A fine line

It started in my chest... slightly to the left

Tingling at first then building steadily

Until it was a sharp searing pain

Stabbing inwards  and radiating across my torso

Until I was bent over in pain.

Hunched over I clutched my chest

And slumped to the floor, my eyes blinded by the pain

My heart exploding fit to burst

Then I felt my skin starting to prickle

As if tiny needles were trying to push through my flesh 

but just as they burst through they were rammed back in painfully.

The pain was overwhelming.

Scratching at first then ripping my skin violently

And leaving my pink flesh vulnerable, damaged and exposed.

Tiny beads of blood bubbled then gushed through the pores.

Writhing on the floor in pain I snaked 

Towards the door, desperate to get away from my own body.

Then the room grew dark and  all sensation in my limbs numbed.

I froze ... the panic rising inside me,

Eyes closed and fists clenched I lay there motionless

waiting for the next attack.

What was happening to me? 

Was it all in my head?

Suddenly I was gasping for breath.

It felt as if the air was being siphoned out of the room.

I was crawling now on my hands and knees, looking for an exit

A door..

A window...

Desperate for air, my body shuddering with each raspy gasp.

I tried to inhale but instead felt my chest tighten

As my lungs seized ...then gave up

I slumped to the ground

Reaching out desperately  in the pitch dark

Reaching for help, for relief..for air

Fighting a losing battle  for my life.

My body formed a  pathetic grotesque shape

As I lay there feeling the  life seep out of my body

And then everything shut down.

In an instant

It was over.

The room was so still and quiet.

My last memory... a rank smell of filth and rot.

When I came to the first thing I noticed was the light.

I blinked as I tried to focus.

I raised my arms in up to my eyes,

Shielding them from the light as my eyes adjusted to the view.

I could see the light properly now

It was a warm glow washing over my skin

Like tiny little glitter fairies dancing all over my body

The pain...it was gone!

I felt as light as a feather

I lifted my head and realised that I was somewhere up high.

I was floating in the sky

looking down at my damaged form - 

Still laying slain on the ground ... no longer on the floor 

But now in a dry, and rocky barren field.

How could I be up here

Just floating with my back to the sky,

Seemingly weightless?

As I relaxed and inhaled deeply I smelt the delightful scent 

Of spring bursting to life around me 

I shut my eyes... fresh grass.. hints of lavender and honey 

Drifting seductively into my nostrils

It was so sweet .. and so surreal..intoxicating almost.

I felt giddy, the contrast of these two worlds overwhelming me.

I slowly relaxed and as I did I felt the peace wash over me

What was happening?

Was this a dream?

I was momentarily stunned

And then I saw it...

A fine golden line, shimmering midway between 

my two 'bodies'.. like a ribbon floating in the breeze

This one happy and warm 'self' 

Looking down through the barrier

At this horrific scene below me beyond the line

As if into a mirror of my lifeless 'self' 

Spent and discarded in a wasteland...

And as I took it all in it slowly started to make sense.

ALL OF IT.

There's a fine thin line

Between merely surviving  - 

And actually living

This whole picture was my life 

In all its raw, ugly and also hauntingly beautiful glory

I had a choice to make.

My heart had been slowly breaking over time

Cracking and then shattering and splintering into pieces.

The splinters created were my emotions

Racing riotously  through my body 

Trying to be deciphered but making no sense.

The flood of painful memories

Had tried to be contained in my body - 

But with my sanity gone, my composure destroyed

They started to seep through my pores,

Bleeding through to the outside - 

The toxicity of them rotting my flesh in the process.

The desperate gasps were my last few cries for help

Clutching at the air.. a final desperate bid to escape

The torture of my own life

It was a summary of my existence until this very moment.

This dreamy, warm place was a taste of what it could be..

If I was willing to let it all go,

Let go of the years of pain 

And all who had caused it 

At some point I had started breaking my own heart

Destroying myself from the inside out

With the lies I told myself over and over

To justify this existence that I was choosing

There's a fine line

Between choosing to be a victim

And being the heroine in your own story.

A fine line between giving up

And giving in;

Walking away or bravely starting over.

It doesn't change what was.

You cannot forget it,

Or ever escape it.

But you always have a choice.

A fine line 

Between looking around in desperation for someone to help you

And having the strength to save yourself.

Sometimes from yourself.

It was an easy decision.

I curled my body and arched upwards,

Almost as if I was diving up into the great beyond.

I could see the sun, the moon, and the stars and few bolts of lightning - 

All at once!

I swam speedily upwards,

Forging my own new path,

Swimming towards the light

Into a place where the impossible can be possible - 

Where the sun and the moon can be out at the same time!

Where I made the rules...

And I was in charge.

That grizzly image is a reminder..

That  haunting corpse of a life

Was not what I wanted to be.

I chose life.

I am still swimming upwards - 

And I will never ever turn back.

#survivior#neverquit#

Hyacinth, Iris, Violet...my blossoms for life

Out of 26 ...it had to be 3. 

A town in the back of beyond
A chance encounter
Our eyes locked and then I broke the gaze
I smiled as I turned away
I knew the moment I saw him
That he was mine and I was his
I have looked back so many times and wondered
Was it my destiny or did I choose my own fate?


Lust. Foolishness. Lack of direction.
It could never have spelt a good beginning
My gut always told me he wasn't right
I ignored it
I fell in love and  stayed in love
Long after it made sense to
I saw happily ever after, I wanted happily ever after
I was trying to fill a gaping hole
It only grew


Late nights
Broken promises
Abuse and pain
Tears
Desperation
A mother whilst I was a child myself
My life in another child's hands
I was never safe
None of us were
How could we be?

The day he told me we had to talk
I had a sinking filling.. I already knew
The writing had been on the wall for longer than I cared to remember
Wishing I had stopped, read the signs and run ...was futile
In an instant my life changed forever
Anger
Disgust
Regret
Crippling Fear


Almost 2 decades later
Many bruises. On my skin. On my heart.
My dignity in shreds
The sanctity of marriage little more than a humourless joke
Years of lies and betrayal
Telling myself it was the best thing for the kids
The best thing for me..surely?
So I stayed
He owed it me
To us
But now I realise that I owe it to myself
To face the truth
That all I get for my naivety is this pathetic little bouquet


It could have been S
For Saffron
It could have been D
For Daisy
It could have been A
For Aster
I would have settled for any of those 3 
Or any other 3 in fact
They don't spell a three letter plague
I have often wondered when the precise moment was
That I received my tiny bouquet of toxic flowers
Seemingly sweet
Deceivingly beautiful

But out of the 26 it had to be 3... 

And now we co-exist 
They are my friend and my foe
Giving me strength whilst destroying me everyday
A bitter irony I acknowledge daily
But they are an inextricable part of me
There's no running
No hiding
No wishing it away
They are now my blossoms for life...

Hyacinth, Iris, Violet.

The Fray

The men sit and discuss politics.  Chests puffed out. Bellies protruding and sagging dangerously low, just held up by tattered leather belts. So many opinions. Visual autopsies. A judgmental audience to the proceedings before us. The state of affairs in our country. Occasionally sipping on the fermented delights that are supplied in steady  supply by their lovely counterparts as they watch the fire blaze until it dwindles into glowing embers. Voices bellowing and bouncing off into the night sky. Competing for a space in the testosterone induced  melody of meaningless manhood. Why are we not encouraging each other and mentoring each other through the difficult and slippery slopes of life? Why isn't age advising naivety?  The fray.

Women bustle around subserviently. Plying the men with drinks.  Busying themselves over smoking  and bubbling pots. Have the men been fed? Is their thirst quenched? Who is stoking their fire? Jubilant children bouncing forward to share with exuberance  the discovery of an oddly shaped stick ( could it be a magical wand mummy? ) only to be swatted away in frustration.  So many tasks , so little time. Unconstructive notes are shared through the haze of stinging smoke. Conclusions are drawn. Bitterness deepens. Why are we not empowering one another instead of deepening each others' insecurities?  The fray.

Rejected. The  children watch from a distance.  Too young to hear the men's tales of conquest or to be entertained or appreciated by them. Unwanted in the hot kitchens where they disturb and could overhear ' big peoples talk'... they stand and watch. Sponges. Soaking it all up. Trying to figure how much of what they observe they should eventually pass on. What is the legacy to be passed on? Who do they take their cues from?  What is the ' right' way to be or aspire to? The fray.

Getting over oneself

We've all had pity parties. But ain't no party like my pity party.
Every guest is welcome.
Sadness jiggles in time to Regret as they do the 'bump-jive'.
Disappointment and Rejection sashay back and forth disrupting the rhythmic mob with their tango in the perilously small dance floor.
Every emotion is vying for a moment in the spotlight.
Anger gyrates slowly and seductively with Indignation.
Its mesmerising to watch.
Self-pity is at the door, ushering guests in , inconsiderately unaware of how squashed and uncomfortable the party is.
Depression links arms with Hopelessness and they bustle around ensuring that every guest feels welcome.
Frustration is at the turntables spitting out tracks to please the crowd.

"Life perfect
Ain't perfect
If you don't know what the struggle's for
Falling down ain't falling down
If you don't cry when you hit the floor
It's called the past cause I'm getting past
And I ain't nothing like I was before
You ought to see me now"  -
LESSON LEARNED - Alicia Keys

Its like she is reading my mail. Alicia...how do you know my pain???

I love the last line of that paragraph. But like the meantime, its a painful journey...line by line... getting to that last line.

The beginning of healing is getting over oneself. Just feeling your emotions instead of observing them and giving them  a name from a meaningless distance. Coming up close and personal, embracing and immersing yourself in them and really feeling them. No shame. Falling down. Hitting the floor. Hitting rock bottom.  Because unless you get to that gritty, nasty part of the pit you can't be disgusted enough to look up to see the way up and out of your 'pity pit'. And therein lies the path to getting over oneself. The path to re-birth.

So you can stand and say with pride " You ought to see me now".

Traffic musings

Where I come from, when the Presidential motorcade goes by everyone knows what to do...and we don't miss a beat. Cars pull off the road swiftly and grind to a halt to make way for his entourage of shiny vehicles. In that moment we are all just meaningless minions making way for greatness to come though. From sleek Jaguars and imposing Landrovers to  the array of dilapidated Japanese imports that throng our busy city streets.  In that one moment, we are all the same. Time stands still and everyone is motionless. Waiting. In the blistering heat. Until the signal from the last police escort that we may all merge back into traffic - an 'as you were' of sorts.

I often wish my life could be that way. That when the madness in my head and chaos of my emotions becomes too much to deal with or bear I could silently raise a hand and the world would know what to do. That everything that has breath and every little bit of motion would come screeching to a halt. That life could stop. Give me a moment. A moment to breathe. To think. To just drift a little and not worry about the 'whys' and 'if-onlys' and just exhale deeply. That the pandemonium that is my life would be a peaceful stillness. Just for a moment.  Until I was ready to face it all again. But if wishes were horses... you know what they say - beggars would ride.