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….

7/7

On July 7th, 2005 I left my flat in Southfeilds, in the south of London and took the tube to my work in Kensignton. It was a typical day, with me wishing that it was weekend because as usual I had gone to bed so late the night before. I had been living in England for just over a year and was loving it. I used to work to walk quite often, mostly because I loved being out in central London so much. But it took me two hours to get to work that way and owing to the fact that I was exhausted that morning I took the train a little late.

I can't remember much about that morning but when I look back now I remember feeling rather unsettled sitting at my desk and not knowing why. It was so quite. Too quite. An hour and a half after I arrived the phone rang and it was one of the psychotherapists at the practice where I worked asking to speak to my boss. "Have you heard whats happened?" he asked. I had no idea. "There are bombs going off on the Underground" he said casually...so casually that I actually thought he was joking. He actually starting laughing and then told me to tell my boss that they were shutting down central London and he was not able to get in so he was going to start walking home. I sat at my desk shell shocked after that call not sure what to do, still not quite believing what I had heard.

The phone rang about three minutes later, just has I had noticed I had 6 text messages on my cellphone. It was my grandmother's cousin who lived in Wimbledon, frantic wanting to know if I was alright. She told me that three bombs had exploded on three different Underground trains, one of them was on the train line where I worked. Knowing my Mom would freak out as soon as she heard the news I asked her to phone my parents in South Africa and let them know I was alright. The rest of day was spent frantically trying to contact friends around the city, which was difficult as they had shut down the cellular network in central London. All public transport was suspended and later that day there was a sight most likely never to be seen again. Millions of people walking the streets to get home. By the time my boss let me go home the streets were empty and deathly silent- there were no cars or people. I knew the way home from walking to and fro to work but was I terrified walking that night. I eventually got home at 10pm to three relieved housemates.

Terrorism to me was something that seemed to only be exclusively on T.V. It never seemed to be real, something that always happened in a country worlds away. I had watched as an 18- year old in numb disbelief as those planes had hit the Twin Towers could not comprehend how a person could actually do that.  For the first time that day, the monster that had been trapped in a television set touched my life and became very, very real. The real weapon that terrorism uses is fear, panic and confusion that normally hits in it's aftermath making the world angrier and more dangerous.

Today is the 7th anniversary of the London bombings. Seven years ago today four very misguided young men stepped onto London's public transport, which services over a million people a day, and took their lives and those of 52 other people when they detonated explosives strapped to their bodies. 700 hundred more people were injured. In the days that followed a shadow was cast over the country. It was almost like a sort of universal trust had been broken. In time everyone recovered from their shock and anger. But things were never the same again.

I have often found it odd, especially since deciding to follow God again, how people can commit the most horrible atrocities against mankind all in the name of something that in my opinion that is all about love. I personally feel that God is all about life. He speaks life onto us. His command is love. Yet somehow people use God to kill and control other people. They project their own selfish desires onto God and make it all about Him when it's actually all about them.

From what I know about Islam it has to be one of the most peaceful and honorable religions out there. Some of the greatest people I have ever known have been Muslim. We once had a Islamic landlord who let my family stay rent- free in our house for months after my Dad had his heart attack and my mother became unemployed because his way of honoring his God was to shelter us. Because of a handful of extremists shame has been cast onto millions of other peaceful Muslims.

Like I said before, terrorism's greatest weapon is fear. Fear does terrible things to people and is even more dangerous when it affects people on a mass scale. One of the characters in Starwars said that fear eventually leads to hatred. An emotional cancer. This is so true, I think most of you will agree with me that 9/11 changed the world and we are now more afraid and more angry. It has taken away a piece of our freedom. Some of us will never be able to fly without the niggling feeling of, "Will I make it?". Some of us now insist upon living behind ridiculously high wall for protection. People are afraid to go outside because of "What if?. I know plenty of people that will not completely trust someone because they are

What can we do to change this? I have no idea except for the way that I reacted after the London bombings. The day after, I got back on the tube and went to work. I was one just six people in that carriage. Normally it's packed. We had to stop in the middle of a tunnel for five minutes which got me a little unnerved and I asked a guy sitting further away if I could sit with him, eventually all six of us were sitting together. I can't exactly say it was the most pleasant journey of my life. But I made it to work that morning, one of the very few people in London that did. The second time I got on the train it was easier and the third time...

So my answer would be learn from the experience, never forget but to move on. Yes those people have got us afraid but don't give in to it or you will be doing exactly want they want you to do. Don't be prejudiced and distrustful toward someone because they are part of a religion that happens to have a few extremists. Don't listen to the "What ifs". Don't hide behind walls. You don't have to change the world but you can make a difference to your small corner. That is the only way to win this war. That way your children will not inherit a world of hatred .

RIP 07/07/2005

 



From the dark side: The end...a stir fry

Today is Father's day, I always struggle with Father's day mostly because of the past I have with my Dad. I thought maybe I would just sleep through the whole day until I was literally guilted out of my bed, forced to come downstairs and put on a smile. Since about 14:30 this afternoon my sister's voice, blaring as she bosses us around has had the same effect on me as nails on a chalkboard.

The reason I have been writing this all this about my grandmother is because this week we finally put her in a home. Granted she really should already been in a home years ago but my Mom just couldn't let go. Up until just recently my Mom was the centre of my grandmother's universe and she couldn't stand to be away from her. My mother believed that once my grandmother stopped responding to her love that then it would be time to let go. I think that my Mom carries a lot of guilt because it was that idea that led to disaster with my grandmother breaking her hip and her final decline into complete insanity. This led to a year of hell for our family that caused a breakdown of our relationships, isolation, depression and a whole lot of anger for all of us. If my grandmother was herself she would be horrified at all that happened.

Now for what I see as a true tragedy: My grandmother was raised to believe that her most important place was within the family. She may never have had a career, but she worked twice as hard for her family. She came from a wealthy farming family but received nothing except a small settlement in her parents will...all because she was a girl and her husband was meant to take care of her.

My grandfather died penniless in a home (which was paid for by his brother) when I was 19. Standing over him in the final hours of his life, I felt nothing more than pity for him. I was more heartbroken by my Mom begging him to stay so she could spend more time with him. That was so awful. My beloved great- uncle died two months before I left for England. He had suffered a massive stroke the year before his death that left him a total invalid, unable to speak. Our family had raced across the country when that happened. I sat with him in the hospital throughout the night squeezing his hand and stroking his face trying to get my brain accept that my uncle, with his twinkling eyes, larger than life personality and booming voice was the same frail man that lay expressionless in that bed. It was a great day for him when he died. He loved God more than anything else on this earth and longed for the day when he could finally meet his maker.

My great- uncle had made a great success of the farm he inherited and it has now been passed onto his sons, one of which is my godfather. My grandmother's younger brother drank his farm and his money away. He died of cancer when I was 8. So my grandmother is the last one left. The last one from the glory days.

So in other words my poor grandmother is broke and even though she worked so hard. We could not afford to put her in a nice home or one that was even close buy. The home she is in now is very basic but comfortable for the price. But it is two hours away and my mother will only be able to see her once a month. My Mom has lived with my grandmother for most of her life except for her university years and the first 3 years she was married to my Dad.

It has been a mad dash to get my Grandmother ready. You will not believe how much stuff you need to buy to get someone ready for going into an old- age home. The night before she left I was in the kitchen chopping vegetables for a stir fry and I was listening to my Mother talk to my Grandmother about the home, how many friends she would make, how the nurses were going to spoil her and how good the food was. My Mom washed her hair, cut her nails and was rubbing cream on her hands. My grandmother kept thanking her. The stir fry was not quiet working out the way I wanted ( I added to many damn noodles!) and then it hit me. My grandmother has been alive the whole time I have been alive, she was there for everything and I mean everything. Years and years of everything was going to end with a stir fry?. This mostly likely was going to be her last meal with us. This was probably the last supper I would make for her.

We are took my Grandmother to that home for her die. Her road on this earth will end there. And while she may change homes or come for visits, you know what I mean. A page has been turned and we are now facing the final chapter. The landscape of our family will never be the same. And with the stir fry thought came the cold realisation. I will never hear my Grandmother call my name again, she will never make me another cup of tea, her stories have now gone.

I'm still angry as hell but I don't hate her anymore and I don't want to be angry either. But I guess the reason why I am afraid to let go of that anger is because behind all that rage there is a heart wrenching sadness and a tunnel of endless regret. I have racked my brain trying identify those times when we may have had a second chance for a good relationship. Maybe everyday was a second chance, maybe we were never meant to be. The irony is that if my grandmother had not had Alzheimer's we might have been very good friends.

On that last night, after everyone had gone to bed I went into her room to fetch Milo, who for some reason had taken to curling on my Grandmother's bed after she went to sleep. And there she lay tiny and fragile, a ghost of her former self. For some reason I thought about one Christmas when my Mom, sister and I were struggling to drag our potted Christmas tree into the house on a mat. My grandmother pushed us aside, took hold of the mat and dragged the whole thing in by herself quickly and with such apparent ease that all three of us were embarrassed by being shown up by a seventy- something woman. There are a lot of things I want to change about the past but none of that matters now. Saying "I love you" just felt to weird but I whispered to her how sorry I was. She didn't hear me of course. They say that the bitterest tears shed over a grave are for words left unsaid. I took Milo and left.

The next day she was gone, I stood in her room. Her bed was stripped and all her belongings were gone. Photographs of her now seem ancient, moments frozen in time. I am now part of her legacy. I hope and pray that I will learn from her mistakes and live my life well.

If there was one piece of advice I could give everybody...

It would be to value your health. Use it. Take care of it. Thank whatever deity you may believe in for it. Because once it is gone....it's like air- you don't notice how much you need it until you can't breathe. Or your knees...you miss them when they're gone. I hope nothing happens to my knees....

Sadly, this is something that I only realised once my health was taken from me. I sit now, barely able to type because my hands are in bandages due to chronic eczema. BIH and diabetes has robbed my of my youth. I can't have kids because it's too dangerous and nothing works properly anyway. And mental illness has robbed me of...everything.

I remember the days when I could still run and climb trees and when I took no pills. They seem incredibly far away.

So, yes value your health. It is one of life's greatest gifts.

When the pressure cooker explodes



Breakfast at Tiffany's

 Firstly I would really like everyone to take a look at my last post and maybe pass on the message. I would like to see that lovely kitty get a home. If there was a way I could have her shipped to South Africa, I would take her but I know that is impossible.

My half- sister (from my Dad's previous marriage) is in the country and has decided to grace my parents with her presence for two days starting on Easter Sunday. I'm not going to give the gory details other than to say that both my younger sister and I decided several years ago that it would be best if we had no relationship with her. I'm pretty sure she feels the same. We would have left it at that if my mother was not on a eternal quest to bring us together again citing the "forgive and forget" slogan with some pretty disastrous consequences. This woman has treated my mother atrociously in the past and I have to admit finding my Mom's easy forgiveness of her and forgetting all that happened rather disturbing. It's like my Mom is intimidated by her and feels responsible for the rift between her and my Dad which couldn't be farther from the truth.

Anyway enough about that, this week as been stressful enough mostly because of finances, my up coming exams and my grandmother (again a whole other post). And ( Sorry guys! ) it's been that time of the month. I'm on the pill and for the past few months I have been using the pill to stop my monthly "pal" from dropping by. For about eight days around and during my period my antidepressants stop working my anxiety levels shoot through the roof and I become a shouting, screaming, kick- boxing wench and during the rare periods of calm I experience an overwhelming- unable-to-breath sadness. So I have really been using the pill to stop the awful pms-ing.

Well this month I couldn't do that because I didn't have money to get my pill on time. Yesterday I had a counselling session in which we talked a lot about the past, the abuse and how ****ed up my family is, so I was feeling a little emotionally sore. I then had to spend two hours in a hospital waiting room for my grandmother to see the doctor. And of course my grandmother was yelling and talking utter rubbish as she usually does, irritating everyone there. Eventually we were asked to take her outside. During this time I read the story I posted above about the kitty, Precious and it really upset me. So the stage was set for a rather big explosion. And the one who set it off?. My mother.

I have made it clear that I don't want to see my half- sister and have made plans to go and stay with my younger sister when she is here. After seeing the doctor we bundled my grandmother in the car during which my mom told me my half sister would be coming on Sunday. I replied that I would be going to my younger sister. My Mom said then that she had a "simple request". That was the match that lit the dynamite and knowing what she was asking I exploded.

I just started screaming my lungs out!. We were parked in a disabled parking quite close to the hospital entrance and people actually stopped and stared. A group of nurses walking towards us gave the car a wide berth. I was so furious that I kept on shouting all the way to my Aunt's house.

My Mom knows how bad the relationship is between my half- sister and I. What's worse is that I have told her everything that happened but she always forgets and keeps on asking me over and over again. I have given my reasons for not wanting to see  her but she doesn't respect my decision and keeps on nagging and demanding that we become freaking best friends because we are "sisters". Her coming to stay has really been stressing me out this time and my Mom has been more demanding than usual. This all coupled with everything else that was going on yesterday pushed me over the edge.

Today I'm a little worried because that explosion yesterday definitely caused me to take a mental step backwards. I can't describe it, I feel like a switch has flipped and something is different. I was meant to volunteer at the welfare today but this morning I couldn't get out of bed- I had a nightmare about my half- sister  last night. We were all at some big party and I spent the entire time trying to avoid her until eventually she confronted me and was crying and throwing a tantrum. I remember she had awful teeth. Ugh!. I woke up this morning feeling really disturbed and paranoid. I decided I didn't have it in me today to face those awful welfare ladies once again and stayed home. I failed today.

So I have spent most of today in a anxious state of paranoia and feeling angry and hurt at my mother for putting me there. I told my Mom how I was feeling this morning and her response was to pray for me. She's now acting like everything is hunky- dory. She knows that something is terribly wrong unfortunately before she takes action she goes into a state of denial first.

This might make you laugh. The final slap in the face?. My half sister will having a roast lamb dinner with my Mom and Dad. My grandmother's side of the family owns a sheep farm up in the Northern Cape. Every once and a while the send us lamb, very popular in South Africa and Europe and my favorite. They used to send lamb down a lot but after my beloved great uncle died they now only send it down about twice a year. It's way to expensive to buy in the store. We have had this leg of lamb in the freezer and I have literally been waiting with bated breath until we can have a roast lamb dinner. Well guess who is now getting the damn dinner?. Guess who will be sitting in a flat with her sister eating sandwiches?. Uh- huh.

To all my readers in the U.S...

Is anyone willing to give a home to a heartbroken kitty named Precious

The ramblings of a dull, bitchy mind

My hair is getting way to long…ginger curls that are suffocating in the heat and feel heavy. I go through periods of wanting to shave my head to be free of it.


I’ve been told by other red heads that I am lucky I don’t possess the epidemic of freckles that go with being a carrot top….they should see me after a day in the sun.

I had to get up early this morning to care for my elderly grandmother so my parents could go to church. Feed her, put her on the toilet and generally make sure she doesn’t freak out to much. Unfortunately she wet her skirt because I left her to long on the potty and she moved.

Why is it that I can still taste my medication two hours after I have taken them?

The meds have put into a four- year haze

I asked my Mom to bring me a bag of something nice when she got home. She brought me celery and eggplant. Both of which I like, but not exactly what I had in mind. My Mom’s fear of my landing up overweight like my Dad has been ruling my life since I was seven, when it became clear that I had inherited his genes.

I have been battling an eating disorder/ food addiction since I was seven.

I am tired of being raked over the coals by both atheists and Christians. To Christians I committed the ultimate sin: I lost faith and I denied God’s existence. To atheists I did the unthinkable I took my faith, as small as a mustard seed and decided I wanted to know God again. Both feel betrayed.

Sometimes I wonder if I will ever feel normal again.

I just want to be normal again.

Define normal?

Some days it takes me two hours just to get to the point where I can get out of bed. Other days it will take me the same amount of time just to make my bed: I straighten one side stare at it for half an hour then straighten the other side.

I dread every time my sister comes home. She is always a reminder of what I have missed in life and what I am missing. We are not close and never have been.

Does anyone know how to put my banner in the middle? It's driving me crazy...

The realisation that I could loose my cousin is starting to terrify me. He hasn't got his results back yet but fear and imagination are a cruel thing. He's cool with everything. Why don't I know him better?. Regrets.

For university, it took me a whole day to get through half a study unit…which is normally only supposed to take four hours. I guess I can call it a success.

For the love of a bunny

 In rememberance of my two precious furballs whole gave me so much joy in the short time they were mine:                        


                                     

 Basil at 2 weeks old- I thought he was a girl at first and named him Cornflower!

Wabbits in a box: the day I got Buttercup & Basil

My Mom feeding Buttercup some cabbage

                                       

Buttercup always saw Basil as her own personal cushion, here she has her feet propped up on his back. He never seemed to mind though.

Haha...Basil...such a character!

No, I did give my bunnies wine!, I put them on the table to clean their paws. It's amazing that my Mom allowed them to climb all over her furniture.

Buttercup after the labourer brought her back the first time she went missing, she was covered in dirt and oil. I carried her around all day and she just slept.

Buttercup says "Merry Christmas"

The Bible and the Bunny: I was doing some Bible reading (yes I do do that occasionally!) and I accidently took this picture while playing with my phone. Ironically it's the last picture I took of Buttercup and was taken just hours before she dissappered again:(

'Tis the season to be (exhausted, stressed, trapped, MURDEROUS) Jolly

WARNING: For those of you that are having a great holiday season or possess the Christmas spirit with all the warm fuzzy feelings that come with it, this will be an antidote and will most likely put in in a bad mood after reading.

It's the most wonderful time of the year!!, as the song goes. Christmas carols are abound with "Parties for hosting marshmallows for toasting and caroling out in the snow" and then there is the "Chestnuts roasting on an open fire, jack frost nipping at your nose". "All for "kids from one to ninety- two" blah blah , "Deck the halls with bells of FREAKING holly"

Bullshit! For one I live in a place where it isn't even winter at Christmas time- today the mercury reached 45C ( 113 F) in some areas where I live. Instead of playing in the snow, we play in the sand on a beach- if we live near to one. Most houses in South Africa are not built with air- conditioners, they are expensive and considered a luxury. So normally on Christmas day we are seeking a pool instead of a fire.

I could deal with that, I have been dealing with it my whole life. But what drives me bonkers at this time every year is that both fate and my family become almost uncivilised.

There is so much going that is causing us to be less than jolly- I might as well put it in point form. Note: This is a rant post some of the situations going on I can't help but be sarcastic about, but there are others that are truly tragic:

• My writing has gone to pooh, I don't know if it's because I feel uninspired due to serious depression, medication or if I am just burnt out with writer's block.  
• My parents and I are in serious debt- my parents under for the breakdown of their business AND my Dad's foolishness with money. As for me?. Let me just put it this way I was very young...overseas...with a credit card. Go figure.
• Because of the lack of money there will be no presents what so ever this year- even buying stuff for a lavish meal seems wrong  knowing that we owe so many people so much money.
• My grandmother who is in the final stages of Alzheimer's broke her hip nearly four months ago and has required round the clock care ever since then (She lives with us) because of this we have never really had the chance to unpack the huge old house we just moved into. This is just the year that my mother's best friend and her family have decided to come to us for Christmas ( we usually go to them ). So we are now in a massive hurry to fix, clean, unpack and decorate the house before Christmas Eve. Take note...this is all DIY.
• The above is in addition to all the cooking, baking and shopping that needs to be done.

On to the more serious stuff:

• I have just started Amitriptyline and am experiencing three of the side effects badly... dizziness, drowsiness and nausea. Add this to extreme headaches from my BIH and horrible depression- not a good mix.
• As I have said before my grandmother requires full time care. If you were ever present for a loved one in the final stages of Alzheimer's you will know the heartbreak, the horror, exhaustion, anger and frustration that goes with it. She takes up literally every minute of our day, we have to go through hearing her scream, shout and talk ALL the time. She can't form coherent sentences to communicate. She is terrified of being alone, yet when we come to her she doesn't know who we are. She's at home but she doesn't know where she is. She sees things that aren't there. Now and then she has lucid moments where she cries and cries her shame, she calls my mother by her childhood nickname and tells us she loves us. Moments later she will descend into darkness again and begin yelling and screaming.
• My Dad hates my Mom's sister
• My Mom's sister hates my Dad
• But my Mom still wants them to spend Christmas under the same roof...because it is "a time for family"
• My Dad's treatment of me has become worse and worse over the last couple of weeks. He thinks I use my depression as an excuse and the reason I am now suffering BIH is because I "did it to myself". He also has no regard for the fact that my meds have serious side effects. Therefore, like my sister, I get no support from him. His constant bullying and downright meanness are wearing me, down making me bitter. My mission to forgive him of the physical and emotional abuse he inflicted on my older siblings and I in the past, is becoming almost impossible. One thing I will still blog about is the part he had to play in my addiction to food and I can tell you right now it is bad. E.g He saw me in the kitchen just now with something in my mouth. The ssarcasm was literally dripping when he said, "Eating again, are we?" and he was getting ready to launch into a full diatribe with the sole purpose to make me feel like crap when I cut him off short, "No Dad, I'm just taking my meds" and I took a huge gulp of water to swallow the ten tablets I had in my mouth.

All of the above mentioned is happening right now....with Josh Groban's Christmas CD playing in the background. Now you know why I said fate as well as my family can be almost uncivilised this time of year. We are a family of misfortune, but it is funny how some of the worst misfortune will save itself until Christmas. And we are all driving each other crazy!.

As depressing as this may sound the perfect Christmas for me would be to be holed up in a deserted house (my sister's flat in Cape Town is the only possibility) with a bag of Quality Street , a take away and a few Christmas DVDs and spend Christmas all by myself with the space and freedom to reminisce on the good and the bad, to cry and to sleep.

I am praying to God to help us, help me through this time. I am praying for strength to be there for people in my family that need me and to take care of myself at the same time. Tonight my mother and I are putting together a shopping list of food we need to buy. Tomorrow I start my marathon of baking as well as trying to turn the dinning room from a storeroom back into a dinning room again. I used to be the biggest Christmas spirit of all time I pray that in all this I will find it again :).

Something to be angry about

As a citizen of the African continent I refuse to accept this: Report contains violent images

Things...they are not too good

So I wanted to make a post on Friday...and then Friday turned into Saturday. Saturday somehow became Monday and I have been wandering around the house for most of today wondering what to write. I know there is a post in there somewhere but I am not sure how to write this.

For as long as I can remember the closer Christmas draws, bad news whatever it may be will find me. I have to be very delicate in sharing this as I do not  want any ill- favor to fall the person that is involved.

About two months ago I was horribly, severely depressed...more suicidal than I have ever been. It was the first time I felt I had no choice. However part of me was either afraid of dying or didn't want to give up so I actually told my parents. My Dad told me well done for confessing but there was nothing he could do for me as he "had no money" and he then ignored me. My Mom reacted with as much love, compassion and fear as she has. She always does that, I didn't think anything would come of it but I scared her more then I thought and she called my godfather who offered to pay for a psychologist. She also called a lady that I have known since I was a baby who is a church counsellor.

To cut a long story short I have been seeing this psychologist for about two months. Two weeks ago her secertary e-mailed me the bill as she had failed to get in touch with my godfather ( he lives on a farm in the middle of nowhere and travels often). I was firstly hit with shock and guilt at the amount and then secondly began to really worry that....it hadn't been paid. Two more weeks went by, my therapist would briefly bring the bill up and I had no idea what to tell her. I soon found out though that the school fees of my twelve- year old cousin- which he also pays for- were seriously overdue. I made the decision then and there to tell my therapist the truth and stop therapy immediately until the bill had been paid.

I have just found out that my godfather's business partner has done him out of a lot of money and there has been an ongoing court case where his brother's grown up children are suing the family estate for another whole lot of money. Basically....the guy is strapped.

Now let me explain a few things...my godfather is actually my mother's first cousin- my second cousin. He is the patriarch of a giant family and ALL the family member with problems come running to either him or my mother. He helped my parents put my sister and I through a private school, fully paid for my last year of highschool at a private homeschool, helped me go overseas, paid some of my university fees. As I write this I want to cry because I feel so guilty....and thankful. He has given my parents money more times than I can remember. Right now he is supporting my loser aunt and her whole family by paying their rent. If I could count how much money that woman has manipulated him to give it would probably run into millions.

I am more than grateful that he has done this for me because it pulled me back from the brink.

But I am now left with a massive bill that neither me or my parents can pay. Money that is being set aside for me to go back to university is dwindling as it is. And it has sunk me even further into the mounting debt that I am struggling to pay off. Not only that, the stress and pure fear this has brought me is undoing all the hard work that I have done in the past weeks.

During the day my hands are full with teaching a six year old little girl to read and write and generally taking care of her. Although this has been exhausting it has been a blessing in disguise because it has kept my mind off my troubles. But at night, or whenever I get a chance to be alone, the terrible dread fills me. It is not just my debts although that's enough to cause sleepless nights, it's the fear that I won't be able to go back to university therefore not be able to go to Japan ( it may be a weird aspiration but it's an aspiration that means a whole lot to me). I want to live and extraordinary live and achieve the impossible- that feeling is the last shred I have of the old me, the me the died when I had my breakdown and I have been clinging onto it with both hands but it is slowly slipping away.

Most of all I want to get better or be in a place where I can managed this wretched illness that has plagued me for as long as I can remember. It has nearly killed me, it makes me want to die. I kept remembering what one of my church counsellors told me, that I have never known freedom. I remember that because he was right. How tragic and funny that the apple is always dangling beyond my reach.

I have been busy while writing this post. I have not seen my therapist in two weeks and my mother made an appointment for me tomorrow. This has made me feel very uncomfortable and quite frankly I don't feel like talking to anyone right now. While writing I have attempted to cancel my appointment only to be stopped by my mother. This has resulted in huge argument between me and my parents ( funny how my Dad always reappears when the arguing starts). I don't really know what to do, I am dreading the appointment tomorrow. Of course my Mom told my therapist that I have been sinking further and further into depression since I have seen her. I feel a reprimand coming my way.

If you have been reading this post, thank you for reading it until the end. I wrote this hoping that I could transport some of my fears from me into cyberspace, where hopefully it will disappear forever. Maybe it will work....

Sadness

Sadness
It can come at anytime. It could be a warm sunny day. I could be having coffee with my mother or laughing my head off with my friends. I could be happy and content and suddenly The Feeling strikes and bruises my heart: The most overwhelming sense of sadness and loneliness will literally consume me. It will tear the smile of my face and drown me in tears.

I know I am not alone in feeling this way, even though when it happens I do feel very, very alone. For me there are triggers that start the spiral downward. I’m still trying to figure out what these triggers are, I know one of them is seeing a person or animal that I feel sorry for but they can be anything really. Sometimes it would be the oddest things. Today I saw beautiful girl in the grocery store, she was doing promotions….for sanitary pads. Yes most of you will find this funny, she was standing there with a pad stuck to cardboard underwear. She had a huge smile on her face trying to get people’s attention, but everyone was ignoring her. It wasn’t an easy product to promote and she was trying her best. I felt so sorry for her.

Sometimes it can be something that is worth all the tears a person can give. There was a massive photograph on the front page of the newspaper yesterday. The photographer had taken a picture of a little boy- just minutes after he had learned his mother had been murdered.

This will start a process – sadness, thinking about everything that’s wrong with my life and with the world and eventually the loneliness with set in the leaving me in a dark hole. The hurt is so great I almost can’t stand it. I wish they had a pill for sadness….

I feel like the only thing that can help ease the hurt it is a long bear- hug. The worse thing about when I lived overseas is I would go for weeks without anyone touching me, never mind hugging. Comfort eating was a huge part of trying to numb the pain, I used to do the most ridiculous things to try and replace a hug: rolling my body up in my winter duvet, like a huge sausage roll. Sometimes when I was in public I would find a loved- up couple or a mommy or daddy with their kiddies and follow them, just to see them love each other. It was a reminder that there were still pockets of sunshine in a very harsh world.

Positive thinking: tomorrow the sun will rise again, that girl will make a fortune in commissions because of her smile and….THIS TO SHALL PASS…