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Hospital Memories I

He had bloodshot eyes, moss-covered teeth and malodorous breath. We were in the corridor. He reached out and tried to pull me towards him.  I hit out at him and backed away.  There was a nurse sitting nearby.  He did not intervene.  He just looked away.

Even In Darkness

Even in darkness roses bloom.

He says I enrich his life. He says I am the person he lives for. I will be there for him. As long as he needs me. If it is the only good thing I ever do, I will do this. And I will remember this:

To Have Succeeded

To laugh often and love much:
To win respect of intelligent people
And the affection of children;
To earn the approbation of honest critics
And endure the betrayal of false friends;
To appreciate beauty;
To find the best in others;
To give one's self;
To leave the world a little better,
Whether by a healthy child,
A garden patch,
Or redeemed social condition;
To have played and laughed with enthusiasm
And sung with exultation;
To know even one life has breathed easier
Because you have lived...
This is to have succeeded.

Ralph Waldo Emerson

star collage

star collage, originally uploaded by Bella the Cat.

A Single Teardrop

He said, 'The only thing keeping me alive is you.'

But, with me, the only thing you can rely on is that you can't rely on me.  The only thing you can guarantee is that there is no guarantee

A Slice of My Heart

Yet More Butterflies

A Lazy Post

(Some digital art from moi.)

Somebody Save Me...

I'm drowning.

Then learn to swim.

I can't.  I can't.

You can. You can.

From a Friend

The time to worry is not when others have high expectations of you but when they have no expectations of you at all.

Take My Advice

...get a Mac.  If only for the recently released Pixelmator.  Software I actually deigned to pay for.

On Morality

Interrogator: 'Do you really think for moment that your  friends would do as much for you as you seem to be ready to do for them?'

Odette: 'Yes, I do but the point is unimportant.  I do not barter loyalty against loyalty.  I am no shopkeeper, Monsieur, and I sell nothing by the pound.  If they were prepared to betray me that would not influence my decision in any way.  I am only responsible to my own conscience.'

Odette

Jerrard Tickell (p.257)

I will not permit the coherence of my moral universe to be affected by the incoherence of somebody else's.

Rock Bottom

Off to get my meds. Is this what they call rock bottom? At least I can't fall any further. I want my 'Little'. I want my Bella. I have someone to take care of. Must. Stay. Strong. I must never get fat again.

Suffering in Silence

I can only begin to imagine the kind of pain the family of Mark Saunders must be feeling right now. Losing a loved one to suicide (and that's exactly what it was) is one of the worst things that can happen to you.

Because of my situation (I have a mental illness and have spent rather a lot of time in hospital) I've lost several close friends to suicide. The repercussions of their actions cannot be underestimated. Journalists have repeatedly emphasised the fact that Mr Saunders was a barrister, destined for great things, as if that somehow should have rendered him immune to mental illness. I would imagine, if anything, that his situation exacerbated his condition. He was intelligent and resourceful, a 'high flyer'; he was not expected to ask for help and so he didn't.

Last year an ex boyfriend, A made his fourth suicide attempt. Like Mr Saunders, A was also a high-achiever. He worked in the City and it was amidst the intensity of that world that he had a nervous breakdown. He goes further: he calls it a meltdown. His name for it is his 'Chernobyl'. After his first suicide attempt he requested help. He didn't receive any. All the health services in his area had to offer was a cocktail of medication. People have asked why Mr Saunders did not ask for help. I'm speculating wildly here but maybe he did and was turned away like one in three people suffering from mental health problems who appeal to the NHS for help.

The authorities will conduct their inquiry. We'll shake our heads and ask ourselves why it had to happen and why it should never happen again. But nothing will change and it will happen again. Over and over again.

Homecoming

Your history resides in my bones
It runs through my veins
In my dark and skeletal remains
You left without ceremony
And then you return
Bringing home your knotted laundry
Suddenly, so alien to me
With your calcium enriched bones
Unhealthily healthy
Your armour repels me

You trouble me and I am effaced
Frozen out of your entanglements
A new worldliness
Has welded itself to you
We gape and then embrace
We watch one another
You, still hostile as a cactus
Me, skittish, nightmarish
I am terrified of this new you
You Changeling Child

You took all the love from me
And then you pass on the baton
You open your hand. It is empty
You have brought no gift for me
Peel off your layers, I beg
But you refuse
You were my refuge
Your claws left scars
But you are unmarked
Lucky boy

Calm Down, Dear,

...it's only the Daily Freaking Mail

Apparently, it's a 'Sad reflection of what women are like in modern society'. So, three women interviewed by some half witted Daily Mail journalist are regarded as representatives of the whole of womankind? And since when were women clones of one another? I guess some people find it hard to cope with the idea that women are *complex individuals*(1). Does relying on crass generalisations to inform one's worldview make life more easily navigable? Maybe, but I would imagine it renders one's existence somewhat tedious. You don't have to bother getting to know other people because you think you know all about them already and that doesn't sound like much fun to me.

And, remember this: If you tolerate this then your blogs will be next, will be next, will be next.

Finally, I don't know why the interviewees were shocked at the absence of fairness and balance in this story.  Frankly, I would have been shocked if a daily mail journalist were to write a fair and balanced piece.  In short, they suck.  Always have.  Always will.  Live with it and go scurrying in the opposite direction whenever you catch the slightest glimpse of a Daily Mail journalist

Warning: Some vulgarity

Which is not worthy of me:

TIP: The Daily Mail is strong and very absorbent meaning that it doubles up as extra toilet paper.

(1) And certain women should remember that this applies to men too.  Misandry is just as unpleasant as misogyny.

Facing the Inevitable

Nobby is weak, trembling, unsteady on his feet. Yesterday I met a neighbour in the City Centre. A neighbour known as motor mouth because of her penchant for incessant gossiping. 'Nobby's not going to be here much longer. Not now that Freddi's gone,' He had been abandoned by the state, his family and now, even little Freddi. Please don't think I am judging the family because I am not. I am in no position to judge them. I didn't pay a great deal of attention to my own grandparents. Not even while they were dying. But I regret that and I am afraid that Nobby's family will come to feel that way too.

Nobby has grown frailer but he is as strong willed as ever. Not that this resolve has been properly tested (lately). There are no officials lining up outside his door offering him help. In my mind he is a member of an oppressed group that very few people give a toss about - the elderly (or 'pensioners' or 'seniors' - whichever term is en vogue.)

There is only me and I am afraid. 'I don't think I can handle this,' I told my mother on the 'phone. 'I'm not strong enough.'

'Oh, you're strong,' my mother said, 'Not always in the right way but you are strong.'

When I told her about my fears for Nobby's future she said: 'Don't talk like that.'  As if not talking about it will make any difference.

I believe they call what I am feeling 'anticipatory grief'.

Poster Child II

Poster Child