Been thinking a LOT recently. This will not be news to anyone who has read my 100 odd previous posts.
Today it has been mostly about patriotism and pride.
I just don't get it.
I am British. I was born here because my parents had sex here and my bio mum gave birth to me here.
Am I proud to be British? Erm, no.
I find it very difficult to engage in patriotism or pride in my country or whatever. Chiefly because I don't believe in borders. I know them to be a thing, this isn't like not believing in God, I just don't think we need them or should have them. I honestly think they have caused more trouble than they're worth.
With patriotism comes an over inflated idea of worth and entitlement. It leads to wanting to extend your borders and we all know what that leads to.
So, no, I am not proud to be British. All that means to me is colonialism and theft and murder. Not ever gonna be proud of those things. Ick.
I am a CIS woman.
Am I proud of that? Erm, no.
This is nothing I had any control over. When I was born I was assigned female and that feels right. It was genetics what done it M'Lud and I wouldn't change it. So my gender isn't anything to be inherently proud of unless you buy into the idea that being able to bear children makes you somehow superior which I don't. If you identify as a woman then that is good enough to me and I am not about to buy into a hierarchy of who is the 'better' woman. Patriarchy does that very well all by itself thank you, it needs no help from me. Also, babies are nice (I had three of them as it happens) but the biological equivalent of having a shit after you have eaten isn't actually anything to be proud of in itself.
Actually, if you look at it objectively then being a woman is a disadvantage. Patriarchy, pro lifers, lower wages, beauty standards, violence, fear.
Total pain in the arse in fact.
I am bisexual. Am I proud of that? Erm, no.
See above. Nothing I can control. Just my sexuality. Plus going down that road leads to things like Straight Pride and fuck that noise.
So, not proud of my gender, having given birth, the country I was born in, my sexuality.
Sounds a bit shit no?
Well no.
Because there are things that I can be proud of. Lots and lots of them. For instance:
I am proud that I fight for equality. I am proud that I am a feminist. I am proud that I take no shit.
I am proud that my children are decent human beings. I am proud that they can be who they are without worry that I will ever desert them for it.
I am proud that my no borders stance means that I will never hate someone, even in a 'jokey' way because they come from a different country to me.
I am proud of my LGBT activism. I may not be able to control my sexuality but I sure as hell can fight to make sure I and others are not killed for it.
I am proud of my creativity. My crochet and knitting. This blog.
And I am proud that I survive. That I thrive. That I am alive.
I am proud that I am able to have deep relationships and casual acquaintances. I am proud that I have come far enough to know the difference.
I am proud that I fight. For equality. For safety. Against prejudice in every form.
I am proud of me.
Hope you are proud of you too.
Deeva xxx
Saturday, 10 January 2015
Friday, 9 January 2015
On Women Who Pull The Ladder Up After Themselves - Guest Post
This is by my good friend Angela. One of the best women I know.
GoddessDeeva and I first met in the noisy, crowded and suitably-Socialist-sounding bar tent called Bread and Roses on the Thursday evening at the Glastonbury Festival in 2013. We were in a huddle of reprobate Lefties, trade union activists and social workers, all soaking up the Workers' Beer Company's finest and looking forward to a full-on festival weekend. Loud music was involved.
Deeva and I have become firm friends since (which goes to prove that new friends met at Glasto aren't just for festivals), and we've found that we have similar views on a lot of what I'll call "rights issues". As a former Director at Amnesty International, I do have my own personal soap box when it comes to human rights, labour rights, women's rights and more, so it's been great to meet someone in Deeva who can get as passionate and agitated as I do about these things.
So Deeva's union work and blogging got me thinking about my experience of what the world of work is like for women, particularly women in senior management roles. You know what? It can and generally does suck. Big time.
Over the last thirty years I've worked in the public, private and voluntary sectors, and, frankly, I can hear the same slow sucking sound in all three. They each suck in their own slightly different musical key, but they've all got the same problems with a lack of pay equality and unhealthy gender imbalance at senior levels. Yes, there are opportunities for capable, confident ambitious women in each sector, but those basic inequalities are still there, despite all the good work of great trade union representatives and organisers like Deeva.
What *really* gets me back up on my soapbox however, is how piss-poorly most senior women behave in the workplace. Given the choice, I would *never* opt to work for a woman as my line manager, given my experiences. The ones I've worked for have either been macho ball-breakers in pin stripe suits, all trying to bully and out-tough the senior men, or the girly flowery-dress-and-matching-cardigan kind, who are all pretty, pretty smiles and a bit flirty on the surface, but are devious, lying manipulative bitches underneath. You know who you are.
Now, I'd *love* this not to be the case, and to be able to say that I've had really great, supportive, mentoring professional female bosses. But *everywhere* I've worked, the higher up I've been in the management hierarchy, the fewer women there have been and those above me have been either those Ball-Breakers or the Pretty Bitches. (I can only think of two exceptions in my direct experience, and I am still friends with them both after many years. No names.)
Getting on my soapbox yet again, the worst of this by far is that both the Ball-Breakers and the Pretty Bitches, the BBs and the PBs, treat the women who report to them so badly. They seem to be able to relate to male colleagues, peers or seniors, but female subordinates = fair game, allegedly.
Somehow calling this behaviour "inappropriate" or "unprofessional" doesn't quite cover it. To give a couple of examples, I've had a female Deputy CEO (a BB) make jokes to an entire senior management team about how fabulous my breasts are, with *those* hand gestures. The gestures which sad, misguided, ill-informed men make in lingerie departments. (My male manager, the CFO, was mortified, and told me after it had happened in my absence. I did not take it as a compliment). In other news, I've had an annual performance bonus down-rated by a female manager (a PB) on the alleged grounds that I was "stubborn and always right". Yes, I was right. PB simply failed to respect my professional property expertise and didn't understand that I was actually correct and knew what I was talking about. If I hadn't been "stubborn" and I had followed her advice, the organisation we both worked for would have lost a deal worth over £8 million. I'd probably have been sacked if that had happened...
The big, whopper elephant in the room problem here is that the BBs and the PBs both advance themselves and protect their own seniority in the workplace by *putting other women down*, particularly those women who are their subordinates and direct reports. That's not OK, and for me that's a soapbox issue.
I manage a lot of people in my current job, men and women alike. I try my hardest to treat them all professionally, fairly and equally. I don't always get it right. I sometime wear a pinstripe suit. Some of my staff colleagues are more capable than others, but that doesn't mean that the best should get treated better by me than those who are less capable and need more of my support. But what I never do is seek to make myself look better by putting *any* of them down. I'm hanging on to the thing that if they do well, all of them (female and male alike), then our whole team will do well. That means we're doing our job.
So why is it that there aren't more and better senior role models for women in the workplace? It is 2015, after all. Why do the upper echelons have a female population of lots of BBs and PBs who treat other women badly? Maybe it's because there just aren't enough women in senior roles, and those who are have had to be either a BB or a PB to get there, to climb the greasy pole. I think that's just taking the worst of how senior men behave and copying aspects of that.
I do think there's a better way. It needs senior women to actively choose to behave differently, to be better role models for younger women coming into the workplace.
Meanwhile, I'm not putting up with it. I'm calling it out every time it happens, in the same way I'd call out poor behaviour by a male manager or colleague. The BBs and the PBs are on notice from me. It's time, ladies.
GoddessDeeva and I first met in the noisy, crowded and suitably-Socialist-sounding bar tent called Bread and Roses on the Thursday evening at the Glastonbury Festival in 2013. We were in a huddle of reprobate Lefties, trade union activists and social workers, all soaking up the Workers' Beer Company's finest and looking forward to a full-on festival weekend. Loud music was involved.
Deeva and I have become firm friends since (which goes to prove that new friends met at Glasto aren't just for festivals), and we've found that we have similar views on a lot of what I'll call "rights issues". As a former Director at Amnesty International, I do have my own personal soap box when it comes to human rights, labour rights, women's rights and more, so it's been great to meet someone in Deeva who can get as passionate and agitated as I do about these things.
So Deeva's union work and blogging got me thinking about my experience of what the world of work is like for women, particularly women in senior management roles. You know what? It can and generally does suck. Big time.
Over the last thirty years I've worked in the public, private and voluntary sectors, and, frankly, I can hear the same slow sucking sound in all three. They each suck in their own slightly different musical key, but they've all got the same problems with a lack of pay equality and unhealthy gender imbalance at senior levels. Yes, there are opportunities for capable, confident ambitious women in each sector, but those basic inequalities are still there, despite all the good work of great trade union representatives and organisers like Deeva.
What *really* gets me back up on my soapbox however, is how piss-poorly most senior women behave in the workplace. Given the choice, I would *never* opt to work for a woman as my line manager, given my experiences. The ones I've worked for have either been macho ball-breakers in pin stripe suits, all trying to bully and out-tough the senior men, or the girly flowery-dress-and-matching-cardigan kind, who are all pretty, pretty smiles and a bit flirty on the surface, but are devious, lying manipulative bitches underneath. You know who you are.
Now, I'd *love* this not to be the case, and to be able to say that I've had really great, supportive, mentoring professional female bosses. But *everywhere* I've worked, the higher up I've been in the management hierarchy, the fewer women there have been and those above me have been either those Ball-Breakers or the Pretty Bitches. (I can only think of two exceptions in my direct experience, and I am still friends with them both after many years. No names.)
Getting on my soapbox yet again, the worst of this by far is that both the Ball-Breakers and the Pretty Bitches, the BBs and the PBs, treat the women who report to them so badly. They seem to be able to relate to male colleagues, peers or seniors, but female subordinates = fair game, allegedly.
Somehow calling this behaviour "inappropriate" or "unprofessional" doesn't quite cover it. To give a couple of examples, I've had a female Deputy CEO (a BB) make jokes to an entire senior management team about how fabulous my breasts are, with *those* hand gestures. The gestures which sad, misguided, ill-informed men make in lingerie departments. (My male manager, the CFO, was mortified, and told me after it had happened in my absence. I did not take it as a compliment). In other news, I've had an annual performance bonus down-rated by a female manager (a PB) on the alleged grounds that I was "stubborn and always right". Yes, I was right. PB simply failed to respect my professional property expertise and didn't understand that I was actually correct and knew what I was talking about. If I hadn't been "stubborn" and I had followed her advice, the organisation we both worked for would have lost a deal worth over £8 million. I'd probably have been sacked if that had happened...
The big, whopper elephant in the room problem here is that the BBs and the PBs both advance themselves and protect their own seniority in the workplace by *putting other women down*, particularly those women who are their subordinates and direct reports. That's not OK, and for me that's a soapbox issue.
I manage a lot of people in my current job, men and women alike. I try my hardest to treat them all professionally, fairly and equally. I don't always get it right. I sometime wear a pinstripe suit. Some of my staff colleagues are more capable than others, but that doesn't mean that the best should get treated better by me than those who are less capable and need more of my support. But what I never do is seek to make myself look better by putting *any* of them down. I'm hanging on to the thing that if they do well, all of them (female and male alike), then our whole team will do well. That means we're doing our job.
So why is it that there aren't more and better senior role models for women in the workplace? It is 2015, after all. Why do the upper echelons have a female population of lots of BBs and PBs who treat other women badly? Maybe it's because there just aren't enough women in senior roles, and those who are have had to be either a BB or a PB to get there, to climb the greasy pole. I think that's just taking the worst of how senior men behave and copying aspects of that.
I do think there's a better way. It needs senior women to actively choose to behave differently, to be better role models for younger women coming into the workplace.
Meanwhile, I'm not putting up with it. I'm calling it out every time it happens, in the same way I'd call out poor behaviour by a male manager or colleague. The BBs and the PBs are on notice from me. It's time, ladies.
Ang, known in some online places as Lady Clanger, is an atheist, Socialist republican, a keeper of parrots and humongously large felines. She's an activist in mind and at heart, who strives to Do The Right Thing, even if daily life sometimes gets in the way. Views here exclusively her own.
Wednesday, 7 January 2015
On How To Be A Friend Or Not - Guest Post
This is my first guest post of the year. Hopefully it won't be the last. If you want to write one for me then let me know either on Twitter @goddessdeeva or by email goddessdeeva@gmail.com
This one is from my lovely friend Tina O'Farrell. Who, I have to say is one of the best friends anyone could ever ask for.
Anyhoo. Here it is.A phrase I hear people saying to each other quite a lot lately, and indeed I use it myself is “you know how to be a friend”. So, what does this mean exactly? I can only give you my take on this but hopefully it will ring true.
Since I was old enough to understand the meaning of it, I have tried to live by the motto “do as you would be done by”. I say tried, because sometimes I have failed miserably. For example no one wants to be dumped but this is something that all of us have to do to someone else at some time in our lives.
What does friendship actually mean?
People use the term in different ways, for example, referring to all work colleagues as friends when, in reality, if you left that company you would never see them again. Facebook calls everyone we interact with “friends”. They are not all friends; they are contacts or acquaintances - just people we know either personally or by the wonders of social media.
Some of those people whom we have never met, however, do behave like proper friends. They are there when you need them, ready to lend a sympathetic ear or help if help is needed. They will come to you for advice or ideas.
During 2014, I have lost my best friend. The trigger for this was that I said that I didn’t want to exchange gifts any more as I simply cannot afford it. She took such umbrage at this that she just said “not happy”, immediately restricted me on FB and has been ignoring me. I thought she would get over it and get in touch but so far, nothing.
There must be something else to it, surely!
Yes, I could ask but do I want to? No, and here’s why:
Other friends say that this is a good thing and I am better off out of it.
Now that I am on the outside, I can see it for what it was and that was, I am afraid, an abusive relationship. Many others saw this a long time ago and were telling me to ditch her as a friend. I would defend her to the hilt, even through floods of tears at times. “But she so often hurts you and makes you cry. Dump her” is amongst advice I was given. Well, turns out I didn’t have to cos she’s now dumped me for the most ridiculous of reasons!!
“Abusive” can be true of a lot of what we consider to be close friendships. Whilst people normally reserve this word for a partner or a parent, it is startlingly real of friendships and we allow it to happen because we just don’t see it or appreciate it for what it is.
Think about those you consider closest to you. Are they really? Or are they just close when it suits them? Do they ignore your texts and messages for days on end and then suddenly, when they want a favour or when something irks them and they want someone to moan to, you are absolutely the only person that will do and they have to talk to you now, this minute! No, what are you doing – I NEED YOU NOW!!!! Are you only ever good for listening to their problems or cheering them up when they feel low? What about when you feel low? Are they anywhere to be seen? Do they drop you like a hot potato when a new love interest comes along but then want to cry on your shoulder when it all goes wrong? Are you always the one who has to stay sober and drive when you go out?
A proper friendship should be give and take and compromise. If it’s all give on one person’s part and all take on the other’s then that isn’t a friendship, the giver is being used and abused and the more they allow it to happen, the more it WILL happen.
Ditch the deadwood from your life. Surround yourself with people who DO know how to be friends and are there to both take and give, in good times and bad. And make the effort yourself to think about how you are behaving towards others, because karma can be a funny old thing…..
50 year old inhabitant of darkest Cornwall. Tried marriage twice but now a happily single, pole dancing medical secretary.
Monday, 5 January 2015
People Who Can Fuck All The Way Off
Happy New Year everyone who marked it on 1st Jan!(and here is where I switched from my phone onto my netbook. It has totally fucked up the formatting. Apologies for that.)
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.
NADINE DORRIESI 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!
Wednesday, 24 December 2014
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
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
Sunday, 14 December 2014
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.
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.
Thursday, 11 December 2014
On Not Hating My Brain
Been chatting to my daughter person about ableism this morning and it has made me think about something.
This is purely personal as everyone has a different experience of mental illness.
What if I am not right to sometimes hate my brain?
Even more of a mind blowing thought.
What if my brain doesn't actually hate me?
What if my PTSD isn't my brain trying to fuck me over but it trying to protect me?
Maybe, all this time, I've been looking at it from the wrong perspective. Maybe when I am severely triggered and absolutely convinced that if I leave my bed I will die or be killed this isn't my brain trying to not let me have nice things. Maybe it is telling me to stop and try and process. Trying to keep me safe. To borrow an analogy from @graygender it is like a bodyguard shouting "GET DOWN MR PRESIDENT!" when it senses danger.
Maybe the Black Dog is not stalking me, but guarding me as much as it can to make sure that I remove myself from unhealthy situations and just, you know, stop. Just for a while.
Seems to me that my brain could be doing a better job to be honest. It gets it wrong a LOT. It cripples me just when I am about to do new things or am feeling happy and trusting.
But maybe, just maybe it isn't doing so out of maliciousness.
Maybe, just maybe, it is doing so out of some misguided attempt to keep me safe.
I don't have any answers for this yet but it is probably something I will revisit on here while I try to work it out. For me.
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