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Times...they are a changin' !

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

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

Thanks for sticking with me ! xxx

Farewell my friend

Dear Auntie Mave,

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

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

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

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

I would like to share my memories:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All my love Auntie Mave,

Stephanie

Mavis Winifred Knoesen
1932 - 2012

A Magical Friendship Fairy Tale…

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

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

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

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

Be blessed Lucille xoxo:

A Magical Friendship Fairy Tale…

by lessmoaningmoreliving

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

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

Matty,

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

“Me Tarzan, You Jane”

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

Me Tarzan, You Jane

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

The words in this song that struck me the most was

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

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

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

Never leaves my side 

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

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

http://lessmoaningmoreliving.wordpress.com/

5 years

5 years

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

All good things must come to an end...

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

On to the next….