Guilty As Charged (A Poem)

I have a sickness; reader’s block
My concentration’s really shot
I’ve tried and tried and tried again
but nothing stays inside my brain

I’m all behind on reading blogs
My head is full of clouds and fog
My inbox bursts with ninety posts
I look as though I’ve seen a ghost

I’d like to read them one by one
I cannot even get that done
I’m sitting here, fed up and cross
My reading skills today are dross

I want to write; I need to read
but words just disappear with speed
Into the ether and the mist
D’you understand me; get my gist?

I really must apologise
I hope that you can sympathise
Standing in the dock when called
I have to plead; I’m guilty M’lord.






The Photograph (Fiction)

They were posing for the family portrait. The silhouetted shadow of the conservatory roof fell above and to the left of them. With his shock of dark hair and brown moustache, Ernest was dressed in his best black suit and matching waistcoat, with a white rounded-neck shirt. He was standing behind the wooden seat while his wife, Alice, wore her best black dress and the silver locket left to her by her late papa. She was still grieving and had a pained expression on her face. She wished her papa could have lived to have met baby Grace. She was the first girl born to the family for ten years. He had died just days before she was born; such a tragedy.


Alice sat demurely in front of her husband and held baby Grace affectionately in her arms. Grace wore a beautiful lace and delicately embroidered cream dress that had been passed down from her Victorian cousin. William stood on the seat next to his mother in his very best outfit and smartest shiny shoes. How quickly children’s feet grow, thought Alice; William’s shoes were so expensive and more than they could afford if truth be told. They loathed admitting to their relatives how difficult they were finding managing their finances since Ernest had to retire from his work as a factory foreman. His health had declined over the few months after the pneumonia he contracted left him weak. He tired quickly and needed to rest in the middle of the day. Nevertheless, he remained in good spirits and rarely let his exhaustion be known.

Huh! I’d really rather not have my photo taken, Ernest thought. I feel so uncomfortable. It’s such a formality, and I do have better things to do. I’d much prefer to be participating in a game of charades in the parlour. Entertaining guests is far more enjoyable and less of a bore, in my opinion. One is expected to be smart and tidy at all times. What do I have to do to please the family?

Stand still, son; the photographer is trying to take our photo – let’s not waste his time. William! For goodness’ sake, stop fidgeting. I know it isn’t easy to have to stand still for so long, but you must try to make an effort. Now, be a good boy for Papa and look at the camera. No, please don’t pull such a peculiar face. Look at your new sister; she’s not pulling silly faces, is she? She’s being so good despite the fact she’s been passed around the family. Aunt Maud and Aunt Mabel both said she was an absolute charm, and your Grandmama really dotes on her, too. Yes, of course, they love you too, William. Now, please keep still; I’ve already told you twice. The photographer looked up and smiled at the boy, although he tried his best to hide his impatience.

Oh, I do hate wearing ties, Ernest thought. I tied the knot too tightly – it’s most uncomfortable. It feels as if it’s choking me. I do wish I’d worn a different one. He went to fiddle with his tie in an attempt to loosen it slightly but then realised he wasn’t showing a very good example to his son, William. William glanced up at his father and looked very fed up and bored. Ernest recognised that the boy would much rather be playing with his new brightly-coloured spinning top in the nursery. He was only three years old. However, he still expected his son to be on his best behaviour; but he felt quite sorry for him and gently put his hand on William’s shoulder to comfort him a little. He wasn’t such a strict father underneath his stern exterior.

Alice felt tired and longed for the photographer to hurry so that she could retire to the drawing room to relax for a while. She was having difficulty sleeping since the recent loss of her father. As she thought about her papa, the tears welled up in her eyes, and she attempted to choke them back for fear of spoiling the family portrait. It was traditional to have a new portrait taken with each new child’s birth. Ernest and Alice would have liked to have had more than just the two children. They’d thought, perhaps, when Grace had grown a little, but finances were such that they knew they wouldn’t be able to afford any more realistically.

William let out a bored sigh, and Ernest looked down at him. William!! For goodness’ sake, will you please take your finger out of your nose; what will the family say when they see you doing that in our photograph? You will spoil it, and they will think you a very naughty boy, Ernest declared sharply. William pulled a cross face at being on the receiving end of his father’s obvious displeasure. William, if I have to tell you one more time to behave properly, you will be sent to bed without any luncheon, and you will stay there for the duration of the afternoon. The boy’s face became even more sullen. Baby Grace had begun to whimper, and Alice looked tired and strained.

This is so tiresome, Ernest thought, thoroughly fed up with the whole affair. If he were honest, he’d rather have been able to retire to his bedchamber for his late morning rest. If only I could change into my nightshirt instead of this most irritating outfit. Thoroughly fed up and irritated, he frowned and glanced upward as if pleading to the Lord to end this entire business.

Suddenly, just at that moment – ‘Click. Clunk,’ went the photographer’s box-brownie camera! Snap!

600 Followers! – Thank You All

Apparently, I now have 600 followers and readers! WordPress failed to inform me of this ‘grand event’ on the actual day, but one of my kind readers, Devang, told me about this. I know it’s not a large number compared to many bloggers who have clocked up well over 1,000; however, it means the world to me, and I want to thank you all sincerely for supporting me in my newish journey to better health and peace of mind. It’s been a hard slog for me to get to this point and you’ve been there when times were very rough and my coping with life skills were at rock bottom.

Without you, old and new readers and followers, I wouldn’t have gotten to where I am now, which is a much happier space than last year. You have supported me through my troubles, been there by my side, cheering me on, and been incredibly encouraging. I am eternally grateful to you.*Round of applause 👏👏👏* for you, my wonderful friends. Each and every one of you is important and much-valued in my life.

Finally, as I often say, I’m sorry I’m so dreadfully behind in reading all your posts, partly because I’ve had my family here for a few days, and any of you who have small children in the house knows how almost impossible it is to sit down to read or write. I currently have 112 email notifications in my inbox, and it would take me a month of Sundays to get through them all. Please, forgive me If I’ve missed your recent posts. Sometimes, I get time to read and genuinely ‘like,’ but I haven’t always had time to leave a comment. I will do my best to catch up, but I apologise if I have missed some of your valuable work.

If I get time, I hope to post a short piece of fiction sometime today. I have it in draft form, so I hope to work on that a bit and my catching up of your posts, too.

Once again, thank you all from the bottom of my heart for the important part you play in my life. I love you all. Ellie Xxx 💖💐💝

My Past Experience of Anorexia


TRIGGER WARNING – THIS IS ABOUT EATING DISORDERS (ANOREXIA)

This account is purely about my own experience of anorexia. This disease affects all sexes, not just women. It can also affect people of any age group. In my case, I was in my forties when it began. Treatment these days may well be different; I don’t know. If you are struggling with an eating disorder or suspect you may be, please seek help from your doctor or any of the helpline numbers given at the end of this post.

Anorexia isn’t about the food; it’s about control. I wanted to control my life but thought if I could control my body and weight, I’d start to feel better. How wrong I was.

It started with me cutting out fats and carbs like many people on diets. I began to lose weight and felt like I was achieving something. As I lost weight, I still wasn’t satisfied, though, convincing myself I was overweight and needed to lose just a few more pounds. I lost more weight, but I still wasn’t content. I began to develop rituals around food, such as cutting food up into tiny pieces to make them last longer or seem more and, weighing everything I ate, then totting up the calories. I stopped drinking coffee with milk and drank only black coffee and Diet Coke. Still not satisfied; eating salad wasn’t enough to control my habit. I began to weigh the lettuce, water well shaken out of it, and work out the calories in three thin slices of cucumber. The weight started to drop off me, but I couldn’t see how ill I was.

I need to make it clear that anorexia is not a choice, a fad, or a diet; it’s an extremely serious and dangerous illness, which is nearly always caused by significant trauma in childhood, as was the case with me.

More rituals developed, and the weight loss continued. I’m not going to go on to describe all those habits and routines because I DO NOT want this to read like an ‘instruction manual’ for anorexia. Suffice it to say; I ended up in the local psychiatric hospital on the eating disorders ward at a very dangerously thin weight of five and a half stone! I was confined to bed and only allowed to use the bathroom with a staff member present. It was so embarrassing.

My first meal there was presented to me two hours after I’d arrived. It was, to my horror, vegetable curry and rice followed by bread-and-butter pudding and two scoops of ice cream. It wasn’t a small portion, either. I don’t think I’d ever felt that sense of panic before. A nurse sat with me and insisted I ate every stone-cold mouthful. I cried, I sobbed, and I begged, all to no avail. I was made to eat all that food despite having terrible pain in my stomach. It seemed barbaric to me. It took me nearly three hours to force the food down. Other than that, they threatened to tube-feed me, and with my phobia of choking, I couldn’t bear the thought of that.

The eating disorders ward had strict rules. Everything was done on a reward and punishment basis. To begin with, I wasn’t allowed phone calls or visitors, not even my family, and I wasn’t allowed out of my room. Weeks passed, and as I gained weight, albeit reluctantly, I was ‘rewarded’ with a phone call to my daughter, then my son and my Mum. They were all worried sick about me and dreadfully upset that I was going through all of this at the same time, realising I was very ill and needed help. There was no way of ‘cheating,’ although some of the people there tried. We would have lost a reward if we lost weight, which was impossible with every mouthful being supervised. It was such a thoroughly miserable time. At the time, I thought it was tortuous; it certainly felt like it.

However, there are only three ways out of anorexia in my mind. One is to get better despite it being painfully hard work (but well worth it); the other is that you spend your life battling with your illness for, possibly, the rest of your years (and believe me, that’s pretty awful), or you die!! It’s as simple as that!

I began to make good progress and started to feel better physically. I was allowed to eat in the dining room with the other inpatients on our ward; I could go to activities and learn about the basic psychology of eating disorders. We were taught about CBT therapy and offered other forms of treatment once our minds had started to recover from the starvation. We were basically given another chance at life, and I was grateful for that.

Finally, after being in hospital for six whole months, I was allowed day leave, and then weekend leave etc. Eventually, I was allowed home but had to attend the day hospital every day.

I don’t think you are ever really ‘cured’ from an eating disorder, but for me, it’s like being in remission, and I never take my life or health for granted. Anorexia is an addiction as well as an illness. Like any addiction, you have to consider yourself in permanent recovery. Now, at the age of 65, I’m making the most of my time and intend to live the rest of my life without harming myself in this way. I’m happy in my life with two adult children and four gorgeous grandchildren. If anyone is reading this and recognises themselves in what I have written, please, please, seek help.


UK HELP: https://www.beateatingdisorders.org.uk/

US HELP: https://www.helpguide.org/home-pages/eating-disorders.htm

AU HELP: https://au.reachout.com/articles/support-services-for-eating-disorders

(Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash)

Oh, No, Not Again … (Poem)

Oh, no, not another day of the inability to write
I’ve started seven pieces; not one of them is right
Frustration is building rapidly, hour after hour
I’ve lost my sense of humour; my expression rather dour

I had a late night yesterday; is that why I can’t write?
I look a little pale, and my complexion’s rather white
The cat’s a little better, though; she’s lying in her box
She’s peering out the window at the seagull flocks

I’m struggling to get this week’s piece of coursework done
I’m stuck and not finding it easy, and it’s not a lot of fun
I’m scouring the dictionary for words that I can use
Resorting to Thesaurus while I’m desperate for a snooze

Often, when I write, the words just seem to flow
Today, I should have finished this at least six hours ago
It’s Mother’s Day, for goodness sake; I ought to take a rest
This isn’t an exam or an English language test!

I don’t know where the time has gone; it’s almost time for dinner
If this was a competition, I surely wouldn’t be the winner
The evening’s drawing in now, and soon it will be dark
I’m at the point of giving up, so s%d this for a lark!!




Photo by Yan Krukau: https://www.pexels.com

A Tired Day (A Poem)

I got up in the morning feeling rather low
I just cannot get going, and my progress is slow
I guess I can’t be happy every single day
Right now, at this moment, I’m wishing time away

Can’t concentrate on reading and not able to write
I’m still in my pyjamas and looking such a fright
The cat’s come out in sympathy; she’s looking all forlorn
She’s been dozing in her box, which is tattered and torn

She won’t go in the garden and doesn’t want to eat
She’s crawled out of her box and is sitting at my feet
The pair of us are moping all around the house
She’s not even tempted by the resident mouse

Should I call the doctor, or perhaps, I’ll call the vet
Both will cost a fortune, and I’m already in debt
I sit here looking vacantly through the kitchen door
Wondering what to do; I’m just dithering for sure

Here comes the local tomcat looking for a fight
He’s sitting on the fence in the last of the day’s light
My cat isn’t interested; she doesn’t want the stress
She wants to chill out; perhaps, a game of chess

I’m no good at games, so she’ll surely be the winner
I’m making up excuses like I’m going to cook the dinner
Later on, in bed, we can sleep away our sorrow
Roll on, ticking clock; we can start again tomorrow.



Photo by Rick J. Brown on Unsplash



The Death Café (A Poem)

TRIGGER WARNING: This poem discusses thoughts about death and is not intended to upset or offend anyone. The Death Café is held monthly in the back of an art shop in town. It’s not at all morbid; it isn’t a grief or support group, just a place to discuss the topic openly and ask questions. It isn’t about religion, or lack of it, It is open to anyone who wishes to know more and, perhaps, has some unanswered questions about death in a practical sense. This is about my first visit there.

I woke up early to a mackerel sky
With rain afoot in the weather’s eye
Thoughts turned to how I wanted to die
You may be puzzled and wondering why
 
I went to a Death Café with my friend
By writing this, I don’t mean to offend
Each debated how we would like to end
An honest discussion; no need to pretend

I hadn’t been to a Death Café before
I was a bit nervous as I walked in the door
Curious to know what was in store
Eager to learn and keen to know more

Seated inside were six women, four men
I listened intently; made notes with my pen
Wondering whether to go there again
It’s only monthly, so I’ll decide then

I spoke to my children last night; you see
Asked them how they would remember me
I told them I want to be laid by a tree*
Said we should get together, us three

My daughter agreed; she was perfectly fine
My son stayed silent and sipped his wine
We all have to go at some unknown time
But ultimately, the decision’s not mine.

*I’m passionate about trees and nature. I told my children I wanted to be buried close to a tree, preferably an oak. If you’d like to understand more about my passion for trees, you might like to read my post about a conversation between a special Tree and me Tree.

(Photo by Jordan Benton: https://www.pexels.com)





Live Life – Note To Self (A Poem)

Do you remember the early days
when you were really a mess?
You caused your friends and family
an awful lot of distress

You never thought at that difficult time
you could grow and make a change
You were far too ill to see it, then
Psychotic and very deranged

You’re now no longer the child that died
You’ve rid yourself of the pain
You’re now a responsible adult
Cut free from shackles and chains

You’ve now begun to make peace with yourself
Don’t have all that pain inside
You pulled yourself up by your bootlaces
and new guidelines you’ve applied

You know life won’t always be easy
We all have our trouble, our strife
So make the most of every day
Because you only get one life

Now here you are in your sixties
and you still have a future ahead
Leave behind those constant regrets
Live your life to the fullest instead.




Photo by Sebastian Arie Voortman: https://www.pexels.com




Dear Guilt … (A Conversation)

Dear Guilt,

I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately and have decided that it’s high time for you and me to part company. I’ve been carrying you around like a large basket of groceries for many years, and you’re getting too heavy for me to manage anymore, so I finally made the decision to break up with you.

You can’t do that! You can’t manage without me in your life. I’ve always been with you, and you need me; you know you do!

No! I don’t need you anymore. Whether you like it or not, it’s time for us to go our separate ways. I won’t be held back by you; you’ve had me chained to your judgements and doubts for far too long.

But, please, don’t do this to us. We can’t survive without each other.

There is no us! I can survive quite happily without you pulling me down day after day, week in, week out. I don’t want you in my life now. It’s time for pastures new. I refuse to be dragged back to the past whenever you feel morose or emotional.

But what will you do without me to remind you of all those years you were abused … those years when you didn’t tell anyone? You know you should have told, don’t you!? Why did you keep it so quiet?  It’s such a massive part of you and a part of you that deserves not to be forgotten. Surely …

Now, listen here, Guilt, you’ve been reminding me of that for decades. Just stop it!! I know it wasn’t my fault – I was just a small child and too young to comprehend what was happening to me. I’m not going to feel bad about it any longer. I’ve discussed all this in my last lot of therapy. You continually pulled me down even then. I don’t know why I listened to you.

I thought you said you wanted to continue to discuss your past experiences with your new therapist when you get one. After all, why else go to see a therapist if not to deal with your past?

Look, I’ve done all that! I’ve thought it through thoroughly in the break. I don’t need to keep dragging it up from the past! Just because you want to cling to the pain and awful memories doesn’t mean I want to do that again. I’ve been there, done that, and worn the t-shirt. When I see a new therapist, it will be with a view to moving forwards, not to keep harping on about the past.

What about all those years you were an addict? You remember; when you’d get off your face with drugs and alcohol? You were hopeless without it, just like you’ll be hopeless without me. You know how worried and cross you made your family and friends. No one wanted to know you back then – only me – there was only you and me together. I never let you down. I was always there to remind you of how good I was to you, that I was the only one who stuck by your side.

My family and friends understand that I was ill back then. We’ve spoken about those times over the last few years. I was very mentally ill. They knew that, but they didn’t know what to do to help me. I had to sort myself out with help from the hospitals and doctors. And I did. And I didn’t need you lurking in my mind all day and night, trying to suck me back down. I do not want you in my life anymore! Do you hear me? Can’t you get this through your thick head? I’ve had enough of walking hand and hand with you.

But … you can’t do this to me. You can’t do this to us. I … we …. Listen, we can start again. I’ll be good to you. Honestly, I will.

Really? Seriously, Guilt??  Just go away!!

What do you mean, go away? You’ve always held me so close and told me how much you needed me. I needed you, too. I still do. You need me, too. Who will you be without me? Who would we be if we were not together? How would we live without each other? You can’t do this to me. I’ll die without you.

Look, Guilt, I’m not going to say this again. I’m sick to death of having you hanging around my neck. I don’t need you – do you get that!? You’re going whether you like it or not. You’re out. We’re over. I’m not going to feed you anymore. You can go and shrivel up in a corner and disappear. I don’t care, I do not care. Get it?

But … please, think again. You know you …

NO, GUILT!! NO! I TOLD YOU. I WON’T TELL YOU AGAIN. YOU’RE JUST A BULLY. JUST GET OUT OF HERE. BYEEEEE …




Photo by Road Trip with Raj on Unsplash





A Long Tail (A Poem)

Puss slipped out of the cat flap
on a chilly winter’s day
She didn’t seem that bothered
and she didn’t want to play

She prowled around the garden
on the lookout for some prey
she chased the local tomcat
who refused to go away

She ducked below the side gate
and sidled ’round the front
I called her back with treats
but she was out there on the hunt

Puss wouldn’t come indoors again
She was having too much fun
I watched her scooting up the tree
Her game had just begun

At least there were no birds yet
as it was early in the year
I saw her climb back down again
without an ounce of fear

I called her once and once again
but she didn’t want to know
She didn’t seem to mind at all
that it had just begun to snow

I thought I’d leave her to it
She’d come back soon enough
but just ten minutes later
she dragged in a ball of fluff

I chased her ‘round the kitchen
and all around the hall
whatever she had caught
was minute, so very small

Eventually, she dropped it
It was a tiny little mouse
A baby, by the look of it
but running around the house

I picked up puss to move her
She tried to scratch and bite
I was ruining her fun
and she was up for a fight

I shut the door so quickly
and with her out of the way
I picked up little mouse
so he could live another day

But he had a wonky leg
I wasn’t sure what to do
My friend called for his death
by flushing him down the loo!

Horrified, I shouted, ‘no!’
He wasn’t going to die
I wanted him to have a chance
The poor, frightened little guy

I called the wildlife centre
They said they would call around
I popped the mouse into a box
and he made a squeaking sound

I knew that he would make it
Just needed some attention
A vet’s care and some love and fuss
and that was my intention

And puss was not impressed
and had not an ounce of shame
She slunk off to her bed
because I’d spoilt her little game.

Photo by Katherine Mihailova: https://www.pexels.com