Just-a-Quote #3 (#mentalillness)

"Symptoms of Mental Illness are (usually) very well hidden. Behind award winning smiles... 'I'm fine.' - 'I'm okay.' " ~ Kimmie 

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Thank you for allowing me to share 

God bless you and all those you love 

Kimmie x

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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 Withdrawn.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 

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Blessed within the Shadows

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, 

suppressed, can’t scream or shout.

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'.

©2015kimmie All Rights Reserved  

I’m blessed within the shadows 
by dreams of all that I could be

In hope, I pray, that through ‘AMAZING GRACE’ 

I will one day be free.

Thank you for allowing me to share 

God bless you, and all those you love 

Kimmie x

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A few of my poems (for National Poetry Day)

ON MENTAL ILLNESS...

ON SPECIAL NEEDS... 

MATTERS OF THE HEART...

GRIEF... 

CHILDHOOD MEMORIES... 

Thank you for allowing me to share 

God bless you, and all those you love 

Kimmie x

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Of Windmills and Woes

If we were having coffee, I'd be playing 'hide n chat' this week... blabbing (nervously) about your drink preference, how your weeks been, how long the kettle's taking to boil... windmills - I like windmills I do, lets talk about windmills, do you like windmills, come see my windmills.

Every silence would get a babble, an anxious, smiley, bubbly babble... and I'd be wishing you'd talk about you.

I'd drag you outside to see ALL the windmills, babbling the old, the sentimental, and the new... you'd be wishing by now you'd gone to star bucks...alone!

If we were having coffee, I wouldn't tell you how incredibly tough (special needs) parenting has been this week...

I wouldn't tell you how many times 'Littlie' has morphed from 'absolute Joy' into 'absolute nightmare', on a day to day (often hour to hour) basis, and how mind blowingly difficult it's been not reacting to her meltdowns with a few (there's only so much I can take) meltdowns of my own... how tough it's been keeping the 'me' that's not 'Mummy' in check.

Littlie has more than enough to deal with, none of it her fault, the last thing she needs, is the me that's not 'Mummy'... especially in response to the 'She' she can't help.

{Littlie (you may already know) is 9 years old, and was born with a chromosome disorder (Prader Willi Syndrome), which affects her both physically and mentally. She has global developmental delay, hypermobility, OCD,  and Tourettes (amongst other issues) ...I won't bore you the symptoms, the list is seemingly endless.}

If we were having coffee, I might explain her disability (if you asked), I'd even touch on how challenged/challenging she can be... but mostly, I'd tell you how funny she can be, how engaging, and affectionate she can be, what a wonderful character she is...how far she's come, how hard she tries... and how much I love her!

I couldn't love her more if I tried!

If we were having coffee, I wouldn't tell you how debilitating my own disabilities (fibromyalgia & mental illness, exacerbated by grief) have been this week... how hard it's been to think positive, speak positive, do positive...because no one likes negative, right?

I wouldn't tell you how confusing it is, to be Mum, to be wife, to be friend; just to be... in a world that chugs on...so quickly, pulling me (inwardly screaming) along with it.

If we were having coffee, I wouldn't ask you for a hug, despite needing one, desperately... because, in a hug I'd blub, lose control, spill 'ALL the things', scary things, big things; too big to blab things... I can't do that, no, I can't do that.

I prefer hugging to hugged.

If you needed a hug - if you were upset?... Oh, I could do that, yes, I could do that... I can always do that.

**** 

If we were having coffee, and I had added my woes to my windmills, you might not believe me anyway; because I'd be wearing a smile, long sleeves, and a face full of make up - chatting about windmills, 'absolute joy', and you...

...because, it's easier (and fairer) to share 'absolute joy' than it is to share 'absolute nightmare' - easier to play 'hide n chat' than it is to play 'chat the crap' - safer to talk windmills than it is to talk woes!

Oh, and because I'd quite like you to come again... :)

If we were having coffee, I'd ask how you were, and wonder, does your "I'm okay" mimic mine!
Do you play the game too? are you playing it now? Filling silence with babble... sunshiny, smiley, bubbly babble... wishing I'd talk about me.

****

Thank you for allowing me to share

God bless you and all those you love

Kimmie x

P.S... Littlie is currently presenting (at time of kettle boiling)... as 'absolute joy'... long may it last :)

P.P.S... I'm adding this post to the Weekend Coffee Share, linky/bloghop... the brain child of 'Part Time Monster'. You can read other Coffee Shares, and/or add your own ((HERE))

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Related posts...

It's your Birthday and I'll cry if I want to. 

You know where the kettle is #WeekendCoffeeShare

Feigning Control ........ #MicroPoetry

Copyright©2015kimmie All Rights Reserved 

Thank you for allowing me to share

God bless you, and all those you love

Kimmie x

#Poem 'Stuck-In-Scared'

Copyright©2015kimmie All Rights Reserved 

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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'Where I once saw special'

The past week (following a major mental health melt down last Wednesday) has been a low as low can be kinda week!

What led me to lose control? – A hair cut (I kid you not!)  though in my defence *hair hack* would be more accurate.

I can’t remember all that happened after I shot upstairs chocking back (Don’t be bloody stupid it’s only hair) tears - and out of respect for other mental health sufferers I’m not going to describe too explicitly what I do remember but to give you an idea...  

I remember spitting “I hate you” at my mirrored self over and over again – I remember (and I'm still haunted by) the piercing hatred in the eyes starring back at me.  

I remember feeling angry, unimaginably angry, angry at me!

I don’t remember getting to the bathroom or how long I was in there but I do remember sitting on the bathroom floor sobbing, still incredibly angry and wanting to (but trying so hard not too) hurt myself, and I do remember hitting the bathroom wall hard enough to make a hole in it. 

The pain in my wrist would not register until hours later.

From bathroom back to bedroom is fragmented... I don’t recall going downstairs for cigarettes but I must have done because I don’t keep cigs and lighter (or smoke as a rule) upstairs and I don’t recall locking the bedroom door, but again, I must have done because it was locked when sometime later (burnt, bleeding, incredibly ashamed, but calmer) I went to leave the room.

It all seems so irrational now - It was irrational.

The way I’m STILL letting it get to me now IS irrational…. It’s just a dodgy hair cut FGS….!

Except there’s more to it than that…! More to it than my usual OCD related need for perfection or my (life long) lack of self-esteem!

You see if I’d felt loved on Wednesday (hair hack day), as loved as I felt in the first ‘butterfly tummy’ months of my relationship with ‘The Body Guard’ (That's hubby to the newbies) - as loved as I’d  felt on our wedding day when I’d held his face in my hands in front of friends, family and God and saw everything that’s good in me reflected in his eyes; then perhaps my post ‘hair hack’ reaction might have been less 'mad woman' and more ‘what the fu*k have you done to my hair’, followed by a few weeks of obsessive titivating. 

Until last summer I never doubted for a moment how much 'The Body Guard' loved me. 

I was loved (warts and all) like I had never (with the exception of my dad who thinks the sun shines out of my arse and my nan who died when I was eleven) been loved before - special. 

I was loved (Like that) right up to (and including the morning of) the day I discovered his secret email account and secret (*virtual* doesn’t make it any less unfaithful in my opinion, especially given the nature of their conversations) bit on the side!

I’m 48 years old, mentally ill (though he knew that from the start) my smile rarely reaches my eyes these days, I look like I've been dug up in the mornings and I've got more saggy bits than Bag-Puss. 

She (‘Natty’) was everything I’m not – YOUNG (over half my age) - FAT (Turn me sideways and you lose me) – Boobs up to her chin (mine breastfed my first four kids, were tortured for 8 months by a breast pump after my fifth (disabled and fed through a tube) child was born and then went into hiding) and her hair…! Her beautiful, long, silky, shiny, frigging-perfect  hair (mine is.Oh you get the picture.) 

So you see Wednesdays melt down wasn't just about dodgy hair (though my OCD inhabited mind does worry more than most about appearance) It was about months and months of held in heartache, fear and incredibly low self esteem.

Months of trying to trust his "I love you" with his "I don't love you anymore" of last summer still ringing in my ears.  

Months of trying to make 48 seem 28 and failing miserably. 

Months of blaming myself... I'm too old, too skinny, don’t smile enough, too mentally ill - not sexy enough, not pretty enough, NOT GOOD ENOUGH…! 

Months of looking into the eyes of the man I love and seeing (where I once saw special) everything I despise about myself reflected back at me.

I’m not making excuses for my behaviour (my behaviour was unacceptable) I’m just ‘Telling it how it is’….because it’s cathartic, because I need to and because here in my space....I can. 

Related posts >>  Meat & Two Veg (Minus The Meat)

                                   'Mud Mud Glorious Mud'

POSITIVE THOUGHTS

‘The body guard’ is as gentle and caring as he always was, he’s incredibly sorry, trying so hard to make us ‘Us again’ and he’s still here... It could be worse.

And me?  Well the outside might have seen better days but (If he looks with heart as apposed to nether regions) there is inner beauty.

I’m compassionate, forgiving (clearly! O_o)  and my hearts in the right place… He could do worse!

As for dodgy hair - It will grow... At this point I need you all to nod.

PRAYER

Thank you as always for allowing me to share

God bless you and all those you love

Kimmie x

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