I’m absolutely shattered again today and it’s entirely my own fault (I think, anyway). I went to bed far too late, had four hours sleep (not enough for me) and had to be up at 5.30am as my carers come at 6.30am latest.

I don’t know why i don’t allow myself to go to bed at a reasonable time, when i am sleepy or exhausted. I just don’t! Sometimes i think i don’t deserve the comfort of my lovely, cosy bed, snuggly duvet and even snugglier bear! So then, i carry on writing my book, reading, blogging, chatting on Facebook etc., anything to avoid going to bed! Stupid? Maybe.Others disagree and suggest ideas, sympathize etc where some just simply berate me, telling me quite firmly that it is my own fault. Is it? Given what i have had to go through in my life as blogged about in many earlier posts, some people have suggested it’s just another form of self-harm which is pretty feasible given that i have only recently (almost) stopped cutting and i am still borderline anorexic. I really think there might be something in that but how do i stop? I know i am disabled and can do very little physical activity, but i spend my days walking around (well, sitting in my case) like a zombie.


If i get carried away with writing my book or my blog, which i often do, i can easily be up past two o’clock in the morning and sometimes decide that it’s not worth going to bed at all when it’s that late as i’d have to be up two to three hours later. Why is it i seem to have lots of ideas pop up into my head just as the time when everyone else has gone to bed? I’m nearly always at my keyboard from early in the morning till very late at night. I know this isn’t good for me either. I’ve been told many a time, i should take a break from peering at the screen, quite frequently and that having my laptop on my lap (which was the main purpose of buying it) isn’t good either as electrical equipment like laptops give off vibes that can affect the body physically. It can affect both men and women’s fertility, for example; it can affect eyesight and the brain with continued use. It’s not good for my posture either as i am bent over the keyboard rather than sitting up with my back straight. I already have osteoporosis in my spine and hips so i’m not helping myself much there either.

Just occasionally, (well, if i’m honest it’s most nights), i’ll nod off, sitting in my chair, for a short while or even wake to find myself literally slumped onto the keyboard resulting in a very stiff neck and usually about a million or so ‘a’s or ‘z’s typed out on to the page which then all have to be deleted, or it’s sometimes easier to scrap the whole article, post etc and start again from scratch! Great! 

And as i’ve said before, often i wake up to find the letters ‘QWERTY’ embossed into my forehead and across my nose! Not exactly a fashionable look! I have got to do something about this ridiculous situation!


(photo credit ‘Shutterstock’ from Bing Images)



Sometimes, I don’t want to be me

Sometimes, we don’t like being us

Sometimes, we don’t like ‘being’ at all

Sometimes I wish i could disappear


I have little to stay ‘here’ for

No family that ever visits us

Just our carers for company three times a day

Grand total of two and a half hours


Our closest friends are here at WordPress

Most of us known by anonymous avatars

Who we pour our hearts out to

And our souls bleed onto the paper


Yet those very friendships

And our hearts’ outpourings

Could be snuffed out like candles

By one press of a key


How fragile we are.



In two days time, it will be the second anniversary of my father’s death…the father who sexually, emotionally and mentally abused me all through my childhood. This anniversary throws up so many connotations as i remember the last time i saw and spoke to him on his death-bed. only three hours before he died. I was the last one to see him before he died. Ironically, i could have said anything to hi during that last couple of hours and always thought that i would have ‘my say’ at last. But instead, i found myself holding his hands; the very hands that had abused me and ripped my virginity away at the tender age of four. I whispered “I forgive you, dad“, despite being alone with him and having the liberty to say whatever i wanted; in fact, all the words i’d always imagined i would say to him when he lay there so helpless. But no; i had to tell him i’d forgiven him as much for my own sake as his;  so i could finally let go of all the hurt and pain caused by him, and move on.

But , if only life was that simple. I am still haunted by nightmares and flashbacks, day in, day out, so why, what was the point?


I am feeling so vulnerable with the vivid memories of him abusing me flashing through my mind; this combined with memories of laying a red rose on his coffin as we all did, at his funeral and crying for the loss of another chance at life with him, ever, ever again.


I was not mourning the loss of my father in the normal sense but rather mourning the loss of the father i always wanted but never had and mourning the loss of my entire childhood  which had consequences on every day of the rest of my life. Such loss. 

This is affecting me greatly right now so i wanted to apologize to all my blogging friends that if you don’t hear much from me in the next few days, be it posts, comments or likes etc., I am sorry but i will still be thinking of you all and will be back on here as soon a my head allows me to. I feel awful leaving you all in the lurch, knowing that many of you are going through such difficult times right now too and i am so sorry i can offer so little support over the next few days – i do hope you understand and forgive me.


I love you all dearly and will be thinking of each one of you. Take great care of yourselves and stay safe till we next meet xxx ❤ 😦



I don’t like basements (or cellars as they’re sometimes called). They’re dark, dank places where bad things happen sometimes. They hold secrets…sometimes for endless years. Our basement in the house we used to live in, housed my father’s darkroom for his photography and he very often used to ask me to accompany him there. He only developed black and white photos then and admittedly i was fascinated by the magical process that turned these negative strips of film into black and white photographs before my very eyes! The problem was, when he took the opportunity to abuse me, knowing no-one would catch him. In addition, the piano teacher i used to have to visit in the evenings, who abused me in a dark room in the basement too. So, i grew up being terrified of basements.


Meanwhile, life resumed as normal with everyone else upstairs chatting and drinking tea. But not me…I was trapped.


The reason why i mention basements is actually linked to my inside people. I’ve spoken of them many times and recently in connection with Baby Emily who was gone from us for so long…six long years and we’d thought, for certain, she had died, and mourned her loss..


In the last couple of days, i’ve told of our reunion with Emily which was joyous. However, she had spent those six long years down in my Father’s basement, lying on the cold stone floor with nothing but a nappy on. She was dormant, not dead (as my therapist explained). What was happening to us was so awful that she, at six months had ‘gone into hibernation’ for want of a better expression. And then this week, when she returned from that awful place, she was cold, only dressed in a nappy, and terrified. But she was a gift to us. Chloe picked her up and gave the biggest hug.


Today was exciting as we went to the shops and bought her a clean white babygrow, pink, lacy socks, a small pink gingham-lined wicker crib for her to rest and sleep in, a small and soft pink blanket, a jar of baby food, a box of Farley’s Rusks. a teddy and some toys. 


We all (except for Gut, who refused) wrote in a pretty card the words ‘WELCOME HOME EMILY JANE’.


So, we should be happy, yes? But despite all the good, we always have this feeling that anything good is going to be followed by something bad. We live in trepidation of the next act of violence, abuse or neglect. Why cant we have some happiness and peace of mind for once? Why does life have to be such a constant battle? Why do evil men do nasty things to little children? Will Emily going into hiding again because now, Gut is the bully. But we watch him like a hawk, us older girls, not trusting him not to hurt Emily.


Why can’t life be a ‘bed of roses‘ for once? Why does our delight in something so good, then turn into something bad. Why did our Mum shout and yell at us so much this evening when we told her about Emily Jane coming home and all the nice things we bought her? Why did she have to ruin our joy? Why can’t the world be a safe place to be born into? Instead it is a lair of nightmares, horrors, pain, suffering and loss, not a bloody bed of roses!


Why are we so angry? Why are we so pissed off? Why do we have to sabotage anything good that comes into our lives? Why are we denied any contentedness? WHY, the fuck, don’t we quit being mad and bugger off up to bed? Why are we losing the plot? Why are we losing the will to live? W…H…Y?








I’m trying so hard to live a more positive life so when i saw this video, the lyrics made sense to me. I want to keep on trying, no matter how many times i fall (I’ll get up again) and i won’t be used or abused  by anyone ever again. It’s hard to think like this, given my past but i know i don’t want to waste the rest of my life being miserable. I’m 56 (yeah! ok, i know i’m ‘ancient’ in your eyes!), and yes, there are still the blackest of days but i have to keep on fighting off that darkness and search for the light to live the rest of my life by. I need to move on from being static or spiralling downwards.


Yep, i may well fall into that pit again some days, but i have to make myself find footholds to get out of the abyss that i’m in. I’m not great today but i’ve got to stop those dark colours from seeping into my tomorrows. I need to find newer, brighter colours to live by, and no, it’s not easy or all plain sailing but i need to draw new lines in my life. After all, we only get one shot at this life so i have to remember that Life’s For The Living. x



I’m feeling lost and alone. I need somebody to love me. Really love me, not just care about me. I mean love me truly, not sexually, not necessarily physically although i like safe hugs, but love me for who i am and let that be enough for them. I want someone to love me heart and soul. Simple needs really. I would love that somebody back with everything i have. I would give them my all, my everything, my undying love.


I need someone to listen to me, no, not merely listen but hear me. I go to therapy once a week, which of course i pay for. I talk; she listens. She talks; and I listen. It helps. It works; she hears me but it’s only 50 minutes out of a week of a lonely 10,080 minutes.


I have people to chat to occasionally. I know they care, and I care back equally. But, it’s not enough. Maybe i’m plain greedy, ungrateful, selfish. No, it’s not that. It is that i am hurting, i am lost. I have few friends. I have more friends here in my blogging world than i do in my real life and although i am so very appreciative of that, it’s still not enough. Will any amount of love ever be enough, i wonder? Am i wanting the impossible? Am i asking too much?


My family have long ago, abandoned me all but a sister in Canada who i speak to sometimes. But she is so very far away and can’t afford to visit often. And i can’t go there because of my agoraphobia. I just want someone to love me.

Am i feeling sorry for myself? Yes, i probably am. Am i selfish? Yes, quite likely. Am i ungrateful? Yes – after all i have God in my life and i know that He does love me dearly. So why isn’t that enough? It ought to be. I don’t know. Today, it just isn’t. Tomorrow, it may be and i’ll be fine again. Who knows? I’m just sitting here on my own with too much time to think and having a rant!






I’d like to say that i have totally recovered from my life-long anorexia, and yes, to a certain extent, i have, but it never quite goes away altogether. I still have the anorexic voice in my head, day in day out.


I don’t look painfully thin although i am slim and it’s a constant battle to keep that voice at bay. It ebbs and flows but the tide never actually goes out. i’ve been dangerously underweight and in treatment more than once and i can honestly say that i don’t want to go back there again. I just wish the nagging voice would stop.


I watch, like a hawk, everything i eat. I know the calorific value of everything i put into my mouth. I mentally count the calories i’ve consumed. I always buy the lowest fat, lowest calorie food product of each type; milk, yoghurts, ready meals, fruit and vegetables even. I don’t eat anything ‘nice’. “I’m not allowed it, i don’t deserve it, i’ll lose control”, says the voice.


I don’t allow myself potatoes, bread, crackers, pasta, rice, sweets, cake, biscuits, etc and definitely no chocolate! Stupid, i know. We all need carbohydrates for energy (no wonder i’m alway so tired). I dread eating out and will starve myself all day if i know i have to go out for a ‘sociable’ meal.


I still binge sometimes, when i’m really hungry, and then i make myself pay for it by hardly eating the next day. I used to misuse laxatives every day to ‘get rid’ of the food i’d eaten but i no longer do that although after a life-time of doing so, my digestive system has never recovered and i have to take non-addictive, prescription medicine, daily, to be able to ‘go‘ at all and i’ll weigh myself at least three times a day but i’m not anorexic!


(Mischa-Barton photo)

I don’t look obviously anorexic and although my few friends i have left, say that i look ‘drawn’, i don’t agree with them. I think i’m still too fat. What a bloody, useless, fucking  failure of an anorexic, i am. I don’t recommend that anyone starts the perilous journey to this never-ending road. It hurts and it’s agony and you’re never free of it. ‘I am dying to be thin’. And anorexia does bite back.













I woke this morning, having slept reasonably well. I could instantly feel a black cloud of depression engulfing my head. ‘The Black Dog’, Churchill called it.


I have no particular reason to feel especially down today. That’s BPD for you; no rhyme nor reason…I could be full of the joys of Spring in an hour or two! Who knows?


Yes, I know the sun is shining and with some warmth in it today, and i know that the cherry trees are full of pink blossom. I just cannot see that right now, in my darkness and gloom.


I should have gone to church this morning but i chose not to. Attending would probably had been the wisest decision as i would have, at least, felt spiritually lifted and seen some human faces too. I am blessed to have carers coming in three times a day but today, i wanted to stay in bed, unkempt and in my PJs, curled up with my own misery. But as my carers had to make the effort to get here first thing in the morning, the least i could do was to be obliging and cooperate. So, washed and dressed it was. I didn’t want breakfast. Well, actually, i did but the ‘anorexic self-harm fairy’ kicked up a stink and had a hissy-fit and wouldn’t allow me any. So now i am hungry and it’s entirely my own fault! And do i feel good for it? No, i am even denied the satisfaction of that! 


Misery loves company‘, they say! Anyone care to join me?! No? Thought not and i don’t blame you in the least. I should get up off my butt and go smell the roses but that requires too much effort! So, I will sit here and be a martyr!!


See?! Now i’ve cheered myself up, getting that lot off my chest and remembering how many caring buddies i have out there in the blogging world…thanks for being there, my friends xxx 🙂








I love passionately  

I hurt easily            

I hate rarely           

I hug genuinely       

I care deeply          

I speak truthfully     

I listen earnestly     

I share willingly       

          I live honestly                   

I trust cautiously     

I tread carefully      

I tire quickly           

         I take frugally                   

I speak politely       

I think kindly           

I share readily        

         I touch gently                  

I lose gracefully    

I receive gratefully  

I give generously    

I ♥ lovingly