Christmas Eve 'Magic'

This'll be a quickie, it's unplanned, and unedited because Iv'e still got loads of Christmas prep to get through before tomorrow, but something magical happened this evening, and I couldn't resist sharing it with you all. 

'The Body Guard' (that's hubs to the newbies) and I took 'Littlie' to the Church at the top of our road this evening for the crib service, on the way back, 'Littlie' looked up from her wheelchair and suddenly began squealing - "look, it's Santa, it's Santa!" 

We looked up, and on seeing a group of twinkling lights moving across the sky immediately began squealing along with her, "Oh my God Littlie", says I - "you're right, it is Santa, it really is.. eeeek!"

Hubs and I went along with the magic of the moment, egged on by 'Littlies' amazement, and then.. "Oh no" said Littlie in earnest, attempting to take over the wheelchair wheels - "hurry mummy, hurry, I'm not gonna make it, he's nearly to our house, and I'm still awake!" 

Laughing, I explained that Santa was still incredibly high up, and had lots of other children to visit before getting to us, and the three of us, clothed in magic, continued back down the road to home, squealing all the way!

When we reached home 'Littlie' asked if Santa would see her if she waved to him.. "Oh yes Littlie", said I, "he's too high up for you to see him, but he will see you", and with eyes lit up like a childs eyes should be, she waved to the (sleigh) lights in the sky.

Oh! How I wish you all could of seen the joy in her eyes! - Her expression, and incredulous laughter bought tears of joy to mine. 

Of course, the moving 'sleigh shaped' lights in the dark sky this evening where probably an aeroplane..but my 'Littlie' firmly believes that we have just seen the man in red, and has gone to bed happier than Iv'e ever seen her!

I have never witnessed such joy on any of my kids faces - it was truly magical - the stuff Christmas movies are made of! 

Without a doubt, the best moments of my life so far :O) 

God bless you and all those you love 

Kimmie X 

Update: - Iv'e just been told, by a friend on facebook, that what we actually saw tonight was probably ISS (International space station) which was due over Britain at around 5.30 - so there you go..mystery solved - our secret though....Littlie must never know ;o) 

Christmas - Once more with feeling

Life's tough at the moment, overwhelmingly so, my existing health issues are exacerbated, and I'm struggling, mentally, physically and emotionally, but, despite a head full of blogger fodder, there'll be no real ramble tonight.
It's almost Christmas, and Christmas is my favorite, so.. I'll share with you my 'Merry and Bright' for now, and leave my misery for after the festivities.

Just briefly though, I will explain to you why I chose *Once more with feeling* as the title for this post, because, well, it makes no sense otherwise (other than to me) ....

....We had a call in October, informing us that our Landlord is selling our home.
We will get two months notice once he's sold the property..we don't want to leave..I feel safe here, we are happy here, and have been for many years.

Initially (with Christmas in mind) I decided that I wouldn't deck the halls to my usual (over the top) standard this year, the decs usually take me weeks to put up (owing to health issues) and almost as long to take down/pack away, so I decided I'd just put a small tree up for 'Littlie' in the living room.

'Littlie' (who is disabled) is physically challenged (more so than usual at the moment) and her behaviour is becoming more and more challenging by the day, on top of that my own health issues are as bad as they've ever been, and we're having to deal with all sorts of people (I don't do strangers easily) and with the stress that goes hand-in-hand with losing one home, and 'attempting' to find another. - It seemed sensible to keep the decorations to a minimum.

However, after some thought, I realised that 'Littlie', who has no idea she's about to lose the only home she's ever known, would know something was wrong if mummy (that's me) didn't do the usual over the top thing.

So, my friends....for 'Littlies' sake, our home, 'Once more with feeling', has been well and truly Christmassed, and I'd love to share it with you.

Welcome to my home (for now, it is still my home)
Heating's on, kettle's on, and there's mince pies in the tin (help yourselves) X

Thank you as always for allowing me to share 

God bless you, and all those you love 

kimmie X

POSITIVE THOUGHT 

My daughters eyes are shinning, as a child's eyes should. :O)

PRAYER 

Thank you God, for the kick up the bum, and for the 'Merry and bright', Amen. 

Sometimes (Like Now)

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.
Iv'e tried hard to stop, Iv'e really tried
I'm 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.

One evening - Just over ten years ago (after hitting rock bottom) I went (back) to GA (Gamblers anonymous). It was one of the best decisions I ever made!

My children got their mum back! 

Sometimes (Like now) I am consumed by symptoms of mental illness, sometimes (like now) I am overwhelmed by life in general - especially (like now) when security feels threatened, and I feel I have no control over my situation, sometimes (like now) I am 'stuck-In-Scared' every minute of everyday, and best part of the night! (All the reasons I gambled in the first place) and I'm tempted - I crave the (temporary) relief that I know gambling would bring. 

Sometimes (like here > Just For Today I will Not Gamble! I need to remind myself of my reasons for choosing to drive past the casino that night, and head to a GA meeting instead. 

Sometimes (Like now) I need to remember my reasons for abstaining for the past ten years.  

I can't think of a better reason than - *My children have their mum back* ~  Just for today I will not gamble.

POSITIVE THOUGHT
"Just for today I will be unafraid. Especially I will not be afraid to enjoy what is beautiful and to believe that, as I give to the world, so the world will give to me." 

PRAYER

God, 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  

#MicroPoetry 'Echos In The Dark'

 Copyright©2014 kimmie All Rights Reserved

Thank you for allowing me to share

God bless you, and all those you love

Kimmie x

We Love You Littlie

My child

Taken from arms

Tubed, tested, incubated

Disabled

languid in arms

Weak, floppy, fading

beautiful 

loved in arms

praying - can we keep you

Special care

 Special needs

Just special 

Brighter

Strengthened in arms 

Fighting 

breathing

Being

Home

safe in arms

Enduring

Growing

Learning

You did it
you did it all 

 First smile 

first word 

First everything

A bit late

(very late)

 but you did it!

Stunningly beautiful, wonderful child

you're so loved 

by us 

By all who know you

Proud of you darling x

Thank you for allowing me to share 

God bless you, and all those you love

Kimmie X 

Copyright©2015kimmie All Rights Reserved 

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'professional her' and 'mentally me'

When I began a new course of psychotherapy (early September) I had reservations about whether or not this was a good time for me to take on such a big challenge.

On top of an already long list of 'issues in my life', my Dad (as many of you already know) is going to die soon, according to his doctors, some time in the next twelve months, and I worry that taking the lid off of a life time of mental health issues might be the straw that breaks the camels back (the camel being me!) 

I had a few other concerns as well, and so prior to my first meeting with the psychotherapist, I arranged to meet up with my occupational therapist (who is also my key worker) to discuss my concerns, and have a care plan put in place.
Copies of my care plan where sent to both my GP, and my psychotherapist. 

Points A, B, & C (below) are copied from that care plan, and should clarify for you, dear reader, the concerns I raised with my OT prior to meeting the new psychotherapist.

A. "We spoke today of how difficult it is for you to speak openly about past issues, and how this has been made more difficult owing to your fathers ill health" 

B. "We also discussed the emotional cost to you after therapy sessions, and the potential impact on your ability to act as joint carer for your disabled daughter. This role is tiring, and needs for you to feel able to cope"

C. "Due to there being multiple issues that need addressing in therapy, you would like to be clearer about the length of therapy being offered" 

"We agreed that you should discuss A, B * C with the psychotherapist to agree the best way forward" 

Right at the beginning of my first meeting with the psychotherapist (after the initial uncomfortable silence) I tried to get the above points across - I asked her (albeit like a muddled five year old might ask) - do you think, in your 'professional' opinion, that now is the right time to for me to embark on another round of psychotherapy, considering blah, blah, & my Dads impending death. 

I'm concerned that either, I'll be getting somewhere, and then my Dad will die, undoing any progress I've made - or, that his illness/decline over the next few months will interfere with therapy; and so, potentially - I'll make no progress at all, therefore wasting sessions that another person might benefit from. 

My feelings are, that I have more than enough 'big issues' to deal with at the moment, and that now isn't the best time to dig deep, but was asking for (and willing to be led by) her advice.

Her response was - "It seems to me that your expecting me to make the decision for you" o_O

Toward the end of the session, I also asked her, A) Would it be possible to meet fortnightly, as apposed to every week, and B) How long were the sessions going to last.

My reasons for requesting a longer period between each session being - the sessions are on a Friday, my disabled child is home the two days following, and for days after therapy I am drained, emotional, struggle with paranoid thoughts, and feel very low. 

This interferes with my ability to help care for my daughter, which exacerbates guilt, and places extra stress on my husband. 

With regard to my second question - I needed to know how many sessions had been allocated to me, because I'm aware (from past experience) that sometimes therapy courses are limited to a set number of weeks, and as I have multiple mental health issues, dating back to childhood; I don't feel safe taking the lid off of the whole lot if I'm likely to be left hanging. (I've been left hanging before!) 

Her response was - "We can explore these concerns next week" 

Fast forward to the following week - 'professional her' leads 'mentally me', away from 'The body Guard' (that's hubs to the newbies) and the relative safety of the waiting room, along a corridor (I feel unsafe in) into an unlocked room (I feel unsafe in) and then, sits watching me (at least, I assume she's watching me, I'm looking at her feet!) for what feels like hours, but was probably nearer to 5 minutes; without so much as a 'Hi' or "how are you".

Seriously, are these people trained to leave empathy, smiles, and the niceties of basic communication on the other side of the therapy room door?! - Because if so, someone needs to tell them that many mentally ill people are uncomfortable (understatement) around strangers, and that silent observation is probably not the best way to put anxious, self conscious, (in my case paranoid) people, (who are meeting you for the first time, and are as nervous as nervous gets) at ease!

When I finally pluck up the courage to perform speak, I tell her that (as anticipated) I had struggled for days after our last session, and needed to talk about changing the frequency of the sessions.

She, remembers she has a tongue in her head (finally) and her response is - "we can come to that in a bit, but first.................."

At the end of the session, I raise my concerns again - she informs me that the session has ended, and we will discuss my concerns the following week - she leaves no room for argument!

Our next session didn't start well - there was a man in the corridor (a stranger) and, to cut a long ramble short, I panicked, had to be led to the therapy room via another route, after first being reassured by my husband that it was safe to do so.

Safe route turned out to be 'the long way round', through a number of doors, and shorter corridors - thus increasing my already intense anxiety, and by the time we had made it to the therapy room I was a wreck - I spent the first 10 - 15 minutes of the session sat on the edge of my seat, turned away from 'psych lady', so that she couldn't see my face - crying & struggling to control my breathing.

Once I had calmed down enough to speak, I told her that I really needed to talk about the concerns I'd raised during previous meetings.

Her response was - "we can talk about that in a bit, but first - why did you feel the need to turn away from me while you were upset"

I went along with her prompting until shortly before the end of the session, and then asked again about the possibility of changing the frequency of the sessions, explaining, again, that the aftermath was interfering with my ability to do 'The mum thing', 'the wife thing' and pretty much 'everything'. and she replied, AGAIN (FGS) with "Lets leave that for the next session".

Crying now, I said, "You say that every week, I really need to sort this out now".

Her response (with her expression leaving no room for argument) was "The session is now over" - she then got up, walked to the door, opened the door, and waited (stone faced) for me to follow.

I remember saying, rather pathetically, as I got up from my chair (still crying) "No one listens - no one listens to me".

I followed her down the corridor, and back to reception, where hubs was waiting, then turned to her and said (sounding a lot bolder than I felt) - "I won't be here next week".

At this point I'd had enough, so when I got home, I phoned my OT (key worker) explained all of the above and asked her if she would speak to the psychotherapist on my behalf....

Well, dear reader, I met with my OT this week, and she told me that she had indeed spoken to 'psych Lady', whose response had been - "There's no problem with less frequent sessions - It's always made clear to the 'client' that's it's up to them to determine the frequency of sessions" .... *Face Palm* o_O

To say I was upset is an understatement!

I was (and still am) Gob smacked!
If she can lie so blatantly over something she failed to explain (despite my giving her numerous opportunities to explain) then, I'm afraid she might lie (or twist the truth) about things I divulge to her.
There is absolutely no way I can open up to her now; I don't trust her!

There is only me and her in the therapy room, so if she ever chose to use the things I tell her against me (something I always worry about before, during, and after therapy, given the nature of some of my intrusive thoughts) it would be my word against hers, and as she's the 'Professional' (I use the term loosely!) and I'm the 'Mentally ill' person; I shouldn't think my account of things would mean diddly squat!

I'm not sure why 'Psych Lady' dismissed my concerns during sessions (though it seems to me, it may have been a power thing, considering how upset I was, and how easily she could have put my mind at ease) or why, when questioned she led my OT to believe that I must have misunderstood the situation, but I am absolutely sure that I will not be meeting with her again!

Thank you for allowing me to share.

God bless you, and all those you love

Kimmie x

I am...

When other mental health sufferers say they are ashamed (many of them are, for one reason or another) I'm usually the first to respond with - "You have nothing to be ashamed of, you can't help being ill" - and I mean it!

However, I'm afraid it's a case of 'Take my advice, I'm not using it', because there really is no other word than 'ashamed' that describes how I feel, overwhelmingly so, and have felt for a very long time.

My 'shame' might not be rational, but it is 'my' truth, and that's what this space is for.

I AM

I AM MUM - To my youngest child (as I once was to my older children) I am story teller - sock puppet  - Tickle monster - make-believer - hugger - hand holder - love; no questions asked.

My four older children are a different story - these days (though they try hard to hide it) they are uncomfortable around me, resentful, ashamed.

They're no longer babies, I can't hide behind, sand castles, sock puppets, and 'sing a song of sixpence' anymore.

They don't understand mental illness, they can't see 'Stuck-In-Scared - but they can see whats going on externally, and it frightens them.

I love my kids and they love me. I have never set out to hurt them, but (without meaning to) hurt them (emotionally) I have!

I am ashamed.

I AM WIFE - I am the wife who almost drove my husband away, because I was blind to how my illness affected him.

He says that blinded by my mental illness (which in fairness has been greatly exacerbated this past few years) he lost sight of ‘me’ - he’s sorry - he loves me - he’ll never hurt me again.

I blame myself - I'm looking into his eyes, and seeing, Where I once saw special, everything I despise about myself reflected back at me.

I am ashamed.

I AM ADDICT (In recovery) - I am the woman who, consumed by symptoms of mental illness, used gambling as a form of escapism. despite knowing she was hurting herself, and those she loved.

I am the grown woman who once sat on a stool in a bingo hall, and wet herself because she'd pumped too much money into a fruit machine to chance another punter stealing her win while she went to the loo!

I am the mother who was often late picking her children up from school because she couldn't walk away - who struggled to feed her children, and went hungry herself, because she'd gambled best part of the housekeeping.

I am the mother, who (up until ten years ago) thought more often about her next bet, than she did her children, and her older children remember that!

I am ashamed

I AM OCD -  "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! 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!" read more

I am ashamed

(Please be aware, the above paragraph has been recycled from an old post, and is about intrusive thoughts, a symptom of OCD - NOT child abuse, you can read the paragraph in context by clicking on the (read more) link above. Thank you.

I AM SELF HARM - Sometimes I feel desperate, sometimes I feel angry, unimaginably angry, angry at me, sometimes I crave feelings of relief, calm, control - sometimes I just need to feel.

I starve, burn, cut, bleed, I am visibly scarred.

I am ashamed

I AM AGORAPHOBIA - I'm unable to go anywhere alone, unable to go out at all some days.

Despite being accompanied in public, I often experience catastrophic thoughts, often experience paranoia, and sometimes experience panic attacks  - sometimes it's clear to onlookers that I have issues, my awareness of this exacerbates anxiety, and shame.

My inability to go anywhere alone places a great burden on my family, especially my husband.

I am ashamed.

I AM 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.

This relatively new addition to my mental health issues frightens the life out of me, and I simply cannot find any 'justifiable' reason for starving myself half to death when I have five children who need me to be strong, and ALIVE!

I am ashamed.

(2016 edit...I have made some progress since this post was published, two years ago. I'm still unable to eat in front of people, and my eating is still somewhat disordered, but I am eating now (as opposed to surviving on cuppa-soup and coffee) and my weight is within a healthier range...there is progress. I'm not there yet, but I'm getting there... I think.)

I AM BENEFIT CLAIMANT - My youngest child and I are both disabled, my husband is our carer, we didn't ask to be a burden on society (Tory words, not mine) but we are - we take the 'social security' (incidentally, from the same system, that my husband paid into for 20 years, before taking on the role of full time carer) or we are unable to survive. 

Fear of the Government, the media, and the benefit system, fear of those in society who have no understanding of invisible illness/disability, and are taken in by the 'scrounger' rhetoric, has led to a dramatic increase in my symptoms, and has caused an Eating disorder, that I did not have prior to the UK Governments combined attack against welfare recipients.

It seems these days its almost impossible to read a newspaper without the words, liar - cheat 'scrounger', jumping out from the page.

I feel judged - by Government - media - society....I'm afraid that you, dear reader, may be judging me right now!

I am ashamed.

I AM DISABLED - Damaged 'stock', a drain on loved ones, a drain on the state.

I am ashamed.

POSITIVE THOUGHT

I AM ME - I am Me - I'm loving, kind, empathetic. Compassionate, generous, passionate. Creative.

I have 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: Clouds, 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!

I have a fabulous imagination, and the ability to get right down on a child's level, and I mean right down; like 50 going on five down, so I make a great playmate, Where my relationship with my children is concerned, these qualities are my saving grace.

PRAYER

Lord, I pray that the eyes of those who 'see it how it isn't', be opened, and the voices of those 'who tell it how it is', be heard. Amen.

Thank you for allowing me to share

God bless you and all those you love

Kimmie x

Related Posts
Just For Today
A Rant
A Fine Line
Agoraphobia (poem)
 Where I once saw special
Stranger Within

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'Cloaked in sunny' #mentalillness

Symptoms of mental illness are usually very well hidden; behind award winning smiles... behind "I'm fine" - "I'm okay".

Many mental illness sufferers (including me) feel the need to mask their symptoms face to face; especially if the face they're facing has no experience or understanding of mental illness, and is anticipated by the sufferer as likely to judge.

Often a persons outward appearance bears no semblance to their inner truth.

They might appear bright; animated even. Doing a fabulous job of mimicking your sunshine, and yet be stood before you in a haze of darkness.

They may be holding a conversation with you (wearing one of those award winning smiles) whilst at the same time battling to control intrusive thoughts, compulsions, voices, suicidal thoughts.

From my own experience... I often mask the turmoil beneath the surface, because I'm ashamed, because I fear judgement, and because I don't want to burden others; least of all those I love.

Frequently, when I'm asked questions like ‘are you okay?’ or ‘how are you?’ my mind reels off a load of relevant answers that completely contradict the "I'm fine" that rolls off my tongue.

It's easier to lie than it is to explain fearful-depressed-incredibly anxious. Emotional, paranoid, hypervigilant. Twitchy (and hoping you don't notice). Panicky. Hurting. STUCK IN SCARED!

It's easier to paint on a smile, cover up, feign control; than it is to admit to dark thoughts, flash backs, self inflicted scars, deep despair, self directed anger... SHAME!

In my case (and I believe the same is true for others, but I can only speak for myself here) it's entirely possible that I might be mimicking sunshine only hours after a major meltdown.

Mental illness is (usually) invisible, but very real. It's often debilitating, often disabling, sometimes life threatening, and always incredibly painful. Whether you can see it or not!

It's impossible to tell how someone truly feels on the inside based only on their outward appearance.

***

POSITIVE THOUGHT

These days, Thanks to Twitter (and other networks full of like minded people) many sufferers (including me) are able to reach out, open up (whilst remaining protected) and access the empathy/support they need.

PRAYER

LORD, Please bless all those who say “I’m fine.” when in truth they are far from it. I pray their lives be filled with people who care enough to see (and understand), the turmoil behind the mask.

Thank you for allowing me to share

God bless you and all those you love

Kimmie x

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From the inside

I'm stood in an upstairs council house toilet, the walls are apple-white and there's a little frosted window to the left of me. The lino flooring is cold beneath my feet, the door is painted white and there is a little round lock just below the door handle.

On the floor is a pajama clad child. She has long-dark-hair which half covers her face and she is crouched, panicked-sobbing, just behind the door, her hand stretched out holding the little lock in position.

The child is afraid, and on the other side of the door her mother is ranting; shouting and swearing, banging on the door..."YOU LITTLE GIT" she screeches, "OPEN THIS DOOR"!

I can see her so clearly, The-child, from where I'm standing. I want to reach out and touch her, pull her into my arms and tell her she's safe. I want to hold her until she falls asleep and then carry her from the cold lino floor, past her raging mother and into her bed. I want to sit by her bed, guard her until morning, and stroke her gently back to sleep if she should wake.

If this were possible, would she be comforted do you think?

Or would she see into my mind, as I can hers; and know the worst is yet to come.

***

Thank you as always for allowing me to share

God bless you, and all those you love

Kimmie x

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You had to leave - Mark Storey - Guest post #WorldSuicidePreventionMonth

"My name is Mark Story, I am also known as 'Mental Health Music'. 

You can connect with me on Twitter, here >> mental health music ‏@Markstorey65  

'Mental Health Music' MHM, started about a year ago when I was hospitalized after a relapse, I hadn't played guitar for many years, but after finding an old guitar on the ward, I picked it up and started playing - words and music began pouring out of me,

Over the duration of my stay I kept on writing about how I was feeling, and about how my lived experience of mental illness had affected me. 

I continued to write my thoughts down over the coming weeks/months, and then, together with a music friend started recording what was pouring out of me. 

Initially we had no plan, except to record and upload to youtube - That was the beginning of what would eventually develop into a well known mental health awareness campaign. 12 months on MHM is known all over the world and I now have an EP, and a single on itunes and Amazon. 

Today, my music is played on radio stations around the world, and this November 21st; I will be playing at Peerfest 2014. 

My heart goes out to other suffers, my goal is to reach as many as possible with the message of recovery. Also, to tackle the stigma of mental illness, raise awareness, and speak out for the voiceless, the silent majority who suffer in silence around the world. 

So many are afraid to speak out, because of the nature of a traumatic event in their lives, or because they have been a victim of sexual abuse, or through fear of stigma, judgement. 

I am very passionate about mental health awareness, and support all those who speak out for the suffering.

Essentially MHM music is about reaching people where they are and being a comfort to them. 

As MHM grows, I will continue to give as much support as I can to those in need. 

Lets fight the stigma of mental health and suicide. 

No more shame!" 

AGORAPHOBIA #poem

POSITIVE THOUGHT
My hubby, without him I'd be housebound.

PRAYER
I pray for all those who suffer with Agoraphobia; especially those who have no one to steer them through the crowd, Amen.

Thank you for allowing me to share

God bless you and all those you love

Kimmie x

Frozen Yogurt Drops, with added ramble.

Helloooo friends *waves* - It's been a while.

A while since my last post, and a while since writing anything much at all - though I am still jotting a bit, when given half a chance. 

Summer holidays, (as, if you're a mum, I'm sure you know) can be bit full on; add special needs child, and mentally ill mum into the mix, and what you have by the end of the day (in my experience)  is - too knackerbobulated to write - that's my excuse anyway :o) 

However, what I, and Littlie (with the body guards help) are managing, between her dodgy moments, and mine; is some fun.... so while I'm here - explaining my not being here, I may as well share today's fun moments with you. 

Today, we had a home day - Littlies stammer (which has been horrendous over the past week) wasn't too bad, which meant she was less stressed, and I, though 'knackerbobulated' as I said before, have been okay(ish)

We spent the morning wrapping up Christmas presents (I kid you not!) 

Yesterday Littlie bought Christmas presents for Dog, Guinea Pig, 'Dolly', and 'Littlie Monster', and they are now wrapped, and safely stashed in her bedroom; where they will sit collecting dust until November, when her tree goes up o_O

She's keen bless her, she wrote her own Christmas list two months ago (dictated would be more accurate, Littlie, though nearly nine, is unable to write yet) 

This afternoon we made homemade apple crisps (sorry, no pic, they didn't hang around long enough!) -we also made frozen yogurt drops (pic in a bit when Iv'e finished rambling) 

Both ideas were seen on a Sainsbury's advert, and both idea's were easy, fun and virtually mess free. 

For the apple crisps - slice apples thinly, spread onto grease proof paper, on a baking tray, sprinkle with cinnamon (optional) brush with a little oil, and bake - we went with gas mark 3 (fan assisted oven) for half an hour.  

For the Frozen Yogurt Drops - Line a tray with foil, dollop (Let child dollop) teaspoon sized blobs of yogurt onto the tray, then decorate with a piece of fruit - we used blueberries, because they are very low cal (Littlie has to watch the calories) and they also happen to be our favorite. 

Pop your dollops into the freezer, and wait - if you're a Littlie, that's the hard bit :O) 

Well my friends, that's all I can manage for now, I'm off to get clothes off, kettle on, and bum in chair :O) 

Enjoy the rest of your holidays, and if you try these 'easy peasy's' out with your own 'Littlies' do let me know how it goes, I'd love to hear from you. 

Thank you as always for allowing me to share 

God bless you and all those you love 

Kimmie x 

PS - No editing tonight so do please excuse any bad spelling, grammar :) 

PPS - My all time favorite word is Discombobulated (handy really, considering that's how I feel a lot of the time) - my all time favorite made up word is 'Knackerbobulated' (which I also feel much of the time) but I mustn't take credit for this wonderful word, it was made up by a friend of mine and shared to Facebook,  I loved it, so I stole it.... *waves to Joyce* :O) x

Children learn what they live

The-grown-up was a powerful presence; sometimes the child feared her, loved her and hated her (as far as a child is capable of hate) all at the same time.

The child lived with criticism - she learnt to put herself down. 

The child lived with aggression - she learnt to be afraid. 

The child lived with shame - she learnt to be guilty. 

The child lived with strange (often terrifying) intrusive thoughts; anxiety, obsessions and secret compulsions. She knew what it was to fear her own mind. 

If the badness The-grown-up saw wasn't badness enough; she had a head full of badness she didn't dare tell. 

The child was hugged, loved, cared for; pulled around, raged at, beaten. She learnt vulnerability, confusion, resentment; mistrust. 

The child was often naughty; "bad" - "hard work" - a "LITTLE GIT!"

She asked for it. Sometimes she'd been - "ASKING FOR THAT ALL DAY!"... 

She asked for the huge, perfectly formed hand prints, red raised on her skin; for the slap, slap, slap, SLAP of the-dirty-blue-flip-flop against the top of her leg; for the welts that might never stop stinging.

She asked for the disorientation and pain that followed being hit full force (by adult hand) around the side of the head; to be pushed down (or stretched up) and whacked; to (on one occasion) be thrown out, shamed and sobbing, (naked bar a vest) onto the street.

She deserved to be raged at; the monsters face so close to hers that noses almost touched.

She asked to have 'Palmolive' rammed into her dirty little mouth; she'd learn from the gag inducing taste of it and the inevitable soapy spew!

The child would outgrow The-grown-ups hand. She never outgrew fear, or shame, or the badness in her head.

***

The child didn't know that The-grown-up (a victim herself of an abusive parent) was mentally ill; that she really was incredibly sorry after each meltdown, that she would carry guilt and regret into old age. 

How could she know? - She was just a child! 

Now; years on - The-Grown-Up is a very different person.

Her eyes; which (seemingly) once spoke "I hate you!" now cry, "I love you, forgive me; let me in, I'm sorry."

She is old now; healed, gentle, reaching out.  Mindful that she won't be around forever, she is desperate for reconciliation; for her child's sake as much as her own.

And the child now? - She hurts The-grown-up, pushes her away; though she tries hard not to.

With an adults understanding of mental illness she forgives but she 'cannot' forget.

She hasn't yet buried fear and resentment; she still feels incredibly uneasy in The-grown-ups company, and stands ridged in, (or pulls from) her embrace.

The child now knows how much past mistakes are regretted; she can see how desperate The-grown-up is to be embraced as a loving, caring parent... which indeed, without exception, she now is. This only serves to increase the child's own guilt and self loathing.

The child loves The-grown-up (at least she thinks she does; feelings contradict) but she is still vulnerable, confused, resentful in her presence. She doesn't trust her.

And the welts on her skin; now faded - they are still red raw in OUR head!  

***

POSITIVE THOUGHT

We're not there yet, but we're getting there.

PRAYER

Lord, I pray that by giving the child a voice, through my writing; I will one day feel able to expose her to her mother again, Amen.

Thank you for allowing me to share

God bless you and all those you love

Kimmie x

Tweet

The whole truth and nothing but the truth

Early yesterday morning 'body, mind & heart sore' my fingers were itching to do that thing that I do - that thing that has seen me through many mental melt downs, despairing days and sleepless nights.
More often than not when I'm feeling particularly negative I sit on my itchy fingers (I hate dragging others down) but yesterday morning sat in my kitchen (In a borrowed wheelchair) overwhelmed by pain and grief I gave in to the itch and knocked out the following tweet.

MENTALLY ME @stuckinscared · 9h

I'm going frigging bonkers with sciatica, crying lots, sleeping little, dreaming the weirdest s*** Iv'e ever dreamed and my Dad's gonna die

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Almost immediately embarrassment (followed closely by paranoia) set in and if it hadn't been for the kind responses that hit my notifications box within minutes I probably would have deleted *negative&needy* then (as I often do) I would have either stayed away from tweeting altogether or (in response to numerous "how are you"'s) I'd have dressed 'I'M REALLY NOT OKAY' up a bit with something along the lines of  "Been better but muddling through" and then switched the attention back to sender with "How about you?"

Misery condensed into 140 characters can often come across as negative, slightly pathetic or 'just attention seeking' and it's for this reason I usually try and tweet as positive as I can and if I really can't do that refrain from tweeting altogether for a while, It's also the reason I'm so grateful for this *The whole truth and nothing but the truth* blog space I'm rambling away in now.

The truth is that yesterday morning on this side of the screen my bad really did feel as bad as bad can be!
I was incredibly tired - writhing in pain, (and I mean writhing) - and though it's true my Dads not dead yet (he has 6 - 12 months to live according to his oncologist) I was drowning in grief!

Condensed into those 140 characters was (I could write a bloody book on the past week so in diary form to control rambling) the following....

Monday 30th June - I was up at the usual 'stupid O'clock' that allows me enough time for 'Coffee-cig-Twitter' before I'm required to do 'The mum thing' - Aside from the usual aches, pains and fatigue I felt relatively okay.

We had a house check at 10.30am (a yearly requirement if you're a private tenant) so after 'Little' had left for school (and after a tad more 'coffee-cig-Twitter' time) I went up stairs to make beds and run a duster round.

I'm not quite sure what part of 'It's just a bit of dusting' my back didn't understand but by the time the house check (intrusion) commenced I was bent in half when standing, unable to sit pain free and struggling to walk!

By lunch time (during an essential food shop trip) my mobility was so poor I could really have done with a wheelchair - as it was I hobbled slowly around Sainsbury's hanging onto the shopping trolley for dear life, my hips gave way every few steps and how I never passed out (the pain was unbearable) is beyond me!

Tuesday - I was in an incredible amount of pain all day, my mobility was very poor and I was worried sick about my dad!

Wednesday - Awake at the usual 'stupid O'clock I edged tentatively to the edge of the bed, braced myself and (expecting to crumple) stood up to find that other than the usual aches & pains, fatigue I was okay....Phew!

P.M - Dad called - his results are back - he has an appointment tomorrow - tomorrow we will know if his Cancer is operable or (please God NO!) terminal.

Thursday - I tried to get up at the usual 'Stupid O'clock' but  was initially unable to move the lower part of my body! Twenty minutes later (after much heaving, crying and 'ow ow owing') I eventually made it to the edge of the bed and stood up, using the wall for support I managed a few incredibly painful steps before collapsing into a heap on the floor!
Almost passing out with nausea & pain I had no choice but to stay there - I was (quite literally) temporarily unable to move from the hips down.

I couldn't call 'The body guard' (that's hubs to the newbies) as he was already downstairs with 'Littlie' (who is disabled and unsafe if left unattended)  

After a while (I'm not sure how long but I missed 'Coffee-cig-Twitter' time) temporary lower body paralysis subsided and I managed to crawl to the dressing table, pull myself up and make my way (painfully & carefully) down the stairs.

'The body guard' padded & dressed 'Littlie' (usually my job) - I managed (with great difficulty and in unimaginable pain) to brush and plait her hair.

I remained seated but at least upright long enough to see her into her wheelchair and onto the school bus then hobbled (unwashed & undressed) to a lounge chair in the garden and there in a state of agony only marginally less than that which walking would have caused I stayed.

P.M - Dad called.
I was expecting the call, I'd planned my reaction, I'd talked myself through it....

("I won't cry while he's on the phone.. unless the news is good."
"Relief tears he can cope with.. tears of joy are okay"
"Blubbing uncontrollably while he's still on the line if the news is bad.... No! - I won't do that")

"I'm sorry babe" he said " It's spread, it's in my stomach, liver and lymph nodes - There's nothing they can do - It's terminal".....
....I cried! (Breathless, snotty, mournful sobbing would be more accurate)  - I knew the sound of  my grief would break his heart and I went and did it anyway!

Thankfully he was not aware when he hung up the phone that I would have a severe panic attack a little while later - that my tears would continue relentlessly for hours and then off and on for days, or that in addition to my broken heart my body was (and had been for days) broken too.

Friday - I struggled from bed to family in much the same way as I had done the day before.
Once with them I was next to useless and on a scale of 1-10 pain scored an easy 9 while mobility struggled to get much past zero. I was temporarily at least (now physically as well as mentally) disabled!

I probably should have gone to A&E as soon as 'Littlie' left for school but agoraphobia prevents me being able to go anywhere without hubs - the wait to be seen is usually 4+ hours and despite having shopped on Monday Littlies specific dietary needs meant we needed to shop again (we don't own a car so we 'small shop' twice a week as much as we can carry)

Anyway, I could make it to the loo and back hanging onto hubs, walls, furniture but effectively I couldn't walk so after dressing which was agony we jumped (he jumped I crawled) into a cab and headed (hitting every frigging road bump there was to be had) over to my mums to pick up her spare wheelchair.
(My wheelchair experience is a blog on its own so I'll save that for another day)

A text message from my Dad came through while we were out, It read....
"Kimmie, I'm so sorry, I will always be your Dad, it was so hard for me to tell you yesterday that nothing can be done, I love you so much"

With a head full of all the right words but eyes too blurred by tears to type them - in reply I managed only "I love you"

Saturday & best part of Sunday were much the same as Friday had been except thankfully we didn't need to go anywhere.
With back & heart breaking I was no use to anyone and 'The body guard' was run ragged taking care of 'Littlies' needs and my own.
'Littlie', though usually prone to meltdown was thankfully (aside for one incident) a dream all weekend.

Around 4pm on Sunday afternoon,  my mobility quite suddenly improved and by the time I went to bed pain (aside from when initially getting up out of a chair) was manageable.
There are no words that adequately describe how relieved I felt.

Monday again, 7th July -  Awake at the usual 'stupid O'clock I edged tentatively to the edge of the bed - braced myself - stood up and.... no pain, Yah!
I headed (practically skipped) down the stairs in plenty of time to indulge in *coffee-fag-Twitter* before doing 'The mum Thing'.

I managed to dress 'Littlie' without 'The Body Guards' assistance and for the first time in days got myself dressed without having to chase knicker holes round the floor with my toes in order to get my draws on.

I then walked into town with hubs and all the way round Sainsbury's relatively pain free - A miraculous recovery!

Once home 'The body guard' unpacked the shopping and I sat down to *coffee-fag-Twitter*, no sooner had I done so and my bum began to beat ( I kid you not!) within minutes of bum beat commencement the whole of my right leg, from hip to toes excluding (weirdly) my big toe was a nauseating combination of numbness akin to pins and needles and pain excruciatingly similar to 'Funny bone' pain.

The only relief from said combination (exhausted though I was) was to walk....and walk and walk and walk o_O

Sitting down even for a moment increased both pain and nausea and I spent the next few hours humming bonkers style (screaming would have upset Littlie) and pacing floor space like my life depended on it,
Dad called in the midst of all this to tell me that his life expectancy (if chemo is successful) is 12 months - if it fails we're looking at 4-6.

Eventually after 'Littlie went to bed I crashed exhausted onto the settee and spent the evening squirming - doing my best not to throw up - sobbing every time my thoughts turned to 'Dad' and battling the ever present and recently exacerbated OCD (intrusive thoughts)

....It was a similar state to the one just described that I was in yesterday morning when I gave in to itchy fingers and tweeted my despair and today (though writing has been cathartic) things have been much the same.  

So Thank you kind friends (You know who you are) who responded to my '140 characters' yesterday morning because truth is - I WAS feeling negative & needy - I did make for a pathetic sight sat in a borrowed wheelchair typing through tears and if I'm honest (in the sense that I needed sympathy, kind words, a friend, a distraction) I WAS attention seeking.

Thank you also to all the others (You also know who you are :O) who have (over the past few weeks especially) responded to my various other *characters*.
Your friendship/kindness/support means an awful lot to me.

POSITIVE THOUGHT

PRAYER
Lord Thank you for leading me to a whole bunch of *lovelies* who are willing despite their own struggles to support me through mine. Amen

Thank You as always for allowing me to share

God bless you and all those you love

Kimmie X

Links to related posts>>>>  'The man' has Cancer.       Me to You