Being real…

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Morphine, a friend

The Easter weekend was a mixed bag for me. I had a pretty good Sunday, having lunch with a friend who is also a near neighbour. We ate on the Quay in the beautiful hot sunshine. I had had some very unpleasant texts from Mr Ebsworth on Good Friday evening. They were lies and his inventions, bu that makes no difference to my nervous system. I could not relax.

My back is where all tension resides, the raw nerve endings and torn muscles seize up, and at the worst feel like a red hot poker is on the left hand side of my spine, in the small of my back. My back pulls to the left and my left leg and arm start involuntary movements, so the Monday evening I asked for an ambulance in order to get pain relief. I had hoped this could take place at home, but as a single paramedic turned up in a car that wasn’t going to happen. So despite my explanations about my disease, I found myself in A&E, brightly lit and very noisy.

I was given some morphine, only enough to slowly reduce the pain. Not enough to relax me, just enough to be able to make a place to go to in my head during quiet periods. I got no sleep nor even a doze.

After seven hours a doctor came to see me. He wanted to do an x-ray and ECG to rule out a heart attack. If I could have laughed I might have. I explained that an X-ray was not possible due to my muscle spasms and that he had taken an oath to do no harm. I’d already gone through enough harm being treated as though my nervous system is normal.

I’ve slept for three days now and my pain has gradually subsided.

A very bad day…

Late last night Michael Ebsworth started texting me abuse. I had asked him to contact their letting agency to inform them that I was a good neighbour and that DW had slandered me. He has always said I was a good neighbour. But suddenly last night he started sending all these lies… He is incapable of independent thought. He has to live in submission and abeyance to DW, no matter how sick her thinking.

So my nervous system did it’s thing and I had muscle spasms and agitation, even though I had taken my medicines. I had to block him. I did not sleep until after 6am this morning. I awoke at 8.30. I was trembling and had a very tight chest. So I used my inhaler, a lot, a took my steroids. He knows that upsets affect me physically from when he trespassed in my home at 3 am.

Last time I took steroids in January, they made me feel on top of the world, chemically changed, energetic and hungry…just like early pregnancy. As yet , I barely feel recovered from my chest infection and lack energy. I heard some news on the radio, and felt very dark thoughts. I wanted to kill myself because this world has so little hope or plans to try to save this planet for our children. We want business as usual with every country, including China, which is like selling arms to Saudi.

None thinks about spirituality, God, our spirits and soul, our inner health. And it was so easy to get sucked into Michael Ebsworth’s lies. I do so regret that DW took such a vicious stance with me after I reacted to her very unpleasant text, which I should have been used to, except this time she spoke on his behalf, and not nastily about him.

Her vengeance is as clean as the sweet sound of the baseball hit by the bat into left field. I don’t recognise my life anymore. People she’s slandered me to are dissing me. I’m not used to it.

I had to wait in for a parcel so I took a tepid bath, had something to eat and went to see my daughter. She looked so beautiful, her smile is like diamonds to me. I bought a watch from ebay and chose one to look at in a shop tomorrow. I’m in need of some self love.

It’s good to be having lunch with a friend tomorrow…another friend got a migraine and had to cry off. I still feel close to tears at times, but I must sleep now. My mind and soul need rest.


Hopes…

I am having my kitchen extended. It will have a cloakroom/wet room at the back. I wanted a range style oven, but realising I’ve only used one when I cooked in a care home, I’ve decided to get a gas hob as I have now and an electric oven.

An American style fridge and slimline dishwasher and more cupboard space will make it great. It gives me hope.

I’ve had so much grief in my life recently that gratitude is my focus. I am still not well, or as well as I should be. My spirit is weighed down and now Mike Ebsworth is abusive to me.

My doctor has suggested that I may have ‘heartbroken syndrome’ – the loss of so many family members’ through death. And my dog, whom I still reach for in the mornings.

Today, I walked with a neighbour and her dogs where I used to walk mine. It’s the first time I’ve been there since O’Driscoll died. And I’ve begun to stroke the dog of a friend in the last couple of weeks.

I am so grateful for the people in my life. Those who were fake and betrayed me are best out of my life.

Neighbours…

So I just got rid of a neighbour from hell, who threw things over my fence, gave my mobile number to someone who doesn’t know me, subscribed me to porn sites and telephone companies, tried to change my utilities, used my debit card fraudulently, and slandered me to Quay Living.

Mike Ebsworth (deliberate use) has ignored my texts to tell Quay Living they were lied to. So I will sue them both for slander and much more if he doesn’t contact them by tomorrow. No one knows which Mr Ebsworth I’m referring to because I don’t give my location here.

He has still not visited me after a ‘minor’ surgical procedure which was as much his responsibility as mine. And I’ve had a chest infection since complete with 999 ambulance to get my airways opened. He says he is an emotional coward. He took to phoning, after one visit, and then started video calls, but when I realised the purpose of this, I was revolted and stopped them. I had wanted him to be a happy memory, but he will always be a part of my life and grief now. He won’t even visit to offer condolences.

I’m going back even more to gratitude. Gratitude for this weather, for my friends, and my daughter. For my garden, for the three men who rescued me after I was the victim of hate crime. Grateful, that I am still well despite my diagnosis which had made me think I would have died by now. I am far more motivated than this time last year.

As soon as my ex husband went back to live at his flat, I came to life, a major depression left me. But then my sister Pamela died so suddenly of sepsis, my devoted dog a week later and a vicar interfered so maliciously. Then my Auntie died and then Mike Ebsworth intruded into my life as much as it is possible to turn someone’s life upside down.

He said to me that I stopped ‘pussyfooting’ around. I never decided that so he just refuses to take responsibility for his life. He doesn’t seem to realise that while he stays silent about Ms W’s crimes, he is party to them an accessory after the fact. He told me doesn’t like the truth in writing. He told me last November he was going to give up beer because he was so ill after drink beer and wine. He was so unwell, it frightened me. He’s still drinking beer.

The moon is bright tonight, a waxing gibbous moon, it shines on him and me. He also said in November that life would be about others, not just him. But it’s all about him and obeying MS W. She doesn’t care about his drinking, his depression, his health. Has she noticed that he is gaining weight around his jowls and neck, like an alcoholic? How can any man put up with the way she speaks about him? And has she so little self-respect that she didn’t kick him out?

Even after years as a psychologist, I’m still amazed by people. I tend to expect the best of people, that most people will do the right thing. I tend to attract those who don’t…

 

Talking about self harm

I don't advocate self harm, certainly not anorexia nervosa, bulimia and other mental health issues that can cause death. These states of mind need expert help and intervention. I'm not talking about addictions either.


I'm talking about those of us who cannot cope with extreme emotional pain and so we cause ourselves physical pain because it is easier to cope with.


I seem to be unusual because I feel deeply shamed of any visible marks and go to extreme lengths to cover the marks until they have healed. Only once have I sent a photograph of blood flowing, and that was after I suffered a miscarriage and the father would not comfort me.

I've self harmed since I suffered a life changing illness, described earlier in this blog, and realised I would no longer be captain of the team, or win races at highly competitive levels. I would throw my body against brick walls. This was my first style of self harm. My back and limbs would be covered in bruises. This satisfied me for a long time.

When my mother started sexually abusing me, I began trapping certain parts of my body in hair grips. My nipples, parts of my vulva, my ear lobes. I couldn't tell anyone. No one has ever known.

Then in the young adult world of college and work, when kissing at end of term parties, and Christmas 'do's began, and I was a trophy kiss for all the wrong reasons, I began to drink carelessly. As we'd all get up to return to class, I'd tip every dreg from my friends glasses into mine. Beers, whiskies, wines, cider, brandy etc and drink it down without anyone noticing. By the time I was 18, I had a stomach ulcer.

My self harming stopped for a few years, due to the ulcer. It had scared me. Then when I was working with recovering addicts in the outer LA area in California, it started in a new way. Most of the people in my care loved me because I loved them, and gave them respect and good therapy. There were, however, some people there with severe personality disorders who would blurt out cruel and nasty remarks. I took my first overdose there. Not to kill me but to give myself 36 hours of nothing. I just slipped into a deep sleep, from which I could not be stirred. I awakened, realising nothing was different except some people realised I had feelings.

Not wanting to be considered suicidal, from then on I would cut parts of my body. My stomach, my thighs anywhere that could be covered by shorts/jeans and a T shirt. It wasn't frequent. But it was going on.

More recently I snip folds of my skin with scissors. It's extremely painful but the flow of blood is rewarding. It takes my emotional pain and puts it in the background.

My most recent episode, caused by a man, was an overdosing of my medicine and alcohol. However before I passed out, I fell against the wall and gave myself blunt trauma. A friend chose to pop in that evening, and found me. So I wound up in hospital, was diagnosed with walking pneumonia and spent some hours on a ventilator and then nebulised. Most of it is a blur. I had sent an email to two good friends, because I had a lot to explain about someone who has intruded in my life on their terms only. Like I'm a play thing. And one of my publishers had made a commitment to me in writing, and then denied it all.

NMP #5

He built for her a house of paper,

between low and high tide,

in the line between the sea and the sand.

She took their dead child, carried a spade,

dug into the warm earth his grave,

covered him strongly and planted an oak.