I haven’t been myself for over a week now. Nothing is physically wrong. Just feeling blue. Day dreaming.
I’ve been pleased that my blog is read by more than a couple of people everyday and getting to it through twitter, instagram as well as search engines.
The pictures I put up are usually apropos of nothing, but are to provide amusement or food for thought.
I have a very complex relationship with food. I have never been able to work it out. I’ve studied to become a psychologist, I’ve been counselled, I’ve counselled others. I really just seem to confound myself and everyone else.
I generally say that I am ambivalent towards food because my four open brain surgeries left me in a state of akinetic mutism and thoroughly traumatised. But actually, I had lost my appetite after my parents decided to come and live in England. I was almost six at the time. My mother had worked full time in Germany so it was my Oma who started to bottle feed me and weaned me and fed me all her cooking after that. So moving to England was a wrench. A huge one.
We went back to Germany twice a year, but that isn’t the same as living there. I remember once my mother found me in Oma’s kitchen piling Oma’s homemade strawberry jam onto the dark rye bread that I love and so many English people despise. I felt I was being naughty because of the quantity of jam I was using, but no I was not in trouble. Meanwhile, in England, my weight was cause for concern and I was pronounced anaemic.
The disease I contracted in my nervous system used up a lot of calories as it progressed until I was given a month to live. My left arm was uncontrollable and my left leg also. My nights were spent in agony as I endured excruciating muscle spasms that threw my limbs around. Eating was not a priority. It was all so difficult. And I was terrified. Of course I was, although no one asked me. I was imprisoned in a body that was out of control.
While this was going on I had hospital stays while they tried to control my symptoms with drugs. I spent months in Bristol’s Hospital for Sick Children, months in Great Ormond Street, Newcastle Royal Infirmary and finally what is now called The London Royal Free Hospital. I was there for an outpatient visit and was admitted straight away. My parents were told I had a month to live unless I had surgery to freeze certain brain cells, and that I might not survive the surgery.
In all, I had four brain surgeries, after the third I was in a state of akinetic mutism. There is so much I don’t know because I was in a coma for a while, stuff I don’t remember and stuff it seems my mind refuses to remember.
For a while I was fed through a naso-gastric tube and later ate mashed food. While I was living at home I didn’t care about eating. I ate food I liked but my mother would make me sit for hours with food that I didn’t like. I didn’t have a lot of self esteem, having gone from captain of the team to the last to be chosen. At a fete my Dad took me to, I was mistaken for a boy and this affected me deeply.
After I left home I was always happy when I didn’t need to cook or prepare food. Although I did enjoy preparing meals I would share with others. I liked to learn new recipes and be thought of as a nurturer. But inside, I wasn’t nurtured. I had nightmares and other symptoms of post traumatic stress although I didn’t realise it. I made close bonds with men of my age but found it hard to relate to most women. I had great women friends but I didn’t know how to appreciate them or retain them when our ways parted.
I travelled so much, often working as a cook and then I studied psychology and became a psychologist.
I got some self insight, a lot of ‘ah’ moments. I developed a good self awareness. But I could not understand my ambivalence, sometimes loathing of food. It goes back to my mother ‘rejecting’ me, or my rejection of her milk. I eat most when I am happy. I ate well when I was in a relationship. When I married, I was eating well and did so while I was feeding my daughter. I weighed the most I’ve ever weighed while I was breastfeeding her and weaning her. Because I ate well, she ate well.
My marriage failed for lots of reasons, but the main ones were violence and bullying and that he did not understand how to keep a child safe.
I cooked well as a single parent. I enjoyed cooking for my daughter. Now my daughter has left home, my health has declined, and I struggle to want to eat.
Why?
If the Government won’t come to us,
we must go to them
in person, by letter, email or tweet.
We must tell them we are tired,
oh so very tired of broken promises.
Mainly, it is the lies.
They word things carefully,
we call it spin.
But the rich are still getting richer
and the poor are yet poorer.
Something is broken, it’s not working,
because of the lies.
They arm the countries which bomb our ‘friends’.
Tax pennies for that,
and tax pennies to aid those orphaned, maimed.
Supply and demand of weapons that kill,
a self-perpetuating warfare and deaths.
Mainly, it is the lies.
We have to tell them we don’t want bombs,
not in our name, stop.
We want that money spent on renewables,
making jobs, saving lives and the Earth,
so the poor get richer, and cream the banks’ .
Stop telling us the lies.
War must end, we’ll organize the peace
and teach love, not power.
They will see bigotry is old fashioned,
humankind has evolved to tolerance.
The arms trade robs us of our bucks.
Corrupt, it’s the lies.
History does not repeat, it’s
human nature that changes not.
Our revolt will ban the weapons and power
until no one can come to harm any more
Tolerance and love are the watchwords,
Otherwise, it’s all lies.
Oh Michael Ebsworth, you seduced me, you loved me, you revealed yourself completely to me…you were horrid to me… I love you still.
My new doctor and I are on first name terms because our children went to school together. I thought I would find it odd, but it’s great.
He prescribed me a tablet that deals with allergens that get into the lungs, and I haven’t had to be nebulised since. I’ve been much less tired, which shows how much effort my breathing caused me. I would fall asleep as soon as my head touched my pillow. Now, this is not the case although after I take my medicine I am physically very relaxed. Sometimes I lose my balance.
That my breathing took so much energy really shocks me. (This is after the warm weather began.) I would have to pause, whatever I was doing, to rest, use my inhaler, and just wait for normal respiration. This one medicine could have saved so many paramedics coming to nebulise me last year.
If I’ve said any of this before, please forgive me. I don’t tend to look back to previous posts as I would stop blogging, stop writing poetry, and just shrivel up.
Look for the magic in your day, it’s there, the wonder in every day things.
For David
I drank your adoration, it made me glow
in truth, I was used to being the golden girl
you liked my dresses more than my sister’s
I was chosen for your team, football or hide go seek
we’d meet at school in the woods and kiss
just like at home in the shrubbery or the den
always together, you saved me for yourself
and I wanted for no one, no other friend,
though I had them
You loved my long, long, thick hair hanging heavy
my contrasting dark eyelashes enthralled you
you sheltered me from the rain and warmed me
Your family moved away while I was ill
in hospital, how could they do that?
I look for you still
Most people who know me would use the word determined in their description of me. I don’t really feel comfortable with the word, as sometimes I don’t bother to try, I don’t know what it is I’m supposed to be determined about. I see myself as giving energy to those things I care about.
In all my life, I gave a lot of energy to motherhood. At times It was tough with financial worries, it was hard to part company from my husband but he bullied me, dominated me, and neglected our child, so I had no choice.
I gave a lot of energy to recovering after my brain surgeries, but I didn’t really realise it. I’m not passive very often, but I wanted to do sport again, I wanted to carry on with my life as it was before. I never dreamt I would have to adapt to a different way of living.
I’ve travelled a great deal, it’s never occurred to me not to. I’ve studied a great deal because I love learning.
This diagnosis with my lungs knocked me over and I laid down for a very long time. There seemed little that could be done. I was caring for my Dad, and I became more and more breathless. Paramedics became the norm.
Now I have been prescribed a new medicine, and I haven’t had any tightness in my lungs. I feel like I once did although I have to be aware that I tire easily
(a poem after sexual violence)
Â
It Might RainÂ
Looks like it might rain
The flowers will welcome it
The holiday makers
Will be disappointed
Their plans of ice cream
Gone awry, cloudy skies
Looks like it might rain
A day for baking then
Knead the dough real hard
Let it prove, repeat
Chrissie Morris Brady
Chrissie Morris Brady now lives on the south coast of England with her daughter. She is widely traveled and has lived in several countries. After gaining her degrees in psychology at USC, she worked with recovering addicts for several years. She continued her practice in the UK.
Chrissie has been published by Anti-Heroin Chic, Ariel Chart, Bournemouth Borough Council, Mad Swirl, Plum Tree Books, Scarlet Review, Dissident Voice, Democracy Now and other publishers and anthologies.††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††
When I upgraded my phone after many years I lost my Instagram account. I tried so hard to get back in to no avail.
I finally gave up and started a new account and did not use my own picture in my profile but chose one from the internet because I was fed up with being hit on by men. Today, someone started following me so I checked out their account and decided that we had enough in common to follow back. Ten minutes later he deluged me with messages that he wanted to date me, we had chemistry, all sorts. I was overwhelmed and annoyed. I told him my profile pic is not me and he was jumping the gun etc and I stopped following him. I also told him I am not over my last relationship.
I cannot win. I love someone who no longer wants me and get hit on by men I have no interest in.
What do I do?
This year I’m looking forward to the Rugby World Cup. I love rugby and support Ireland, which is one of the best teams in the Northern Hemisphere. After them, I support England or Wales. I’m very proud that Ireland beat New Zealand twice last year. New Zealand are consistently one of the best teams in the world.
It’s also the Cricket World Cup which I follow on my phone and watch when I can. I have always liked cricket, as a child I watched it with my Dad and then a boyfriend liked it. I have spent many sunny afternoons watching cricket on local ovals, wherever I was living.
The women’s Soccer World Cup is also on. I don’t like soccer, so that will pass me by.
I was very athletic when I was young. I ran 100 yards, and kicked a football around. I ran for my school. I played rounders and cricket. After my surgeries I went from captain of the team to last to be chosen. I found that so hard. Incredibly hard. So I rejoice in my daughter, who is athletic and ran for her school in three disciplines and has danced since she was three. She is long of limb and poised.
I’ve just been to our local boat show and I can hear the loud speaker announcements as I write. It’s very blustery so when my friend had to leave, I came home. I will go out with my daughter later, catch a drink and some music.
This a photo of Highway 1, leaving Santa Monica behind and heading north. I’ve driven it twice, once to meet a friend in Las Olivas, and once on a road trip with a different friend heading towards Monterey and camping on the the way.
This drive exhilarated me in such a deep way. The beauty of the mountains and the vast ocean below. It recharged me in a way I can’t explain. The beauty and my love of driving fed my soul. It invigorated my spirit. I felt alive as if the Holy Spirit was flowing through me with joy and vitality.
Just now, I feel weary. I feel too many jobs need doing that I can’t do. I’m struggling to keep my head above water. My breathing is good, my life is fulfilled, but I am without domestic help as I got used to. I was supposed to go to Swanage today to catch up with a friend, but I fell asleep soon after waking up…
Tonight I am going to a local poetry group and have been invited to read at Purbeck Folk Festival.
A weekend has gone by since my last blog post. I spent Saturday wandering the High St which had a festive feel with music playing and some stalls looking for volunteers. I chatted with a young woman who represented a local environmental movement and discovered I already do what they do. I guess they just need more people doing it. If only more people took care of the environment.
Yesterday I spent time resting and eating. The weather was grey and windy which kind of affected me, but then I realised I was tired after I slept for 3 hours.
My breathing has been really good. I feel well, I feel good. My doctor prescribed a medicine which they mostly use with children with Asthma, and has had good results with adults too. It seems to be working for me. I’m thankful for my doctor because he has been proactive. Our children were at school together so I’ve known him a while. I thought it might be awkward having him as my GP but it hasn’t been at all.
I’ve been helping my friend plant her garden and we have laughed a lot. I like to feel useful.
Writer and psychologist. My health, a journey with two life shortening diseases 
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