The extra bits...(Under construction).

Monday, 21 October 2013

Changes

It's difficult to look forward to a future when you're always awaiting the next time the 'Black dog' bites you on the arse causing another desent back into the fog. It's the place I fear the most, it's where I hurt the one I love, the place that I cannot see the harm I am doing to myself and to others and when I finally manage to find my way out of the fog, that's when awareness and guilt hit me. It's then that I hate myself as the realisation dawns on me that I've allowed it to happen again, that I've failed myself and let all who care about me down once more. I would do anything to be able to leave the Black dog behind once and for all time but I'm no fool and I realise that it will probably take a very long time and more than likely it'll always be lurking in the shadows of my mind. But there are moments of relief and still a few friends who have not completely given up on me as a lost cause and total waste of oxygen just yet. I do wish that I'd listen more to them and start living for the future instead of still allowing the past and its guilt taint my thoughts. But it seems that a forced change has finally made me get my rather large arse into gear and start being a tad more pro active, well just a tad. The change is that come the end of November I will have to vacate my present abode as the land lady wishes to move back into her home, wish she'd told me of her intentions before I settled down and began to feel grounded for the first time in ages, ah well. So the decision is now whether or not to find another rental (too close to crimbo I thinks), buy a house (Bleedin tree house is all I can afford at the moment) or, wait for it..... move in with my aged parents till the New year and see which way the wind blows then. Ah I hear you say what a good idea option 3 seems, home cooking, log burner, clothes ironed beautifully for once, no rent and ready made sitters for the Bear. Idyllic no? no its bloody not, let me enlighten you, sparse readers of my roughly hewn words. My father is a throw back to a bygone age and is the most political incorrect person I have known. His views on nearly every subject would make you cringe with embarrassment at the very least. He opens his mouth with absolutely no thought of those around him and will utter the most bigoted nonsensical speal to all who would listen, and those who do not. I have never, ever, had a conversation with him where I have had the last word, he always manages to add that little something that just makes me burst with exasperation. I was once graciously given some chickens a few years ago by a lovely man whom some of you are acquainted with via his blog. Now this gentle soul is perhaps the most easily to get on with man I have had the pleasure to meet. Thing is with this gentleman is that his partner is also a gentleman which makes no iota of difference to how I perceive him at all. I mentioned the chickens to father to which he replied " bloody hell, you can't beat eggs from your own chickens, I'll be trying them". All well and good so far until that was I let slip the manner of chicken man's relationship. Dads reaction was Er....well astounding with him uttering the words " I don't want eggs from them chickens". I reassured him that such things were not contagious, especially through the eggs of fowl and anyway he would be too old now to worry about that sort of thing affecting him, after all, I said, I bet his John Thomas had long forgotten what all the fuss was about, indeed I even suggested to him that he should take half a viagra to stop himself piddling upon his slippers ( that didn't go down well I can tell you). All to no avail though, through some process far beyond understanding the eggs would be tainted. Frustrated I used my parting shot and called him a homophobic old git, to which he replied "no I'm not, I just don't bloody well like em" for gods sake how do you answer that? Another thing about my dad is that he's a hyper-condriac, if there is an illness around he's got it or by Christ he's going to get it. Now I know he's elderly and has some serious health issues but he doesn't help himself. I mean to say, he has this huge hard back tomb from must be from the time when anesthetic was a bottle of rum, for the surgeon that is, called the family doctor. I'm bloody sure chapter three is on the use of leachs in the treatment of piles, though it could be syphilis. But he swears by this book (so do I ), and diagnoses the most harmless of symptoms into the harbingers of the onset of the most putrifying diseases you can imagine. I tell you he's never so happy as when he's dying of something or other. I'm bloody sure that he was most upset that I'd upstaged him by having severe depression, I know for a fact that he asked his long suffering doctor (quack to father) as to whether or not she thought that a recent bout of unfathomable tiredness could be the onset of depression...... Arghhhhh. Unfathomable tiredness my arse, its called not getting his lazy arse of the sofa cause the football is on the goggle box followed by darts. Oh that brings me to another thing, the television. Father is the total dictator of what to watch or more like what not to watch. I came in once to him shouting from his cushioned throne " Marg, they've scored again" to which my long suffering mother just rolled her eyes at me. Thinking there was a match on I strolls into the front room to find dad engrossed watching the football scores coming in on tele-text. I asked him what he was doing to which he said " watching the footie" Arghhhhh. Then again the old buggers can make me smile. Like the other day I called around with my friend George in tow to pick up some tools which George has graciously agreed to store for me until I find somewhere with a little more permanence about it. Mum does her usual and invites us in for a brew, some cake and a natter. So the four of us are sitting around the table when George pipes up saying " thank-you for the lovely cake" but then seemed a little unsure but finally ventured "what should I call you Mrs Wooldridge?", now mums name is Margaret Ellen and she turned around and said quite pan faced that George can call her whatsoever was comfortable as long as its not Marg because she really hates that. Well me dads face just dropped as he nearly choked on his cake, " bloody hell Marg, I've been calling that for over sixty years", I had to leave the table with tears streaming down my face. George has been with me a few times since calling mum Margaret and old string vest Geoffrey. I think my dad has taken quite the shine to George's polite manners, I just can't bring myself to tell him that George fancies gentlemen! I know my mum and dad mean well and I love them to bits but moving back in with them, albeit a short time, would be hard work. I'd have my old room, meal times are on time, forty questions if I go out, another forty when I get back in, and yes string vest will be awake no matter how unearthly the hour I stumble through the door was, and god forbid if I ever brought a lady friend back for an evening of Er...gymnastics (then again, could be George the way things are going for me in that department, oh that would light the fuse....). So there you have it, the choices of John, should be eventful if nothing else. Tara for now, hope I haven't bored you too much. John

13 comments:

  1. I bet he'd offer a vegetarian a slice of wafer thin ham!!!

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    1. And it would be 'wafer' thin, he's as tight as a knat's chuff to boot Rach!
      John

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  2. I know it's rather serious, but that really made me laugh :-)

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  3. John , I'm sure you will find your way. .
    love your writing., had to laugh when you spoke of your mums name and your dad after so many years of calling her Marg .Anyway , good luck and hope you find somewhere to settle down and take those' small steps that will help you to find peace of mind again .
    L*
    (living in a tree house would be fun .but ...)

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  4. I say get a rental. It won't tie you down like a mortgage or being a homeowner. I'd avoid option three. It might make matters worse with your black dog. I also suffer from depression and heard that Winston Churchill called it his "black dogs" so that is what I call mine. I can usually see them coming and yes, that feeling of seeing them loping towards me from a distance is very scary.

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    1. The damn thing is that I don't see them coming till they're already upon me. I've talked to my patents long n hard about moving in and I think that for just over Christmas it'll be fine, but no longer than January.
      Thank you for your kind words.

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  5. DeeJay....think I've deleted your comment by mistake...if you'd send it again I'd be grateful....and more careful.

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  6. Hi john!
    Maybe it's just as difficult for them as it is for you, they've had years of being set in their ways! Go for it at least you'll have Christmas with people who love you! Many people won't!
    CC

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  7. Hi John,

    If I can just recall my little "gems of wisdom" from my freshness the other morning ....! Nah, but the gist of it was ....

    I laughed reading your description of your parents, particularly your Dad. I and probably a lot of your readers know people like this ... just let them get on with it by themselves ... "release with love" (even if you have to grit your teeth to do it!).

    I agreed with Maria in avoiding option 3. Why put yourself in a situation that would probably increase your stress levels? You are meant to be looking after yourself, not adding to the pile. Be gentle with yourself, only consider options that are good for you and you alone, and take it day by day. I am sure you will come up with what is right for you.

    Yesterday is gone, today is a gift and tomorrow is a mystery - live one day at a time and live it well!

    I have a plaque in my bedroom that has helped me considerably over the past few years, in particularly with my "rather odd" immediate family and it is:

    "Don't look back - you're not going that way".

    Good luck.

    Regards
    DeeJay from Whangarei, New Zealand

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    1. Hi DJ,
      Thank you for your kind words, I do like the sentiment of your plaque. Also nice to know that others have a 'rather odd' family.
      John

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  8. Oh John I've only just got around to catching up with your musing but I can see we share several family challenges. Taming the black dog is an ongoing task. One day it's sat at your heel another simply smothering you. I don't think there's an answer to excluded it from your life, just a strategy for when its present. All I can say is that I've found stability through accepting my errors, realising that I can't go back and when I find myself paralysed by guilt, indecision, self loathing, loss of confidence and crushed by self doubt, when I feel that I'm screaming and haemorrhaging with pain but feel invisible to everyone around me. I come to the reality that I'm punishing myself and I'm not moving on because I'm letting all my insecurities dictate where I'm moving to next and the speed of my transition. Sadly we can't go back. We can only hope never to make those wrong decisions again. We can forgive ourselves, that I believe is the key. Emma

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