Rat.

 

My gut instinct deserves a medal.  My heart, not so much.

 

Liars always get caught out by their own games and lies eventually... but you've not seen the depths of evil manipulation and desperation until you've seen someone fake a whole friendship in order to get laid for a few weeks while it waits for it's soulmate to leave someone so they can settle into a pitiful little life of shallow, emotionally-dead existence.  

 

I welcomed you back; I offered you more care, love, respect and trust than you ever will deserve and you laughed behind my back, insulted my intelligence and padded out the lies, while your pathetic agenda fell into place.

 

You are no man.  You are the ugliest, smallest, weakest, most worthless, cowardly and evil person I have ever met.

 

I hope the guilt eats away at you for the rest of your miserable life.

 

I hope she breaks you. 

 

The Babadook-dook-dook

Ages ago, when I went to see The Riot Club, I saw a trailer for The Babadook.  I immediately felt torn because I badly wanted to see it but suspected it would mess with my head.  I've been very wary of horror films since I've been quite badly affected by them in the past though I highly suspect that similar to taking narcotics, it depends on your mental state at the time of exposure, as to the consequences.  I'm a very visual and sensitive person, and when I say that I think I have heightened senses, so imagery and sounds can really affect me.  Years ago, I was quite badly disturbed by The Grudge (which I am WELL aware is a shit film) due to one scene where a young boys mouth opens really wide and a cat noise comes out.  I have NEVER forgotten that.  I struggled sleeping... but then I have a feeling this was at a time when I was struggling to sleep anyway.

 

I digress.  So, I have slowly been getting back into watching scary movies... and to be honest I've actually been disappointed.  They just aren't scary.  I think also when you've studied film basics you kind of distance yourself somewhat and are able to predict the jumpy parts.  I watched Paranormal activity 1 and 2 (hate ghosts/poltergeist stuff) and it failed to frighten me or disturb me to the extent I imagined.  In part, scary films have got far, far too unrealistic to scare me. They become unbelievable and you're able to distance yourself further.

 

The Babadook, on first glance at the trailer, seemed scary... but not only that, it being underpinned by illustrations from a children's book, and the potential for this theme to infiltrate the rest of the cinematography intrigued me.  The thing that really sealed the deal was the only film critic whose opinion I actually trust and respect, Mark Kermode, actually said that it was fantastically executed.

 

On this basis I pre-ordered it.  It arrived last week and I've been putting off watching it since then... scared that this could be the film that stops me sleeping for weeks and plunges me into some sort of mental episode (my fear).

 

Tonight, I took the plunge. Alone. At night. But I kept the lamp on.

 

 

**** SPOILER ALERT ****

 

 

 

 

******* There now follows a post about the film, so PLEASE if you intend on watching it do NOT read any further.  *******

 

 

 

 

 

********** Seriously....  Massive spoiler ahead.... ************

 

 

 

 

 

It became apparent quite early on in the film, that this was the type of film I like, with depth; composed, intelligently structured mise-en-scene, and good narrative with layers.

 

It also became apparent, that this was different to run-of-the-mill horror films with the standard gratuitous mystery, ambiguous evil presence, pregnant pauses and tingly music.  This film, had a clear message.  It wasn't hidden, or hard to pick up on... it was obvious early on that this film is about a REAL monster- Depression and unresolved trauma. It becomes clear that the young boy's behaviour is echoing his Mother's unresolved resentment and stress brought on by grief and insomnia. The Babadook is the manifestation of his Mother's mental breakdown and the boy becomes her protector.  It's compelling, particularly now I work in Child Protection and see mental health issues becoming increasingly responsible for provoking Child Protection conferences where children are being neglected and affected by their parent's behaviours.  In fact, social services make an appearance, albeit they do as shit a job in the film as they do in real life at protecting the child.  It's a good one for people who work in Mental Health or Child Protection actually... call it an educational film! Less terrifying, more creepingly, chilling, I can safely say I don't feel like there are any images that are going to haunt me when I try sleep tonight. 

 

The words in the book will resonate deeply with anyone who has experienced deep depression.  This gave this film depth for me that allowed me to enjoy it without being scared out of my wits, though there were definite moments of anxiety, tension and "tingly skin" moments... you know the ones where you get that little burst of adrenalin from the fear of it which you can feel flood through your veins for about a second. Brilliantly done, excellently acted, well composed and beautifully filmed in a way which echoes the old film noir horrors, which are referenced perfectly.

 

I appreciate most films created by true artists... and this is one.  Expertly done and money well spent.

 



 

Where is my mind?

Holy ****.

Now my glass nail file has vanished.  This has a home- in my nail polish bag... and now it's gone. 

I am genuinely now concerned about my mental health. 

This is either:

1).  A ghost
2).  I have alzheimers

I dislike both of those options.

It has been suggested by a few people that maybe I have just been really busy and this has lead to a spate of losing stuff but I'm struggling with this concept as the items are just NOWHERE.

I can now recall (there maybe more as I no longer trust my dementia full brain) a total of THREE items which have vanished beyond trace.

This may be my last post, as tomorrow I could wake up not knowing where the hell my laptop, phone and desktop computer is. 

What. The. Actual. ****.?!

Slumps.

I seem to lumber from one mound of stress to another these days!  I seem to have just come out of my last slump which I think I put mainly down to being ill for about two weeks.  I just felt rubbish... low, ugly, not confident, not myself, ill, tired, achey, tired of being ill and fed up of feeling lonely and inadequate and generally all round shit.  I like the warmer weather but I hate the insecurities it brings with my figure and ghostly white skin. However I'm starting to feel better despite pretty sad and anxious at leaving my lovely team in a weeks time and starting my new job. 

It's just speeding round now.  I'm gutted, genuinely gutted, to be leaving my team.  No more banter or crying from laughter... exchanging it for an hour long, traffic ridden commute and a serious albeit important and challenging job.  I'll embrace it, but I still incredibly sad and nervous about the whole situation.  Things are changing though in my current department and as such it will help that the office I'm leaving behind won't remain the same for long.  It won't be the office I know and love anyway, so that's something.

My sculpty commissions have been continuing to roll in.  I've completed two this month and have just started a third.  I have another two lined up after that to keep me occupied for another month. :)

I don't think I have much more in the way of news until I start my new job.  I'll have to make my leaving drinks pretty special and I might just buy myself a new dress for it. :)

Narcissus.

Ah sweet sweet justice.

There is something uncompromisingly ugly about anyone who's vanity overspills into narcissism.  I see this most often in men who spend so much time shaping and sculpting their bodies in the gym whilst forgetting entirely to shape their character; their individualism and their morals remaining pathetically empty and superficially soul-less.

Paradoxically narcissists spend the majority of their lives in a state of total self absorption yet remain entirely lacking in self awareness.  This is clearly because the process of becoming self aware not only requires a critical reflection of the self but also requires a deeper understanding of emotions, empathy and of interaction with other human beings;  The antithesis of narcissism.  A beautiful, spiralling irony.

" People's actions will tell you everything you need to know. "

Always.

The Brink.

I am teetering on the edge.

I look down- it's a big black hole, so deep I can't see where it ends.

I look back- there is noise, confusion, blue skies and storm clouds, faces, voices, shouts and laughter, excitement and fear. So much commotion that sometimes I'd just rather jump in and disappear into the blackness.

The only trouble is not knowing how long the freefall lasts, or where I land.

And the being alone.

I don't like Mondays.

DAY. FROM. HELL.

Firstly I have a burnt face- this will be explained later.

There is NO let up at work at the moment.  It's so busy and I'm holding down the fort by myself. The stress is tempered slightly by the good laughs and chats of the office, I work with some great characters, but also it can be a hindrance when I need to concentrate.

I've had one of those nightmare days where I couldn't finish anything, the phones wouldn't stop, every enquiry was a total ball-ache, nothing was straight forward and time flew so fast I left feeling like I hadn't got anything done!

My loon of a chum cheered me up by making me laugh all the way home by following me in his car and beeping me most of the way, then threatening to lock me up for speeding. Oops.

I could MURDER a Jack and Coke right now. I was meant to be going to the Gym tonight but certain aspects of mother nature have prevented me from doing so (another highlight of my day!).  I will however be completing day two of my 30 day squat challenge.  I started yesterday with 50 squats and a 20 second plank.  Today I think it goes up to 70 with a 30 second plank.  I'll do that at home with some weights I think so I don't miss out too much.  I actually WANTED to go to the gym tonight, I feel like I need it after my stodgy weekend.

I had a fab weekend;  A nice chilled Saturday doing some unsuccessful online shopping for a dress for a wedding in two weeks followed by a trip to see The Lion King at the Hippodrome.  Sunday was spent at Donington Park Race Circuit watching the Superstars World Series which is mainly Italian drivers racing Ferrari's, Audi's and Chevvies.  It was nice to mill around and look at some sexy racing cars, but I managed to completely burn my face.  I currently look like a tomato. 

Because my colleague is off, I don't think I'm likely to get many days off work but I could really do with Friday off to relax.  However, any time I take off will only make my workload worse the following Monday. :-(

My day got instantly brighter, when I got home tonight to find my BRAND SPANKING NEW NINE INCH NAILS ALBUM- Hesitation Marks had arrived!!!!  .... a full blog post will be dedicated to this in due course.  Needless to say I have found my commuting music for this week and possibly the next month!!! :-) :-) :-)

Sound of not-so-silence.

At the risk of revealing that I've achieved NONE of my tasks today- I'm going to share one of my many quirks with you.

For years, more so the last ten years, I've had this issue with certain sounds.  It all started with my Grandad.  My Grandad, probably no different to most older folk, is a loud eater.  I've been seeing my Grandparents and family in the city of Nottingham since I was a kid, and our traditional day would be spent visiting the rellies for Sunday dinner and then the other set of Granparents for tea.  (Yes that's DINNER and TEA. As it should be).  My Grandma would prepare us a small buffet tea of sandwiches, salad and rolls for tea and for reasons unknown, my Grandad would always wait until the rest of us had finished eating before selecting his food and starting his own.  I began to dread this moment.  Then it would start- the slow, inevitable chomp chomp munch squelch of chewing. On and on it went... having to endure every morsal of food sometimes with the addition of a slop and a churn... until it was all gone.  Each sound enraged me.  I would get so uncomfortable I would have to move or eat something myself just to drown out the sound.  Even weirder, no one else seemed to notice.  Although fleeting, the rage was there, I'd physically grit my teeth or clench my jaw with annoyance. 

This has got predominantly worse over the years to the stage where if I can hear pretty much anyone chewing or chomping I feel uncomfortable.  I don't usually act on it, other than the odd comment now and then. 

Regular readers will already know that I hate snoring but my dislike of hearing these kind of sounds doesn't stop there - I dislike hearing people breathing- the whistle nose or worse still- a combination of whistle nose, chomping and heavy nose breathing at the same time.  Hell.  Pure, utter hell.  Oh god.

Well, I'd never really linked all these together, putting it down to my hyper sensitive body- but it turns out this whole thing is a recognised condition!!!!

*This New York Times article* describes my "condition" precisely and calls it Misophonia! Who knew that this was a recognised disorder of the brain!? Woohoo! Another one to add to my collection.  Hehe, I jest, Obviously. 

Resolutions Update

As the first month of 2013 draws to a frosty and foggy close, I thought it was about time I had a Resolution update:

Resolution 1: Be more active. hmmm. Not happening as of yet thanks to the cold and snow.  My aims though are to start doing my nightly situps again, to go for jogs/runs and look into Boxercise classes.

Resolution 2: Be less angry.
I am no longer watching provocative debate shows which always fuelled my rage.  I need to try not to rise to the bait.

Resolution 3: Laugh more.
I need more comedy!

Resolution 4: Be Inspired.
Yes! Films. And I'm reading again too. When I finish Mark Kermode's book I will be reading Neil Gaiman, Sylvia Plath, Christopher Hitchin and Derren Brown books which I have waiting.

Resolution 5: Be more creative.
I have a commission on the books already and I am still working on the new tattoo.  Thinking Eastern Pheonix or a dragon as a tribute to my fictional heroine Lisbeth Salander. A reminder not to take any shit from men is always good for the soul. 

Resolution 6: Blog more.
Done and done!

Resolution 7: Feel settled.
Work in progress.  I have the knowledge now and I feel less afraid of cutting out parts of my life that lead nowhere but misery and negativity. I know what I DON'T want. Now to know what I DO.

An Interjection: The Fear

FINALLY.  A decent drama series written by someone who actually cares about film.



I saw the ad for this last week and having loved the films NEDS and Tyrannosaur I was immediately intrigued by the fact this starred the same actor- Peter Mullan, in a similar role. 

The first episode aired last night and I was immediately impressed with the camera work, compositions and analogies used to create the uneasy atmosphere.  Coastal erosion, regeneration of an old pier, the sea, soceital breakdown and the invasion of a criminal gang are all used as motifs echoing the graual loss of the central characters mind to dementia. 

I'm gripped.  I just hope the remaining three episodes live up to my expectations and continue to inspire. 

Faith restored in story telling on TV.  :-)

Sleep.

I feel tired today.

Sleep.

People take it for granted but to me it is one of the most precious things on this planet.

I have always had a very tumultuous relationship with sleep. Even when I was small, I struggled to sleep well.  Night times had the prepensity to bring a mixture of nightmares or just hours of my imagination roaming in the darkness.  Nightmares as a child, or the inability to switch off my active mind left me with general irregular sleeping patterns.  I became fussy, requiring optimum conditions of temperature, light, quietness in order to actually settle enough to fall asleep.

As I entered secondary school, came the anxiety of not getting enough sleep to concentrate on my lessons the following day and so the fear of not sleeping became the problem itself as it fuelled my difficult sleeping patterns.  It was at secondary school I experienced my first bout of depression and anxiety which obviously meant inability to sleep as well as general lethargia and a fatigue that I just could not quench.  

Through college and university, the trials of growing up, studies, relationships weighed on my mind at night coupled with the student lifestyle and diet of countless nights out, alcohol and takeaways. My mental health issues of my teens were also never far away impacting my sleep patterns further.  It was just after graduating university however that I experienced my first proper taste of night terrors. 

The Terrors consisted of periods of paralysis where I felt fully conscious, able to see my surroundings and move my eyes but unable to move the rest of my body.  I could sometimes hear voices shouting at me above my head, or hear screaming but I was unable to move or roll over to "wake" out of it.  During these moments, I was unsure of where reality ended and a dream state began.  Although I could see, and the room around me was visible, there were also times where there appeared to be a screen lifted from my sight, as if my eyes were opening. It's difficult to describe just how frightening these times were.

Following the terrors, was my first episode of Insomnia.

It wasn't just little sleep or disturbed sleep or patchy sleep.  It was no sleep.  It lasted three weeks.  In that time I tried over-the-counter remedies which did nothing.  I finally went to the doctors and was given temazepam. 

This was my saviour at a time of exhaustion and desperation.  Although there is no physical pain to Insomnia, it's a gradual, slow erosion of you from the inside.  You have no energy.  Mornings I would be in tears, just knowing I'd clocked another 8 hours of full consciousness.  I was tired, miserable, and I feared my depression was literally looming round every corner.  I felt like a shadow of myself and on the verge of a breakdown. Temazepam literally saved me from this by providing me my first night of actual sleep in weeks.  I can not describe how this felt.  Literally can not put it into words.  

I'm glad to say that I've not experienced that level of Insomnia again.  I still have difficulty sleeping.  Anything that stops me sleeping now feels like a personal attack.  Noise, lights, ticking clocks and snoring all become my enemy depriving me of this precious resource, like oxygen.  If you're lucky enough to be able to sleep well, or one of these wierdo's who doesn't even have to think about falling a sleep- I hope you realise you have an invaluable commodity. Since sleep deprivation is used as a weapon; a recognised torture method I also hope you think twice if you snore.  Persistent snoring should be punishable by death as far as I'm concerned. 

Sleep tight.

P@ssw0rd5 R@nT

If I have to remember another password I actually think I'll suffer some sort of hemorrhage.  And all that will come out will be random numbers and letters.

I now have passwords to just about every area of my life now- business, pleasure, ANYTHING. 

Bank - MY money!
Phone accounts
Facebook - friends
Twitter
itunes- music
Shopping accounts online
My website! My art is passworded?!?
Work - getting on for about 26 systems, door codes or passworded accounts now.

Next my friends are going to be passworded.

IMPORTANT information is being lost out of my brain on a DAILY basis by having to remember all these ridiculous passwords. 

They're not even words anymore either- they have to have numbers in awkward places or they can't actually be an english word at all!!!! And THEN. THEN you have to re-bloody-create them after 30 days!!!!! I have to write them down. But you forget where you wrote them, or forget to update them when you ultimately have to reset your password that one time you lose your list of passwords.  I even have a remember password thing on my computer, but I sometimes forget the password for that... YES, you read that right, I have a PASSWORDED password rememberer service.  Oh. My. God.  It's like one of the circles of hell.

It's becoming impossible. One day I swear I'll forget my own name and instead have to replace it with a highly secure password made up of between 8 and 10 alphanumerical chraracters ensuring at least 3 numbers equidistant from the start and end of the chosen strand, replaced every thirty days with a password NOT previously used in the past five months!!

If I ever become a multi millionaire I will employ someone full time to remember ALL my passwords.

Rant over.

From the Cutting Room Floor.

I think for the first time today, the subject of self harm has been widely reported on the news.

Self Harm Article - BBC news.

This all follows from an Australian study stating that 1 in 12 young adults self harm.

I actually disagree with some of the study and think the parts on suicide are misleading. I'm not saying that there isn't a link, but it's more accurate to say that it may be a common denominator- just like depression is linked to suicide but doesn't necessarily mean that it will lead to it. The facts are that both self harm and suicide are linked to depression and this is where the focus should remain. Mental health issues and treatments are vastly under funded in this country.

This topic is close to my heart. I self harmed between the age of 20-25. There were signs when I was a lot younger but I only self harmed heavily when I was at University.

I don't think it was a distraction from suicide but it's true that I was extremely anxious and trying to fight anxiety and depression at the time. All the above are shrouded with misunderstanding and prejudice so as a sufferer you also have to battle the judgments, guilt and social implications that come with it. I was on medication, struggling with appreciating my body, my skills, with relationships and generally not feeling good enough.

I no longer self harm. I no longer feel as I did then... but it's true that at times of great stress and anguish I feel the familiar urge. I know better now. And I also don't want any more scars. I took out my frustrations, confusions and anguish on a body that I hated; on skin that I had never felt comfortable in.

I used to cut. With an Xacto blade. Always on my upper legs because they would always be hidden. I had stitches just once; when I cut too far. You always know when you have- you see white fat beneath the skin. It shocked and scared me but even after this, cutting always helped to ground me; often after cutting I would stop crying and fall asleep. Always temporary- but it's what I needed at the time to help me cope with how I felt. It all seems to far away now.

I went on to use my experience to support others by becoming a support specialist for mental health issues and self harm addictions on a womens health web forum for about 5 years. It's something I miss... but working full time meant I couldn't devote the mental energy needed to listen to other peoples pains and struggles.

I can't escape the scars. They're a part of me and a part of my history, and it's this part that really wants to study Art Therapy, the only combination of two things I really really care about.

From a real woman.

"Real women have curves"

I resent this phrase.

The many years of using too-thin models on catwalks and the linking up of eating disorders with images of thin women in the media, has given birth to an ugly counter-phenomenon. I'm not going to deny that media has a hugely negative impact on women's esteem... but I find this particular line of defence disturbing. Women have turned on each other, using a "them and us" mindset which only serves to further alienate and lower esteem.

We should be pushing for real beauty, as opposed to plastics, airbrushing and photo-editing; We should be pushing for acceptance of spots, freckles, wrinkles, scars- all those things that makes human skin human; Pushing for feeling healthy and happy in your skin. THIS phrase, this "Real Women" assault, has been coined by full figured ladies tired of being made to feel ugly by the use of slim women in media- and they've fought back in the stereotypically bitchy way some women can resort to; by putting someone else down. It's cliched, it's dull and it's tiresome.

I am slim. I have always been small. Contrary to popular belief, I struggle to get clothes to fit and there are clothes I would love to wear but can't or wouldn't feel comfortable in. I don't tend to put on much weight but I am as susceptible to stretch marks and cellulite as the next woman. I have small boobs (highly unfashionable), very fair skin which does not tan (and neither do I feel the need to do so), thin hair, freckles, moles and scars. I have just as many issues with my body as the next woman- if not more. I have struggled accepting how I look and am prone to bouts of intense insecurity about my body; I've struggled to feel any degree of comfort in my skin. I am often asked if I eat properly, or if I specifically try to maintain my low weight... and people have no qualms about making comments about my physique which they wouldn't dream of doing to a fuller sized person. Something about being naturally slim seems to give the rest of the world an open invitation to comment on your size, as if for some reason, I won't mind. Well why would I, seeing as by today's standards, I am not a real woman.

I would love to ask those who feel the need to enquire about my clothing size, whether they would feel the need to ask it of a larger sized woman. I would also love to know how people calling me skinny as if it's a compliment, would feel if I suddenly felt the urge to conjure up a nickname based purely on the the size of their waistband.

This is the problem with this phrase.

It might make you fat ladies (not nice is it, being labelled) feel better about yourselves, but it's doing nothing for the fight against the media. The media has not changed; 99% of imagery we see in advertising is edited and airbrushed and we're still being conditioned to accept it.

It's doing nothing to fight against eating disorders because these disorders are always going to exist, exacerbated wherever there are attacks on women's esteem; as long as women are to be judged by what they look like and told they are not good enough.

It's doing nothing to challenge perceptions or promote happiness, esteem and acceptance for ALL women- quite the opposite in fact; it's divisive, nasty and a cheap shot. Whatever the intention was- it's misguided and poorly judged.


What is this even based on!? Are these ladies making a lame attempt at harking back to the old Renaissance paintings where big, pale, wobbly thighs were a thing of beauty- well fair enough- but a small bust and eating as much as you could to prove your wealth was fashionable then too. The truth is that Real Women come in all shapes and sizes, colours, heights and widths.

I may be slim. I may not conform to the stereotypical "beauty". But I AM a real woman. I am far more than my clothing size and will continue to feel saddened and disgusted by the promotion of the "real women" campaigns. Such a great opportunity lost and wasted, proving that women's self esteem will always be abused and contorted.

Distortion.