Baby dreams

                                                     

Last night I dreamt I had a baby. I knew without a doubt he was mine and I was holding him in my arms. I was so happy and he was so precious. My heart was full and I loved him so much. I kept marvelling at his hands and feet and how perfectly made he was, one of God's masterpieces. Suddenly he started wriggling and I knew in absolutely despair and panic that he was going to disappear. I tried holding onto him tighter, desperate to see his face. But just like that he was gone. I woke at dawn before the sun rose, with empty arms and an even emptier heart. I never got to see his face, the only memory I have are of his hands and feet. Doctors have told me there will never be any babies. I feel like I have failed miserably at something I was never given the chance to do and like someone that I never knew,  but somehow love more than life itself, has died. The pain sometimes makes it hard to breathe. My babies only exists in my dreams. I just wish I could have seen his face

Lovely Little Life: 9 Things Infertile Women Want Women with Children ...

Lovely Little Life: 9 Things Infertile Women Want Women with Children ...: Please let me begin this conversation by saying that I mean only good to anyone reading this post. I pray that God takes my words and use...

This is where I'm at now...

http://www.omdraaisvlei.co.za/

There is nothing like living in clean air and peace and quiet that cleans out the soul :)

Blessed are the lost

If you have ever been through this, you will understand the heartbreak and jubilation of this advert.

The characters on the stage...

All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players: they have their exits and their entrances; and one man in his time plays many parts, his acts being seven ages

- Shakespeare

When I was little I had the idea that everybody's lives were plays that God had scripted before we were born or that the universe was just one big movie in which everybody that had ever lived or was ever going to live were characters. There are many characters in my life, some feature more than others and in turn I play a part in their lives however big or small. It is difficult talking about them on this blog because I write anonymously and I owe it to them to protect their privacy as well, especially since some of these characters are children. Therefore I have created aliases for them and before I continue with this blog I should probably introduce you to them all so you will know who I am talking about. Some of them are pretty simple like:

Mom- she's my Mom

Dad- he's my Dad

Sister- she is my younger sister

Go figure. I have a feeling somewhere on this blog I have mentioned my mothers name and she may have commented on some blogs as my mother with her real name but I have decided not to use her name in anyway from now on. Here the list of characters in my life:

Little B- those who have been reading my blog for a long time know that Little B is my second cousin and my Goddaughter. She is now eight years old.

Miss Muffet- this is Little B's youngest sister she is five years old and also my Goddaughter. She and Little B are extremely close.

Brown Eyed Girl- This is Little B's oldest sister. She will be fourteen in a few weeks

Mel- She is the mother of Little B, Miss Muffet and Brown Eyed Girl and my first cousin. My parents fostered her until she was about sixteen. She and I were very close growing up.

Karen- She is my best friend and lives in America. This girl saved my life and I miss her more than anything.

Big Sis- She sixteen years older than me and is my half sister from my Dad's second marriage. She and I were estranged for many years but now maintain a very distant relationship. I have been meaning to write a post about her for the longest time since I saw her for the first time in nine years last year.

Big Bro- He is thirteen years older than me and also from my Dad's second marriage. Big Bro was my hero growing up and is quite a character. Unfortunately he is very distant but he and I generally get on well whenever he decides to pop up in my life.

Surfer Girl- I had to decide between that and Skater Girl since she is both a surfer and a skateboarder but in the end went with the former because Skater Girl reminds me to much of Avril Lavgine. Ugh. Surfer Girl is the daughter of my mother's best friend of 40 years. She and I grew up literally as sisters. She is several years younger than me but is one of my best friends despite the fact that we have nothing in common and can bug the hell out of one another.

The Cat- A pretty tortoise shell cat that the previous owner also left and is currently residing in the dilapidated pool house. I am in the process of trying to make friends with her but given my track record with pets in recent years maybe she'd be better off in the pool house :/

F- Yep I wish I could add three more little letters after that first one, that way I will be able to describe how I feel about her. I will use this blog to work through a lot of issues that I have as the result of F and her minions in the past

Probably more characters will be added and taken off this list as time goes on. Let the show begin!.

Moving along...

So the last blog post was something I didn't exactly plan. It was meant to be an update of all that has been happening since last year. But the absolute irony of what happened and the storm of emotions that followed was something I had to get out by writing.

Anyway, moving on...

Like I said before I don't know who still reads this blog but I have been largely absent for the past nine months. Because of that I probably have lost a lot of readers. It doesn't really bother me, I don't regret the time I had away and a lot of it was beyond my control.

In September last year our service provider got fed up with replacing the telephone lines that had gotten nicked over and over again. This is a problem in South Africa, people steel the telephone lines for the copper. The service provider eventually refused to install new lines. This meant no Internet for me other than what I had on my BlackBerry. Trying to post from my BlackBerry was a mission since the email post option didn't work very well. So I just thought "Screw it" and took a break. There have been a lot of changes in my life since then so for anyone that is still reading or interested here they are...

My baby boy Milo disappeared before Christmas last year. Milo had been spending more and more time away from my house as he seemed to be more interested in having adventures with his brothers. Eventually he only came home to eat and for a quick snuggle before setting off again. I knew I was not going to be living in the area much longer and would soon have to make a very difficult decision on what was best for Milo. But sadly I didn't have to. Milo would come home to eat but one day he just stopped coming. His brothers also disappeared we searched the area for all of them but they had vanished without a trace. We later heard that seven different cats from the farm had gone missing and someone had sighted a mountain cat- there are only two or three in the mountains where we lived. I hate to think about it so I rather would like to think that Milo and his brothers found a field with lots of mice and butterflies for them to chase. I was so heartbroken at loosing Milo...I don't think he ever forgave me for the time he broke his leg- he completely changed after that.

Since January I've moved three times. I have discovered that I do not take moving very well. It causes so much anxiety and instability in me that I become virtually useless and am prone to panic attacks. This is very surprising since I have lived in three different countries and the vast majority of my childhood was characterised by moving. The last move was significant in that after three years I have finally moved out of my parents house and onto my own. Earlier this year a friend of mine moved into a house where she needed to tutor a little girl for an hour a day in exchange for room and board and one meal every day. She soon grew tired of having children around her twenty- four- seven and offered the room to me and moved back home.

The house has got to be the oddest I have every seen. My room is very large with a bathroom that has a shower so small I need to open the door just to be able to wash properly. The house has a interesting history. It was bought by an American tycoon for his son who he later disinherited for marrying a stripper...who kept on stripping. My room was used to coach newly hired strippers on their technique. The two stripe poles where removed before my friend moved in but the floor still carries a reminder. The disinherited son later had to flee because he was wanted for questioning in a murder investigation ( he gave the gun that was used in the murder to the suspect as payment for "garden work" bet he regrets that) and agreed for the family that I am living with now to stay in the house rent free as both parents had just been retrenched from their jobs.

The family I live with are very nice, a little rough around the edges. The Dad who is a boat builder, cooks sometimes delicious and sometimes disastrous suppers that we all eat together in the kitchen and the wine is free flowing!. There are two children, a nine year old boy and a ten year old girl which is the one I tutor. Since I started with her about a month ago, I have started to strongly suspect that she is either dyslexic or ADD or both. It is a massive struggle for her to read and write and instead of spending just an hour a day with her I am spending four or five hours with her. It's tough and I feel for her, she knows somethings wrong and she genuinely wants to learn and do well. I am just waiting for the right time to broach the subject with her parents about getting her help. She is writing exams right now and it is just hectic.

Unfortunately three weeks after I moved in I found a notice from the sheriff taped onto our gate telling us that the house was being auctioned off by the bank because disinherited son had gone through all his inheritance and was now defaulting on his mortgage payments. Fortunately for us, it is very hard to evict someone in South Africa on account of the country having so many homeless people and squatters. So even if the house gets sold we have more rights than the actual buyer and the buyer by law, actually has to find us a new place to live. We also plan on evoking "Squatters Rights" ( yes they have rights)...I can picture my high- flying sister gasping in shock if she had to hear that. It sucks that I may have to move so soon after having just gotten settled.

As for work, after six months of being unemployed...I am STILL unemployed.I had a temp job covering maternity leave that come to an end in December. Employment is a real problem in South Africa. If you are a teacher, a lawyer or a doctor jobs are plentiful but most of these professionals head for foreign countries where there are more benefits, better salaries, less crime and the cost of living isn't so high. As for everyone else, South Africa for workers is a bit like Hollywood for wannabe actors and actresses. Most people here get jobs through word of mouth...it's who you know and all about being in the right place at the right time. It is vital to start building your connections starting even in high school, to get ahead. It is not unheard of to hear of someone with university degrees and even PhD's being unemployed for six months and struggling to find a job. As my connections are not exactly up to par looking for a job has been like banging my head against a brick wall.

My sister has sub-contracted me on her copy writing work and is giving me a small salary for my trouble. It is good for buying food and maybe a pair of jeans and a movie here and there, but if I had to pay rent I would be screwed. I am still studying and will be doing that full time through correspondence from July. It is ironic...I don't think I have ever worked so hard in my life as I have been doing so now...and I am the poorest I have ever been.

Anyway this has gotten a little long and I hope I haven't bored anyone to tears. I will have to break this update up into two parts as there have been two "happenings" that have had a massive impact on me this year and are very emotional to talk about.

Stay tuned....

How cruel is....

…when I finally get a job interview with a company that I have been dying to work for, spent all night preparing for it, wake up the next day incredibly excited, do myself all up, arrive on time feeling confident and positive....

only to walk in the door and see the girl that tormented me for three years straight when I was in primary school...who has now worked her little biddy up to be the executive PA to the owners.

I spent three years from Grade 5 to Grade 7 being this girl's punching bag and she relentlessly picked on me for EVERYTHING from the shape of my body to my intelligence to my family. Looking back I realise the bullying was borderline sexual harrassment. I went into puberty very early, I started developing breasts at nine and I got my first period a week before my eleventh birthday. I went to a small private school where there was some hormonal freak show happening: not only was I developing early but the rest of the girls in my grade were late developers. Seriously, by age twelve pretty much every single one of the 22 girls in my grade still had a flat chest and that was like, soooo cool. The way they treated me you would have sworn that I was the only girl in the history of planet earth to sprout a pair of boobs. Never mind that they were all heading the same way in the boob department they were all disgusted (that is the best way I can describe it) by my boobs.

Although the boys took part in some of the teasing it was mostly the girls and it was relentless. When I was eleven I got at most two or three hours of sleep at night because I would lie awake with my stomach full of knots knowing that day after day I would have to go back into the "boxing ring" where I was called endless amounts of names, have songs made up about me, have to deal with being held down while someone would attempt to open the front part of my uniform. I would throw up before swimming lessons because I knew that my swimming costume would show up everything I was trying to hide. And then there was the dilemma of actually changing into said swimming costume. The teachers would not allow me to change in the bathroom stalls, no I had to change in front of everybody else because, "If you don't hide it, they won't tease you about it". What idiots.. That just meant that they would take my tog bag and throw it out the window so I couldn't change back into my clothes, or they would take my bra and throw it to each other in some sadistic game of piggy-in- the- middle. I would get my skirt lifted up to see if I was wearing a sanitary pad and I would get hit and punched in the chest.

If this all wasn't bad enough I had a learning disability, all my life and even now that I am at university I have had to work my butt off just to get a mediocre C aggregate. My family was poor- my parents broke their backs to put us through that school so we didn't have the Mercs or the BMW's or live in big fancy houses. I had very few clothes all cheap and crappy stationary for school.

This girl... let's call "F", she was the school's superstar. She was the class boffin, she was one of the top gymnasts in our province and was in numerous sports teams. She was from a wealthy family who owned an apple farm outside of town. Her parents had nice cars, she had a wardrobe stacked full of the best clothes and she travelled the world with her family. Her mother was also on the board of directors at the school and knew everything about my unstable, dysfunctional family and our financial troubles ( at one point my sister and I had to be given a bursary because our parents could not pay the school fees).

So F was pretty much the ring leader in that whole sordid mess. She treated me like I was a disease. She found joy in describing my body in the most disgusting ways, she mocked me when I struggled to do the same Maths sums that she flew through. And she would inform my classmates of the embarrassing details of my family- her mother was a nice well- meaning lady but a real ditz, as I can only think she let F know those details accidently.

F and I went to different high schools and I would see her occasionally. When I left South Africa in 2004 one of the things I took comfort in is that I would never have to see F again. I last heard she went to university and then became a steward for a private yacht company. Of all the bloody companies in South Africa that she had to work for, she had to choose this one. When I walked into that office and saw her all the air left my lungs and my face became like fire. It's been 15 years, I am 28 now have been through so much, have achieved so much and am a completely different person. But the minute I saw F I felt like an eleven year old little girl again. She gave me a fleeting glance took a look at my C.V/ Resume like it was chewing gum and floated to the back of the office. I stumbled my way through the interview.

Seriously, this is not supposed to happen!. What I have heard happening to everyone else- they get bullied at school by the cheerleader or football captain. They go on and turn out to be beautiful and hot, earn a tone of money and then come across their nemesis 20 years later either a broke divorced mother of three or a used car salesman who had to drop out of university. But F is still coming out tops even to this day. While I am still struggling. Her bullying me was never dealt with directly. I mean come on...her mother was on the board of directors, she was the schools poster child. My mother believed that I needed to fight my own battles and that what was happening to me was a part of growing up ( she now regrets this ) but when she did finally get involved the class was given a talking to by the teacher and told that if anyone else picked on me they would be sent to the principal. F never had to answer for what she did.

And what’s worse is that she probably doesn't remember any of this now. It is not affecting her at all. And I can't hold something against her that happened when she was still a child and didn't know any better.

If I do somehow miraculously get this job I am going to have to once again face her every single day. If I don't get this job, well she'll just continue to think that I am a looser. And right now I really do feel like one.

Love this...

Times...they are a changin' !

Does anyone read this blog anymore? Anyone??. If you are that anyone then you deserve a "faithful reader" award. Since January this year my life has undergone some big changes. Things have happened some good, some bad. And so life goes. For the past 5 months I have been relying solely on BlackBerry Internet Service as my ONLY connection to cyberspace. And I have been busy, hence my neglect of this blog I am happy to report that I now have a proper Internet connection...on a computer (well half a laptop really...you should see it, it's hilarious!) which sits on a desk, with a chair in my new house.

Anyway I am still getting settled and have a writing project that needs to be done in a few days, so this is just a little message from me to you to say that I will be back soon.

Thanks for sticking with me ! xxx

Farewell my friend

Dear Auntie Mave,

I would like to congratulate you on conquering your one greatest fears- death.

I'm told that you went like a real lady, I wish I could have been there for you.

For me I feel like the world has lost something unique and a great event that will never happen again has ended.

When someone dies those left behind gather up all the memories they can and hold onto them.

I would like to share my memories:

There were times of stress: You let me sleep on the floor of your tiny one bedroom flat for two months when I had no where to go. There was the day I got so sick I could hardly breath. You spent £12 of your own money (which is a lot for a pensioner) to take a taxi to the doctors. You held my hand all the way there and refused to leave until they had checked every inch of me.

There was the bizarre: Your very FRANK conversations about the 'facts of life' were rather shocking at first!. One thing is for sure you were NEVER afraid to speak your mind. I shall also miss your tendency to burst into song in the middle of a serious conversation or suddenly jump up and do a random dance!

Then there are the fabulous and magical memories which I will always hold very close to my heart: Our nights out at the theatre and shopping sprees. Dinner parties for two (where you tended to drink a shocking amount wine). I will treasure all those talks we had deep into the night. I was glad to have found a kindred night owl in you...someone to go to bed with at 5am and sleep until 2pm.

Despite your eternal outspokeness your heart was still an ocean of secrets that I always hoped you would one day make peace with. When I think of you I think of that poem by Robert Frost, "The road less travelled".

You knew me during the one happiest periods of my life. You made London come alive for me, fill of vibrant colours and magic. Every street corner had a story.

I must confess that I feel very alone knowing you are no longer part of this world. But I am grateful to God for our friendship and our time together. I will walk with your love in my heart, your wisdom in my hands and your grace in my step for the rest of my life.

Thank you for always being you (without fail!), for your friendship and for loving me so unconditionally with all your heart.

I shall now go out and get myself a fabulous pair of red heels in honour of you!

All my love Auntie Mave,

Stephanie

Mavis Winifred Knoesen
1932 - 2012

A Magical Friendship Fairy Tale…

I follow many blogs. Some are informational, some are funny, some fascinating, some are downright controversial...I like those the best :) As a result I come across many amazing and unbelievable stories. I am so thankful that I live in a world where technology allows me discover things about people and the world that I might have not known had I lived in another time.

Once in a while I come across a story so incredible that I spend days thinking about it. I have been spending a tranquil day at my sister's flat with her, my Mom and her house mate. During the course of the afternoon, my sister read us a post from a blog written by a twenty- six year old South African girl who has just been re-diagnosed with leukaemia for the third time. It doesn't take a smart person to figure out signs of battling this disease for a third time are not good. What makes this story all the more tragic is that she is the last surviving child of her parents. Her brother went missing a few years ago and her sister died during operation.

I admire this girl- her name is Lucille- not just for her bravery but because of her honesty. Having been a victim of a rather serious physical illness myself I remember the enormous pressure I felt to always be optimistic. To never show I was in pain or afraid because I feared hurting the people I loved. Lucille is full of hope, Lucille is brave and a beautiful person. But she knows that things are not okay, she is afraid and angry that life has dealt her and family this brutal card. She uses her blog write all of these feelings down and to express her love for her loved ones. She is not afraid to talk about what everyone is trying not talk about: the inevitable. There is a good chance she will die.

I encourage to read the blog of this beautiful girl, who's wisdom, bravery and honesty amaze. We all have problems both big and small, but once in a while I believe that we all need to be reminded to be thankful for what we've got and it is not the end of the world. I am including a post that was written straight from her heart to a friend she meet on Twitter.

Be blessed Lucille xoxo:

A Magical Friendship Fairy Tale…

by lessmoaningmoreliving

Once upon a time in land far, far away..
Okay no, this is the tale of a story that happened, is happening right under my nose every single day.
I used to think that friendship starts with a smile…
Reaching for the same crayon…
Being on the same sports team…
Listening to the same music…
Lifting as heavy as the other guy…
But this friendship started in an odd way, by a follow:

I followed right back, of course, he’s a CT Runner… ((again, 2 of my favourite things))
We never said anything to each other, other than a few random retweets and “Good Luck”‘s and of course I read every tweet of his about his running journeys in the beautiful city of Cape Town.  It wasn’t until December last year when we both expressed our absolute dislike of broadcast messages on bbm and how that guarantees a straight delete that I decided that I could sure as pie get along with someone like that… This is the beginning, after the beginning of this tale…

Matty,

It was right before Christmas 2011, while out at an end of year function where you were drinking too much, uhm, let’s call it awesome juice… and your typing absolutely sucked (keeping it real), but even though it looked something like this “candrjoja ojdjroejodkj kdj” I still made out every word and answered you like it was no big deal.  I’m an expert in slurred typing :/ lol.  It got to a point where you could see you made no sense, and you quoted me this:

“Me Tarzan, You Jane”

and that was it – that moment right there, that was the moment this friendship began.
I just remember us getting along really great, talking about running and awesome things like the beach and Cape Town and I thought you were absolutely great, and weird and a little bit insane – but you laughed at my lame jokes and that has been absolutely priceless to me.

Me Tarzan, You Jane

You were even goofy, yep said it, enough to watch Tarzan “with” me, although we’re 1405,3 km’s apart – made my soul happy that you’d do something so silly for me.
On Thursday, 19 January I was rediagnosed with Leukemia.
On that day I felt like my entire world fell apart, that everything I was trying to achieve and build up to was never going to happen.
Matt, you were one of the first people who I told the news to – which is insane, because I have obvious trouble dealing with real things.  I would much rather make jokes and be lighthearted than admit I’m falling apart, but with you it was okay to have this severe experience of being human…
I remember the first words you said to me after I gave you the news was this: “It’s ok Lu, it’s ok” and then you sent me the link to this song

The words in this song that struck me the most was

It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay.Seasons are changingAnd waves are crashingAnd stars are falling all for usDays grow longer and nights grow shorterI can show you I’ll be the one

I will never let you fall (let you fall)
I’ll stand up with you forever
I’ll be there for you through it all (through it all)
Even if saving you sends me to heaven

Matty, you haven’t let me fall.  Not once.  No matter how tough treatment got, no matter what news I shared with you, you always responded with the same “It’s ok Lu, it’s ok”.  Somehow we have this insane connection – I remember a few days after treatment started, as I was having one of my just past 1am nausea attacks, without saying anything to you ~ you sent me a message telling me that everything will be okay. Ha! Coincidence? Maybe.  But this wasn’t the only time it happened, it has happened throughout.  When the rest of the world was telling me to get up, be strong and fight, you told me that it was okay to be weak for a bit.

Never leaves my side 

Matty, today was one of those hard days – one of those not so strong days.  Today I felt my body start to give in, piece by piece.  Gosh a few times during the night I wished, hoped to just be rid of the feeling.  I’m ashamed to say, I wanted it all to be over.  I was ready to let go of life, but I kept strong, I held on, because  “It’s ok Lu, it’s ok”.  Earlier when I woke up and read your messages, I got these flashbacks from the day we met… I never told you, but hugging you for the first time wasn’t weird or awkward at all – it felt like hugging an old friend again.  You made me laugh and smile and even that night when I wasn’t feeling well you told me “It’s ok Lu, it’s ok” and you took my hand and just held me.  Magical moments, memories that keep me strong.  You went running for us tonight Matt, for your legs and my heart and you took me beautiful pictures of the scenery of my, our Cape Town.  I’m good with words, but the feelings spilling over my cheeks as the tears leave my eyes is the best way to describe how I feel about this gesture.  It felt like I was right there with you, only in my mind we’re running that route but sweating heavily and smiling, not crying.

There are no guarantees in life, but Matty, you’ve made me see that it doesn’t matter how many times my stupid pride tries to push you away – you’ll stay.
Thank you for being a shoulder I can soak with my tears, thank you for fighting away my fears.  Thank you for making me smile, no matter how much life gets me down.  Thank you for making me live this magical friendship fairy tale every day!!
Sometimes a hero isn’t the person who will run into burning buildings or shield you from danger – sometimes a hero is the person who will stand beside you, hold your hand and whisper quietly“It’s ok Lu, it’s ok” .  Matty, you’re my hero.
If I can’t hold on long enough to be your friend always, I need to say to you:
It’s okay Matty, it’s okay…
You know…

http://lessmoaningmoreliving.wordpress.com/

5 years

5 years

This is an obituary for Stephanie Gwen. She was born in America but grew up in South Africa. She loved nature and dogs. She wanted to have a dog farm when she grew up to give a home to all the abandoned and unwanted dogs in the world. Her favorite food was chocolate. She believed in God and felt guilty because pleasing him seemed impossible. She loved the theatre more than anything else. Her favorite plays were Phantom of the Opera and Oliver! Andrew Lloyd Webber was her hero. Her greatest dream was to act in his musicals. Unfortunately although she held the heart and talent for acting she couldn’t sing or dance very well so being in a Lloyd Webber musical was out of the question. Stephanie grew up in a beautiful small town right underneath a magnificent mountain range. She dreamed of seeing the world, seeing all wonders that were in books and on TV. Stephanie was in awe of the splendor of the world she lived in, of the sky at dawn and at dusk, of the ocean and trees and the stars. She was so happy and grateful to be alive in such a world and would find pleasure in the smallest thing. She had a gift of inner peace that helped her to hope for a better future no matter what heartache and chaos surrounded her. When she was 21 years old one of her greatest desires came true when she moved to London. There she had to work very hard to survive but she had never been so happy in her life. She made many friends and had even more adventures. After and year and a half she left England to get to know America…the land she was born in.

5 years ago I was born….Stephi. It was 5 years ago this week that I had my break down in America. 5 years ago I was put onto antidepressants and have been on them ever since. At 02:50 am on the 14 March 2007 I woke up and found that the girl that I had been all my life had died and there was a new person in her place. Everything that I believed in was gone. There was no God. The world no longer held any splendor for me, I forgot all my dreams. The dreamy, loving girl, always full of hope was replaced with an angry, cynical cold hearted woman. It was like something had sucked the life out of me and left me hollow. Ever since then the world has became devoid of colour and totally joyless. Happiness became and impossible distant memory. The antidepressants saved my life but they have dulled my heart to the point that I am unfeeling of any kind of emotion.

But despite my cold, unfeeling heart I miss Stephi, the girl I once was. So every year during this week in March I celebrate her life. I light a candle next to the last picture that was taken of me before my breakdown. The difference between that picture and pictures taken of me after my breakdown is visible. This year I am living in temporary accommodation and all my stuff, including that photograph is in storage. So I have used a silver ring that I bought in England and some earrings that my friend gave as a memento of my former self.

As I always believe in looking for hidden blessings even in the most awful circumstances, I also use this time to remember the blessings that came out of that period of my life. I met one of the best friends I ever had, a girl who had known me for two months before I had my breakdown. She should have been really freaked out by what she was seeing and run for the hills. But she stayed and helped me get well. She saved my life, I don’t know what would have happened if I hadn’t had her there.

And of course the other blessing would be that I am alive, I made it through. I thought that week in 2007 would be my last. I was sure I would never see my family in South Africa again. I was losing myself, dancing along the edge of insanity and I wandered when the moment would come when I would cross the point of no return. But yet five years later here I am. I can’t say my life has gotten any better it has been so hard. I have had to mourn and get to know myself again. But at least I have dreams. Whether or not they come true is irrelevant. I want a better life.

So this is in memory of Stephanie Gwen and acknowledging Stephi and the road that I am still travelling.

For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all – 2 Corinthians 4:17

To the inventor of waterproof mascara......

You have my sincerest thanks. I haven't cried as much as I have in the last few days since I was a baby. Waterproof mascara has come in real handy. I had no idea what a life line those Saturday meetings with my counsellor were until they were gone. I feel so lost and alone...like a protective shield that I had no idea surrounded me has just disappeared and it's left me broken and wounded in a dark wilderness. I have had to take a sick note for my last exam. Studying was just out of the question. I cried so much when I finally plucked up the courage to e-mail my counsellor to tell her I wasn't coming back, that I couldn't see the screen. I told her that I wished I had faith like she did but I didn't, I said it would take years to forgive my Dad and that I couldn't wait until I was "desperate to get rid" of my binge eating before I did something about it. She replied and said she completely understood, that her way was not my way and that we must all find our own path.


The only thing that has made things awkward now and a bit unbearable for me is my Mom's anger at this woman for not running after me and rather just accepting my decision. This was the woman who we thought would undoubtedly get me well, she was going to work miracles, it had sounded like she was my last resort. My Mom and I had an argument where I told her I was an adult with the right to make my own decisions. She literately screamed at me, "But it's the wrong decision!". I told her it's still my decision.

My Mom doesn't realise that I am so sad right now and so desperate for comfort that there are times that I just want to run to my counsellor tell her I'll believe anything she wants me to believe and do anything she wants me to do, even if it isn't right for me. But I know in my heart that I have made the right decision: I don't believe in God the way she does, I can't forgive the "unforgivable" at the snap of a finger. Therefore I had stopped making progress with her and my counselling began to resemble how I have lived most of my life: in a stalemate.

I have given myself two weeks to get over this. Two weeks to throw tantrums, feel suicidal, be angry, cry my eyes and then...start over. I am at a bit of a loss of what I am going to do. I found a clinic that will be able to help with the binge eating that is slowly killing me. But I have no money to go there. Even going to another psychologist will be a problem...again no money. I can't go to just any psychologist, I need to see one that specialises in eating disorders. My godfather cannot help me this time and the State will only help those that are starving (which is only natural since this is an African country). I will not see another church counsellor again. I have found a support group in the city for people with binge eating disorders. That is the best I can do for now.

All good things must come to an end...

Whatever patient, perseverant soul(s) are still reading this blog I salute you! This period of my life has not been the best for blogging. I started a full time job three months ago that just happened to be in a performance orientated company that I soon found out was very “trigger” happy. I hadn’t been there long before I starting hearing tales of our “fallen comrades” i.e. employees that were fired for something as simple as not sending enough e-mails OR (and this really takes the cake) supervisors/ managers that were given the chop because “they hadn’t fired enough people themselves”. Hmmmm…did I mention that this company is American? So I had been given the subtle message that- even though I was temp covering maternity leave- if I didn’t give 110% I would be given my walking papers. What was worse, and this really scared the shit out of me, if I messed up this woman’s job…she could get fired, even though she did nothing wrong! Did I mention she has six kids? Yep there was A LOT at stake. I’m pretty sure some laws are being broken here…but who ever dares to take on a monstrous American corporation?


So this coupled with the fact that I am still studying full time and have been writing exams ( two of which I am pretty sure I failed) I have not had much time for anything except eating and sleeping…and a spot of T.V if I am lucky!!. I hate to say this…but red wine and chocolate have become my best friends. I can’t exactly say it’s been a social pleasure working for this company.

I have lost two big features in my life these past three months, the first was my relationship with my sister (or rather the final realization on my part that the only way we would not kill each other is if we lived several hundred kilometers apart and didn’t speak at all…except on Christmas and birthdays…or if someone died) and the second, has hit me hard. My church counselor finally realized that she can no longer help me.

Years ago, I was talking with my friend’s husband about getting her to see a counselor. I suggested going to see a church counselor, since it was free and the husband said something that really rang true. Church counselors can only help you if you meet a certain criteria. At the very least you should be a believer…you don’t have to be a very good one…but you must believe in God. Second you need to be able to forgive…a lot of people will struggle for years with this but a GOOD counselor like mine, will be willing to stick with you….so long as you believe. Third, you need to agree with and do pretty much everything they tell you to. As I struggled with all three of the above, I knew that my counseling was doomed with these people from the very start. But I hoped that “maybe this time” it would work. I was at the edge with a knife in my hand, planning on ending it all, so I would have taken any helping hand that had been offered to me.

During my twenty –eight years on this earth I have been to so many psychologists, psychiatrists and counselors that I can’t remember them all. The one that helped me the most was a black psychologist ( pretty amazing as apartheid was still rife in South Africa) named Mandisa who saw me from when I was eight until I was ten. I also had reasons to believe that the church counselor I had now would be different: She has known my family and I since I was seven years old. She has done that most amazing work with people from Rape Crisis and victims of child abuse. The list of lives she has changed is endless. She told me when I first started that she had been waiting for me for years and that she wanted to make me her project. When I tried to run away she would come and find me. Who wouldn’t have been given a little bit of hope?

It started out with me, her and an elderly gentleman. Every Saturday at 3pm, I would arrive on her doorstep. She would give me a big mother hen huge followed by tea and biscuits and I would sit on her couch, her cat Joey purring in my lap and recount the horrors of my life. Then they would pray for me. Sometimes they tried to do deliverance – I’m not sure this ever worked (seriously, imagine someone yelling out you: “Spirit of illness, I COMMAND you to come out!!!!. And then feeling really guilty because nothing was er, “coming out”). No matter what they did the issue was that I didn’t completely believe in God. I remember them asking me each week, “Do you still not believe in God”. They didn’t seem to realize it wasn’t like a dress that I could change, it was more like a cancer invading my system that I couldn’t rid of.

When I came in one day the elderly gentleman was not there and I was told it was just going to be me and her. So for the rest of the year I spread myself at her feet like strawberry jam, she was the first person that I fully told about my abuse and my binge eating. I told her things that I had never told anyone before and she listened and prayed. Some major hurdles where accomplished with her- she confronted my mother head on about my abuse and her part in it. Because of that my mother started to understand me in a way that she never had before.

About three month ago I began to feel guilty…I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being selfish and was wasting her time. The revelations that I had made were now sounding like nothing but repeated complaints and whining. I hate to admit it but we had stopped making progress. Here was a woman who worked 80 hours a week and had women- most of whom had suffered the mostly dreadful atrocities- lining up at her door desperate for help…and I was just sitting on her couch complaining?!. Several times I was tempted to e-mail her and just tell her it was over but didn’t because I wanted to stay with her…sometimes I felt like she was my only friend in the world and I would miss her terribly.

The deal breaker was that no matter how hard I tried, I could never believe in God the way she did and it will take years to forgive my Dad for what he did to me. Not only that, she was way over her head with my binge- eating. It’s an addiction that I have lived with for most of my life that I actually don’t know how to live without it. It seems to make up so much of who I am that I don’t even want to get rid of it.

I fessed up to all of this on her couch last Saturday. Our meetings had become almost awkward because my guilt was always hanging in the air. She didn’t agree with me at first. But upon further retrospect she finally agreed. She e-mailed me last Monday morning to say that we had reached a stalemate and we needed to take a break. For me it was so heartbreaking but I realized that I had reached the limit with her and that she could no longer help me.

The unfortunate part of this is that my mother has been so devastated that yet another helping hand is going to disappear in the Stephi- void that she reacted with anger. This sadly has made the situation very tense with my counselor and it will probably be a while before we will be able to speak again.

I am trying to see this differently…my latest counselor is not someone who has bitten the dust but rather someone, like the rest of the people I have met on my path, has helped me and carried me closer to recovery.

At the same time I can’t get rid of the awful sense of failure…why is it that after SO many counselors, psychologists and psychiatrists that I can’t seem to get well? What is wrong with me that I can’t let my past go, forgive and live the life I was meant to live. For me failure also brings loneliness, the old enemy of rejection has reared its head again and I do feel so alone right now.

I will never be going back to her. From now on whenever we meet it will be as friends, I hope. I am thankful for everything she has given and for everything I have learnt. Writing this post has really helped. I haven’t spoken to her since she sent that e-mail but I now know what I want to say to her.

On to the next….

Tasteless

Of all the offices in South Africa I HAD to land up in one with a moron. Yep, if they found this post I would probably get fired because that moron unfortunately......is my boss. This week he played the most bizarre albeit rather disturbing and tasteless prank on me and quite frankly I am still trying to figure this out.

On Monday morning he came into the office with a story that on Sunday night he had had a guy arrested for peeing on his lawn. It was then discovered by the police that this man was in living in a car....with a baby. This first bit of information immediately raised red flags for me. I was then rather horrified when my boss told me that they put this guy and this baby in the back of a police van (in South Africa, police vans are trucks with the backs converted into cages for the criminals to sit in) and took them to the police station and placed both this man and the baby INTO AN ALL MALE CELL. Nice.

I was having trouble believing that this was even possible- where were child protective services?. Boss said apparently they had decided that the best place for this child was with this man so he could take care of her. IN A MALE CELL???. He showed me a picture of a man holding a rather distressed looking baby and that just made it worse for me. It's one thing if you just hear about something happening. Actually seeing it makes it more real. He told me not to worry but for two days I could think of nothing else. What were they feeding this child? Was she being bathed? Where was she sleeping? Where were they getting diapers?. It seemed so unreal. And it didn't help that my boss seemed to find the whole thing very funny- he actually said the kid was bound to land up in jail anyway so she might as well start early. I was disgusted.

Eventually on Wednesday this week, hearing that this kid was still in jail, I couldn't take it any longer. I was ashamed that I had not done something sooner. I picked up the phone and phoned my counsellor who worked for an organisation for abused children. She had all kinds of connections and even knew a judge. She was equally horrified and we started working on a plan to get this child out. This all happened in the office. When my boss heard that I was phoning for help, he stuck his head in the door and told me (in between bloody giggles) that he had been pulling my leg for the last two days.

At first I was in shock. Then I started laughing- not because I thought it was funny more because I just didn't know what else to do. My counsellor laughed with me. But once I got off the phone with her and sat down to think it hit me: For two days I had been going out of my mind with worry....it was all I thought about, my traitorous imagination threw up all sorts of images of what could be happening to this child in a male jail cell. My anxiety disorder began living up to it's name again. I felt sick, helpless, I couldn't concentrate. At the same time I felt both disgusted and foolish because no one else seemed to care. Finding out it was a hoax was infuriating!. Once he let the cat out the bag everyone else in the office was quick to make it clear that they had no knowledge that it was a joke. Our regional manager wasn't exactly pissed off about it but didn't seem to pleased about it either and made my boss apologise to me. I can't say that made it much better...he wasn't exactly sincere.

 I don't blame you for thinking I am going overboard, you may be right. But seriously what sane, supposedly stable person can joke about something like that? Because of my past and what I have gone through with Little B and her sisters, if I ever hear that there is a child in danger or in need it hurts and I will do something about it. I feel hurt that my boss exploited such a sensitive part of me. I was considering quitting- the lady whose maternity leave I am covering seems to want to come back early to escape her house. Not to mention I have made two big mistakes this week that has cost the company money. I then realised that that was a really childish thing to do and I would be shooting myself in the foot- I need the money. At the end of my life this company and it's employees will feature very little. So I am staying and keeping my distance from this idiot. Have you ever had a horrible prank played on you that did some emotional harm. Please let me know I am not alone!!.

On the beach...

My life is like stroll on the beach...as near to the edge as I can go

- Thoreau


I dropped a tear in the ocean, and whenever they find it I'll stop loving you, only then.

- Anonymous

Life in a noodle

These days I have bee less inclined to write. Other than the fact that work is hectic and I have university assignments coming out of my ears, I still have plenty to say but I just can't put it to paper.

In the past few weeks I have been facing my past more than I ever have in my entire life. Particulary that of my abuse as a child. And it has been ugly. I have been feeling dirty and gross. I wish I could just zip down my skin and leave my soiled body behind. I also feel selfish for what I am putting the people around me through. Hearing about someone's abusive past is so truamatic, especially when it's some one you love.



A few days before my birthday last month, in a moment of extreme rage, I told my sister about the time my dad had tried to strangle me. She was trying to defend him and I just saw red. Her reaction was of pure disgust. She refused to believe me. Until my Mom told her it was true. I didn't hear from her for a week. I wrote her an e-mail pouring my heart out about my past but sparing her the gory details. I spent the entire week racked with guilt that I had put such a heavy burden onto her. I had to admit though, I was a bit perplexed- she grew up in the same house as me, was she really that blind? Maybe she just blocked it out.

She never responded to my e-mail and I didn't see her until she suddenly showed up on my birthday. She was nice to me but I knew there was more to come. She seemed to be biding her time. Eventually yesterday I sent her a message to tell her that I was considering my counsellor's suggestion that I stay in a safe house so that I can be apart from my family and have space to work on my issues. The only part of her reply that I saw before she deleted me off Blackberry messenger was "I have given you enough time to sort out your issues". I have know idea what she was going to say, but since she has now cut contact with me I am assuming she is severing ties.

I can't say it really hurts. We have never been close. I feel more disappointed that she does not believe me or at the very least, thinks I am making a big deal out of "nothing". I also feel a weird sort of pity for her: she is so despetrate to hold onto an ideal of what life should be like she not really living life and she is miserable.

Well, when you come out with something as explosive as I have you can't expect to win friends and influence people. But I have a dream that one day I will be free of this and I will be happy.

But I have such a long road ahead of me...

Dear Dad,

I will not always struggle
I will not always have to fight for everthing I want
I will always land on my feet
I'm not always going to be fat
I'm going to be successful
I am not going to be alone
I will complete my degree next
I am not always going to suffer
I am going to be whatever I choose and be successful at it.

If you are in a position of authority over someone, especially a child, always be aware of the power of the tounge. No matter how good your intentions or how desperate you are ,beware that what you say can change the course of someone's life.

I'm Back! - The reason I disappeared

So I privatised my blog for two weeks. I needed to get rid of someone and basically correct a massive oversight on my part, regarding a post I wrote over a year ago. I have always believed that honesty is the best policy so I will be laying bare exactly what happened. It started with  a comment that I received on a post about the TRE exercises. Unfortunately when I deleted the post, the comment went with it otherwise I would have put it in this post. The comment was from Dr Melanie Salmon, the National TRE co-ordinator for Africa. She titled the comment with STEPHI and FELLOW BLOGGERS BEWARE! and then proceeded to write that the TRE exercises should only be considered several weeks in therapy and with the approval of a doctor. She continued to say that TRE should not be done by people with "certain conditions" (she didn't specify what). She went on to say that TRE should ONLY be practiced with a qualified TRE pactitioner and the patient should only be allowed to do the TRE exercises on their own after several sessions. The reason for this she said that TRE could produce some reactions that could alarm a person if they were not in a controlled environment. She then went on (and on...) about the TRE exercise material being under strict copyright and basically said that I was risking being sued.

I published this comment because I thought that if what she was saying was true people who had read this post needed to know. I wasted half a day at work where I did a massive google search trying find any possible dangers of TRE. I found none. The day after this message was posted I was rather alarmed when I received a call from my psychologist. I couldn't answer because I was at work. In her voice message she asked me to call her back urgently about the "TRE training". This is where I became furious because I realised that this Dr Salmon had traced my identity and was in contact with my psychologist about my blog post. I immediately deleted the post. I realised that this woman had been reading my blog extensively (judging by the amount of information she had on me) and since she was knew who I really was, I privatised this blog to rid of her and her employees. I then got HER e-mail address, copied my Dad on it (since his legal knowledge is boundless) and sent her the nice e-mail below: Dear Dr. Salmon, I am the person who posted the step-by-step instructions on my blog. Thank -you for the information you gave me. I want you to know that I have deleted that post and will be making my blog private. I will also do a post about the possible dangers of the TRE exercises. I do apologise for my irresponsibility but the post was written nearly a year ago during an extremely emotionally difficult and traumatizing time and I admit I was none the wiser to the copyright restrictions. I thought since stuff like yoga and relaxation exercises etc are available every where on the net. I must tell you am very upset and disturbed not only because my privacy was violated by you tracking down my identity through my psychologist ( I would have deleted that post regardless) but also because I was not, at any time warned about the dangers of TRE when I was taught the exercises. Had I known that TRE could be harmful I would never have posted it on my blog, I would have questioned twice about doing the exercises myself and I would not have done these exercises with my six- year old cousin. My psychologist (who by the way was an excellent practitioner) has been in contact with me and says she should have been more explicit. However I don't feel that it is her fault. It is the responsibility of whoever trained her to make her aware of the dangers of doing TRE without supervision and how to inform potential clients. As you are the National TRE co- ordinator I would think that would be your responsibility. It seems that you are more worried about the copyright. Patients should be given more information and be WELL informed before they start of what they can experience with TRE and what they can and cannot do with the information. I question twice about this information being available to the mass on DVD's. Sincerely And the Dr Salmon herself sent be an equally lovely reply: Dear Stephanie Thank you for your email and for removing the step-by-step Trauma Release Exercise instructions from your blog. Just to let you know that I did not track your identity through your psychologist. My Admin Manager did a Google search on 'Trauma Release Exercises' and came across your very public blog. On your web site your refer to Dr Shaw and therefore it was obvious as to whom you had done TRE with, as all our Practitioners are well known to us. All our Trainees go through extensive training, which includes potential problems that can arise from doing TRE with or without a Practitioner. Our Practitioners are trained as to what they should do should a problem arise during a session with a client. Clients should be seen through several appointments before they are given the exercises to do on their own. The reasoning behind this is to ensure that the Client has reached a safe place with TRE and that they will be able to tremor on their own without a major problem arising. This is basic Level 1 Training, which all our Trainees receive, without fail. Berceli TRE Booklet, which you probably received from your Psychologist in order to do the exercises at home. Secondly the reason our Admin Manager does regular searches on the world wide web is because our main concern is that TRE is practiced by Trained Practitioners in a safe and responsible manner. With regards to the DVD - you will note that if you go to our web page www.onevisionafrica.com that we in South Africa do not make the TRE DVD available to our Community and neither are step-by-step instructions posted there either. Yours Sincerely Dr. Melanie Salmon   It may be pretty clear what I think of Dr Salmon and how she handled this situation both professionally and ethically. But I will keep that to myself. But just to make things clear....I NEVER received any booklet when I started my TRE sessions. I was actually my psychologist's case study while she was training to become a TRE practitioner. I had had several sessions with her and we had gone quite far into my history and medical problems before I started the TRE training. I do believe that the TRE training is not as water tight as Dr Salmon thinks it is. But for my part...it was thoughtless and irresponsible of me to post the step by step instructions on this blog. I can say that I had no knowledge of TRE causing adverse reactions. I had found something really great and I wanted to share it. It is very upseting that my actions could have caused someone harm.  For that I am truly sorry. When I posted this a year ago I did have some knowledge of plagiarism and  how a copyright works, but in my rather naive mind I thought that since clear instructions of yoga, Pilate's, diets, any exercise etc. is freely available anywhere, I thought that TRE is was no different. As there is nothing on the internet or any of the TRE dvd's and books as to what dangers involve TRE I will leave it up to the reader as to whether this is a marketing ploy just to buy the material. I have personally found the benefits to TRE HUGE!!. And yes, I still do them at home...by myself. If you are interested in TRE then please go to Dr. Berceli's website where this is a list of TRE practitioners around the world. Do as much research as you can on TRE and consult your GP before you start. Lastly I would like to advise Dr. Salmon to go after the several youtube users who have videos on how to do the TRE exercises.

I am privatising this blog

For two weeks. E-mail me at myhopefortheflowers@gmail.com if you would like to read.