Does it rain in the waste land?

when i wake up and go out at five in the morning and it is raining, i feel happy and it feels like fairies are kissing my face. now in the pitch dark of night it is raining and while my house sleeps and everyone in it but i, the rain is like a constant friend who patters down with solidarity.
i cannot sleep though i did at ten but my insomniac little two year old woke me with needs for 'drink mummy' to which i dragged my wretched body to supply him with such then never recovered to sleep and instead made a reluctant return to the facebook planet and deleted 20,000 emails from an account i hardly use but still do occasionally.

i am in the recovery room from a good three weeks of depression.
i tell you, i have only just accepted that i suffer from this blight.
so far i have excused it away but i now gladly and fully recognize the strength of it ...... it's like a slow tidal wave slowly and ever so surely dragging you down to the salty and unoxygenated depths to taunt you with tombstones and futility, regret and failure.

i have suffered with this since i was a child though i can't now put my finger on what age.

a sister in a recent fall out described me as having always been -damn i can't remember the word, but is is damn unflattering- like basically a miserable witch- but i sort of realised in this time that actually i have been battling depression most of my life and when i am a miserable witch, it is usually because i am struggling with a thousand voices clamoring in my head.

i wanted to write when i was depressed just to give voice to the black treacle like invisible vapour that engulfed me with an irrational and unreasonable hatred of this life but i couldn't bring myself to go near a computer so i just dragged through each day making sure my children were fed and clothed and schooled.
i couldn't summon a smile for any one and saw this as an unnecessary exertion of vital energy, which i still feel is correct. having been always a smiler, i do now believe smiling should be for special occasions.

i am trying to think of the word she used to describe me to me, so rather than think, i will type my way to it, its like grimy....mangy ....moany....miserable....whingy.....groany....i can't find it! erm, it's there, on the tip of my tongue, on the outer layer of some part of my brain, whore...no that's not it , but connotations are valid,...... you have always been a ......grangey.....manky, no......ok. thats it a 'rude cranky bitch'

now, i don't think i like to hold grudges as these are horrid little bricks to carry round. but actually i find it hard to let these words, so articulate and specific, go. i think i may have said 'why do you have to be so perfect all the time?' and this was one of the responses i got,....'run around and hide behind service to others so you can excuse being a rude cranky bitch all your life'

anyway that told me!! i have spent much of my life trying  not to be a rude cranky bitch so sorry sis if you got the brunt of it.

any how to return to matters of interest i lost my big sis, our big sis, and now it's me and then my three younger sis's and it's odd not having my big sis there as a buffer, another sister from what i see as the same sides of the track to me. the same bedroom, the same dancing classes, the same kitchen in the same place we grew up. wasn't perfect, but it was.

sisters can be strange things. other women who we are related to by amazing chance and yet not often any real connection. a lonely thing sometimes.

Anyhows. Rant over.the rain is still falling opinionatedly outside my back door into the black garden. the night is old and tomorrow is another day.
thankyou dear ether for absorbing the innards of my brain.

I do exist,
as do we all.
tiny wheels in the cog of this perception
Each shouting dreams or insisting on our position in this crowded place.
It rains
as it will forever more
for all we know.
does it rain in the waste land?

Just another episode

This is the place I come to when I can no longer look on the Bright Side. When I wonder how it can all be so shit sometimes.
Where do I begin?
This is the place I come to when all my plans to write fizzle out and I can suddenly write and yet all I can write is of the misery.
This isn't head stuff, emo stuff, it's life stuff, family stuff that just makes me feel pretty hopeless though surprisingly calm and quite pragmatic.
It is about a little girl of six who would like a violin for Christmas and who is so excited about Halloween and distant birthdays,becoming crying and scared because her teenage brother and his step dad come to near blows frequently and is she terrified the police will be called again by a concerned neighbour.
It is about a woman trying to keep a semblance of normality whilst simultaneously maintaining a dysfunctional aggravated relationship. It is about thinking her children would be better off adopted in a calm family who have space and calm and violin practice, and don't simply struggle to survive and keep up appearances.

I attended a course pre summer about positive thinking; a very effective course which has impacted well. However, the anger and swearing of the man in my life,  is too much to bear and he wonders why I don't want to cuddle with passion and love .....ew right now!

My son hates him most of the time. He hates his swearing and shouting and coarseness.
I cannot help but defend the coarse one. He is only like that when something upsets or does not please him.
But I need another point of view, a second opinion. I don't trust my judgement. Perhaps I am too forgiving, or perhaps I am just plain nasty and horrible and in fact hateful.
The voice of a victim?
Martyr- someone who silently radiates to the world how long suffering they are, how they do so much to help and support others whilst nothing for themselves.
Victim- someone who sees themselves at the mercy of others behaviors and actions and who is powerless to take action.
Mature- Someone who recognizes the reality of the situation and seeks to alter it for better, to take control and recognize their  responsibility and make decisions and choices for one's own life.

So anyway. She, the little one fell asleep on the sofa beside me as she was upset and it was late, and the swearing and confrontation and slamming doors and stamping up and down the stairs was too much for her.
I now don't intervene too much, especially not with anger, as that would make three of us. I will chastise, and for some reason(as I grew up with confrontation, and Jesus-turning-the- table's kind of self righteous and morally justified anger), I can only calmly (something thoroughly rejected in my upbringing) point out how I see the behavior as wrong, and point out how it is hurtful etc. I genuinely don't see hitting, or swearing, or shouting as effective means of behavior control, and yet my home has these things (minus the hitting) frequently.

I did however become a little involved eventually. As i sat down, after a long day working, to watch an episode of Downton Abbey the argument began in the kitchen.
I didn't jump up and get involved. I like to let them work it out for themselves.
So, it proceeds: some affirmative adult male swearing and raised voice of disbelief and disgust...e.g 'you can't fucking do that, give it back to her.'
At this point my teenage son enters the room I am sitting in- on the sofa facing the TV, as you do- He is holding a pen that his little sister had been using in the kitchen where she did her homework along side her daddy who was half helping her and half watching rugby. "----" I exclaim (actually!) 'What are you doing, ---- was using that pen to do her homework, why are you being mean to her? Thats out of order, give her pen back to her'. He answers, 'I'ts my pen, I only need it for a second' (i had recently asked him to note down some info foe me regarding his failing bus pass) as he rushes around looking for another to give to her'.

Yes, i say, but she is using it, (it is an insignificant Biro) I say some more about how this is not correct etc...more informal though than that.
At this point, adult male enters the room and says something like 'i know where you get your f...ing behavior from... you fucking...blah type stuff...fu...ing outrageous....not paying for any of you any more....wont pay rent....' it all jumbles up for me. He leaves the area and I repeat to son that his sister is working hard on her homework etc etc...out of order etc.
Anyways, some further things ensue. Little girl comes through crying bitterly and I say to lie down next to me. Some tramping up and down stairs and shouts of teenager 'get out of my fucking room now....over and over. Little girl crying and scared....running to say 'it's ok daddy I have a pen now' at this point she is terrified of police being called. I say stay with me, and I think I go upstairs to see what is going on. Adult male storms down the stairs past me. Words are bandied about like 'hes a cunt, needs to move out, wont pay rent till he's out...when he is 18 i will knock him out...someone will knock you out...i hate you and your fucking son....' as he passes and this bile billows from his mouth . I react with 'shut up.' How else can I respond. I don't appreciate this method of dealing with family issues.
As I write this I feel awful that this hardly shocks me....it only makes me cold to adult male, and more caring and patient towards my son. I wonder why I am here with this? Who do I blame? What do I condone? Is it because of the emotional horrors and violent outbursts I have witnessed through my life that I can explain this away or come to live with it?

So I reiterate to son that this was wrong taking the pen. Trying to show some support for adult male despite his rocketing off the handle and all-guns -a -blazing shooting out profanities, stomping and shouting his head off at the first sign of something he disproves of. Son stays in his room angry. Like a smoking gun.

As little she calms and is OK, I say...did he snatch the pen from you without asking? This is the first moment I've had to establish what happened.
No he asked me lots and said please please please ...
oh, he did ask then?
yes, but daddy said no as I was doing my homework.
oh, so daddy interfered, I thought, not quite as justifiable as he gave the impression my son just snatched it,. while i would agree that despite nice requests that doesn't make the requestee obliged to acquiesce. However, I thought, why could adult male not just let little she work it out for herself, make up her own mind?
At this new discovery I briefly leave the room to tell adult male that  had no idea that teenager had asked and said please a few times.
Yes but it's not right, its out of order. You are teaching ---little she-- that it is OK to snatch etc etc.
In retrospect now I wonder why he couldn't just encourage her to lend him the pen for a moment or at least calmly chastise him ...ultimately its a small blip, the teenager was not dope smoking or swearing at anyone.......

After some more massive outpouring at me about my dreadful hateful son I tell adult male that he is a shit role model and that my son understandably hates him.

I return to watching  Downton Abbey and little she lies on the sofa wrapped in a puffy duvet and looking tired and tearstained.

Enters adult male to remove the lead from the TV and leave the room. I sit nicely for five minutes not too fussed.
Adult male returns and says he will now punish me every time my son is bad or something to that effect.
I iterate that this is not a punishment as I rarely watch television anyway.
He returns to watch the sport in the kitchen.

About five minutes later I feel aggrieved suddenly as was enjoying Downton Abbey. I enter the kitchen and ask for the lead. No he says. So I remove the iPad that he is watching and walk away with it as he tells me to give it back walking after me. I place it on the floor and put my foot on top of it lightly and say that if he doesn't return the TV lead I will smash it to pieces. I feel I have nothing to lose now.
My daughter comes to see and cries, 'no mummy'. He says 'look now you've made her upset'.
You started it I say. Give me the TV lead.
He calls me a name and gets the lead.
Plug it in too, I say (getting a little carried away)
No he says. I allow him to take the iPad.

More names describing me from his point of view, then he goes and leaves me alone.
I watch Downton Abbey to the end.
Teenage son comes down with a fossil for little she's show and tell.

She goes to sleep.
I go to bed upstairs with my 2 year old.
He sleeps in our bedoom.
Son sleeps in his own room.

a summary

gonna write down my little mess as need to get it off my head.
I have a headache in the back of my head,
i am taking part in a course designed to help you find your self esteem and become self empowered, take responsibility for your own actions and feelings not be a victim etc.
I have housework to do and this is what i feel like
'I don't want to do it, it depresses me and makes me tired. I have committed to having a friend over of my daughter tomorrow, but i don't feel like i will really be able to do it, i will be going through the motions and that is all.
I want to put a stop to my drinking, but all i can think of is sinking a bottle of wine and going to bed oblivious.
I have an important letter to write but i have no strength to write it and can't be bothered to any way.'
All of this says i am tired and i suppose i am thinking like a victim.
It says 'i can't'
My tutor told me to remove that mantra from my head and replace it.
not only i can't but i don't want to either.

cake mix

fuck. and i thought of ending this blog and starting a happy one! screams from new cross. i currently feel so ground down by life that i could be used as a smooth flour in a cake mixture.

my beloved sister

my computer is taking so long to load that
by the time it loads
my inspiration has run dry...
however i am gonna try to tap back into it if i can remember what the hell it was
i wanted to post on  this my
albatross
blog.

as many an alcoholic may peruse,
or reason with their fetish (can i call it that?)
alcohol does strange things to a body.
a body who is walking along the street, two cans of lager in her pockets, through the busy night streets of new cross,(London)
she suddenly dry cries to her sister
...i am sorry, she says
that i cry,
or dry cry at that, when i am a little intoxicated.
I am sorry it is then that i call (quietly)
to you in the darkness and say 'but why?'
and utter her name into the damp street.

but a kind soul
who would never begrudge you another glass for the road,
i know she understands that sometimes it is a drink which allows you to cry those tears
which sit in your chest otherwise,
uncried.
a salty box or tiny vase of uncried tears
 in the space directly opposite the shoulder blades on your front.
the solar plexus.

... dry crying doesn't alleviate these, it must be said! ..

it is still hard to understand her absence.
a girl you shared a room with and played 'cowbank' with
(we broke it)
and 'libraries'
(you know),
who i threw a tap shoe at
and who sellotaped my things to the wall when i overstepped a mark of some thing or other.
she that i sang love me or leave me with....
walked endlessly across the heath to ballet with
my beloved sister.

chewy toothpaste

or the cherry sweets,
the bread peas or the
Jumbo moment....
can i say that and Country girl next to each other...?
 i was in heaven with you...heady memories
where i was fit to burst with love for living
These are our memories and I can't share them with anyone else dear sister.
and now you went.
or you are, it seems, very much gone.
but when i chuckle or take life simply and again
chuckle and flirt with life,
i remember you and your untamed ways...
and miss you desperately.



i love you
i love you
and i love you always.

vertical box

at the moment in my life so chemistry must have arranged i feel as though i am contained within an invisible box.
A bit like a coffin i suppose but upright, vertical. Not horizontal.
As i witness the antagonism between my son and his step dad
i feel the wooden sides of the box pressing my arms to my side
and as the sun shines into the cold April garden i feel my tongue silenced in my head as
i feel something like sorrow and sadness fill my my heart
and my vision is clouded with sad ghostly premonitions.

like when someone presses your arms down while you resist their pressure and then as they release their pressure your arms float up as though they are flying...
I long to feel a release from this coffin and fly
without guilt or recriminations
or children screeching at me.
father time.
I remember.

i am clearly miserable and long to wake up with eyes unclouded by what must be depression of some sort.

i can't help putting this pen to paper though for all i know it could be feeding my feelings.

i could pretend i suppose that i am a shiny happy person.
though i have tried and the darkness pervades.

shiny happy people

How to articulate this.
Sometimes in Spring time
I get quite low.
Like the opposite of SAD.
As people shed their outer layers and walk in a more relaxed gait in the sun
chatter and walk and smile brightly
I feel more like dressing darkly
sunglasses on and looking down to avoid the cheer.

since a child living on a big housing estate
I hated summer as people would turn up their music really loud
and then i thought they'd gather like ants on walls and on swings and gravitate towards a centre.

My kids have been taken to a park by their uncle at my request
since i need to do 'housework'
i walked through the paths of new cross passing shiny happy people
all gay in the insipid clouded sun
and i brought looroll and washing up liquid and not sunday lunch
since we are still on a diet of frugality

and i didn't raise my head to smile at passing strangers
or share in the awakening bashful welcome of a sunny sunday.

now housework untouched and children gone
i am left with a guilty blue feeling in my chest
and a historical anxiety that springtime brings to me.

in the fridge sits one can of lager
it is before three
but i pull it open and drink
i cannot face the housework
and i am barely ever alone
i want to bottle aloneness
and drink it from time to time.

not sure i articulated anything.
but there you go...