On Being Woke AF

Oh I'm proper pissed off today. I don't know if it is because I am over tired or because this year has been like a fucking roller coaster but today can fuck off.

This year so far has had some brilliant bits. The Lovely has started his own business, we are closer than ever, Daughter Person is going to Uni, I got a first in a uni assignment, my job fulfils me and I became an aunty again to the fightiest little girl ever. (12 weeks early, came out shouting, you can tell we're related).

Also has had some proper shit bits. Mental health took a real knock after spending less than 2 hours with Bio Mum and I got a (not entirely undeserved) bollocking at work. I'm tired, my endo is shit and I am piling on weight so not always feeling very good about myself. I am weepy a lot of the time and I despair a lot of the time and I am starting to blame one thing.

I am woke as fuck.

I sometimes wish I wasn't. I sometimes wish I could go through the world totally oblivious to the shit that goes on. I sometimes wish that I wasn't as aware of mental health issues, or race issues, or gender or disability or sexuality issues.

I sometimes wish I was the kind of woman who was happy with her lot in life and thought that All Lives Matter because we need to be equal! I sometimes wish I had no idea about privilege or intersectionality or the fact that 2-3 women are murdered by their current or ex partners a week.

Maybe I would sleep better. Maybe I wouldn't be so fucking TENSE all the time. Maybe these things wouldn't piss me off so much.

Motivational posts: Fuck off. Just fuck off. On my FB timeline RIGHT NOW is such bullshittery as HIT LIKE AND SHARE IF YOU HAVE A DAUGHTER/SON/MUM/DAD/DOG/CAT/CROCODILE OR WHATEVER THAT YOU LOVE WITH ALL YOUR HEART!

Well fuck me, I love my cat and my daughter person, I had better share the shit out of that!

Oh and articles about THE WORST EYEBROW SINS WOMEN CAN COMMIT.

Are you fucking shitting me? Do you not think that we have enough to worry about without people judging us for our fucking eyebrows now? It's like patriarchy panicked because women had started to not give a shit about armpit hair and had to have something to have a go at us about. PSA: do what the fuck you like with your eyebrows. Couldn't actually give a shit and if you are judging women for theirs you either need to get a fucking grip and/or stop buying into a patriarchal society that wants women to shame each other for capitalism.

While I am at it, people can make you feel bad without your consent. (this is the motivational post I hate the most, fucking victim blaming piece of shit that has no idea about manipulation and coercion).

Also, if you derail a conversation about violence against women to talk about men, you can fuck off an all. You are part of The Problem.

Don't want an abortion? Don't get one. Just stay the fuck out of everyone else's wombs and decisions.

Also, reverse sexism is not A Thing. Sexism is backed up by cultural oppression and capitalism and teh menz don't get that. You're confusing sexism with Fragile Masculinity. And worse, they have women doing it.

Reverse racism: See above.

And white people. Stop thinking you can say nigger. I don't care how much fucking hip hop you listen to, you don't get to say it. Not ever. Stop.

See what I mean? All of this would be easier if I never had any political awakening. I would be able to go through my life without giving any of it a second thought. But I can't.

I can't see the bloody poster for Emilia Clarke's new film without wondering why, when she is gazing directly into the eyes of her loved one FROM THE SIDE that we can still see her entire bloody cleavage!

I can't see a 'joke' saying that (and I really wish I was making this up) 'gagging is the most romantic sound you can hear because it means someone has chosen your dick over oxygen' and not lose my shit.

I can't not call out slut shaming. PSA: women can have lots of sex and still respect themselves.

STOP FUCKING JUDGING WOMEN FOR THEIR CHOICES.

I can't not call out racism, homophobia, transphobia or ableism.

STOP JUDGING PEOPLE NON STOP.

My life would be easier but I just can't.

You can't go back to sleep once you've woken. You can't be blind when the scales have fallen from your eyes.

You can never go home again.

On Why I Run

I started running this week.

I signed up to run a 5k event in October too.

Those who know me in real life have been shocked, impressed and slightly suspicious as to who this body snatcher is inhabiting their friend.

I didn't do running. I wouldn't run for a bus. I wouldn't run for anything really. Not that I was lazy, though I was dreadfully unfit of course, but I just didn't do running.

Now I get up at 6am and go for a half an hour run with the aid of the Couch 2 5k programme.

Yep. You heard right. 6am. SIX. In the AM.

Those who know me in real life are again wondering if body snatchers like to get up early.

Believe me, nobody is more surprised about this than me.

But I am addicted. On rest days I am restless, waiting for the next time I get to put my trainers on and go for it.

So what caused the change?

I nearly died. I had pneumonia and nearly died. I ended up on death's door at Bristol Royal Infirmary with double pneumonia and asthma so severe I nearly died.

Do you know what that's like? To feel your life draining away because you can't get a breath? To know that unless you fight, I mean LITERALLY, fight for your life that everything you love is gone forever? Do you know how it feels to actually nearly give into the temptation to just let go? To just let yourself slip away and no longer be?

It's fucking scary.

So when I got out of hospital I stopped smoking, I started eating healthily and started walking more.

Then I got the urge to run.

I heard that exercise is good for depression. I think that if you manage to get out of bed with depression that you are already winning, but I have to say that on the days when I run I am happy. Really happy.

Knackered. But happy.

When I am out there I get strange looks sometimes. I could do with a sports bra to keep my jelly belly still to be honest as it slows me down a bit. I get honked at by van drivers, I get giggled at by dog walkers, this mad, beetroot coloured, sweating, panting woman who is trying to just run for one more minute. Just one more. Come on Deeva, you can do this. You can run for another minute...

There is also that sweet moment when the woman on your running app tells you RUN just as the bass drops on Flux Pavillion's Bass Cannon in your ears and that makes you feel invincible.

I go out really early and sometimes I worry about that. I am vulnerable to attack, to fat shaming, to the perception that if anything were to happen to me that I was asking for it (I wear VERY short shorts).

But I don't even care. I run.

And this is why I run.

At 6am the world belongs to me. I don't have to look good. I don't have to smell good. I just have to run.

I don't have to be polite to people I don't like. I don't have to be anyone at all. I just have to run.

I am not in competition with anyone. I am good enough. I am the best that I can be. I don't have to worry that anyone is judging me. I just have to run.

The wind is in my hair. I can hear my blood. I can feel the road through my feet. Water tastes like nectar. My breath is ragged then smooth. It is vital. I am alive. I am me. I am alive, alone, doing something that is just for me and nature is running with me, though me.

I am exhilarated. I am addicted to that exhilaration. I am a goddess.

I run.

Open Letter To Roifield, Cosmo and John III

Dear all,

I know you all think you are good guys and I tend to agree with you most of the time. I know you all think that you are on Helen Archer's side and most of the time you are. I know you all think you are being the voice of reason.

You aren't. What you are doing is enabling not just Rob's, but all male abuse and violence against women.

Think that is a bit strong? Not at all and here is why. Imagine that you are in a pub with some male friends, acquaintances, colleagues, it doesn't matter really who they are, just that they are men in your company,  and you don't know that one or more of them is abusive to women.

One in three women experience abuse in their lifetime so this is not outside of the realms of possibility.

You make some comments about abuse and how it is a dreadful thing but really, women are a bit oversensitive about it aren't they? It isn't actually abuse if he is just 'a bit of a jerk' or if he 'is a good father to the boy' or 'he is just looking out for her'.

You see these men who abuse women are smiling at your comments because you have just validated them. You have excused their behaviour and the women in their lives are now going to suffer for it. Because you have bought into the narrative that says that women need a bit of control or they get a 'bit wild'. Or are a 'bit delicate' and need looking after.

Is that who you want to be?

Do you want to be the man who makes an abuser feel comfortable and validated? I don't think you do. I really hope I am right about that. I am right about that right?

Here is how you get past this.

When women are telling you that you are wrong about a situation, LISTEN. Don't talk over her. Don't patronise her. Don't try to be the voice of reason. Not only do you do her a disfavour by not listening to her lived experience but you are treating her as irrational and believe me, she will have had enough of that in her life.

Have you ever been in a situation where something didn't feel quite right? Where your gut was telling you to run but you were being overruled by clever words, manipulation and an eroding of self esteem? That is what women in these relationships deal with all the time and when they try to break free the abusers get worse. And the women end up saying sorry.

Also, the dog whistle that only women can hear is not a thing. My timeline was filled with men who get it as strongly as the women where it comes to Rob and Helen. You do not get to use your gender as a get out clause.

Ditto the ledger of behaviours. Not a thing. Not in an actual healthy and grown up equal relationship.

Accept that it isn't all about you being right or wrong. Accept that you don't get a pass for validating abusers by saying that they are abusers. Where the power is already unbalanced in a relationship you are not providing balance, you are making an oppression worse. Accept that not only Helen Archer but many women are in actual danger from their abusers.

I say all of this to you all in love and sisterhood and hope that you can understand what I am saying.

Goddessdeeva out.

On Living With An Invisible Disability - Guest Post

This is from the amazing Fiona Fairless who has been my very good friend for a very long time.
She is exactly the type of person that this government hates.
Register to vote then vote them out. Please.

Over the last few weeks I've been toying with writing about living with an invisible disability. I've been finding things quite hard recently, for a number of external reasons, but it's made me think hard about my attitude.

I have a condition called Fibromyalgia. It came on suddenly following a virus, there is no cure and very little in the way of treatment. It is a neurological condition and so can affect pretty much any part of the body, causing acute pain, spasms, fatigue and a host of other symptoms on a scale ranging from irritating to life changing.

I look no different now than I did the day before I acquired the condition and this in itself causes issues.

I have had the authorities, doctors, even friends and family question my situation.

Comments about how it would get better if I lost weight. Comments about whether it's just a symptom of mental health concerns. Questions about why I should be entitled to benefits - these were from a family member. Being told how nice it must be that I don't have to work now.

I can't articulate in sensible language the impact comments like that have. I want to scream in their faces that they should try being me for a day before they comment but then I realise the futility of that.

They would need to be me, all day, every day to appreciate the life sentence I have been given.
Even worse are those who  tell me they understand.

NO YOU FUCKING DON'T. You don't understand because you are not in my situation and you are not me. You have no idea what it feels like to feel trapped in your own home because you are too exhausted to go out.

You have no idea how humiliating it is to have to ask for help to get dressed, to wash your hair. You have no idea how un-sexy you feel having to wash yet another set of clothes because you couldn't get to the bathroom in time. You have no idea how angry it makes you feel when you can't wash up because your hands hurt too much to grip the dishcloth.


Anger is something I am having to battle with a great deal at the moment. I feel so angry and not because I am disabled. I learnt to deal with that a long time ago. I am angry because of other peoples attitudes and ideas about MY disability. One day I hope I can find a calm place in life where I can be at peace with my condition, where I can feel guiltless about what my condition means and where I can be free from idiots who think they are  thinking before they speak.

Until then I just have one wish. If you have a shred of doubt, an iota of a lack of compassion or simply have no consideration of me, then leave me the fuck alone. Don't comment, don't look, just walk on by.

Member of the Feral Underclass and all round Good Egg, Fiona can usually be found either away with the fairies or singing to power ballad. She loves a good power ballad does our Fiona.

On The NUS Banning Cross Dressing Sisters

I am furious today. I am furious at this article and it is going to show in this post.

It is going to be sweary and it is going to be raw and it is going to use shocking transphobic language to make points against transphobia.

You have been warned. If you are still reading, buckle up. It is going to be a bumpy ride.

Now.

Imagine being a woman who most of the world considers 'born a man'. Or a 'chick with a dick'.

Now imagine that you have braved going out in a dress, You have taken a long time getting ready and though you are nervous, you are in an environment that is more welcoming than those times you hid at the back of the bus or took a train hours later than you could have just to miss rush hour and the inevitable stares of people who think you are a freak and are playing a barely mirth suppressed game of Guess The Gender.

This is where people come to be educated and you are starting to feel at home here. So you go out in your dress and your carefully done make up. You may pass, you may not, but for this moment you feel good and it doesn't matter.

Hold that thought. Hold that feeling of feeling as good about yourself as you get.

Got it? Good.

Now imagine a bunch of rugby players crash past you wearing lurid dresses, bad make up, worse wigs and full facial hair.

Wow are you not going to feel good about yourself. Damn, you are not going to feel safe because this is what they think you are. This is what they think you look like. They think your gender identity is a vulgar, ugly joke. They think you are a man in a dress. A chick with a dick.

And bless their stupid fucking misogynist stockings they think they are being enlightened. Not for them the fear of being called gay! They are comfortable in their sexuality (until they 'accidentally' get off with a trans woman, 'realise' then beat the shit out of her) and wearing a dress proves it.

(And in the weirdest bit of whatabouttery I have EVER seen it is rugby players that the article sticks up for. Not the women of NUS conference who are trying to include all women and non binary people. WTAF?)

Now you are hiding again. A woman that no one protects. One that is more likely to commit suicide. One that is more likely to self harm. One that doesn't want to leave the house because everyone is looking.

So, what should we do about it?

A good start is to highlight the issue and make sure that women and men are aware that their actions might hurt others to the point of causing them actual harm. To try to take steps to make sure that a man wearing a dress as a drag act is not seen as a funny thing but as art. To try to take steps to make sure that trans women are not scared. To try to take steps to make sure that University is a safe space.

And that is exactly what Women's NUS conference was doing. And rather than applaud that (either by clapping or using jazz hands, and seriously it really isn't that big a deal why they went to it, if it helped delegates feel more comfortable about being present or speaking, wave those digits!) they have been ridiculed and lambasted by their elders and 'betters' about the contents of the motions.

For fuck's sake grow up.

That they will no longer say sisters as it excludes non binary people is a good thing and goes a long way further than anyone else has done to encourage safe spaces and rather than have a go at them for it the rest of the movement, both trade union and feminists should be embarrassed about it.

'BUT THEY ARE STUDENTS, WHY ARE THEY NOT DEBATING EDUCATION STUFF?' I hear some cry.

They have shown us right up by daring to question how education is accessed. They have dared to question the status quo. They have dared to insist that all people get an equal shot at it. That EVERYONE gets to participate.

If this isn't Education 101 I don't know what is.

I keep hearing that the young people are our future. They just blew this trope out of the water and showed us that they are not waiting, that the future is now and they can't be bothered to wait for the rest of us to put it through 1000 committees before we make a decision.

They may not be able to enforce it on campus but they can sure as hell make sure that it is talked about and seen as a bad thing, It also means that they will be able to more easily challenge behaviours and language in their own and other people's meetings. PCS has policy on abortion, does this mean that they can enforce it on everyone? No. But does that mean they shouldn't have the policy? No. We know how this works. We steer the conversation by having these policies and you know this.

Good fucking on them I say. They give me hope. They are actually walking the walk.

And I will wave my jazz hands for them all day every day.

Deeva xxx

ps. If What about the rugby players is what you are using to put women down then hand in your feminist card. Really. Do it now. You fucking irrellevance.

On My Experiences As A Minority In The Metal Community - Guest Post

Now, this one is from a very good friend of mine called Erica. He is awesome and funny and ridiculously talented at art and being an all round good egg.

This made me shout FUCK YES! on a packed train today. Enjoy!!

I am a metalhead. I am also queer (a more accurate description would be something like “bisexual and genderqueer”, but I prefer to just use the word queer*). These are two aspects of my identity and they are both very important to me. Within myself, I know the two are compatible. Outside in the world, I feel like an irregularity, a weird lump in a wooden carving that quickly gets glossed over.

The “metal community” is a weird one. I guess it’s pretty comparable to a nerd culture in many ways- a group of people brought together by a shared interest (in this case, a type of music). People celebrate their affiliation with this subculture through the way they dress, going to events like gigs and festivals, etc.

The “metal community” also has a history of supposedly “supporting the underdog” as it were. Many people who feel drawn to the subculture felt “different” growing up, or felt like outsiders, and I think many would agree there is a feeling of solidarity, co-operation, openness and tolerance within the community as a result of this. The S.O.P.H.I.E. campaign (Stamp Out Prejudice, Hate and Intolerance Everywhere) for example was set up to promote tolerance following the tragic death of Sophie Lancaster, who was attacked for the way she dressed. On the whole, it is a space which is largely accepting of anyone who is “different”.

But that’s not the whole story. Fuck knows how this happened, but the metal community somehow manages to be super lovely and welcoming, and simultaneously the most disgustingly hyper-masculine dick-worship fest you could ever imagine. It’s nothing new, really- just a different colour of patriarchy. A very fucking loud and obvious one. In ways I like it, because it’s so blatant. No one’s trying to deny how male dominated metal is (unlike people constantly claiming there is equality in the rest of society la la la the patriarchy’s a myth la la la protect my privilege please).

So what does this mean for me as a queer person? How do I exist in this space? With difficulty, is the answer. For example: how do I act in a way that reflects my gender, so that others see me the way I want to be seen? Part of me really wants to engage in the hyper-masculine dick worship fest, because it’s really fun, and I really enjoy getting thrown around by massive men and chugging pints of cider out of some drummer’s disgusting walking boot (no, really, I do). I like being a boy. But I know I shouldn’t have to do this to prove my masculinity, and this sort of attitude to masculinity actively supports oppressive structures (hint: ones that oppress me). I don’t like that.

I dare to exist in this space as genderqueer, and that alone is pretty fucking subversive. I want people to SEE my gender, but they don’t. People are conditioned to ask “are you a boy or a girl?”, to do a quick calculation in their head (“well that hair is pretty short… but then there’s those legs… not much breasts or hips… the face shape… soft arms…. Make-up? Hmmm I’ll go with girl” (No you fucker my body is not some fucking puzzle for you to solve)). It makes me feel so conspicuous. And people let me know I’m conspicuous.

If you’re not familiar with mosh pits, it’s like a very rough version of the hokey cokey. I thoroughly recommend them. Very cathartic. But I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve had men run into issues with my gender in the pit (Note: their issues). It is scary for them to see a queer body transgressing the roles of its perceived gender in a space normally for white, cisgender, straight, able-bodied men. It would be easier for them if I didn’t exist, because they could continue their hyper-masculine dick worship fest without questioning what’s going on. People try very hard to ignore the existence of queer bodies. We’re made invisible. But they can’t ignore me when I physically fall into them. So they panic and say things like “wow, good on you for being in the pit!” and “Don’t see many people like you in the pit!” or give me patronising high-fives. They panic because they realise the tolerant community they prided themselves so much in is completely alienating to that queer kid and they start choking on their own hypocrisies. Save your breath. I don’t need you to tell me how much you accept me in the pit. I will mosh because I fucking want to, not to validate your desire to appear accepting. I know you’re trying to be nice, but I’m here to get drunk and fuck about, not have a nice equality and diversity chat (hint: I’m not nice, I’m angry).

But at the same time, I relish this split second of visibility, uncomfortable as it is, because it’s all I get. I think I have had one conversation with a trans metalhead, ever. I saw his home made back-patch that said “Fuck heterosexuality, yes homo, hail satan” and thought FINALLY my sort of person! We had a nice chat about how it’s very uncomfortable moshing in a binder, how it’s hard to look metal when long hair makes you dysphoric, and other trans metalhead problems. It was great, y’know, getting to talk to someone with similar experiences. That one time. For five minutes.

I am sure there are loads of us out there. It’s just hard to find each other when we’re silenced, made invisible, ignored, avoided or excluded. If the metal community wants to continue to claim to be inclusive and tolerant, it’s time it did more for minorities. Don’t give me that “but we can’t help it, there are so few women/queer/trans/people of colour in the subculture” bullshit. There are loads. You just don’t want to look at us.

*NOTE: I self-identify as queer, and wish to be referred to as queer, but not all LGBTQIA+ people do. The word has a history as a slur. In this case, I am giving you permission to call me this. Please do not suddenly start throwing the word around willy nilly if it’s not yours to use.

Erica, 18. Likes: Cats, art, cycling, toilet humour. Dislikes: Cheese, underwear, trimming my toenails.

Depression Part 2 - Guest Post

When I wrote part 1 of this guest blog, I thought I had a pretty good knowledge of the subject. Having suffered my own dark time and had previous discussions with friends and acquaintances, I saw myself as some kind of all-seeing eye,  I can now admit that I did not know as much as I thought!

I received many comments, it definitely split opinion. Everyone agreed about the value of talking and being supportive of your friends, but that is something that I think everybody should do as a matter of course in everyday life. The main thing that split opinion was the value of medication.

The trouble with it seems to be, that no two people are the same. What works for one person doesn’t for the next. Much like the cause of depression, the number of potential remedies seem enormous. I have since spoken with people who spend large chunks of their life switching meds trying to find one that works for them, others who have found what works for them and are much happier because of that fact. There is also the group  who decided meds weren't for them and tried to wean themselves off, to varying degrees of success.

Suffice to say I opened up the proverbial can of worms. The only conclusion I can draw from this is that you have to find your own path. If something doesn’t feel right to you, change it, seek the advice of friends, family, a doctor... There are very many support groups available, be it NHS or privately run community groups. Hell, even at your local church! These are all places you can go to meet like-minded people who are going through or have been through a similar situation. Sounds easy right? I think not.

 A friend of mine made a good point about their particular experience of group meetings. Whereas his experience was a positive one and he found that these groups really helped, he also felt due to his working class background, that it was hard to talk about it with work colleagues, associates etc. due the stigma attached. I'm inclined to agree with him. However, I don’t think it is confined to the working classes. It is, I feel, a general almost fear of people who suffer with depression, like it might rub off on you, which of course it won't.

He went to an NHS group and only had good things to say about it. Which of course is not always the case with said organisation. Other people's experience was that you got treated in a matter of fact way and got rushed through as if it was a case of one cure for all. It tickled my interest so I started looking in to the cost of mental health care in the UK. The first thing I came across was an article by Charlie Cooper of the Independent.

I was shocked to read that "There are 3,640 fewer nurses and 213 fewer doctors working in mental health in April this year compared to staffing levels two years ago" (the article was written august 2014) and that funding had been cut by 2.3 per cent. This equates to £253 million! So it is no wonder people's experiences have not all been good. It is, I feel, important to point out that the NHS is not at fault, they have to work within the constraints dictated to them by the government... But that’s a whole new can of worms so I'll leave it there.                                                                                                                
Coincidentally, I'm writing this on the 5th of February, Time To Talk Day! Such things as Time To Talk Day can only be a good thing as it raises public awareness and goes some way to reducing the stigma. We should all get on board with it. Social media should also be put to positive use. I know that there is a certain cynical group who use it as a tool to inflict harm, however the more socially aware of us use it for good. Take the sad passing of Robin Williams for example. I believe he would have been proud to see the amount of people who started writing and talking about their own problems after his death. Would a more open and aware society have prevented his death? Who knows. We must strive to be open, aware and above all sympathetic to our fellow human beings.

As a final word for now on this matter, a good friend came to me after my previous piece was published to say how touched they were to read it and how good it felt to see that they where not alone, that it was good to see that there are ways to get through. To see that other people had been through this before them. They could see that there is light at the end of the tunnel and you don’t have to spend your life in the dark.

It's good to know you're not alone!

The caveat though, is that 'The black dog,' as Deeva so succinctly put it, will always be there for most of us, we just have to find a way to make it behave.

Drake, formerly of another name. Green fingered life enthusiast.

On Depression - Guest Post

This one is from my friend Drake. I haven't known him that long but he is one of the good guys and we watched Massive Attack in a field as the sun went down.

I don't actually agree with the bit about meds but this is his take on it and I am hoping that it provokes discussion and debate.

Here it is!

At some point in our lives we will all experience some form of depression. It might last for minutes or years. The cause of it can stem from virtually anything. I stop short of calling it an illness as that suggests that the person is broken. They are not. 

You may turn to a doctor, who in turn will, in all likelihood turn you to drugs. These anti depressant drugs will probably work for a short time but having spoken to friends who have been prescribed them, it appears they only work in the short term. The equivalent of the Dutch boy sticking his finger in the dyke, it doesn't solve the real issue merely covers it up for a while, sooner or later it will burst through.

I personally believe the best way of dealing with depression is talking about it. The irony of that solution is that a depressed person is unlikely to be the one who makes the first move. 

When you have depression it seems the whole world is against you. Your closest friend can seem like your worst enemy, your brain will make things up about them forcing you further away from them. You retreat into your shell and step away from the world. 

I am fortunate enough to have some incredible friends who noticed when I was going through my own dark time and they did their best to help me out, they showed love towards me and gave me an understanding ear even when I didn't want it. They were, I now realise always there even when I tried to push them away. 

We all have friends no matter what you may think. If you are one of these friends and consider yourself to be a true friend, you should be there if you suspect someone is going through these troubled times. Don't take exception if the person is curt with you or if they appear to not want your help. And don't make the mistake of thinking they just want cheering up, obviously that will help in the short term but what is really needed is for you to try and understand why they are depressed. That and being a constant presence in their life will eventually get through, and hopefully that person will start to open up.

I understand that this will not work for everyone, the person suffering has to try to help themselves as well. So if it's you try and reach out to someone, if they are a true friend they will stop and listen and try and help you. 

There is NO shame in asking for help.

I firmly believe that if you do reach out to people, that it breeds confidence both in you and the person you have reached out to. They will see you as a strong person for being able to do so and the chances are they will then see you as someone they can confide in.

It is tough but with the love and support of friends and family it is definitely achievable.

Drake, formerly of another name. Green fingered life enthusiast.

People Who Can Fuck All The Way Off

Happy New Year everyone who marked it on 1st Jan!

For the rest of you, happy January!

One of my resolutions this year is to try to blog weekly. I'm feeling this might be the year it takes off...

I said as a (sort of) joke that I might start the year with a big list of people who can fuck off. This seemed to be popular with regular readers so here we go.

This list is neither exhaustive nor in any order. Buckle up, it's gonna get sweary and I'm putting a content warning for rape, transphobic bullshittery and general abusive fuckwittery right here.

TERRY WOGAN
Do us all a favour and fuck off. Serial scab and didn't report Jimmy Savile. And you know what, this scared thing cuts no fucking ice with me. A group of you would have an impact. Children got fucked. And you said nothing.

ESTHER RANTZEN
I truly hope you choke on your New Years Honour. Childline is an awesome, wonderful thing but you too kept quiet. Fuck off.

RICHARD DAWKINS
Your a dick.

TONY BLAIR
War criminal.

LADY GAGA
Assange apologist and professional Madonna tribute act. Fuck off.

JULIAN ASSANGE
Go to Sweden and face trial. Your hiding in a fucking embassy of all places while acting like a Lidls fucking version of the FOI Messiah makes me sick.

CHED EVANS
NOPE. Convicted rapist that refuses to believe he has done anything wrong has encouraged the doxxing of his victim so she has had to move five fucking times. And football 'fans' chant that he shags who he wants. Fuck all the way off you rapist slime. Or come round and I will kick you till my feet break.

NIGEL FARAGE
There aren't enough words to describe how I feel about you. Scaremongering, nasty, slimey, vicious piece of shit. Fuck all the way off.

CATHY BRENNAN
Dangerous nasty woman hating piece of shit. Trans women are not chicks with dicks. Fuck off. Forever.

ROB TICHENOR
Yes I know you are a fictional character. However, you are based on real life abusive, gaslighting bastards and I would happily hit you in the face with a chair until I got bored. Which would be never.

DAVID CAMERON
You and your ilk are watching people starve on your watch. You have no humanity. I'm not sure you are even human. Your welfare reforms are akin to eugenics and I will not rest until you are gone.

ED MILIBAND
It is not enough to be witty at PMQs. Pledge to reverse all cuts and then you will win a landslide. Until then it's back under your rock for you.

NICK CLEGG 
Student fees. Bedroom tax. Fuck off. Liar.

GAMER GATERS
It isn't about ethics in games journalism actually, it's about hurting and silencing women.

(and here is where I switched from my phone onto my netbook. It has totally fucked up the formatting. Apologies for that.) 

NADINE DORRIES

I fucking loathe you. You call yourself a feminist and then try and restrict access to abortion. Go fuck yourself. Or eat some kangaroo testicles or whatever. You have no business in my uterus. 

LOUISE MENSCH
I loathe you too. You are all that is wrong with white middle class feminism. And you glory in death.

WOODY ALLEN
I believe her. 

JOAN RIVERS
Yes, I know she is dead. She can still fuck off.

ADAM BLOOM
You are racist, sexist, homophobic and just not fucking funny. 

RUSSELL BRAND
When you stop calling women 'love' at the end of a sentence I might have a bit more time for you. Till then, you know the drill, fuck off.

DAPPER LAUGHS
Nope.

ANYONE WHO HAS EVER THOUGHT THAT 'JOKES' ABOUT RAPE, TRANS PEOPLE, RACE, GENDER OR SEXUALITY WERE EVER FUNNY. 
IF YOU THINK THAT WOMEN ARE BITCHES, CRAZY, HARD WORK OR HIGH MAINTENANCE. IF YOU CATCALL WOMEN. IF YOU THINK CHED EVANS DESERVES A SECOND CHANCE.
Fuck all the way off. Yep, you too. You are what I am fighting against. You make it hard for me to walk out of the door in the morning.

Fuck off. All the way off. And when you get there, come back here and fuck all the way off again. 

Wow, that was cathartic!

Will probably add more to the list as the year goes on. Until then, take care and try not to end up on my list!

         

Ave Maria - December 2014 Round Up

Listening to the Stevie Wonder version of Ave Maria in bed and have decided that it is time.

Regular readers will know I always do a december post on here. I usually do it much earlier in the month than this but I was struggling to find a unifying theme. I have it now so here we go.

Been a hell of a year 2014. I started it hopeful that I would get out of my depression, that things would magically get better at work and that  wouldn't feel the soul crushing dragging feeling of anxiety and loss.

In February my beloved Uncle Brian died unexpectedly. Because of the appalling way bio mum was treated I ended up falling out with 2 of my cousins at a time when we should have been leaning on each other.  Amazing how they didn't really want to know him the whole time I was caring for him but as soon as they thought there was some money they were suddenly the doting bereaved children. I will never forgive them for not letting me go to his flat one last time so I could say goodbye to the man who called me the daughter he should have had, nor will I forgive them for treating his sister so callously at her time of deep loss.

I miss you every day Uncle Brian. I miss your laugh and your silly sayings and your support and passion. But you know what? When you died I had no doubt about how you felt about me and I know you knew how much I loved you and that is a gift. Also, I am back speaking to Mum. We're taking it slowly but we are getting there. And I am even closer to Ian and Kelly now. I think you would be proud of me. I love you.

In March I accepted voluntary redundancy. My health was suffering due to bullying by management and by certain members of PCS. I had truly had enough. I had low energy, I was anxious and tired all the time, I couldn't stop crying and could barely leave the flat.

It was a massive decision to make but by then the bullying in PCS had got so bad that I was actively looking forward to leaving. It saps your energy when you are being bullied. So much so that you get paranoid about where the next attack is coming from. You stop trusting people. You feel really isolated. All because I refused to be anyone's puppet and tried to make things better for my members.

In May I attended my last PCS conference. I was on the Group SOC and we were told more than once that it was the best conference for years. We worked hard to give the branches the conference they wanted and we withstood the battering and bullying from certain factions of the GEC and stuck to our guns because dammit, it was IMPORTANT to us to make sure that PCS was actually member led. My health was still quite bad but at NDC I argued and won for a policy supporting sex workers, argued and won a policy supporting abortion rights in Northern Ireland and argued and won reaffirmation of affiliation to Abortion Rights.

Then I went off sick.

And that was when it started to get better. I took my wife and daughter person to Glastonbury. I had a couple of wobbles while I was there but I got to see Dolly Parton mutha truckas! Watching the daughter person start to come out of themselves was amazing and so was seeing Skrillex, Massive Attack and my new faves Dub Pistols. I missed Metallica as I was sobbing in my tent having a panic attack but you can't win them all.

Tolpuddle Martyrs Festival was awesome. I got Owen Jones drunk, had a picture of me, him, MJ and a polar bear nicked by the dick splash Guido Fawkes and got to have a walkie talkie. Also did the martyrs walk for the first time. I love Tolpuddle, it is really hard work but it recharges the old trade union batteries like nothing else does. And I bumped into the main bully from my branch who tried to talk to me.

I told him to fuck off.

Which was nice.

I also left my job of 11 years.

I thought there would be a magical ending of the depression when I finally left. Took me months to recover properly.

Going to Reading where I finally saw the World's Sexiest Ginger (Josh Homme) helped somewhat.

September I started my new job. I love it. I am doing trade union organising full time now and I am doing it with full support of a manager and colleagues. Amazing what I can get done when I am not being bullied!

What else have I been up to?  I went zombie walking, reclaiming the night, to a feminist comedy night and to the Dum Tee Dum Awards where I won caller of the year! People like to take the piss out of me for my love of The Archers but sod them, I love it and when (if) I grow up I want to be Lillian. I am already there with the love of gin and ciggies and a dirty cackle, but I do manage to do my own knitting.

December is now. And how am I coping? Much better. I am still not completely right. I still have my wobbles and I have a hole in my heart where my two sons should be (long story, another time perhaps) but for once I am really really enjoying it. I am far more comfortable in my own skin and far more confident in my abilities. And I got a fuck tonne of really great tattoos.

So what is the unifying theme?

Love and family.

There have been some truly dreadful happenings this year. Reeva Steenkamp not really getting anything that felt like justice. Boko Haram stealing women with seeming impunity. Palestinian children being murdered by Israel. Dude bros going on killing sprees because they didn't get their dicks wet.

We have more people using food banks than ever before. We have disabled people dying and the Tories not giving a shit. Peshawar.

So much darkness in the world. It threatens to drown me and then...

I have The Lovely. I have The Wife Lady. I have the daughter person. I have my cousin and his fiancee. I have me Mam. I have The Bear. I have Ada and the Mahanga.The Clangers, Lovely Tina, Comrade, Torty, Abbi. I have friends and colleagues who care about me. I have love. I have support.

As previously mentioned I have a fuck tonne of really cool tattoos!

This year has been getting better and better. I may not ever be out of the depression woods but I am learning to live with it because I have people who love me not in spite of it but because of it.

Do I miss my old job? No. I am sad that the public have nowhere to get face to face advice on tax but I don't miss being a civil servant. Those people deserve any payrise they get as they are trampled on, undervalued and discarded without a thought by an uncaring government who wants to try to convince you that they are the ones that should pay for the economy being in the shit.

Do I miss PCS? No. It is imploding and is not the union I joined all those years ago. I implore those who are left to fight hard to keep it going and to stop the fucking infighting and hubris that means it is on the brink of destruction.

You are better than this. You can be better than this.

Stop it now.

Do I hate my depression? No.

It's a part of me. I have learned to accept that.

I love you all. I am not even exaggerating when I say I could not do any of this without you. You are my strength, my heart, my passion and my all.

Thank you for my life.

Have a great rest of december and may 2015 be better for all of us.

Deeva xxx

On Being Triggered (cw for ptsd symptoms)

Triggered. Its a word we are hearing a lot more of these days.

There are people who have adopted it to mean upset.

I wish you would stop.

To encourage you in this I thought I would describe what happens when I am triggered.

Be careful, this may well be triggering.

My chest hurts. I don't mean it aches, it physically HURTS. It feels like someone is thumping me in the chest with a medicine ball repeatedly.

I can't breathe. I mean, I know I am breathing but I can't feel it. It feels like I am simultaneously heavy and floating. And that hurts too.

I go deaf. I am detached from my sense of hearing as I detach from myself. All I can hear is the voice in my head that is telling me I'm going to die, I'm going to be killed.

I get flashbacks. Scenes of my trauma replay themselves in glorious technicolour. Sometimes with added smellovision and Entity style injuries.

And I live it again and again and again and again...

I become immobile. I get to a safer place (bed, a corner etc) and then I am physically unable to move. I am convinced that if I try I will die or be killed.

I cry. Rivers of silent tears.

I go numb. I shut down.

I sweat. Stinky, adrenaline ridden, fight or flight sweat.

The inside of my head screams.

I die. Or at least I think I do. Usually I've just passed out.

When I come to, then I lie there praying for sleep just so I can escape the flashbacks even though I don't believe in god and I know I will have nightmares.

I have PTSD. There are many like me and we're only now speaking out and sharing our stories.

If you're upset that is still valid. Just PLEASE don't invalidate us by saying you are triggered just because you were upset.

Fuck Off Or Fuck Yeah? The December Round Up

*waves* Hello lovely people and assholes alike. Goddess knows I seem to have met you in equal measure this year.

Regular readers will know that December is a weird time for me. I went from this really miserable post to this far more hopeful post and now is the time for the round up from this year.

Has it been Fuck Off or Fuck Yeah!?

Bit of both really.

Fuck Off

Depression hit me with a vengeance this year. Like my brain went 'what, wait, WHUT... she got fucking happy while I wasn't looking? What shit is this?' and tried to totally destroy me.

Fucking asshole. I'd had an amazing year with Doodlebug moving in and feeling nothing but love for the year at home. I got all my debts sorted. Not paid, but actually put stuff in place so I can. That's what a previous marriage gets you when your ex husband didn't work or claim for 7 years apparently. Fuck loads of debt.

I digress.

Things were going so well that my shitty brain forgot to remind me what a waste of space I am. It let me go to Glastonbury and Tolpuddle and Reading and have a fucking great time and though it would sometimes remember to give me a prod now and then, (you don't deserve this remember? Ah fuck it, can't be arsed) it more or less left me alone.

Which was nice :)

Then it hit. Full pelt. Mostly because of work, but that will always impact on how I feel about myself in general. Was being attacked by all sides, day job and union 'comrades' and it got too much.

Sidebar.

When you are in a trade union you are supposed to be united against attacks on your members. There, I fucking said it.

I could not give a FLYING FUCK about what faction you are in or not. Not bothered in the slightest. You should always be working to make things better for your members.

Not a difficult concept really is it?

Yet.... There are those who spend so much time trying to undermine others because they are not in the Judean Peolples Front or the People's Front of Judea or whatfuckingever that they pay lip service at best to what they are supposed to be doing for members. You know, things like organising and campaigning and recruiting activists and shit. But no, that's fine. You spend your time trying to score political points by being snarky and lying to your members about it you useless, ridiculous waste of facility time.

Here is a clue since you seem too politically broke to buy one. There is not a single faction of any kind that is exempt from this. You want to spend your time trying to score points off each other, you go ahead. There are those of us who will just laugh at you while trying to do the best for our members, even if the obstacles you put in the way make us feel like we're banging our heads against a brick wall. You keep arguing about whether the bricks are proletariat enough. Yeah, that'll help.

Now, where was I? Oh yeah, the Fuck Off section.

What else has pissed me off?

Abortion. Still every woman's choice. Still none of your business. Still your only job is to support a woman whatever her choice is. Women will only have true freedom when they have true autonomy over their bodies and choices. This is not a difficult concept but one that I feel I have to explain over and over again. You're welcome.

Feminists. Stop fucking arguing with each other and get on with smashing patriarchy will ya? For fucks sake. There are a LOT of online feminists I have a lot of respect for, even if their views don't match mine exactly. We are a diverse lot really and there is more to being a feminist than screeching on Twitter about why you are a better feminist than me. Yeah I said it. I covered most of this here when I talked about missing the fucking point but it bears repeating.

I would rather spend my time educating people on why equality is important than arguing about whether trigger warnings are effective (not really in my view as they assume a lot about triggers. I prefer to use 'Content Warning' and let people decide for themselves what is likely to trigger them).

People who moan about christmas leftovers while other people use foodbanks. Fuck off.

People who buy into the idea of the workers v shirkers narrative. Fuck off.

Anyone who thinks that being disabled is a burden on the state, Fuck off.

Think that there will be 27m Bulgarians flooding into the UK next week? Fuck off. And do some research. The total population is far less than that for a start.

Got something to say to me? Say it. Don't hide behind passive aggressive little comments on other people's facebook. Don't lie about me. Don't (and this one was HILARIOUS) trash my musical tastes because there is fuck all else you can say about me. Yep. Fuck off.

Prefer harassing Owen Jones than coming up with a viable strategy of your own? HINT: A one day general strike is not a viable strategy. It will not win the war against austerity. It can only be part of an overall strategy. Again, you're welcome. Now fuck off.

Victim blamers, body policers, fat shamers, rape apologists. Fuck off.

STILL in an organisation that hides rapists. You can fuck off too.

Homophobes, transphobes, racists and idiots... Guess what... fuck off.

Depression. You get the biggest fuck off of them all.

Which leads me to the FUCK YEAH! section.

I finally made it to Glastonbury. I saw Public Enemy from right at the front. I made new friends, caught up with old ones, broke my toe, raised a LOT of money for PCS and had an amazing time.

And when I got home smelling 'earthy' (apparently) I was greeted with smiles and hugs and kisses rather than the cold indifference I am used to.

I finally got to go gigging with my Wife Lady. Who paid £350 to a ticket tout just so she could spend time with me at Reading Festival. Best time ever and I am now an inductee to the Church of Dubstep. It really is all about the drop and the wub, wub, wub.

I spent the year being loved, cherished, adored and trusted.

Doodlebug started college and is thriving.

The Lovely made life better for a lot of people. I am so proud of the work he and his colleagues do. And I am proud of him.

I got through the depressive episode and actually allowed myself to be a member at work. Reps are really, REALLY bad at this, so I see it as a major victory.

I decided that the ex had enjoyed enough control over me and made the decision that he would have no more. So instead of going straight for a divorce once we had been separated 2 years which he could slow down and contest, I have decided to wait so that he can't have a say in it and control me any more.

I took up knitting again and got to see the faces of those I gifted with home made scarves and hats.

I embraced the onesie!!!! You know what, I have never worn anything as comfortable and I now have three of them.

I had a LOT of therapy and finally got a proper diagnosis of Depression, Anxiety and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I always knew I had them, and fuck anyone who says you shouldn't self diagnose, I don't need a medical degree to know when I have broken my leg, but it is always nice to have it officially validated.

I got an undercut. I had wanted one for years and I finally took the plunge and did it.

I remembered that my friends love me when I am in a good mood and that they STILL love me when I am a crying mess.

Best of all, I found myself again. I remembered that I am not this awful person and that sometimes my very presence brings joy. This was a really powerful lesson to learn. It is one I am going to have to remember through the next 12 months and I may need you to remind me now and then.

In return I will tell you this.

You are not an awful person and sometimes your very presence brings joy.

Anyone who would tell you otherwise needs to fuck off.

Much love and happy new year.

Deeva xxx

On Climbing Out Of The Black Dog Hole

*big stretch*

First post in a while this. Might take me some time to get back into it. That I am being distracted by Turkish and Bricktop being ridiculously cute isn't helping but I'll live with that.

So why away so long and what to write about now I am able to put fingers to keyboard?

How about why I was away.

Been having a bit of a bad time lately. Been very low. Very depressed. Nearly constantly triggered. It hasn't been fun. I went to the docs to ask for a week of and she gave me a month. I have been a big ball of unreleased rage and as usual was turning it in on myself. Not healthy but the only way I could let the rage go without lashing out at anyone.

I have a real temper you see. It is nasty and vindictive and though not physically violent, I will cut you down to a weeping, blubbering mess with my words. I'm good at it. And when I am in the midst of it, I enjoy it. And I hate it. So I keep it all inside as I wouldn't be able to deal with hurting anyone. I would hate myself for it and the whole nasty, self destructive cycle would begin again. So, because I can no longer go to the beach and scream at the sea I internalise it.

So what had me so bad? My life is good. I have The Lovely and the amazing Doodlebug and I love my work and I am studying a subject I am passionate about. I have brilliant friends and apart from a bit of low blood pressure I am in good physical health.

Weird how your brain doesn't think like that though. Funny how it will find the smallest thing to latch onto to make you freak out and convince yourself that you are a waste of a perfectly good existence.

For me there were a few things.

A random phrase.

I see so much stuff tagged with 'trigger warning' these days. I totally understand and appreciate the effort people go to hoping I won't be triggered but they can kind of miss the point. I am, as I have previously mentioned, a survivor of some pretty horrific abuse. Yet I can read about abuse and it won't trigger me. Even if it is the same kind of abuse I suffered. I can distance myself from it and it won't affect me.

Yet. Put something like 'there will be blood up the walls' on twitter and I find myself right back at age 14 at my dad's house in Trinidad cowering in fear as he beats up his girlfriend.

A song.

Lyrics that have been fine can send me into a spiral at no notice at all. Let You Go by Chase and Status had me frozen in my bed in tears absolutely CONVINCED that if I got out of it the Big Ex was going to get me. Once I came out of it with the help of the wife and processed it, I could listen to the song again with no ill effects. Weird how that happens, but I have a feeling I know why it did.

Big Ex has moved on and got a new girlfriend. Really happy for him. Seriously, I wish him all the luck and love in the world, but it seems he is building Deeva 2.0. It's fucking creepy how similar she is to me. But I'm over it now and saving up for a divorce.

A blog.

My wonderful Doodlebug blogged about their abuse. It was the first I had heard of most of it and it floored me. I totally support their right to do it and I am glad they did, but it left me a ball of unremitting rage that had nowhere to go.

My first instinct was to grab a baseball bat and start swinging. These FUCKERS PUT THEIR HANDS ON MY BABY!!! But that would have done no one any good and Doodlebug would have been left without their prime support while their mother was in prison.

Autumn.

I hate winter. Loathe it. Winter is a thing to be survived. Winter is what I emerge from. Loathe it. It is dark and cold and vitamin D deficient. I ache for the sun on my skin and a warm breeze. Winter gives me chapped lips and wet feet and cold everything. I cannot impress upon you enough how much I loathe it.

The only thing that is worse is autumn. Autumn is the transition time from the joy of summer to the loathing of winter. I have to put the flip flops away. I wake up in the dark. I get home from work in the dark. Everything is dark, including me. So this is never a good time of year. I put the fairy lights on in my bedroom and hope for the best.

I have always survived autumn and winter, but it doesn't mean I have to like it.

So I've been trying to get myself up. To make sure I don't press the self destruct button and wreck everything again. To actually talk about how I'm feeling. The anxiety. The depression. The suicidal ideation.

And it has worked to a certain extent, but there are other things that have helped.

The Lovely. He has been patient and kind and loving and actually made me believe that I deserve
him to be all of those things. It was him reaching out to hold my hand while he slept that kept me on this mortal coil this time and I love him to pieces just for being him.

Doodlebug. They are an inspiration to me. Their strength, their compassion and their laughter.

Turkish and Bricktop. Never underestimate the power of a small, fluffy animal to make you smile.

Knitting. Yes really. Keeps my hands busy, my mind free and the blanket we are making together is growing as much as the love we are knitting into it.

Talking.

I've been talking about my mental health problems on twitter and facebook and have been astounded by the love, support and understanding I have had back.

And the encouragement when things have seemed at their darkest.

I have love. I receive love. I love.

At the end of the day it is what will keep me going.

I started the climb out of the hole that is a depressive episode, but when I looked up there were so many hands waiting to help me I couldn't help but jump up.

So that is where I have been and why.

I'm back now. Slowly getting my mojo back.

Hopefully I will be fully back on form soon and this blog will be it's usual ranty shouty place.

Until then, thank you all, every single one of you for every kind word and cyber hug. Especially those who knew I was ill before I did.

Love you all.

Deeva xxx

ANNOYINGLY BLOGGER IS NOT LETTING ME COMMENT ON MY OWN BLOG. THANK YOU EVERYONE WHO COMMENTS.

Deeva by Gaslight

Here we go again. Another post. third in two days. You can tell that I am happy that my wrist is healed enough for me to write again and that I have had a lot on my mind.

This one is gonna be a whole heap of personal again. People who actually know me in real life will probably know who I am talking about, but fuck it. Silent no more.

Deep breath Deeva.

I read this today on gaslighting. It proper made me lose my breath. The author of the piece talked about the intentional gaslighting to highlight the unintentional. Powerful stuff. If you haven't yet, you should really read it.

It brought up all sorts of feelings in me. Memories became clearer and I recognised the full extent of what had happened to me. Was a real shock and I have been mulling this post since then.

Oh for fuck's sake Deeva, get on with it!

I have been gaslighted. By people who were supposed to love me. All my life it would seem, though to varying degrees. In what would seem an attempt to control me and keep me down. It bloody worked an all. For years and years. It clouded my image of myself. It clouded my judgement of who I was and it left me easier prey for others to do it too.

So, how to get it all out?

One bit at at time I suppose.

Mum. I know what you did and why. I know that you couldn't bear me to be me as I was, in your eyes, wild and uncontrollable. I know that this is why you would ignore me most of the time and talk about me like I wasn't there even when I was.

I know that you told everyone that they should feel sorry for me and watch out for me as I had no personality of my own and would leech theirs from them. I know you did this to keep me isolated and lonely because you were so scared I would speak up about the abusive shit I was going through.

I know that you hid money and when I found it and returned it that you managed to convince me that I had stolen it in the first place because you knew that I was bad at handling guilt and that I would be frozen and pliable.

When I had a baby to escape, I know that you told me that my son's grandparents had told you that they hated having me living with them because I was so lazy and useless so that you could make sure that I couldn't be comfortable anywhere and you could keep that control. I know you lied about that one because years later I actually asked them and their faces were more believable than your gaslighting.

For years after the first dissociative episode I had (remember that? Two weeks of rocking in the foetal position where you wouldn't call a doctor and you let my sister spit on me and kick me) I truly believed I had shingles. For me to convince the school that's why I was off, I had to be convinced myself.

No more. The 12 years in which we haven't spoken have been better because you weren't in them. And you never will be again.

First husband. What a dick you were. Sleeping with other men literally the whole time we were together and making me think it was all in my head. Just so I could continue being your beard. The thing you hid behind. How many rational explanations did you have for the gay porn? How many times did the phone ring and cut off when I answered?

And yet you made me think it was all in my head.

How many years did you allow your brother to bully me and spy on me before I finally got a moment of clarity?

And the fixing of the bathroom scales so that I would feel fatter than I was and not go looking elsewhere? Yeah, I know you did that too. You made it so that I had no identity outside of you. You were my only mirror and the image I saw of myself reflected in you made me feel worthless.

And you told the children that you weren't controlling it was that I had gone wild. Off the rails.

Well fuck you.

What I had done is broken out of your control. How I found the strength I don't know, but I'm glad I did. Even though you took everything from me, I survived and got stronger. Fuck you.

Big Ex. I escaped you too and am finally happy.

For years I thought I was, but your gaslighting was stealthy. It crept up on me and nearly destroyed me.

I know now that you were petrified of losing me, that you were terrified that with my ever increasing responsibilities with the union that I would outgrow you. But you know what? If you had just told me that instead of making me feel like shit, we might have got through it. There are moments now that I know were just designed to hold me back.

Like when I used a long word in front of our friends and was asked what it meant. 'That she is getting ideas above her station.' was your reply.

Like when you had me convinced that you were acting in my best interests when you told me that our friends only tolerated me because I was with you. That they thought I was boring and all I talked about was PCS. That they thought I was talking down to them.

None of this was true. But you had me convinced it was.

We weren't having sex because I had something to prove. We were having sex because I had something to prove.

I was going mental and I didn't know what I was talking about. Of course you told me about going to your mum's. Of course you did. I must have just forgotten. Or, and here is the ultimate one, I was trying to drive YOU mad by pretending that you hadn't.

Oh what a head fuck you were.

And when I finally got some help. Finally got someone who made me realise that I was intelligent and capable and NICE and convinced me to go and see a doctor as they recognised the symptoms of depression, when I FINALLY did that and got on the anti depressants that I dreaded having to take because YOU said they would change me.

Then. Up it ramped. You tried to convince me that I was a different person. That I was capable of horrible things. That the bullying I was getting at work was my fault. That the panic attacks were because of the dreadful person I was and how I couldn't face her.

You would scream at me for hours then deny doing so. Straight faced. I had no idea what was going on apart from the fact that I had some clarity for the first time in years.

Enough clarity that I could see you for what you were. A controlling, gaslighting piece of shit.

Fuck you.

So, what was the point of writing this post? Why do this now?

It's so I can impart this message.

It isn't you. It's them.

Never again.

Run. Be safe. Be happy.

On Being Furious At People Missing The Fucking Point

I was a bit hot and bothered last night and it made me grumpy. The Lovely was sleeping but I was too restless. Then I saw something on Twitter that pissed me the fuck off so I went on a bit of a rant using the hashtag #missingthefuckingpoint.

I thought I'd reproduce and add to it here. Explaining the things that made me so angry. It wasn't all on the one day, this had been coming a while and it felt good to get that rage out.

Buckle up, this is going to be a bumpy ride. Here we go...

'Not all men are sexist assholes. Some of us are trying to do the right thing and get you the equality you want'

No. Equality is mine by right, not because I want it. You want to be a good feminist ally? Listen and understand that by choice or not you are part of the patriarchy that damages us all. I'm sure you are a nice guy but being all defensive about your gender is not forwarding making that gender unimportant.

If you try to tell me that not all men are sexist assholes you are #missingthefuckingpoint

The campaign to keep women on banknotes. Yes, I know there are other fish to fry but actually this is important to people. We are capable of campaigning on more than one issue at a time you know.  Try actually taking five minutes to sign the bloody petition rather than snarking from the fucking sidelines and coming up with bullshit reasons why this isn't important. Besides,

Yes, I do understand that the queen is a woman and on every banknote #missingthefuckingpoint

Bloody rape culture and victim blaming gets everywhere. Despite the fact that a woman is more likely to be raped by a partner in her own home or by someone else she knows than being snatched off a dark street. I have written about this at length and I suppose I will keep doing so till it stops.

If you think that women are more in danger of rape while wearing revealing clothes #missingthefuckingpoint

Tell you who isn't though, the amazing End Victim Blaming campaign. They are making the point over and over again. Click on the link anyone who thinks any blame at all should rest with the abused. Go on, educate yourself. And keep that victim blaming shit the fuck out of my face.

Oh yes, while I'm at it, EVERY woman, regardless of gender assignment at birth is my sister. That is it. Not difficult. If you identify as a woman you are a woman. I don't fucking CARE what you have between your legs. I will defend your right to equality.

Claim to be a feminist and yet exclude trans* women? #missingthefuckingpoint

This one should be self explanatory really. Can't believe I have to say it. My body, my choice.

If you think abortion should only be available in cases of incest or rape #missingthefuckingpoint

Don't even think about telling me that women have equality. Don't even think that. Don't say that. Don't even allude to it. I will kick your fucking deluded ass while I explain how we don't.

I see my sisters all over the world being denied autonomy and being treated like chattel. Think I won't be angry? #missingthefuckingpoint

I'm also sick and tired of the division that means the Tories and Lib Dems are able to decimate a society I was once proud of. We will never defeat them if we spend our time being the People's Front of Judea or the Judean People's Front. It's pathetic and it turns people off. The very people who we need to be our army are waiting in the wings to fight while we argue about which strategy is the right one while excluding all the others. Here's an idea, how about we actually fucking unite and realise we have a common cause and merge the strategies where possible for maximum effect?

If you are a left winger spending time provoking and berating other left wingers then guess what... #missingthefuckingpoint

This one took a few to get across. Being a feminist to me is about choice. Not being part of an army with a uniform. It is about the individuals coming together for a common cause. I can't stand the idea that if I don't dress a certain way, look a certain way, have a body hair then I can't be a 'proper' feminist.

If you grow your leg/armpit hair because that's what feminists do #missingthefuckingpoint

Be hairy or smooth. Makes no odds to me but if you do either to conform to an ideal then you are #missingthefuckingpoint

One of my followers put it better than me. She has a protected account so I won't publish her name but she was bang on!

doing shit to fit an ideal is absurd to me. Doing what makes you happy is the way forward.

This last section was about my utter fucking contempt for those against Equal Marriage. What business is it of yours what people do? How the fuck does it impact on your marriage if I wed a woman? Keep the fuck out of my business and I will stay out of yours.

Think that what consenting adults do in the bedroom is any of your damn business then you are definitely #missingthefuckingpoint

This, from the amazing @midweshtener.

If you berate or disdain other folk for life choices that have absolutely no impact on you, you may well be #missingthefuckingpoint

And this from me.

If your god is more important to you than the people around you then you are #missingthefuckingpoint

Rage expelled for a while I went to sleep.

Then.

I woke up to the news that George Zimmerman has been acquitted for the murder of Trayvon Martin. Not exactly a shock to be honest to wake up to the news that Black American's sons can now be hunted down and killed with impunity.

However.

If you think that the potential for a riot after this verdict is the biggest threat then you are royally missing the fucking point.

The biggest threat is that the verdict will create more George Zimmermans.

*sigh* I lost Twitter followers after my rant last night but I refuse to apologise. When the world stops making me angry I will stop ranting. I will live in a world where race, sexuality, gender, disability, none of that shit will make a difference.

But that isn't today, and I can't see it being any time soon so I will continue to speak my truth.

If you think I won't or that I give a flying fuck of what you think of me for doing so then you are MISSING THE FUCKING POINT.