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.

Guest Post - On Doubt And Rust

This one is anonymous. It is also sad and beautiful and shows the damage that can linger even after the abuse has stopped. Written from the new partner's perspective, it made me cry.

Here it is.

A state of doubt and rust

I met her in a storm, immediately captivated by her smile I knew I had to talk to her. I didn’t see it at first, but you don’t do you? I think when you meet someone that you’re attracted to, you automatically display all your best parts, your smile, your sense of humour all the things we look for at the beginning. She's that mythical creature, that one person they say exists just for you. Two chemicals that mix together to form something beautiful. But at first I didn’t see it. She's gotten good at hiding it.

Those first few days and weeks are a wonder. It’s a voyage of discovery, a beautiful island in a deep blue ocean that you want to explore because it feels like home. The wonder of a stolen kiss, the brush of her hand when she passes you in the bar and you know that the two of you share a special secret. It’s the first time you’re with each other and in the haze that follows you tell your inner feelings to each other. All these things adding up and creating an overwhelming feeling that you can’t be without this person, because she wants the same future as you. Because she’s everything you ever wanted in a partner, but then you see something out of the corner of your eye. She hides it well I didn’t see it at first.

As you grow closer the conversations get deeper, the things from your past that you don’t like to tell just anyone. Little steps at first, that time you got beaten up or how you got so bullied at school that you’d automatically start to cry as those cunts walked towards you in the corridor. Then you start to hear her story and wonder what in the hell you have to be upset about. The story of his hands round her neck, the words and the degradation he inflicted. Things that left invisible scars that have formed into barriers and walls and all of a sudden you see them way too clearly.

You then see that ghost out of the corner of your eye. That something you didn’t notice until now, except now you see it everywhere. Hiding from windows in case he can see through them, because if he sees he'll try and stop you. He’ll try and pull her away again. He’s still choking her. I hold up my hands to her and hope that she doesn’t see them as a threat but that what I’m offering is my strength to help carry her, carry her away from him, out of harms way. Now I see it everywhere.

I saw it coming. Each text from him when she’d shut me out for the rest of the evening. Every time he’d turn up, supposedly at random demanding they talk about something that was already dead and gone. Yeah I saw it coming. 

We decide to cool it but stay close. The difference now is that I’m terrified of everything I say. What if that delayed text from her is because I just said something he used to use against her and now I remind her of him? And now I feel like that ghost. I want to spend time in her company but get afraid to ask, what if  I’m now putting on the pressure, exerting the control? It tears me apart, I want to find him and show him just how much pain he’s causing her. I want him to see. I want it to be my hands on his throat.

I’m not that person though, I don’t use threats or violence to get what I want, to force someone to love me, to make them feel that they are not allowed to leave. That’s not fair. It’s not right. I want somebody to love me because I give them strength, because I make them laugh. Because I make them feel safe. I try to show her those things and she starts to see them. Then the ghost appears and those few tiny steps are removed and we’re forced back several paces. This hurts. It shouldn’t feel like this but I don't know how to change it. I’m not sure if I can. 

My self doubt turns to guilt as it’s her who is supposed to be hurting. I bury the guilt as I don’t want to show her any weaknesses not now, not when she needs to see strength. The strength I am offering, the shoulder she wants in the dark, the ear she needs when the pain unfolds. I want to be the only rock that stands in her ocean where she can go and feel completely safe and free.

I know I can be that rock if she’d let me. I know I’d love her more than any other man if she’d let me. I know this might never happen and I know that if it’s over because of him that this will hurt more than anything I’ve ever known. I know I’ll always resent him and resentment is something I’ve chosen to give up. I know that his ghost still remains but don’t know how much longer I can. Is it a sign of weakness or strength if I choose to let her go?

I want her to be happy. I want her to be free. I want what is best for her. 

If I could turn back time to before it all happened and stop it I would, even with the knowledge if I did we would probably never meet.

I’ll stay for now because deep down I know that she’s worth it. The question is how long can I stay while his ghost remains?

Goodbye Daddy Freak

Today is the day to cry. For he is gone. Prince is gone.

There is an outpouring of grief like I have never felt for a celebrity before. But then he wasn't just a celebrity to me or plenty of others. He was our father. Father to all us oddballs, the weirdest, the freaks, the loners, the quiet ones. He was one of us and he gave us permission to exist.

This is the first time I have felt it necessary to write an obituary piece and I expect it will be the last, but I have to tell those who were there that I never left and those who weren't there, I have to try and get them to see. To understand. To know that this isn't just the passing of someone famous. This is a death in the family.

Where to start? Do I start with the joy I felt at seeing this scrawny little dude on stage KILLING IT OUT THERE in a raincoat and stockings? With the opening riff of Lets Go Crazy with its chaotic wall of sound that perfectly matched the chaos in our heads? That last scream of TAKE ME AWAY echoing in the darkness?

Do I start with the lazy summer days listening to Raspberry Beret with my friend, the only one who got it in her room? Or the permission that Darling Nikki gave me to be sexual on my own fucking terms?

Do I start with the teenage me sobbing into her pillow to the guitar solo in Computer Blue knowing that she could hold on to life for ONE MORE DAY because it proved there was beauty in the world?

Some of us know what it sounds like when doves cry. We heard the pain when he sang that he was so confused on The Beautiful Ones. We shook our asses and creamy thighs at Erotic City and held our heads high at the very idea of having The Look.

We knew each other. We saw each other at school buy the flash of purple and the Paisley we managed to get away with at school. Way before NPG, way before Diamonds and Pearls, and the beautifully named Princestagram, we knew each other and we felt less alone.

He gave us permission to be. This tiny, sexy, scrawny, freaky as fuck man who was never anything but himself. When I was at my lowest he gave me permission to live, when I wore a bit of net curtain round my head and got pointed at and called a weirdo it was ok because he did it. He wore what he wanted. He could be himself, sexy in a way that wasn't toxic or abusive and that meant that maybe, just maybe, so could I.

So goodbye Father of the Freaks, the Disenfranchised, the lonely, the alone and the sad. In you we could be ourselves and I hope you are proud of us like we are of you.

And thank you for making my life by flying over the NEC on a zip wire with the chain mask and gun microphone screaming that your name was Prince, and you were funky.

Fucking right you were. The one and only.

Sleep well sweet Prince.

Things That Can Fuck Off

Haven't done one of these for a while and am feeling a bit grumpy after having an asthma attack last night so here goes.

Updated list of things that can fuck off.

Motivational posts. Seriously. Fuck off. 
'No one can love you till you love yourself'... Fuck you very much. Thank you for making people who feel unloved now believe it is their fault. Like they haven't got enough to deal with for fucks sake.

'No one can make you feel bad without your consent'... Are you fucking kidding me? Four words. Manipulation, coercion, fuck and off.

'You don't need money, only your dreams...' (usually said by people with enough money to follow their dreams)...Yeah, if your dreams are to be homeless.

Here is my motivational slogan: TRY NOT TO BE A DICK

Patriarchy.

A given really. Post patriarchy (which, by the way, is when I shall be post feminist) I will have so much more leisure time as men will either believe what women say on face value, or GOOGLE THEIR OWN SHIT.

Gender norms. 

Not just talking about who puts furniture together and does the car maintenance, but workplace shit too. 

Two actual conversations I had with women yesterday.

Her: My daughter loves medicine, I think she could be a nurse.
Me: Why not a surgeon?
Her: ....

Me: The out of hours doctor will be giving you a call back.
Her: What time will he ring?
Me: THEY will ring as soon as possible.

I try, but it is an uphill battle sometimes.

The Ursula Titchnor part of the current The Archers domestic abuse storyline.
Rob is a wanker. A total, irredeemable wanker. Some of have known this since day one. Before the post coital salad, before the little miss giggly comment, waaaaaay before the low cut dress incident. We knew and we have spent the last two and a half years trying to point it out to all and sundry (menz) using such hashtags as #dietitchynobdie and #titchynobmustdie.

Then along comes his fucked up mother and comments about his childhood being a nightmare and suddenly there is a sigh of relief from said menz that there is now a woman to pin it on. Forgetting that Titchynob's dad is still in the picture and Ursula may well be conditioned over the years too, they rush to say that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. I fucking know it doesn't (had to deal with my own Ursula for years) but for fucks sake, there was an editorial decision to be made here and cutting, coercive, bullying, manipulative, abusive rapist Rob Titchenor any slack at all was the wrong one.

Asthma

Fucking wanker. Breathing is essential. Fucksake.

Gypsy shit

Yeah, it is beautiful, yeah it is pretty and flowing and romantic and does nothing to represent or better the lives of the Roma people who have lived in poverty and persecution. And it would seem that Roma is the new Irish too. Seems if you want to be cool that you claim to have Roma heritage. People who actually do have Roma heritage and are sharing their stories are being erased when you do this. Stop.

Anyone, ANYONE who says 'men suffer abuse too'.

If your response to a conversation about women being abused is to derail a conversation about women being abused then actually fuck head, I don't want to hear from you. Ditto all lives matter wankers. 

Double standards on photos of women

So, if I take a sexy looking selfie then I am vain but if a man photographs me slumped lazily over a car with my mouth half open to sell a product that's fine. Right. Gotcha. Fuck off.

Tights.

Whoever invented them. Whoever designed them. Whoever decided to size them in a way that means if you have long legs they hang off you and if you get them to fit your width you spend all day hoiking them up. Seriously, fuck off. 

Prescription Charges.
I spent £16.40 so I don't die today. Though that isn't much of a price for my continued life, I cannot see for the life of me why I have to pay to breathe.

On that note, time for more steroids and inhalers.

Till next time.

On My Ideas Around Domestic Violence

Hi Marvin,

Been thinking about this stuff for a while.

It is brilliant that you want to build housing for victims of domestic violence, but there are practicalities around it that you may not have considered.

Moving costs, furnishing costs, safety costs.

Having somewhere to move to is a brilliant start, but it is only the start. It costs money to move, and many women will have had their financial independence taken away from them as part of the abuse. They will certainly not have money for removals or deposits or furnishings.

Also, there are issues around ongoing safety and mental health provision, education and publicity.

Don't think for a minute that this email is going to be all about the negative. I have some ideas. Some of them will already be in place but may need drawing together, some of them may not be possible, but I would like it to be the basis for the start of a conversation about how we view abuse in all its forms.

So, housing is just the start. I am overjoyed to hear that you want to build a LOT more of it in   affordable form. But in the meantime? How about when you work with Acorn and the like over the Landlord Charter that you include that all private landlords have to register all their properties they have to let, that a certain percentage must go for social housing (no children, no pets, no DSS is one of the most disheartening things you will ever see when trying to escape) and out of that some of it must go to victims of abuse. Also, there will need to be safeguarding and confidentiality training for landlords and tenants alike.

So, family gets a potential new home. How to get into it? Deposits are expensive, and Landlords rightly expect them as they are taking a risk. How about a deposit guarantee scheme? There probably is one, but I am not aware of it if there is, nor of the criteria or how often it is used.

So, deposit sorted. How do they get there? The abuse victim will likely have been isolated from friends and family and may not know anyone with a van. Anyone she may ask may have links to her abuser so won't be safe. How about we ask removals firms to commit to one free move a month for domestic abuse victims? Wouldn't cost them much and would be a brilliant profile raiser for local businesses. Maybe even do a charter mark kind of thing, like the Royal warrant but saying that they are not prepared to stand by while women get abused to put on their vans. Get art students to design it and posters around it etc.

Could link this to an awareness campaign on domestic violence and gaslighting.

So, they move in. And end up sitting on the moving crates as there is very little furniture they managed to bring with them as it happens. The kids don't have beds yet and mum is wondering if she should just go back so the kids have somewhere to sleep. This is where a grant for furniture would come in, maybe paid in the form of a voucher to be used at the recycled furniture place on West Street or the like. I don't know if this is already happening but if it is, I would like to see it more widely publicised and more parts of the community being involved in a cohesive, joined up way.

So, they move in and have furniture. Safe now? Not always. There are an alarming amount of women who are killed by their ex partners who track them down after they leave refuges. So, we will need security. Proper locks. Proper Windows. Proper alarms that lead somewhere and get a response. A buddy system. That sort of thing. Much like getting removals companies involved, we could get security firms to get involved and get a charter mark logo too.

Better still, get women empowered to run it themselves.

So, got somewhere to live, moved in, have furniture, are physically as safe as possible. Now what?

Healing. I want to see a situation where there is automatic referral and treatment for victims of abuse with proper follow up. No body gets left behind. And yes there will be issues with resources, so train survivors to do it. Give them help. Integrate it as part of the campaign to protect CAHMS. Join it all up. Prevent is about anti radicalisation of our youth. How about this as a radical idea. Stop.

So, not sure how much will be possible and I don't know how much you will agree with but I have a dream of a Bristol where women are safe. Where they know where to go for help and are empowered to support themselves and each other.

I want refuges to be extra safe spaces. I want women to know how to get out and to know that they will be safe and understood if they do and safe and supported and understood if they don't.

I want to see a joined up approach.

I want the violence to Stop.

On 2015 - The Year I Decided To Live

It's that time again where I round up my year. Was wondering about how to do this as usually there is an honours list or a rant or something.

This year I thought I would just let you into some big news.

I decided to live.

See, at the beginning of the year I was really down. Like, proper down. Even though I had a job I loved with UNISON, was happier at home than I have ever been, actually had enough money to go for lunch with my friends now and then and had thrown myself into painting with some success, I had something missing and I didn't know what it was.

I decided to start to do things. Like, normal things. Like going to the cinema and stuff. You know, things. But it wasn't enough. It still all felt, well, temporary. Like it was going to come to an end and I would go back to being a nothing and a nobody and it would be all I deserved.

What changed? Well, not only did I nearly die, I decided to live.

In february, the hilariously funny Bethany Black finally remembered to tell me she was performing in Bristol so I could go and see her (love ya Beth) so Abbi and I cancelled the cinema and went to see her instead.

What followed was a perfect storm of really? Are you fucking with me up there?

Got to the venue, got a VIP booth! (v.cool) It had those horrid air fresheners. You know the ones. Every now and then they spit some shitty version of spring flowers at you like a passive aggressive florist camel. Nasty, disgusting things that sit on your chest and are proper horrible for asthmatics.

Watched Bethany Black perform. Fuck me that woman is funny. If you are only aware of her TV work (which is fab) then you are missing out. She made us howl. Literally lose my breath laughing. I cannot look at a Pringles tin or terriers with tennis balls now and if I hear the words 'run up' I lose my shit all over again. Trust me. Go see her do stand up. If you are asthmatic, take an inhaler.

I did take my inhaler and spent most of the night puffing on it like a tiny blue shisha. I was breathing but not that well.

Then the Perfect Storm brewed a bit more. I went outside after the gig and the cold february air hit me.

Then I lit a cigarette.

And took three steps.

Then collapsed.

At this point I have to thank Abbi again for saving my life. She was calm and brilliant and called the ambulance and rubbed my back so I could feel a link to this mortal coil. I can never ever repay her.

And this is where it gets all decision makey.

I nearly died out there on the Harbourside. I could feel myself leaving. There was no white light, no enigmatic, smiling face of Jesus. I could feel myself leaving my body. I would love to offer comfort by saying that I had a religious experience but I can't. Everything was dark and warm and not scary, but I could feel myself leaving.

I have struggled with suicidal ideation as part of my depression and PTSD for a long while. All of us who have mental health issues, I am willing to bet have had those moments when we think we'd like to just go to sleep and not wake up. Not do anything drastic to cause this, but just to have it all stop. That if we had the chance we wouldn't fight, would just let it go. Just let it be. Just rest.

No one is more surprised than me that I decided to stay, to fight and to live. But that is exactly what I did. I fought and grasped and held onto the feeling of Abbi's hand on my back as my link and I bloody well decided that I was not going gently into the good night. I was Goddess Fucking Deeva and I was Fucking Well Staying.

And I did. And the ambulance arrived and took me to the hospital and it was touch and go a few times and I kept fighting and kept alive and I spent a week at the BRI and I stayed.

I decided that existing wasn't enough.

I decided to live.

I quit smoking. I started eating healthier and took up running. I can now do 5k. I couldn't run for the bus before without needing my inhalers.

I got rid of toxic people in my life. I only have so much of it and I can't afford to have any of it drained from me.

I painted more. I started to actually call myself an artist and that has led to me selling paintings!

I got my kit off for a charity calendar.

I got more tattoos. I stopped letting things slide. I challenged even more than I ever did.

I proposed to The Lovely (and he said yes!)

I signed up to take a degree in Philosophy, Politics and Economics.

I have started learning Korean for when we go there on honeymoon.

I am standing for Labour in the local council elections.

I appreciate every single moment of my life.

Does that mean that I no longer have mental health issues? No. I still have depression, anxiety and PTSD. What it does mean is that when I get low, really low, I know longer think that I want to go to sleep and not wake up because I had a chance to do that and I decided not to. And that has been really liberating.

My life has changed. I am no longer in the same job. I now work in the NHS and spend a lot of my time talking to people who are self harming or have attempted suicide. I have been told I have a gift with them. I don't think I have. I think I am them. Just a version of them that decided to stay.

So Happy New Year to all my readers, followers, friends and family. Know that I am going nowhere and you have to put up with me a bit longer. My wish for you is that you live. Try new things. Get out of your comfort zone. Go to festivals. Get naked. Learn a new language.

We are dead a long time. But before that, we live.

Deeva xxx

On Showing Off The 'Good' Brown People

Hello!

Been a while, hasn't it? Been meaning to write but have been busy with new job and stuff (more on that in next post).

I am still to write my yearly round up, but today I thought I would deal with something that has been bugging me under the surface for a while and today popped its head up and screamed OI! at me.

The idea of debunking racism by being racist. Was chatting with the fab @poppycocktails on Twitter about it and wanted to get our thoughts down coherently. If there are any ideas that aren't coherent, be sure that they are mine and not hers. She was very clear. Me, not so much.

Now, don't get me wrong, I know and will reiterate that it is not the intent of people who are doing this to be vindictive or racist. I know and will reiterate that their intent is good and well meaning, even if the ideas behind their actions are deeply flawed. I know and will reiterate that it comes from a good place and that I will be seen as a baddy for pointing any of this out but you know me. I'm nothing if not honest. Even (especially) if it is going to get me into hot water.

So what has got my goat this time? The idea of the Good Brown Person.

The what now? (I hear you ask)

You know. The Muslims and Sikhs and refugees (gonna count them in as Brown to illustrate my point.) who are 'helping out' with the clean up after the floods in Yorkshire.

Syrians who want to give back to the communities that have shown them kindness.

The Sikhs and the Muslims who have been cooking and cleaning,

'Aren't they great?!' the narrative screams. 'THEY'RE NOT ALL EVIL AND SCARY OR JOB STEALY OR ANYTHING! Look, they are good ones.'

The problem with this is that as well meaning as I truly believe it is, it is wrapped in a subtle racism.

These Sikhs/Muslims/Refugees are not 'giving back' to communities, they are members of those communities and to label them otherwise, to hold them up as a shining example of a religion or a race is othering and missing the point.

By showing off the Good Brown People, (well meaning as it is, and I cannot reiterate this enough) it buys into the very narrative it is trying to debunk. It misses the point that actually, Muslims/Sikhs/Immigrants are not an homogeneous group of people whether they are attacking people at a Eagles of Death Metal gig or sweeping up their front yards in Yorkshire.

All of us have the capacity to be shits or angels or somewhere in between. Most of us, I would suggest fall into the latter category and are somewhere in between. ALL OF US.

So, Lazy Muslims/Sikhs.Immigrants are a thing. Not all of them are out trying to prove that they are not like the others. Holding up Good Brown People to show that shouldn't be a thing. It's desperately sad that we have come to this. No matter how well meaning people are being. (I truly believe they are. I may have mentioned this)

You would do better to argue with those that think that All Muslims Are Terrorists or that All Immigrants Steal Jobs or that All Sikhs Rip You Off and that NONE OF THEM EVER EVEN TRY TO INTEGRATE that actually they are human beings and they are the communities that they have gone in to 'help'. That they are the infrastructure of teachers and doctors and public servants and cleaners and nurses and leaders that idiots think that they are a drain on.

They don't have to integrate into communities. They are the communities.

Even better. Try to stop thinking about the Good Brown People as THEY and start just thinking of US.

I usually have a pithy rejoinder to end a post with but today I am stuck for one. (I'm blaming the work lurgy)

I will just end with the thought that I will stop being pissed off when we, the people, start realising who we, the people, actually are.