Battle scars

Whilst in the depths of a minor 'writers' block, where inspiration is hard to come by, there is one topic that I love to talk about : my tattoos

To some they are ugly, pointless, common, rebellious and most unsightly. For others they are an entire art form, a way to express individuality and generally just good fun.

For me, they are my battle scars. I have many other self inflicted scars on my body, which really don't look great to the general public, but these scars I can love and be proud of, these scars mark my survival.

Let me explain ... Many years ago when I was 18, fresh faced and (fairly) innocent, I wanted a way of  permanently marking that god was always with me no matter how deep the valley I had entered and couldn't seem to leave. So I got a Chinese symbol for gods spirit to reflect this, I only got this when I had left the valley, I only got then to reinforce the strength I had.

And thus a tradition began, every time I have been released from the shackles of depression, sooner or later I have got a new piece of art work to reflect this. These are all based on my own designs and ideas and as you can imagine they mean a lot.

To me they are a reminder that I can survive almost anything life throws at me. When the day comes where I inevitably fall back into the valley (and believe me I become close on a alarming basis), at least I will be carrying around some symbol of hope.

In the end I like to believe it is better to mark our achievements instead of our failures, for those who believe body art it pointless, its not for most, its a mark of remembrance for something importance, for me it is a lifeline.

I hope one day they will not be needed, i hope one day my tattoos will reflect marriage, love, family and contentment, buy for now at least i have tattoos to remind me to believe in that stuff!

Brilliance of early morning

Good morning to one an all x

This is my favourite time of day, the positive side of me sees each new sun rise as a new potential, and as yet nothing has ruined that.

30 mins later ....

Nothing so much as happened but my friend from up north, dick the brain devil, has woken up and is screaming 'why did you fucking do that'. Im quite sure i dont deserve this treatment so  am going to try and ignore him, silent treatment sometimes works right!

On the daily commute to work ... Always full of loud perky college students, and the not so perky adults who often plan to use this time as a thirty minute cat nap! I hate taking a bus for several reasons and therefore not the best set up for the day. The main two is the fact they are ALWAYS late ... My ocd cant deal with that and i always end up being overly paranoid im going to be late for work even though i always get there early! The second is that you lose all concept of personal space, or in that fact senerity.

These may seem like little things and maybe i should let them go, but then again i cant from worrying its going to happen all over again tomorrow.

Now that i have been moaning for five minutes and after a cheeky stare at the hot guy on the bus, feeling less like a ball of panic, more like a normalton.

Have also decided i am going to try a new approach to work today, if i cant control it then why worry about it. Let the 9 hours of immense stress that i cause myself go and just do what i can ... Will let you know how i get on later.

Dear a lost friend ...

I knew I would have to write this eventually, I knew this was going to hurt and that I would cry, and I knew this would have to be today, no matter how difficult.

Six months ago, I lost the one remaining friends I hadn't deterred through my insane actions. She was my best friend, she was a whirlwind, she understood me like many others cant. She was my best friend and she gave up on me.

The day that it all crashed and burned will always be with me, over time i hope it will hurt less, but for now, I still  find it incredibly hard to recall. It started so well, a nice day in the sunny new forest, wine (or course), good food and some great company with my bestie. the evening plan was to go to a mates house and relax for the evening. Now from what i recall, it was all going swimmingly, until about one in the morning, where the OAP in me fell asleep mid way through conversation (How Very Rude!). My bestie took offense to this and decided she wanted to go home, let me rephrase that, she wanted to drive home after two bottles of red wine. THAT WAS NEVER GOING TO HAPPEN, NOT ON MY LIFE.

This was the start of the end, I chased her out into the street and tried to convince her that this was not a great idea! She was still determined, it had got to the point where I had to try and physically restrain her from getting in her car (I am not proud of my behaviour but needs must at the time). The result of this, is that she hit, scratched and punched me into submission, I still have the scars from this attack and not only mentally. I am not saying this is all her fault, in fact despite what my therapist says I will always take the blame, if only I had the control to behave myself. In saying that I am a peace with the fact I would rather have taken the pain than her get in the car and cause an immeasurable amount of pain to herself and others.

I think what haunts me the most, is the aftermath, she immediately cut ties and place the blame at my door, without even a apology, instead noting that it was inevitable. For me this means that her hate had been growing and I must be a horrible person. we see each other at work everyday and although it has got easier, it still hurts like crazy, we still connect and know what went on, surely this isn't healthy.

Today is her birthday and all i want, even now, is for her to be happy. I wonder if she thinks the same?

I get the impression she is, maybe that's because  i gave up everything to accommodate her, my friends, my hopes. I dont sit with my friends, because she knew them first, i dont go to social events, so that it won't be awkard. Everyday i still ask why i do this, i dont know, i know it needs to change, because i dont owe her anything. Maybe she happy, because she is without the burden that I bring.

I probably sound bitter and I'm sorry if this is the case, but I need to draw a line and let what happened go.
She is never going to be someone i can trust,  and as much as she helped me to get through the darkest days, in a way she also prolonged my suffering. I hate myself for what happened, and my depression has loved that.

I have now managed to distance myself from all  those that would give a fuck about how i am, problem with that is that it makes it easier to give up, no matter how much I fight everyday.

In conclusion, Happy Birthday to my lost friend, thanks for teaching me compassion, empathy, pain, love, laughter, fun, pain again, loss, acceptance, strength,acceptance and even happiness.

Onwards and upwards I say .... time to set sail on a new adventure  ... LuckyA247 xx

Kicking and Screaming

I am an adult to the very end, in fact I am a young aged pensioner! but some times and especially if you suffer from the mind controlling substance called depression, you need to throw your toys out of the pram and strop.

I did this at work today and am slightly ashamed about it but I cant feel enough to blame myself, I blame no one, it is just life. The last few days have been (for want of a stronger phrase) mind blowing crap, partly that is due to work and the nature of insurance and partly that is becaus the black clouds rolling in.

Most of my frustration has stemmed from being a perfectionist and the fear of not wanting to make a mistake. The other is that no matter what I do, I cant seem to get rid of this depressive opinion that either things will not work out right and that I will always be the fall guy for this. This may not be realistic but that's the game we play.

So on to the strop, a result of several months of frustration, the thought that why do I bother when others don't care, was late going home for the hundred time (and when i say late, average is about 20+ (no pay!) minutes) and I just had enough. I should of been out of there, but my stupid brain told me to stay to deal with something, even though I was only ask to do a small favour two hour previous. Do I just admit defeat, no but do others, yeah, so why do I bother?

I bother because as much as my depression brings me down, the very nature of it also has pride and wants to make sure its in control, no matter what the situation. its almost like being a duck, your feet may be flapping wildly under water trying not to succumb to the dark murky waters, but on top your look serine and in control,  that is until you are disturb enough to react and show your sinister side.

My sinister side has showed in the last few days but maybe that's a good thing, and her is why:

a - I can recognise that I am falling prey to my darker depression and need to act
b - I still shows I care in the smallest corner of my mind

and c - when you get that clue that is too loud to ignore, you know yourself and where your at for once in your life.

I know it is easy to express it on here, because lets face it who is going to sit up and take notice, but i think what has caused me to question the point, does anyone care? I tried talk to a superior at work, who knows my history, and lets just say she was 'busy' (i.e. not up for another dreary talk about my crap). I tried to talk to someone else, just saying I was stressed was told, ' your actually quite lucky in the scheme of things and it just about changing how to you think, and you can do that, its not too hard'. 

yeah cause really I have been accepting this depression for nearly 13 years and its really easy to snap out of it. Depression is not a choice and as much as I or anyone tries, the perspective of the suffering within the world doesn't come into account at that moment   (that said, of course I am not ignorant enough to not know that there are many millions who suffer more ). Of course I am aware of the world's suffering, and i wish that would stop but comparing my battles does not work, not because its is worse because it is a completely different entity. 

                             

My point, I guess, is that I can go down kicking and screaming, I could go down silent with no one knowing and really the person who would suffer the most is me. Others would be relieved, others would think, it was inevitable, others would get over it. but with each mistake or unstable step I take, the more I wonder if I am ever heading to the yellow brick road to find a heart, brain or courage.