- By girly-d
- On 24/03/2018
- 0 comments
I'm finally starting to value myself.
It's hard work.
It goes against everything I've ever know or been told. It feels weird.
Like I'm pretending..... which I am. Obviously. But I'm secretly hoping that the 'fake it till you make it' approach rubs off......and then one day I won't have to pretend anymore.
Thats the cunning plan anyway. It's pretty much the only one I have to be honest. So I'm giving it a go.
I was a neglected kid.
My dad died suddenly at home one day and things went completely to shit. My mum couldn't cope, whisky moved in and it all got a bit fucked up. So we struggled. All of us - with everything. Because I couldn't cope either. I was only six and overnight my dad was dead, my mum was an alcoholic and there was no one to look after me and my brother. So I had to do it.
We didn't really have anyone else. A couple of friends of my mums but they had their own families and problems to deal with. They didn't have room for ours. So we just muddled on.
Well I did.
My mum just got drunk a lot.
I can't say I blame her. Thankfully I didn't like whisky else I'd have probably joined her.
I was scared to tell anyone what was going on anyway if I'm honest. My mum was worried that they would take us away if people knew what was happening. Which made her drink even more and do even less.
So I became mum, and mum became depressed and our home life was all a bit shit.
I didn't have an outlet.
So I turned everything inwards. And all of the anger and the rage and the upset, I took out on myself.
I cut myself. Starved myself. Started missing school. Hoping that someone would notice the pain I was in. Then there were doctors and psychiatrists and all of that Jazz......but nothing really changed.
I still went home to a fucked up house with a dysfunctional parent and the weight of the world on my shoulders.
My mum met some unsuitable men. She was pretty back in the day. She had green eyes and dark hair and she was small like me. Men flocked around her.....and not just because she was pretty....because she was vulnerable.
I had to learn to protect us all when these guys overstepped the mark and outstayed their welcome. Which was more often than not. Because my mum was drunk now most of the time and they were taking advantage.
I wasn't very good at protecting us. Not really. But I had a loud voice for a little kid and I knew right from wrong. I did my best. Even when I was absolutely petrified. They must have been laughing at me and my brother as we told them to leave....but in fairness most of them did. I thought that maybe they felt a bit ashamed of themselves, being shown the front door by two kids, but in all fairness it was probably because the pub was still open and they could catch last orders.
Anyway, I used to watch cartoons. With my brother. To keep us occupied. While my mum was asleep or in an alcoholic ball on the sofa. I used to love the flumps. But I also loved Danger-mouse, and Batfink.
Because they were the bollocks.
Batfink wasn't phased by anyone. Even though he was just a tiny little bat. Because Batfink had a super-sonic radar and his wings were made of steel. Nothing bad could harm him, his wings were his protection.
Fast forward X amount of years and my cartoon watching days are over. I'm a fully grown woman....at least I'm attempting to be.
I'm sixteen months into recovery from a huge head-fuck and a massive alcohol addiction. Because history repeats itself....and as you can see if you follow my blogs, over the years I gradually became a carbon copy of my mum.
She was the only role model I had. So I followed in her footsteps. Used alcohol to cope. Met unsuitable men. Watched my life go to shit in spectacular fashion....
But I've made massive changes. Overcome my drinking problem, and in the process I'm re-writing my future.
I no longer drink alcohol. Full stop. It's poison to me -and I've learned to become my own role model.
So far I am doing ok.
Because I've chosen to do things differently to her.
Yes I became her. For years actually. But now I am me and I'm doing things properly.
I've taught myself my own coping mechanisms. And they are a million times better and more effective than using alcohol as a crutch.
I've created an emotional toolbox. And all of the things that empower me are in there - like my blog .
Whatever situation I'm in happy, sad, ecstatic, distraught, that blog of mine is with me twenty-four seven.
There is no doubt in my mind that writing has helped save my life. It's saved me from relapse on more than one occasion. Because when those self destruct buttons and triggers of mine get pressed and start urging me to harm myself, I don't. I write. And I don't stop writing until I feel better.
"Inner Diva" is in there. She's me. But a louder, defiant, more insistent version of me who doesn't take any shit from anyone if injustice looms. Woe betide anyone who tries to reason with her. She's formidable. Avoid her when she's angry. It brings out her tourettes......
"Inner fox" is in there too. She's pretty me, quieter me, 'girly' me. She's the whisper in my ear telling me I'm worth so much more than I settle for. That I look good in a dress and those heels when I'm feeling self-concious and that yes, I'm right - people are looking. But only because I turn heads when I believe in myself.....
I have my weebles. Because weebles wobble but they don't fall down.....so they give me courage to face things head on.......
My lego. Because these are my building blocks. I use them every day as I figure out my future. Laying foundations. Building walls. Adding and taking away over and over until I get things just right....
And then there is Batfink. For when I have my 'off' days. When my future feels uncertain or under-whelming or under threat and my world becomes dark and scary again. Or if I feel threatened or someone is being a dick to me..... Then I am am batfink.
Because I might be small, but experience has given me wings. And those wings open right out and then wrap around me. Until I'm completely protected.
My wings are super cool. Bad-ass in fact, because these wings of mine are made of steel. Like Batfinks......protecting me from all the bad shit.
A guy I was in detox and rehab with died at the weekend. My friend Sam died last year. Several others are AWOL and unaccounted for. My ex boyfriend and another good friend are seriously ill and need detox.
People that I love and care about are dropping around me like flies.
It's fucking scary.
I live with the spectre of addiction every day now. But I'm no longer in the grip of mine. Because I have my toolbox.
The right tools for me.
My blog, Inner diva, inner fox, some weebles, my lego and a big, bad-ass pair of 'don't you dare fuck with me' wings....