tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-70994539197727220762024-02-20T02:59:18.202-08:00Ramblings of a thirty-somethingLiz_lowlifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15721061860874595801noreply@blogger.comBlogger18125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7099453919772722076.post-39393320851903065002010-12-24T00:20:00.000-08:002010-12-24T00:21:07.176-08:00It's gonna be OKhttp://www.reverb10.com/the-prompts/<br /><br /><b>What was the best moment that could serve as proof that everything is going to be alright? And how will you incorporate that discovery into the year ahead?<br />(Author: Kate Inglis)</b><br /><br />This is a tough one as there have been so very few moments where I felt everything was going to be OK this year.<br />Truth be told (and I am not looking for sympathy-just telling it how it is), this year has been a bad egg for me, personally...never mind what has been happening to this country and the world at large. <br />Things became <i>so unbearably bad</i> that when my long-term friend and fellow soul-mate begged me to let her fly me out to Australia for her wedding and six weeks of healing sunshine, I thought to myself, "What have I got to loose?" <br />I had already lost practically everything bar the roof over my head and the clothes on my back.<br />The flight, as I am sure you can imagine, or know from your own experience was <i>horrendous</i>. I didn't sleep, I was fed a diet of seeds and carrots and possibly grass because I had been booked on as a vegan (I am not a vegan) and was seated next to a very fat lady. We had two brief stops: Dubai (I got lost trying to find my connecting flight) and Bangcok (I got lost and was also treated like a suspected terrorist because of my leaking nail varnish.)<br />My friend came to meet me at Sydney airport but almost walked past me as she didn't recognise the pale, bloated,broken-looking woman that was limp-waddling towards her.<br />Other friends from the UK were staying at her house as well as me. I had the sofa and therefore no personal space. With my condition, I NEED personal space. It was a bit of a 'mare for the first few days. I had gone from a confirmed agoraphobic and Princess stay indoors and sit in the darkness to someone with absolutely no escape route surrounded by loud people continuously.<br />After about three days of being "forced" by my situation, to do things I wouldn't normally do, I found myself brave enough to wander around Newtown by myself, engage with my friend and her fiance's Staffie dog and even be civil to the partner of our mutual friend staying with us, who was the most despicable example of humanity I had ever encountered.<br />On my third night in Upside Down Land, I met my dear friend, the bride to be, for a shared bottle of Cava in a beautiful roof-terrace bar near the station at Newtown after she had finished work.<br />This became a regular ritual over the next six weeks and she always referred to it as <i>"Lizzie Time"</i><br /><br />I had not talked much about my situation because she was due to be married and things were frantic as all of us had been helping to prepare for the day.<br />However, she insisted upon me telling her all my woes, so I did.<br />I told her about how I had got sick without warning, my terrible symptoms, how frightened they had made me, how it had impacted on my (well paid and well loved) job so profoundly that the new Head booted me out despite 11 years of exemplary service, how my OH didn't really love me any more and was using emotional blackmail on a daily basis, how I had no money and there were no jobs out there and how I was so SICK of this condition and how my doctor had been of no help and how I feared losing my home...and other things that were happening in my life. <br />It all poured out.<br />She did what she does best and held my hand, calling me "sister".<br />"We'll sort this out Baby Girl," she said.<br />"For the next six weeks all you will have to worry about is getting enough sunshine and proper food in you. Don't let money worry you. The best wedding present I could ever have is you being here and me being able to help heal you."<br /><br /><b>That's when I KNEW.</b><br />My dad hadn't been there for me. My OH and his family hadn't been there for me and neither had the NHS or my Union when my evil ex-boss shattered my world with a harsh and unnecessary decision.<br /><i>I hadn't been there for me either- I had given up trying</i>.<br />But <i>she</i> was there for me.<br />She <i>believed</i> in me.<br />She <i>loved</i> me.<br /><br />It was then that I knew things would be OK somehow. I had the strength to get myself to Oz even though normally I barely had the strength to leave the house.<br />I had the strength to allow someone to look after me for the first time in my life because, and here's the thing, I had the strength to ADMIT that I needed help.<br />With Lou by my side, I could do ANYTHING.<br /><br />And, over the weeks, I DID do anything and everything. I slowly began to remember what a wild, adventurous, bright, inquisitive, stupidly optimistic person I was- the real me.<br /><br />Lou bundled me back on the plane six weeks later- brown as a berry, a stone lighter, completely off the Beta Blockers and other meds and ready to face the crock of shit that awaited me back home.<br /><br />Now, the tan is faded, I still have an OH that is less than attentive, no job, no money and all the same fears and worries.<br />But thanks to my time in paradise- a window into another world that could be mine, I cope.<br />Were it not for my Lou and her loving friendship, I am not sure if I would even be bothering to write this by now.<br />Were it not for the mantra I have now indelibly etched into my subconscious- <i>"What would Lou do?"</i>, I would not have had the self esteem to try and whore myself on the job market again. I would not have had the confidence to phone a random stranger and say "Gis a job mate, I'm brilliant me and just what you need!"<br />I would not be in a position where I now have my first interview lined up since I lost my job. Sure, I probably won't get it, but the important thing is, I have built up enough self-esteem to at least try.<br />Without my "inner Lou" I would not have made the decision to change my behaviours and bite my tongue enough for my rather cold and distant OH to be tempted into this whole Christmas malarkey.<br />The skills and confidence I gained in Oz have allowed me to brave crowded shopping centres with fearless abandon and chose my Christmas gifts for the immediate family myself. Last year, OH had to do it as I was too afraid to leave the house. <br />I am now able to drive again and go to pubs and see friends and do all the normal things that many people take for granted.<br />It is like being reborn. EVERYTHING fascinates me and almost nothing vexes me or sends me straight back under the duvet any more.<br />I get bad days, oh yes- but now I hear Lou in my head, whispering gently to me: "Come on Baby Girl. It's just a blip. You can do this, beautiful."<br /><br />My future is very, very uncertain.<br />However, thanks to my friend, who knows me better than anyone in the world, I feel that I can at least face the unknown as it bites-and I shall bite right back.Liz_lowlifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15721061860874595801noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7099453919772722076.post-44370155809411887002010-12-18T06:03:00.000-08:002010-12-18T06:09:26.624-08:00Giving emotional intelligence a try. I gave it a year.<b>Why I did it</b>: I tried to be more in touch with my emotions. I thought it might help my boyfriend be more open if I was, too. I thought it might make people like me better if I was more like them. <br />My emotions are pretty simple at one level as in:<br /> I am angry. Why am I angry? I dunno I just am.<br />I am happy. Why am I happy? I dunno I just am.<br />But they can also be so very complex that I can't give a name to them. <br /><br /><b>How did it go?</b> I have spent nearly 40 years not knowing the hows and whys and wherefores of my emotions, let alone trying to share them with anyone else!<br />Whenever I have tried to this year, I have made the little voices in other peoples' heads go; "Run! Run away from the nutty lady! She is frightening me!"<br />I can see it in their scared, rabbity-headlight eyes. <br />I am the metaphorical 4X4 about to make another victory road kill with my attempt to make contact. <br /><br /><b>Lessons & tips</b>: Some people are brilliant at being emotionally intelligent. I watch on with an "oooh" and an "aaaah" as if they were the most impressive firework display in the Western World as they wind their way effortlessly through the minefields of human emotion in a public display of competence.<br /><br />When I try, my firework equivalent is a manky old catherine wheel from the Pound shop that goes "fffftzzzzz....fizzle....pft."<br /><br />When I tried, I just frightened people and mothers locked their vulnerable infants in the panic-room as soon as I was in the vicinity.<br /><br /><b>The lesson I can provide is this:</b><br />There are some fundamental elements to each individual's psyche that they CANNOT change. One can IMPROVE them, polish them and make them a shining example of their own uniqueness, but you can't turn a boxer into a ballet dancer.<br /><br />I think people preferred me as I was: fun to be with, kind and loyal, but above all, practical and pragmatic.<br /><br />The lesson I have learnt is that some people are happy to share their emotions comfortably and others are not.<br /><br />After a year of trying to be emotionally intelligent, I have decided that my brain just ain't wired that way.<br /><br />I am going back to:<br />"Ooooh! Sea! Must swim in it!"<br />"Oooh look, friend! I like that friend, let's see if she wants to come out and play!"<br />"Oh, dead cat. That is sad."<br /><br />That is pretty much the extent of my emotional intelligence and having tried to "out" the more deeper emotions, I can tell you that for me, it has lead to nothing but social disaster after social disaster.<br /><br />I am happy being me, just as I am.<br />You'll find me with the special needs kids happily thinking up 100 things you can do with a paperclip. <br /><b>Resources</b>: A year of trying to tell people how I am feeling, them going "Holy crap, you are mental!" and then the sudden realisation that I was just fine as I was to begin with!Liz_lowlifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15721061860874595801noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7099453919772722076.post-70568567037564576202010-12-13T02:37:00.000-08:002010-12-13T03:12:40.100-08:00Age of Austerity.I am slowly getting used to being a member of the "benefits underclass" that is currently being despised and vilified if current opinions are to be believed.<br />I fully expect to have an egg thrown at me soon, if I don't get a job.<br /><br />The thing is though, the climate is depressing out there right now. I would prefer to be working at something I have always excelled at- teaching. However, given that I am also battling a disability, I can't see myself elbowing my way through the long line of eager,fresh-faced, younger and fitter teachers all fighting for one little job offering reduced rates of pay and a temporary contract. My self esteem is in tatters as it is.<br />I'd be happy to do some supply teaching if there were any. I'd also be happy working as a teaching assistant- I am not picky! I just want to be able to do what I do best and that's work with kids.<br /><br />However, I draw the line at going for just any old job as I know I would be useless at it.<br />I don't have very good people skills as my brief sojurn into retail demonstrated. (I can't operate tills!) No, really! I have an honours degree in a science subject but I still can't fathom how to make a cash register do what it is supposed to do. In the end, they took me off the till and stuck me on the shop floor because I kept losing money. No idea where it went. "The till ate it," I wailed mournfully after my ten billionth time of being "under".<br />I loved the shop floor at first. There is something very satisfying about pricing up stock, arranging it nicely, daydreaming of sangria with Johnny Depp as we languish by his private pool...until a blimmin' customer comes along and expects <i>you</i> to want to help them!<br />How am I supposed to get my work done with all of these stupid people wanting to know where the plumbing section is?!!! I work in the <i>Garden Centre section! I only do plants!</i> To be fair, I really liked the plants...<br /><br />I returned to retail many years later when I first moved to Brighton as a way of earning <i>some</i> money as I launched myself into supply teaching. It didn't go well. I hated all the old people. You know, the sort who don't want to put money in your hand and then dump their change all over the counter, expecting you to pick it up. I also didn't like the way that they would call me "Miss". Only the kids at school are allowed that privilege. <br /><br />I later procured a dream job at a dream school by day and ran a night club by night. I also sang in a band that took me all over the world.<br />I wouldn't say I was <i>rich</i> on a teacher's wage, but I was happy, fulfilled, busy and life was, to be honest, perfect.<br />And so it went on until two years ago when I suddenly became very ill with a long term condition. The school wasn't so fond of me all of a sudden and who can blame them?<br />I'm not much good as a teacher if I'm not there to teach. In the end, as I wasn't going to be getting better any time soon, I realised that I would have to leave with a wonderful reference and hope in my heart that some day, another school could benefit from lovely, clever, wonderful me.<br />That was almost six months ago. And here I sit: in my jim-jams at 9am because I don't have to get up and dressed to go to work. I don't even have to get dressed to job hunt. It can all be done at the touch of a button...until you quickly realise the words "NO VACANCIES" are pretty much the only ones I see.<br />Day in, day out...same routine, same frown etching itself ever more deeply into my un-botoxed face. I can't even afford a decent face cream. However, there is a certain retail outlet that I would thoroughly recommend where everything, including face cream is only £1. <br />I have learned to live on my meagre benefits. It's a case of: no new clothes. Ever. No food unless it is on offer. NO going out or seeing friends. No driving because petrol costs. No visiting anywhere that isn't free to get in. NO luxuries- no hair cuts or occasional massage for me! <br />Society likes to have a right old dig at us benefit scroungers, but actually, it IS NO FUN.<br />If I could have my old life back working 70 hour weeks, getting up early on dark mornings and cycling in the brisk, Winter air there and back, with the sea beside me and my self-esteem fully intact, I would.<br />In a heart beat.<br /><br />Instead, I am now sat at home spiralling ever further downwards into depression and low self-esteem. All because I got ill.<br />It can happen to anyone. It happened to me. Don't think for a moment it can't happen to <i>you</i>.<br />I stand to lose everything I worked for including my home and not just my marbles...<br /><br />NEXT INSTALLMENT: How to live on £50 a week. <br />(SPOILER: <i>you CAN'T</i>)Liz_lowlifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15721061860874595801noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7099453919772722076.post-73757401068544477932010-06-13T00:21:00.001-07:002010-06-13T00:21:39.952-07:00Fight or flight.Here's an interesting article for the whole bunch of you out there that battle depression like myself.<br />http://discovermagazine.com/2010/the-brain/09-psychologist-says-antidepressants-are-just-fancy-placebos<br />There is a wonderful new web site called <a href="http://www.moodscope.com/">Moodscope</a> that has some great links to mental/cognitive brain-related web sites and this one came from them.<br /><br />I don't take anti depressants. I was encouraged to try them by my doctor last year and they made me very ill.<br />Classic case of mis-diagnosis. I suffer from Anxiety disorder NOT depression and actually, the only drugs that are going to help me are the ones my own body produces! Depression, for me is a <i>symptom</i> of the anxiety but not a natural condition for me. Anxiety symptoms can be <i>crippling</i> and as such, they make one spiral into a cycle of depression because (in my case) they can be so debilitating. Take away the anxiety and the depression will magically disappear because people like me actually ADORE life and all that comes with it and, quite frankly, would simply like to be able to live it to the full!<br /><br />So, after an interesting little thread on one of my friend's LJs last night, I have noticed too, like her, that the paradigm of LJ has shifted very much from "everyone is on it and writes about their top weekend" to a bunch of close, supportive individuals who love to write- many of whom are reaching out for fellow folk to share their woes.<br />It's become a bit of a support group and agony aunt culture. In short, it has found its niche and indeed its best-fit purpose. Even better, all the people that are leading busy lives and don't care to write have shifted over to Face Book or Twitter. That's fabulous for them and fabulous for us, the remaining stalwarts, that believe writing is pretty much the be-all and end-all of happiness, self discovery and the sharing of thoughts.<br /><br />With that in mind, I have a blindingly obvious theory of my own that is never explicitly put but certainly implied by the Science bods that you may or may not wish to read.<br /><br /><lj-cut text="The run wild, run free, protect and survive theory."><br /><br />Right, we all know that stress is caused by over-active adrenal glands responding to the basic "fight or flight" mechanism. Most of us know that the naughty little amygdala in our brains has yet to keep up with our ridiculously fast evolutionary path and therefore goes awry when we become frightened and feel trapped. We all know that when this happens we often have nowhere to run <i>to</i> and therefore the poor body's beautifully designed endocrine system goes into overload.<br />We know that serotonin is our friend and modern life depletes it. The modern diet depletes us of vitamin B12 and that is a vital vitamin for energy levels. It is a vicious cycle.<br /><br />I am not a doctor, heaven forbid! But I <i>am</i> a Scientist by nature and my area of study for my degree focused very much on finding patterns in mass extinction events and indeed, the reasons for the successes of certain species in harsh habitats.<br /><br />Look at it this way. We are a species that evolved so very recently and we have placed ourselves by our very aggressive nature in a harsh habitat. Aggressive species like to branch out and conquer. A classic example would be the Angiosperms. These are all the flowering plants that you are all familiar with. They evolved from the Gymnosperms (pine trees are a fine example of these.)<br />Before that, when the dinosaurs rampaged around the Earth, the only plant types we had, propagated themselves by spores. Spores don't travel very far. Pollen does. Hence now, our predominant plant-type is Angiosperm. <br />It was an evolutionary advantage and a fine example of Natural Selection.<br />At this point, I should point out that I am no expert when it comes to anthropology as I specialised in plants and marine creatures- but the patterns of convergent evolution are remarkably similar for species that branch out and become ubiquitous. Sadly, their fate is often not a happy ending but that is for another post.<br /><br />So. here is where we stand.<br />Humans are supposed to be running around a lot. They are built to eat frugally and find what they scavenge or hunt with some level of effort involved.<br />Our digestive systems have not evolved to keep up with the evolution of our brains which are far too big and clever for their own good. When the Egyptians first started falling foul to ergot poisoning, it should have been a wee warning for us wheat intolerant Westerners that societies that developed agriculture might just have jumped evolution a wee bit too far and too soon. <br />We are designed to run and climb and develop strategies for hunting prey and finding where the best fruits and vegetables are growing. We are designed to procreate and spend all of our time raising those progeny with no distractions other than finding ways to provide for them. We are designed to help out others in our tribe- but only if times are good otherwise the social nature of our species reverts back to survival of the fittest.<br />These patterns are played out time and time again in the office, among our families and friends and when we are queueing at the checkout in Tescos.<br /><br />So here we all are then. Surrounded by tarmac, a self-created environment, disassociated from Nature for the most part and, to be honest, existing very much like bees in a hive. We all know how ruthless bees are when it comes to how their own particular societies are run. But even the drones get to fly from the hive and hunt and provide for their siblings. They live according to their nature.<br /><br />There have been interesting studies where some highly intelligent animals kept in zoos show visible signs of depression and agitation. Tigers pacing and pulling their fur out, monkeys electing not to eat and becoming lethargic or listless, that kind of thing.<br />If an animal is deprived of the things that they must do according to their evolutionary nature, their bodies will react accordingly the same as ours.<br /><br />It is blindingly obvious that we, as humans have pretty much been self- harming OURSELVES never mind the ecosystem!<br />And at what cost?<br />One in four of us suffers from a mental disorder at some point in our lives. One in three of us will get cancer.... you know where I am going with this.<br /><br />Of course, there is little we can do now. We have replaced trees with concrete and tribes have been replaced by groups of like-minded individuals. A classic example of when we re-engage with our tribes could be the common comradery that plays out when the World Cup is on. Another- how folk all mucked in together during the war.<br />Think about how you felt when you last did something active, engaging and as part of a group that shared your passion. You didn't have time to introspect and mope and not get on with things, yes?<br /><br />So my theory is that although Scientists are well known for saying that we need the "caveman Diet" for optimum health and exercise is good for you, this is not strictly true.<br />I think the human brain may well be harbouring a "reptile brain" that governs our basic survival needs...but it has a cerebral cortex and that is the bit that's the problem. We question everything. We have a desire to learn, to spread out, to try new things. It is what our species was designed to do!<br /><br />So I think this:<br />We, as a species have not yet learned how to marry the two aspects of ourselves (higher thoughts and creativity with basic instinct) all that effectively.<br />But given that we are armed with some AMAZING cognitive abilities, we should think more carefully about every action that we choose to make and ask ourselves if we are balancing our opposing sides as we do so.<br /><br /><br /><br />If you have read thus far, then good.<br />Because the important bit is here:<br /><br /><b>Next time you go to Tescos, bring a club with you or some other blunt instrument. Steal the food you need (non-dairy, non-wheat, non- imported exotics please as they are not good for you) and then run like the wind with your shopping basket coshing anyone on the head as you go if they try and stop you.<br />Once home, cook the food simply and frugally, then have a good old bonk with your OH.<br />Perfect. Your body and brain will align themselves for optimum functioning in no time.</b>Liz_lowlifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15721061860874595801noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7099453919772722076.post-767014761746664152010-03-12T10:17:00.000-08:002010-03-12T10:22:47.376-08:00Something that EVERYONE should know.<br />Have you ever found yourself thinking, "Oh, for Heaven's sakes just pick yourself up you layabout?" when you read of someone being on benefits or on long term sick pay for a mental disorder?<br /><br />I think we all have and you know what? You should stop RIGHT NOW and think again.<br /><br />I can't speak for what other people are going through but I would like to share a little analogy with you that might just make you think twice before judging others in the future.<br /><br /><br />Imagine if you will, some nasty person injects you with a poison that gives you the following symptoms:<b><br /><br />• Uncontrollable shaking<br />• Nausea and vomiting<br />• So much tension in your arms and legs that you cannot walk properly or indeed even hold a cup of tea.<br />• Terrifyingly dark, racing thoughts.<br />• The constant urge to run and hide.<br />• Heightened hearing so every noise makes you jump.<br />• Heightened vision so that the world looks very “trippy”.<br />• Loss of appetite.<br />• Inability to concentrate on even the most basic of tasks.<br />• Insomnia.<br />• Pins and needles.<br />• Headaches.<br />• Crippling stomach pain.<br />• RACING heartbeat.<br />• Sweating like a stuck pig.</b><br /><br /><br /><br />Not a very nice poison is it?<br /><br />Now imagine you are told that this poison may well stay in your system for up to three weeks.<br />What if you were told that the symptoms would occur again and again for the rest of your life?<br />What if you were told that the only antidote was somatisation or mind over matter?<br /><br /><br />Next, imagine if you are then told that despite all of these rather frightening symptoms happening all at once and all day long, you would have to:<b><br /><br />• Get yourself out of bed (with legs that can’t move) and walk to the bathroom for a wash (with hands that can’t stop shaking) whilst vomiting at the same time.<br />• Get dressed. <br />• Force food into you having just been sick.<br />• Brush hair/shave (razors?! With hands like this?!)<br />• Get on your bike and cycle to work with your vision flashing and your eyes exploding from all of the noise whilst trying to make those legs work.<br />• Get to work and manage to talk to collegues, do your work and try your best to “appear normal” knowing that they can see your shaking hands, your beads of sweat and the way that you walk like a robot.<br />• Deal with having to buy food after work that you DO NOT want to eat or cook because you feel sick.<br />• Spend time with your partner in the evening trying your best to pretend to be normal for them because you know that you are stressing them with your illness.<br />• Or even worse- go to a pub or a party full of loud, drunken, hectic people once again having to PRETEND to be normal.<br />• Finally fall into bed knowing that you won’t sleep as the dark thoughts are turned up to 11 in the silence.<br />• Wash, rinse, repeat the next day and the next and the next.....</b><br /><br /><br /><br />Could you do that easily?<br />Would you <i>want</i> to?<br /><br />I think most mere mortals would rather curl up and die than have to live like that?<br /><br /><br /><br />Well folks, that is what it is like to be <i>me</i> day in and day out.<br />And that is what it is like for <i>millions</i> like me.<br /><br /><br />Do you <i>still</i> think we are layabouts who should pick ourselves up and just get on?<br />Because actually, me and my brethren pick ourselves up and get on with it EVERY SINGLE DAY and you know what?<br />That actually makes us far more courageous and worthy of praise than the rest of you healthy folk out there.<br /><br /><br />Finally, thank what ever God it is that you pray to (or not) that you never have to think in the way that I do.<br />But if you find yourself in that situation...come and find me and talk to me.<br />You shall have all the empathy and compassion in the world.<br /><br />One good thing that comes from being ill- you become a kinder, more caring and open minded individual and that has to be good for the world, right?Liz_lowlifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15721061860874595801noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7099453919772722076.post-39197284374437704982010-03-09T07:28:00.000-08:002010-03-09T07:30:04.397-08:00A few bits of hurriedly thought out poetry innit?<span style="font-weight:bold;">Genes</span><br />When my parents decided to exchange primordials for flesh, I wonder if they mused upon the flesh they would create?<br />Would it wish to swim like a fish Grandfather style?<br />Drink like a fish Uncle style?<br />Hide from dreams Mother style?<br />Make dreams Father style?<br /><br />I was conceived as a result of a vodka ruse.<br />My father was making dreams Uncle Style.<br />Something from him swam Grandfather Style.<br />My Mother hid from dreams in her style several months later.<br /><br />Genetics is my religion because I grew up to do all four.<br />There is a lot to be said for a good swimmer.<br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Tea</span><br />“Write me a poem about tea,” he said.<br />“Why?” I replied.<br />“Because I like tea and you said you might write me a poem.”<br />“But I don’t like tea,” I said.<br />“Meet me half way and I shall write you one about vodka.”<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Biro</span><br />“Pass me a biro,” said my work collegue.<br />It was a flippant gesture as common as sleeping.<br />I passed her Galileo’s ill thought out invention and one hundred years of hard-core chemists’ blood, sweat and tears.<br />“Thanks,” she said.Liz_lowlifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15721061860874595801noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7099453919772722076.post-30264031317947015112010-03-05T07:06:00.001-08:002010-03-05T07:06:45.082-08:00The HouseSomeone is in <i>my</i> kitchen. <br />They are concocting curry but not with the raisins my mother always added.<br />Someone is gazing out of my bedroom window, hating the view.<br />They don't see the land beyond and a wild expanse of adventures. There is magic in that view but they only use their eyes.<br />They do not have Bauhaus up to 11 but instead, have chosen to sully the place I slept with a radio.<br />My bathroom, where I discovered my face for the first time is now littered with different towels and lotions that belong on adverts.<br />My lounge- where my rabbit once chewed the wires has the same carpet but different slippers. <br />My garden, the one I tended with such passion is now a mere after-thought. No one is gazing at the stars there.<br />The stairs I always slid down are now merely walked upon- the familiar creak lives on unloved.<br />The garage wall I chalked upon lies exposed. No modern car could fit in a garage that size these days. But they do not erase the past and keep it as a folly.<br />The bedroom where I flew on my father's hand past the flowers on the curtains is now a shrine to Xbox comfort.<br />I have been erased.Liz_lowlifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15721061860874595801noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7099453919772722076.post-75241919188848610202010-02-13T05:56:00.000-08:002010-02-13T06:14:47.373-08:00On being a writerI have been writing a book. It's nearly finished and for some reason, I have it in my head that when it is done, I can begin to get well again.<br />A lot has happened since I last wrote in this wee blog of mine.<br /><br />I finally got the CBT I had been asking for, but to quote Oscar Wilde, <br />"There are only two tragedies in life: one is not getting what one wants, and the other is getting it."<br />I don't like CBT very much because they lied to me. I thought it was going to be all about Science and Logic- not talking about <i>emotions!</i><br />Still, I am going to plough on through with it because I have to admit, I think it is actually giving me what I need.<br /><br />So, this book. It's a kiddies novel- an adventure, a <i>quest</i> and it is quite wonderful.<br />Sure, it needs a lot of editing as I have the <i>ideas</i> but perhaps, not the skills as yet. I've never written a novel before and I have a lot to learn.<br /><br />Only two people have seen any of it as yet and both seem to think that it has some potential. That is encouraging because perhaps I can add "writer" to my arsenal of "things Lizzie can do".<br /><br />I am back at work and have been for some time. My job is an absolute <i>dream</i>in every respect and this is a good thing.<br />I've been racking up some new adventures too- Christmas was spent doing every kind of dangerous sport that one can do on snow and my birthday treat consisted of caving and abseiling.<br />I do love abseiling as it is so very calming and relaxing.<br /><br />However, this week has been difficult.<br />I <i>need</i> to finish this book. it is all I can think about.<br />This has entailed BF being ignored, dinners being left uneaten and the 90 words per minute tap echoing throughout a house that is begging to be swept and dusted!<br /><br />It's a strange state of affairs finding out that you have a story inside you.<br />I have always had stories inside me as I am a song writer- but songs are all about condensing information, whereas stories are about <i>expanding</i> it.<br />I've never had to expand on anything before and this has been the toughest challenge in writing a book so far.<br /><br />So how did I find the story?<br />Well, six months ago or more, I was having a very bad night. Thoughts were whirling around my head like a gang of ghosts caught in a pressure cooker. None of the thoughts were pleasant and none of them showed any signs of buzzing off any time soon.<br />It was 3am and I needed to be up for work the next day.<br /><br />So I said to myself, "What can I do to make my mind be calm?"<br />And then it came to me.<br /><br />"I shall tell myself a fairy story."<br /><br />And BAM! Just like that, one came- the whole thing- the book I am writing <i>now!</i><br />Of course, this did <i>nothing</i> to help me sleep!<br />My long-suffering OH asked me sleepily, what on Earth I was doing as the light went on accompanied by frantic scrabblings in my note book.<br /><br />"Oh, nothing dear- I just have a novel to write," came my nonchalant reply.<br /><br />At first, he didn't believe that I would stick with it but as 5 000 words became 50 000 and then 60 000 and are now rapidly approaching 70 000 and The End, he doubts me no more.<br /><br />The question is, will I be brave enough to try and get it published?Liz_lowlifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15721061860874595801noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7099453919772722076.post-7254990139262301282009-11-24T08:50:00.000-08:002009-11-24T09:23:06.607-08:00No fate but what we make?I've had a run of what can only be described as bad luck this past year.<br />First I went completely bonkers and spent the year battling anxiety, panic attacks, depression and agoraphobia.<br />I know <i>why</i> I just don't know <i>how</i>!<br />I was always the strong one, the organiser, the life and soul, the one that always did lots of stuff. I was the one that was never off sick from work and had a joie de vivre unparalleled by most.<br />That <i>was</i> was me.<br />And then one day....BAM! I just broke down...just like that.<br />My poor OH had to grow accustomed to stepping over a sobbing mess, sprawled out in the hall way when he came home from work.<br />I had to grow accustomed to not wanting to go out, see my friends, go to work...even eat.<br /><br />The doctor put me on SSRIs and....yep, just my luck. They made me violently ill so I had to come off 'em pretty sharpish.<br />I begged her to refer me to CBT but you all know that that is as rare as hen's teeth on the NHS so she gave me Beta Blockers instead.<br /><br />Still, I spent the rest of the year fighting it.<br />I FORCED myself to go outside.<br />Now what this entails when you are agoraphobic is tiptoeing out from your flat dearly hoping that you will not be caught by a neighbour.<br />Once you are out of the door, you walk, hunched, robot-like, head down, hood up and force yourself to go where you need to be. Usually for me, my first forays involved the local shop.<br />I would buy my items, eyes faced down, body language closed, trying to involve as little human contact as possible.<br />And then I would run home and be violently sick.<br />But it gets better...you go out for a little longer the next day, possibly further afield and possibly even in broad daylight.<br />And when you return home safely again, you begin to realise, "Well that wasn't so bad! I didn't die!"<br />And the Dante's Inferno raging inside your trouble mind begins to give way to a more manageable riot of thoughts.<br /><br />After a few days, you add in more and more activities and before you know it, you start eating again and can go back to work.<br />My line of work involves lots of conversations.<br />Now I may <i>appear</i> out going, but actually, I am total loner and find it difficult to sustain conversations without feeling exhausted.<br />Every time I hold a conversation, I am thinking:<br />"Am I behaving appropriately?<br />Am I doing the small talk right?<br />Am I showing enough interest in your boiler problems with my conversational and physical gestures?"<br /><br />And I have had to do this every single day for many, many years in a line of work that I LOVE...but find tough at times because of all the conversations!<br /><br />But when I bounce back, boy do I bounce back!<br />I am this bold, fearless, outgoing and cheery individual willing to take on any challenge that the world might throw at me.<br /><br />The trouble is...and here's the rub:<br />It only takes a little disaster to set me back to square one again, because folks, I am NOT YET FULLY HEALED!!!!!<br />It can take up to and well over and sometimes NEVER two years for someone to recover from a break down as severe as mine.<br /><br />So I have to treat it as if it were M.E. which means I cannot over do things.<br />A very wise friend introduced me to <a href="http://www.butyoudontlooksick.com/navigation/BYDLS-TheSpoonTheory.pdf">The Spoon Theory</a> and it revolutionised my way of thinking.<br /><br />Read it.<br />And then when I tell you "I am sorry I can't come out to the pub with you tonight because I am out of spoons!" you will know what I am on about.<br />It's the best way to explain to people who are well and full of life and vitality what it is like to have to cope with a long term illness.<br /><br />So.<br />I was doing so well. I had returned to work and was absolutely loving it.<br />I lasted one unimpressive week before I fell again.<br /><br />And why did I fall?<br /><br />I was victim of fraud....£2k wiped from my combined bank accounts over night...which meant having to phone people.<br />I am phonaphobic.<br />But I did it.<br />And then my OH contravened with his behaviour leaving me pacing up and down fretting all weekend.<br />And then I got me a shoulder injury and two massive black eyes by falling out of bed during my sleep (I am prone to night fits sadly).<br /><br />And then there was a fair bit of drama involving my neighbours.<br /><br />And then I just simply caved in again.<br />Just like that.<br />I crumpled like a piece of paper in a fist and fell to the metaphorical floor once more.<br /><br /><br /><br />But the point of this post is not to incur sympathy...it is simply to cry out loud:<br /><br />"WHAT DID I EVER DO TO THE UNIVERSE THAT IT HATES ME SO MUCH?!"<br /><br /><br />I am kind to my friends, I give to charity, I give money to tramps, I nearly always tell the truth, I pet fluffy kittens....I am a good, kind and caring person.<br />Surely I should have racked up some good karma by now?<br /><br /><br />Oh, and one final irony..... and I want you to laugh at this.<br /><br />Since I have had to deal with doctors, metal health nurses, banks, etc, etc, I conquered my phonaphobia...I was even getting SO into using phones that I began to covet and cherish my land line phone and the lovely conversations I could have on it with my dearest friends.<br /><br />And then the phone died.<br />Marvellous.Liz_lowlifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15721061860874595801noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7099453919772722076.post-60891323321147507362009-11-14T03:34:00.000-08:002009-11-14T03:48:34.676-08:00Far flung placesI have been following the adventures of my friend, B.<br />She has spent the last 6 months working in the far east with kiddies, teaching.<br />She speaks of intoxicatingly exotic smells and sounds, warm climates and azure blue seas. She speaks of peace and heartbreak and beauty all played out under perpetually blue skies, peppered with a sprinkling of palms wavering gently in the breeze.<br /><br />I want to do that.<br />I want to do that so much.<br />But unlike me, she is unbound.<br />She does not own a house or feel beholden to a significant other.<br />She is free to pursue paradise.<br />I was raised Catholic. I don't follow the religion now, as an adult...but the sense of guilt instilled upon me is very prevalent.<br />I chose a caring profession and I chose to abandon my personal desires in favour of taking care of others first.<br />But as a late 30 something, I am beginning to realise that my choices are becoming ever more limited.<br />I want to dance barefoot on foreign sands.<br />I want to gaze at the Southern Cross, flat on my back, arms behind my head, glass of exotic moonshine by my side.<br />I want to share this with someone that loves it as much as I do...with a passion rather than just "it's a nice holiday."<br />I want to write about it, photograph it, film it, LIVE it.<br /><br />Where do I want to go?<br />EVERYWHERE!!! For the rest of my life I want to go EVERYWHERE!!!! <br /><br /><br /><br />But I chose to care for others for my career and those kind of jobs never send you anywhere other than housing estates and the bleak greyness of Britain.<br /><br />I am lucky that my dad lives in Canada. Even better, he lives in a Ski resort. It's good, clean, healthy North American living out there. I love it when I go.<br />But it is familiar territory. I've been to Canada and The States so many times now that it becoming as familiar to me as a well loved teddy bear.<br />I want danger, adventure...the edge.<br />I want to live until I die with one foot on the horizon into the unknown...but I am afraid to do it alone.Liz_lowlifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15721061860874595801noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7099453919772722076.post-75800034648156241162009-11-07T17:57:00.001-08:002009-11-07T17:57:56.841-08:00DeniseIt's times like these when a gal needs her Mum!<br />I've contracted one of those stupid, 24 hour puke-fests that have been lurking around the school.<br />I pick up everything these days, due to my precarious immune system, but thankfully, because of genetic robustness, I bounce back quicker than the rules of biology might have you believe.<br /><br />However, it's times like these that a gal needs her mum!<br />I am old enough to be a mum myself and, on the estate where I work, I am old enough to be a grandmother! LOL!<br />But chronological and mental age are two different animals.<br />On the inside, I am a frightened and confused teenager most of the time (and actually on the outside too, if the shops that sell booze would have one believe).<br />Most of the time I enjoy being a responsible adult with a highly responsible job.<br />Most of the time I enjoy being the one who <i>gives</i> the advice, rather than takes it.<br /><br />But tonight, I just want my Mum.<br />I want to be able to snuggle up to her as she mops my fevered brow in between puking sessions and to feel utterly safe in her arms.<br />When was the last time you felt utterly safe?<br /><br />Answer carefully.<br />For most of us, it was a loooong time ago.<br /><br /><br />I remember the early Autumn of 1994.<br />Many of you on here know very well that I HATE Autumn.<br />The main reasons that I give are the changes in temperature and the dying of Summer.<br />But it runs deeper than that.<br /><br />I knew, by late September of 1994 that my Mum was dying. No second chances... this was it for her.<br />I watched as she withered with the leaves and mirrored the ever greying skies.<br />I watched as her beautiful and effervescent lights slowly sunk to the horizon a little earlier each day, in tune with the Autumn sun.<br /><br />It was an Indian Summer that year.<br />Summer stretched her golden arms out and breathed some of her warmth well into October.<br />This meant that my mother and I could continue our little tradition of sitting on the bench in the garden, under the stars of an evening while Dad pottered around indoors.<br />Mum and I would just sit and talk.<br />And talk.<br />And talk.<br />And sometimes we would stop to smell the scent of the flowers carried on the night air and the hint of Autumn threading and entwining its own scents in between.<br /><br />We had a world of our own, we two...mother and daughter, sister and sister, friend and friend.<br />It was the truest and most beautiful of loves I have ever known.<br /><br />One day, I opened up to my Mum as I often and always did.<br />I knew that she was dying. I knew that she had enough on her mind, but I spoke to her any way.<br /><br />There were things that I had not told her...not told <i>anyone</i>.<br />I am a keeper of secrets, me. I keep those of others' and more especially, I keep my own.<br />I am a creeper of the underworld sometimes...I sneak off and do remarkably precarious things that are so out of character for me that I never tell of them because nobody would believe me anyway. And actually, if I <i>did</i> tell of them, I would have to face up to the fact that there is a very dark and dangerous faery of a creature residing within!<br /><br />So that night, barely out of my teens, I confessed all.<br />I had racked up a fair pile of nefarious and dangerous adventures in my short time on this earth... probably more than the average forty year old. One thing I knew how to do was to LIVE and to live in a very quiet and subtle way...but also to push every single boundary I could throw myself at...just so long as it was under cover of darkness and out of view.<br /><br />She wrapped her withered arms around me and stroked my hair as I sobbed my confessions into her diseased breast.<br />I knew that this was probably my last chance to let the one person that I had ever loved this deeply to truly <i>know</i> her daughter.<br /><br />After I was done, she recoiled.<br />She asked if I could hold her as she held me so that she may honour me with her own confessions.<br /><br />So I curled around her like a velvet shawl and I held her tight and cradled her as if I might be the only thing in this world that could keep her flesh from falling.<br /><br />She then spilled out 54 years worth of secrets and hidden desires and regrets and longings and mistakes and heartbreak.<br />They spilled out of her and onto me like a torrent of water from a broken levy.<br />As she sobbed and spoke, I came to realise that after barely twenty years on this Earth, I had been given the chance to open my eyes and never regret the things I had never done...or the things that I HAD done.<br />My mother had been my carer, my best friend, a good wife and all things to every one.<br /><br />But she had spent her life hiding what was, essentially, the fact that she was a poet, a dreamer, a princess, an intellect...and someone waiting for the Knight that never came.<br /><br />A month later, she died.<br />She died in my arms in an ambulance. I whispered that I loved her and she nodded. I was the last person she ever saw with living eyes.<br /><br />My world fell apart.<br />I had lost the only true love I had ever had and boy, was I pissed off.<br />I went off the rails.<br />I messed up my relationship with my poor boyfriend Dave by being a total fruit loop.<br />I went out every night and drank everything that I came into contact with.<br />I did whatever it took to blot out any sense of emotion or feeling.<br />This happened for a very long time.<br /><br />But eventually, one wakes up from such folly and gets on with life.<br />I woke up and got on with life.<br /><br />However, sometimes, when you are alone in the dark and feeling poorly and sorry for yourself, all you want is the one thing that you can never have...true, unconditional love enveloping you with no codicil, no price: just pure, 100% proof love bottled and sold to you with no request for ID and no questions asked...Liz_lowlifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15721061860874595801noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7099453919772722076.post-24995083028088559012009-11-07T10:13:00.000-08:002009-11-07T10:14:24.808-08:00Back in the dayAn LJ thread on one of my previous posts (of which there are many I am sad to say) made me start thinking about my university days back in 1790 or there abouts.<br /><br />I went to one of those "really posh" universities.<br />Back in the day, if you wanted to be classed as a true academic, you went to one of the Oxbridge colleges or, as a second best, one of the London ones. I qualified for Oxbridge of course, (3 straight As at A level plus an S level in English lit) but felt that I would be rather out of place there, given my back ground...and actually, I had the pick of the unis for my chosen subject. The two best ones were both London colleges. One was actually slap bang in the middle of London and the other was based to the far west of it, near Windsor Great park.<br />The wild frontiers of Middle England.<br />I am a suburbanite gal and certainly not a lover of the bright lights and bustle of London, so I plumped for the campus in the trees and fields.<br /><br /><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3269/2850606748_16777df9af.jpg"><br /><br />Isn't it beautiful?<br />Someone who lives in the world of fairy tales and imagination like me would easily be seduced by it.<br />And I was.<br />Unfortunately, it attracted every single kind of upper class twat that you could ever imagine.<br />Champagne and Pimms on the lawns every Saturday for them... 3 weekend and evening jobs to pay the fees for me.<br />The first Summer ball was quite a juxtaposition.<br />I was part of the "ents team" (read that as a regular concubine of the ents officer who was a goth) and we got in some amazing bands.<br />For the Summer ball, we got in Fields of the Nephilim who played to a bunch of beered up hoorays in ball gowns and black ties.<br />My ball dress?<br />Funnily enough I still have it. It still fits even though I am no longer eighteen.<br />It was the poshest thing I ever owned.<br />My friend Kate and I went to Laura Ashley in Windsor to be fitted and kitted.<br />She had hundreds of pounds to spend and was slim and blonde and beautiful.<br />I was dark, dusky, short and curvy (but never the less slim... just not willowy and princess-like)<br />I had saved £70 after much hard graft in the shoe shop, the garden centre and the double glazing company. The latter paid me well because the millionaire boss aged 70 paid me to accompany him to dinner because I looked good on his arm. I earned a lot of money from being an escort.<br /><br />I digress...back to the dress.<br />Even back then, you could not get a ball gown for under £100 at Laura Ashley...but I wanted to have one. Just the once.<br />Kate tried on various satin beauties that clung to her as if they were made to be worn by her.<br />I tried on many myself, but the price tags made them slip from my flesh as if I were covered in oil.<br /><br />I eventually made a desperate plea to the snooty shop assistant:<br />"Have you got anything in the back that is broken or not quite right? Something that you would not sell out front but can be repaired?"<br /><br />As it happened, they did.<br />It was a tad floral, but fitted me like a dream and I looked like a little princess in it.<br />The zip was broken and some of the seams were a bit frayed, but they sold it to me for £60.<br />I saved my remaining tenner towards buying some make up to make me look pretty on the night.<br /><br />Once back at Uni, I lovingly repaired that dress and I went to the ball.<br />And I danced to Fields of the Nephilim in the courtyard of the castle under the moonlight.<br /><br />And for that night, I <i>was</i> a princess.Liz_lowlifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15721061860874595801noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7099453919772722076.post-53222944210326034742009-06-13T10:42:00.000-07:002009-06-13T10:55:33.365-07:00Local wildlifeWe have an indigenous wood pigeon. I call him "Woody". Not because of his species name but because of the fact that he smokes 60 woodbines per day. <br />Plus he always has a pigeon sized can of special brew in his left claw whilst rolling around drunkenly in the bushes.<br />He is the special "Brighton" kind of wood pigeon.<br />You see, back up in London, where I used to live, we had a wood pigeon too. He would coo gently and rhythmically and make me think of burnt umber on canvas and bouncy castles.<br />His tonality was soothing and gentle.<br />But this one we have here in Brighton?<br />Well, the local tramp would see him as kindred.<br />This pigeon coughs rather than coos. It does! "cough, cough, cough" When it should actually be "coo coo coo!"<br />Why do we always get the rubbish birds here in Brighton?<br />All we get are raucous sea gulls (which are chavs disguised with feathers) and manky old pigeons.<br />That's about it.<br />Our ecosystem is fucked.<br />Either that or all the best birds are to be found in London....Liz_lowlifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15721061860874595801noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7099453919772722076.post-61803911949982300042009-05-19T04:26:00.000-07:002009-05-19T04:30:26.286-07:00What it is like to go a bit mental by Elizabeth Green aged XXand a half.<br /><br />I am writing this because I want my work place to truly know what is going on with me and why I have hardly been able to set foot in the place this past few months.<br />I think it is important that they read this because I know that in the back of my mind, they are not completely aware of what “going a bit mental” means.<br /><br />I know many mentally ill people despise the term “going a bit mental” but I like it because it appeals to my sense of irony and is, essentially true.<br />What work doesn’t realise about me is that I have a history of “going a bit mental.”<br />I went a bit mental on a regular basis as a kid and many a child psychologist failed to diagnose me with a nice, neat pigeon holed condition.<br />They eventually settled upon Synaesthesia and given how my brain works, I have always agreed that they got it right. However, I have never wanted to talk about it until now.<br />What happens with me (because, I am almost 100% certain this is because of my Synaesthesia) is that sometimes I reach sensory overload when I have had too much trauma. Given that so many people and most of my family that I love have died under tragic circumstances in the past two years, I was building up for an overload of sensation and emotion.<br />I had to sit out two deaths, day and night and pick up a broken boyfriend.<br />I lost two dear friends to cancer and another to suicide. I had to talk a friend down from suicide and saved him...but was unable to save myself.<br /><br />Oh, and these are the things I can’t tell you about. A lot of dark, dark stuff happened in my child hood which are only just emerging into my conciousness now.<br />Plus I have this Synaesthesia. It is a real condition and not a fabricated excuse. <br />Synaesthestes feel everything more accutely because of their mixed up wiring. Sometimes even a sound or a smell can send me into paroxysms of joy...or fear.<br /><br />Since I had my break down, I have not been able to leave the house for days on end at times,because everything is too noisy and bright and confusing.<br />I am NOT on drugs...this is just the way my mind works.<br /><br />I have managed to keep it hidden and under control for years now. My condition manifests itself through song writing and the way, perhaps I talk to the children at school but it has otherwise been kept in check.<br /><br />Until now.<br />Now, you find me as I type this having just been sick (again), shaking like a leaf and with muscles made of titanium. The worst thing is the muscle stiffness...it hurts like Hell.<br />I need to go to yoga and get outside for some exercise as I know that helps, but right now, outside is too bright and noisy and downright terrifying.<br />I need to get back to work.<br />I miss the kids...but a school is just about as hectic an environment you can get.<br />So I need to be truly ready before I return.<br /><br />All of this makes me so, so miserable.<br />I just want to be normal again (for a given value of normal) and get on with life, see people, do my job well...<br /><br />As I type this, the very thought of even having to talk to another person is sending my anxiety through the roof. Even my doctor has to speak to me over the phone rather than me going to the surgery!<br />I know the things that I have to do to get well again involve eating food, talking to people and leaving the house.<br />When I am ready to face the world again, I pick myself up and do these things.<br />But when I get home, the stress it has caused leads me straight to the bathroom for a good old session of projectile vomiting.<br /><br />I want you to know just how bad and awful I feel for much of the day.<br />I also want you to know that I have no real idea why I suddenly got so sick when others, who have been through similar traumas never do.<br />I ask myself “Why me?!” every single day.<br /><br />I don’t have a concrete answer.<br />But I wish someone could come along and prescribe a cure.<br />It seems that the mind is the most difficult organ to heal.<br /><br />And I am desperate for the powers that be at work to realise just HOW sick I really am but just HOW desperate I am to return to a job I love.Liz_lowlifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15721061860874595801noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7099453919772722076.post-14022606539745042602009-05-18T11:05:00.001-07:002009-05-18T11:05:47.393-07:00What would Liz do?<br /><br />I was asked, long ago by a kind and wise failure of a lady.<br />“What would Liz do?”<br />I was asked this because I did not know what to do.<br />The world left me dazzled by its turning and my (supposed) place in it.<br />But I did not really know my place and had never yet found anything that I wanted to do.<br /><br /><br />She looked at me, quizzically, owl-esque and perhaps slightly angrily.<br />“You don’t know what to do?”<br /><br />I replied:<br />“Well, yes, I want to find the person that loves me to the point that his joints ache from reaching out to touch me.<br />I want us to tread the freshly washed sand from a new tide in a new place. I want us to gaze at the blue skies and our own eyes simultaneously. I want us to run, so very fast because we can... and because it brings delight to our souls. And I want to be able to put down in words and music just how wonderful this all is, so that others have footprints to follow.<br />That is what I want.”<br /><br /><br />She looked at me and said, “So you are not asking for much are you?”<br />And then she added:<br />“I don’t know a recruitment agency for that, but have you thought about a career in advertising?”<br /><br />I never pursued her advice because I could never advocate the selling of false dreams...Liz_lowlifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15721061860874595801noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7099453919772722076.post-65684331953769281152009-04-04T05:41:00.000-07:002009-04-04T05:42:24.286-07:00Vanilla Gravel<meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 10"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 10"><link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CUser%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtml1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="PlaceType"></o:smarttagtype><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="PlaceName"></o:smarttagtype><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="City"></o:smarttagtype><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="place"></o:smarttagtype><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="Street"></o:smarttagtype><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="address"></o:smarttagtype><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:usefelayout/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><object classid="clsid:38481807-CA0E-42D2-BF39-B33AF135CC4D" id="ieooui"></object> <style> st1\:*{behavior:url(#ieooui) } </style> <![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face {font-family:SimSun; 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mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman";} </style> <![endif]--> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">Last night, an old friend asked me why I had not updated my blog in some time.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">“I am afraid that you appeared to be the equivalent of an online coma victim, so I am sorry, but I deleted you.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">It seems that euthanasia is alive and well in the digital world yet it still remains a controversial subject here among the flesh and blood of the living.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">So, why have I not been writing?<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">It could be because I am engrossed in shaping and forming my first novel.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">It could be because I am working on music projects at the moment.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">Or it could be because, for the past five months, I have been stark, raving bonkers.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">Let’s go with all three shall we?<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">Yes, let’s.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">I have decided to leave the two most interesting subjects out of the three offered above, because they will tell their own tales once they have been finished.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">The latter of the three is the one I have decided to make the subject of this very late in the day blog entry.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">It cannot tell its own story, so I have to tell it myself.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">I have Synaethesia. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">Explained simply, it is a neurological condition whereby one’s senses can become muddled in quite a delightful, creative, yet ultimately confusing way.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">The most common form manifests itself in grapheme-colour form. This is when people associate letters, words, days of the week and so forth with certain colours.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">Less common, is the form that I have which basically consists of every single thought, word, object, verb, adjective and idea having its own colour, form, texture, sound, smell and taste.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">A classic example I use it that one of my favourite sounds is that of footsteps on crunchy gravel. For me, I taste vanilla ice cream (the good quality stuff with vanilla pod grindings in it) and see blue skies and hear sparrows.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">However, if one were to ask another person what the sound of gravel under foot might conjure, they would most likely associate it with eating a chocolate chip cookie (because of the sound) and grey skies (because of the colour of gravel).<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">Well, my mind does not work like that, I am afraid.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">As a child, I was sent to a string of child psychologists and psychiatrists. I was a very difficult little madam. I would not socialise with other children because they were noisy and confusing and had too many colours. I had terrible tantrums and the craziest of obsessions.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">This was the Seventies folks, and there wasn’t a whirling array of brightly coloured umbrella terms that I could be tick-boxed into. Back then, there were no such things as ADHD, Bi-polarism, Apergers, yadyada...you were lucky if you got Scizophrenia<span style=""> </span>as a diagnosis. Of course, these terms were all well known among the most erudite of mental health professionals, but I did not come from a family that frequented </span><st1:street><st1:address><span style="" lang="EN-GB">Harley Street</span></st1:address></st1:street><span style="" lang="EN-GB">.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">I was, however, rather lucky. The kiddie psych that my parents eventually settled with was NOT from </span><st1:street><st1:address><span style="" lang="EN-GB">Harley Street</span></st1:address></st1:street><span style="" lang="EN-GB">, but I suspect she hung around the back doors of the eminent doctors there, to get her autograph book signed.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">She did test after test and concluded that I got my senses muddled when I tried to describe things. She had heard of the term Synaesthesia, looked into the research, did further tests and eventually concluded that this was all I had. Nothing to worry about.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">“She’ll probably grow up to be an artist or a musician or a writer.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">I grew up to be all three...but in a rather lackadaisical way, with very little talent in extracting the wonderful imaginary world in which I inhabited so that others could see it with their own, non-Synnie eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">Sadly, Synnies are often as normal as normal gets and don’t exhibit any more signs of genius than any given member of the non-Synnie public.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">However, we are never bored. A train ride through </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="" lang="EN-GB">Birmingham</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="" lang="EN-GB"> can be as exciting to us a day at </span><st1:place><st1:placename><span style="" lang="EN-GB">Thorpe</span></st1:placename><span style="" lang="EN-GB"> </span><st1:placetype><span style="" lang="EN-GB">Park</span></st1:placetype></st1:place><span style="" lang="EN-GB"> on fast track.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">The downside is when one is bombarded with too much experience and trauma all in one go.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">I have had a lot of trauma and unresolved grief in the past two years. Plus, I am trapped in a job that I simply despise. I have felt trapped, confused and disillusioned for a long time.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">We Synnies are prone to mental illnesses when that happens. Just a bit of short circuit if you will. Imagine taking all the LSD in the world and then having to go to work. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">When my brain short circuits, it is like that.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">It is<span style=""> </span>Dante’s Inferno under the Duvet.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">It makes Lovecraft appear as cuddly as Bungle and Zippy.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">It makes life impossible unless you sit in a darkened room with no outside stimuli until the mind and body begin to quiten down and sounds and sights and senses can be slowly re-introduced.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">The old fashioned term would be “Nervous Breakdown”.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">Doctors hate that term.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">But they love telling you that you are suffering from depression and anxiety. They love handing out pills made of pure rat poison that are “supposed” to make you better.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">They love telling you that what you really need (CBT and NO DRUGS!) is tantamount to comedy and are you having a laugh?!<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">They are happy to send you away, knowing full well what these kinds of drugs can do to a mind like mine and they don’t mind one bit that all of your creativity and gushingly outstanding visions of a beautiful world is reduced to grey...like gravel under a steely sky.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">Thankfully, there is a happy ending.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">I crunched on gravel for the first time in months, yesterday... and I tasted the faintest hint of vanilla rushing like a tiny Summer wave from the back of my tongue to the very tip until it washed up against my cheeks and made them tingle.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">As to the pills? I suspect they are washing up and out against the sides of the nearest sewerage outlet as I type.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">I hope the local fish population doesn’t suddenly get the urge to end it all as a result...<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> Liz_lowlifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15721061860874595801noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7099453919772722076.post-9348618246554955862008-10-31T07:40:00.000-07:002008-10-31T07:41:47.027-07:00Written almost a year ago...verbatim.<b>Alone, with hushed tones, dim light, the man I love and a dying woman who always represented <i>life in its fullest.</i></b><br />Just us 3.<br />And only one of us would find release tonight.<br />That's it. Pure and simple.<br />It's what I've been doing of late.<br />Helping the ones I love on their journey onwards.<br />I'll put that on my hobby list, then.<br />I've had no sleep for 2 days and this is day 3.<br /><br />9PM.<br /><i>Hang in there, Ma. David is coming. He's found a flight from Bombay and he's coming to see you. Only 12 hours and David will be here. Hold on if you can.</i><br />I squeeze her hand and compliment her on her lovely nails.<br />She can't respond.<br />Part of the dying process is the loss of the ability to swallow and therefore speak.<br /><br />We sleep in shifts, Andrew and I.<br />They give us a Zed Bed so one of us can lay beside her, while the other watches. And watches. It's our duty to watch for changes. They come fast....way, too fast. The nurses simply can't keep up.<br />And yet one of us sleeps through the moans of anguish and pain from a brave woman so that the other may stay awake and help guide her, regardless.<br /><br />11PM<br /><i>Me again, Margaret.<br />Just 10 more hours and David will be here. Not long now. Hang on if you can. He's a silly Sod to come back ain't he? But he misses you so don't be angry with him.</i><br />She's in too much pain, I know.<br />Her circulation has slowed down far too much for the drugs to work as they should. And she is crippled with pain. But she squeezes my hand to tell me she ain't done yet.<br /><br />12PM.<br />My turn to 'sleep'. The fan whirrs away and my sleep deprived mind hears Mozart's requiem.<br />Andrew told me later, that the fan sung black metal to him.<br /><br />1AM<br /><i>How are you doing, Missus? I'm going to give your face a good old wipe and put some lovely lip gloss (vaseline really) on you, to keep you looking glam. Would you like a nice, cold sponge swab in your mouth? You must be a bit dry by now?</i><br />We can't give her fluids. She can't swallow and her body can no longer process liquids. But they do get very dry with all that gasping and you know if they don't want the sponge with water droplets on, because they clamp down on it. Just one of the millions of things you pick up, doing this sort of thing.<br /><i> 8 more hours and David will be here! See how time is whizzing by? Can you hold on for him?</i><br /><br />1.30 AM.<br />I fetch the nurse while A sleeps.<br /><i>Nothing you give her is working. She's spasming and moaning and in a lot of distress. We need to up the ante.</i><br /><br />Nurse gives her more muscle relaxants...they calm down the frowns and spasms...but not the deep throated moaning that continues with every breath.<br />She is still in pain, but can no longer express it with her muscles.<br />It looks nicer...but it has simply masked the truth.<br /><br />2AM<br />Andrew's shift.<br />I drift off to Mozart, courtesy of the fan, while nurses come and go and Andrew chats quietly to his Mum. He is so brave and gentle with her. It was us two that saw his Dad through this in January and it is us two that have been left to do the same again for his Mum. If we were not here for her, she would be dying alone. After all, it's not the most pleasant of things to have to commit to.<br /><br />3AM<br />My shift.<br /><i>6 hours and David will be here....but I know you are tired. He'll understand if you need to put your feet up before then. If you need to put your feet up, we understand. You've had a long old journey and we know you need to sleep now. But hey, your hair still looks great and those muscle relaxants are stronger than Botox! You look 20 years younger.</i><br />She squeezes my hand and lets out another tremendous moan.<br />The nurses have sorted out the spasms at last...but she is still groaning with every laboured breath and each breath is taking longer to squeeze out now.<br />More fast changes and more calls for the nurses to adapt to yet another change in needs.<br /><br />I talk to her about everything I can think of. hearing is one of the last senses to go, so it makes sense.<br />And I know this is the last conversation I will ever have with her. So I have to be garallous.<br />She hates sentimentality. Likes to keep things light hearted. Which is why I tell her, her nails look great and there are no Tory nurses touching her!<br /><br />4AM<br />Andrew's shift.<br />Again, I can't sleep, so we do the watch together.<br />She's slowing down...growing paler, mouth gaping ever wider, for that elusive breath.<br />Her pulse is as strong as that of an Ox. But the Nurses assure us both that this is irrelevant. It's her breathing that we must watch.<br />I know this of course...her husband went the same way less than a year ago...and we were there to learn the signs off by heart.<br />So we gaze at her chest, her mouth....that mouth that used to spew forth acerbic wit and dry wisdom less than a week ago. Now the mouth is dry as cinders and a vessel for stolen air, fought for by pure bloody minded will alone.<br /><br />5AM<br />Nobody's shift. we are too busy watching the nurses frantically keeping up with her medication needs.<br />At last they succeed and for the first time this evening, she seems more settled.<br /><br /><i>3 More hours until David gets here. He'll understand if you simply can't wait. You see him all the time anyway and have had plenty of opportunities to say good bye. I bet he knows more than we do about your funeral plans, the creep! Sleep if you want to, sweetheart.</i><br /><br />6AM<br />Andrew is exhausted and I'm too wired to sleep...so he takes the Zed bed.<br />Her breaths are almost 15 seconds apart but not shallow yet. She may still hold out.<br /><br />6.10AM<br /><i>Andrew! Andrew! Sorry to wake you, but you need to get over here. her breathing has changed.</i><br />We talk to her and hold her hand. We tell her David won't mind if she needs to rest now.<br /><br />6.30 AM<br />We are watching her like a television. It's my turn to hold her hand. Every breath is a universe of significance. It is our world. There is nothing else.<br /><br />6.35 AM<br />She takes another gasp...but no other follows. her hand clasps tightly around mine....so tight that is is difficult to transfer her hand from mine to her first born son's.<br />I fetch the nurse and tell her...but you don't ever have to question it.<br />The tightrope between life and death is so profound. One minute, the person there before you, has a name and a soul...the next...just an empty shell of rotting flesh. It's that simple.<br /><br /><br /><br />David arrived late (darn planes) His ETA was 9AM....just 2 and a half hours after she died.<br />But he arrived at 11AM and went to see her. The hospice had cleaned her up, put her in an air conditioned room, with flowers on her pillow. It was a ridiculous sight and she would have thought so too.<br />But this sort of thing comforts the majority of people.<br />I went back to see her purely because it seemed to comfort the people at the <i>Hospice</i>! I was being nice for <i>them</i>.<br />But once you are dead, there is nothing left of you in that body.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Now, a couple of days later, we are being bombarded with people who need to assume she died peacefully at every turn.<br /><br /><br />Well she <i>didn't</i>.<br />She struggled and fought the enemy within to her very last breath.<br />Despite the wonderful, valiant efforts of the excellent Hospice staff, she <i>was</i> in pain and distress for the majority of the dying process.<br />And that's quite common if you are dying from cancer. I've seen it 4 times now. Always the same.<br /><br />Andrew and I want the world to know that if you aren't allowed to euthanise those you love, who are in pain...than you should NEVER be allowed to euthanise the facts that come with the denial of it.<br /><br />However, the tradition of guiding your loved ones through death has been lost these days. It shouldn't be taboo and I know that Margaret would feel the same way.<br />Seeing someone through their death is a lot like helping someone through labour.<br /><br /><br />And I sincerely hope that I will never have to do it again.<br /><br /><br /><br />*****************************************************************<br /><br />This was one of a long line of straws that broke my back this year.Liz_lowlifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15721061860874595801noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7099453919772722076.post-45100346703467820602008-09-27T16:14:00.000-07:002008-09-27T16:15:07.372-07:00Midlife crisis?I was sitting astride a rather spirited pony in the middle of the Brecon Beacons with a good friend, having just been thrown at gallop to the point that sparks had flown from my eyes, lighting the horizon.<br /><br />I had not ridden a horse in 20 years, yet here we were, with nothing but a compass and an ordnance survey map and lady luck to mark our paths from A to B.<br />Alone. In the mountains.<br />On horseback.<br />Fresh from London city.<br /><br />That was the moment.<br /><br /><i>That</i> was it...indelibly etched into my Kodak Moment List.<br />It was the moment that realisation unfurled, sprung up and bit me.<br /><br />I asked my friend, "<i>Why</i> are we doing this?!"<br /><br />"Midlife crisis." came his effortless reply.<br /><br />Cue that famous camera angle in the film 'Jaws' where Roy Schneider is treated to the zoom effect.<br /><i>Dear Lord! I am actually having a midlife crisis!</i><br />And I am.<br /><br />I have basically spent my Summer hurling myself into, under and over all manner of madcap situations.<br />It is like my off switch has broken and my inside voice has nipped off to Barbados leaving no note as to when it might return.<br /><br /><i>How the Hell did that happen?</i>!<br /><br /><br /><br />I remember my parents having their own form of midlife crisis back in the eighties.<br />It involved my Mum having a torrid affair with the only straight Sous Chef in Staines and my dad buying a motorbike and falling off.<br />My Mum fell off the chef eventually...I presume, to nurse my dad's broken back. But that was how it went in those days.<br />You hit forty. You had an affair or you bought a stupid machine that you didn't know how to work properly.<br /><br />It should be mooted at this point, that I don't even <i>qualify</i> to take up ownership of 'midlife' yet.<br />I am still clinging to the tail end of my mid thirties and regularly become victim of the Chablis Police when attempting to procure Waitrose contraband.<br />And herein lie the problem. When my parents had their 'midlife' they shared a tendency for balding, greying, wrinkling and love handles.<br />I am from that generation of thirty-somethings that have kept their figures, have perfect skin and still look hawt in a mini.<br />I think this is where the problem stems from.<br />How long can I keep this up?<br />How long can I go clubbing and dance like a loon to hardcore drum and bass and not feel slightly ashamed?<br />I am aware that I shall be forty sooner rather than later. I still haven't settled down. I have no children, nor do I have any desire to procreate. I still mess around with my band and go to parties to discuss the finer qualities of bosons...and who is shagging who.<br /><br />How on <i>Earth</i> can I be having a midlife crisis when I am still barely out of my <i>teens</i>?!<br />I think the mirror deceives. My generation were taught to stay out of the sun and keep fit and healthy while snorting all manner of substances in all manner of toilets... we were taught the art of getting away with it.<br /><br />So.<br />Am I having a midlife crisis or am I simply getting away with it until old age hits and makes me pay for my sins?<br />Whichever way you look at it, people in my position are <i>having fun</i> by the barrel.<br />I still feel 19. I don't look too far off 19 if you are short sighted and have left your glasses at home. I frequently out-party 19 year olds and can do all the things I did when I <i>was</i> 19...with no ill effects.<br /><br />In conclusion, I bring to you the term <i>synthetic midlife</i>. This is a a term I use to describe the right of passage I <i>should</i> be undergoing. But actually, it is simply an excuse I imagined from the ether to justify my ongoing hedonism...Liz_lowlifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15721061860874595801noreply@blogger.com0