Loaves fishes and miracles-searching for my dad – part one

Loaves fishes and miracles-searching for my dad – part one
A week ago I went into a church I last went into when I was eleven years old; it’s a long long time ago. Ghosts is not the word. It was always a place that leaves me with a smile. The plan was to commemorate my aunt at the time the funeral was taking place. Chose that church because it had good memories.
Walking in, felt so small, guess last time I walked in I was just that bit shorter, still as beautifull, still as calming. Sat in a pew. Felt as if there was only really one place to sit ???.
After a few minutes the Ghosts began to surround me, subtle pressure at first, then squeezing me tighter and tighter, getting in to my heart, getting into my brain. I thought I would try and look around, look at all those nooks and crannies, that as a child I wouldn’t be allowed to look at. Took my mind away for a few inches.
Beautiful stone pulpit, with sculptures of stone flowers underneath. Some of those flowers wearing away felt a twinge of gulit, remembering caressing those flowers all those years ago.
Looked at a plaque showed the name of the son of the man who had abused me, felt like my legs disappeared beneath me, mind swirling. Suddenly wanting to shout out for my dad.
My abusers son had NOTHING to do with the abuse; he had died many many years before that in the Second World War. It was the name; I knew his name was on the war memorial in town.
Just wasn’t ready to see that surname. I think a few hundred boxes of memories; bad memories burst open like a vein bursting open and haemorrhaging life.
This last week I’ve been haemorrhaging life. Struggling to hang on to life and just even breathing has been a challenge. My feeling I can’t live anymore has been there so strongly. Guess I’m on the edge. I think I’ve got one foot firmly planted on the edge, toes curled tightly on the edge. The other foot has a miniscule turn outwards, towards the side. My big toe is on the edge, the other toes are turned outwards by about forty degrees.
Guess my mind is working, so I am thinking, but not sure I can keep on and keep on. Need respite and if it’s there its hiding well in its invisibility cloak.

loneliness of the single eater

 The loneliness of the single eater
Eating in silence, no book, no TV, no radio, just the sound of external world, distant slushy sound of cars on wet road, rumbling freight train .How diff is the food. I have rice , chickpeas and leeks ,splashed with soy sauce, with dollop of hot
salsa. I can taste the contrast of the intensity of the chickpeas, lightness and kind of squeakiness of leek. Trying small amount in my mouth, feels strange, almost cant taste it. Larger amount ,I can taste it, feels better. Not sure about eating and nothing else. Feels so horribly isolating ,so very very alone.
Managed 10 mins between main meal and bingee stuff.
Cramming in left  over christmas sweet stuff. Its horrible, popcorn covered in a cinnamon white choc,greasy,mega sweet, but I continue to eat,prob about 100 gram, leaving utterly disgusting greasy feeling all over my mouth. Such contrast to fresh ish mouth feeling after main meal.
Food is such a social activity.
If I didn’t binge i would implode. Feels like such a certainty. There are very few people i can eat with. They are the few people who I can be ME with.

 

Dragging into the whirlpool

Hard to  start, feels like a week of rejection. Missed my counselling this week, FIRST TIME . When  woke up feeling physically rough, you know those feelings when eyes feel gritty, there is a brass band practicing in your head and your body feels so heavy its hard to move, when you do move ,well the world moves to. OK,that’s what it was like.  I COULDNT FACE THE WORLD for anyone, let alone for myself

Turned over went back to sleep,did let the counsellor know, felt so rejected at the reply.  The reply was  so formal, felt told off.Spent most of that day in hot  heavy  tears, so long they did not stop, felt so deep. A level I haven’t been to before.

How come some people can cry and look so beautiful? Or am I getting confused with movie crying. I have seen people in tears ,where there eyes sort of glow and tears come down the face like raindrops and they look so angelic. Not like  that, my tears were the snotty sniffy , deep red eyes ,feeling so so alone as if the whole entire world was against me.  Guess the big word is REJECTION,guess massive whirlpool inside me is REJECTION mixing in with JUDGEMENT. YE GODS, THAT MAKES A ONE HECK OF A MESS IN MY HEAD AND HEART.

My aunt died yesterday afternoon, my dads younger sister. Got a phone call from a cousin. hadn’t see her since  my mums funeral over three years ago. Will I go to the funeral ? Its in Scotland.  Means going to the area my dad died, not sure ,even after all these years I can do that. Its strange the memories you hang on to,the first Christmas after my dad, my hero( NOT the person who abused me) died, I was eight.

Few Christmas  cards that year. Fewer presents, But my aunty sent me a whole shoebox of sweets, YES A WHOLE SHOEBOX OF SMALL SWEETS,ALL MINE,JUST FOR ME. WOW.

It as that shoebox that introduced me to Parma violets,they felt so exotic.they still do! I still hold an image of me standing by the dinner table ,with the shoebox on the table,just looking at the box,barely able to breathe with utter total disbelief and excitement.

Not sure I can put words to the mass of emotion I feel, its new ,its old. Its these times I feel so incredibly isolated, or maybe the isolation feels more ingrained. Wonder what Is it like to have someone to share it with,someone who would go with you. Guess that’s one of the parts of abuse that lingers on and on. I can never imagine trusting anyone enough to get to a relationship

Death leaves me feeling icy cold

On a practical basis,will work give me time off? I haven’t been the greatest employee of late. Its not that long since my cousins death. Feeling full of emotion, yet there’s a part of me that’s so icy icy cold. When I feel that ice ,I know I’m in trouble.

 

PINK and YELLOW PINK and YELLOW

 

 

How can a piece of paper, a few felt pens, some pastels and charcoal leave me feeling like my insides are being pulled apart and my mind has gone in to a pool of splatter.
Counselling session: looking at inner growth, using creative work. When first mention a few weeks ago ,ok ,I was a bit sceptical thinking it would be interesting and fun to play a bit.

WOW was I wrong.

Started off using black paper ,tried pale colours,yellow ,pink,lime green. Colours I would usually dismiss. MY COLOURS ARE
BLACK,
PURPLE,
DARK GREEN
ORANGY.
RED
Second picture full of lines, using fine felt tips, no ideas beyond lines.
It was such fun ,it was so painful, Can’t put words down.
My counsellor had brought so much stuff, out of her bag came all these things an artist, or do I mean a child could dream of.I didn’t know charcoal came in grey and black, and different shades of each. I had that inner squeeze of total excitement ,I wanted to squeal in my excitement didn’t. Actually that’s a shame, my adult “BEHAVE YOURSELF “ must have kicked in. For a few seconds I wanted to cry,
It was sort of “ am I really  really allowed to use all these “ “ your surely going to tell me I can only use one bit of paper”
AND I COULD USE ALL OF IT, ALL OF IT ,NO RATIONING ,TRY WHAT EVER I WANTED .
ABSOLUTELY FABULOSYLLY BRILLIANT
and a big bit scary.
Afterwards, feeling very mixed up,but no words. Did try out my “paint “ programme, not sure what it’s about,but learning to use it.

FEELING SO BLINKING WOBBLY

 

counselling pt 2-there be drAGONS IN THE SKY

Image

EACH DAY IS THEN ABOUT AVOIDING THE SPARKS……………the sparks start the moment my eyes open, figuring out—

are the nightmare ghosts still in the room,

bleary eyed to work,

a smidgen  of office politics and I’m already starting to crumble

and it’s only 08:45

It’s getting harder to step away from the internal to the external.

I know i’m making progress, trying things out. Enrolled for basic photography class, the enrolment tutor asked what make of camera I had.

Slight problem didn’t know, it’s a compact camera,

Looking at the tutors face I could see this was most definitely the WRONG  answer. A few weeks ago I would have run, made an excuse and left the building very quickly. success, I grinned and said that why I needed a beginners class.

OK, I do feel I am the marked student when the class starts, but trying to tell myself that’s the tutors issue not mine. I actually enrolled actually want to go. Feels like a success. Still utterly terrified, but am able to sort of park the terror till the night of the class, I hope.

Why photography. I love trees and clouds want to track the image of “my trees”. Not actually my trees, but those outside my window .

Devastated that my landlords chopped down a beautiful conker tree, didn’t tell anyone, and feels like a huge loss. I want to ensure I have a record of our trees.

 

 

 

 

Counselling part 1

The trouble with counselling is that it takes over your whole life; it’s entirely in the external world its entirely in the internal world. More often than not those two worlds are colliding.

How can an hour-hour and a half impact so much, how it can just be that all the sodding time?

Feel hungry; decide to eat something reasonable that means a cheese sandwich, rather than just a bag of crisps.

OK, probably means sandwich and crisps. Seems a relatively innocuous, maybe even positive, looking after myself action. But it’s loaded with memories about my stepfather. The memories are still strong; my mind wants to fight me over the cheese sandwich. OK, I give in I have toast and crisps. See!!!!!  I am determined to get those crisps in somewhere. The cheese sandwich becomes a danger, a risk.

BUT………. IT LEAVES A TRAIL OF GUNPOWDER ALL AROUND ME THAT CAN GO OFF AT ANY POINT.

It feels like counselling is creating a trail of gunpowder around me. It was a trail, now it’s becoming a mountain. Miniscule things can start the sparks inside.

Every memory has its different set of feelings, trouble is they get so muddled up; it’s hard to find words.

When other peoples words come out they can set the sparks off.

Sometimes at the end of a counselling session the counsellor asks are you ok to leave;

sometimes I want to say –yep-ok-ok ish

sometimes I want to say I can’t run quick enough to get out

sometimes I want to say –  no I don’t feel safe-but I still have to leave-I say I’m ok

sometimes I can’t say anything very comprehensible-sort of nod as I pull on my jacket in a very disorganised manner-and get out the door-I tell myself I leave the room  in a cool “I am fine and don’t give a dam fashion”…………… think I am only fooling myself on that one!!!!!!

The last couple of counselling sessions have been too overwhelming. I felt like I need a fire extinguisher. It’s the kind of feeling that screams for a bear hug, which is yelling out for someone to say let’s go for a drink—(alcoholic–) get mildly merry and put the world to rights. Trouble is, even if someone offered I’d probably run away.

So, instead, when I get home, its destination bed and sleep or bed and struggling to stay in the here and now. Followed by a mega binge.