It doesn’t matter

It mattered when I was a baby and no one was allowed to hold me.
It mattered when I was tiny and fell down the stairs and my sister was punished for my clumsiness.
It mattered when age 5 I woke from a bad dream to be dragged into a cold shower until I stopped crying.
It mattered when age 6 she poisoned me to make me ill.
It mattered when she took me out of school for 2 years.
It mattered when they took my sister away and left me behind.
It mattered when she burned me for making a mistake while cooking.
It mattered when she poured nail polish remover over the cuts on my leg.
It mattered when he raped me and I had no where to turn.
It did matter, then, but it’s too late now.

I don’t want to write about this

I don’t want to write about this.

I don’t want to write about this because I am frightened by the depth of these feelings.

I hate it when people tell me to take care of myself, I nod, I say that I will but inside I hate those words. It rouses a powerful anger, a childish rage. After all I have always had to take care of myself. In a literal sense it has been the case since I was 9, but before then too.

Yes there were people who helped but it was never consistent or secure.  When it came to it, all I had was my cupboard where I hid in with my cuddly toys, often afraid to even breath.

Those rare times when I did share a tiny bit of my suffering it would always get back to mother. I risked it twice, and twice I was promised that nothing bad would happen and twice they told her.

And mother told them that I was fragile, overly sensitive, with an active imagination, that I read to many books, that I was just looking for attention. Both times they bought it. Both times she punished me.

That’s how I learned never to trust people. At least not with the important stuff. I learned to hide myself deep inside, to live a silent life. The I that I was became mute.

And yes I have a good life now, but it is a half life, watched by that silent part where my unexpressed anger and unshed tears reside.

I don’t want to write about this, but I see her deep inside, I feel her, she is frightened and alone, and I can’t help her, I don’t know how.

I resent the depth of her neediness, I hate the way she craves comfort, the way she squirms inside my mind desperate for acknowledgement, I hate the way her tiny voice leaks out through mine, incoherent and full of uncontrollable emotions.  I hate the way her eyes look at me in the mirror, full of the betrayal of the many people that left her, left her in that cold and brutal place.

I don’t want to write about this but I guess I left her too.

The relief….

So after all the stress, I have a new job, a better job – better on so many levels.

And it feels great, I had no idea of the weights I have been carrying around the last few years but I feel like I can breath again.

The other stuff, the stuff from when I was small, still sits there, occasionally jumping up and down, but I feel like I finally have the head space to manage it.

On top of that the sun is shining (intermittently anyway) and the evenings are getting lighter, feels like spring is on it’s way.

Relief all round :-)

A poem

You taught her not to scream.
You taught her not to react.
Each time you punished that child
she kept her feelings inside.

You taught her not to scream.
You taught her not to react.
You silenced her tears and her anger
and left her hollow inside.

You taught her not to scream.
You taught her not to react.
Her anger, her tears, her fear
now hidden deep down inside.

You taught her not to scream.
You taught her not to react.
So the day he raped her she lay still,
her fear and outrage buried deep inside.

You taught her not to scream.
You taught her not to react.
She is broken now, unlovable and alone
just terror and darkness remaining deep inside.

Time to talk day

Today is difficult, there is so much going on, so much uncertainty. I am not in control of what is happening, to myself or to others and I am really struggling.

It’s also Time to Talk day – and I feel a degree of guilt for not coming clean about my mental health struggles with those who work with me, I think we are all struggling, but no one will say anything, it’s a sign of weakness and right now weakness is not tolerated.

As a leader and manager I wonder if I bear some responsibility for that culture, after all I cannot tolerate what I see as my own weakness in this, though I do see it differently when others are struggling.

The next months are going to be tough, I don’t know if I am up to handling it.

As much as I hate to admit it, it really is too much just now.



My feelings are weighing heavy today. They are so loud in my head.  They are bad today. They make me want to hurt myself.  I try not to do that anymore though. 

My therapist said he was here for my feelings, he said I am split inside. But I just want my feelings to go away. Life would be easier without them, though I know that is not possible.

I know that I don’t want to be like this anymore, that I don’t want to feel like this anymore. I just need to know what is wrong with me, to know what I should have done to change what happened, and then I can fix it so I’m not wrong anymore.

Made up words

It was not a good weekend, it started on Friday with a feeling of fedupness, and just descended from there. Into the void of whirling thoughts, anxiety and that voice that reminds me how rubbish I am took over. It’s relentless.

I feel like a blinking yo-yo and the moment what I wouldn’t give for a few days of just being OK, neither uberanxious or desperately depressed.

I could say more but it would turn into an Eeyoresque miseryfest.

I do not like this :(

But then on the plus side this post has many made up words and I do like to make up words.