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Showing posts with label hurt. Show all posts
Showing posts with label hurt. Show all posts

Sunday, 3 January 2016

Just a Quote #1 (Inner Child)

Just-a-Quote #1 (Inner Child) | mental health | mental illness | grief | Quote | @stuckinscared

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I'm trying something new this year (alongside my usual rambles). A weekly Just-a-Quote post.

I'll be sharing some of my own thoughts, (the above quote is one of my own), I'll also be sharing other quotes that resonate with me (with credit where it's due). 

I hope to (when I've worked out how to) create a weekly Just-a-Quote linky at some point during the year. Don't hold your breath mind, cause so far I haven't a clue o_O #Technophobe! 

Advice welcome, bloggy-friends ;o)

Thank you for allowing me to share 

God bless you and all those you love 

Kimmie x 



Thursday, 31 December 2015

He will never live in This Year.

It's new years Eve 2015 (time of writing) and I've spent most of today looking to google for inspiration for this New Years Eve post, specifically I was searching 'Happy'. 

I found it of-course, the internet is full of zipadeedoodah today, as it is every new years eve. I found positive posts, round ups posts, lists and lists of 'list' posts... and I found happy posts; other people's thoughts, feelings, wishes. Other people's Happy.

Many were inspiring... none inspired me. 

Actually, that's not quite true... they inspired me to write a list; a stupidly-long list of Happy-New-Year-blog-post-ideas. When I sat down to write this evening I had every intention of using idea #4... 'There's Something Good In Every Day'. 

I could have pulled that one off too, you know... I could have rambled till your eyes were bossed about how blessed I am; how lucky I am, how grateful I am. Because I am. 

You know what else I am... honest. Throwing a load of zipadeedoodah your way this evening... wouldn't have been honest! (I do however wish YOU as much zipadeedoodah as you can handle :o))
Quote, There's something good in every day. via @stuckinscared

***

It's new years Eve 2015 (time of writing), and I'm afraid. I'm afraid of tomorrow! 

This year has been the worst year of my life (so far). This year broke my heart; almost broke me, but I don't want to leave it. My Dad lived in this year.

My Dad hugged me this year. My Dad laughed, and cried this year. This year I heard Dads voice, breathed his smell...read 'I love you' in his eyes. 

Tomorrow will be the first day of a year that doesn't have my Dad in it, and I'm scared. I don't want to leave him behind.

As of tomorrow... 'Dad died LAST year'.  Not this year, not even 7 months ago... LAST  year! He will never live in this year.

As of tomorrow... I will never have a THIS year that has Dad in it again. 

***

It's new years Eve 2015 (time of writing), it's cold outside, and set to get colder and I (though grieving) am warm, fed, housed and Oh-so-cared-for, as (I sincerely hope) are you. 
I decided against an end of year round up of my blog posts this year... #6 on my list of ideas... but I'd love for you to visit (or revisit) just THIS ONE. It means a lot to me. :) 

***

It's new years Eve 2015 (time of writing), and I want to thank YOU, dear readers of my rambles, for reading, commenting (I love your comments :), for being there, for being your beautiful selves... and especially for your support this past (incredibly tough) year. You lot make my day... EVERY DAY! 

I wish you ALL a (heartfelt) HAPPY NEW YEAR! :o) 
It's new years Eve 2015 (time of writing) and I've spent most of today looking to google for inspiration for this New Year Eve post, specifically I was searching 'Happy'.

***

Thank you as always for allowing me to share 

God bless you and all those you love 

Kimmie x 



Monday, 14 December 2015

Is Nothing Sacred Anymore.

Is nothing Sacred anymore. poem. poetry. @stuckinscared mentalillnessgodandme.blogspot.co.uk

Is nothing sacred anymore. poem. poetry. mentalillnessgodandme.blogspot.co.uk

With all of my heart 
and all that I am 
I loved you... love you still
More than any other 
ever before 
I trusted you
Is nothing sacred anymore!

***

Thank you for allowing me to share

God bless you and all those you love 

Kimmie x 

Related post: Where I once saw Special 
Quote. "If you love her, love her all, every broken piece of her, and don't hurt her" @stuckinscared mentalillnessgodandme.blogspot.co.uk


Tuesday, 27 October 2015

All Finished Now.

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

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

For goodness sake child
what’s wrong with you
Why must you wind me up like you do
If I say quiet - I mean QUIET
why can't you see
Just do as you're told, child
LISTEN TO ME!...

***

Shhh... shhh-shhh 

 Come on now, good girl 
Mummy's sorry
Shhh now
no more tears
Mummy's sorry-Mummy's sorry

That's it, that's it baby
there-there 
all better
no harm done
All finished now 
all finished
Mummy loves you
Mummy loves you
Mummy loves you
Mummy loves you

poem. poetry. excerpt via stuck in scared

***

Thank you for allowing me to share 

God bless you, and all those you love 

Kimmie x


Thursday, 8 October 2015

A few of my poems (for National Poetry Day)

ON MENTAL ILLNESS...


Feigning Control. mental health. mental illness. poetry. Micro poetry.

Cloaked in Sunny. poetry. Mental health. Mental Illness.


ON SPECIAL NEEDS... 
This Child. Special Needs. Poem

MATTERS OF THE HEART...
Forget me not. Poem. Poetry. Micro Poetry. National Poetry Day.

Whispers of Longing. Poetry. Micro Poetry.

Say it slow. Poetry. Micro Poetry.

Poem. Micro Poetry. 'Stitches'

GRIEF... 
How can you be Gone, Dad

The future is Dadless, I'm not ready for that. ... Grief.

CHILDHOOD MEMORIES... 
From the inside. A few of my poems (for National Poetry Day.)

Echoes in the dark. A few of my poems for National poetry Day.

Thank you for allowing me to share 

God bless you, and all those you love 

Kimmie x
Creative Writing. Poetry. A few of my poems (for National Poetry Day)



Monday, 5 October 2015

Prayer for Refugees... (a #1000speak post)

Prayer for Refugees... (a #1000speak post) via @stuckinscared

Father, God, 
Please help the world's refugees.

All who's lives have been torn apart by conflict, 
forced to leave their homes, loved ones, countries. 
Protect those who are journeying now 
heal those who are safe, but still traumatized 
Soften the 'hard hearts' - comfort the broken 
Send hope for the hopeless.

Let all who can do something to help... do it
all who have something to give... give it
all who seek a safe place to live... find it. 
All who can do nothing but pray... pray.

That all who suffer be given strength; to persevere, to hold on to hope. 
That they be accommodated, comforted, cared for. 

These people, they're aching... physically, emotionally, spiritually 
Their pain must be unbearable, beyond comprehension
Mothers, Fathers, children, babies 
Hungry, hurting, homeless... afraid. 

Human beings... some dead, some dying

and those who survive the journey... 
thrown from a sea of hope into an unfamiliar (largely unwelcoming) world 
Washed up, weary worn... stranded. 

Help them, Lord... please help them 

Amen. 

***

Thank you for allowing me to share 

God bless you, and all those you love 

Kimmie x 

I'm adding this post to this months #1000speak linky on the 20th of October... to find out more about 1000 speak, click here.



Friday, 25 September 2015

If I Could...

Iv'e been tagged by the lovely Laura, who blogs at My Life as a Mummy to take part in the 'If I Could' tag. Thanks Laura.

The idea is to answer the preset questions, daydreams allowed, and then tag other bloggers to take part (If they want to).

So here goes...
Imagine a Town where no one goes hungry...
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.

A little house on the Prairie...where all the skies are blue (In my dreams they're always blue). Where all the people (with the exception of Mrs & Nelly Olsen) are kind and compassionate, peace loving, neighbourly.

Imagine washing in the creak, watching Pa (preferably topless, Pa should always be topless!) working the fields. walking through fields to get the kids to school. Kids that skip, and tag, and ring-a-rose.
Imagine a town where no one goes hungry, because as poor as they are they can always, always, stretch the stew to one more!

I do :)

If I could have any home ...This is a tough one because I love the house I'm in now, it's been home for a long time, I've always felt safe here, it's familiar, it's beautiful... it's home!
The trouble is, it's not my house, and as our Landlord has spent the past year attempting to sell it from under us (though currently it's off the market temporarily until neighbouring building work is completed) it's no longer safe! .

On that note, if I could have any home other than my current one (or 'The Little House on the Prairie')... it would be secure, safe, preferably owned.
It would have disability adaptions, (including wheelchair access) for Littlie... and a private, south facing garden, with a pretty little shabby-chic Lady-shed, to write in.
Actually, while I'm still day dreaming... I wouldn't mind one of those DIY-SOS jobbies...not least because then I'd get to meet Little-Leci-Billy- ;o)

If I could have any garden... That's easy...the garden I have now. I'd love to pick it all up, worms and all, and take it with me. As it is, since every plant in the garden attached to the-house-that's-not-mine was payed for and planted by me, I will be digging up anything remotely dig-up-able, and taking it with me.

If I could have any garden... That's easy...the garden I have now.

If I could be on holiday right now... The reality is, fear prevents me from flying, it also prevents me from travelling (other than locally) in a car, and even if I could travel my budget wouldn't stretch to a holiday.

The dream is, Spain... I went to Spain (Marbella), for a week when I was eighteen, and would love to revisit.
Actually, I say a week... I fell in love with a gorgeous Spaniard and stayed put. Three months later I (and my broken heart) came home... Turned out Gorgeous-Spaniard wasn't mine to love, he had a wife and child in Lanzarote!

Despite the heartache (not to mention the shame), I still have such beautiful, and incredibly vivid memories of the places I visited, and the things I experienced whilst there.
Oh, how I'd love to walk those streets again - paddle those seas again - visit those cafes again - dunk those doughnuts again... "Un chocolate con churros por favor" :)

If I could have any job... Illness prevents me from working these days, but if I could work I'd go back to what I used to do before (and after, once they were old enough) I had children... caring for the elderly.
When I was a teenager my best friends Mum owned, lived in, and ran a home for the elderly, my friend and I worked Weekends as teenagers and went on to work there full time after leaving school, and then periodically after we both married and had children.
I loved every single minute of it... I'll never forget my ladies!

If I could have any talent... I don't need to think about this one, I'm reminded of my lack of talent in this area every day. I would LOVE to be able to sing.
I often sing along to music (I use the term loosely!) if I'm at home, but always mime anywhere else, even in Church; because there are no words to describe the unholy noise that comes out of my mouth when I sing out loud!

I've always been aware of my (tone-death-doesn't-cover-it) singing voice... I remember being as young as seven-ish and miming during assembly so that the other kids couldn't hear me, silently mouthing each word dramatically so as to appear believable if a teacher looked my way.
Turned out one teacher was looking my way; he picked me for the school choir... because, he said... I opened my mouth so beautifully when I sang. o_O
For the rest of that school year (wishing I was invisible, and still miming) I was sat at the front of the hall during assembly...with the rest of the choir!

If I could live one day again... - it would be the last day I saw my Dad.
My Dad lived a long way from me, and, as mentioned above, mental illness/fear prevents me from travelling. In February of this year (3 months before he died) my Dad, my always-there-and-if-he-wasn't-there-he-was-getting-there, Dad, came to me. Riddled with Cancer, barely able to stand, and in unimaginable pain, he came to me... he came to say goodbye.

We hugged lots, loved lots, talked as much as he could manage... goodbyes were left unspoken, neither of us able to say the words.

When he left, knowing how hard the moment was for him, I hugged him brave...like a grown up. The child inside was bawling, I didn't let her out.
He released my hold on him, kissed my head, and said "keep smiling babe", then he turned and walked down the garden path.

When he reached the gate he turned and looked straight at me, he held my gaze for only a moment before turning away again... in that moment I read my life time in his eyes... and I read his breaking heart, his I love you... his goodbye".

I didn't want to be brave anymore. I wanted to run down the path with the child's tears pouring down my face, throw myself into his arms, beg him to stay.

I stayed dry-eye-brave in the doorway until he'd disappeared through the gate. Then went into the toilet, stamped my feet like a child, and cried.

If I could live that day again... I'd run down the path!


If I could have any super power... Ooh, now then... can I have two?
Time travel would get me to 'the Walnut Grove' of the Ingalls's, but I've always quite fancied being Mary Poppins. If I were Mary Poppins... I could click my fingers and put the whole world to rights.

David Cameron...click...gone. George Osborne...click...gone. Iain Dunken Smith...
click, click, Dunky!
World peace...click...done. New home...click. Housework...click... *clicks fingers hopefully*.

I'm think I'm gonna go with Mary-Poppins-Power...
If I can jump into pictures, travel by brolly, and have tea on a ceiling, I reckon time travel will be a breeze...
Walnut Grove here I come... Just as soon as I've outed the Tories ;o)
If I Could...
Thank you for allowing me to share

God bless you and all those you love

Kimmie x

I tag the following people

Dear tagged... Please feel free to ignore the prompt if you are busy, or if  blog tags are not something you usually take part in.

Dear reader... Please do visit the bloggers in the above list if you have time. They are all fabulous bloggers...well worth reading :o) 

 

Tuesday, 8 September 2015

Gone.


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Copyright©2015kimmie All Rights Reserved

Thank you for allowing me to share 

God bless you, and all those you love 

Kimmie x

Tuesday, 1 September 2015

My Daughter Writes

The following poems were written by my middle daughter. She shared them with me recently, and (with her permission) I'd like to share them with you.

The first was written for me, the second for her Grandad (my Dad), who passed away recently.

Both made me cry!



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Thank you for allowing me to share 

God bless you, and all those you love 

Kimmie x


Sunday, 7 June 2015

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

"Nothing feels real. Everything's TOO real. I'm lost without you." Grief. Dad. Quote via @stuckinscared

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.

Sorry?... Should I be saying sorry, Dad?

Sorry I couldn't get to you, wasn't with you when you died, never said goodbye... never made it to your funeral, (I hate that word, 'Funeral').

I know my sadness would hurt you (is hurting you) but I don't know how to do today (any day) without sadness...without you, Dad.
I've never had to do a Dadless 'Dad day' before, I've never had to do a Dadless 'any day' before, until now.

I miss you, Dad, I need you, I don't know how to 'be' without you... I don't want to be without you.
One more look into eyes that speak 'I love you' whenever they look at me, one more hug/smile/hand-hold, one more day/month/year, one more "I love you too babe"; Please Dad, just one more...This longing... it's unbearable.

I know what you're thinking, I know what you'd say, what you're saying... I don't wanna hear it, Dad!

I hear you so clearly you could be sat here hugging me (Oi you'ing, tear stained/mascara stained shirt).

"Keep smiling babe"
"Time heals"
"Focus on those who're still here"
"Keep on keeping on"
"Move your arse, dry your eyes, and go play with your Littlie"
"Be happy babe, I want you to be happy"
"Look to the future now"
"Think positive"
"Keep smiling babe"
"Keep smiling babe"
"Keep smiling babe".
"Life goes on" .............

Life goes on?! .... Really?!

Is that your voice, or is it mine?

Matters lots... matters not... changes nothing... I don't wanna hear it, Dad!

Daddy, you were my safe, my 'who to go to', my always there (and if not there, getting there) my consistent (my only consistent) my 'strong'... My someone to trust.

And now... You're the scream I let out when you left... the scream I've held in ever since. A touch without a feel, a shadow without a face, sorrows tears, sorrows scream, sorrows smile.
You're my 'not there-can't get there; will never get there again'... you're the tears I'm crying now.

Gone.

How can you be gone!

How can you be gone, Dad.

Are you gone?

Is that you, are you there?

Is that your voice, or is it mine?

I can't bear 'this'.

Come home Dad, please come home Dad, I need you.

Nothing feels real, everything's too real!

I don't wanna hear it, Dad, I don't wanna hear it!

The future is Dadless... I'm not ready for that.
It's your Birthday and I'll cry if I want to... grief... quote. Blog post. via @stuckinscared

I know you'd stop 'this' if you could, say anything to make 'this' better, but Dad, really?! ....Throw in 'It's just the way the mop flops', and we'd have ALL the cliches!

But I get it, Dad...I do - I was (all your girls were) your smiles, your good on the bad days, your reason for living, your everything. If it were fixable you fixed it. If we hurt you hurt....You can't bear 'this' either... can you.

I'm sorry Dad x

****

POSITIVE THOUGHT
When I was about 8 years old I bought my Dad a box of 'Liquorice Allsorts' for his birthday. His eye's lit up when he opened them, and I remember, so clearly, him (chomping) "mmmm my favorite".

I bought him a box of 'Allsorts' (his favorite) every birthday after that......... I was 48 before he finally told me he actually hated them.

That's the kind of Dad my Dad was.

PRAYER
I'm not alone in my Dadlessness, a few of my friends have lost their Dads recently. Lord, bless them, hold them tight, help them through 'this'. Amen.

**** 

Thank you for allowing me to share

Bless you, all of you who have supported me over the past few weeks, it's meant more than you could possibly know!

God bless you and all those you love 

Kimmie x

Related post: About a Man


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Friday, 19 September 2014

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

 

Sunday, 20 July 2014

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.
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. mentalillnessgodandme.blogspot.co.uk @stuckinscared
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!  

No Harm Done... Poem. Poetry. @stuckinscared

***

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

Wednesday, 5 March 2014

'Where I once saw special'

Where I once saw special. via @stuckinscared mentalillnessgodandme.blogspot.co.uk

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. 

                                   '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
Serenity Prayer


Thank you as always for allowing me to share

God bless you and all those you love

Kimmie x