Meltdown

I've been dealing with a few personal issues these past few months, associated with a condition that could be medical; it's not really bothered me (as such) but in the back-of-my-mind I've begun to question myself as to whether I am right that's it's not something I should be concerned about (even though I'm sure I know my body well enough to know if something untoward is going on). However, the more time which passes, the more I have been worrying about it (I have even now made the decision to speak to my GP about it - IF I can actually get an appointment) and for me to do that it's got to be concerning me, for I never go to my doctors (I only went a couple of years ago when I had chickenpox because my family forced me as it can be quite dangerous is someone my age - glad I did because the doc did have to give me some antiviral drugs and backed-up my brother's telling me how bad it can be (I hate it when he's right!!)). I've not tried to hide the issue, or hope it will go away, I've just honestly not believed it to be anything sinister - until the past 2 weeks when it has begun to worry me. 

I guess with that going on I've been a bit low, a bit quieter than I would normally be and had my head coming up with all kinds of awful scenarios (even though a huge part of me is still totally convinced it's not anything to be worrying about and I will just be wasting my GP's time if I am able to get an appointment). I've also been a bit more stressed than I would normally be, and that's how I found myself have a complete meltdown yesterday morning over the most ridiculous of issues.

Because I am a director of my little shop (that always makes it sound like I am running some kind of muli-national money making business (this could not be further from the truth and often it is touch-and-go as to whether I will get paid at the end of the month; an amount which most people earn in a week)) I have to do a self-assessment tax return. I hate it. If I wanted to be an accountant I would have trained to be one; if I wanted a job filling in forms (important ones at that) I would not be a florist. The thought of it is bad enough but the minute I sit down to file it I feel stress like no other. It genuinely terrifies me that I am going to do something wrong, put in a wrong amount in a box it's not meant to go into and that is such a stupid thing to worry about, however, it's something I really do get stressed over. How "Cash Only" businesses get away with not declaring all they take, or people who don't put down everything they've earned are able to sleep at night, is beyond me. 

So, there I am, surrounded by bits-of-paper and receipts from places I visited in 2018/2019 that I gift aided to. I have a copy of a small PPI payment I received (figuring out where that goes on a form just about finished me off). I open up the page to do it, having told my Mum to not disturb me for an hour (the last thing I need when I'm 'in-the-zone' is someone (anyone) flitting about distracting me, or talking to me about things of little (or no) consequence) and I go to the 'Log in' section, tap on the box and it's empty; nothing comes up. For the past 4 years my login details have been there (ever since I ticked the box on my browser that says "Save details"). I think to myself "it's ok, you must have used the laptop" so I drag my fat ass downstairs, open up the laptop and the same thing happens. Turns out they've done an update so all stored info is no longer where it should be. 

This is not a problem; when we swapped all the upstairs rooms about earlier-in-the-year, all the stuff I used to get my Mum to keep (in her safe place) I took as I now have room myself to store it. I go to the cupboard, pull out the file, to find it's not there; I have everything else but no tax details (I have copies of everything in the file going back 12 years). I ask Mum if she has seen it, to be told "no, you took it all when we did the room". I ripped apart every-single-piece of my room (even looking behind units, the radiator and airing cupboard) all to no avail. By now my blood pressure had probably risen from it's usual 99/60 to somewhere around 140/120. The stress levels were not good. 

Then I remembered; most companies have "Forgotten log in details, or forgotten password sections" on them, so I click on those, answer all the questions (from my UTR number (had that as it's on a previous return) to my post code, NI number, email address) for it to come back with "We don't have enough information to verify your details; please contact us". What more did they want? My UTR and NI should have been enough for them in the first place. By this point I began to panic a little, telling myself to "not be so stupid" and reminding myself I could ring them today and explain what had happened - I have heard tales of people being on hold all day though and not being able to get through" so I searched their website to see if there was an alternative way, which is when I saw the bit about how it can take up to 28 days to get new log in details sent out. I didn't have 28 days. I had only 19. Add to that the fact they'd been emailing, and texting pretty much on a daily basis for the past month reminding me that I have to file by the 31st of the month.

I then got on a mission; it had to be somewhere, so I started on my side of our craft room/office and Mum came up and started on her side. We never found it. I went back to my room and pulled everything from drawers, under my bed, the airing cupboard, all the while getting a little more stressed. That blood pressure of mine my surely have been 300/200 at this point. When we'd exhaused all options and Mum said to me "when were you originally planning to do it" referring back to the fact I kept saying in September I was going to get on and do it so it was out-of-the-way, knowing she was being a bit snidey with me for leaving it so late, I lost it. I punched a wall, and I cried; then I cried some more. Then I cried even more. For about and hour-and-a-half I sat in my room, crying. I think a combination of the fear that someone is wrong with me, and the stress of everything else I deal with (running a business, living with an aging parent, hormones and health issues) all came to a head. I've been so worried in the past month that my issues are going to see me pop-my-clogs which is the last thing I want (I plan on being here until I am 96) but as I sat there crying I wondered why I wanted to live that long. I questioned what there is out there for me in life; it's not as if I'm "living the dream" right now. Thankfully I got over that pretty quickly, and I still plan on making it to 96, but all of this over a fucking tax return form, when I don't even earn enough to pay tax at the moment - yes, that's right, I run a business and am poorer than I was when I worked for someone; the joys of small business ownership. It's not all moonlight-and-roses. 

It was an hour later when I suddenly realised I'd been looking for a soft plastic folder, and the tax stuff is in a hard folder that I went on one-more-hunt (Mum had known this so had been looking for the right thing the whole time) and where did I eventually find it?? On Mum's side, at the bottom left of a shelving unit, she had checked TWICE. When I asked how she'd missed it, so said to me "Well, you missed it too" - I'd not checked there as she'd been in charge on that side. She then followed it up with "oh, but I did have my jigsaw board in front of that corner, so guess I didn't look behind it properly". 

I'd had a right proper meltdown, and it had been there the whole time. Maybe I needed that cry, needed to let go of everything that was whizzing around in my head. I'd like to say I felt better for it but that would be a lie. Crying always makes me feel crap, although the appearance of our little feather friends "Rocky the Robin" (he was with his counterpart but that one is too skittish and won't sit still for a photo) and "Billy the Blackbird" (who hadn't been around for a few weeks) did go someway to brightening up a very difficult day. 

The long-and-short of this post was not to bore you all with my meltdown over something so ridiculous but to let you know that no matter what it is, that it is ok to lose it sometimes. Ask people who know me what I'm like and they'll say things like "she's always got her shit together" because that's the person I allow them to seee, that's the person I show to the world (usually) but the real me is like a lot of you and literally hanging onto the world by the tiniest of threads. It's ok to cry; it's ok to talk about such things (for so long I never talked about how I was feeling) it's ok to feel as though the world is falling down around you; you do not have to feel guilty for feeling sorry for yourself just because your problems aren't what someone else's are. Our problems and issues are what is relevant to us. There may be some of you reading this thinking "silly bitch; wouldn't know a real problem if it hit her in the face" and you may be right, if you're judging me by just reading this. What you don't see is what I don't share, so maybe you should stop being so judgemental (you arse) and we should stop judging ourselves based on what someone else is showing us they are going through. 

At the end of the day though it matters not one jot what someone else thinks of you. You do NOT need their approval. As long as you know you have been kind to people and shown them respect (unless, of course they have disrespected you, then give them as much shit as you want) then that is all that matters, and if you want to cry, then you cry. Never feel ashamed to do so. It is not a sign of weakness. It's a sign that even the strongest among us, occasionally have to let go. 

Not sure if

I should be flattered, or offended!!

Had someone come into work earlier who I've not seen in over 20 years. The words they spoke which I'm not sure about were as follows "wow, you've not changed a bit"!

Now, you'd think that is a great thing to hear, however, let's take into consideration that 20 years ago I was 112lb lighter (that's 8 stone to those of you who don't work in pounds - a MASSIVE amount of weight) I was still in my 20's (this April I enter a new decade - I'll let you figure out which) and I had long, dark hair, without a hint of grey. Now, I have it short and with more grey than any other colour in it, yet (apparently) I've not changed a bit! How does that work then? 

This-time-last-year I'd have been quite distraught at someone saying such a thing, would have thought it meant I'd looked bloody awful back then too, however, the new, improved (ooh look, a change) positive me is taking it as a great compliment. It means that the person whom I was speaking too saw me (which also makes them a wonderful person). They didn't see the rolls of fat, the quadruple chin, or the thinning grey hair; nor did they see the person I was back then (for if they had they'd not have said such a thing). No, the person they saw was me; the real me, and on this damp, dank, miserable Monday morning that filled my heart (and head) with blue skies and sunshine (and a really heavy frost, of course; I don't want any of that heat stuff). 

Just so you know the photo below was taken as I finished the last paragraph so is exactly how I am looking right now; the only editing to it is the blurred background (the crap behind me at work was taking away from my natural beauty 😁The camera has been kind, also, and hidden the grey a lot better than it is in the flesh.

There will be some of you who will look at this and say "wow, you're ugly", others who will say "you look old" some might say I look younger than I am (I believe that to be my natural botox - yes, I'm aware it's fat but natural botox sounds so much better). I've been called names before - many, many, many times (I spent my whole childhood being called names - the saying "sticks and stone will break my bones but names will never hurt me" is total BULLSHIT. Bones heal far easier and quicker than the wounds caused by the names) and (thankfully) I overcame them, to find myself where I am now, in a place where your opinion (whether bad, or good) really is irrelevant because I am happy with who I am (even though at the start of this it might not have sounded like it where I've said about my being a fat bint - that's not me being down on myself, that's me being honest with myself) and I am truly the only one who matters. I am well aware I (and only I) can change how I look, and maybe I will at some point, however, I've learned it's far more important to concentrate on keeping your mind healthy, before you can act on keeping your body for (for the record, at my last medical I was told I have the inner workings of a 20 year old athlete and that my body is working in perfect harmony and sync with itself - not all fatties are unhealthy so knock that myth on the head before you decide to go off on one about me being a drain on the NHS - my whole medical history (from birth until now) can fit on one side of A4 paper and that includes the 4 years from baby-to-toddler when my toncils are poisoning me). I'm not (and neither are any of you who may be reading this) on this planet to be a punchbag for others (whether verbally, or phycially). If you're lucky enough to have someone love you, embrace their love, feel it, be warmed and comforted by it, for very few get to truly experience real love. If you have people out there who dislike and despise you, or who are cruel to you, walk away from them if you can, but do so with love. Accept they are welcome to their own opinion of you, but remember those whose opinion of you isn't nice, do NOT matter. 

You are WORTH IT.

Social Media

Over a week ago now, I deleted my personal facebook account - I still have the one which connects to the shop (you have to have a profile to get a business page) however, that's not one which gets used for anything other than giving me access to the shops page. By delete, I mean I deactivated - this means I have no access to my facebook information and people on my friends list, but can still keep messenger, which is how my friends and family choose to communicate these days.

When I did it I thought I'd most likely last as long as the daylight hours and would be back on there before the next day, at the latest. To find myself now here, all this time later, still not on there is a feeling I'm not sure about, yet most definitely getting used to. I can honestly say "I've not missed it". Don't get me wrong, I've missed not seeing what some of my family are up to; I've missed the funny side of it, but that's a side that doesn't really get seen on there that often anymore anyway.

Why did I delete it? Good question.

I did it because I realised I had turned into one of those vacuous people (the self absorbed, up-my-own-arse narcissist from the "look at me, look at me" world; the irony of that when I (in real life and on the inside) am one who shies away from such things). I became someone who was sharing stuff just to be noticed; when people didn't click "Like" on something, I felt it as a personal dig at me, which is quite possibly one of the most ridiculous things going, and not the kind of person I consider myself to be at all. It was when nobody liked a funny thing I shared (at least I thought it funny) it struck me that either they didn't like it, or they've just not bothered to click the bit where they get to see what I share and therefore, hadn't seen it. If they're not wanting to see my posts I don't know why they kept me on there in the first place. That was another thing I realised. I have people on my page because it's "the right thing to do". People I don't want on there; people I never speak to in real life unless they are somewhere I find myself. People I've never liked, yet there they are; all on there and I have them there because I accepted their friend request when they sent it (I'd certainly not have sent them one). Why they would send one is beyond me too, because they dislike me as much as I dislike them.

Messenger is really just-as-bad in a way; I sent a message to someone I've been meaning to catch up with over 20 days ago; I can see they were on less than 23 minutes ago, and yet they've not even bothered to open my message. I hate that because then I start to question "Why?" This person is someone I thought I was really close to. They've opened their messenger up every day (I know this because messenger tells me) yet not bothered to read the one from me. I have no problem with that in the grand-scheme-of-things; that's their perogative (I just can't be like that; wasn't brought up to ignore people) but I absolutely hate that side of social media. If someone like me (who has always been a very rational kind of person) can suddenly find myself questioning people, friends and my own self worth, then I can only imagine how someone with issues of that kind to begin with must feel.

I used to hear about how people said social media is bad for those with mental health issues and didn't understand how on earth it could be. I love how it lets me connect with my family overseas; I love being able to see what they are up to, how their kids are growing. I think that is an amazing part of it all, however, I do now understand what they mean when they say such things, because for every great part of it, there is an equal dark side to it.

There are the people who insist on sharing every single bloody timehop photo facebook throws at them; these photos were not interesting the first time around. There are those who only use their pages to share their politcal rants; there are the "Vaguebookers" who put up a status just for attention (it really does seem to turn the most rational people into narcissists). People from school who would do nothing but ignore you back then, suddenly deciding to add you as a friend. Why? They never spoke to me in school. I'm sure they do it to make themselves feel popular (again, falling into the narcissim trap) for they are the ones who also share how many friends they have. I've always kept that part private. There are the ones who constantly share photos, which are the same as the photos they've shared many times before. These are new photos, but could have been taken at any point over the past 10 years, because they always have the same people, in the same pose, in the same area, doing the same thing, and I am sure they share them only to show people how amazing they believe their lives. I have so many people on my FB whose status updates I no longer receive because they repeat the same stuff, day-in and day-out, yet I am just like that (not resharing stuff; I absolutely hate that and try to never share a similar picture to one I have shared before) but I have turned into one-of-those attention seekers, for that's all any of these people are.

I will go back; I have groups I belong to which I don't really want to give up and cannot find anywhere else. I have family on there who I want to keep in touch with and facebook really is the best way of doing so, however, when I do log back on it will be to delete anyone who isn't family or a close friend. I will make it so nobody can add me as a friend, and I will remind myself how much less stressful my life has been during this past week, without having to have everyone's dramas and opinions rammed in my face each day.

Yes, I understand now, I get it. Social media really is the devil-in-disguise, and a blessing at the same time. I just need to find the right balance; find my yin and yang.

My Zippity and Bippity

have got their doo dah and boo back - although, I'm not sure they were ever really connected to begin with (for me, at least).

I woke up the other morning, thankfully; I wasn't entirely sure at one point I was ever going to wake up again, as I'd rolled over in bed during the early hours of the morning; by rolling I mean I flung myself from one-side-to-the-other (something I am sure everyone has done at some point) and I  smacked my head so hard on the wall the other side (the joy of a small room) that I actually saw stars (and not the ones outside, behind the window). It's not the first time I have done that either, having done it in January while laid up with chicken pox (I know, at my age). That night though I am sure I did knock myself out, for I'd not slept in 3 days, and after banging my head (which really bloody hurt) I found myself coming too 7 hours later. It may just have been that I was so tired I nodded off, however, part of the reason I flung myself was out of pure frustration where I was so tired and yet still felt so wide awake. It was that week (the chicken pox week - which was more like 10 days than 7) when I first laid there and thought to myself "I really no longer care, if I live, or die". Never before had I felt that way; no matter how tough things were, within me there was a fighter who refused to give up, who had (still have) so many things in life she wanted to do, that she kept on going, determined to do those things. Death (and the thought of it) also scared the shit out of me, so there was no way I ever wanted it to happen. That night though, I honestly didn't care. If I'd not woken up I wouldn't have sat on my cloud and thought "ahh fuck it, I had so much more I wanted to do", I would have sat there and said "well, there you go; the pain and hurt finally ended". I think that was the moment I realised just how deep into myself I had gone, just how black the darkness which had been gradually creeping up on me my who life, had finally got. 

Like most people, there are 2 of me. The one the outside world sees, the one who is real. I should have been an actress; I'm damn sure I would have won awards because I am so good at letting people think they know everything about me, whilst I know they literally haven't got a clue. I share only what needs to be shared. I'm sure some people who know me may come across this at some point, may read it, and may sit there and say "holy shit; I never knew she was feeling that bad". That's because they either A) have never bothered to take the time to get to find out how I am, or what I am feeling, or B) because I have hidden it and covered it so well. There are things I share, and things I don't, and I can paint on a smile far better than any clown when I have to. I've been out the back at work before, sobbing to the point where I cannot breathe, yet the second a customer comes into the shop, I walk myself back through, paint the smile on and they would not have a clue.

Anyone who knows me, knows how I was bullied as a child, and well into adulthood - in fact, even this year I have still allowed people to (pressure me maybe, not so much bully, although there is a very fine line between the 2) make me feel as though I am not worthy, that I am just a thorn-in-their-side they tolerate, yet don't really want to be around. I've sat back and said nothing about things when in fact I should have shouted about them, but I kept quiet "because it's easier" and because I didn't want to upset or offend someone else. How sad is that? It was/is ok for those people to make me feel worthless, to upset me, yet god forbid I actually speak my mind and upset them. Yes, that's the world I have been living in. That's the world I've been allowing myself to live in; that's how I allowed people to treat me. What a waste of 30 years (ok, ok, I know I'm older than that, but cut me some slack!!).

I've experienced some things in my life that I would not wish upon anyone - including those in the past who have made me believe myself to be worthless, and those who thought it ok to smash my head against a concrete pillar, and worse. I figured those things happened because I was worthless, a nothing, a nobody; I deserved no better. From there, things then just seemed to escalate and I got so caught up in my own world of doom-and-gloom, I then believed all the bad things which happened in my life were because of how worthless (and useless - oh yes, I've felt like a useless being) I was. There's no denying that my Dad dying as he did, that Lou dying as he did, that Donna dying as she did, that Myrtle going through what she did, was hard on me (and they are only things which have happened in the past 25 years - the things before were equally as hard, however, they were my things, things that happened just to me, things that weren't shared with anyone) but DLD and M weren't just about me. Other people also suffered as a result of their losses far more than I, it's just that they were just the ones which hit me the hardest. It wasn't my fault those bad things happened (yes, I really did, (often) think it was all happening as some kind of punishment to me - what I believed I was being punished for I have no clue). They happened, because sometimes, life is fucking shit. We have no control over those things, and I think that makes them even harder, because, at the end-of-the-day, no matter what anyone else says, we all have a little "control freak" living inside of us. 

I never felt as though I fitted in, anywhere. For as far back as I can remember I always felt I wasn't worthy (even as a child, although I am sure back then I thought of it in a different way) and that I was the odd-one-out (that feeling I don't think will ever leave me, but I can accept it now, own it for what it is). I always felt as though I should be doing all I could to please people, or to be a better version of the person I am (I know I should have accepted myself for me - I am who-I-am, the best version I can be at all times). I grew up in a family with 3 older cousins, and 1 the same age. The constant comparison to them all (not by my parents I would like to add - they never compared me to anyone, accepting that I was the daughter they'd been blessed (burdoned I am sure at times) with) was blatantly obvious for even a blind man to see. I was the chubby one; I would cry at my size growing up (because I'd been bullied about it) and Mum would tell me that it was "Puppy fat" and I'd "grow out of it". She lied :) Not the only lie she told me - the best one being " a spider will never crawl on you because they have cold blood and you have warm". The shit I got from my Dad when I absolutely freaked out at having a big, black hairy spider crawling up my face was second-to-none; I so blame my Mum for that! She did it all because she loves me though, and I can never hold that against her - I do enjoy mentioning it though, every now-and-then :)

The cousins were all way more intelligent than I could even pretend to be (and as we've ascertained, I am a good actress, I could have pretended to a point). Because of this I was made to feel stupid, useless and inadequate, hearing often that I was 'never going to amount to anything' or that I wouldn't 'go far'. So, there I am, a kid of 4 or 5, feeling fat and stupid, all thanks to my peers and some nasty little kids at school. What's a fat, worthless, stupid kid to do? That's right; attract the very creatures who feed off such negativity, and that's how I found myself plunging deeper-and-deeper into a world I wanted no part of, yet had no clue how to get out of it (it's taken me until now to finally rid myself of those creatures). There were some kind ones who made it through and that's only because, like me, they were also being bullied and feeling in a similar way to how I felt. Some of them are now raging alcoholics, some (like me) still gorge on food which really does make you feel better at the time, until you catch sight of yourself in a mirror, or have to buy clothes another size bigger; that, then, adds to the circle you are caught up in, so you eat because you're depressed, but it's the eating which aids the depression in the first place. I also ate (I use the word 'ate' as I am currently on a health kick, that I know, for the first time in my life, I will succeed at) to hide myself away. Nobody pays attention to the fat person, unless it's to be mean or take the piss out of and I was used to that; it's a different kind of attention - yes, that is a lie in-a-way too because sometimes people do take notice of the "fat" one and use-and-abuse them in a different way; that's not something to be talking about on here though. 

I have allowed people into my life who should have been told to "go and do one" when I first realised how badly they were treating me, yet stupidly, I kept them around; I thought they were my friends. How crazy is that?

As a teenager I (mildly) self-harmed, not knowing at the time that's what I was doing. I'd take the ring-pull from a coke can (other fizzy drinks were available) and I'd snap it in half so that there were 2 jagged pieces and I'd use those to gouge the skin away from my fingernail beds, or carve into my arm, always making sure to cover it so that nobody could see; if anyone did notice I'd tell them I ripped the skin on a tree branch in the woods, or a thorn on a rose bush. Earlier this year, one of those gouges made an appearance on my wrist (I found that quite odd as I'd not seen any scarring for years). It reminded me of that girl though, and showed me how far I have come in life. The fact I am still here is testament to that; weird how it showed up this year. Even weirder is how it showed up just after I had reached the darkest time in my life. A time I never, ever thought I could reach. 

For a week earlier this year, I fell into a real "woe-is-me" point in life. I think a culmination of everything finally caught up with me. I got so angry with myself for feeling that way. At the end of the day what do I have to feel sorry for myself for? There are families whose kids are dying, slow, horrific deaths and there isn't a thing they can do about it. There are people sleeping under bridges and in doorways who have nothing, and no one in their lives. There are people being blown up in war torn countries; people like you and I, just trying to make it through each day. There are children being tortured and abused, teenagers being stabbed to death on a night out with their friends; people my age, fighting diseases which are ravaging their bodies and they know the outcome is not going to be good, yet still they fight. What the fuck did I have to feel sorry for myself about? What right did/do I have to feel sorry for myself, when compared to all of these people (and many millions more) I have lived an exceptionally charmed life?. I only need to look at my own number 1 to feel humbled, and ashamed of myself for allowing myself to wallow in self pity; what that girl has been through, is going through and will continue to go through I would not wish on my worst enemy, yet every day she gets up, she puts a smile on her face and she gets on with it. To me, she is inspirational; she has far more right when I could ever had to feel sorry for herself (and at times, she does; she is only human after all) but compared to her I have nothing to complain about at all. What kind of selfish, arrogant, narcissist was/am I still? With such an attitude as I had/have (I can't change who I am overnight) then I do deserve all I have dealt with. I have created the person I am today through my own self-loathing, and self-pity. It was during this week (the darkest one) I talked to my Mum about my funeral wishes, told her where my life insurance was kept, discussed what should happen with my bits-and-bobs should anything ever happen to me. I did it in a way that wouldn't have rung alarm bells (had they rung I would have known about it) and I sat back and worked out that it was time for me not to waste any more time feeling sorry for myself. I could not see any light through the trees, and so I told myself there was no point in me living on this planet any longer. It's shocking for me to admit to that; to know I had allowed myself to wallow in so much self pity I believed I should no longer be here. Thankfully, that part of me which has kept me on this planet all these years, that little fighter who lives somewhere deep within me, took me by the ears, shook me about (quite violently) slapped me around the head a few times and made me realise I don't want that. I don't want that at all. What I do want is to show everyone, prove to anyone who has ever doubted me, put me down, said I would never be able to do it, or achieve anything, that they are wrong. That I am good enough and that they are not, and were never, worthy of being welcomed into my life as they were.

In recent years I have rid myself of wastage; people who made me feel bad, people who were blatantly only being my friend for what they could get from me, people who make no effort whatsoever to see me, have been kicked-to-the-curb. It's meant I've found myself in a very lonely place, but I think that is a good thing, for that is what has helped me to finally wake-up. I've learned that for every person out there who doesn't want to spend time with me, there is another who does. I got/am so sick of always being the one to make the effort, getting nothing in response, that I have walked away from people I genuinely care about; I am worth more than that. I got to the point where I decided if someone wants into my life, then they are welcome (as long as they don't bully, try to manipulate or put me down). If they don't want in, that is fine. It is their choice and I wish them well in all they endeavour. We cannot force people into wanting to spend time with us, just as we must stop forcing ourselves to do what others want. I have a 3 strike rule because at the end of the day we are all human. I've had people send me a message, read it, gone to reply to it, got distracted and not given it another thought, until later when I get another message, and I'm like "ooh shit; my bad". I do then reply. I often contact people. who I can see have read the message, who don't reply. A while later (weeks/months) I may send another. The same thing can happen. The third time they don't bother, they go. It's pretty obvious they have no interest in me. I can take a hint!! Several people have been removed from my life over this Christmas period. People who've not bothered; if they can't be, then why should I be? I've spent my whole life giving; it's time for me to do some taking, and if that means other people's noses get put-out-of-joint in the process, then I'm afraid so-be-it. Maybe if they'd given a little more thought to my feelings in the past I'd not be cutting them out now. I'm done with putting others first (except My Mum for she will always come first, no matter what; I'd not be here if it wasn't for her) It's time to put me first, and other people are either in, or they are out. They no longer get to dictate my life. When I woke up smiling the other morning, I realised that my happiness is dependant on me, and only me. I hope some people want to stay in my life, but if they can't accept I may not always do things how they want it done, and that I will do what I want to do, then that is something they need to sort out. I will never set out to hurt anyone, or be mean to someone (that's just not in my nature and I know how it feels to be on the receiving end) but I will not let their misery, unwillingness and lack of thought for anyone but themselves ruin my day, my fun, or my time. If they don't want to join in, that is fine, just so long as they understand I'm doing it with, or without them. I've spent 48 years of my doing what others said I should do, behaving how others told me I should behave. I refuse to spend the next 48 being anyone's puppet. I am good enough, I always was. I only wish it hadn't taken me so long to realise it.

I used to keep copies of every message and email I received, partly because I would often forget what someone had told me and would need to go back, but mainly because there were certain people in my life who would say things, then twist what had either been replied, or said by me. I kept those to defend myself. What I realised when I 'awakened' was that it doesn't matter, they don't matter. If they have nothing better to do with their lives than stir up shit for others that is their problem; not mine. If the person they are spreading their shit to believes what they are being told, again, that is not my problem. I do not need to defend myself to anyone. As a result, all messages and emails have been deleted, except those which have info relating to travel or days out, which are needed for me to know what I'm doing and where I need to be at any one time. I know what I have/haven't said, or done, and to be honest what someone else thinks means absolutely nothing to me. If they want to believe bad of me, then they're not the kind of person I want in my life anyway. I even deleted the messages I'd kept that Donna and Louis had sent me; I figured it's time to let them go, let them rest. I have more than enough memories to remember them both by. My keeping hold of such things isn't going to change the outcome, it's not going to bring them back.

The past is what-it-is and while it has shaped me, I cannot allow it to define me. It's been, it's gone, it's over; I had no control over it, but what I do have the opportunity to shape my future. I cannot allow the past (or my inner kindness that always feels it should put other people first) to stop me from doing so. 

And so I find myself facing 2019 with an optimism, a gusto and an excitement I have never felt in my life. It's all kind of weird to me (and a little scary at times) but in such a great way.

I think I might even sit and make the time to write that book I've always promised myself I would write. Maybe, just maybe, I don't need to base it around my imagination; maybe I need to make it about life, real life, my life.