce of strength within me this morning, to get myself out of bed and I’ve made it as far as the sofa.  Why?  Because I miss him so badly.  I miss his voice, I miss his face, I miss the long conversations we had, I miss everything about him, apart from the abuse and the destruction.

Last night whilst watching Hollyoaks Later, there was a scene which involved violence to a woman.  The character Mick who plays Joel’s step father, grabbed Theresa by the hair and dragged her into a fair ground ride, before punching her in the face.  Her face came off worse than mine ever did but it was when he dragged her by her hair that the flash backs started, quickly followed by tears.  A following scene between Bart and Lola, depicted a young couple mesmerised by each other, passionately kissing in a water fountain.  The flash backs of violence were fast replaced by flash backs of passion and intense feelings of the love I feel for my Ex.  The way the couple took each other in each others arms, it could have easily have been him and I in that scene.

I don’t even need to close my eyes to picture him, he is all I can see at the moment, all I can taste, all I can smell and all I want.

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but emotions are paralysing me.

Emotionless

 

 

So apparently ‘he’ aka ‘The Faulty Model‘ has been told he is emotionless.  That explains why he can so easily hurt me mentally and physically without accepting responsibility or blame.  Does this mean then, that every ‘sorry’ he has given me has been just a word?  Every ‘I Love You’, meaningless?  Every lie, easy to tell.

Probably.

 

Songs To Help You Cry

In the past few days I have come to terms with the fact that crying is an essential part of healing, or at-least, taking the first step to getting over someone.  I am a major ‘bottler’ when it comes to emotions and tears.  Yes, I may well take mild release in the form of writing, but it is very rare that I actually ‘let go’ of my emotions.  This comes from a deep, in -grown fear that if I start to cry, I will not stop.  A fear that has proved to be perfectly justified over the past few days.  I allowed myself, my grief.  I allowed myself, my heartbreaking, remedial, releases of pain.  I allowed myself to feel angst.. and goodness me, have I felt angst?!  However, it actually hasn’t killed me.  My tears have not debilitated me, as i’d once assumed they would.  My pain has not stopped me from functioning, entirely.  In-fact, I have carried about my business as per normal, if not better than normal.  The thing that has helped me cry, has also given me strength….

The healing power of Music.

Musicians write their songs either through personal experience, or deliberately to touch a part of us that we didn’t know existed.  Music is a great soul cleanser.

I have for once, allowed myself to cry, and I’ve cried to the following songs….

Where possible I will link the music videos with the lyrics, because it reaches the soul faster!

My favourite on my ‘crying’ play list at present is Battle and Victory, by Nancy Elizabeth.  I was sat in a pub waiting for a train when I first heard it and one line first jumped out at me, “This thing feels so frightful”.  I immediately tagged the song using Shazam.  Since playing it back over and over again, I understand the lyrics deeper every time.  It’s a very sad and gut wrenching song.

The following song, Breathe – Delilah, has helped me through many an episode of domestic abuse.  “I am strong, when I am quiet”.

The next song denotes not only my pain, but my battle with alcohol addiction and how it related to my relationship.  “Without you to hold, I’ll be freezing”.

This amazing song is my all time heart-breaker.  The song is beautiful, the words are amazing, the clip from a move “grace of my heart” that I have yet to watch, but want to, is so well played.  “God give me strength!”.  Please listen to every word of this song if you need to release emotion from the pain of an abusive relationship.

This final song in this series of pain, just about says it all… “Say you want me here, but why you have to be mean to me?”.  A beautifully sung, song, by Delilah.

Please, let the tears flow.  Do not be ashamed to cry and do not be afraid to feel.  I cried, I am still here and now I am moving onto the next playlist… coming soon :D

Take Care, Be Strong, Be Brave.

Love Little Emz xxx

In My Dreams

 

The hardest part of leaving you behind, is knowing that I will still see you in my dreams.  If I could erase you from my memory, life would be so much easier to deal with.  However, I can also embrace my dreams of you, whilst I sleep to revisit the times when we were happy, our electrifying love for each other as static and fizzing as it always was.  In my dreams I can remember everything good and feel the happiness we at times, shared.  In my dreams, there is no violence, there is no pain, there is no sadness.  We are as one.  The hardest part of leaving you behind, is waking from seeing you in my dreams.

 

Brave The Fear

when life gives you something that makes you feel afraid, that's when life gives you a chance to be brave

 

Moving on from domestic abuse is very scary indeed.  We question whether or not we can live without our abuser, especially since they have been in control of so much of us for so long.  We miss them even though we know there is no other way, that they will never change.  The thing I fear most is the heartbreak that I feel.  Cutting myself off completely is proving incredibly difficult.  It took me all my strength today, to finally change my phone number, until which point I had feared doing so because I knew that whilst he was still contacting me, he was still thinking about me; maybe still loving me.  By changing my number I will not know whether or not I am on his mind, at least not as much.  However, it is a necessary requirement.  The lesser of two evils, as the fear of being at his hands once more, is far worse.  The fear of any further damage to my emotions or my property, far outweighs the fear of loneliness in the grand scheme of things.  I took a brave step today, a small step but a brave one.  Whatever your fear, embrace your courage.  It isn’t impossible, you can do it.

Little Emz x

Lost

 

I actually don’t know what to do with these feelings.  I am not drinking, so I can’t mask them.  The hurt is unreal.  The tears wont stop.  Please make it stop, please make this pain go away.  I miss you so badly but I hate your f**king guts.  But I don’t.  I love you.  Why do I love you?  You don’t deserve my love, you don’t deserve my tears.  You don’t deserve me.  So why do I feel like this?  Why do you have such a hold over me?  Everyone that I know, that knows you, hates you.  My family hate you, my friends hate you, my kids hate you.  Why do I love you?  How? Why? So, so confused.

 

To Your Better Side

 

If you had a better side, I would appeal to it.  I’d ask it to open up and admit to all the pain you’ve caused.  It would accept responsibility for your actions and offer to pay me back for the damage you caused and the money you stole.  It would tell me that you love me like you’ve loved no other.  It would understand why we can no longer be together and leave me well alone, yet still do everything possible to change you for the better, for ever.

If you had a better side, none of this would ever have happened.

But it did, and you don’t.

 

Reality Isn’t Such A Bad Place

I have spent over half my life trying to escape from reality, by whatever means.  Drugs, Alcohol, Sex, Extreme activities… whatever I could do to escape the pain of normal life and also my feelings, I would do. After pulling through the cataclysm of my life last year I thought that nothing else bad could possibly happen to me, in my eyes I’d been through pretty much all one person could take.  I had gained a little strength and a little hope, only to then be on the receiving end of a seriously violent relationship.  The incidents that happened were so severe that I  wondered how I was ever going to cope or get over it.  This time, however, albeit after about a month of trying to hide and escape, I decided that rather than try to escape my reality, I was going to try to face it.  I started taking small, tiny, steps to reduce my alcohol intake and avoided going down the slippery path of the white powder.  I began putting little things in place to prepare myself for a major turn in my life.

Those little steps turned into giant strides about a week ago, in which I made the decision to stop smoking, eat healthy and dramatically reduce my alcohol intake. I’ve recorded this on another blog www.sobrietydiary.com.

Over the past week, I have actually found it easier to cope when hit with flash backs and pain, I have been stronger and more understanding of myself and have overcome the moments faster.  On top of this, my house is spotless, the laundry is up to date, I am well organised, I haven’t shouted at the kids in about a week, I’ve been more productive, and more importantly I’ve started to enjoy the world around me.

Trying to escape from reality doesn’t make it go away, the issues will always be there when you come back down to earth and they are normally ten times worse.  Alcohol and drugs take the edge off the pain but we all know that painkillers don’t heal wounds, they make you more likely to sustain further injury for trying to function when something is broken.

I never thought I would hear myself say this, but pain isn’t such a scary thing, neither are negative emotions.  With a little bit of work and some self belief, both can be overcome and happiness restored.

Reality isn’t such a bad place after all.  I think I might stay here now.

xx

Don’t Waste Your Time on Anger and Revenge

After my flash backs yesterday caused by a very small thing that set off an almighty trigger, I have been left feeling very raw.  After my session, I spent pretty much the entire day with angry thoughts going through my head, reeling at the images of what he had done to me and how generous, kind-hearted and, let’s face it, damn stupid, I had been to even try to forgive him and move on in a relationship with him. Then I started thinking about how he is living his life, swanning around as if nothing has happened.  In his head, I am an utter bitch for leaving him.  He is the one who has received an injustice because he I am no longer with him.  He is the one apparently entitled to bad mouth me whenever he see’s me in public, because I gave up on him.

I then thought about the raw facts, he is a violent rapist and he is walking around as if nothing has happened.  I want to tell his land lady, that the man she apparently has a crush on… Oh Wait! hang on a minute, of course lets back track now.. does she really have a crush on him or did he tell me that, just to make me want him more?  -snap back to the present – It’s irrelevant.  I want her to know she is housing and employing a rapist.  Next time I am in public and he bad mouth’s me, I want to shout back at him, in front of everyone, like he does to me, that its him who is bad, he who is a rapist and an abuser.  I even had thoughts of getting a can of spray paint and painting it all over the house he lives in.  Then as my anger grew, so did the darkness of my thoughts.  Next time he shouts at me in public, I am going to smash a glass in his face or pick up a rock and hit him over the head.

STOP RIGHT THERE!

Just a few hours later and where am I?  Lost in a trail of dark and bleak thoughts, my anger growing fiercer, the volcano in my stomach about ready to erupt.  The violence of my thoughts making me no better a person than he is!  And all for what? Are my thoughts hurting him?  Would I really ever carry out such acts?  The answer is NO!  He can’t read my thoughts, and I could never hurt another person in such a way.  That is, after-all, the reason I chose not to press charges.  He has children that he loves very dearly.  How would they cope, with all they have been through in their young lives, finding out that their Daddy, the man they look up to, is capable of such vicious and nasty behaviour?  I didn’t press charges, in order to protect them, and him I guess. He would have lost everything if I’d have done so.  So, No! I wont be telling his landlady or carrying out any of the other acts of revenge that my subconscious plotted throughout my spate of angry hours.

Today after another breakdown, this time in my assessment for counselling, caused by acknowledging the fact that the man I loved, hurt me so badly and chose to pretend it never happened in his mind, I felt angry again.  Once more I found my subconscious plotting and scheming ways to pay him back.  Once more I found my anger growing.

The only person I am hurting by having these thoughts is myself.  As I said, he can’t read my mind, he can’t feel my anger and even if he could, he would deny responsibility for it and turn it not acknowledge its meaning.  There is just no point in getting angry, even less point in revenge.  Revenge gives them a way back in, revenge gives them ammunition to make the perpetrator look like the villain.  Revenge is a dish best served cold and one that Karma will serve in its own time, without our intervention.

A short while ago, today, I heard that my ex has jacked one of his jobs in, after being pulled up on the standards of his work.  I heard about it as it was a job cleaning our local pub.  Apparently he told the well-respected landlord and landlady, to stick their job up their ****.  Of course word of this has spread like wildfire.  I have heard also, that the landlord visited my ex at home in order to resolve things.  He was greeted by the landlady of the house, who confirmed that she also notices his poor standards where his job is concerned.

I do not need to show people his true colours, he is doing that all by himself.

It Is OK To Cry

This morning whilst attending my course, The Phoenix Program, a course designed to help female survivors of domestic abuse, I realised that it is OK to cry.  At first, as the tears started to roll, whilst flash backs to hideous memories played like video tapes in my minds-eye, I felt rather embarrassed.  As the tears streamed faster, I left the room to try to compose myself, something I only managed to do after being physically sick.

It was then that I understood, that my crying was nothing to be ashamed of.  I haven’t had a good, emotional release for several weeks now.  I had attended this mornings session, with my usual smile and brave face.  My subconscious working her tired little self to the bone, trying to convince me that everything in my world, my emotions, my life, were all fine and that I was over the worst of it.

It only took one little thing to send my emotions cascading, but that is OK.  Crying isn’t a sign of weakness.  It is a show of strength and courage.

If you feel the need to cry, let it go.  If you see other’s cry, reassure them that it is fine to do so. Allow them their release, see the strength within them.

Motherhood – My Battle With My Stubborn 3 Year Old

*Sigh*  This morning I woke up with my beautiful little girl all snuggled into me, so warm and lovely.  Then when she woke up, the battle resumed.  Yesterday I had spent an hour and used every method of discipline and negotiation that I know of, to try to get my daughter to say, “Sorry” after she had kicked me in the shins whilst I was already trying to get her to stay put on the time out step.

The main problem that I have with my daughter, is that she is so head strong.  I admit she has been wrongly spoiled in the past 3 years, I was a working mother and had to send her to a childminder from just a month old.  Then I split with her father, then all sorts of catastrophes have happened that have resulted in me lavishing her with all the things she loves in order to keep her smiling.  Of course I know this is wrong.  I didn’t do it with my son to this extent and still don’t.  My daughter though, now presents herself as a little Diva who will put her foot down, say “No!” and WILL NOT back down from this.

Yesterday, during the hour of the battle of the wills, she screamed the house down, called for her mummy, then when I attempted to talk to her calmly she pushed me away again.

We have just moved into this house and I feel the move has upset her, not to mention the fact that my own emotions are being picked up by her after the recent misfortunes I have suffered.  I am feeling wracked with guilt and I know she is testing me, she is totally pulling me to her then pushing me away.  She will battle against me but then doesn’t want to leave my side.

Is this a stage she is going through or could this be a deeper matter, is it that she is a very confused and upset little girl?

I want to wrap her up in cotton wool, hold her for hours and tell her how much I love her (which I do) but I also can’t allow this behaviour to continue.

Any advice from Mother’s who have been through this would be so appreciate right now!

 

Why?

Everytime I close my eyes
I can see u by my side
Deep inside I want to die
So hard for me to say goodbye
Good memories make me sigh
The Hurt you caused makes me cry
Everything you said, a lie
Loving you, I can’t deny
No matter how hard I try
Away from here, I want to fly
Will this pain pass me by?
Why did you do this, WHY?

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Do You Feel Bigger Now?

KAKHUN-WART 05 domestic abused violence conjugale

It’s not my fault that you feel small,

Nor is it my fault that you must hurt me,

so that you can feel big.

Did it feel good to you holding that knife?

Did it feel good to pull me by my hair?

Did it make you feel big?

When that blade cut into my neck,

Heroically you helped stop the bleeding you’d caused.

Did it make you feel big?

When I begged you to stop hurting me,

And you told me you were teaching me a lesson.

How very big did you feel?

When I needed the toilet but untrusting of me,

You wouldn’t let me go by myself.

Did THAT make you feel big?

When you strangled me and I pretended to pass out,

So you thumped me in the chest to save my life,

Really, did that make you feel big?

When taking my body for your personal use,

For hours, despite my non consent and tears,

Did you feel big?

When you took my phone from me,

When you gained total control,

Did you feel big?

You told me I make you feel small,

So you took me down as small as you could make me feel.

Do you feel bigger now?

The End Of The Road

I have been mulling all day over words going around in my head, trying to write a poem about how I am feeling rather than just write.  However, I have hit road blocks all the way and now I am at a point where I just need to get this off my chest.

I have been writing recently about my boyfriend, in-fact I started my blog writing about him when I posted ‘A Crazy Little Thing Called Love‘.  My relationship with him has certainly been an ongoing posting topic and you’ve watched as I have stumbled through my emotions, allowed myself to fall in love and then became faced with the issue of domestic violence.  I have received advice from my followers as well as my family and friends, all alerting me to the fact that I really needed to get out of this relationship and I did try to, I really did.

Emotions are something that I struggle to deal with, especially negative ones.  They eat away at me and break me down.  Over the past few weeks my heart and my head have been having an emotional tug of war.  My heart aching constantly for the happiness that I missed, my head screaming at me to stay away from the danger.  Even my subconscious was sending me messages in my dreams, as I wrote in my dream journal.  I knew going back to him would be taking a risk but I couldn’t ignore the constant churning in my stomach, drumming round and around making me feel sick all the time with the massive sense of loss I felt.  It’s these kind of feelings that put me on edge and make me anxious and it is these kinds of feelings that put me at risk of self-medicating to suppress them.  My heart won, or rather the negative emotions won.

I had arranged to meet him for a drink so we could talk about things, however I had spent the day with a friend at the seaside and we had such a lovely day we decided to keep each others company.  We went to my local for a drink and ‘he’ was in there.  So as to show no hard feelings and possible so to convince my friend that everything was actually OK, I introduced them.  Then we all played pool together.  We laughed and joked, it felt like old times (old being just 3 weeks ago).  I sought my friends approval though it wasn’t granted.  Choosing ignorance over acceptance I continued having fun until it was time for my friend to leave.  I saw him to his train then returned to the pub.  The drink continued to flow and fun was being had by all.  At one point, he and I, kissed.  A long, slow wonderful kiss that sent shivers up my spine.  Just like old times.  I craved him, I needed him.

We left the pub and fresh air hit me along with the realisation of what I was doing and I went into a dangerous head space.  I think my behaviour was intended to test him, to see how far I could push him and if he would snap or if he would be true to his word by exercising calm and by not lashing out.  It didn’t take much, we made it just a short walk before he snapped and threw my pool cue in my face.

I was wrong to push him, but none the less, it proved that he had been dishonest and was not able to control his temper.

I set myself and him up to fail and have been licking my emotional wounds all day.  I saw him at the shop earlier and we blanked each other.  I cried on my way home.  I have been fighting back tears since.

I have learned my lesson the hard way.  There is no more going back.

My heart is still trying to pull me away from the sensibility of my head.  It will not win this time.  It can’t.

That last sentence reads as though I am trying to convince myself.  I am.

I Understand.

Drunk Father

I have always said that if I were a victim of domestic abuse or violence at the hands of a loved one, that I would walk away.  I just didn’t get how women would allow themselves or their children to suffer over and over again at the vicious hands of another.

That was until the other day.

On Sunday I posted a light hearted, humorous post called The Faulty Model, needing to offload the hurt I was feeling about an incident that had happened the night before.

The day after that post, the Faulty Model in question was around my house, apologising, shouting at me, then talking softly to me and trying to convince me that he was regretful, devastated and deeply shocked about the fact he had knocked me about the night before.  I was already blaming myself anyway.  After-all, I am a wayward person with a feisty and somewhat challenging personality.  When I get drunk I do it in style and I can be a first class bitch.  I even felt ashamed that a male friend of mine had called round out of the blue at an inappropriate hour, asking for me by name, apparently; naturally causing the suspicion that warranted the anger and abuse that followed.

I looked at my black eye, swollen, incredibly tender arm, and bruised legs, full of self shame – that I could have pushed someone so laid back, to lash out in such a horrible way, further more in front of my son.  I lied to my son, telling him that the black eye was caused by my falling over drunk and that things weren’t as bad as they looked.  He believed me, naturally.

All my friends have been warning me against being so stupid as to allow this person anywhere near me again.  They pointed out that this wasn’t the first incident.  A few weeks back, he pushed me over in the garden as I was trying to calm down a potential argument which could have woken my kids.  Then last weekend, I found myself fearing for my life in a hotel room after he mistakenly thought he could take from me, what he wanted.

The latter incident, I also blamed myself for.  I gave him the benefit of the doubt because I had led him on a sexual journey of excitement and adventure that he clearly didn’t understand.  In hind-sight, there is no excuse for him not stopping.  I used a safe word, 2 in-fact, and he ignored them.  Of course I was going to be frightened for my life and maybe I was right to have been.  Who knows what would have happened if the hotel manager hadn’t knocked the door.  All that said, I heard from him the next day that he was in A&E after trying to take his life in the back of a police car, which racked me with guilt.  I had taken him into that world, therefore I felt responsible.

I also felt responsible for what happened on Saturday night.  I had really been looking forward to him coming home from his time out, which he needed in order to gather himself back together and visit his roots.  Although I had been looking forward to him coming back, I felt quite happy being in the local pub, being a social butterfly whilst he was away and I did end up getting quite drunk, playing pool and having fun.  As he arrived I was struck with guilt, that I had allowed myself to get drunk and for some strange reason, I ignored him when he got back.  If he had have done that to me I would have gone nuts.  Naturally he felt he had received a kick in the teeth.  Later at home, I felt bad and invited him round.  It was then we ‘made up’ and it was not long after that, my friend called round.

What ensued was a catalogue of accusations, that I was cheating on him etc.  The rest was a blur.  I remember being thrown around the room, I remember being thrown out of my house against a brick wall and I remember clutching my son as the faulty model tried kicking my door in.  I hid behind a car, called my father who arrived and took my son away for the night.

The next morning I wake barely able to put any pressure on my arm, I notice a fat lip and black eye.  Later in the day I notice bruises all over my calf muscles.

I digress.

Monday Morning, Faulty Model had convinced me he was sorry, that he’d never done it before (except he had, twice to me) and that he would never do it again.  I convinced myself that it was all my fault.  I loved him, the sex was amazing, our teamwork was amazing and we were happy.  I didn’t want to let him go.

Last night I barely slept, I had resigned myself to the fact that if I was going to continue seeing him (despite the fact our holiday was now a no-go, I had to cancel work because I couldn’t have his help any more and our children could no longer be friends), it was going to have to be in total secret from the world.  Last night I missed him terribly.  My bed felt empty and cold.  I was insatiably horny and could think of no one else who could satisfy me.  I missed his smile.  I missed his soft skin.  I missed his body.

This morning, my male friend got in touch with me. I asked him why he didn’t stick around.  He told me he felt awkward and so he told the faulty model that he was looking for John and obviously had the wrong house.  At this point I remind you that the barrage of abuse I received was due to the fact that, apparently, the male had asked for me by name, then scampered.  When in-fact the truth of the matter is, that in the eyes of the faulty model, there was actually no reason to be suspicious at all.  No reason to be jealous and certainly no reason to throw me here, there and everywhere.

Suddenly the words of my friends rang true.  I realised that I had done very little to deserve the bruises I now wear.  According to my friends, even if I had been cheating, I still didn’t deserve these bruises.  My son didn’t deserve to hear lies telling him that I was on drugs.  They are right.  I didn’t deserve it in the first place, let alone now.  Yet the Faulty Model was quite happy to use my own shame and insecurities against me in order to not lose me.

It doesn’t stop there.  I have received yet more abuse today.  Apparently I am a waste of space.  He has posted sick notes through my door, which my son could have found.  He is trying to manipulate me still, by saying he is now signed off sick for depression.

The scary thing is, as strong as I am, ( believe me I am one of the hardest mother f**king B*tches on this planet) I still felt like I owed him. I blamed myself.  I believed that everything that has gone wrong, was my fault.

I am now totally gutted.  How could someone I loved so dearly, be so nasty to me?  How could he strike me, then call me every name under the sun because I haven’t bowed to him?

I tell you how, because he is insecure, a bully and he knows he has totally messed up the best thing he ever could have had.

If I didn’t have my friends, my inner strength and my delayed intuition, I could have easily been sucked into a full blow violent relationship.

Now, I understand.

Happy Mother’s Day

#p_crying

Dear Mum,

This morning I rang you to tell you my news. When you answered the phone I was greeted with, “What?!”. I replied, “Oh Hello Mum, Hello Daughter”. Again you said, “What?!”. I proceeded to tell you about the good news I had to which I was hit with a barrage of criticism and moaning and nagging. In the end, I hung up on you.

I sat in my car feeling despondent and rejected. Feelings from my entire life rose to the surface of my emotional being and threatened to bring me to tears as always happens when I speak to you.

It’s funny really, I was reading my diary the other day and found an entry in 2007 when I had moved house and I quote myself, “As usual, mum was nowhere to be seen”. When I read this, I remembered back to the other times in my life when you had let me down;

Rehab – When I was going into rehab for the first time, after 10 years of being on drugs, a very scary time for me, where were you? You were busy wrapped up in yourself. Ringing me every day because Dad had left you for another woman. Threatening to kill yourself, and crying relentlessly down the phone at me for hours on end whilst I tried to help you understand that you needed to move on and not let his behaviour cause you such pain. I was there for you emotionally when I really needed you to be there for me too. Once I entered into rehab, did you come and visit me? Did you show your support? Did you congratulate me on taking such a positive step in my life? No! – Secretly I hoped that Dad wouldn’t go back to you. He deserved better. You hold him back.

At school when I was bullied day in, day out, did you ever put your arms around me and tell me I was beautiful? Did you ever hold me close and reassure me that the bullies are just victims themselves who are lashing out at me because I was an easy target? No, instead you sent me to school days after I got beaten up badly by a group of the hardest kids, sending me head first into a pit of complete isolation, where for weeks I spent every break time in the school toilets because not one person in school was talking to me. Your advice? “Just hit the main bully, no one will pick on you then”. Easy for you to say.

When I became pregnant with my first child, your words to me, “I hope you are going to get rid of it, please don’t make the same mistake I made.” Thanks a lot mum, it’s so nice to know that that’s all I was to you.

When I was 17, you were going to move house. I was a drug addict and wanted so badly to come home to my family, to be safe from the vicious world of crime and abuse that surrounded me. You told me there was no place for me. Then you told me to pull my socks up and stop being such a waste of space.

When I started my periods, do you remember what you did? It was night-time. I was embarrassed. I confided in you. “Stop whining, you will just have to wait until morning then go over and buy yourself something from the chemist.” I begged you to go in for me, as I’d done for you over the years to save your embarrassment. You refused, what’s more you told me it was tough luck that I had no money to buy them.

All the years I suffered from panic attacks, terrified to go to bed each night because my fear of death would wash over me in a sea of white fear, not once did you ever hold me and tell me that I had nothing to fear. “Stop being a baby! We all have to die, get over it!”.

Last year, when I had my nervous breakdown and was desperately trying to get back on my feet and away from my alcohol addiction, you’d ring me every day shouting and yelling at me telling me you couldn’t cope with having my son to stay and ordering me to sort my life out and stop ruining everyone else’s. Yet when I finally got a place in detox, you refused to help out with childcare so I had to turn my place down. Not once have you praised my efforts for sorting my own life out since then.

Did you feel proud of me, when I traveled across Europe to raise money all by myself in order to support myself and my kids with the huge expense in moving house? No, you simply told me that once again I had ruined your plans because you had to look after my kids for a couple of days.

The other day when I text you asking for advice on my sons challenging behaviour, you told me that if I don’t sort it out now, I will suffer the rest of my life with stress of being his mother, just as you had to me.

Do you remember when one of your beloved animals died, yes your animals, the things that you ‘miss so dearly after not seeing them for a couple of hours’ even though they are in your back yard? You were looking at photos and crying. I asked if you were okay and you put your arms around me sobbing into my shoulder. I froze at that moment, for I could never ever remember a time where we had been in each others arms.

I will send you a card on Mother’s Day. I will send you it routinely as I do every year. A card carefully selected for its beautiful verses and pretty design, aimed to make you see how much I love you and want you to love me.

Only this year it comes with no real feeling. I am tired of trying to please you, I am sick of trying to make you proud. From this day on I will not seek your help or advice for I do not wish to feel another second of rejection from you. 33 years of stress, you say you have received from me. Perhaps if I had seen 33 years of love, my life might be so different now.

Happy Mother’s Day, with fading love.

Body Dysmorphia

My entire school life I was bullied and this continued into my working life too.  I was short, covered in freckles, chubby, goofy and worse still I was ginger.  Every child’s worst nightmare and every bully’s best target.  I was never comfortable with how I looked, I had no boobs, I was shy around boys and around pretty girls.  It is no wonder that I have attempted to transform myself into a blonde with ample breasts and a continuous fight to stay slim.

At the age of 17 I discovered amphetamines and was amazed by how confident they initially made me and how much weight I lost in such a short space of time.  I became skinny, attractive and confident.  At least for the short-term.  This false sense of happiness was quickly replaced by psychosis and paranoia and other mental malfunctions that taking copious amounts of speed brings on.  I became a recluse, a hermit and someone who people did not want to be around because I was bordering insanity.  However, I was still skinny and thus in my mind, happy about that at-least.

At the age of 18 I cleaned up from speed, moved to London, got a job, found new friends and set about on another adventure.  By the time I was 19 I was nearly 10 stone (from the 7 1/2 stone that I had been a year earlier) and hated what I saw in the mirror.  It didn’t help that I worked in a shopping centre and the easiest food for me to eat was MacDonald’s.  MacDonald’s for breakfast, MacDonald’s for lunch and home cooked rich food for my tea followed by alcohol.  Lot’s of alcohol.  Alcohol made me confident for a while, until I started getting larey on it, started relying on it to help me pull boys and then eventually driving everyone away because they couldn’t cope with me whilst I was on it.  One morning I looked in the mirror, so disgusted with what I saw, that I contacted the local dealer, went to the chemist for needles and relapsed immediately.   Within 3 weeks I had lost almost all of the 2.5 stone I had gained and I was happy.  At-least until I ended up homeless, in trouble with the police, practically friend-less and spending each day searching for money for my next bag of drugs.  Along came the psychosis, paranoia and mental disturbances again.  But I was skinny, which was the one thing I was happy about and the thing that made me not care about the other issues.  I even ended up in casualty one night having nearly died of metal poisoning and overdose but still, I was skinny and that kept me going.

Again I cleaned up my act, got off the streets, got into a hostel, slept and ate and became popular.  Even with the boys I was a popular and confident character yet inside I was dying as I saw the weight go back on.  I went travelling, settled into a violent and drink fueled relationship and had a baby.  I got a job as an Ann Summers rep and enjoyed attending parties and running my own unit of 16 girls, working my way to the top new-comer in the company.  But then I after 9 months, I finished with my violent and nasty ex and relapsed.  It had started as a low carb diet that was going really well but I wanted to lose weight faster.  I talked myself into believing that if i just took a little dab each day I would still live a normal life but lose weight and be happy at the same time.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

3 years later I was at death’s door, I had self-mutilated myself to pieces, could not sustain a conversation without feeling totally psychotic and had been so sleep deprived that I slept about 2 nights a week for the entire 3 years.  But I was a size 6, 25 inch waist, 32 inch hip, flat stomach, toned and weighed less than 7.5 stone.  I looked amazing.  I did not feel amazing.  In fact I knew that if I didn’t get help, I would not live another 12 months.  Every-time I stood up I thought I’d pass out and then there was the added torture that I was a drug addict mother.  Please don’t be mistaken, I was the best mother I could be at the time.  Patient with my son, caring, loving and ensuring he was educated and loved.  My fear was that I would not live to see past his 4th birthday.  I got myself into rehab and came off speed for the last time.

Gradually the weight started to come back on and I was faced once more with all my old demons.  Only this time I managed to keep the weight gain to a sensible state, not going above 8.5 stone.  I was healthy, although I still hated what I saw in the mirror.

3 years later again, I fell pregnant with my daughter.  To my horror I craved burgers every day throughout the pregnancy.  Burgers were the only food that stopped me feeling so hideously sick every day.  I gained 4 stone.  I still look back at my pre and post birth pictures and feel disgusted.  I should be feeling happy and joyous over the birth of such a beautiful little girl, yet all I feel is sickness and sadness about how grotesque I looked in my opinion.

After the birth I decided enough was enough and I stuck to a strict low carb diet, each day I watched as 2lb a day at times dropped off me.  I was happy again, I was getting my figure back.

Eventually I left my husband and lost even more weight.  A year ago I was 8.4 stone which was the lightest I had been for 4 years and once again I was happy.  But there was a hidden catch that i wasn’t even aware was happening to me. That catch was called cocaine.  I had been dabbling in it every other weekend when I didn’t have the kids but I had failed to notice that the usage had increased to weekday usage too.  Still, I was happy.  I was skinny and was also attending the gym 3 times a week so I looked very toned and good.  I also started modelling too so at this time my confidence was the highest it had ever been in my life.

I had a cosmetic issue that I was not happy about, and so in a bid to perfect myself, I set about getting this problem resolved.  The operation went wrong, twice.  I was left in sickening amounts of pain, unable to go to the gym.  So tired that the only option I’d had, was to stuff myself full of carbohydrate loaded foods and thus gain weight again.

6 months and a nervous breakdown later, I am out the other side although one last-ditch attempt at correcting the cosmetic problem has left me once again in agony, devastated that once again the surgeon has disfigured me to an extent that I now feel the issue is worse than it was before.  And what is happening?  I am gaining weight faster than I can think.

The worst thing this time is, that the more weight I gain, the more crap I feel.  The more crap I feel, the more I want to drink.  The more I drink, the more food I eat.  Now we have a vicious circle.

Today I looked in the mirror and wanted to smash it.  I can’t even bare to let my boyfriend see me and I certainly do not wish to venture out of the house.  I want to lose weight fast but there is only one way to do that; which is no longer an option in my life.  I don’t want my kids taken from me, nor to lose everything and everyone around me.  That isn’t going to happen.  I am still miserable though.  I need to do something to sort this out.

For the record, I weigh about 9.4 stone.  I am not sure because I threw my scales out a few weeks ago (something I now regret).  I look down and see fat and wobbly cellulite.  Yet I am a size 10.  I know I am not fat, but the image I see in the mirror is horrible.  I hate it and right now I hate me.

Looking back at my life I had always assumed that my drug abuse and addiction was a result of an unhappy and horrible up-bringing.  However now I am starting to believe that the real reason I took drugs, lays simply in the fact that they helped me be happy with my body.  Every time I have relapsed it has been because I have hated the sight of my own reflection.

Wikipedia

Body dysmorphic disorder (BDD, also body dysmorphia, dysmorphic syndrome; originally dysmorphophobia) is a type of mental illness, asomatoform disorder, wherein the affected person is exclusively concerned with body image, manifested as excessive concern about and preoccupation with a perceived defect of their physical features.[1] [2] The person complains of a defect in either one feature or several features of their body; or vaguely complains about their general appearance, which causes psychological distress that impairs either occupational or social functioning, or both. Occasionally, BDD occurs to the degree of causing severe emotional depression and anxiety, and the possible development of other anxiety disorders, social withdrawal, or social isolation.[3]

The causes of Body Dysmorphic Disorder are different for each person, usually a combination of biologicalpsychological, and environmental factors from either the person’s past or present life. Furthermore, mental and physical abuse, and emotional neglect, are life-experiences that can contribute to a person developing BDD.[4][5] The onset of the symptoms of a mentally unhealthy preoccupation with body image occurs either in adolescence or in early adulthood, whence begins self-criticism of the personal appearance, from which develop atypical aesthetic-standards derived from the internal perceptual discrepancy between the person’s ‘actual self’ and the ‘ideal self’.[6] The symptoms of body dysmorphia include psychological depression, social phobia, and obsessive compulsive disorder. Even causing the affected to become hostile towards family members for no reason is accepted as a symptom.[7]

As a form of mental illness, BDD is linked to a diminished quality of life, can be co-morbid with major depressive disorder and social phobia (chronic social anxiety); features a suicidal ideation rate of 80 percent, in extreme cases linked with dissociation, and thus can be considered a factor in the person’s attempting suicide.[8] BDD can be treated with either psychotherapy or psychiatric medication, or both; moreover, cognitive behavioural therapy (CBT) and selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors (SSRIs) are effective treatments.[9][10] Although originally a mental-illness diagnosis usually applied to women, Body Dysmorphic Disorder occurs equally among men and women, and occasionally in children and older adults. About 76% of parents think their child is either over conceited or simply lying about their condition. [11] Approximately one-to-two percent (1–2%) of the world’s population might meet the diagnostic criteria for a diagnosis of Body Dysmorphic Disorder.

LittleEmz:

This post was written by one of my best friends who has been disgracefully dropped by someone he loved so dearly.

Originally posted on Becoming Me...:

A pit of lies… 

…that’s what you get when you live a life of lies, deceit and manipulation, all you’re really doing is digging a deep pit in front of you. The deeper it gets the more you have to lie to stop yourself falling in, and the more you lie the deeper the pit gets; until one day the lies no longer work, and you simply can’t stop yourself from falling any longer.

The other side of digging a pit of lies is that the earth has to go somewhere, and usually it buries those who you manipulate and lie to; so you leave a trail of destruction, hurt and heartache behind you.

There’s no real way of avoiding the cold darkness of the pit once you’ve dug it, and there’s nowhere to go once you’re in it either. The only people left around are those who are digging their…

View original 493 more words

Look After My Heart

I wrote this poem in 2003 when I first met my ex husband.  It seems even back then I was putting up barriers and scared to let people in.

I promised myself,
I would never fall, in love again,
But you came into my life,
Made things alright,
Showed me affection and then…..

I started falling,
Falling, deeply in-love with you,
You tore down the wall,
That I’d built up so tall,
So quickly my love for you grew.

I’m going crazy,
Feeling like this aches my heart.
When I’m in your arms,
I feel so safe and warm,
But when you’re cold, it tears me apart.

I’m always trying,
Trying, to not let you down,
But whatever I do,
It’s not good enough for you,
You smile at me less than you frown.

I’ve fallen in love,
If only you could feel what I do,
You’d never doubt me,
Trust me or judge me,
Because you’d know that my love is so true.

I’ll make you happy,
Just give me a chance and you’ll see,
There will be a day,
You’ll look at me and say,
“She’s the perfect woman for me”.

Copyright © LittleEmz 2003 – 2012. All Rights Reserved.