Angela Gibbins Ate My Hamster

Note: all the way through this I am going to be referencing articles. I will not be linking to any of them. If you really do need to read hateful crap then find it yourself.

Over the past couple of days there has been a media furore surrounding one of my close friends, Angela Gibbins. Real nastiness. She has been subject to death threats and rape threats. She has had the press camped out on her doorstep, imprisoning her and questioning her neighbours. She has an online petition calling for her to be sacked. She has had hate articles written about her, one of them downright vicious. She has been misrepresented as a champagne socialist. She has had her wedding photograph stolen to 'illustrate' this as if carrying flowers and a glass of cava whilst wearing a stunning frock coat is just what she does on tuesdays.If you didn't know Angela you would not know that it was her wedding photo by the way. You would usually expect to see a big white floofy dress right? Angela doesn't do big, white and floofy. She has been called a 'dog faced feminist bitch'. There have been aspersions cast upon her looks, her personality, her reasons for not having children. She has been reported for hate crime. Fucking hate crime. For pointing out a rich white kid has privilege. If those screaming for her blood spent that energy actually fighting racism then, y'know...

Her alleged crime? That she reportedly called HRH Prince George a Fucking Dickhead on Facebook.

Well, let's get that one out of the way straight away. She didn't. The Dub Pistols shared the meme.

And so have at least a thousand other people. OK? Can we get past this crap now please? There is no need to pillory this woman for having an opinion on privilege and comparing the fate and future of George to the lack of future and the fate of another 3 year old child who wasn't lucky enough to be born into the royal family.

Angela isn't vile. She isn't a bitch, she isn't deserving of death, by hanging or otherwise, or unemployment. She is a good woman.

Let me tell you about my friend.

She is thoughtful. When I decided I wanted to learn to draw, she sent me some beautiful pencils and a lot of great advice.

She is encouraging. When a member of my family was struggling with confidence over their art, she spoke gently to them, encouraged them, praised them and helped.

She is generous. When a friend of mine was having trouble with University finances, she talked him through it and made sure an autistic man got the chance to study.

She is caring. When she gets libraries re opened she also makes sure that schools are built; when she is getting finance for buildings in the desert, she makes sure that no one suffers by insisting there is not a drop of wasted water. When you are low she sends a message saying 'All will be well.' and you believe her. Because she is Angela and she will move heaven and earth to educate, facilitate and make you feel safe.

She has been shot at three times (hit once, grazed twice) rescuing people from war zones. She doesn't pull the ladder up after herself, she makes sure that she creates opportunities for women.

But it's fun to make things up like she isn't a real person right? We could start a #AngelaMadeUpHeadlines hashtag.

Who Let The Dogs Out? We'll Tell You Who!

'I went to Glastonbury with Angela Gibbins and she stole my Pikachu.'

ANGELA GIBBINS FAKED THE MOON LANDINGS

You get the idea right? It's all fun and games and no one gets hurt.

No. It does hurt people. It hurt Angela and her brilliant husband when they had the memory of their happiest day stolen from them. It hurts her friends and family to see her being pinned down in her own home. It hurts her colleagues at the British Council because they now have to shoulder her considerable workload.

I only hope that it doesn't inspire the same kind of person who ended up killing Jo Cox.

Angela inspires me. I stand by her and restate that there really is no room for an hereditary monarchy in a democratic society.

Got your back Ang x

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 Labels - Guest Post

Another heart stoppingly good post from the author of this awesomeness on the metal community

Content warning: transphobia

“I don’t see why we need labels, we’re all human”.

We’ve all heard it before; the whining voice that seeps out like a sad fart and lingers for too long. I’d like to laugh it off as a hollow statement, but I can’t. I can’t, because I looked closer and saw the terrifying power structures this statement supports and I’m scared and angry.

Most recently, these words were said to me in the context of gender identity, so I’ll focus on that for now.

It’s not surprising that, more often than not, these words are uttered by people who’ve never needed to use labels to talk about their gender. They don’t need labels, so they don’t see why anyone else should need them either. They don’t need labels, because their gender identity is treated as default by society. They don’t need labels, because they can go their whole lives without their gender identity ever becoming a major issue. These words are said in the context of privilege.

I don’t have the privilege of never having my gender questioned. I live on the front line of cissexism. It’s a minefield, and sometimes labels are the only protection I have.

I need labels because I am trying to navigate a world that tells me I’m not real; a world that considers my existence a threat, a nuisance, an anomaly, or a joke at best.

I need labels when strangers point and laugh at me in the street.

I need labels when I hear people whisper “is it a boy or a girl?”

Or when they don’t bother to whisper.

Or when I’m scared of going clothes shopping because of the looks of disapproval I get in either department.

When people use transphobic slurs, to my face.

When people tell me my pronouns are too difficult, and that they’re going to carry on using the wrong ones, intentionally.

When people tell me what name they want to call me, based on what they think is appropriate, rather than what my name is.

When these were people I had considered “friends”.

I need labels, because they allow me to claim back my humanity. Labels help me survive the daily onslaught of transphobia, because they give me dignity. When the world tells me I’m not real, I have a label that tells me I am. When others question the validity of my identity, humiliate me or reduce me to something I’m not, I often believe them. But my labels are still there, like a rock for me to hold onto.

I need labels, because without words to describe myself, I would disappear.

Labels allow my identity to flourish. They allow me to grow into the person I was always meant to be. They empower me with a certainty and confidence that I can use to make a future for myself. They say: I know who I am, and I have a life ahead of me.

How dare you try and take that away from me.

Erica, 19. Likes: Cats, art, cycling, toilet humour. Dislikes: Cheese, underwear, trimming my toenails.

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.

On Pride and Patriotism

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

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.