In a Nutshell... Because Nutshells are Easy.

My God, I needed to write today. Yesterday. All of last week.  If ever there was a ramble (or 10) waiting to come out, it's now.

I've spent hours in front of the laptop attempting to unravel my muddled mind, but absolutely bugger all has made it as far as the keyboard.

How does that work exactly... with a head so full of blogger-fodder. A head so full of feels.

In a nutshell; because nutshells are easy... I feel like I've been picked up and thrown back to May 2015. I'm depressed-scared-overwhelmed. Exhausted. Withdrawn. Hurting. 

I thought I had it under control; The-Grief. Turns out I don't.
I cannot. I CANNOT accept!

I've pondered taking a complete blog/social media break, but I don't really want to do that. Cutting myself off completely isn't the answer; as I've discovered this week. Too little can be as harmful as too much. 

I think what I need to do for a while is write freely. Write without worrying about edits, readability... blog-worthiness  

So. Over the next few weeks I'm gonna continue with my Wordless Wednesday and Just-a-Quote posts; because they're (almost) effortless to put together.

Today I'm going to (in a minute) throw one of those My-10-most-popular thingies at you... assuming they're as easy as I imagine they are to throw together; I've not done one before.

Next week (all being well) I'll be sharing some of my favorite other-bloggers with you, and I'm hoping to write something for the 1000-Speak movement on the 20th.

In the meantime I'm going to be throwing thoughts to paper; any which way they come... writing-doodling-painting. Make a start on my Dear-Dad journal. Read; other-bloggers, and my long list of kindle saves. Have a go at putting some of those blogger how-to's that I've been pinning for months into practice. And rest!

I'll still be around to read/respond to your comments here on the blog (though perhaps not same-day, so bear with me).
I'll catch up with you, dear Twitter-Facebook-friends, on the not-so-down days, and join you, dear fellow-bloggers, for the blog-share parties as and when I can.
As for you, dear readers-just-readers... Thank you (assuming you're still here) for reading.

And Thank you, dear All-Of-The-Above, for supporting-encouraging-comforting me this past (awful) year. x 

Okay. *Takes a breath*. Lets have a go at this 10-most-popular-thing. Actually, lets not. Let's do 8; multiples of 4. Because... the 4-thing. 

#1 Marie's Voice

   

Once upon a time, (1970 to be exact), in a children's home in England, run by an order of nuns called The Poor Sisters of Nazareth... there lived a very 'special' little girl. She was a tiny little dot who had short cropped hair, and the bluest-of-blue eyes. Her beauty, often overlooked, was breathtaking. 

At five years old, such as she was; she was unable to feed herself, she couldn't walk, she couldn't talk, her understanding of the world around her was extremely limited, and her behaviour would have tried the patience of a saint (or nun, as the case may be). Read More

#2 Somebody's Son

Snow falls, blanketing the town 

Somebody's Son is cold 

His hands are froze to biting 

his body (though not) feels old 

Sat upon a cardboard sheet 

Somebody's son alone 

Huddled against a letter box 

gloves wet from shifting snow... 

Read More

#3 Lets Hear it for The Hashtags

I really enjoy these blog share memes. I've met some great people, read too many good-reads to mention, and received lots of encouragement with regard to my own writing. What's not to like :o) Read More

#4 Still Afraid... and the Line's Still Fine.
I originally wrote the following piece in 2013... I'm sharing it again today, edited only marginally, because almost 3 years on there is STILL no change for the better... Government are STILL ignoring campaigners... Disabled people (those who have survived the sustained attacks) are STILL afraid! Read More









#5 It's your Birthday and I'll cry if I want to.
Dad,

What do I do today? How do I do today?  Should I be doing something? - What do I say? I don't know what to say, Dad... should I be saying something?

What do people say to dead Dads on their Birthday?

Happy Birthday Dad. Are you happy? Are you here? Can you hear me? Can I see you? can you do that?... I want you to do that. Read More

#6 If I Could

If I could live anywhere... Oh I'm so glad day dreams are allowed... If I could live anywhere, (anywhere, any time, any dream) I would choose 'Walnut Grove'... Except I'd have Pa build me a proper oven, cause I'm buggered if I could bake like Ma bakes in a tiny little hole to the side of the fire place. Oh, and I'd be needing an inside loo... how Ma manages to poo in that tiny little outhouse; in THAT skirt, is beyond me. Read More






#7 Is This Tired... Fibromyalgia?
A few months ago, I had a severe pain/mobility episode, during which my back/hips went out of alignment and I was left virtually unable to walk for a period of around three weeks, it's not the first time this has happened, and as (over the past 18 months or so) I have experienced ongoing (though less severe) pain in other areas, and a variety of other (random) symptoms, my GP made a referral for me to see a rheumatologist. Read More






#8 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. Read More

NB: #8 was actually written toward the end of 2014. I've included it in 2015's most popular list because it is (according to stats) the most viewed post of 2015. 

***

Thank you, as always, for allowing me to share. 

God bless you, and all those you love 

Kimmie x 

Tweet  

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

Tweet

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

'Mud Mud Glorious Mud'

If you read my last post you could be forgiven for thinking I'm about to throw another pile of my 'muck' your way.

Well in a way I am -  gloriously muddy muck! 

For those of you who are not up to speed on the not so glorious you can catch up here >> Meat & Two Veg (Minus The Meat)

For those who don't have catch up time - In short.... I spent the best part of the summer stuck-in-scared (more so than usual) heartbroken, despairing, crying at the drop of a hat; convinced life as I knew it was over. 

'The body guard' (that's hubby if you're new to my rambles) let me down terribly - broke me (temporarily) - hurt me more than anyone or anything has ever done before! 

To make matters worse he blew my heart apart bang in the middle of the school holidays, and somewhere in the shrapnel (Thankfully blissfully unaware) was my 'Littlie'.

She kept me going (kept us both going) but if I'm honest (which I generally am) I spent the best part of the holiday wishing her back to school. 

Hiding the muck from her was an effort I could have really done without, coping with her 'special needs' meltdowns whilst trying to control my own was at best hard work, and at worst mind blowingly Aaaaaaaaarrrrrrrggggggghhhhhhh! - Play time was forced (I pray she never noticed) and days out were incredibly difficult, and few and far between. 

Well I did the mum thing (most days) - I cried in private - went bonkers in my own time - painted on my *protect the child* smile - delved into my imagination when required too, and pushed myself to get her out of the house as often as my increased anxiety/vulnerability would allow! 

It was after one really bad...mummy in a low-mood - thundercloud - "I can't carry on" - failing miserably at 'The mum thing' kinda morning,and child in a low mood - kicking things - screaming things - throwing things kinda morning that something just had to be done about getting us all ('The Body Guard' included) out of the 'Muck house' for a while.

Decision made we (disgruntled parents) bundled she (disgruntled child) into her wheelchair, threw a lead on disgruntled dog, grabbed poo bags, juice and snacks, and headed out and off toward the seafront.

Dog morphed from fed up to fruit loop as soon as we hit the street, and child had cheered up considerably by the time we reached the top of our road.

'The Body Guard' was quiet (head full of guilt) and I (though never comfortable outdoors due to agoraphobia) was feeling more vulnerable than usual because of the distance between us.

His admission that my mental health was at least in part the cause of his recent 'muck throwing' has left me feeling I need to hide the 'real me' - even from him!

Where usually I would hold onto him or the wheelchair when we're out, I felt unable to do so, and incredibly self conscious whenever a passing stranger caused me, without thinking, to grab hold of one or the other.
Added to my head hanging was the fact that though we live only 10 minutes from the seafront, in order to find a comfortable spot (people free) it would take us nearer an hour to get were we were going.

I'll leave out the rest of the wibbly walk that got me to 'people free sand' - Relevant but boring.

We stopped (eventually) next to a beach cafe, grabbed coffee, watered dog and plonked 'Littlie' on the sand with her bucket and spade. I lit a cigarette and let out a smokey sigh of relief!

Peace lasted about four puffs, and equal slurps o_O

'Littlie' wanted to paddle... 'Littlie wanted mummy to paddle... mummy wanted to dig a bloody great hole in the sand and bury herself in it!
What mummy actually did was stub out, get up, and paint on her 'Protect the child' smile.

We had a teeny weeny issue with the paddle thing however. The wet stuff was not quite in (about ten yards away) and between it and us was the *How the hell do I get my disabled child through that* stuff!

Anyway, my "How the hell" was responded to with, "I can do it mummy".
Her "I can" was good enough for me (despite my internal "no you can't) so off we stumbled over the sand.

When we first stepped onto the mud it was actually quite firm, she (hanging onto me for dear life) smiled, and bubbled "see mummy, I told you I can do it", I, less confident but incredibly proud smiled back.

Unfortunately, a yard or so further we had no choice but to turn back. Our wobbly had got wobblier, the mud was now incredibly squelchy, and 'Littlie' was really struggling.

She didn't argue - 'eat ya feet gloop' had stolen her confidence, and she wanted out. She wanted out now!
So with her outwardly panicking, and me inwardly panicking, we headed (slowly) back towards the sand.
By this point we were both incredibly stressed, and 'The Body Guard' concerned enough to wonder if he should ask someone to mind the dog, and come and help.

What happened next can only be described as divine intervention!

On our next step 'Eat ya feet gloop' suddenly got greedy, not content with 'Littlie's' foot (and best part of her leg) it thought it would have mine too, and before you could say 'I'm an idiot get me out of here', I was (in my best WHITE dress I should add) on my bum, in the mud, with child sprawled on top of me! o_O

I, (trying so, so hard not to cry) suddenly began to laugh, I mean really laugh, side splitting, hysterical laughter!
Within seconds, my (Trying so so hard not to cry) worn out, filthy child begun to laugh, really laugh... and together, up to our necks in gloriously muddy mud, we laughed the muck away.

Eventually we would be seen crawling back to dry land. Filthy, exhausted child would (with huge relief) be reunited with her wheelchair. Mummy would unashamedly (Thankful for full length dress) remove her wet, gritty draws, to avoid chaffing on the way home, and Daddy (amused by this) would smile for the first time in days.

The 'muck' would be still be there when we got home, but for that one moment in time, 'bums in gloop',  laughing till it hurt...my child and I were free!


POSITIVE THOUGHT
Mud, Mud, glorious Mud!

PRAYER
Lord, Thank you, for plonking me and my 'Littlie' in 'glorious'... setting us free for a while, and reminding me how blessed I am. Amen.

Thank you for allowing me to share

God bless you and all those you love

Kimmie x

Don't stand too close to me!

Picking up from yesterdays blog, here if you missed it > http://mentalillnessgodandme.blogspot.com/2012/10/before-even-opening-my-eyes-part-one.html?spref=tw …

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!

PRAYER
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

POSITIVE THOUGHT
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

'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.
 
PRAYER
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

POSITIVE THOUGHT
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

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

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!

***

PRAYER

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.

POSITIVE THOUGHT

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….stuckinscared@yahoo.co.uk

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

Copyright©2015kimmie All Rights Reserved 
Tweet