Oh Here It Comes, First The Anger Then The Pain

I’ll try and make the history behind this one as brief as I can. If you’ve followed me a long time on Twitter then you might’ve heard me make reference to the adopted mother. Sometime I feel like suing Social Services for placing me with her. Twisted, manipulative, lying, petty, ignorant. And those are her nicer qualities.

I’ve had a life time of her abuse, both physically and mentally. Didn’t speak to her for 2 years after my accident, no help whatsoever & my severe depression would not allow it and it was bliss. I need to go back to those days. But at the same time she told all other family members not to contact me because “she gets confused and it upsets her”.  BULLSHIT.

When my grandad was alive she spent 3 years ringing me saying “this is it. He’s dying now, go and see him, this is the last chance you’ll get”. For 3 years before his death. And yes, the one time I thought oh FFS I can’t stand your lies any longer, I’m not going…he died that night. 25 years ago and still feel bad.

She has a long history of making shit up. I spent my childhood being beaten and told I was lying and to fess up. But there was never anything to fess up to. I always told the truth. Took me 40 years to realise she was projecting. Such a huge, regular and consistent liar. On one occasion she found a photo of me sat on a log, on a school trip next to a boy and demanded to know why I was crying. I’m not crying, I’m laughing with embarrassment because I fancied him and my mates had just told him. She wouldn’t believe me. Beating me and screaming over and over “YOU’RE A LIAR WHY WERE YOU CRYING?!”  I wasn’t crying. YES YOU WERE. Hideous.

I’m a grown woman now. Still it continues.Today. Today nearly has me in tears.

About a month ago she told me an aunt had early signs of dementia. She told me in person and on the phone, multiple times. Now I’ve had visits with this aunt when she’s told me some of the vile stuff ‘mother’ put me through as a child which I’d forgotten. She would tie me to the table until I ate everything on the plate.I do remember that. Its why now, no matter what I eat, I have to leave at least one mouthful. One time in front of aunt I vomited and ‘mother’ made me eat my own vomit. My aunt knows who and what her sister is. Aunt also told me that they thought I was being sexually abused by my adopted ‘father’ who legged it with a neighbour when I was five and went into hiding for 2 years. Apparently a few years later he arrived back one Christmas with presents for me and my brother and she locked him in the house and wouldn’t let him leave. But, but she thought he had sexually abused me and she wanted him back in the house? I haven’t dealt with this yet. Anyway…..

Last week I tried to get hold of my aunt to suggest a visit, see if she’s okay and it kept going straight to voicemail. I texted my cousin’s wife to see if she knew if aunt was okay, Mother is telling us she has early dementia. My cousin is a big shot writer and film director and even though we grew up close as kids I haven’t seen him for 20 years when I bumped into a club. He left us in his dust when he became successful. Sad but whatever. I had his wife’s number because she sent me a thank you text for  present after their son was born.

She replied say her husband doesn’t tell her anything (?) but Aunt does get a bit confused or bit slower when stressed but I don’t think its much more than old age. I replied thanks, sure it is just her age, ‘Mother’ likes to spread unconfirmed medical details about the family as facts, I’ll ring aunt tomorrow and see how she is.’

That was last Thursday. Today I get a voicemail from ‘mother’: Can you ring me urgently, I need to speak to you’

Mother: Now listen to me, you rang Christopher at the weekend and said…
Me: No I didn’t, I haven’t got his number
Mother: You rang him and you said…
Me: I just told you, I didn’t ring him, I don’t have his number
Mother: You told him that Margaret has dementia and…
Mother: Well he got a message on set in the middle of filming to tell him is mother had dementia and he panicked and went mad and you said…. [PRETTY SURE THIS DIDN’T HAPPEN]
Me: I messaged his wife to check if aunt is ok BECAUSE YOU TOLD ME SHE HAD DEMENTIA
Mother: He’s rang me and I’ve told him you get confused now with your brain..
Mother: So I’ve told him to block your number and you’re not allowed to talk to him and…
Me: WHO THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?! HE DOESN’T HAVE MY NUMBER! I can’t continue with this conversation.

And put the phone down. That was about an hour and more ago and I’m still holding back tears. Sore throat from shouting. Twisting my brain injury against me. Not the first time. Evil bitch. He’s obviously rang her to give a piece of his mind and she’s blamed it all on me. Again.

I can’t with this woman. Its never ending. My head hurts.

On the plus side my actual gorgeous, caring, loving real aunt is over from Ireland next week. Thankfully. Need to balance the shite out. Happy thoughts, happy happy thoughts….*goes off to youtube dog videos*







Friend or Foe? Next Level Trolling

Have you ever had someone in your life that you thought you were close to but they keep throwing hurtful jabs your way until it gets to the point where you think they must be doing it deliberately?

Its taken me a long time to figure this out, forever trying to give the benefit of the doubt. But their actions have to be deliberate. Maybe they don’t read my tweets (they do) or blogs? (probably not). Maybe I don’t mention my brain damage enough (uh, multiple times a day) and that I don’t retain/process new information and forget things instantly. Like whether I’ve taken meds. The strip will be in my hand and I won’t know if I’ve just taken them or not. When I turn the oven on & instantly forget I’ve done it. Often forget I’ve put food in it. This is my life daily. Maybe they don’t know the extent of my ADD. Can see it myself in my tweets. All over the place sometimes. My verbal comprehension is now below average. God that hurts to put it in print.

But you go ahead, send me a job spec for a PA to 2 heads of a radio station. Sure I’ll have excellent IT skills, calm under pressure (hahahahaha), organised and focused (HAH!) and have an excellent attention to detail (oh my fuckin sides!).

Sure I’ll be up for a stressful job on top dose anti-depressants, with my right hand that is agony after 3 seconds of use (CRPS) and my left arm (constant pain slipped neck discs) and don’t even get me started on Fibromyalgia, chronic fatigue and how I forget what I’m saying half way through a sentence. Its why I’m trying to build my Utility Warehouse business because I can fit it around my ailments in my own time. Plus its brilliant, love seeing  my friends’ happy faces when I save them money. DM me for a no obligation quote!

Yes that PA job has got my name written all over it. Sure they’d love to employ someone who had to spend the whole of March in bed, nearly calling an ambulance twice because the pain was horrific.

Do I have to be in a wheelchair for my disabilities to be recognised or acknowledged? (Answering on behalf of my family here, apart from Sophie, yes). Just because you see me walking dog in the woods do you realise I have to get into bed as soon as I get home? Do you realise that doing one lot of washing up and one load of washing clothes is the most I can manage most days? I drag myself around those woods with the heaviest of legs because I need it for my mental health.

Its hard enough dealing with my deficiencies (yes they are) myself without the added guilt of ‘oh why doesn’t she get a job’. I worked 20 years before my accident. This isn’t a choice. I’d love to be flying around an office again, I miss the adoration and praise from my peers. Yes I do.

I was going to meet this friend or foe on Thursday morning. Messaged Wednesday night asking if we were still meeting, dosing myself up in advance of having to drive 50 odd miles. Neck is agony after 5 minutes. He didn’t respond. Saw him posting on Facebook (god I HATE Facebook). I got a reply at 7am on Thursday morning saying no, they were tired. And then later that day he sent the job spec.

We were intimate once, but then we weren’t because the continuous cancellations got to be a fucking joke and I need routine. He’s a very busy person but my brain needs to know what I’m doing or it freak outs, struggles with change. And if I’m going to be with someone you have to be into me. Not make me feel like I’m at the bottom of your pile. But 9 months later sure, go ahead, tell me you’d like to see me then cancel. Again.

I don’t need a man in my life. The emotional toil far outweighs any benefits. I have a male best friend who I laugh constantly with and who treats me like a queen. So you’ve got a lot to live up to.

If you don’t know me by now (copyright Mick Hucknall)….Enough. Close the door behind you, leave your key, I’d rather be alone than unhappy (copyright Whitney Houston). The games are over.

The End

NB. If you’re buying from Amazon today please feel free to enter the site through my Twitter links so I can earn a teeny tiny commission. Thanks for reading, have a lovely day.




A FB Memory Came Up The Other Day…

man looking at waterfalls
Photo by Moe Shammout on Pexels.com

From 11 years ago. It would probably get frowned upon now and some snowflake somewhere would point out the error of my ways. But it was funny at the time.

is going to miss perving on her neighbour in the shower when she moves house. Its like an extended Gillette advert

“Why would you write that?!” asks Sophie.

Well because it WAS like an extended Gillette ad. Every Friday 7.30pm on the dot. Couldn’t see below waist, just his upper half slathered in foam. Bloody lovely.

He lived in a house behind our ground floor flat. Ex professional footballer. Think he retired young through injury. Looked like a model. Oh so buff, so fit. We said hello as neighbours do, tried to have a chat once or twice but I would turn to mush every time and murmur and stammer a bit and pretty much the same for him. Awkward conversations!

I said I’ve got a cringe story about him, want to hear it?! Of course I do! She replies. She loves my cringe stories as long as she’s not with me or has any part in them whatsoever.

You were with your dad, I say, I was out and bumped into Mr Gillette in a club. As soon as I walked in he was straight over, arms wrapped around me, grinning from ear to ear, chatting away (alcohol, probably something else as well). First thing he said was we can share a taxi later! Oh hell yes! I thought. Bloody get in!

Can’t remember much about the night really, except he’d been hugging me for most of it and it was a bit surreal. Then we get the taxi. Want to come in for a drink he says? Uh, lemme think about that one a minute Adonis. Oh go on then, yes I’ll come in!

And this is where it gets a bit hazy. I remember him handing me a tumbler of whiskey and I asked for a bucket.


Yes. And then I ran outside and puked in it. AND THEN I HANDED IT BACK TO HIM FULL OF MY VOMIT and said “sorry! Going home now!” and walked about 20ft to my front door and went inside.


I DON’T KNOW HAHA! And the next morning he was driving past our door as I was going out and if I thought we’d have awkward conversations before…! It was hideous, both rambling and talking over each other, me saying sorry, I’m so sorry! Him saying that’s okay but really he was probably thinking “the absolute state of you” !

And the moral of the story Sophie – don’t ever get drunk love, ok?  Drink moderately.  Drunk usually ends in cringe & regret – and sometimes missed opportunities!

Also, clean up your own sick!

Part 16: I’m knackered

two brown donkeys
Photo by chris carroll on Pexels.com

Like a knackered old nag. Yes I know photo is donkeys but aren’t they cute?

Where did I get to….oh yes, the trying to survive going forward bit. You know how awful the finances/benefits (30 years of paying tax & NI counts for shit) are and the stress of keeping roof over head because landlord raises the rent every month so what am I going to do about it. Well I’ve been in agony with neck, shoulder & arm since end of February and I’ve got an ‘urgent’ MRI beginning of September. Couldn’t be the same arm as the one with CRPS in it could it. No. Not very mobile/active & my options are limited.

Back in Feb 2017 my ex husband told me about Utility Warehouse. We share a child, her welfare matters to both of us. Its a discount club to save money, lower your bills and have all your utilities on the same bill, same day every month, FTSE 100 company, win all the Which? awards for broadband, customer service and loads of others.  So I paid the sign up fees. And did nothing. Was in the midst of severe depression, wasn’t leaving the house or speaking to anyone. Except tweeters.  “Do it!” everyone cried. Oh how I wish I could’ve at that point. I couldn’t bare to speak to shop assistants let alone walk around talking to total strangers.

The other problem I had (which is worse when under stress, which I totally was) is that I forget what I’m talking about mid-sentence and then my mind goes blank. This happened at a friend’s brother’s house when I went round to sign him up. Was so nervous, kept having to say sorry, can you give me 2 minutes. Which obviously really didn’t help my mental health/confidence. He didn’t sign up(!)

Was the wrong time. 2 years later however….

I’m that person who couldn’t sell water in the desert. Too honest, say things as it is,can’t help myself. I’d love to blame the brain damage for this but was always like it. But this UW is bloody brilliant. I’ve signed up friends and instantly saved them money each month. And what a great feeling that is! I love it! They do nothing except give me address, annual usage from back of the bills, I give the quote, sign them up, job’s a good un, everyone’s a winner.  It is multi-level-marketing but what a bloody great company.  And I really want it to work!

BUT its actually amazing how many friends and family say no. But I want to save you money? No its okay, we’ve been with the same supplier for 15 years and we’re happy with them. But we’re cheaper than the top 6 and prizes lowering again in August! No, we’re alright thank you.

I don’t want to annoy people. I don’t want people to start ignoring me. Which they are! Oh you comment on a FB post but don’t bother replying to my emails? Okaaaay! If anyone has any good advice on how to do this then I’m all ears. Because I want it to work. It will fit around my disabilities.

And finally, speaking of disabilities [I know, BOR-ING] does anyone know why I won’t list them in my bio but every time I reply to someone and it sounds a bit stupid or wrong, I’m right in there with sorry, brain damaged. Its weird. Its like I don’t want anyone to know but at the same time I don’t want to appear stupid either. Don’t get me wrong, was never Einstein & care not what others think of me (anymore – finally!) but if I do care if I think I’m stupid. Does that make sense? Probably not! 🙂

I’m going to end it here. Boring myself. But hit me up if you want to save enough money in a year that you could have an extra holiday.  Shameless. I know 🙂






Part 15: Lets Wrap it Up – So What Now?

Well the treatment and appointments for accident related injuries have stopped. Nothing more they can do. I still pop into Headway to feel ‘normal’ sometimes. Just to have someone understand my personality changes is a great comfort. I still pop painkillers like they’re smarties on a daily basis.

Last November I got a phone call from lawyer who had been passed my case from partner in the same firm. I had to go back to their offices twice for 3 or 4 hours (exhausted me) going over abso-bloody-lutely everything again. Like I could remember!! What time did you go to Charlotte’s? What time did you pick Julie up? What did you do next?  Give me a fuckin break. Could barely remember it at the time, let alone 2 years later. I really really felt like a criminal. Questioning me over and over. At the end of the first session I cried and wailed “Do you believe me? DO YOU BELIEVE ME?!”  “Well…I think you sound credible” she said. I felt like utter shit. So the next session I took my friend Jo with me. She understands and explains things to me, constantly calming and reassuring me. My brain injury report says I now have below average verbal comprehension – you might have to explain yourself a few times before I get it.

Unfortunately Jo couldn’t come to the barrister appointment with me. Another 2 hours of going over and over everything. And he got quite nasty with his questions and accusations.  Especially about the amount of tweets I’d sent since the accident. I guess to see how I would hold up in court under questioning. Did I mention they were accusing me of making a fraudulent and dishonest insurance claim? The stress man, the stress.

I knew he wasn’t going to take the case on. No win, no fee and it wasn’t worth his while. Even though they changed carpet (evidence) as I lay in ICU it would come down to my word against theirs. And they were painting a picture of me as being an alcoholic, stoner & liar. But they lied. All I can do is believe in karma. But huge thanks to the Tories for taking away Legal Aid. Keep the poor, well, poor eh?

The 3 years to start court proceedings was up in 3 months’ time when I got a call from lawyer saying sorry, but barrister can’t take it any further. Could they write to the other side and offer liability at 60/40, I take 40% of the blame. NO! NONE OF IT WAS MY BLOODY FAULT! But they had £45k of legal fees to claw back (god knows what for) and in the end I said do it. They STILL denied any liability. And that was that. Game over. Life changing injuries and years of stress. And they lied.

I am so grateful to the tweeters who hung around whilst I tweeted impending doom/meltdowns every single day. A helluva lot didn’t hang around but I don’t blame them. Hate myself for tweeting it all (my downfall apparently) but it was a release and I would do ANYTHING for distraction, to try and rid myself of that constant sick fear in my stomach. I actually blocked 500 followers at one point. Had a locked account & knew I was under surveillance but didn’t know who it was. So went a-blocking. If you were one of the 500 I’m sorry, it wasn’t personal. It was me having a breakdown.

Right before my accident, Lyndon Marquis (@LyndonMarquis) fell down a mountain. An actual mountain. Had to be rescued. Proper trumped my stairs! And he was bloody brilliant. We both had further surgeries and he was in DMs supporting me for a long time. It probably helped that his injuries were visually hideous and put mine into perspective(!) but I can’t thank him enough. Check out his accident blog if you have time.

I’ve got over my social anxiety. In that I don’t call it that anymore – if I want to stay home and shut the world out I do and don’t feel guilty about it. I do regret missing a friend and my brother’s weddings. But I can’t cope with crowded places (the conflicting noises cause a meltdown) and there was no way I could go to a social happy event at that point without crying the entire time. My world was upside down and the fear of keeping a roof over our heads occupied my every thought. Still does.

I’m not going to mention the entire hell that was trying to claim a disability living allowance. And how they rang me one Friday afternoon to tell me my payments were stopping. That very second. And that included every other benefit, child, housing. They all stopped on a Friday afternoon. “But what I do?” I sobbed. Ring Job Centre on Monday morning apparently, you’re fit for work. I really wasn’t. I was previously that person that did every hour of overtime, took multiple jobs, not a lazy workshy person, thrived on being busy. If I manage to do one dog walk, one washing load and one washing dishes load in one day now I think of that as an achievement. Brain fatigue is a real thing. 

Yesterday I spent the day trying to ward off anxiety.  Don’t worry about something until it happens was something my ex husband taught me. And it worked until I bumped my brain. Yesterday it was 2 years to the date I got that phone call from DWP and I’d sent in yet another 24 page health assessment form this week. Whether its true or not, I’ve heard they like to make those phone calls deliberately on Friday afternoons for maximum stress. I didn’t get a call. Yet.

From where I’m sitting now, if I got that phone call right at this second then yes, I probably would get tearful and feel a bit sick. But I would instantly start thinking of fixes. I wouldn’t start shaking from head to toe, sobbing with fear, thinking the sky was going to fall down, nausea and fear coursing through my veins, panic attack imminent, the only safe place under my duvet. That was my normal for 2 years. 2 whole years.

But this is now year 3. And I’m finally getting a bit back to myself. My sense of humour is definitely returning. You might not notice because its weird apparently(!) & I should really add “I’m joking!” to every tweet again. But I know its back and that’s all that matters. ONWARDS!

Nearly the end. Sorry its all over the place but you’re getting an insight into my brain – jump around! There’s one last accident related blog to come after this one then I’m back to blogging about The Secret and one-handed meal recipes . Thanks for reading.

Love you 🙂



Part 13 – What Do You Mean My Brain Thinks My Wrist is Still Broken?!


fire wallpaper
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

[Had to take a wee blogging break as the previous 12 chapters came on top a bit. But here we go again!]

Its now 2017, over a year since accident and I’m back in doctor’s office (my second home) telling him my wrist is still agony and can barely use right hand. Constantly swollen and painful. Off I went for more MRIs. Bet I glow in the dark.

The very next day I got a phone call from the hand surgeon’s secretary asking if I can go in that day. Yes I can. The hand surgeon (can’t remember his name or what he looked like) tried to explain to me that I have something called Complex Regional Pain Syndrome. My brain thinks my wrist is still broken. Its a seriously weird thing. My hand and arm will either be freezing cold or burning hot, constantly throbbing (the charity is called ‘Burning Nights’) and its the strangest thing having completely different temperature from the other hand! Hair grows quicker, nails grow quicker and its….odd. And painful. I can use it for 2 seconds before pain is excruciating. Constantly swollen and if I touch it I get an electric shock sensation. The reason they wanted me in straight away was to start physio again. I’d already had a year of it.

So back and forth I went to hospital. Again. Different physio this time & did not mind him stroking me one little bit *wink emoji* . The trouble was, I’d forget to do some of the exercises. Or he’d tell me to not use hand at all until next appointment but I’d forget. Or the other way around, use it and I wouldn’t. Brain damage was not helpful.

Finally in February this year the physio said they’d done all they can, unfortunately CRPS is not reversible (its something that will only get worse) but he really admires my determination and its not for lack of trying on my part.

Still don’t think I’ve really come to terms with it. Probably will more when Sophie leaves home one day and I can’t peel or chop my own veg. You know when you see disabled people doing absolutely incredible things, like a woman in a tweet yesterday playing violin one handed? I struggle to dry my hair with my left arm (pain from neck discs) and instead of feeling happy for them it makes me feel like a complete and utter failure. Yes, yes, I know its all relative. My creative art side was already crap so there’s no chance painting with my feet will make it better. And I have to remind myself that violin was never my forte either. But playing the piano was. First time in my life in possession of a piano (Sophie’s) but can hardly play it. My luck eh?!

Changing the subject, here’s where I explain why “WRITE IT DOWN!” does not work. You’ve probably seen me tweet about not remembering if I’ve taken tablets or not. I will have the strip in my hand and have absolutely NO IDEA if I’ve just taken one. So I don’t, just in case I did. What I’m trying to say is, I would write it down if it stayed in my head for more than a nano-second, but things don’t. I have to set a timer for everything. If I remember. Not eating properly is a constant because I forget to eat, never feel hungry. Put the oven on and forget about it instantly. Nice waste of energy for nothing. If I do set timer on my phone, it goes off, I swipe it off, then instantly forget I’ve just swiped it off. And the worst thing is I think I can overcome this with just a little more concentration. So I try and focus. But 9 times out of 10 my brain just won’t play ball with me.

I’ve got used to putting things down and walking off without them. Hey, I even find it funny these days. Oh look what an idiot I am! Always self-deprecating anyway, more material to play with. But I’ve got to stop telling Sophie about it. It upsets her. Says its troubling and worrying. Which I suppose if it was my mum walking around needing (but not having!) a constant carer it would worry me too. But I have to laugh about it. How I’ve got through life. Second nature.

But sometimes, my brain acts in a way that is NOT ME. I can fly into rages at the drop of a hat, get irritated…and then cry because I feel guilty and its not me.  I’ve been trying so hard to incorporate The Secret into my daily life – positive attracts positive – but sometimes it all gets too much and I lose my cool so much. (And I forget haha) Like yesterday. And its apt that this is Part 13 because I thought yesterday must be a Friday 13th.


Part 12: Dark Times – The Blog Spencer Asked if I’d Write

And I said no, not yet, Sophie is in the middle of GCSEs and she reads my blog. She had her last one yesterday, said it was easy. Good girl!

Spencer’s death is still affecting me. Every time I see his face RT’d into my TL I feel sad & terrible that I didn’t recognise he was reaching out but with a brave, jovial face on it. Never met him, 10 years of online chat. From his social medial presence, he would’ve been one of the last people I would expect to take their own life. An intelligent, charming man with a loving partner and girls he adored. He was in constant pain, felt a burden to others, we tried to make light of our situations.

We never really know what’s going on inside others’ heads. The pain, the mental torture, the self-cruelty.

So here’s the blog he asked if I would write.

If I ever see someone tweet their depression or pain, especially when it sounds suicidal, I’ll always be in your DMs. I don’t want to sometimes (most times), but I can’t let a tweet like that sit there, especially if no one is responding. I have no magic words to take away the pain (IF ONLY!) but will try and provide distraction. And sometimes a brief few minutes of someone else caring, precious seconds away from the self-loathing can help a tiny bit. And yet I missed Spencer’s when it mattered.

About a month after my 10 months at the Head Injury Therapy Unit finished, Sophie was with her dad & I spent a weekend wondering how I could make my death look like an accident. Its hard for me to get back into that mindset now and explain it succinctly but I’ll try.

I didn’t want to leave HITU. I was with people who understood how and why my brain now acted differently. The over-sharing (what, me?!), the heightened emotions, I felt safe. Now I was on my own, not the quick-witted, sharp survivor, can turn any problem around by chatting my way out of it person I once was.

I had severe depression as a result of brain injury. I still have constant headaches & migraines to this day, along with all the other pain (BORING) stuff, the hypermobility syndrome (aching ankles & wrists mostly), the slipped neck discs pain (had me in bed the whole of March), the Fibromyalgia, Sciatica, IBS (nice!) and Complex Regional Pain Syndrome in my right wrist, tennis elbow in both arms (starting to lose sensation in fingers on left hand which is why I started writing these blogs, while I still can), carpal tunnel syndrome that can’t be operated on because of the CRPS. But having said all that, I do get the odd day where I feel okay, almost normal! I cherish those days and hang out at the woods. That’s a lie actually, I go in pain as well but its all about the self-care. I love the solitude. I’d previously been such a social butterfly but had started locking myself away, preferring to be alone rather than dumping my emotional/physical pain on to anyone else. I tweet-moaned instead. Sorry!


I’d found a home for us to live in (after losing job and being given 4 weeks to get out). But its still a three month tenancy. Which means 3 months rent up front every time. I feel safe for about a month and then the rest of the 2 months I’m bricking it, praying for a magic money fairy. Its constant real anxiety. Constant fear I can’t provide a home for Sophie and keep Bailey with us. But the difference between my coping mechanisms then and now is miraculous.

Back then I sobbed every single day. Sometimes all day long. Every day for 2 years. And I hate that 2 years of my life were spent feeling like that. I was trying to hide it from Sophie. It was so hard. Trying to paste on a smile, to act ‘normal’, when my inner turmoil was crucifying me. Felt an absolute failure. A terrible person. I’d failed at my marriage, I’d failed at keeping a job and a roof over our heads. I would go back through every event in my life and list every single failure that had brought me to this place today. I wasn’t sleeping or eating.

And I hated life. Really hated it. Angry that I was surviving, not living. What did I ever do to deserve life to be so cruel? How is it fair? Those people I gave 8 years of my life to absolutely hate me. All I’d ever done was try to help. I was in so much mental pain.

And I wanted out. I really wanted out. But I couldn’t because of Sophie. As much as I told myself she had a loving dad and step-mum and a much bigger bedroom at their house(!), I know how much she adores me and the pain it would cause. I’m the one person who understands her, she says. Yeah sorry about that, I understand because I gave you my shitty weird genes! Its been the two of us since she was 3 and she’s my world. But it still didn’t stop me wondering how to end it, anything to stop the constant physical and mental pain. My medical notes say Sophie was my protector (I think? can’t remember the word!), and that I wouldn’t take my life because of her. Truth.

How I felt a burden to her though. She still preps fruit and veg for me, carries shopping, but now I see it as teaching her life skills rather than ruining her life. Our brains are evil and hate us.

The accident wondering weekend – Sophie was with her dad, I was walking around the fields listening to Last Goodbye by The Enemy and Sign of the Times by Harry Styles (DO NOT DO THIS) and I remember thinking surely there is no way I can sink any further. This is the low point of my entire life. Total misery. Everyone else has life all sussed, except for me. I never want to feel like that ever again, surely at rock bottom the only way is up.

I was sent off to a Mental Health Unit Assessor. Turns out he went to the same school as me, few years older and the PE teacher we all thought was a paedo, WAS a paedo and was eventually charged. Anyway(!) he gave me some relaxation CDs (still in their dusty cases) and said I needed to be put on the top notch, brand new, all singing & dancing new antidepressants. With zero side effects. And some CBT therapy. Which was an absolute waste of time  – CBT therapist made me feel worse, not better. Its difficult to train your brain when its damaged and the wires are loose & scrambled.

Whether those glowing reports of the drugs I currently take acted as a placebo or not, I don’t care. They worked. Eventually. And as I started to perk up, I started finding other things to lift me. Taking that wrong turn and finding the woods – that was meant to be. I take such happiness from little things these days. Meet a happy friendly dog in the woods? Day made. Constantly marvel at the wonders of nature around me. And it all adds up. Okay, maybe rewarding myself with sugar isn’t always the best (meringues anyone?!) but its keeping me here. All these little things that I now appreciate are giving me hope and calm. Still the real fear of homelessness but now I’m telling myself that what will be will be, nothing is scarier & more harmful than your own thoughts, whatever happens we will all get through it.

My Pursuit of Happiness blogs – The Secret – I’m trying that daily. When I remember(!) Trying to attract positive vibes. The bad vibes can fuck off. Today I’m going to ask the universe for a beautiful summer’s day tomorrow. Not much to ask is it?!

And life is short and I’m getting older fast. Every second spent worrying about things that haven’t happened yet is precious life time wasted. I feel lucky that I’ve reached this point & can see things this way. I just wish I’d told Spencer he’d reach it too.

Right, I’m off to the woods. Coming?