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.

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!!.

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.

Goals/ Resolutions for 2011

I'm writing this in an Internet cafe as my family and I somehow used our 9GB of bandwidth (did a visiting sister downloading music have anything to do with it? Oh no!). It's kinda freaky as the screen is massive and I have people constantly looking at what I am writing.

Anyway, on Christmas day, one of the bloggers that I follow put up his resolutions for 2011...It got me thinking. The only resolution I have ever made on the new year was to loss weight- there was one year I resolved to read the entire Lord of the Rings trilogy but the end of the year ( managed to finish The Fellowship of the Ring just before Christmas of that year...FAIL!)

Christmas and New Years is actually an extremely difficult time for me. I think Steve Martin in the movie Mixed Nuts summed it up perfectly when he said that Christmas is a time that everything you have ever done is placed under a magnifying glass. The same goes for New Years. Another year has passed, I am older and things most likely have either gotten worse or haven't changed at all.
On the eve of every new year, I wonder if this is the year that things will change, maybe this is the year that I will finally be set free from depression, addiction, suicidal thoughts and loneliness. Maybe this will be the year that things will finally start happening and I will get on the road to achieving all those fantastic dreams I had when I was 18 and the world was just waiting for me.

I have finally come to the conclusion that that will never happen. At least it won't if things stay the way they are. There are things I need to take care of first before any of those things can happen. So these are my goals/ resolutions for 2011- most of them are more life goals and the real goal is to at least start something whether or not I finish it.

1. Start to tackle my eating disorder/ addiction to food: I actually feel uncomfortable calling it an eating disorder when I think about people that have died or starved to death as the result of Anorexia or Bulimia, but I have been informed that yes the emotional turmoil  and dependence that is a result of food addiction indeed classifies it as an eating disorder. I have never discussed this on my blog and this year will be the first time that I will be facing it after years of denial. Food has almost a demonic hold over my life it is so deeply rooted in my depression that I sometimes wonder if it is not the same thing. Looking at me you would never know it- no I am not someone that needs to be removed from my house by a crane. But believe me I know what those people suffer. Even as I write this- the first time I am admitting it in a public forum- something painful is stirring within me. I can honestly say this will be the hardest battle that I will ever have to face. But I am ready for it because I desire to be free.
2. Continue to manage my depression: I don't know if God has it in my path to be free of this terror in my life, a lot of you may not understand this but I believe He is going use me and my experience. But I believe that He loves me and will never give me anything more than I can handle. I will continue to do everything I can to live my best life despite my depression and GAD
3. Face my abuse/ forgive my father. As long as I hold onto the past and continue to let hate and pain rule my life I will never be any better. I know why my Dad is the way he is. But at 71 years old and being riddled with heart disease I desire that whenever God chooses to take him His forgiveness and mine will enable him to go in peace.
4. Get a job/ study: I go back to University next month. I have resolved that no matter how sick I am I will continue to study. I have such a huge desire to learn...to study. I am blessed to be able to do this and I will give it my all. As for the job I NEED  to earn my OWN money :)
5. Continue blogging
6. Pay attention to my relationships

So those are my goals to start in 2011. Now that you all ( and the rest of the Internet Cafe looking over my shoulder) know it I am accountable.

Happy New Year!

My two days in hospital

I wasn't in hospital per se- I basically went home to sleep- Thank God. But I have had to spend the past two days here:

Tygerberg hospital, the 2nd largest hospital in the world...otherwise known as a big- ass state hospital with passages over a mile long. And we walked up and down these passages from Neurology to Psychiatry and back again "conveniently" located on two opposite ends of the hospital. To give you an idea of the length of said passages:

Note how the lights kinda disappear into oblivion

Stopping for a break halfway through

I've said it before on this blog....whatever sadist designed this hospital- knowing that sick patients would have to walk the length of these passages- should be shot. My mom tells me that when this hospital was being built, in the 1970's there was great excitement as it was to be a "high tech" facility with "breakthrough technology"....as you can see that is no longer the case.

As I have also said before, I am truly grateful for the medical care that I am getting- it isn't fancy or comfortable but it has saved my life. I would be blind if it wasn't for neurology and the employment policy at this hospital has ensured that my Dad doesn't have to fork out half his pension each month for my meds (seriously) I get them for free. Not only that, when I think of the lack of medical care some of my fellow South Africans have and  how hundreds of thousands of people on the African continent die each year because they have no medical care. I am so thankful.

But because I am thankful it doesn't mean I have to just love everything about this hospital and it doesn't mean that certain things don't make me very, very angry.

I saw something yesterday that was the absolute last straw and made me absolutely livid... take a look:

See, I made it extra large. Not very spectacular right? . Looks like some construction going on.

Well here is the story. It was going to be a long wait for the neurologist so the ward secretary suggested that my Mom and I go have some coffee (aka coffee- flavoured water). On our way to the cafeteria we passed the "new" psychiatric ward. Whenever I pass the psychiatric ward I can't help but stop, there is always a whirlwind of emotion that goes through my head. Thoughts like, "Will I ever land up here?" "What has stopped me from becoming like the people in this ward?" "What will push me over the edge" race through my head.

Almost immediately after we stopped my Mom and I were caught up by the most disgusting smell and it seemed to be coming from the ward. I went up to the door and peered through the crack, the passage was deserted, the atmosphere radiating out of that door was eery. When I turned to walk back I saw that the side doors leading into a courtyard were open and there were a whole lot of flies buzzing in and out of the door. The source of the dreadful smell was that pile of rubbish in the picture above.... RIGHT NEXT TO THE PSYCHIATRY WARD!!!!. I walked a little closer...I'm telling you people the smell was putrid. The pile of rubbish was actually a lot bigger than depicted in the picture it consisted of wood, rubble, plastic, paper and then food in various stages of decay and other green, black and grey slimy things that I really didn't care to get any closer to. Basically it was a pile of sewage. You cannot see the flies in the picture but believe me they were having a field day

I was in so much pain in these pictures, both physically and emotionally, seeing this awful mess- a total lack of respect for human beings who are unable to help themselves- blew away the paper thin barrier holding back a total meltdown. That they have placed these people in underground, in the bowels of the hospital where no one has to see or hear them, away from sunlight, is bad enough. Dumping a pile of stinking rubbish outside their window that could possibly cause further distress and disease takes the bullshit cake. My mother reacted as any loving mother would by getting me out of there as soon as possible. I plan to write some newspapers about this and obviously complain to the hospital.

I guess really should give an update on my BIH, depression and GAD. The first day I saw a psychiatrist (aka doctor studying to be a psychiatrist). I knew right from the start that this was going to be a useless appointment. I told her that things did get better for a while, but after the break with my psychologist they are now worse than ever, I didn't get a chance to tell her I had been suicidal again because she cut me off and told me that "We don't really want to put you on more medication (I already knew that), I think you should go see a psychologist". That's what I have been doing you stupid woman... did you even listen?!. The outcome of the appointment was that they will try and get me to see a psychiatrist at a hospital closer to me and I go back in March, no doubt to see a different doctor studying to be a psychiatrist.

On to Neurology... a lot of time was spent trying to track down my neurologist (aka a doctor studying to be a neurologist)- they close for the Christmas holidays. Eventually my Mom had him paged and spoke to him on the phone where she demanded that he come in to see me. I was told to come in the next day. We were there bright and early the next morning and  waited for four hours to find that my neurologist and palmed me off on his buddy- surprise, surprise the dude that performed or should I say messed up my lumbar- puncture (spinal tap) three weeks ago. How- ahem- happy I was to see him.

This is where it starts to get funny- he refused to see me with my mother, telling her he would chat to her afterwards ( she had wanted to throttle him after my lumbar- puncture). Judging by the look on her face I immediately began to feel sorry....for him. When he asked what had been going on with me I stifled the urge yell, "You f**king mutilated my spine, you dumbass" and calmly told him that I had been extremely ill since the LP and I still had enormously painful headaches accompanied by dizziness, nausea and extreme fatigue. Meanwhile outside...where my Mom was listening through a hole in the door, in came strolling my neurologist. Poor guy... my Mom pounced like a cat on a bird. I could hear her threw the door and immediately fell sorry for whoever was on the other side of her wrath.

Dude checked my eyes- found my optic nerves weren't swollen, although they did appear scared. He asked me a few questions but I already knew what he was thinking: He didn't have a clue what was wrong and that most likely my depression was to blame. We spoke about surgery and it turns out that although my spinal pressure was high, they will not be doing surgery at this stage. I then told him nonchalantly, "So I guess  it's all in my mind then" He didn't really know what to say but eventually said "It's real to you- that's what matters" I told him good luck with my Mom. He told me I was a sweet girl.

We went back out into the passage where Mr. Neurologist had amazingly been able to calm my mother down. We stood talking for a while with him and Dude doctor. The compassionate side of them eventually emerged when Dude doctor said, " I would say now that your BIH is under control but your depression is definitely out of control". It was probably the only thing Dude doctor was able to hit the nail on the head about. Immediately I began tearing up and it was that that put them into action. They called in the psychiatry rotater and for a while there was some finger pointing going on. Neurology were telling Psychiatry that my problem was clearly psychological. Psychiatry were telling Neurology that it was clearly neurological. Somewhere between all of this I began to think about Homer Simpsom...for some reason. Eventually the heads of both departments got involved, seeing them trying to meet each other half way to find a solution was interesting. Eventually it was decided by everyone to put me on Amitriptyline an anti- depressant used a lot by neurology for management of migraines. I have been on it before. Needless to say my Mom was not happy- another pill. I have to go back for another eye test in January and will hopefully have my checkup the same day.

In between all this we found this little guy:

 The pictures don't really do justice to how very tiny this little sweetheart was. His name is Joshua and he was born prematurely. He is a month old and only weighs 2.2kg (4lbs 8oz). He has to wear dolls clothes because he is so tiny. When this picture was taken he was about to have surgery for cataracts on both eyes. His mother was beaming with pride and loved showing him off. We told her that he will be a piano player one day because his miniature hands have such long fingers and he held onto my finger with the most amazing strength.

You see it's this that I am grateful for. Tygerberg with it's stinking rubbish heaps, disintegrating walls, rude staff, toilet paperless bathrooms, looong waits and befuddled student doctors, kept this little boy alive and will give him the ability to see. There will always be things to be thankful for, even in a pile of ashes.

,



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....

Repost: Fighting the good fight

I was thinking about this as I was putting my baby bed tonight. This was a post that I made six months ago and was actually inspired by friend Karen who was dealing with the death of her step sister, her close friend and her dog...all within the space of a month. My mind has been whirling with fear mostly of the future- wondering if I will ever finish university, live in Japan, see my family in the US, travel...have a life worth meaning. I'm wondering if I will still be alive next year or if I will finally succumb to the exhausting fight with the Black dog or if my BIH will eventually render me blind.


And then there is the fear I have for my little girl which is worse because it is something I virtually have no control over. She is only with me for a very short while in which I need to do my very best to make a difference in her life before releasing her back into her home where she will have to face some hard battles- mostly on her own. It hurts, it hurts to see her change and flourish and then realise where she will be going back to. I am choosing right now to have faith in my God. I have no choice. I will believe that God will be with her and walk every step of that road she has to take. I will believe that He has already given her a bright future. I will believe He has made her a fighter and He will fight with her. I have faith in her that she can do anything.

So it is on that note that I give you my old post, I have re- read this many times over the last six months and it has always given me back my perspective.

******

This is an extract from an e-mail I sent my friend Karen last night. I've had real trouble being able to put into words what I have been feeling in the last two weeks. This is horrible because people around me don't know how to help me and I feel like there s impenetrable wall between me and them. It's very lonely and desolate feeling. This letter sums up my goal:

03 June 2010:

Today would have been the 26th birthday of Bronwyn, she was a little girl I was good friends with at school. She died of cancer when she was only ten years old. Tonight we and the rest of my old classmates scattered across the world lit a candle for her. One thing that I will always remember about her is how hard she fought- 3 weeks before she died she was still determined to go to school. In 2003 another very good friend of mine, Bonita died after a car accident. I will always feel guilty about Bonita because I feel that I wasn't as good of a friend to her as she was to me.

The thing that Bronwyn and Bonita had in common is that they were both fighters and even they died young, both of them lived their lives fully. After Bonita died I couldn't go to her funeral because she lived on the other side of the country, her parents send me the program and her obituary. Right underneath her picture was this:

I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.
Now there is in store for me the crown of righteousness,
Which the Lord, the righteous Judge will award to me on that day-
And not only to me,
But to all who have longed for his appearing

2 Timothy: 7-8

One of the hardest lessons I've had to learn is that winning a race is not as important as finishing it. I have always hoped that that verse could be used in my obituary one day..... I feel a little guilty- I want to give up more then I want to press on and you know my position with the Lord . In terms of a race... I'm still sitting in the middle of the track staring at the damn finish line and not budging.

This is my message to you today- fight the good fight and finish race. Here is a little inspiring video to drive home my point. I can still remember this like it was yesterday...

Night before hospital: have something special to share :)

I wasn't going to make a post today but I was on the Sky news website ( very rare for me) and I came across an article about Douglas H "Wheels" Wheelock- an American astronaut who has spent the past 5 months on the International Space Station. He has also been generous enough to entertain everyone on Twitter with dozens of stunning photographs he has taken from space. Take a look:

The United Kingdom at night- I can actually see where my beloved London is. Aurora Borealis in the distance.

Part of the Space Station and Aurora Borealis

The Isle of Juan de Nova off the coast of Africa- looks like a hat :)

Japan at night

If you are on twitter you can follow Douglas here

What always strikes me about photo's from outer space is just how incredibly small and insignificant we all are. From up where Douglas is you cannot see the poverty that millions of people face every day, you cannot see the the wars or any of our transgressions. All you can see is beauty. Space is a majestic mystery to me and it reminds me that there is something far bigger and complex than our minds are capable of understanding. If you read Douglas's tweets it is clear that he is a man who's life has been changed by witnessing something magnificent and beyond the scope of the human imagination or understanding.

We have to leave at 7am tomorrow to be at the hospital at 8am, hopefully the wait won't be to long so I can just get it over ( again they work on a first come, first serve basis). All day I have been preparing by drinking lots of water and resting as much as I can. I am proud that I resisted the urge to take tranquilizers for my nerves- I can't keep relying on that stuff.  But the consequence of that is that I have been eating everything in sight. It's not like I haven't done this before- this is my 5th lumbar puncture. But it sure as hell doesn't get any better and I haven't had one on a while. Besides...who wants a 7- inch needle shoved into their spine?. This may sound stupid but it has been really great having my wabbits. For some reason hugging something soft, fluffy and warm soothes an anxious heart.

I was thinking I probably won't find out if I need brain surgery until my next appointment- just what I need more suspense, it's like my very own Grey's Anatomy

Wish me luck folks:)

x

Forsaken

Sadness, loneliness and fear are my companions tonight. It's 2am and I feel so battered and bruised that I just can't give myself up to the mercy of wild dreams that haunt my sleep.

So yes today has been one of those days, where even the tiniest most insignificant things can cause a deep strangling heartache.

Two major things have been on my mind this past week: family and God.

Last Friday I had my 3rd CBT session with Dr. Shaw, I had difficulty making sense of all my worries and feelings so she decided that making a chart would give us more clarity and a goal to work towards. She gave me the chart to take home, this is what it looks like:



Is it just me, or does that look like a HUGE MESS!!. Sure the thing gave me clarity but it also gave me an awful realisation of how much deep crap I'm in. Seriously, when she took it down and gave it to me it looked even more terrifying close up!.

You may not be able to see but at the top of the pile is family- more specifically family worries. Family problems and family worries dominate my every waking moment. Dr. Shaw pointed out that in order to even THINK about getting better I needed to start putting myself first. I just know this would not sit well with anyone in my family.To my mother this would be the greatest act of selfishness. We are like the freaking mafia- family is EVERYTHING, you are meant to sacrifice stuff for the family.

Today I had my counselling session with the church counsellors. My going to see church counsellors is kind of ironic- because 1) I don't really believe in God right now and 2) If my mother, who arranged all this, knew what was coming out in these counselling sessions, she'd want me to stop going.

These counsellors have relentlessly and faithfully prayed that I would be able to have faith in God, but as my counsellor said today it's like praying to a brick wall, so we chatted instead. What they said really resonated with me though.

The one counsellor said that I have never known freedom. And I think he's right. This might be tough for a person to understand, but sometimes the most turbulent and heartbreaking battles in history where fought in a person's own mind and heart. For so long my mind has been encaged by the prison of mental illness and my heart has been scared and chained by my past- the abuse, fear and hurt that I endured that I have never experienced life or seen the world for what it is.

Also during this talk the subject yet again turned to my family and the battlefield that is our lives. Instead of branching out and making a separate life for ourselves we all stuck together, making our problems each others problems and just creating, well, one BIG problem. We don't move forward, we occasionally take two steps backwards but 20 years ago, we were still more or less in the same situation we are now- except the kids are older. Is that any way to live?

Instead of thinking that I needed my family to support me and help me through this, I came away from today's session realising I was weakest link of an old rusted chain. Staying with them is doing neither of us good. And the only solution to my problem is to leave my family, wash my hands of their problems and their business, move away and start building a separate life.

But by doing that I will totally and completely alone. Yeah sure I have friends- all my really good ones live overseas though and going to dump myself on someone else would be besides the point. It's been me against the world before- I lived in London for two years but seriously is that going to be my life?. I cannot see myself getting married in the future and I can't have children. So it looks like I'll be a one man show.

I can't discuss family details in this blog, but believe me when I tell you that things are HORRENDOUSLY messed up and I CANNOT rely on them for ANYTHING any longer.

And then there is God. I have walked through life hand in hand with a mystery, not wanting to let go but unable to comprehend him. I grew up in a non- denominational church and I have been a born again christian since I was 12. I have known and seen enough evidence that He exists but the breakdown and the cursed analytical part of my brain vanquished any faith that I had. I wish I could just go one way or the other- be an atheist or a daughter of God. But each of them has one of my wrists and there is a tug of war going on. I will say that I have been a part time unbeliever for three years and my life is the worst it's ever been.

This brings me a little bit of comfort tonight, maybe because I have been reading this since my childhood- I will end off with this. If it resonates with you or makes your faith stronger I really envy you

My hope for the flowers Part 2....

What was happening to my body was bad enough, but what was even worse was what was happening to my mind. My brain was racing all the time, I couldn't think straight, my memory was shot and I became obsessive. Two subjects I became obsessed with: death and God's existence. The first obsession, death I think happened because I was working for a large company in a small town. In the space of a couple of months there had been several deaths- a lot of them from freak accidents- of either the employees or their family members. Nevertheless I became obsessed with death, my mind was weak and unhealthy and with strange illness that was happening, I somehow managed to convince myself that I was next. Yes, I believed that I was foreseeing my own death. I was so convinced of this that I would tell myself, "Wednesday, it's going to happen on Wednesday, by this time next week I won't be alive". I stayed up all night, trying to list every achievement, every good memory telling myself I had had a good life. I called my mother more often just hear her voice, in case I never heard it again.

The second obsession- the question of whether or not God exists was the worst out of everything I was going through. I had become a born- again Christan when I was 12, I had witnessed things which were no doubt miracles, seen people being completely transformed by Jesus, yet I had never really built a relationship of my own with him. This was because of several issues that I won't go into right now. While I was overseas I did began to question certain things about the bible, the rules etc.It
was something that was always in the back of mind. Of course being convinced that I was going to die the question of where I was going afterwards came hand in hand- and I wasn't sure. It seems as though all the scientific evidence supporting God not existing made sense. I fought against it, that fact that after a person dies they just cease to exist was not something that I wanted to believe in and thought of it was frightening.

The greatest stress was that I went to great lengths to hide what was going on with me. I had only arrived in America a few months before and was still getting to know family and new friends I had, still trying to make a good impression. I was so embarrassed about what I was going through- how do you tell someone you are just getting to know that you think you're about to die for no apparent reason. I never realised until much later how good some of the people were around me and that I really had nothing to worry about, some of them were hurt that I hadn't turned to them. All the hiding may have worked at first, but the sicker I got the more the cracks began to show- everyone knew something was wrong but I wasn't telling.

It has taken me nearly all day to write this- well in between fixing my laptop and trying to force myself to study (which is not working). I've just previewed this post and am overwhelmed by how loooong it is. So I have decided to break it up into two parts. I have already started writing the second part and will probably post tonight. This is not easy to write and I need a break!

Cheers until then...

My hope for the flowers....Part 1

On the 2ND January 2007, I woke up suddenly at 2am to a very eerie bedroom and the strangest feeling. Everything was dark and dead quite- I was lying on my stomach peering out the window- all seemed normal but I felt like something was terribly wrong. Then the weirdest feeling- how I can best describe it, it was as though an ice- cold claw slowly curled round my heart and held it in a vice -grip. A feeling of horrible fear and dread filled me- so much so that I actually stopped breathing and was paralysed. I told myself that if I could just move and get some noise and light into the room then it would just go away. I forced myself to get up, switch the light on and turn on the T.V. I walked around the house to get a grip. Everything seemed normal but it wasn't- that episode had freaked me out so much that I slept for the rest of the night with the T.V and light on. I was afraid to go to bed after that and if I did attempt to I always slept with the light on.

At the time I was living in America, I had left home nearly three years before, spent two years living in London, UK before moving to California. I was on a great adventure but I had been away from home for a long time.

After that night in my room something had changed, it was small at first but day after day it began to take over my life. I was nervous, terrified all the time for no apparent reason. I began to get sick- my asthma flared up for the first since I was a child, I suffered nausea, headaches, my hair started falling out. I had heart palpitations which shocked me- didn't that only happen to older people? How was it possible that I could have heart attack at 23!?.