inner diva

  • Talking to fridges.....

    A friend of mine is writing a book - A compilation of personal accounts centred around the #metoo hashtag.

    We share this in common, my friend and I. We've both experienced the devastation of rape, but thankfully, years later we've worked our way through it and come out on the other side.

    We were chatting online. We talked about the book; discussed our own experiences, and  I asked her if she had ever had counselling. After a minutes hesitation, her reply was "No.....unless you count talking to the fridge".......

    Which she'd obviously been doing and which clearly seemed to work for her at the time.

    It made perfect sense. Because the idea of my friend talking to that fridge was an absolute lightbulb moment. For reasons I've outlined below.

    You see, a fridge is designed with a door that can be opened 24 hours a day, meaning that it's always there when you need it - anytime, night or day.  A fridge can't talk....so it can't "give advice" or interrupt you mid-flow.  It can't walk either...so it's not going to get up and leave halfway through your conversation. Its job is to basically chill the wine and keep hold of the chocolate for when you've finished off-loading and need consolation....

    It's the perfect tool for the job.....

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  • Me before you......

    I've always been a 'fixer'. I'm brilliant at it. Which is a shame....because up until now, this amazing ability that I have to pick people up, straighten people out and get them back on track again has seemingly never applied when it's my own problems that need to be dealt with.

    The last few years have been ridiculously hard for me. An incredible amount of shit landed in my general direction and it's taken me a long, long time to claw my way out of the absolute madness and mess that that caused me and begin to regain enough confidence to attempt to rebuild.

     

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  • Talking to fridges.....

    A friend of mine is writing a book - A compilation of personal accounts centred around the #metoo hashtag.

    Because we share this in common, my friend and I. We've both experienced the devastation of rape, but thankfully, years later we've worked our way through it and come out on the other side using our respective coping mechanisms. Mine involved talking to a trusted friend at the time, seeking professional help, and eventually writing about it years later on my blog. My friend however, took a slightly less conventional approach....

    We were chatting online. We talked about the book; discussed our own experiences, and  I asked her if she had ever had counselling. After a minutes hesitation, her reply was "No.....unless you count talking to the fridge".......

    Which she'd obviously been doing and which clearly seemed to work for her at the time.

    It made perfect sense. Because the idea of my friend talking to that fridge was an absolute lightbulb moment. For reasons I've outlined below.

    You see, a fridge is designed with a door that can be opened 24 hours a day, meaning that it's always there when you need it - anytime, night or day.  A fridge can't talk....so it can't "give advice" or interrupt you mid-flow.  It can't walk either...so it's not going to get up and leave halfway through your conversation. Its job is to basically chill the wine and keep hold of the chocolate for when you've finished off-loading and need consolation....

    It's the perfect tool for the job.....

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  • The Self-Respect Barbie...

     

    My Barbie was a Super-Model. No matter what I dressed her in, what accessories she wore, she always looked amazing. Because I had no doubt at all that she could rock any style / any colour / any combination - I believed in her.

    In my eyes, Barbie rocked. I actually wanted to be her. She set the bar and all of the other dolls followed...

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  • Miss Optimistic......

    I try to see the best in people.

    Even when I know that it's futile.

    I keep looking for the good in someone even when I'm being treated appallingly - I'm the kind of woman who would find something loveable about a rabid dog. In fact if I thought that I could get near it I'd probably take it home.....

    My bad.

    But the last fourty-eight hours means that I'm starting to learn from my mistakes. So thats progress.

     

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  • Drunk....

    I'd only popped out to the shop.

    The fridge and the cupboards were bare. We needed something for dinner and so I left him in charge of making the bed while I went on a quest to feed us both.

    When I got back, my boyfriend was drunk.....I'd only been gone fifteen minutes.....

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  • All the single ladies.....

    It's alright for Beyonce.....wriggling around blasting out "All the single ladies" and then scampering off home to Jay-Z.....but what about the rest of us? Us 'actual' single ladies, who don't have a Jay-Z or any other kind of  guy for that matter, to get our groove on with or snuggle up to once the lights go down......what about us?

     What if you don't even own a leotard? Or sexy shiny shoes like Bey? Well, maybe you did.... once. A long time ago......when you were still young and foxy, with the whole world at your feet and when you didn't give a shit about imaginary lumps and bumps or cellulite.......What if anything even remotely resembling foxy hasn't made an appearance from your wardrobe in a very long time.....because everything that does has been tucked away on a shelf somewhere gathering dust - along with your self-esteem and your confidence after the last disastrous relationship you had eventually bit the dust.....

    Because I'm a single lady at the minute and trust me..... it's really not as glamourous or as exciting as Bey makes it look in that video.....

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  • The queen of bad ideas......

    I'm a mess.

    I'm stood in his kitchen surrounded by bags, frantically trying to repair my ravaged face. I know that it will be dark soon anyway but there is absolutely no way that I'm leaving the house like this. I'm upset granted, but I still have standards...

    Ten minutes and some frantic sleeve wiping later and I'm heading out the door and down the stairs. I didn't stop to say goodbye. My head was obviously pre-occupied with the black smears around my eyes and I'm mentally giving both barrels to R*****l..... because this latest mascara of theirs is seriously shit...

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  • Sober Sex....

    So I'm staying over. At his....... On Tuesday night.

    It makes sense....It saves interrupting our evening, dicking around with trains and a walk home alone for me through pitch black fields, late at night, attempting to dodge cow pats and copious amounts of sheeps piss.

    And I know this guy, which means that I trust him enough to assume that he's not going to jump on me or set upon me with an axe once I'm in his flat, behind closed doors.

    So it'll be cool. It'll be fine. We're just having some food and catching up with ourselves. No biggie. Absolutely nothing to worry about -  It's not like we're going to have sex or anything.....

    Because then I would be bricking it....

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  • Insanity.....

    Insanity - A definition.

    "Repeating the same thing over and over and expecting a different outcome".

    Which tells me what I already know. That I am covering old ground and expecting a miracle. Which statistically probably isnt going to happen, but I know from past experience that I will be testing the theory anyway. It's always good to know just exactly how disappointed I can get these days.

    Because my capacity for disappointment is huge. I haven't actually ever come close to seeing how much I can handle. I just know that I'm capable of receiving a lot.

    Which I was hoping would change as I got older. It hasn't obviously. Probably because I'm not learning my lessons. But thats me. Ever the optimist....maybe one day I will.

    Maybe one day I won't be sat in a station cafe waiting to board a train in order to top up my disappointment levels further by going to see yet another deeply flawed individual who is currently masquerading as my boyfriend....

     

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  • Hedonism......

    So he's coming to see me. This amazing "blast from the past" super-cool person of mine.

    I'm ecstatic.

    Because it's going to be amazing.

    Me and him. A hotel room somewhere. And an absolute whale of a time guaranteed. All arranged lastminute.com which is always how we roll...

     A  "Hey _____  I've been thinking. I've missed your face. And I'd really love to come see you again ...are you gonna be free between ____ and _____? (Him)

    (Me) "What's there to even think about? Do it. Come see me. Get in the car and get down here...will be amazing. So yes. I'll make sure that I'm free...'cos I've missed your face too..."  kind of conversation.

    And so he's coming. To see me. In two weeks. I'm turning cartwheels.

    Fuck...I'm turning cartwheels.

    I need to do a risk assesment...

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  • Contender to the throne.....

    Soooo......after 4 long years of meeting misogynists, sociopaths, psychopaths and every other kind of unsavoury man on the planet, there finally appears to be a contender to the throne.

    A guy who's just rocked up into my life and turned my little world inside out and on its head. A guy who's been under my nose for the last year, who I'd noticed but had been too blind to see. A guy who had noticed me too but who knew that the timing was wrong -  because we had to be by ourselves before we stood any chance of ever being together once we'd come through it all.

    A guy who was willing to wait until we had sorted our respective shit out. A guy so similar and so utterly perfect for me it's ridiculous. A guy who has knocked spots off anyone I've dated in a long long time. Which means that he's a keeper.

    But just to be absolutely certain, I set a little test for him - To see what his reaction would be. To see what he's made of.....to see if he was worth investing my time and energy in.....to see if he's finally the guy who gets to wear the crown.

    He passed with flying colours and didn't bat an eyelash.

    When I took him to the G.U clinic.  On our first date.

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  • Friends Re-united....

    My first thought, is that he's not supposed to be here. Here, in the South-West...where I am. He's supposed to be in London. Where he lives and stuff...

    My second thought is "Why didn't he say something sooner?" .....

    My third thought is "Thank Fuck he didn't say something sooner". Because if he had have done, we would have made a mess of things. Absolute guarantee on that front, because following up on feelings in rehab isn't the wisest of moves.....and we were both spoken for back then anyway.

    But now that we are out, both single, and all fixed and stuff.... well that's a different ball game...

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  • All I want for Christmas....

    Christmas is coming.

    For the first time in years I'm excited.

    I've bought a tree. And some little star shaped fairy lights.....oh and some tinsel. I've dotted a few candles around. And put up my advent calender. I'm going to write some Christmas cards. To some truly amazing people who have been by my side to watch me make it this far. And to some super-cool new friends that I have made along the way....

    Because last Christmas Day I was in detox. And, although, as Christmas's go it was a pretty shit one, it did save my life, which means that, as a result of that, I get to stick around for this one.

    And so I am absolutely, categorically going to go for it......

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  • Talking to Godot....

    I live in a teeny tiny village somewhere in the deep South West of England. All thatched roofs and tractors and wellington boots.

    It's chocolate box stuff.

    We have a Post Office. A tiny pub, a chip shop and a Church. There's nothing else for miles. Unless we are counting cows and sheep here, in which case there are loads.

    I have no idea how many  people live in the village.  I've only met a couple so far. Mainly the rude woman from the post office who won't actually talk to me because technically I'm an emmet and so I should go back to where I came from, instead of darkening her door in my attempts to buy chocolate or milk or stamps or whatever.

    But apart from the (very) odd one like her, most people are pretty friendly. They are more than happy to talk.

    I'm just not ready to talk back yet.....

    So I go to the little church instead and I sit and talk to Godot.

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  • Peter.....( TW Domestic abuse)

    My mum met some idiot men when I was growing up, which is probably why my taste in men also leaves a lot to be desired...but her meeting *Peter was a gamechanger for all of us.

    They met when my mum was a barmaid in a working mans club. Peter just happened to be there that day. He bought her a drink and asked her out and the rest as they say, is history.

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  • The Un-Booty call.......

    He's home alone.

    For 5 days. His housemate's away. Do I want to come over?.....

    That should have been a stupid question. Normally I'd be there like a shot...But right now I don't know.

    Honest answer.

    I'm mulling it over in my head. Pro's and cons. Fantastic sex on tap versus potential emotional fallout. Because as much as I want this guy, I'm not sure I want to play this game any more.

    Six months ago when I met him,  this would have been top of my wishlist. He's cool. I love hanging out with him. But a lot can change in six months. And I have changed beyond all recognition.

    My inner fox is begging me to do this. In the bedroom we are fluid. We know instinctively what to do to blow each others heads off. The last person to make me come was him. In a hotel room. Booked last minute because we couldn't bear to wait a second longer than we had to before we got naked. Just us....our massive desire for each other, and two novelty toothbrushes that we grabbed from the Co-op along the way....

    Check-in took forever. 

    And then it was just the two of us. In the same room. Unable to keep our eyes or our hands off each other. 

     We didn't make breakfast....

    It was awesome.

    A repeat would be incredible. More of the same and God only knows what else. There's only one problem.

    I'm not a booty call. His or anyone else's.

    I would love to do this. He knows my body better than i know it myself. And vice versa. But after my journey through detox and rehab and looking back at all of the wrong turns and "not quite right" men that have got me to this point,  where I am now sat here writing this, I've realised that I don't want it. 

    Because the next person I get naked with is going to want more than just five days. I don't want to be strung along, promised the earth and then be left dangling. It's insulting. And bad for my self esteem. I've been through enough now. I'd rather be by myself. 

    I've never been able to say that before. But it's true.

    He's messaging me as I write this. Small talk. Chit chat. Building up to the main event. Which would involve me and him getting naked and  picking up from where we left off...I can't say I'm not tempted....

    Except it's not going to happen. He can call all he likes. It doesn't mean that I have to pick up the phone..for the first time ever I'm putting my emotional needs  first.

    Because if this is a booty call then I've done myself a favour....I don't need the headfuck, and if it isn't, well....he needs to raise his game and show me that it's more.

    God, this feels weird. Like I've been swapped. With someone who actually has some self-respect....

    Wow. Go me....it's only taken me 30 odd years to find some....

  • My Kingdom for a Haribo....

    Having us compete against each other to see which team could  build the best midget gem bridge using said midget gems and cocktail sticks, was the brain child of one of the support workers in detox -  It was supposed to keep us out of mischief for an hour while the rest of the staff had a much needed cup of tea.

    Unfortunately all it did was create chaos... for two reasons. One, we were none of us five years old - and told her so, and two, you don't give recovering addicts with an insatiable craving for sugar, sweets. Everyone knows that. It sent us crackers.

    Haribo was literally currency in there. Tangfastics were like gold dust by the end of each week. It's all we ever put on our shopping lists. Haribo's, and tobacco if you smoked.

    Anyway, three quarters of the midget gems  were gone before she'd even got our attention. Which meant that we had uneven numbers of sweets to 'compete' with...which made it unfair...Which meant that it was a pointless exercise. We ate the rest of the sweets while I relayed this information to her when she came to check on our progress. Which was obviously non-existent - much to her dismay. 

    Her day got progressively worse when I refused to take part in her second genius idea,  which involved "making a tower out of marshmallows and dried spaghetti"... again, because I am not five years old. 

    She tried to insist... told me to "let my inner child out to play"...to which I replied that my inner child had already consumed far too many e-numbers for one day thank you very much, and would therefore be much better off if left to read her book quietly on the sofa - in case all of the midget gems she'd consumed in record time earlier suddenly made her sick...

    Long story short. I didn't have to make the tower.

    Instead I was given a warning and sent to sit on the naughty step (aka the sofa)...which was kind of my plan all along...

    Ace...

    Because up until this point I had been completely compliant in treatment. I hadn't dared to say no to anything...but now my inner rebel was starting to stir.

    Which meant that I was getting better.

    I was finding my voice.

    Which meant that it  was time to start thinking about getting the rock out of here and onto stage two.

    I'd been a model patient in detox. But inner diva was stirring...

    They were going to love me in rehab...