Autumn (201)

I love how this somehow managed to get through the list of words as autumn and not fall. And while I do admit that lots of the time our british versions are ridiculous and actually no better than their canadian counterpart, I do much prefer autumn.

Autumn is pocketcanadians favourite month . I love the colours of autumn most of all, but I think I’d rather have the kind of temperatures they do in the part of canada that shes from….I’m not quite so down with the rain and cold we have over here.

Written on 14/04 and backdated

Star (191)

Stars mean a lot to me…

One of my vivid memories was when we were living in a different part of the UK and my parents threw a big outdoor evening party at our house for my mums 40th birthday. That would have made me 9 years old. My dad made this makeshift bar in the porch (esentially a table with all the alcohol on it and us on the inside to serve it) and put my brother and I in charge (middle brother, eldest wasn’t there). Putting a just turned 11 year old boy in charge of alcohol was really not a smart move…we both started taking sips of it before anyone had even arrived and he was jumping out of windows drunk by about 8.30pm. It turned really late, and most people left, there were just a few of the closest friends still there. My brother had been put to bed hours ago, the bbq was out, the remnants of the food still lingering on tables. It was nearing 1am and it was cold, and I was awake and watching everyone, not really listening to the conversation, but just being there. I went and got my fleece blanket (which is covering my legs as I write this), and I curled up on the chair, tucked my knees in under my chin, rested my head against the back of the chair and watched the stars. My dad was next to me, and we’d find all the different constellations. My brother had been given a poster with all of the constellations on it, and we’d bring it out and try to find them. My brother wasn’t interested, nor anyone else in our family, this was something between my dad and I. And we’d often look up into sky together, tell each other to go out and have a look when it was a particularly clear beautiful night.

And I’d do this on my own, often. Just look up into the sky, watch the stars. There’s something I’ve always found incredibly grounding about it, and I used it an awful lot when it was terrible in those years. In the bedroom in my parents house now the window ledges are 2ft deep, so in the middle of the night, when I was awake and sad or scared, I’d get some of my pillows and my blankets and I’d make a hide away on my windowsill, pull the curtains closed behind me and open the windows to the cool night air. Sometimes I’d climb out of them (the windows in the room below mine have a ledge that made them easy to climb), and sit out on the grass, back against a tree. No matter how out of control I felt, no matter everything happening, something about watching the stars made me feel just that little bit more okay. Sad, but grounded.

And I still do it today, look up at the stars. Try to feel like I belong somewhere, or maybe nowhere at all.

Written 14/04 and backdated

Terminate (185)

  • terminating pregnancies
  • terminating therapy. I don’t know exactly why this comes to mind with therapy….makes it sound so serious doesn’t it?
  • daleks – exterminate
  • contract law. Very dull, yet I also enjoyed it. Guess that says something about me lol

Motion (179)

I can’t put my love of this simply down to the motion, there’s a ton more to it than that; the noise of the waves and the boat coarsing through them, the smell of the salt, the feel of the wind against your skin, and the wood of the deck, and the salty splashes hitting your bare feet that are dangling over the side, the sun on your skin, to name a few… But, the motion is a part of it. The gentle up and down, the watching the waves and knowing in your head already the motion the boat will take. It’s like a rocking really… a more obvious one when sailing into the waves, and a more gentle slower one, when riding the waves travelling in the same direction, with the wind behind you, just the genoa out, catching the wind and bringing you back in. There’s a safety and a beauty in it, and I really miss it sometimes.

Mother (178) Pt 1

I’m going to do this in two parts. Part 2 (which hopefully won’t take forever for me to write – but it might, my father post is still being written) about my actual mother, and this post, part 1, about wanting to be a mum one day, and miscellaneous other stuff.

If ever people ask, or hint at it, or it somehow comes up in conversation, I’m very quick to assert that I won’t ever have kids, that I’m not interested, that it’s not for me, no thank you. To my therapist or to pocketcanadian, I might say that I don’t want to fuck up innocent children by being their mother. That I wouldn’t be any good. That I’d mess it up and damage them and carry on the cycle. Not in an abusive way or an intentional way, but in the way that my trauma would get in the way, and without wanting to or meaning to, despite actively trying not to, I’d mess it up, because I’m too damaged to be able to be a mother. That I don’t want to pass my shit on to another generation, like it was passed onto me.

And, if I was to admit to it, I want to be a mum.

I just wrote a paragraph about that, and I’ve deleted it, because who am I kidding? It doesn’t matter if that’s something I want. It won’t happen for a bunch of reasons, and nor should it. I would be a terrible mum lol.

Maybe I’ll come back to this one too, I think this is enough for tonight.



Healing (176)

I hate this word. Like really seriously think it’s such a goddamn stupid word, at least in respect to trauma.

A broken arm heals. A fractured toe heals. A gash that’s required 17 stitches will heal. Does trauma seriously heal? If it does I’d like someone to let my body in on the know-how please, because I seem to be a bit slow on the uptake.

The concept of healing always seems airy-fairy when it comes to this stuff. Like you need to relax, let it be, and magically you’ll start to love yourself and move on. Bullshit. Maybe one day I will get over the fact that it happened. Maybe I’ll learn to hate myself less, maybe I’ll be brave enough to remove myself from my family. But it’ll always be there, it’ll always hurt when I look at it. It really won’t just heal and be good as new. Fuck that idea.

Avoidance (177)

I think I might just avoid this one….

Ugh, I wish. I’m a big avoider. It’s something I do pretty well.

This always reminds me of way back when I did EMDR with the man who was head of counselling at my university. When I got there the first day he asked me to fill out a bunch of questionnaires/forms. I can’t remember the name of one of them, and I can’t find it online, but there were a load of pretty odd questions. He scored it and then explained the questionnaire to me at the end. It was testing trauma, maybe PTSD, I can’t remember, but there were three categories that you were scored in; hypervigilance (I scored mid range I think), dissociation (my response – “that stuffs bonkers”. I scored low. lol), and avoidance….where I scored extremely extremely high, high enough that on that section alone I would have been put in the PTSD bracket. (Not that the point of any of it was diagnosis, but just for him to get some background before we could begin the EMDR).

Back then my avoidance was absolutely huge. I had yet to find the forum where I met PC (or maybe i had just found it, I can’t remember, it was around about the same time – I think the forum was just after). I hadn’t told a single person about my childhood. Hadn’t confronted any family, hadn’t told a single friend, and was very much trying to continue avoiding the whole thing even in my own head. Because I had done that for years, and it had worked remarkably well; it got me here. But then relationships were becoming difficult, I was starting to have it confronting me when conversations between 20 year old female friends turned to stuff like sex, when I tried dating and freaked out when things progressed too far, when I started drinking a lot more because all of a sudden my brain was refusing to ignore it all and instead decided to bombard me with a fucking running background commentary on all of it. And I’d ignored it for years, for my whole life that far. But something to do with living away, having space from my family, and having it very obvious to me how differently I felt, and how withheld and scared I was, by being there as my friends relationships unfolded, made it somehow impossible to ignore. Avoidance totally failed.

That’s not to say that I don’t still avoid – I absolutely do. Last week I sent an email to my t that I wanted to talk to her about some stuff. This week I avoided going into it, and I likely will next week, and the week after, until forever lol. I’m good at being an idiot like that.

Also, a huge difficulty (I wrote part of my problem just then before changing it – that’s what it feels like, but I’m trying to be just a tiny bit nicer to myself), is what I’ve written on here about before, which is a phobia of inner experience, or easier put; I’m a wimp and scared of feeling the feelings, so I avoid doing that a lot. I could go into that tonight (it ties into my saying fine all the time too acutally…), but I think I’ve written enough nonsense for one night.

Bliss (175)

Being properly unconscious. No dreams, no waking up, no nothing. Usually induced by an ample supply of alcohol, and a mixture of melatonin and kwells travel sickness tablets. Perfection.