Follow @stuckinscared Stuck In Scared: 2012

Wednesday, 19 December 2012

Sick NOT scrounging! #WOWpetition

I have been asked by the organizers of the 'WOW' campaign to write a piece on why I personally support the WOW petition. You will find details about the campaign just below my own little ramble. Please do sign it only takes a moment and your signature could be the one that makes all the difference!

So here friends in short are my reasons for supporting the WOW petition.

My child and I are both disabled. We didn't ask to be or want to be a burden on society but we are! There is no choice, either we take the handouts that so many believe us unworthy of or we are unable to survive! 

If under the new benefit reforms the powers that be decide that we no longer (in their opinion) qualify for benefits we will STILL be disabled! We will STILL need my husbands full time care. I would STILL be unable to go out alone or care for my daughter alone! The ONLY difference such a decision would make is that we would have nothing to live on!

My daughter was born disabled, she will always be disabled, she will always need support from another person to survive, she will always have to rely on welfare, she will not be able to navigate the system alone! I fear for her future!

I feel terrified of the benefits system and I am fearfully obsessed at what they will throw at disabled people next. Aside from fearing for my own family I feel deeply concerned by the impact that cuts to welfare and services are having on other sick and disabled people.

I fear the dreaded DWP letter every day, the sound of the post man fiddling with our letter box in his efforts to deliver our post puts me in a state of panic which continues to have a negative affect on me long after my husband has checked and reassured me that today is not the day that I will have to begin AGAIN the process of proving how disabled I am! 

Its a constant and overwhelming fear. 

A letter could come tomorrow, next week, next year but one thing is certain, IT WILL COME and as the process first time round has made me extremely unwell (now physically as well as mentally) I'm not sure I would survive the process second time round!

Fear of the Government, the media and the benefit system, fear of being judged by those in society who have no understanding of invisible illness/disability and are taken in by the 'scrounger' rhetoric have led to a dramatic and terrifying increase in my symptoms and have caused additional disorders that were not there prior to this combined attack against welfare recipients! 

Over the past year as a direct result I have developed a serious Eating disorder (self starvation) I'm awaiting tests to determine if the pain in my bones and joints is the onset of osteoporosis bought on by my eating disorder. My hair is falling out through stress and lack of nourishment and my existing mental health issues which have troubled me since childhood and were already extremely debilitating have been greatly exacerbated!     
In addition to the fear of the next ESA assessment there is also the fear of the PIP assessments which all disabled people will have to endure when the process of replacing DLA begins. 

Before this cruel campaign against the most vulnerable people in society, I was just about managing with huge restriction and controls in place to cope! My husband was managing to get through most days with a smile on his face and our daughter was the centre of our world.

Today my husband and I just about manage existence and our daughter who has complex care needs is caught up in the middle wondering why mummy doesn't play anymore and daddy doesn't smile!

Please continue reading to find out more about the WOW campaign.

Spearheaded by Actress/comedienne 'Francesca Martinez' WOW petition is NEW and INCLUSIVE 



On Tuesday 18th December, disabled and sick people, people with learning and mental health difficulties, their families and carers launched a petition calling for an end to the War on Welfare being waged by their own government.

The Welfare budget, and particularly benefits going to sick and disabled people, has been heavily and unfairly targeted for cuts. It is said we can no longer afford the current welfare state. In reality however, as a percentage of GDP, the welfare budget is now lower than it was at any time during the eighties. While at the same time the combined wealth of Britain's 1,000 richest people increased by almost 5% to over £414bn.

In order to resist the government's cruel and failing welfare policies, sick and disabled people, together with their carers, families and friends, have combined using social media to produce the #WOWpetition. This calls for an end to the War on Welfare. Spearheaded by actress and comedian Francesca Martinez the WOW petition aims to get 100,000 signatures to end this War on welfare by the Government.  We will be calling for a Cumulative Impact Assessment, an independent inquiry and if necessary, the repeal of the Welfare Reform Act of 2012.

We believe that every single person in the country has a reason to resist the War on Welfare. Some of us may be fortunate enough not to need the safety net our Welfare State provides, but this could all change for any one of us, tomorrow. It only takes an accident or a shock diagnosis to render us ill or disabled, and dependent on a system of benefits and services which is currently being dismantled.

The 'Greatest Generation' fought WWII believing they had secured this safety net for themselves, their children and generations to come. Don't let it go without a fight! We owe it to them. We owe it to ourselves to ensure a decent and dignified life for all who are sick and disabled, and to provide security for all our futures. The deaths of disabled people linked to the Welfare Reform Act and the Work Capability Assessment administered on behalf of the Government by the private corporation Atos are reported in the press with alarming regularity. We believe that in any humane society the Government would want to know if one of their flagship policies was in any way responsible for a 'slow genocide' of the sick and disabled. Please join and the WOW campaign in resisting the deaths and unnecessary suffering being caused: Sign the
document on the government’s e-petitions website

For more information you can click on one of the links below:
Twitter @WOWpetition & @WOWpetitionchat
Facebook WOWpetition 

The WOW Petition Forum


Thank you for taking the time to visit my blog, I will finish as I always do on a pray and a positive thought.



Over 52,000 people have already signed the WOWpetition. For the first time in a long time I feel hopeful.  



Lord, Please bless all those who are sick, disabled and afraid for their future. I pray for all those who care enough to fight alongside them for their right to live with dignity and security. Amen 


Thank you for allowing me to share.


God bless you and all those you love


Kimmie x

Monday, 3 December 2012

'The never ending story'

When my eldest four children were small they watched a film called ‘The never ending Story’ They loved it. At one point our living room was filled with the magic of this film on almost a daily basis. They went on to enjoy the sequels and one of the sequels (I can’t remember which) was based on a little boys memories. His memories were in the possession of an evil character and held inside little transparent balls in a large clear container.

Let me try and get to the point.

I guess if it were possible to view all of my own childhood memories in such a way it would be far easier for me to sort out the wheat from the chaff so to speak. I might sort the little clear ‘memory balls’ and discard all of the less desirable one’s for instance.

I had a difficult childhood, my mother suffered with mental illness and was often emotionally unstable and aggressive towards me.
Of - course there were good days, inbetween the outbursts mum tried very hard, she wasn’t evil, she was ill. I accept that she was unwell and while I am still uncomfortable in her presence I do forgive her.

I struggle to remember cuddles, kisses and ‘I love you’s’ from my mum, they are there somewhere in my subconscious, but they are buried under all of the things that caused me to fear her. 

When I look back to my childhood I remember - the sting of a dirty blue ‘flip flop’ as it slapped with full force against the top of my leg - the smell of her tobacco tainted spit as she screamed obscenities at me, her face so close to mine that our noses almost touched - the taste of ‘Palmolive soap’ which she used on more than one occasion to wash my ‘dirty’ mouth out - the perfect imprint of her hand red and raised on my skin - the disorientation and pain that comes after being slapped full force by adult hand around the side of the head!

I remember cowering at the bottom of the stairs in the hallway with my face pressed painfully against the little table that housed the old fashioned telephone anticipating the next blow, which I knew by the rage still spitting from my mothers lips was on it‘s way!

I remember the day that I took a biscuit without asking and she almost broke my little finger. I remember my own fear and pain, and also her fear and panic as it dawned on her that she may have gone too far.

Now let me fast forward to my own children and a day that I will never forget.

My second son ‘Charlie’ is two years old and though I don’t know it yet he has ADHD, he will not be formerly diagnosed until he is eight years old, ‘Danny’ my first son is almost four and my first daughter ‘squeak’ is still a babe in arms.

We have just returned home from a trip to the park, I usher the boys into the house and wheel the babies pram into the living room, in the time it takes me to do this and promise the screaming ‘squeak’ that a boob is on it’s way, all hell has broken loose in the kitchen!

Let me try and paint the scene - ’Squeak’ is screaming so hard that she may well explode at any minute, in response to her wailing half a gallon of breast milk is forming a river to my belly button, ’Danny’ is pulling at my trouser leg whilst whinging “I’m hungry” and ’Charlie’ Oh God, where’s ’Charlie’!

At the sound of breaking glass I run with ’Danny’ still clinging and ’Squeak’ who is now in my arms, still screaming in the direction of the kitchen, where I find ’Charlie’ stood at the open fridge door with an egg in his hand.

Now ’Charlie’ has a plan for the egg, Oh yes, the glint in his eyes, the smile that is spread across his chubby little mug, and of - course the three or four gloopy yellow blobs that are already floating in a pool of milk and glass at his feet, leaves me in no doubt! 

Action stations!....
I Yell “Don’t move you‘ll cut yourself” to ’Charlie’- disentangle ‘Danny’ and shove him in the general direction of the television, and reunite the alien that is ‘Squeak’ with her pram.
Back in the kitchen, I carefully lift ‘devil child’ out of glassy danger and stand him still clutching the egg over by the back door.

I’m calm as I lay tea towels and cloths over the river of gloop and glass which is fast making it’s way underneath the fridge, I’m calm as I carefully begin to pick up the million pieces of milk bottle glass and place then one by one into a dustpan, and I’m calm as I explain to ‘Charlie’ that he is a very naughty boy!

THEN.. ‘Charlie’ begins to laugh causing me to look away from gloopy floor and over towards the back door....and there, sunny side up at his feet, is the last straw!

Something inside me snaps, before either he or I can do anything about it I am upon him, I grab him, and screaming into his face just as my mother used to do to me I thrust him back towards the back door....I have no words for the rage that is coursing through my body!

And then (almost loud enough to be audible) a voice inside my head screams 'STOP' and before his back touches the door, before any harm has been done, my senses are alerted to the fact that the bottom half of the door is made of glass, and that the cheeky glint in my child's eyes has been replaced by shock and fear!

Mid thrust I pull my beautiful, cheeky, exasperating son back towards me and into my arms, and I hold him there amidst the chaos until we both stop sobbing.

I carry him into the living room and sit him in front of the T.V next to his still hungry brother, stick a dummy in ‘Squeaks’ mouth with another promise that milk is on the way.... and phone ‘social Services’….

A social worker was with me within twenty minutes that day and did not as I feared threaten to take my children from me. Instead, she encouraged me and assured me that mothers who are likely to hurt their children do not call social services and ask for their children to be taken to a safe place.

I was offered a lot of support after the events of that day and accepted it all gratefully, I decided on a no smacking rule, and since that day have never raised a hand to my kids.

Very quickly, because I realize I have rambled a bit today, I would like to touch on something that happened yesterday, the inspiration for this blog

I screamed - I mean, I really screamed! My youngest daughter who has physical and mental disabilities had been mind blowingly difficult (not her fault) we were late for Church, I hadn’t slept, my head was pounding, and ‘Littlie’ who was by now strapped into her wheelchair began screaming - AGAIN!

With no warning at all I began to scream, the piercing sound that came out of my mouth shocked both me and her, and reduced ‘The Bodyguard’ (who has more than enough to deal with) to tears!

I was and still am mortified that I would behave in such a way in front of my child and feel so ashamed that I lost control, but it's what happened afterward that brings me back to the beginning of this post and my ramblings about ’memory balls’.

I am desperate that despite my mental illness my children’s good memories will outweigh their bad and that they will NOT be damaged by their mother as I was by mine!

So hopefully.. the things that ’Littlie’ will hold in yesterdays ’memory ball’ will NOT be ’mummy sat on the dinning room floor screaming like a mad woman, but will instead be replaced with.. making paper angels with mummy - arranging little houses on the snow scene under the tree with mummy and snuggles on the settee with mummy while watching a Christmas movie. I do hope so.

Good, better, best, I’ll never let it rest until my good is better and my better is my best.

LORD, Thank you for the little voice in my head that told me to ‘STOP’ that day in 1989’ and for all the days since that I have managed (despite mental illness) to build happy memories for my children.
Please forgive me any moments in their lives where my illness has had a negative affect on their day. Amen

Thank you for allowing me to share

GOD bless you and all those you love

Kimmie x                                            

Saturday, 24 November 2012

'And I know he always will love me'

A few months ago I bumped into an old school friend, not just any old friend, a loyal, funny and well remembered old friend.  Despite losing touch after leaving school I would often find myself looking back on my school years and remembering with a smile my skinny, scatty friend who without realizing had made my teenage years far more bearable than they might otherwise have been!.
‘Tammy’ and I had a lot in common (back in the day we would probably have been likened to each other because of our scatty natures!)

Anyway back to the here and now. ‘Tammy’ is still a bit scatty, as am I, only these days we have something else in common, our spiritual beliefs. Whilst walking separately through all the twists and turns and up’s and downs of adulthood we have both managed to find GOD along the way’

Things have been especially tough over the past year or so, my mental health issues have been exacerbated greatly for one reason and another, reasons for the sake of sanity I will not go into right now. (I’m having a relatively good day and would like to keep it that way!)

‘Tammy’ though slightly more resilient than me and way more positive has also had a very difficult time of late, I won’t go into the reasons for this, it isn’t necessary and wouldn’t be fair!

At this point in my ramble I feel it relevant to point out that due to  severe ‘intrusive thoughts’ a symptom of OCD I have found it almost impossible to engage with GOD through prayer for some time now. Prayers are so often interrupted by the muddle that is my mind that far from bringing peace they just result in my feeling ashamed and on edge.

Feeling so isolated is perhaps one of the most devastating consequences of my mental illness.
Fear, shame, paranoia and stigma have resulted in a life time of hiding and I find it almost impossible to open up to anyone with complete honesty.

When the same shame and fear interferes with my ability to talk to GOD isolation reaches a whole new level!

Recently I have really struggled with my relationship with GOD mainly because my  prayers are so often interrupted by intrusive thoughts, obscenities or general mind muddle!
Asking GOD to forgive intrusive thoughts (thoughts of or urges to self harm - thoughts of harming others) can be really difficult when you are unable to promise that your thoughts or indeed behaviour will be any different the following day!

Here’s what often happens during my prayers - I begin to pray (lets give the Lords prayer as an example)
It goes a bit like this, ‘Our father who art in heaven’ hallowed be’ that’s usually about as far as I get before a random obscenity pops into my head (sometimes aimed at GOD which only serves to increase shame!) or any of the other random, awful intrusions that are a part of my every day life. (I’m experiencing them now as I write!)

In order to complete my prayers (which I rarely manage having given up in shame half way through!) I use another area of my mind to recite ‘Ten green bottles'
So now one part of my mind is reciting ’ten green bottles (not sure why it should be this song as I find it extremely irritating!)  while another part of my mind continues with the ‘Lords prayer’ sometimes this is still not sufficient to suppress intrusive thoughts and images and on these occasions I resort to actually picturing each of my illusory green bottles as they fall off the wall!

You can imagine how mentally draining for me this complicated prayer time fiasco is and it gets worse if I come away from the ‘lords prayer and attempt to pray in my own words for something or someone specific I have usually given up in despair before the fourth bottle has hit the ground.

My inability to engage with GOD through prayer has left me feeling stranded. I have thought of myself as ‘BAD’ since early childhood (partly as a result of my mothers reactions to me and partly as a result of the symptoms of my mental illness, specifically the vile intrusive thoughts)

Of - course if you don’t believe in GOD you may have buggered off by now, eye’s raised and 'tut tutting' at the 'Mentally ill bible basher’ but for those of you who are still with me, there is a point to this story!….

That dreary August morning whilst browsing the internet I came across a picture that instantly made me think of ‘Tammy’, ‘A white feather’ accompanied by a spiritual message! 
Now I've never noticed white feathers at my feet, of course they may have been there, I just never noticed! ’Tammy on the other hand often has and on a spiritual level they are very significant to her!

Well anyway until learning recently (and only because I googled it!) I had no idea that to some believers white feathers have spiritual significance. I sent the picture along with its message of hope to ‘Tammy’s’ face book wall. She liked, commented then buggered off, as you do if you’ve actually got a life aside from Twitter and Facebook!

I spent the morning at home then decided that as the weather was a bit hit and miss, an indoor picnic in the church would be a nice idea.
As ‘Thebodyguard’ is church warden he has keys to our Church and we can come and go as we please. ’Littlie’ who loves being in Church could chill out with some churchy music with daddy while I set about sorting the mound of jumble on the balcony!

We would generally walk to church via our own Street but as we needed to call in at the shop on the corner of ‘Paupers Street’ on this occasion we made our way via ‘Paupers’ street, ’Littlie chatting nineteen to the dozen, ’Thebodyguard’ in his own little world and me? Well I’ve had better days!

Anyway we were about five feet into ‘Paupers Street’ when I noticed a ‘white feather’ laying on the ground, I’m not sure why I noticed it neither am I sure as to why I felt the need to photograph it but I did and on we went.

We plodded on another twenty steps or so and there on the ground another ‘white feather’ prompting me to take another picture, I couldn’t help thinking of the shared message that morning and my friends frequent tales of GODS little co-incidences in her life!

To cut a long street short by the time we had reached the top of Paupers’ I had noticed and photographed four little white feathers and was filled with a warmth that in my opinion can only be described as GODLEY!

As we turned into the next Road heading for the front entrance of the church a thought entered my mind, it was a strong feeling accompanied by an image (“There’s a feather at the Church door”) Well there was! Right there outside the church door blown carelessly against one of the planters was a fifth white feather!

I photographed it and then filled with an overwhelming feeling of peace  followed hubby and child into the church. we laid our blankets down and enjoyed our little indoor picnic while listening to beautiful music and soaking in the peaceful atmosphere!

After eating I set about sorting jumble items while ’littlie and ’Thebodyguard’ played. Suddenly I felt compelled to stop what I was doing and go and look in the porch that serves as the back entrance to the church, so strong was the feeling of ‘seek and you will find’ that I was disappointed to find that there was no little white feather jumping out at me when I stepped into the porch. 

Feeling slightly silly I’d just turned to go back the way I came when out of the corner of my eye I noticed a tiny white feather laying up against the boiler room door almost completely covered by dry leaves. It was no bigger than my thumb nail and looking a bit worse for wear but a feather none the less. I brushed the leaves aside, pressed the zoom button on my camera and took my sixth feather photo of the day!

Some of you will understand exactly what was going on in ’Paupers Street that day, many of you will think I’m a bit mad, if you didn’t already. It matters not!  I feel lifted and hopeful when I look back to that day and I choose to thank GOD for that.

LORD, Thank you for gentle reminders of your presence in my life. I will continue to write my prayers down for the time being if that's okay with you, minus 'The ten green bottles' of course!

Father I place into your hands the things I'm going through
Father I place into your hands the things I cannot do
Father I place into your hands my friends and family
And I know you always will love me, Amen

Good days, bad days or somewhere in the middle I'm surrounded by friends, family and a GOD who loves me!

Thank you for allowing me to share

GOD bless you and all those you love

Kimmie x                                                     

                                                                            Copyright©2012kimmie All Rights Reserved

Before you go can I ask you to take a look at the WOW petition below? Please sign to help WOW fight Government cuts to Disability services and benefits! Thankyou x

Please join and the WOW campaign in resisting the deaths and unnecessary suffering being caused: Sign the
document on the government’s e-petitions website

For more information you can click on one of the links below:
Twitter @WOWpetition & @WOWpetitionchat
Facebook WOWpetition 

The WOW Petition Forum

Monday, 12 November 2012


I tried to write last night and the night before that, in fact I have attempted putting pen to paper ( or in my case, fingers to keyboard)  almost every night this week!

So friends tonight I shall write in brief about all the things that I have wanted to write about and my reasons for not being able to write about any of them.

With the media full of child abuse stories I have desperately wanted to write about my own experiences as a child. However I have felt unable to do so for the following reasons.

People are so distressed by the horrors they are hearing about on the news that I feel the last thing they need are more tales of abuse. I was mentally and physically abused as a child but never sexually abused and therefore cannot begin to understand the pain those children felt, though I do empathize.

These stories have affected me terribly and have had me reflecting more than usual on my own childhood. However I have been unable to write down my own experiences for fear of somehow playing down the horrors that these people faced as children which were clearly far worse that anything  I ever had to endure!

I have wanted to write about my depression, anxiety and insomnia all of which have been exacerbated over the last year or so due to fear of Government attacks on disabled people.

I feel overwhelmed with worry not just for myself but also for the thousands of other mentally and physically disabled who are being persecuted, some of whom since joining Twitter I now call friend.
I care about them as a friend should care and it hurts me to know that they are suffering.

I feel powerless to help them or my own family. Fear of our future and campaigning for a secure future for all has taken over my life and serves only to make me sicker as I’m sure is the case for many. 

I have wanted to write about the Eating disorder I am now struggling with (also a direct result of fearing the powers that be!)
However while this new addition to my already complex mental health issues  frightens the life out of me I simply cannot find any sensible reason for starving myself half to death when I have five children who need me to be strong and ALIVE!
Anything I try to write with regard to this just adds to the guilt I feel at not being able to put my children first.

This week has been a low as low can be kinda week, my depression which never really goes away has been overwhelming.
It would so many times this week have been cathartic to write about how dark and despairing my days have been but I have found myself unable to for fear of dragging everyone else down with me.

I’m not sure how to inject humor or enjoyable reading into ‘Depression. Is there a way of explaining why I cry alone in my room while hubby, child and dog play excitedly together downstairs.

Does anyone really want to hear about how hard it is for me to refrain from taking my secret weapon (a pair of hair scissors) from my dressing table drawer while all the time knowing the relief the blades would bring.

If a book you were reading painted the scene of a miserable, sobbing middle aged woman staring hopelessly at her reflection in the bedroom mirror would you now be flicking the page enthusiastically desperate to get to the next paragraph!  I doubt it and who could blame you.

Nether the less as this blog is now turning out to be rather cathartic I will pretend you are all still with me and carry on.

So there she is this pathetic self pitying creature slumped in front of her mirror, tears raining down her long haggard face. Her complexion is grey, the bags under her eyes would serve nicely for getting the food shop home on Friday and her once thick (though always slightly frizzy) hair has been falling out for weeks through lack of nourishment.

Truly I tell you the creature I describe is damned UGLY! In my opinion no one does crying beautifully but any beauty she might once have had has been well and truly stripped away by ’Anorexia’, insomnia and stress!

Through the rain she looks despairingly at her reflection, the expression in the eyes of her mirrored self is one of pleading, this woman is in such pain, unbearable overwhelming pain. Whispering now just loud enough for the sadness in the mirror to hear and careful not to the destroy the little bit of happy that is still going on downstairs she pleads out loud with the creature staring back at her. “Help me, Help me, Oh please help me, please help me” then as the expression in the eyes that she sees in the mirror switches from one of pain to anger she turns away and quietly opens the dressing table drawer....

Well considering the hours I have sat in front of my laptop this week unable to write a thing, I’m not too sure where that little lot came from!
I do feel slightly better though for throwing a bit of my muddled mind your way, so if you made it this far down without wanting to go and talk to your own reflection, Thank you.   


Lord, I pray for all victims of child abuse past and present, that they find peace and that justice be done. Amen.


I managed to eat a bowl of raw vegetables tonight and my first appointment at the Eating Disorder clinic was no where near as bad as I anticipated.

Thank you for allowing me to share

GOD bless you and all those you love

Kimmie x                                                  Copyright©2012kimmie All Rights Reserved

Thursday, 1 November 2012


You're bad do you hear me bad, bad, bad
Look at me, I SAID LOOK AT ME! God you make me so mad

How dare you tell a naughty joke
mummy’s gonna wash your dirty mouth out with soap

Get up those stairs, get out of my site
You're bad do you hear me and you wont eat tonight

For goodness sake child what’s wrong with you
Why must you wind me up like you do

If I say quiet I mean QUIET listen to me
Just do as you're told child, why cant you see....

Hush little baby hush don’t cry
Mummy's gonna hold you and tell you why

Come little baby over hear
Let mummy say she’s sorry and dry those tears

I’m sorry I hurt you but you made me so mad
It would never have happened if you weren’t so bad

Come now darling I meant you no harm
Storms over now child, I'm nice and calm

I'm holding out my arms child wont you come
No more tears now whats done is done!

That’s it child, that’s it, there there, all better
Good girl, mummy’s sorry, mummy’s sorry
Come on now, no more tears, come on baby
All finished now, All finished now
Mummy loves you
Mummy loves you
Mummy loves you
Mummy loves you

LORD, Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can and the wisdom to know the difference. Amen


Thank you for allowing me to share

GOD bless you and all those you love

Kimmie x                                               

                                                                  Copyright©2012kimmie All Rights Reserved

Wednesday, 24 October 2012

A day worth remembering!

On the 12th of July 2012 my father-in-law passed away after losing his battle with lung cancer. ‘Thebodyguard’ and I were both with him when he died, along with his mum and two sisters.
We sat all night hoping for the impossible, and then at approximately 6.00 a.m we watched helplessly and drowning in tears as he died!

I cannot get the image of his last moments out of my head. He turned all shades of red and purple as his face blew up like something out of the alien - his eyes suddenly changed colour from brown to darkest grey-blue, and then after what seemed like forever he turned to look at his wife of nearly sixty years and gasped his last breath.

My life long death fears have dramatically increased in intensity since witnessing Dads death and I wanted so much to write about those fears tonight.... I can’t, I’ve tried and I can’t.
I’m terrified by these very real images of death (both my own and other peoples) and I know it would be cathartic to write them all down but for now at least, it would seem I am unable to do so.

Anyway, as I’ve mentioned before in previous posts I often go to my diary in search of something positive when I’m struggling with intrusive thoughts, and this evening I would like to share with you the events of the 13th July 2012 (The day 'after' my father-In-Law passed away)

Though I do have rather more positive entries in my diary this was a day worth remembering for one reason and another. It wasn’t all bad, and is relevant to where my thoughts are this evening.
13th July 2012

‘Littlies’ school performance today was wonderful, and for the most part just what the doctor ordered!
As soon as the music for the first act began I felt my spirits begin to lift, a wheel chair dance, fantastic.
Second act saw the audience waiting with baited breath for one of the younger students to complete her part of her classes piece, she had no lines to remember, no special face mask or dance routine, no.. her contribution was to take one step, that’s right, you read correctly, one step!
For around four minutes in absolute silence parents, teachers and children watched this almost motionless child being held up by a member of staff and encouraged gently from behind to take a step, the concentration on said child’s face would have melted even the hardest of hearts!

The excited whoops and cheers that filled the room as this amazing little girl took the anticipated step could surely be heard all over Essex.
Never before have I felt such pride and love for a child who wasn't my own. WOW doesn’t cover it!

Third act saw our ’Littlie’ (one of the main characters) performing ‘Little rabbit foo foo’ with her classmates, she remembered all of her lines (well all two of them) focusing the whole time on our faces, and again my heart is mush, joyful mush.

Fast forward to act seven, the older children performing a very moving rendition of ‘You bring the sun out’, three lines in and I am picturing ’Littlie’ with her Granddad and suddenly feel overwhelmed with grief. 
I thump down into my seat unable to watch anymore, and, with tears pouring down my face I am lost in the words of the song, my mind flooded with memories of their very special relationship.
Oh dear, it was nice while it lasted! I glance at ‘Thebodyguard‘, he too is crying, a couple of weirdo’s sat at the back of a roomful of joyful parents crying like babies. What must they all think of us....

One o’clock sees us outside a coffee shop in West Road, a quiet, friendly little place that owing to my ‘Agoraphobia’ we visit for those reasons. We order coffee and lunch and go outside to sit down.

A sour faced middle aged woman is sat on one chair between two tables, room for us then, OR NOT!

As we approach she drags a spare chair towards her saying “my daughters sitting here”, “that’s okay” I say politely, “we will grab some chairs from inside and sit at the other table”, sour face is not happy about that! 
Surely you don’t need two tables” is my response to her outcry.

A table becomes available on the other side of the open door way, hurt and a little agitated I give in to sour face and hubby and I move across. I cannot resist saying, rather too loudly it turns out “some people are so nasty”.

Her daughter overhears me!
Sour faces, sour faced child reacts to my comment (I wish I’d kept my mouth shut!) she begins yelling at me across the tables, ‘OH GOD! I really, really don’t need this right now, and neither does my grieving husband‘!

My heart thumping in my chest, feeling nauseous, shaking like a leaf, on the verge of tears and grateful to the nice lady who has just plonked herself down in-between me and the enemy, I say quietly “our dad has just died and there was no excuse for your mums nastiness”. WRONG!

It turns out there is a very valid reason for sour faces unreasonable behaviour, the same bloody pain that ’thebodyguard’ and I are dealing with right now. (Sour faces brother has just died, she recently buried her husband and they on their way to the chapel of rest after lunch!) 

OH GOD, OH GOD, OH GOD, OH GOD,  just my luck, I am attacked unprovoked in the midst of my grief, sour face started the altercation, I did nothing to justify her attack on me, and yet here I am practically sat on ‘Thebodyguards‘ lap, desperately trying not to cry, on the verge of a panic attack, and suddenly it is I who feels ashamed of myself!
There must be hundreds of people in town at this time of day and I have to be victimised by a victim.. I have no words!

We sit for around ten minutes each party lost in grief, then unable to live with myself any longer I gesture to 'Thebodyguard' and we get up and walk over to the lady, who is now sad face in my observation of her (not sour) and I take her hand, I tell her how sorry I am for her pain and also for my reaction to that pain, she cries, I cry, there is a hug, there is forgiveness.
I GOD bless her, she GOD blesses me, I feel better, I hope she does too.


LORD, Please help me to get through tonight because I am so afraid that I won’t be here in the morning. Thank you GOD for every day that you wake me and bring me to my children. Amen

I never go anywhere without my camera. Never did two people love each other more than my ‘Littlie’ and her Granddad, and I have it all on film.
Thank you for allowing me to share

GOD bless you and all those you love

Kimmie x                                                Copyright©2012kimmie All Rights Reserved

Friday, 19 October 2012


For the past few days I have been pondering over ‘David Camerons’ recent address to the nation during which he twice declared ‘Tory’ Britain to be an ‘Aspiration Nation’. Using the words ‘aspiration’ and aspirational’ a total of nine times during his speech he arrogantly declared that ‘Aspiration Nation’ is to be built upon hard work - strong families - taking responsibility and a desire to succeed.

While speaking of his Aspiration Nation’ he implies that ‘scroungers’ like me and mine lurk behind our curtains in the morning while decent hard working people head off for work.
He implies ‘through the back door’ so to speak that all people who rely on welfare (and if his actions are anything to go by that includes the sick and disabled) are weak, dysfunctional families who lack  responsibility!

Before I go any  further with this latest bloggy ramble I would like to share with you all (and that includes you ‘Dave') the meaning of the word ‘Aspiration’ just so we’re all clear.

The (noun) ‘Aspiration’ has four senses:

1) A will to succeed - a goal that one strives toward - an aim
2) A cherished desire - a longing - a hope
3) A manner of articulation involving an audible release of breath
4) The act of inhaling - the drawing in of air (or other gases) as in breathing

Well I’m fairly sure that most of us manage the third at some point or other especially I suspect if we are listening to one of Mr Cameron’s speeches.
The fourth sense of the word refers to something we are all required to do in order to stay alive, some of us without thinking - others with considerably more difficulty depending on health!

Today on a personal level while at the same time sticking two fingers up at Mr Cameron and the rest of his evil (there’s no other word for them) tribe I would like to focus on the first and second senses of the word ‘Aspiration’.

So what are my aspirations? What have I aspired to in the past, what are my aspirations for the future? My hopes - goals - cherished desires.
How have I succeeded in the past how do I hope to in the future? What goals did I strive toward today?

Well lets start with today. At tea time today I was making my way miserably through a huge mound of ironing I felt extremely depressed, was plagued by intrusive thoughts and due to self starvation and severe fatigue found I had to stop what I was doing every now and then to hang onto the ironing board fearing I was going to pass out.

I was not really strong enough to be out of bed let alone attempting household chores and yet there I was determined that my long suffering hubby would not have to add this task to his already very long list of things to do!

I had to will myself on, my aspirations’ as I worked were firstly and probably most importantly to get through the task in hand without giving into the urge to place the hot iron down onto the back of my arm whilst ‘Thebodyguard was in the next room attending to our daughter and secondly to smooth and put away every last item in the crumpled pile beside me. 

I had a goal this tea time - a will to succeed - an aim! I strove towards my goal and I achieved it.

Now let me take you back seven years to the birth of my 5th child. She was born weak, floppy, unable to cry - move - open her eyes or feed. She spent three weeks in the special care baby unit during which time there were many occasions where we had reason to fear we might lose her. When she was just over a week old we were told that she had a chromosome disorder (Prader Willi Syndrome) and would always have special needs, we were devastated!
By week two although still too weak to move, cry or feed herself she had been moved from the high dependency unit to the room next door (The preparing to go home room) My husband and I were terrified!

Our baby needed two people to bath her (one to hold her extremely floppy head up and the other to attend to the rest) she was prone to frequent deceleration of the heart and was wired constantly to a monitor and would remain so for the first year of life.
She needed  repositioning every hour day and night, she was and still is unable to produce correct amount of saliva and needed hourly mouth care. She could not regulate and maintain correct body temperature and she was too weak to suck so needed tube feeding.

In order for us to take our little girl home we as parents would need to learn how to do all of the things that until now medical staff had done for us!  We would have an on call team and a PCN who would come in every day to do observations and address any concerns  but effectively my husband and I would now be responsible for all of her considerable and complex care needs.

Well let me tell you friends we had a cherished desire - a longing - a will to succeed during and way beyond these first few weeks of our ‘Littlies’ life.
We had a huge goal to strive toward and despite my already complex mental health issues, despite the fact that ‘Thebodyguard’ had no choice but to give up work to help with her care needs and despite the fact that we were drowning in fear strive we did! We aspired, we learnt and we took our child home!

Fast forward a few weeks and we find ourselves at home with our still extremely vulnerable child,
I am by now unable to go out alone and have not left the house without my hubby since coming home from hospital. My fear of the outside world has somehow developed into full blown agoraphobia and in addition to this I panic to the point of passing out if left alone at home!
My OCD is probably the worst it’s ever been and my clinical depression is topped up with a lovely dose of postnatal depression, my husband and I are both on our knees with fatigue and the crisis team call in every other day!

I am picturing ‘David Cameron' and his henchmen Iain Duncan Smith' and 'George Osborne'  now as I write and I can’t help but feel bloody angry! How dare they suggest that because we are on welfare we are weak, dysfunctional or lazy.

During the first eight months of ‘Littlies’ life I aspired to breast feed her, it was sole destroying but breast is best right? And let me tell you she needed all the help she could get!
This is a long blog and I forgive you if you’ve buggered off by now but let me try and explain just how difficult this particular ‘aspiration’ was:

Without a child stimulating my breast my body was not receiving the correct messages this meant that every time I sat down at the breast pump I would remain there for a period of around two hours (day and night) with that evil bloody machine pulling at me as if I was a prize cow in order to produce just enough milk for one feed.

When I wasn’t at the pump I had my lifeless child at my breast squeezing tiny drops of milk into her passive mouth in the hope of stimulating a sucking reflex mindful all the time of her lack of gag reflex and the possibility of fluid reaching her lung!
I spent hours implicating the mouth therapies I had been taught by the PCN which involved pushing up onto the roof of the babies mouth with my finger firmly.

When ‘Littlie’was eight months old I removed her feeding tube without advice and sat with her day and night for a week doing nothing other than trying to strengthen the weak sucking reflex that she had by now begun to developed. During this time the breast pump was almost permanently attached to which ever breast she wasn’t latched onto at the time.

Well we did it! After months and months of ‘aspiring’ towards this goal - this cherished desire, we bloody did it!

Hows that for ’Aspiration’ Mr Cameron’? Clearly not good enough!....

If I were to list all of my past aspirations and hopes for the future I would put you off of ever coming back so I will now wrap up this rather long ramble.

I will finish by touching in brief on my mental illness. I have had mental health issues since childhood.
I saw my first psychiatrist at age eleven and have lost count of how many different therapists I have seen since, how many different courses of treatment I have tried to engage with. I have aspired all my life to be well and will continue aspiring toward that goal for as long as I live!

LORD, Thank you for giving my family and I the strength we have needed to get through some very difficult circumstances. Amen

I may never be well enough to work I may always need ‘Thebodyguard’ by my side, but I will never ever give up!

Thank you for allowing me to share 

GOD bless you and all those you love

Kimmie x                                                      Copyright©2012kimmie All Rights Reserved
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Saturday, 13 October 2012


Today my muddled mind took me back to the middle of October 1987, back to a night that many of you will remember for reasons far more catastrophic than my own - The night of 'THE GREAT STORM'!

Eighteen people died that night, winds in parts of the UK reached 100mph causing massive devastation! Millions of trees were blown down, some onto roads and railways causing major transport delay.
Thousands of homes across the UK were left without electricity, phone lines went down and many homes were damaged.

The events of that night are still so clear in my mind and while the catastrophe I have just spoken of should not be played down, or indeed forgotten, there is another reason that keeps this night so fresh in my memory.

I was at home that night, with my first husband and two year old son, none of my windows were blown in, none of my family or friends were hurt, and the trees on my street (though slightly battered by morning) stayed standing.

The storm did not hurt me. My severe anxiety on the night of 'The great storm of October 1987' was caused by my own catastrophic mind!

Let me take you back to my experience of that night!

It's gone midnight when I get into bed, Danny, my two year old is sound asleep in his own room undisturbed by the battering the house is taking, and Nick (my husband) is snoring loudly beside me, also unaware of the storm tossed world outside.

I snuggle down (as you do) and prepare to sleep. The rain (aided by the strong wind) is crashing against the bedroom window which is set directly above my head, the tree outside the window smacks against the glass pane eerily every thirty seconds or so, and the wind is howling, actually howling!
This is horror story weather.. werewolf at the window weather.. Hammer house of horror weather - My 'Stranger within' is in her element!

I look across at Nick, still sleeping soundly beside me, having turned on his side he is no longer snoring, and is now laying with his back to me. Suddenly he stirs, and the quilt drops slightly revealing his shoulders, hairy shoulders (hairy can't be Nick's cause Nick's not hairy shoulders!). Very slowly he turns his head... his face is dark, shadowy, and covered in thick wiry hair,  his yellow smile is lecherous, and his eye's... Oh God, his eye's!

Okay, you get the picture, I'm outta there! Nick, in reality, is still sleeping through the storm oblivious to my madness, but mad or not... I'm not taking any chances.

I go to Danny's room armed with my coat, and his (Just in case), and spend the rest of the night wide awake, carrying out inner compulsions, and filled with terror!

I know how irrational this must sound to you reader, but when I say terror I mean terror... The storm continued to rage, my family continued to sleep; and I, bolt upright on the floor beside Danny's bed in varied states of panic continued to be persecuted by my own mind.

Despite trying desperately to rationalize with myself periodically through the irrational, there was no way I was going back into the same room as my husband.

Before first light I had endured all sorts of horror scenarios in my mind, most of which had climaxed on me running like a madwoman (with screaming child in arms) out into the storm that ravaged the UK.

I forgive you, dear reader, if you couldn't help but laugh while reading this post. I can see how crazy I must sound, but let me tell you; at the time it was no laughing matter... I was beside myself with fear!

Intrusive thoughts are a symptom of OCD (obsessive Compulsive Disorder), and are a part of my everyday life, they have been for as long as I can remember. Consistently, there are thoughts of my own death (everyday, at some point during the day or night, I fear my own death is imminent, and have done since childhood), sometimes I see images of me hurting myself, or worse still others - sometimes I see images of people attacking me or mine...  and occasionally, my intrusive thoughts are as mad as they were during 'The great storm of 1987'


Thank you for allowing me to share

GOD bless you and all those you love

Kimmie x                                                Copyright©2012kimmie All Rights Reserved 

Thursday, 11 October 2012

Extremely, unashamedly, wonderfully GAY!

It's okay to be Gay!
As I type I can see 'Danny' so clearly (partly because my memory is full of his gorgeous little face right now, and partly because a picture of him as a boy is hanging on the wall in front of me.)
He is three years old in the picture I speak of, his head is tilted on one side, he has chubby cheeks - baby bum skin - bright hazel green eyes, and a smile that lights up the room. A happy, cheeky, smiley toddler who knows even at this young age that he is loved, cherished and accepted by all who know him.

Now to another picture, one that exists only in my mind but is as clear to me as the one hanging on the wall in front of me today. 'Danny' is five years old and is hopping around excitedly in the living room dressed in his new school uniform while mum (that's me) does her best to do something with the unruly mop of curls on the top his head.

His cheeks are still chubby - his eyes are still smiley, he is a happy confident little boy eagerly anticipating his first day at school.

Here I will fast forward through infant school, where 'Danny' spent two happy years eager to get to school in the mornings and popular amongst his young peers, and on into the later years of junior school where I begin to notice a change in him.

He is no longer eager to go to school each day - is no longer asked to friends houses for tea (nor does he ask if they can come to ours) - he sobs uncontrollably on the morning of sports day begging me to let him stay home (he stays home!) and his smile no longer reaches his hazel green eyes.

Worried, I approach the school who convinced I am an over protective mother patronize me for half an hour before politely showing me the door.
I am still concerned by the change in him that only I seem to notice, and do my best to encourage him to open up, but to all intense and purpose he is fine. The school report no evidence of bullying, 'Danny' won't (or can't) tell me whats wrong, and his grades remain promising.

Fast forward again.. 'Danny' is now somewhere between the age of twelve and thirteen and in secondary school, the lad he is now bears almost no resemblance to the three year old I described at the beginning of this post.
He is introvert, sulky, in trouble at school (nothing major but enough to prompt the school to tell me on a regular basis what a pain in the arse my child is!)  and his grades are dropping.

Now what I do know at this point in his life is that he is Gay -  he hasn't told me this, and for all I know hasn't yet realised himself - but I know, I am sure of it, don't ask me how I know, I just do.

What I am not aware of, and won't be for another few months is that he is being bullied!
The school tell me there's not a problem, 'Danny' tells me there is not a problem - until one summers day toward the end of August just after his thirteenth birthday.

I am enjoying a well earned cup of tea in the back garden, nursing the mother of all headaches, and the phone rings - It's 'Danny', and he is in a terrible state, I can barely make out what he's saying, he's sobbing and whispering my name over and over, which at this point is all he can manage.

I tell him to come home, right now! - Do not ask permission, do not explain to the teacher why you are leaving the school, do not pass go!  Stay on the phone and come home - which is what he does.

When he arrives home he falls sobbing into my arms but can't tell me whats wrong. We hug for a while until he has calmed down a bit, and then I suggest he go up stairs and lay down for a while. This gives me time to think about what I need to say to him, throw some more pain killers down my throat, and work my way through half a packet of cigarettes.

I'm nervous as I climb the stairs - what if I'm wrong, if I throw this thing out there and I'm barking up the wrong tree will he ever forgive me.

I find him curled up in a vulnerable ball when I enter his room, 'Christina Aguilera' fills the room, and behind the music 'Danny's racking sobs. I cross the room, and then sitting on the edge of the bed put one hand on his shoulder to announce my presence while reaching with the other hand to turn 'Christina' down to a more acceptable level!

"What is it son" I ask, and he, still sobbing, still with his back to me, "I cant tell you mum", I turn him around so that (despite the fact that he can't bring himself to look at me) we are at least face to face.

I say, "Danny, there is nothing in this world that you could ever say to me that would stop me loving you", he doesn't answer but he does look up at me, I cannot begin to describe the pain in his eye's, but his expression is one of pleading.

Okay, here I go, sink or swim! "Danny' are you gay?" - no answer, but no horror or anger in his expression either, he looks down, and then after what seems like forever - quietly, whispering "I'm Gay mum" .... my answer, "I know".

Turns out the school bullies had that day put posters of my gorgeous boy up all around the school corridors with a phone number underneath his profile, and the words.. 'I LIKE BOYS, CALL ME'

My son is twenty seven years old now, he still turns his head to the side when he smiles, his skin is still 'baby bum like' and his smile always reaches his hazel green eyes.
Oh! he is also extremely, unashamedly, wonderfully GAY! - I couldn't love him more if I tried.

LORD, I thank you for my children, the disabled one, the scatty one, the bubbly one, the hyperactive one and the GAY one. They are all exactly as you made them and all perfect in your eye's. AND MINE! Amen

That's easy MY KIDS!

Thank you for allowing me to share

GOD bless you and all those you love

Kimmie x                                        

Copyright©2012kimmie All Rights Reserved

Extremely, Unashamedly, Wonderfully Gay. I can see Danny so clearly as I write...

Saturday, 6 October 2012


Do you see in me what GOD sees? Do you hear what he hears?
He sees so much more than mental illness, paranoia, fear.
Can you empathize as GOD does with the shadows from my past
If you looked at me with his eyes would you see behind the mask.

I know it hurts your feelings when I pull from your embrace,
I'm trapped, but always open to the sadness on your face.
GOD alone knows the real me, locked deep inside this skin
can you understand as he does why I cannot let you in?

Imagine the blackest darkness, close your eyes, focus; are you there?
There are demons in the shadows, so tread carefully, beware!
I hide here in the darkness too afraid to venture out,
Tears frozen on my eyelids, oppressed, can’t scream or shout.

But, I’m blessed within my shadows by dreams of all that I could be
In hope I pray, through ‘AMAZING GRACE’, I will one day be free.
Now imagine you're looking through GODS eyes, can you see that little light?
It’s tiny in the darkness, do you see it? It burns so very bright.   

There’s beauty in that little light, such love, kindness, creativity.  
That little glowing pocket in the darkness that you see?
That little glowing pocket, is Gods 'AMAZING ME'.

                                                                         ©2012kimmie All Rights Reserved  

Lord, Thank you for loving me, the way I am. Amen


Thank you for allowing me to share - It helps.

Kimmie x                                        

Friday, 5 October 2012

Don't stand too close to me!

Picking up from yesterdays blog, here if you missed it > 
After saying goodbye to my nephew ‘Thebodyguard’ and I continued on towards the high street which is just a five minute walk from our house - he with his head hung low looking as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders, and me, agitated, weak and doing my best to keep up with him.

Despite our destination being only a short distance from home I was feeling incredibly weak by the time we reached the town so in order to avoid having to scrap me up from the pavement ‘Thebodyguard’ steered us through the crowds to a little coffee shop set just away from the hustle and bustle of the busy high street.

After consuming a very large milky coffee and smoking half a dozen cigarettes I felt I was (physically if not mentally) ready to have another go at getting the shopping done.

Our first port of call was boots to pick up some 'complan'. It wasn’t too bad in boots, the isles are fairly wide and the store was reasonably empty.

Hanging on to ’Thebodyguard’ for fear of passing out we had just joined the queue at the checkout when a text message came through on my mobile, the message read  ‘I’m on my way to yours, see you in five’.

The message was from my friend ‘Tammy’ and she was on her way to mine - she was on her way to mine because two days earlier I had invited her, invited her and then forgot her.... Charming!

What happened next can only be described as severe anxiety, without warning my heart began pounding in my chest so hard that I was sure it must be visible to the queue of shoppers who by now couldn’t avoid staring at the mad woman rambling obscenities at the far end of the line.

The fact that we had no credit on the phone and would have to wait our turn behind the tutting ‘absolutely perfect people’ who had beat us to the checkout only served to increase my anxiety. By now I was finding it difficult to breath, doing my best not to cry and feeling extremely faint.
The staff at the check out seemed to be moving in slow motion and I couldn’t do a damned thing about it!

I had visions of ’Tammy’ getting closer and closer to my house and though I know all of this sounds completely irrational, every second that prevented me from contacting her to let her know I was sorry was unbearable! I hate letting people down.

Anyway, we made it to the check out - paid for our goods and telephone credit, and then with one of us walking and the other stumbling we made our way outside, I fumbled around for a cigarette and ‘Thebodyguard’ set about topping up the mobile.

I phoned ‘Tammy’ rambled my apologies and she accepted them with the same cheerful, 'oh well, never mind’ positive attitude to life and everyone in it that she always does.

Another coffee follows this little escapade (and a few more cigarettes)  then up and on again, we head towards ‘M & S’ where we will purchase some of ‘Littlies’ special dietary requirements.

I needed the loo, so before facing the whole bloody world (honestly you couldn’t move in there let alone shop!) we headed up to the exclusive ‘M&S toilets, which we like because they are always clean and don’t like because there is always a mile long queue for the ladies (probably because they are always clean)

I wait my turn behind four elderly ladies who, I should add, all looked in decidedly better shape me.  I sit, I wee, I fumble in the stupid inaccessible loo roll holder, there is no loo roll!

Great! Now what do I do? OCD requires me to have exactly four squares of toilet roll and cleanliness is vitally important to me, should I call to the lady in the next cubicle? No I cant do that, its bad enough a stranger heard me relieving myself, I cant do that! Should I take my knickers off, use those and discard them in the sanitary bin and never ever tell another living sole?

Well friends, those and a few more rejected options all passed through my mind as my agitation at (a) not being able to wipe and (b) not being able to carry out my usual toilet roll rituals increased.

I decided I had no choice but to sit there a while and ‘drip dry.
Mortified by the thought of the inevitable queue of people waiting (perhaps urgently) to take their place on my throne, and by the thought that ‘Thebodyguard’ would be by now wondering what the bloody hell I was doing, I cried, silently and despairingly I cried.

Eventually, when both ends had stopped dripping I rejoined my hubby and blamed my late return on the queue.

Shopping in M & S was a nightmare and just about finished both me and ‘Thebodyguard’ off!
People pushing into me, around me, seeming to come at me on purpose, unaware that by walking between me and my husband they leave me stranded, panicked, that despite the fact that he is still only one person away from me in the crowd he may as well be a million miles away, and I am afraid.

I’m afraid of ‘Mr black hat man’, he looks shifty to me, I’m afraid of ‘hoody boy’ who I’m sure is staring right at me, I’m afraid of ‘booted and suited man’ who is drawing something out of his bag suspiciously, he is after his wallet of course, but in the time it takes him to draw his wallet my thoughts have already seen the gun, the blood pouring from my head, ‘Thebodyguard’ standing over me, unable to help me now because it's already too late, the tears on his cheeks, and a little girl who cries for her mummy.

I am afraid of you and you and you and you, so please don’t stand too close to me, don’t push between me and my husband in order to get there first, don’t look at me too long, and don’t judge me!

LORD, Thank you for bringing me to the end of a very difficult day in one piece and helping me to share my experiences. I pray that in doing so someone somewhere feels less isolated, Amen

As hard as it was today, I got through it.

Thank you for allowing me to share. It helps me more than you could possibly know.

GOD bless you and all those you love

Kimmie x                                                     Copyright©2012kimmie All Rights Reserved

Thursday, 4 October 2012

'Before even opening my eyes'

Before even opening my eyes this morning I found myself filled with overwhelming feelings of fear and anxiety, followed almost immediately by intense self directed anger.

My first thought of the day is that I have to go food shopping, this isn’t something I can put off until tomorrow, having already put it off yesterday to spend the entire day in bed trying unsuccessfully to catch up on some sleep.  

As I opened my eyes and shifted my halfhearted self around into a semi upright, almost out of bed position, I was painfully aware of the effects that lack of food and very little sleep have had on my body.

A band of intense pain around my chest and upper back prompted me to flop back onto my pillow, from this position I could clearly see the little chest of draws on the far side of the room, I found my mind drawn to the second draw down; the ’bits and bobs draw’, which contains random things that need a place to live; items I need and use but don’t want on show.

Make up - sanitary towels - brushes…. and right at the back of the draw hidden under a pair of  slipper socks, a pair of sharp medium sized scissors.

Still filled with anger - self hatred, and utter despair I imagined myself crossing the room, opening the draw and taking out the scissors, still imagining, I saw myself kneel on the floor, draw back my sleeve and….

Desperate for the relief that I knew I would find in the drawer across the room, but mindful of the fact that there was a little girl downstairs who needed my attention, I was grateful to be pulled abruptly from my thoughts by the sound of ’Thebodyguard’ calling up the stairs to see why I wasn’t up yet.

 Dragging my muddled mind and the smile I paint on for my children down the stairs I set about getting ‘Littlie’ ready for school.

After she had left for school I figured that I could allow myself half an hour with my Twitter pals and still make it into town before the crowds built up too much, so after grabbing coffee and cigarettes and taking note of the time ‘8.00am’ I plonked myself in front of my laptop.

To cut a lot of scrolling, a few tweets and a bit of blogging short, by the time I actually got up to go into the shower it was almost eleven o’clock!

Aware that my putting off the inevitable now meant that the high street would  be rammed with people by the time ’Thebodyguard’ and I got there only served to increase my anxiety, and had me (five minutes later) sitting on the shower room floor (to avoid  passing out!) with lukewarm water battering my head (the thermostats buggered!) and tears pouring from eye.

It was almost lunch time before we made it out of the door. Heading in the direction of the town, we had not got further than half way up our road when I noticed my nephew coming towards us from the opposite direction.

Despite the fact that I haven’t seen said nephew for over a year we have always been very close - he had a few problems at home as a lad, and to cut a long story short I took him in at age twelve and he remained in my care for around six months.

I remember as a lad how he would introduce me to his friends as ’my beautiful auntie’, how close we were - how much I loved him and how obvious to others was his feeling for me.

Today, my nephew looked me straight in the eye and walked past me - he didn’t recognize me.

Fear of the Government and the media, fear of judgement - by those in society who label benefit claimants as scroungers, have led me to develop an Eating disorder (self starvation) and as a result of this my own nephew didn’t recognize me this morning.

I called his name and as he turned around, it was clear that he was still was not immediately sure who I was, then as he recognized ‘thebodyguard’ by my side his expression changed from one of vagueness to shock.

Never one to beat around the bush his words to me after an initial hug were “Bloody hell”, “what the F*** happened to you!”

I evaded the question, there followed some (uncomfortable on my part) small talk, and then we and he parted company with the promise of a catch up soon.

I was suddenly painfully and shamefully aware of how truly awful I now looked!

Of course I see my reflection in the mirror every morning, and having lost three stone since receiving the dreaded brown envelope just over a year ago - 2oth August 2011 to be exact (there will be a blog about that awful day at some point!) I am not blind to how thin I have become, just selfishly, until today I haven’t allowed myself to think about how terrifying my physical deterioration must be to those who love me.

I think, as I have got this far without yet even reaching the horror of the high street, that perhaps in order to avoid you all dying of boredom before reaching the end of this ramble I should make this a blog of two halves.
LORD, I pray that with your help and through my desire to live and raise my children I can over come this latest, damaging and very frightening symptom of mental illness. Amen

Despite often feeling very lonely, I’m not alone. I have a wonderful supportive family and friends old and new who care about my well being. I will take time every day to consider how others are affected by my illness!

Thank you for allowing me to share.

GOD bless you and all those you love

Kimmie x                                              Copyright©2012kimmie All Rights Reserved