The Scars Are Real… and I. Will. Never. Forgive…

TRIGGER WARNING : THIS POST DISCUSS SEVERAL TYPES OF ABUSE.

Abuse of any kind stays with you for a very long time. Even the kind of abuse that is committed by one of the people who is supposed to love and protect you beyond anything else. You can remember some of it. You can remember the first day that it actually happened. Every touch, every smell, every taste. Then the hand patting the top of your head like you were a freaking dog and telling you that this was our little secret and we mustn’t tell anyone, and especially not mummy because she will only get hurt and I will make her cry.

No way on this earth was I going to do that to my simply amazing and wonderful mum because she did not deserve to be hurt because I was being naughty. This went on for years until I became fourteen and all of a sudden it stopped. I was never sure why, but I was so relieved. But I realise why now. I was too old for you wasn’t I? Too old and too past it in your eyes. I didn’t offer the same set of thrills for you anymore. I wasn’t “fresh meat”.

My wonderful mother died when I was 16 years old after a long battle against breast cancer. I spent a couple of years after my mum died drinking and taking every drug I could swallow. I applied for my nurse training. I got accepted but my head kept on telling me that once they knew what I was – something dirty, something tainted that they would rescind my offer and send me on my way. One morning I woke up and realised that I had to get clean otherwise I would never be anything in life. So I went cold turkey and sweated it out for that was the only option open to me. It was hell but I did it.

I had a job and was doing it to kill time until I started my nurse training. It was only waitressing but it was a job and it kept a roof over my head. Being kicked out at 16 makes you grow up pretty damn fast, it really does!

I met my ex husband on a night out with some friends from work. He was 11 years older than me and incredibly charming. By the end of the night he had managed to isolate me from my friends and manoeuvre me into a corner all by myself. I guess that should have been the first red flag that something was not at all right in this whole situation

He basically, for the first six months of our relationship, treated me like a princess. He put me on a pedestal and gave me everything that I wanted. Within a week of us meeting, he had persuaded me to give up both my job and my apartment, getting me to move in with him. He was effectively isolating me and I never saw it happening. I had to depend on him for food, shelter, money – everything. He had me totally under his control. He started to apply pressure on me about my friends. Why did I need them he would ask me. Why did I need them when he was everything that I could possibly need? I began to talk to my friends less and less and before too much longer, I had none. He had me totally isolated.

This was when the gaslighting started. He was slowly engineering sets of circumstances that would make me doubt my own sanity. I began to think that they were all my fault and that I was starting to lose it. He would make a point of telling me that I would never cope on my own and that I needed him. That I needed him to survive. I believed him so totally. One of his favourite tricks would be taking my door keys off the key hook and putting them in bizarre places like the bathroom, next to the toilet, or in the kitchen cupboards. I believed him so completely. I had done that. He would never do something like that. Maybe he was right. I was crazy and I would never cope in the world without him. I needed him to survive. Before too long I was utterly convinced I couldn’t function unless he was by my side.

The verbal abuse was so subtle at first. He would criticise me for wearing too much make up when we went out. My clothes were too slutty, my heels were too high. Soon I was going out in baggy jeans and long sleeved jumpers and trainers and no make up. The plainer I looked, the happier he was with me.

The closer that I got to starting my nurse training, his attitude and his behaviour started to change. It was so subtle that I never even noticed it. There were lots of snidey remarks about doctors and nurses and the things that they “got up to behind the scenes”. He constantly accused me of having affairs with doctors and also of having bisexual affairs with women as I had “dirty filthy queers” as friends and they rubbed off on me. (Yes, I had some properly amazing friends in the LGBT+ community and they kept me sane) but I never once had an affair with anyone.

The first physical blow came when I had been on my first ward placement about six weeks. I came home from my shift and he was hurling abuse at me and screaming I was a whore and I should admit my affairs. I burst into tears. How could I admit to what I had not done? The pressure became more intense, until he struck me with the back of his hand right in the mouth and knocked me flying back onto the bed. That was the first of many times that he raped me.

From then on in, the verbal abuse was a daily occurrence and the physical abuse occurred at least three or four and sometimes more times a week. The sexual violence was slightly less because a lot of the time I was simply too scared to say no to him. A no meant a beating and being forced.

I simply could not understand why this was happening to me. I had never done anything to deserve this treatment and I just had no idea why it was happening. I tried to think why. Was it truly me? Had I really done something so very wrong to deserve all of this? Many nights I lay awake whilst he was in a drunken stupor and I cried for the girl that I had lost.

When he proposed I accepted without even thinking. I thought that agreeing to marry him would calm him down and convince him that I was somebody that he could trust. Sadly not. The abuse picked up and became worse. It was a daily thing now.

Even having two beautiful babies did not convince him of my loyalty. Several more years went by and slowly the abuse got worse and worse. Many times I have been asked why on earth I didn’t just leave him. Nobody who has not been through this kind of abuse can ever really understand the answer to this question. I could not find the courage to leave because I was so utterly crushed and dragged down by his abuse that I believed every single word that he said. I was stupid, dumb, a moron. A fat, ugly bitch who would never ever cope without him to guide her.

Then one day came the straw that broke the camel’s back. He threatened the lives of the boys. He threatened them both with a ten inch long machete. That was enough. I waited until he was passed out blind drunk in the early hours and grabbed my bag and the boy’s coats and we ran. We left every single thing that was owned behind us, fleeing in only the clothes we stood up in. I don’t think I’d ever been so scared. I kept on thinking that he would find us and stop us. It was when the train was about 40 minutes out of the station that the “where the fuck are you?” phone calls started.

I fled to the house of a very good friend of mine. She protected me, made sure that I got the right help and was always there. In the end, the police took my mobile because my idiot ex actually made death threats and left them on my answerphone. Those messages were evidence in my court case.

Eventually I decided that I needed to return home. To make sure that my boys were safe and happy. I decided to come back to Scotland. I was raised upon the largest of the Shetland Isles until I was 8 years old. My ‘father’ one day decided that he was going to take us back to where he was born, just outside of Manchester in England. I missed my homeland so very much that I could not have truly considered settling anywhere else and knew that it would be the safest place for the three of us to begin to heal.

Luckily for me, I had a friend in Aberdeen. He was one of my friends from Shetland and he now lived on the mainland. I contacted him to let him know I needed his help to flee and he gave it willingly. He drove down to where I was staying, helped to pack up the meagre possessions that we had into a van and he drove us back to Scotland. He let us stay at his place until I was able to find the house that I live in now.

My life is safer now. The kids are no longer at risk from him and that is all that I care about. They have good lives which is all that matters.

I carry a great deal of scars both physical and mental from my 25 years of abuse. The mental illnesses illnesses that I have to live with as a result of the abuse are never going to go away. That I have accepted now. But I fight hard to keep my kids from seeing any more tears or pain from me. They have seen enough. They don’t deserve to see more.

I’m moving slowly through my life and I’m doing the very best that I can. I can think of two people I would stick my middle finger up to. My ‘father’ and my ex. They both told me that I was useless, fat, ugly, pathetic and would never cope without them. I have coped. I have escaped and we are moving on with our lives. My story is not over yet. ;

I guess that’s why I’m trying to write this piece. Fuck the piece of shit monster who abuses you. You can get out. When you feel the time is right for you, you can work. You can fly free.

But one thing I will say is this. I. Will. NEVER. EVER. Forgive. No fucking way. I’ve had therapists a plenty tell me that I should let go. Fuck that. I want to remember. I want to hate them. I want to loathe every single pervert who put his hands on me. I will never give them the satisfaction of knowing that they have gotten away with what they did. Suffer bitches. Just like you’ve all made me suffer. Burn in hell. Fuck you. All of you. You will never ever know peace while you know that you are not forgiven for your crimes.

To my fellow survivors (I refuse to use the word victim), I salute you. You can escape. You can fly and be free. I promise you. Be safe beautiful people.

Be kind to each other.x

Sick and Tired…

I am really sick and tired of being sick and tired. I became seriously ill back in 2007 and fought it off and worked every single day that I could. I was determined to cope with things.

Then in February of 2009, I became even worse. One morning I woke up, and I simply could not move. Every time I tried, a searing pain would shoot the whole way around my body and that made it impossible for me to actually get my ass out of bed. My body was sick and tired of being forced through that shit every single frikkin’ damn day.

I shouted and shouted and eventually my eldest got up out of his bed and came through to see what the hell was wrong. When he saw the state I was in, he just ran forward and gave me a huge hug. I had to really bite my lip to keep from screaming on that one, because my eldest is severely autistic and if I had reacted in any negative way, it would have severely affected his mood and I will never deliberately do that to him. Ever.

Eventually, around ten minutes later, he went and got me what I needed – my own mobile phone so that I could call the boys school and tell them that they would be a little bit late as I was having some difficulties. Luckily the school understood and were really fine about things. Then I had to call my partner who was at work and wasn’t happy about having to come home. That was until he actually got home and saw me sweating and vomiting over the side of the bed into my rubbish bin because the pain I was experiencing was literally that bad.

He rang my doctor’s surgery and they advised him to call 999 to get me to hospital. I fought against this because the ambulance service are under enough stress. They don’t need to be dropping the blues and twos for my pain they really don’t. So I begged for a doctor to come see me at home instead. Foolish me thinking that he would see me and just tell me to rest a while and all would be well. Oh no no foolish woman! Guess again! After being poked and prodded around, he pulled my partner off to one side and started talking to him which really did piss me off! Ummmm, hello? It’s my legs that aren’t working, not my brain.

The doctor then announced that I did have to go to hospital and he was calling ahead to get me a bed and also arranging for ambulance transport (not paramedics) to come and take me in. My partner packed my bags and then took the boys to school so they wouldn’t have to see me leave in an ambulance. He was back before they even arrived. A fast ambulance ride later and I arrived on the medical emergency ward. A few hours later, I was taken onto one of the medical wards. My care was undertaken by a group of consultants. Medical, Orthopaedic and Rheumatolgy. I went through two long weeks of scans, X-rays and blood tests. This resulted in me being given one hell of a shock. I didn’t get just one diagnosis. I got several, and all of them were life changing.

I was told that I had both osteo and Rheumatoid Arthritis. Then Fibromyalgia and type 3 Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome which also led to me being diagnosed as having Dysautomia due to Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome. After that came osteoporosis.

Just as an afterthought, I have restless leg syndrome, trigeminal neuralgia, carpal tunnel syndrome, asthma, a cardiac murmur and a small congenital hole in my heart. Couple that with Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome and IBS and you can imagine that since February of 2009 that my life has become hugely different and I had gone from being a totally independent woman who worked bloody hard and had been a registered nurse for most of my working life to being a totally dependant woman who needs help with pretty much every aspect of my personal life and care. This really gets to me. It makes me so sad and so freakin’ angry. I used to bake some pretty awesome cakes (I did a mean lemon drizzle) and I just can’t do that anymore. I can’t cook, clean, take care of the house or myself. I literally am dependant on my carer for everything. Yup, at 46 years old, I have a carer. 😭😭😭 I hate my life.

My day starts when I wake up, normally around 4am. I’ll have had around three hours of broken sleep and been tossing and turning like a fucking washing machine. I then clock (almost typed cock then) watch round to 6.30am when I can take my morning medication – hey, it’s only a handful of 15 pills. Shake me and I’ll rattle! Then I need to wait until around 8.30-9am for my carer to arrive. I’ll then get my hot water bottle made for my back. If the day is a very bad one, then there is a less than zero percent chance of me getting out of bed. I know if I do my pain levels will shoot through the roof and if I’m lucky, only one joint will dislocate. I have learned how to pop most of my joints back into place. I would be spending half of my life in the emergency room otherwise. The only joint I can’t do is my shoulder. So days like that see me with all of my braces on and resting in bed.

◦ On the rare days when I feel well enough to get out of bed, I will have help to get changed into a clean pair of PJs. I have hyperathaesia and my skin is so sensitive, most days I can only tolerate soft cotton PJs. On bad days, I have to go nekkid. If my bad days fall on a day where I have to leave the house for an appointment, I really suffer and have to strip the moment I get back home. I hate it.

On good days, I’m able to prop myself up in bed and either do some colouring or write letters. On a bad day, I just tend to cry and read on my Kindle.

I’ve learned to accept that my day is peppered with taking pills and having my time consumed by struggling to do even the most simple of things. I’ve had to learn not to be sick and tired. I’m just so very lucky that my friends and family are tolerant and I am so bloody lucky to have them in my life I really am. Without them I would be less than nothing.

Most of my days are now spent reading, writing letters as I’ve already said, and trying to think of interesting things that people who follow my blog might like to read. I try hard to balance what I write and I also try to fact check anything newsworthy as I don’t like spreading stories that aren’t true. It can do a lot of damage to people.

So why write this? I guess just to show how things can change in the blink of an eye and you should never be ungrateful for what you have. I see myself now as very lucky. People have asked me how I can say that given how my life has changed. It took me a while and a lot of adaptation before I could say it. I have two fabulous kids, a partner who worships me, a gorgeous if slightly potty cat and some of the best friends that I could ever wish for!

Be kind to each other!x

Queens Drag Trump in The UK…

I read an article today that made me immensely happy. There are rumours that at least 1000 drag queens will sashay on down to London and looking their most fabulous will all join in with the wider protest at La Donald’s arrival in this country.

Basically, the sensible part of this country are shouting loud and clear that he is not welcome in this country and he never has been. He tried his best to ride roughshod over the people of North East Scotland with his vile excuse for a golf course and for a little while he got his way. Then he found out that there was a plan to erect a series of wind turbines to create a “wind farm” – akin to La Donald if you will. He’s a hot air farm. He stamped his feet and sulked and tried to get the plans for the wind farm overturned. I’m happy to say that he failed miserably and construction on the first turbines has already begun! How fabulous!

So, back to the queens and the reason for their protest against the fat Fanta faced cretin. They are voicing their disgust at the vile changes that La Donald is imposing. The most prevalent one being the issue of trans people serving in the armed forces. These people have as much right to serve their country as anybody else does! Trump has tried so hard to reinstate the ban on transgender people in the military.

Yet despite every attempt by La Donald and the bleating half wits he has in his cabinet to ban transgender people from the military, they just keep on failing. Every single time they try, the whole effort is quashed by a judge, and that is really pissing off Donny and his band of morons. Two federal courts have now ruled against the ban which is wonderful news. Let’s just hope that they keep is doing so. Trump is clearly not the LGBTQ ally that he claimed he would be.

With reference to the drag queen protest, there is an event page created on Facebook. So far, one thousand people are down as definitely coming. There are however, seven thousand people marked as “interested”. Oh please let that happen. 7-8 thousand queens in all their glory to show La Donald just what they think of him! That would be the best thing ever, it really would!

We can all learn from this though. We can all stand up and speak out against Trump’s hypocrisy no matter where you are. I urge you, if you are free on the 13th July, get down to London and stand shoulder to shoulder with all the protesters and say no to Trump and his hypocrisy!

Things You Think a Spoonie Won’t Notice – But We Do – And it Hurts…

Being chronically ill is absolutely draining and it can leave a person utterly wrung out to a degree that you can’t imagine. We can be wiped out for most of the day after we have cleaned our teeth (true story – I was literally crawling back to my bed with tears in my eyes). It is a truly shit experience.

Now if you have ever felt this way, you will understand where I am coming from. If you have no clue what I’m talking about, it’s going to be a head scratcher for you. 12th May is Fibro awareness day. Fibromyalgia is the bane of my life. It has destroyed me in so many ways. So I will happily sit in my wheelchair and stamp my booted feet to raise awareness of this utterly vile shitbag of a disease. If you are newly diagnosed then there is a really rather brilliant piece written by a rather fabulous lady called Christine Miserandino. The piece itself is called “the spoon theory” and you can find it here…

https://butyoudontlooksick.com/articles/written-by-christine/the-spoon-theory/

Seriously, if you really ache to understand why your partner/best friend/colleague feels the way that they do, then I urge you to go ahead and read this piece of writing. Of course, there are many other pieces written and available on the internet, but I have found Ms Miserandino’s to be the best about.

Where do I start with how my illness has decimated my life and just how certain I am that I know people look at me when they think I’m not looking and mutter some poisonous bullshit under their breath when they think that I cannot even hear them. Well guess what bitches? It’s my body that doesn’t work. I have one ear that can hear just fine and that is more than enough to hear you (if you wanted to know, I sustained hearing loss in my left ear after a firework was thrown at me and exploded near my head).

I was a qualified nurse for 15 years. I worked long and hard shifts and spent many days trying to advance my professional ability. I ended up working as a Macmillan nurse before I escaped a very violent marriage. I ran back home with my kids to Scotland and then mcy diagnosis of Rheumatoid Arthritis (received in 1998) began to make life real hell for me as a nurse. The time came, after that , for me to take a different career pathway.

I had to give up the career that I had loved for fifteen years and that just hurt so much. But my body just was not able to cope with the physical demands of a career like nursing. We had been through a hellish time and I needed to be around for my kids. I took up a part time job in my local food mini market (Co-Op for anybody British).

The kids settled after a while and I was able to extend my hours and earn a little more for them. However, my body had been pushed beyond its limits thanks to the pressure of being a carer and then a nurse as well as all the years of physical abuse that I endured, and in February of 2009, my body finally knocked me on my ass.

I woke up one morning and I couldn’t move. I could only just about flutter my eyelashes and that was it. My partner was amazing. He got me to a doctor who sent me straight in to hospital. After a butt load of tests and scans, I was rocked by a long, long list of diseases. As well as my rheumatoid arthritis which I knew about, I now had osteoarthritis in my spine and neck. I had Fibromyalgia and Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, I had osteoporosis, Ehlers Danlos Syndrome Type 3, and had also had a stroke and a cardiac murder as well as a small congenital hole in my heart.

This list of diseases has changed my life for the worst. I am now wheelchair bound and need a carer to help me do pretty much everything that I used to be able to do for myself.

So here are the things you don’t think that we notice but we do: When we park in a disabled parking space and our carer comes round to our side of the car with our wheelchair, we see you looking at us like we are just lazy and we don’t need to use that space. Believe me, if I had a choice, I would push my wheelchair into the North Sea if I could! I need that parking space and have more right to it than the yummy mummy in her Chelsea tractor who has just popped in for croissants and coffee on the way home from dropping little Tommy at school. Where is her dirty look? Is it because you think I look too young for this chair? I see your dirty look, and it hurts.

We see you give the dirty look to the young woman or man who desperately dodges into the disabled toilet in the queue at the cinema. You judge them as lazy or not deserving of using the disabled loo. Well just think… that person may be in desperate need of changing their colostomy bag before it bursts all over the cinema foyer. Think people!!! Your selfish judgement can really cut like a knife!!! When that person gets into the bathroom with tears stinging their eyes, they feel ostracised for their illness. As they open the bag to empty it, someone from outside yells, “Eeeeew, what’s that stink?” The person in the toilet? They notice what has been said.

You look at me in my wheelchair. You judge me. I’ve heard people whisper “She’s too young to be in a wheelchair” (I’m 45 – what age do have to be before my butt cheeks can kiss the holy grail of a plastic cushion that is going to make me sweat like a pig all day?) You think I like being stuck in this chair? I hate it with a fiery passion I really do!

So next time that you see someone that doesn’t belong somewhere in your judgement just stop and think. That Spoonie may have a damned good reason for doing what they did. We are invisible illness warriors, but your words can cut us down. THINK before you speak! We hear you every single time… and guess what? It hurts.

Be kind to each other.x

Our Mental Illnesses Are NOT Your Cute Personality Quirks…

Seriously people. The next time that I hear”Oh I must tidy up, I’m so OCD today” or “Oh she’s up one minute and down the next – she’s so bipolar!” I am going to stuff my walking stick right up that person’s asshole and turn them into a fucking lollipop. I swear I am.

Listen up people. Suffering from mental illness is no triviality and neither is it a fucking joke. I have struggles with several mental health issues, OCD and bipolar being two of them, so it really does set my teeth on edge when I hear someone coming out with an off the cuff, totally fucking moronic comment like that.

When we said we wanted mental health disorders to be spoken about more, we didn’t mean for you to appropriate them into your everyday conversations.

Lately (and unfortunately), it is becoming something of the norm that mental health disorders find their way into everyday discussions, and not in the way we’d like them to. I can’t count on my hand how many times I’ve heard someone who’s had a minor inconvenience or mishap go on to complain about how ‘depressed’ they are. Not only is it infuriating, but it’s hurtful.

For those diagnosed with depression, you’ll know it’s not something that suddenly happens after something goes wrong, or you’ve had a ‘bad day.’ It’s a constant state, you’re trapped in it, and it is definitely not something that can be used as an adjective.

No, Sarah, just because your boyfriend hasn’t texted back in three hours, doesn’t mean you’re not depressed.

You are upset, sad, down, blue (see ‘unhappy‘ in the thesaurus for more synonyms) but you are certainly not depressed.

However by comparing your sadness to a mental health disorder, what you’ve done is silence the kid three seats down from you who’s been dealing with this disorder for months, who’s struggling to wake up every morning, who’s on medication just to get them through the day.

You’re comparing a moment of sadness in your life, to a lifetime of theirs.

But it’s not just depression that is used as an adjective, it’s next to all mental health disorders. I remember sitting in class once whilst a group of teenage boys were stalking a girl’s Instagram page. They reached a picture of her where she looked skinny, slim, and thin, and all they could think to say was, “Wow, she’s so anorexic!” I was thinking to myself, “Really? Out of all the words to call her, you had to relate it back to a mental health disorder?”

The list goes on; calling someone who organizes their work neatly on a table ‘OCD’, calling someone who’s mood has changed from the last time you saw them ‘bipolar’, not getting a good nights sleep and complaining that you must have ‘insomnia.’ They are not adjectives, they are our real mental health disorders that real people face. We have not come forward about them for you to simply misdiagnose yourself after one incident.

So next time you feel the need to compare your sad moment. tidying of your room or unexpected mood swing to a mental health disorder, open a thesaurus. There are plenty of synonyms; use a different one.

Misophonia – The Hatred of Sound…

So, what is this weird assed sounding condition that you’ve never heard of before? Misophonia literally translates as “hatred of sound”. It really is a horrible thing to suffer from and the impact of suffering from it can only be truly understood by another sufferer of the condition. It truly can be a nightmare to live with.

However, a person with misophonia does not simply hate all sound. People with misophonia have specific symptoms and triggers and are sensitive to only certain sounds and occasionally to visual triggers. Any sound can become a problem to a person with misophonia but many are some kind of background noise. People call the collection of sounds that they’re sensitive to their trigger set. It is possible to add to one’s trigger set over time. Exposure to a trigger sound elicits an immediate negative emotional response from a person with sound sensitivities. The response can range from moderate discomfort or annoyance to full-fledged rage and panic. Fight or flight reactions can occur. During a trigger event, a person may become agitated, defensive or offensive, distance themselves from the trigger, or act out in some manner.

I first began to realise that something was “wrong” with my hearing my hearing when I remember being so infuriated by the sound of my ‘father’s’ chewing that I could have quite cheerfully have gouged out his eyes with a rusty spoon. I very quickly came to realise that eating/chewing sounds from anyone would begin to infuriate me so much to the point where I literally have to leave before high fiving them. In the face. With a chair. It gets to me that point where calmness is not an issue and I have to back away from the sound.

I have been lain awake being tortured by the sound of my own heart beating. Obviously it is a good thing to know that your heart is beating. But I’ve been thrashing around for several hours, trying in vain to escape the sound. Imagine being filled with an irrational hatred of that sound, or of pretty much any sound? Hearing people breathing/snoring literally makes me want to slap them with a wet kipper.

The one sound above all others that fills me with utter rage is whistling. The sound seems to find it’s way right down into the middle of my brain and stay there. Hearing someone whistle really does fill me with murderous rage. I’ve had to say “either you shut up or one of us leaves the room”. My hatred of the sound of it is so bad. Other sounds also affect me. Cracking fingers & knuckles, making noises with lips, tongue and cheeks and people pronouncing words the wrong way on purpose like “horsey worsey”. Aaaaaaaargh! Baby talk also drives me crazy!

The sound of fingernails scraping down a chalkboard is unpleasant to many people.

But this is a very mild example of what people with misophonia experience when exposed to a trigger sound. It lacks the intensity a misophonia sufferer experiences and doesn’t have a strong negative emotional component. Not liking something, even if very strongly, is unlikely to cause a person to feel like lashing out at the source of the offending sound. Also, it is unlikely to produce an actual fight or flight reflex. The people closest to the person with misophonia often elicit the most problematic triggers. This can make personal relationships difficult and stressful. An environment known to include trigger sounds can limit social activities because the person with misophonia anticipates problems. Consequently, a person with misophonia can pull back from family and friends in an attempt to reduce the symptoms that they experience when triggered.

People with misophonia are aware that the sounds that trigger them don’t bother other people.

A person with misophonia does not always have any control over their work environment. A coworker munching on food may be too distracting or even produce a full-fledged panic attack. An environment that will not or cannot accommodate the needs of a sound sensitive person can result in anxiety for the person with misophonia. It may also challenge supervisory staff. At times, the sound environment can be enough of a problem to make keeping the job intolerable. A school environment can be similar; having a long-term negative impact if it interferes with the ability to learn or socialize. When exposed to a trigger sound, some people feel the need to mimic what they hear. Mimicry is an automatic, non-conscious social phenomenon. It can have a calming effect and make the situation feel better to the person experiencing stress. There is a biological basis for how mimicry lessens adverse reactions to triggers because it evokes compassion and empathy.

 

Those with misophonia can be reluctant to share their symptoms and triggers.

To them, sharing can have uncertain outcomes. Sometimes, people purposefully mock those with sound sensitivities. Also, they may make exaggerated trigger sounds in order to intentionally cause distress. Unfortunately, some family, friends, co-workers, and others minimize the problem. A person with misophonia is sometimes told: “try to ignore that sound,” or “you’re just being difficult,” or “don’t let it get to you.” Suggestions like these are not helpful. It is not simply a matter of making a conscious decision. People with misophonia cannot ignore their triggers any more than a person with epilepsy can will themselves not to have seizures. On the other hand, there are those who are supportive and offer encouragement. Anyone with a problem or difficulty appreciates a helping hand now and then. If you know someone with misophonia and want to help them cope with the disorder, all you need to do is ask what you can do to help.

List of Common Triggers:

Please note, some say that reading about triggers has the potential to make one take on new triggers. This is only true for some people and is not universally experienced by all people. Also, some people avoid hearing or imagining sample trigger sounds for the same reason. If you think that learning about new trigger sounds could in any way be a problem for you, then there’s no need to read the lists below.

Mouth and Eating: “ahhs” after drinking, burping, chewing, crunching (ice or other hard food), gulping, gum chewing and popping, kissing sounds, nail biting, silverware scraping teeth or a plate, slurping, sipping, licking, smacking, spitting, sucking (ice, etc.), swallowing, talking with food in mouth, tooth brushing, flossing, tooth sucking, lip smacking, wet mouth sounds, grinding teeth, throat clearing and jaw clicking.

Breathing/Nasal: grunting, groaning, screaming, loud or soft breathing, sniffling, snorting, snoring, sneezing, loud or soft talking, raspy voices, congested breathing, hiccups, yawning, nose whistling and wheezing.

Vocal: humming, muffled talking, nasally voices, overused words such as um or ah (repeated words), sibilant sounds (S, P, T, CH, K, B sounds), singing, gravelly voices, bad singing, soft whisper-like voices and whistling.

Environmental: clicking from texting, keyboard/mouse, TV remote, pen clicking, writing sounds, papers rustling/ripping, ticking clocks, texting and cell phone ringtone.

Utensils/metals: dishes clattering, fork scraping teeth, silverware hitting plates or other silverware and rattling change in pockets.

Plastic: water bottle squeezing/crinkling, breaking hard plastic and bouncing balls.

Wrappers: plastic bags crinkling/rustling, plastic bags opening or being rubbed and crinkling food packages.

Cars: sitting idling for long periods of time, beep when car is locked, car doors slamming, keys banging against steering column and turn signal clicking.

Heavy equipment: lawnmowers, leaf blower, air conditioners and chain saws.

Impact sounds: other people’s voices, muffled bass music or TV through walls, doors/windows being slammed and basketball thumps.

Animal noises: dogs barking, bird sounds, crickets, frogs, dogs or cats licking, drinking, slurping, eating, whining, dogs scratching themselves and trying to bite their fleas and claws tapping.

Baby: Baby crying, babbling, adults using baby talk and kids yelling.

TV: loud TV or radio. Body Movement related: Foot shuffling (dry feet on floor/carpet) or tapping, finger snapping, foot dragging, heels, flip flops, knuckle/joint cracking, eye blinking, nail biting and clipping, eating, chewing, fidgeting, hair twirling, movements out of the corner of eyes, repetitive foot or body movements, jaw chewing/movement.

I can honestly say at some stage or another in my life I have come very close to causing serious damage all because of one of any of these noises. This is why I wear noise cancelling headphones and simply listen to Classic FM.

So if you have never been officially diagnosed with misophonia but what I have talked about sounds like a clip from your own life, then feel free to leave a comment and we can chat. Misophonia sufferers are not alone.

Why the sound of chewing drives you crazy… no, really!

Get a Grip!!!…

Seriously what is wrong with people at the moment? Why are people acting like there will be no more milk or bread in the entire world for at least about around an entire flippin week! Really people you need to get a grip of yourselves.

 

I know it has been a while since we last had any decent snow, but surely we haven’t forgotten how to cope with deep snow?

 

I can remember having to walk to school in knee deep snow in waterproofs and then get changed at school. We could see our breath and there was ice on the inside of the windows. Yet now? Three snowflakes and school shuts for a freakin’ week! Laughable!

 

This whole “panic buying” is yet another sad aspect of the consumerist greed that now enthrals society. Why can’t we see that we don’t need to behave in such a way? There are so many people who go out and buy what they know they don’t need and for what? To see it go mouldy and then have to throw it away.

 

I get so cross when I think of this. There are so many people in this country who are now on or below the breadline and they are lucky to get a piece of toast to eat. Yet selfish greedy consumers who cannot cram enough food into their shopping trollies to then cram into their kitchen cupboards to then have to throw it all away because it has all gone off. That is all food that could have been given to hungry people!

 

As poor as I am, I always buy a couple of extra tins of human and animal food (yes, there are hungry pets too) and pop it all into the collection point at my local supermarket. It’s easy to do, and could take the place of all the extra freakin’ bread you bought that is going to go mouldy!!! *shakes head*

 

Seriously people, get a grip. This is snow. Deal with it like a grown up. You do know that in Canada they are howling with laughter at the way we are behaving, and rightly so! Let’s get ourselves back to normality. When did you last bake your own bread? You could do that instead of buying six loaves at Tesco!

 

Take care of yourselves.x

What makes people so mean?

No, seriously, what does? We are not born with hate and mean feelings in our heart so clearly as children, our children learn how to think and how to feel from observing the behaviour of the adults around us. We should not be exposing children to maladaptive thought patterns and hate speech when they are so malleable. We should be teaching our children that there are many races, creeds, colours, religions, sexualities and genders that we should all be treating with the same love and respect that we treat the people in our families. Hate is not acceptable.

There are many different ways for us to hate and be mean to one another and we seem to be adept, as humans in finding all of those ways and meeting out some truly horrible ways of making other people hurt and and feel like they are less than human.

What is it that causes hatred? I have a sneaking suspicion that a fear of the unknown/misunderstanding of a topic or group of people has a great deal to do with it. Then people are so scared that they don’t want to learn more about the topic that they “hate” because they think that these other people are wrong or evil in some way and giving in lets them win! It’s not about winning for fuck’s sake! It’s about proving a safe environment for all peoples to co-exist peacefully.

People need a reason to hate, and hate is an incredibly strong word. Jealousy can be often one of the biggest triggers of hate. That they can hate the followers of a certain religion. Do they hate them because they are jealous of the calm and spiritual attitude and life that these people have? It’s certainly possible.

Can we actually understand why so much hate is floating around the collective consciousness? In most countries in the Western world there are now anti hate laws of one form or another in place and still people are prejudiced. Still people hate. Still people are beaten and much worse because of the ignorance and hatred in the hearts of others. The laws are there but they cannot dictate to the human psyche. People will still hate no matter what we do to try and stop it.

LGBTQ people are one group that particularly treated so badly that it makes me cry. A gay person is no different than a straight person apart from who they lay down in bed with at night. Hate of a whole race of people, a whole religion or a group of people with a different sexuality to your own is just hate projection. These people are so insecure within their own skin that they have to project their hate on to other people so that they feel less afraid of their own feelings.

Hate of difference says everything about the person who hates and not the person being hated. These narrow minded haters cannot take a second to just ask themselves exactly what it is that makes them this way. In most cases (not all, but most) you can trace it back to the person’s upbringing and the people around them when they where growing up. I stress in not all cases as I am one of those cases. My so called ‘father’ was a violent racist, fascist, bigoted homophobic scumbag. Yet me? I don’t have any hate in my heart. I just wish I could help people wake up and ditch their hatred and prejudice.

Haters can hate for as simple a reason as you have something they want. From a piece of jewellery to a partner… they covet what you have. Moving on from that, they can also hate you because they are convinced that you do not deserve what you have but they do deserve what you have. They can see themselves losing in life to you and that is something that really gets under your skin. There could have been something that happened between the two of you in the past. Not necessarily romantic, maybe a fight. While you have grown up and moved on, they have not. If you were a partner to this person, they may be obsessed with hating you because of the very thing I just said. You have moved on yet they have not.

It could be something as simple as the fact that they have nothing better to do with their lives. That is to be pitied. They could be jealous of the fact that your life is going well and yours is not. They could be craving attention. For all of the nasty little comments they write bring them attention of one form or another and they think that “I’m doing this just because I can.”

They are possibly hate filled bigots who have been indoctrinated into hate by those around them. They see themselves as self righteous and being on the moral high ground. They are little more than nasty little jealous creeps and are so unhappy with the things in their own life that they make it their mission in life to upset yours too. They can have a pathological need to put other people down in order to feel good about themselves.

How can we stop people hating? Well in reality we can’t. All we can do is counter the darkness with light wherever we find it and work hard to educate as many people as possible to think for themselves and accept people for who they are.

Be kind to each other.x

The Demons Inside My Head…

I have many demons running around inside my head. Most are as a result of the abuse that I’ve been through, both as a child and as an adult.

I’m not looking for sympathy here and I’m not trying to hold a pity party for myself. I’m trying to talk about what I’ve been through. Doing it on my blog seems the easiest way for me to do it. I feel physically sick if I try to talk about all the demons inside my head when I am face to face with them. I guess that is why I spend a good half of every Psychiatrist appointment that I have staring at my hands and crying without being to say a single thing.

As I said, I’m not fishing for sympathy and I’m not looking for pity. This is literally the only place that I have where I can vent and I don’t have people looking at me with tears in their eyes. I loathe pity from other people. It makes me a sad victim and whilst I am happy to admit that yes I am a victim #metoo I am not going to admit to anyone that I am pitiful. That is am emotion that I carry round inside of me every single day, and I don’t need more of it from other people .

After an abusive childhood, I fell in love with a man who turned out to be a carbon copy of my first abuser. I escaped from an abusive and violent relationship sometime ago and after that escape, I was sent for counselling. I forced myself to keep it together because I was terrified of any involvement from other agencies. My only priority was to look after my boys and to keep the three of us together as a family and as safe as possible. So I fought with every last ounce of my strength until I managed to get back to my home town, which was a safe distance away. Once we were safe distance away and the court case was resolved in our favour, I felt like I could get on with life.

But there was one slight problem here… as I tried to fight on through life and be all “normal”, cracks started to appear in my armour. I was conscious that I was permanently exhausted and I went to see my doctor. Half way through the exam, out of nowhere, I cracked and burst into floods of tears. I didn’t tell my doctor everything. She already knew enough of my history. She told me I was seriously clinically depressed, and started me on an antidepressant.

After four months, I was getting worse and not better. I was self harming. I had suicidal thoughts and was having real anxiety and panic attacks. I was switched onto Citalopram and told to come back in another three months. I lasted eight weeks. I was back at my doctor’s door in hysterics. I was put onto a third antidepressant, Venlafaxine. This medication also has, supposedly, some anti anxiety effects. After eight weeks on this medication, my mood started to lift a little bit, but my anxiety was horrific. I was also extremely paranoid, having peaks and troughs in moods that could be very severe and I was having flashbacks. These were like it happening all over again. There was touch, taste, smell, everything. The night terrors were also hugely debilitating and left me exhausted through lack of sleep. I was so physically unwell (another blog post for another time) that becoming mentally unwell in the way that I did was really scary for me.

After being forced to change doctors because of a move, I was initially terrified of how a new doctor would see me. This turned out to be the best thing that had happened in a long time. The new doctor did a referral to a Psychiatrist which my old doctor had been refusing to do for a long time. I was so relieved but so scared at the same time.

I had to wait months for my appointment (such is life) and finally the day came. I was shaking like a leaf and sobbed the whole way through. The doctor I saw was not the consultant, but his registrar. I would be seen by him several times and then seen by the consultant. The day finally came for me to see the consultant and he looked liked santa! That’s the first thing my addled brain conjured up for conjecture. He was really sweet and walked me step by step through all of the notes that the other doctor had taken. He thought about things and then he said to me that the reason that I had been feeling so ill is that I had several conditions making me that way.

The evilest of all of my illnesses is bipolar. I suffer with bipolar one which is the more severe of the two. This is due to the fact that I have manic episodes that last for longer than a week at a time and also severe depressive episodes. Mine is also rapid cycling, which means that I have more than four events of severe depression and mania a year. This illness leaves me unable to lift my head off the pillow. I don’t care about eating or dressing and I can’t do anything at all. Yet when I am manic? Oh boy, I’m not good to be around! I’ve been told it’s scary.

Along with my Bipolar 1, I have also been diagnosed with C-PTSD. It’s complex because it stems from more than one event. Even now, the flashbacks are very real and can bring me to my knees. Next comes the Parasomnia (night terrors to me and you). Dreams so vicious and so violent that you wake up in tears, shaking and have palpitations. Next we have severe social anxiety, panic disorder and paranoia which rule my life and can cripple me on a daily basis. I hate it so much. Then comes my OCD. Something that rules my life so much, there are days when I cannot move without completing the rituals in my head. Then come my phobias. I have several, so I’ll try to remember them all and what they actually mean. The most debilitating one for me is agoraphobia. The ONLY time that I leave my house is for a medical appointment and even then I have to be sedated. Then comes arachnophobia (hate spiders!), claustrophobia, dentrophobia (dentist), haphephobia (being touched), nyctophobia (fear of the dark & night time), telephonophobia (I am terrified of speaking on the telephone) and I’m also terrified of strong winds, but I can’t remember the name for that one of the many. Last but by no means least is Misophonia. I have an irrational loathing of certain sounds, which leaves me wanting to stick a fork in the noise maker’s eye.

I’ve since been started on a number of psychiatric medications which do help a small amount. Yet nothing takes it away. I’ve had every therapy in the damn book and still I suffer. Every damn day…

So as you can see. The demons in my head are alive and well.

Is being angry really worth it?…

Seriously, I’m wondering if it is. Why I hear you cry? Well, my 15 year old has come home from school with one of the worst temper meltdowns I have ever seen him have. For a neurodiverse child with autism, ADHD and pathological demand avoidance, believe me when I tell you he has had some really bad stinkers of a meltdown. But this one? It was visceral!

Normally Im quite able to not rise to this and just put him in a quiet space until he calms down. But today? I have the flu. I feel like hell. My temperature is 38.9 and I’m alternately shaking and sweating like crazy. So when Captain Gobshite came through the door in this ball of fiery anger, I just couldn’t cope.

Within five minutes, I had royally lost it and was screaming like a possessed banshee at him. He had started yelling and blaming me for losing a form he could not find that he needed for school. No way was I taking the flack for that. He is not using his autism as an excuse for laziness. The form should have been back in his bag after he showed us.

He was being so rude and confrontational and he knew he was pushing all the right buttons. Yet most of the time I don’t react. I wonder if my being ill has lowered my guard on my emotions.

I screeched and yelled back at him until the damn thing was found and then I burst into tears and had to take a Valium.

As my temper levels returned to normal, I began to wonder if there was a point at all to anger. All it does is break you down and destroy you heart and soul. It leaves you feeling sick and broken inside. Is that short flare of temper really worth it? Is the two minutes of tension relief it brings to you really worth the destroyed voice and love that it brings? Here’s the rub… I don’t know, I really don’t. But if I had to, I’d choose that it is horrible and simply isn’t worth it.

I guess the point of this post is a little self centred. But I just want to us to remember that anger is toxic, and if you can at least keep that going, the thought will slowly help us remember to be calm in those situations.

Have I made sense here? I’m waffling on as a result of my temperature. Bleurgh. Pass me the sick bags.