Shame on Me ........ #MicroPoetry

Thank you for allowing me to share

God bless you and all those you love

kimmie xxxx

Do I want to get rid of Cameron? - Hell Yes!

Remembering the Thatcher years, I was horrified when, in may 2010, David Cameron (enabled by Nick 'sorry-not-sorry' Clegg) slipped into power, along with the likes of George 'go-figure' Osborne, and Ian 'don't-give-a-damn' Smith.

Now, after five years of Cameron and co, the rich are richer and the poor are poorer, well, I expected that!
I knew the Tories wouldn't have any interest in, or feeling for, the 'common' people.... but (and this is a big BUT!) I never expected them to hurt people like me, or my daughter!

Why? - What might exclude us (and others like us) from Tory 'wickedness'?

Well, my child and I are both disabled - they wouldn't go after disabled people, would they?

****

Over the past five years the coalition (Tory) Governments draconian cuts, cruel assessments, and relentless propaganda have pushed (many) sick, disabled, and mentally ill people worryingly close to the edge - pushed some (largely unreported by the media) 'too far!'

My daughter and I didn't choose disability, she certainly didn't; she was born disabled. There's not a lot we can do to change our 'scrounger' status, either we take the 'handouts' (social security) from the same pot my husband paid into for years I might add, or we starve!

Of course, my 'Littlie' (going on 10, with a mental age of 5) has no idea that (Thanks to Tory/media rhetoric) our family would be judged negatively (by some) she has no idea that Cameron and Co have attempted to create a Britain that may not welcome the disabled adult she will one day become.

I know though! I know, and I am afraid, afraid for myself, afraid for my disabled friends, afraid for all (reliant) disabled people living in Britain.... but above all else, afraid for my child!

Many disabled people have had their lives turned upside down over the past five years - some have not survived the onslaught.

Vulnerable people, who (and I should know) are desperately afraid - deeply affected by right wing 'scrounger' propaganda, and increasingly concerned about their future.

People who's symptoms of illness/disability (in many cases, including my own) have been greatly exacerbated by an overwhelming fear of the next WCA (Work capability Assessment)
An assessment interrogation that often ignores their own doctors opinion in a deliberate attempt to strip them of benefits.

Mentally ill people who are terrified by even the idea of having to expose themselves (face to face) at a ten minute (tick box) assessment (to a complete stranger) who is unlikely to be qualified to assess Mental Illness, and even less likely to empathise.

People who are despairingly aware, that even if they are lucky enough to pass the assessment, it won't be long before the process begins again.

Many are self-harming, some feel/or have felt that suicide may be a better option than continuing to battle both debilitating mental illness/disability, and the 'powers that be'.

As most of you know (physical disabilities aside) my own symptoms of Mental Illness interfere with my ability to cope with many everyday activities without the support of my husband, and those things I do manage alone, are only doable if he's nearby.
I could give for instances but we'd be here all day; so I won't.

Most significantly, for the purpose of this post, is that my disabilities prevent me from working, and also from caring for my disabled child alone....and, as I'm unable to function at home, or outdoors without support, it also prevents my husband from working.

Although, given that I care for my disabled child (to the best of my abilities) with hubby's help, and he cares for us both (full time) with no help, I'd ask those who see fit to judge us (with all due respect, Mr Cameron) to define *hard working people*.

I'm terrified of the benefits system, I fear the dreaded brown envelope (DWP letter) every day - the sound of the post man fiddling with the letter box puts me on edge before anything hits the mat - the site of any brown envelope on the hall floor puts me in a state of panic, which continues to have a negative affect on me long after hubs has checked the contents, and reassured me that today is not the day that I will have to begin AGAIN the process of proving how disabled I am!

It's a daily, overwhelming fear....I have no idea when the next letter will come, but one thing is certain - It will come!

If, after that next assessment, the powers that be decide that we are no longer (in their opinion) entitled to support, I will STILL be disabled, my daughter will STILL be disabled, and my husband will STILL be a full time carer. The ONLY difference (other than making us sicker) such a decision would make; is that we would have nothing to live on!

We're less than a week away from General Election 2015 (time of writing) and I'm terrified the Tory's might manage to 'lie' their way in for another term, because, dear reader, if they do; they will be coming for me and mine, and quite possibly (if you are reliant, or become so) you and yours too, and there won't be a damn thing we can do about it!

Thank you for allowing me to share

GOD bless you and all those you love

Kimmie x                                                     Copyright©2012kimmie All Rights Reserved

NB: The above thoughts, observations, opinions, are based on my own experiences, and those of disabled people I know, or who's experiences I have read about. I do not presume to speak for all disabled people.

POSITIVE THOUGHT

PRAYER

LORD, I pray for all sick and disabled people who have died, and for all who mourn them. Amen

Related posts:
I do not like that Cam-I-am
A Fine Line

'How did I survive that' ... (In 99 words)

I had planned to write some poetry this afternoon, but, whilst searching Twitters writing prompts this morning, I stumbled upon the following ... write a 99-word story using this ending: How did I survive that?)

I may still ponder the poetic later on this evening, but for now....

'HOW DID I SURVIVE THAT'

I don’t remember how I got to my bedroom that evening with a full bottle of tablets and a pint glass of water. I don’t remember contemplating suicide, or for one single moment wishing I was dead.

I don’t remember feeling suicidal. I don’t remember wanting to die. 

I do vaguely remember taking the pills.

There was no lining up of tablets like you see on TV, no thoughts, no fear, no emotion - only *nothingness*.

I tipped the pills from bottle to mouth until there were no more pills to take. 

Oftentimes I wonder... How did I survive that?  

***

POSITIVE THOUGHT

28 years (and four children) on - I feel incredibly blessed to be here.

Thank you as always for allowing me to share

God bless you, and all those you love

Kimmie x

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#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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'All things dark and ugly'

WARNING: The following ramble includes some mild (non explicit) references to self harm. Please read with caution if you are feeling particularly vulnerable at the moment. 

In my own experience fear, shame and paranoia have resulted in a life time of 'hiding', and I find it almost impossible to open up to anyone (away from blogger) with complete honesty.

When the same fear and shame interferes with my ability to talk to GOD, isolation reaches a whole new level! 

Belief isn't an issue (If I didn't believe there’d be no need for this ramble!) but, I do struggle (really struggle) in my relationship with God.

My prayers are almost always interrupted by intrusive thoughts, obscenities, day-mares or random muddle and as I can’t hide the ‘me behind the mask’ from God, I find prayer incredibly stressful.

Here’s what usually happens when I attempt to pray (lets give the ‘Lords prayer’ as an example)

It goes a bit like this - “Our father who art in heaven’, hallowed be”….  that’s usually about as far as I get before a random obscenity pops into my head (sometimes aimed at God which exacerbates shame!) if not blaspheme, it’s appalling thoughts/images - intrusions that are always unwelcome but never more so than when I'm praying.

Often, in my attempt to block unwanted thoughts, I'll recite ‘Ten green bottles' (or similar) while continuing at the same time with prayer.

So now one area of my mind is reciting ’Ten green bottles’, while another struggles with the words I should be saying. If this isn't sufficient to suppress unwanted thoughts, I resort to actually picturing each of my illusory green bottles as they fall off the wall!

If I come away from common pray and attempt to pray in my own words, I've usually given up before the fourth bottle hits the ground.

There is no peace in this prayer time fiasco, it’s stressful, it hurts me, I dread it! 

And yet at the same time I’m compelled to pray, I need to pray (I've a lot that needs forgiving and a million and one people I want to pray for!)  

I imagine (if you don’t believe in God) you’re by now raising your eyebrows at the mentally ill bible basher (if you haven’t buggered off already) but for those of you who get this, have perhaps experienced similar (and for myself) I will continue.

So how do I get around my ‘praying with a head full of crap’ problem?!

How do I ask forgiveness for (appalling) thoughts if I’m still experiencing them as I pray - forgiveness for hurting myself when the urge to cross the room (despite God’s presence) and take the scissors from the draw is so strong! 

How - when my mind thinks it's appropriate to throw random swear words into prayer, do I say, "I'm sorry God", knowing seconds later it will happen again?!

Today (with fruit loop pooch bouncing around my ankles) in the time it took me to transport a pair of scissors from lounge to kitchen, and (shaking my head in horror) throw them into a draw, my mind had played out extremely vivid 'mutilate the dog' scenes!
How do I ask forgiveness for such thoughts when it's not the first time I've had them and it's unlikely to be the last?!
(Though I do thank God that the dogs actual experience was - 'human at drawer (boring) - human at treat cupboard (Yah!) - gobble - slobber - beg for more)

How do I say "I'm sorry I'm not able to picture Jesus as I pray Lord - the people I care about or 'All things bright and beautiful" - "I'm sorry that in order to get through ten minutes in your presence without having a breakdown I'm watching illusory bottles smash to the ground or picturing illusory kids buying illusory currant buns from an illusory bloody bakers shop!"

How do I do that?!

Truth is I can't, and for now at least, I have given up trying to be alone in my head with God!

However (Thanks to God) there is something I can do....I can (though some may disagree) write, and as when I'm writing I'm usually relatively free from intrusive thoughts (those that aren't blocked by my 'key board bashing' are often relevant) a while ago I thought - 'why not write to God!'

And that's what I did - I started writing my prayers down, and it helped; It really helped!

I felt no pressure to read my prayers to God after writing - If God can see into my heart I'm pretty sure he can see into my lap top!

Funny isn't it (or not as the case may be) that the answer to a problem (a prayer) can be right there under your nose, and it takes a life time to notice!

Anyway, we muddled along relatively well God and I, until one day, after reading a particularly beautiful prayer on a friend's blog, it occurred to me that though I've read lots of prayer books/blogs in my time, I've never read prayers quite like my own (other than my own obviously)

Increasingly, I found myself comparing my prayers with those of other writers.
Theirs were full of beautiful, fluffy, seemingly God given words;  mine were not!
Theirs sang 'All things bright and beautiful', while mine (more often than not) screamed 'All things dark and ugly'!
I went looking for prayers more like my own - I found none.
I was filled with such shame that after initially attempting (and failing) to write to God using other peoples words, I gave up altogether.

I was stranded - AGAIN!

Then one night, around 3am (more commonly known as 'stupid o'clock') after a particularly bad (Intrusive thought/self-harm) day - agitated, afraid, and crying out for God, I suddenly remembered a message that another blogger had left on one of my blog posts.

"You are far from being a disappointment to God. He loves you beyond words"

I got out of bed, and I spoke to God (through my keyboard) My way!
No fluffiness, no beating around the bush, no hiding!

Here's what came out....
‘LORD, I hurt myself today, I was so angry at 'me' - ashamed of,  and terrified by my thoughts - filled with overwhelming self hatred. 
I wanted to (needed to) scream, cry, rage, but that would have hurt my child.  
I meant to hurt myself, I knew what I was doing, I craved the relief I knew the pain would bring. Please forgive me. I'm sorry.

I’m ashamed of my weakness, I’m sorry for my actions, and I’m now terrified (as always) that the wound will become infected, please help me and heal me Lord, in body, mind and spirit. I'm sorry. 

I can’t promise you it won’t happen again, Iv'e made you the same promise so many times before that now it would just feel like a lie. I’m sorry.

I pray for your help in controlling my urge to self-harm. Help me to be kinder to myself, help me to accept (all of the time) that intrusive thoughts are a symptom of my illness and not a reflection of who I am.... Lord, hear my prayer. Amen.’

Not your average share with the world prayer, but one that brings me to the point of this (rather long) ramble.

While sipping post prayer coffee I got to thinking (not for the first time) 'What if I'm not the only one'!
What if other mental health sufferers are struggling to recite 'All things bright and beautiful' with a head full of 'All things dark and ugly' !

So my friends - I'm going to (attempt) to write a book.

I'm going to attempt to write a prayer book that might enable other sufferers whose heads are full of 'All things dark and ugly' to open up honestly to God! - To just let go, and 'Pray it how it is'!

Wish me luck! :O)

MENTAL ILLNESS, GOD & me

POSITIVE THOUGHT                                 

He will not let go of me!

PRAYER

LORD, If it’s meant to be written let it be written. In the meantime, I pray that in sharing ‘my story’, I might help other sufferers feel a little less isolated! Amen. 

Thank you for allowing me to share 

God bless you and all those you love 

Kimmie x 

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A Fine Line...!

Writing about my life with mental illness really helps me, it’s cathartic to write my thoughts down.

I made the decision to share my muddled mind through this blog because (though I’m far from recovery and therefore not really qualified to advise) I felt that sharing my experiences might help other sufferers feel less isolated.

I hope that by my ‘telling it how it is’ someone somewhere will find some relief in reading. 

Having said that I do worry (a lot!) that being too honest about some of my mental health symptoms may do more harm than good and it’s for that reason I’m going to suggest that if you're feeling particularly vulnerable at the moment you don’t read any further into this post…. 

In recent months I’ve had various conversations with friends (some via twitter, one face to face) who have recently self - harmed or are struggling with thoughts or urges relating to self - harm.

One lady (heartbreakingly) confided that she is mentally making plans to re home her pets because she feels suicidal and is concerned that she might act on these feelings leaving her pets uncared for.  

Some of the people I spoke to have complex mental health issues (some have physical disabilities too) and they all told me that their self- harm and/or suicidal thoughts are related to fear of their current or anticipated WCA (Work capability assessment).

Of course I know from personal experience that paranoid fear, irrational thoughts and an inability to cope with change often go hand in hand with mental illness, however, given the treatment that so many have endured at these DWP assessments interrogations it’s hardly surprising that so many sick & disabled people feel incredibly anxious at the moment.

People are desperately afraid - overwhelmed with fear - deeply affected by right wing ‘scrounger’ propaganda and very concerned about their future. 

They’re terrified by even the idea of having to expose themselves (face to face) at a ten minute (tick box) assessment (to a complete stranger) who is unlikely to be qualified to assess mental illness and even less likely to empathise. They are also despairingly aware that even if they are lucky enough to qualify for benefit it won't be long before the process begins again!  

Many are self - harming some feel suicide may be a better option than continuing to battle both debilitating mental illness and the ‘powers that be’.

Many are far sicker now (under a system that in many cases claims they are fit for work) than they were under the previous system which recognised that they were NOT fit for work and supported them accordingly.

Am I afraid? Yes I’m afraid, Very afraid. 

Has my own tendency to self - harm increased as a direct result of the coalition’s attitude towards disabled people?

Yes!  Though I’m ashamed to admit it my own self harming behaviour has increased both in severity and frequency.

Do I want to continue living with this daily, nightly overwhelming, debilitating fear? 

NO! Oh God no, it’s too much, too much….!  

I can’t see an end to it and my own symptoms have been greatly exacerbated.

Do I feel suicidal? - Do I wish I were dead?

Those of you who know me either through contact or through my writing will already know the answer to this question! You’ll know that I am and always have been terrified of death. You will have read here >> Scared to shut my eyes! about my overwhelming fear of death as a child, you’ll know how terrifying my intrusive thoughts are and how often they relate to fear of death.

NO - I don’t feel suicidal, I have NEVER felt suicidal no matter how much life, other people (or my own mind) has thrown at me. - No - I don't wish I were dead.

I  don’t now and I didn’t in 1986 when life, other people (and my own mind) caused me to suffer a complete mental breakdown and I attempted to take my own life.

I don’t remember how I got to my bedroom that evening with a full bottle of ‘paracetamol’ and a pint glass of water. I don’t remember planning or contemplating suicide or for one single moment wishing I was dead.

I don’t remember thinking about my 8 month old baby or wondering how he would cope without me.

I don’t remember feeling suicidal, I don’t remember wanting to die.

I DO vaguely remember taking the pills.

There was no lining up of tablets like you see on TV, no thoughts, no fear, no emotion, no tears, there was *nothingness*.

I tipped the pills from bottle to mouth (how I swallowed so many at once is beyond me) and washed each mouthful down with water until there were no more pills to take.

There are some blurry (vague) memories after that, my first husband slapping me very hard (this confused me) – baby crying - arriving at hospital in an ambulance – a black tarry substance  - gagging on a tube - a drip – a white ceiling through a strange tunnel vision, then blank again.  Days of nothing, no thoughts, no emotion – *nothingness*….!

I have never ‘contemplated’ suicide BUT in ‘1986’ (20  years old without so much as a passing thought for the first of my five children) I very nearly succeeded in taking my own life….!

I had a point when I started writing today and I’m not sure if I’ve succeeded in making it, so briefly  -  For many mental ill (and, indeed, physically ill) people - there is a very fine line between incredible strength, and *can’t take anymore*.  

I am deeply concerned that the UK Governments relentless cuts & cruel propaganda are pushing many already vulnerable people worryingly close to - *can’t take anymore*.

POSITIVE THOUGHT

I'm 27 years on, I'm still here and my fifth child (my last baby) is nagging me to move away from the lap top and use my imagination. I cannot stress enough how thankful I felt this evening when she rolled in from school and threw her smiley, gorgeous self into my arms. Life is tough at the moment, it has been to varying degrees for as long as I can remember but I feel incredibly blessed to be here.

PRAYER

Father, I pray your protection this day and always over the lives of all sick and disabled people. 

I pray peace for those who are oppressed, despairing, afraid and strength for those who are close to giving up.

I’m weighed down with their despair and with my own. I want to do something, make a difference - I don’t know how!

I’m open to suggestions Lord, in the meantime I place me and mine and them and theirs into your hands.  Amen.

Thank you as always for allowing me to share.

GOD bless you and all those you love

Kimmie x                             Copyright©2013kimmie 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