Follow @stuckinscared Stuck In Scared: October 2012

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

'A little piece of happy by my side'

On waking to sunshine one day in August 2012 (sun being almost non existent for the best part of 2012!) ‘The Bodyguard’ and I decided to take 'Littlie' for a picnic in the park.

Littlie’s disability would prevent her from walking the half hour journey, so in order to give her a break from her wheelchair we decided to stop on the way at a peaceful public garden which is set in a beautiful valley only moments from a busy main road.

A magical place. An enchanted garden! The perfect place for one of ‘mummies’ fairytales.

Before long ‘Littlie’ found herself chatting with squirrels (seemingly unaware that my lips moved each time they spoke)  ‘trip trapping’ over a little bridge to get to the green grass on the other side, thrilled at the thought of the ‘ugly troll’ who might jump up from under at any moment. Dancing (to the best of her ability) with fairies, playing with elves and running away (fast walking would be more accurate) from an ogre who turned out to be friendly and was therefore understandably a little put out by our reaction to him.

Stay with me friends there is a point to this story.
While wandering that day through the magical land that I had created for ’Littlie’ my own thoughts were far from enchanting. As I led her further into the light overwhelming intrusive thoughts had me stumbling through blackness doing my damnedest to stay with her!

I talked the talk that ’littlie’ needed to hear, and walked the walk that would carry her further along an imaginary path.  She joyfully wandered further into the beautiful, bright world that I (despite my muddled mind) had created for her, I walked beside her in darkness.

As I encouraged her to join me in ‘trip trapping’ over a little concrete bridge treading carefully so as not to wake the wicked troll. As my lips spoke of fairies and elves, friendly ogres and squirrels who talk I found myself sinking further into the murky depths of my mind.

My false smile and animated tone set my daughter’s world alight, lifting her mood and drawing her mind away from her physical limitations but my own mood in contrast was one of overwhelming despair. Appalling images crowded my mind threatening to block the next phase of ’Littlie’s’ fairytale adventure.

I felt almost as if there were a visible line drawn between us and though we were linked across the divide by our hold on each other we might well have been a million miles apart. She walked along beside me under the warmth of the sun with fairies dancing at her feet and I stumbled along beside her in the dark terrified of what would jump out at me next! 

For a while her voice seemed far away and the image of her distorted until eager for a new scene she excitedly raised her voice drawing me back towards her sunshiny world.
Grateful for the distraction I squeezed her little hand and pointed her toward the muddy slope that would take us to the giant’s castle. 

I wondered as she looked up at me in complete awe with wide smile and twinkling eyes if she had noticed the torment behind my smile. She hadn't - there was no sign of sadness or concern in her expression - she was just a happy little girl eagerly anticipating the next stage of the imaginary journey her mummy had invented for her.

As for me, in that moment looking down into the face of the sun I was able to step over the divide and back into the light.

I silently thanked GOD for this 'little piece of happy' by my side!

My kids are amazing! They keep me walking with one step in the ’light’ direction.  

LORD, thank you for my children. They are my sunshiny. Amen.

Thanks for allowing me to share my ramblings.

GOD bless you and all those you love

Kimmie  x                                                  Copyright©2012kimmie All Rights Reserved

Tuesday, 2 October 2012

'Throw A Little Sunshine Our Way'

I wrote this during the (incredibly wet) summer of 2012.

Dear Mr Weather man,

We are now well into the middle of July 2012’ and yet to see any sign of summer!

It occurred to me during my comings and goings today, umbrella clutched like a security blanket in one hand - the other holding a huge cardigan around my middle to keep the (autumn) wind out,, that perhaps 'Mr Weather man' you're attempting to empathize with the great British public this year. Aware of the general doom and gloom overshadowing the country,  the economy showing no sign of recovery any time soon, and the majority of families on their knees in the midst of it all, how can you possibly allow the sun to shine?!
I can see how you might feel that would be little insensitive. 

Of course, I do see where you’re coming from; after all.. do we not do just the same when people we know are going through tough times? - If a best friend tells us they've been made redundant, lost a love one or stepped in a big pile of dog poo, we don’t laugh do we? Our faces don’t light up on hearing their news. (Okay, we might laugh at the *dog poo* story, we're only human!).

Generally though.. when faced with other peoples sorrow our faces reflect their pain, we empathize.
Our eyes might glisten with empathy, perhaps threatening to rain any minute, our expressions cloud over, sometimes slightly overcast with the possibility of a little sun breaking through, and sometimes, when faced with really devastating news.. clouding over with incredible darkness, a heavy down pour almost certainly guaranteed.
It rather depends on how bad the news is. 

Back to you Mr Weather man, maybe throwing in an extra autumn this year is your way of saying 'I feel your pain'.  Well, whilst I do appreciate your concern, and indeed your empathy for my own situation.. and for the trials and tribulations of millions of others during the current economic climate, I think you've got it wrong! A bit of sunny in the face of despair is usually just what the doctor ordered.

On that note Mr Weather man - Thank you very much for your concern - but actually you're not helping, you're making matters worse.
We would appreciate it if you could stop buggering about with the seasons.. and throw a little sunshine our way.
Actually, scrap that last bit, at this point a little sun will not do, make that a lot, you owe us!

P.S If your empathetic feeling for the majority of Britain is not that easily reigned in, please feel free to go and rain on the bloody government and all of the unsympathetic loonies who support them!

Yours Sincerely

Me, everyone I know, and quite possibly everyone they know too.

Thank you for allowing me to share

GOD bless you and all those you love

Kimmie x                                            Copyright©2012kimmie All Rights Reserved


OCD...A Stranger Within. | Blog Post... Mental health | mental illness |Intrusive thoughts. OCD | Awareness.
I avoid talking to strangers. I'm never comfortable in unfamiliar company. Wary of half the world; it seems.

There is one stranger who just won’t let me be; one who I am especially afraid of! This particular stranger has shadowed me for as long as I can remember, yet she remains to this day a stranger to me.

She says that someone will hurt me or mine; puts bad-guys in crowds, bombs on trains... knives in many pockets. 
She's taunts me with death; My death. And has done since I was a child. I can't remember a day-night that didn't have death-dead-dying in it!

She tells me I'm capable of terrible things; I pray to GOD I’m not.
She hints that I have hurt people in the past;  I have no memory of doing so.
She imagines that I will hurt someone in the future; I find this inconceivable. 
She suggests that I am capable of hurting my children; I would rather DIE!

The stranger has suggested to me, on more than one occasion, that whilst I’m brushing my daughter’s hair I will become a monster mum. You know. One of THOSE MOTHERS! 
A mother who lost in the depths of mental illness, perhaps a product of an abusive or disruptive childhood herself, screams and shouts, and in moments of blind rage lashes out; hurting her child, mentally and physically. Instilling fear and distrust into childhood years, and causing irreversible damage. A mother who (without meaning to) takes her desperation and inability to cope out on her child. A mother I have first hand experience of!  

The stranger I speak of is extremely well informed, after a life time of shadowing me she has acquired a great deal of knowledge into my inner fears and vulnerabilities.  She has long since mastered the art of intrusion, she is a gifted impersonator, a powerful oppressor, a terrifying intimidating presence; hard to ignore, and exhausting to challenge! She is a creative script writer, inspired and empowered by my reactions to her demented story lines.

The virtual realities she creates for my eyes only, appal and frighten me. Locked deep inside my own skin, frozen in front of a built in screen, I am forced to watch as the graphic day mare unfolds! My mind violated by the context of each scene, afraid and oppressed in the strangers company, I pray urgently to GOD that I be released from her grasp,

I see the brush slam down onto the back of my beloved child's head. I hear her desperate screams as the brush comes crashing down again and again! I see myself standing over her, a stranger masking my face; the mask vaguely familiar and yet at the same time completely unrecognizable. I see my child confused, hysterical and consumed with fear beneath me.  I repel with every fiber of my being against the illusory images; my heart breaks!

An inner coldness crawls slowly down each side of my face; a strange trickling sensation. Making its way down my neck, through my shoulders and into my arms. A prickly numbness dulls sensation in my lips and fingers, until struggling to maintain a normal breathing pattern I experience a heavy, unnerving pain across my chest into my shoulder and down into my left arm.

Preoccupied by my inner turmoil and carrying out secret compulsions I continue to brush my precious girl’s hair, by my trembling hand her favourite hairbrush glides slowly through her long, wavy mane; with careful, gentle strokes. I lovingly tease the knots from this wonderful crowning glory, then after nervously guiding a comb through the hair on the back of her head to form a parting, my tingling fingers twist and turn through shiny strands to form two perfect, pretty braids.

I am consumed with emotion, filled with a powerful feeling of fierce protectiveness. I experience feelings of overwhelming hate and anger directed at the monster that dares to suggest that I would allow any child, let alone one of my own, endure such anguish.  I will punish the monster later when I get her on her own! 

Through all of this; through the reality and the virtual I have described, I count. Urgently I count! Mentally drained, tears frozen solid in my throat, no longer able to suppress facial and body tics, still gently tending my beautiful child and somehow responding periodically through the haze to her eager chattering; I count!
Four-eight-twelve-sixteen, on and on, the more horrifying the images, the more complex my count. Until finally, hoping that outwardly I appear relatively normal, I am able to close my mind to the horror.

Until the next time!

Lord help me to trust; that intrusive thoughts (no matter how appalling) are a symptom of OCD and not a reflection of who I am. Amen.

POSITIVE THOUGHT                                                                      
My kids are happy, I must be doing something right. I will always be 'Mum'; which makes every day worth fighting for!
Quote. "I will always be Mum, which makes every day worth fighting for" | Blog post | Mental health | Mental Illness | OCD. via @stuckinscared

Thank you for allowing me to share

GOD bless you and all those you love

Kimmie x                                          Copyright©2012kimmie All Rights Reserved


About Me... (me, myself, and mental illness)

This blog tells my story. I write under an adaption of my first name... my preferred name, ‘Kimmie’, a pet name given to me by my Nan years ago.

My scribbles include my experience of mental illness and gambling addiction. My fear and isolation as a child! My relationship with GOD, with my children and with my mother. Good and bad days past and present, life in general, and occasionally a little of my nonsense! 
Where ever my muddled mind takes me! It’s all relevant, Its all me.

I’m not a perfect wife, or a perfect mum, but I do always try my best. So okay, on a bad day my best might only be responding with a smile that doesn’t quite reach my eyes when I’m spoken to - but on a good day, I’m a great cook (that’s hubby covered) and as I have the ability to get right down on a child's level, and I mean right down; like 50-going-on-five down, I make a great playmate (that’s the kids covered, even the grown up ones)

I’m a God botherer! (No offence to God or man intended when I say that, what I mean is, I really do take up an awful lot of the LORDS time with my ramblings.)  
I love GOD, I really do; but disturbing, often vile intrusive thoughts (a symptom of O.C.D) can make my relationship with GOD extremely difficult!


I am a compulsive gambler (in recovery) much more on that later, but for now in brief….

Thunder crashing in my head
It’s three am, I should be in bed
And the wheels keep on turning.
I can’t walk away, I just can’t stop,
I try to disguise the ‘need the loo bop’
And the wheels keep on turning
Sandwich to the left of me, dry, untouched!
No time to eat and I’ve drank too much
And the wheels keep on turning
Fourteen, twenty on the nose,
Despair, elation, such highs, such lows
And the wheels keep on turning
4.00am on the loo, had no choice
Praying out loud, Is that really my voice
And the wheels keep on turning!
I’ve tried hard to stop, I’ve really tried
So sick and tired of feeling sick and tired!
And the wheels keep on turning
Can’t stop if I’m losing, can’t stop if I’m winning.
Just can’t stop!!!!
And the wheels keep on turning!


I am both full time carer, and full time dependent. In short I care for my disabled daughter with hubby’s help, and hubby cares for us both, with no help!

I have lived with mental illness for as long as I can remember, hospitalised twice in early adulthood with severe depression, and more recently diagnosed with O.C.D (obsessive compulsive disorder) which makes me feel a bit like this  'STUCK - IN - SCARED'.  Much more on that later!

I also have a diagnosis of G.A.D (generalised anxiety disorder) which causes me, at some point everyday, even the good days; varied levels of anxiety, and exacerbates facial and body tics, which vary in severity from mild to severe.

AGORAPHOBIA… which makes me feel a bit like this
mental health. mental illness
PARANOIA which is probably related to OCD, although I’m not a doctor so I could be wrong about that. I do know that in my case paranoia affects my ability to trust anyone completely, even my husband who I love with all my heart. More on that later I think, it’s not easy to explain in short.

And last, but by no means least (for the past three years or so) an eating disorder - probably the most terrifying symptom of mental illness Iv'e experienced yet, and the one I find the most difficult to write about.


I have five children, including one with complex special needs. They are all amazing, I love them so much and can't wait to share them with you.


I am a writer - I've always jotted a bit, and began writing on a more regular basis after my occupational therapist suggested that it might bring me some relief to do so, especially as medication for OCD and related anxiety is not an option for me (overwhelming fear prevents me from taking it) and previous attempts to engage with CBT therapy and psychotherapy have failed, although it has been pointed out to me that both of these therapies are usually more effective alongside medication. (Catch 22!)

My Occupational therapist was right; writing does offer some relief from anxiety but much more than that, it empowers me, gives me a focus, an opportunity to confront and share my fears, and fills me with a sense of achievement.
Maybe one day I’ll write that book Iv'e been harking on about for years, Maybe I‘ll never get around to it! Maybe, Maybe, Maybe, Maybe! (Sorry about all the maybe’s one wouldn't have made my point, and two or three would't have been four!) now I need one more because I see a total of seven in this paragraph, so here it is - maybe all that really matters right now is that I’m writing, and it feels great!


I am Me - I'm loving, kind, empathetic. Compassionate, generous, passionate. Creative. 
I have a fabulous imagination, a child-like way about me (not always a good thing), a wicked sense of humour, and a heart for the hurting.

I like Christmas, a lottle (that's like a little but a lot). I'm obsessed with Betty Boop; there may be more Boops in my house than there are in the Boop-Shop.

I love: the sound and smell of the rain, the sun on my face, sand between my toes. Sausage meat between my fingers (that's not as mad as it sounds). Paddling. Puddle jumping. Mud between my toes. Being with my kids. Cappuccino!

I hate: Cruelty. The current UK Government. War. Greed. Fish (unless it's cod...cod's okay). Oh, and the wind; I HATE the wind, it's so... so irritatingly-windy!
About me. Stuck In Scared. Blog.


Lord, I pray that by my telling-it-how-it-is I might help myself and other mental health sufferers feel less isolated, and at the same time help mental health professionals and society in general gain better understanding of what it feels like to live with mental illness. Amen.

YAH! After days of obsessing, counting, checking, and constant rewriting I’ve finally completed this blog! I feel a WHOOP coming on!

If you have made it this far down what can only be described as an extremely long 'me me me' post, thank you for sticking around.
It helps me to share, I hope that somewhere in my ramblings you find something that helps you.

Thank you for allowing me to share

GOD bless you and all those you love

Kimmie  x                                        contact details…

I'll leave you with this random cloud, because it's a fabulous cloud, because I've always loved cloud gazing (though this one looks like it needs bouncing on, rather than looking at) and because I took the shot myself, and I'm rather proud of it :o) x

mental health blog. Clouds.

Copyright©2015kimmie All Rights Reserved