Future?

Future?

Oppression in the building, persecution in the air, 

Staff brutal autocrats, just doing their jobsworths,

Jobseekers, unemployed, freeloaders, scroungers,

Underclass, not really human,

Identified by a number with a sneer,

Looked past or through, not really here,

Despair, stagnation, fear fill the air,

A future? That isn’t found here.

Lest we forget

Lest we forget, 


Lest we forget, remember those who gave their lives,
Gran remembered the American GI's who stole a life,

They camped up on the chase you see,
training, during wartime years,

Whilst on leave, they'd come to town,
paint the town red, you could say,

Drunk, white, GI's, chased, for sport, a black GI,
through the town, up the clock tower...off the clock tower,

Lest we forget those stolen lives, my gran would say,
The past becomes the present becomes our future.

Two Seconds

To Atatiana Koquice Jefferson victim of police murder, this week.  

Two Seconds…

Door was open, as the night was warm,

Neighbour concerned, welfare check from Fort Worth Police,

Was video gaming with young nephew, flashlights in garden,

To her bedroom, check for their safety,

“Put-your-hands-up, put-your-hands-up” BANG!

One shot, 2 seconds, her life is over, guilty of living whilst black.

Sanctioned

Inspired by the state murder of a young mother and her bairn, one of the 130,000+ victims of dwp sanctions. 

Sanctioned

We walked 8 miles, my bairn and I, 

5 minutes late and you sanctioned us, 

No rent, no milk for my bairn, 

8 miles walk home, walk full of fear

Home, top floor, breathing only despair,

Together my bairn and I take a sanctioned leap of despair. 

New years eve

Severe CW for paternal abuse


New Years Eve

That eve of beginnings new, destroyed by forces old,
called by a name that was not my own,
my inner fortress you've broken an is no more,

The chimes mark the midnight hour,
a new year has begun,
I sit deep into the night, reliving each violation, my screams silent,

New years day dawns, sleep yet eludes,
Scrubbed skin all night, still unclean,
Can my new beginning rise with the new years sun?

The grey wolf told me

The grey wolf told me


The grey wolf told me I'd be thrown into darkness,
I'd loose my way and face an evil

The grey wolf told me I'd be tortured in my soul
I'd break and break till nothing was left

The grey wolf told me I'd face my death
Over the embers of fire and iron,

The grey wolf told me I'd survive
battered, scarred a survivor.

The Kind Man

This is based on a conversation with an old friend of my fathers, someone he knew a lot of years ago and who saw only the public face of his abusive self. She called him a kind man. I couldn't respond as I wished due to self preservation, this is my response.

CW - paternal abuse



The Kind Man?

The kind man, they say you are,
A disguise to the darkness of you,

The kind man, who locked me in the loft,
Hours alone with the spiders and the dark,

The kind man, who beat me in the street,
On the floor in a ball feeling each kick in my soul,

The kind man, who held a weapon at my throat,
The dying light of fire embers showing the evil in your eyes,

Annie's Song

CW - domestic abuse and murder
A poem inspired by a lady I met on the women's aid forum over a decade ago. This is her story, we do not know if she is dead, we just know she disappeared after promising us she'd let us know if she escaped.
In the UK alone an average of 2 women a week die at the hands of current or former partners. This is on the rise due to cuts to funding of escape services such as refuges.

Annie's Song

I don't know where to begin. 
My name I guess, I'm Annie, 
My husband abuses me, 

My husband, controls me, 
I'm only allowed out once a week, to shop.
He times my shopping trips, 

My husband controls me,  
He decides when I can have my medication, 
I have epilepsy you see. 

My husband controls me, 
He will trigger my seizures, 
Only he knows where my rescue medication is, 

My husband controls me, 
He discovered my attempt to escape, 
I had a major seizure, 

My husband controls me, 
My husband didn't give my medicine, 
My husband watched me die. 

Battles internal

Battles internal

Each day is a battle,

One I must win,

My troops are lined up,

My strategies in place,

What if my troops fail?

What if my strategies aren't up to par?

Will my blood run?

The battle is won today,

The troops are well,

My strategies worked out,

No blood yet runs,

Each day is a battle,

One I must win,

My troops are lined up,

My strategies in place,

What if my troops fail?

What if my strategies aren't up to par?

Will my blood run?

The battle was a draw today,

The troops are tired,

My strategy warn,

Still no blood yet runs,

Each day is a battle,

One I must win,

My troops are lined up,

My strategies in place,

What if my troops fail?

What if my strategies aren't up to par?

Will my blood run?

My troops are down,

My strategy is done,

My blood is run.

#Suicideawarenessday

Silence and truth - poem

CW - abuse and rape.

Silence and Truth 

Silence is where our abusers thrive, 
Silence is where our rapists live, 
Silence is their freedom, 
Silence is our imprisonment, 

Truth is where our abusers wither, 
Truth is where our rapists cease, 
Truth is their imprisonment, 
Truth is our freedom, 

Our words are our swords, 
Our words are our shields, 
Our truths will set us all free,
Truth is our emancipation, 

I'm your Father

CW paternal abuse

A poem designed to be read aloud. The first line in each verse is from my father and is spoken in a cadence sing-song type voice "I'm - your - fa-th-er - show- me -some - respect." The second line of each verse is from me.

I'm your Father

I'm your father show me some respect, 
I only asked if you'd like a cup of tea

I'm your father show me some respect, 
I only asked if you wanted to go out

I'm your father show me some respect, 
I only asked you to stop shouting at me

I'm your father show me some respect, 
I only asked you to stop kicking me, 

I'm your father show me some respect, 
You're killing me. 

Old poem I found from nearly 20 years ago

This is a poem I wrote a very long time ago when I was recovering, somewhat, from a major mental health breakdown due to paternal abuse. It is raw, but I find it a very fitting milestone for how far down the road of recovery I have since come. It comes with major content warnings for recovery and mental ill health and abuse. 

                        Lost


Your toxic poison is killing me,
I no longer know how to be,

I am lost in your sinking pit of poison,
Suffocating, I can't see,
I can't escape,
Am I me or am I you?

I've been told I'm like you from birth,
It must be true,
Yet, in my depths I know, I think,

No, that is the poison doing it's evil work,
I am me and you are you,

Epiphanically, I see the answer I seek is here,
Within me.

The Crickets Ball - poem

The Crickets Ball


The crickets in their top hats, and gowns,
the grasshopper orchestra playing the waltz

The fireflies lighting the ways,
Jasmine and honeysuckle garlands don the halls

The crickets ball has begun. 

Living her Truth

Living her truth

She was living her truth,
Her name was Bee Love,

She enjoyed a party, a dance, a giggle,
She loved a movie, a Netflix binge,

She was brave, she lived her truth,
A woman in all her bravery and strength,

Bigots, racist transphobes, burned her alive, to silence her truth,
Trans black women aren't allowed to exist you see.

Say her name, speak her truth,
Keep her alive in love

Caged - poem

 

Caged

The caged bird sings, Maya Angelou taught, 
The caged bird yearns to be free, 

The caged bird fights for sovereignty,
The caged bird battles for its liberty

The caged bird, wins emancipation, 
The caged bird flies high

The caged bird sings, Maya Angelou taught, 
The caged bird is shot dead in the street

The caged bird sings, Maya Angelou taught, 
The caged bird yearns to be free. 

Suicide:- the realities of depression

Content warning suicide, victim blaming, lack of mental health empathy


*wrote this a long while back and never posted it. Posting it now (21/05/2019)



After the sad suicides of Chris Cornell and Chester Bennington I made the mistake of reading some of the comments.

From comments on Metal Injection FB page:-

             "He didn't die from depression idiot ...he committed suicide, he made a choice."

             "He's a coward who left his children behind."

             "Selfish, coward, easy way out."

             "Suicides are just pussies, selfish pussies."


Those are just a small selection of similar comments across various social media and media pages, comments, opinion pieces etc.

Someone on the metal injection page tried to explain "depression is a disease and dying because of it is no more selfish than dying of cancer". The responses began with "Cancer isn't a choice, suicide is." and get worse from there.


My cancer journey was and is scary but there was hope of remission; there remains hope it will stay in remission.

My mental health journey is a daily effort to manage and battle; each second of each day. it would take only one moment of utter consuming corrupting darkness to lose the battle and end with suicide. Yes there are tools we can use and meds we can take but the side effects of these meds can be suicide.

Each minute of each day we have to find a reason to keep living, which when your depression is telling you that your loved ones and the world in general is better off without you in it, are increasingly hard battles to draw let alone win. Most days when it's bad can feel like a hard fought no score draw (to draw a football/soccer analogy).

A little more empathy and a load less judgement people.

The Very Rev D Wayne Love - Rest in Power

Today Jake Black, aka The Very Rev D Wayne Love died.

It's rare that the death of a musician floors me in such a deeply personal way. Kurt Cobain was one, and Chris Cornell is someone I still can't quite accept the loss of, it feels unreal. Dwayne Love is one of those.

I first saw the Alabama 3 wayyyyy back in 1997 supporting the levellers at Derby ballroom. As A3 came on stage in a way unique to them my mum and I looked at each other mouthing "wtf" at each other. Within minutes we were hooked and have since seen them too many times to count.

The music of A3 I credit, alongside the music of James, Marti Pellow and Chris Cornell, with keeping me surviving and alive through the darkest times of my fathers abuse (see other posts on this blog for more info on that).

Part of that abuse was for my entire lifetime upto and including the here and now to mock me for singing, to put down any happiness singing along to any song, even in the shower brought me. It made me pretty fearful to sing in any situation. Early on in my recovery from his abuse I, and my brother and mum and step-dad, went to see A3 at Birmingham (UK) Academy (the old one). During Speed of the Sound (a3's take on the classic) I couldn't help but sing along, it is in all it's forms one of my favourite tracks, though A3's is perfect. In th middle of the song Dwayne Love held his microphone out to me (we were on the front row at the barrier), and held it there for a very long time giving me the thumbs up.

That was one of the most golden memories and Dwayne couldn't have known just how healing that was.

He did similarly multiple times in the intervening years, how friggin awesome is that :)

Dwayne smashed through decades of crap and gifted me singing in joy and without self consciousness again. What a bloody great gift.

The world is poorer for his loss.

                                                     

                            Rest in Power 

Writing group suggested idea contribution

Inspired by but not based on actual events, I was locked in the attic by my father, I was an adult and there was, sadly, no teddy bear.
Today we finally began cleaning the attic, I hadn't been in this attic since I was 8. Not since my father locked me in there for hours in the dark with the spiders for company. I dislike the attic but it must be cleared, how can we sell this old house if the attic is full of rubbish? What is that? An old beach towel, a chill runs down my spine, I can't breathe, inside the towel is my mums old teddy bear, Herbert. It is as if I am back there again...

... We, my dad and I, had been sorting and cleaning in the attic, so much rubbish and old family bits, relics of an old life I guess. I had just finished the job I'd been given of sorting the teddy bears. I made my way to the hatch to where my dad was, he had unplugged the extension lead that powered the light and then without warning he shut the hatch!
 I shouted and screamed that I was still here, he just laughed a menacing laugh. It was pitch black, no hint of light, disorientated I sat where I had stood, as the minutes ticked over into hours I curled up on the floor and waited, praying, hoping, fearing. All the while hugging as if my life depended on it an old teddy bear of my mums. 

#MentalHealthAwarenessWeek

This week in the UK is #MentalHealthAwarenessWeek. 

I have been trying to think of how to write about my life with depression, anxiety and cptsd. 

In the end I decided to just type and see what came out, so what I post will be a collection of thoughts, perhaps without much coherence, perhaps not. 

Content Warning 🚩 I will be quite open about my paternal abuse and the mess that left me. 

✋disclaimer - the only person I hold responsible for the abuse is my father, my abuser, no-one else. Fellow survivors will understand. My mum and brother are amazing, brave, courageous people. 



My main cause of  mental ill health is being a survivor of paternal abuse. Whilst subconsciously I think I knew from a young age something was awry, through nightmares and the like that hindsight makes sense of, consciously I wasn't aware until my pre-teens and teens. Even then I thought it was me who was wrong, me who was the reason my father did the things he did, not just to me but to my mum and brother. 

Because we all lived in his reality, in his created world, best I can relate it to is in the Batman world and what the Scarecrow does to your mind. Totally warping reality into something both normal and nightmarish all at the same time. This meant that whatever he said reality was became reality in our lives. Unfortunately it meant he controlled the narrative about who was or wasn't believed. It is an ongoing form of mind rape, it warps your entire experience of life and how others see you. 

To this day there I do not know what mud he threw about me still sticks, I know some has but to what extent and to whom I have never been brave enough to ask. 

To know a truth but have everyone you know and love tell you that it is you who is wrong, that it is you who is the problem, that you must not fight back, you must not defend yourself, that you are wrong. That then becomes a core belief, mine was for many years that I was not good enough, that I was never good enough. 

I do not blame my family, for I too became and did some very toxic things whilst living in that poisonous reality. 

I am now 41 and it has been 16yrs since our father moved out of the family home. In that time I have more than entered recovery and live a full and overall healthful life. 

But the impact on living in that abuser reality on me, my brother my mum has been epic. We are the 3 of us very close, and all of us being survivors makes us even closer. But he did his best to tear holes in that closeness. To do so he often cast me in role of villain. I was a teenage girl who adored my dad (who I thought he was) but to him I was the person whose sense of justice for myself and others, (a sense of justice that makes me to this day fight for social justice), made it impossible for me not to question his injustices towards me, my mum and brother. I threatened his control and as such I had to be brought back under control. This meant making me unreliable to my mum and brother, it meant creating a narrative where I was unstable. 


One of his methods was age old used by controlling fathers and husbands, blaming my love of historical novels, particularly my love of historical romance novels. This one worked very well, I recall being told by my mum (who I know no longer holds this opinion as we all learnt more about how abuse works, so no responsibility lies with her, it is all on that toxic leech my father) more than once that the reason I "created arguments" with my father was because "you want to create the drama from your books". To this day I am utterly embarrassed by my love of these books and will more often than not read them on my e-reader as it's easier to hide them on there from others. I am getting better at this, though mostly around my brother whom I live with, as we know the best and worst of each other. 

This narrative came very close to getting me committed, or at least to his making that attempt. An attempt that had it not been for my brother would likely have been successful.  But I'll expand on that later. What did begin happening was any book of mine that wasn't under my bed would find it's way to the trash and on at least one occasion to a charity shop. That last one hurt a great deal as I lost one book that meant a lot to me, I was able to buy some back but only about half. I remember very clearly walking up to the shop thinking "oh there's a bargain book table" Then thinking "oh that's odd they're all books I have" I looked inside the cover of one and saw a mark that was in mine. That is when I knew they were mine. That is when I learnt without question that nothing of mine had any value to anyone else and I had no right to my things. To this day I find it hard to treasure things and half expect to find my things gone. It hurts deeply, another reason I like e-books. It is harder to throw them away as they remain in your main library. 

I left at one point, I was part way through re-doing my 1st yr of 6th form, I was supposed to be doing a gnvq 3. Which I did, and did well at but I was falling apart and need to run. So I ran off to Wales, travelled around the alternative new agey sites for a bit. But during a phone call with my brother found out our father had turned his attention to Thom, he was getting double the abuse. I mistakenly thought if I moved back I could help protect him and take some of the abuse back onto me. I was 17-18yrs old. 
It got worse. It was after this that efforts to have me committed, arrested or something equally as sinister occurred. 


There was one incident that to this day I begin shaking just thinking of it. I don't talk about this much at all. We had been sitting in the lounge, me, my brother and our father. I can't even remember now what he began the argument about - he used to start an argument in the middle so you were on the back foot and trying to placate and apologise and make the argument end. He was screaming, I remember sitting on the end seat on our leather chesterfield (battered 2nd hand sofa, I loved it) saying "lets sit down and talk about this like adults" at this point he launched across the room at me and shook and shook me screaming "stop it stop it you're getting like a monster. I don't recall much after that, my brother recalls father left first and I staggered up to my room. He recalls that later that day our mum asked him what had happened, and fortunately that helped. 

There was another time, this was after mum had finally escaped (he stalked her for weeks and luckily she was able to move with her then work away), which was a fairly major incident. Unfortunately, my brother was in the house and not with my father and I in the garden. We'd been gardening out back, burning some garden bits etc. It was dark twilight and we'd been tidying up and putting out the fire with water from the canal out back. I had been tipping gently a bucket of water over the fire to help it go out, as I stood up and turned around my father was holding a garden fork (just the metal bit, it was a broken one we'd been using for the fire) at my throat. I will never forget the look on his face with the light from the embers and the twilight. It was pure malevolence, his face said he had power over whether I lived or died and he didn't give a damn which. My life was in his hands, and thanks to previous incidents like the one above, he'd laid out his defence perfectly. We stood there for what felt like hours but was in reality no more than a few minutes. He lifted the fork and laughed, as if it was a great joke. 

That is just 2 of many, many incidents that he did to me. My brother and mum have many, many similar incidents that he did to them too. 

Luckily he moved far, far away in 2003 so we don't see him often. 


I was lucky to have access to a brilliant therapist through MIND and so started my first steps to recovery. Through the CBT aspect of the therapy I was able through alot of hard work to alter my core belief from "not good enough" to "sometimes I do things that are good enough". 

It was around this time I watched a film, a Jet Li film "Tai Chi Master". and loved the hints of Daoism/Taoism that it contained. I looked up Daoism online and found taoism.net/truetao.org run by someone who would go on to be a dear online friend Derek Lin (now an author and translator). Thus began my journey of a Dao Cultivator. I tend to think of Dao cultivation as a form of self gardening. It has been a very great help in navigating life and recovery. It has, to me, given me a resilience in life that I wouldn't have otherwise. There is much in daoism, that helps us to navigate the rougher roads in life and by doing so helps us to meet less harsh roads. 

I have since had a few tricky mental health moments, and have been on medication a fair few times. 

It has gotten harder and harder to access mental health support, this is due entirely to the wilful underfunding of the nhs and mental health services by the Tory and prior to the tory/libdem coalition govs. 

I guess if I have a message for anyone who has their own mental ill health journey's I'd say do not believe the depression. The reality depression tells us is it's own version of an abusers reality. It is warped and focuses on the negative. It isn't real, it feels real, but it isn't. You can learn to live around it and in recovery, there is help out there, even if it's online, medication has also evolved and is less invasive and can be a great part of recovery. 

It is possible to live a happy healthful life even with depression, anxiety and cptsd. 

All of us living with this win every single day we get up and live. 

Our past is part of us but it doesn't mean that is all we are. My surviorship is not something I am ashamed off, it is not something anyone should be ashamed of. 
Namcy V Raine wrote a book called "After the silence: Rape and my journey back" when we as survivors break our silence, when we speak our truth not the abusers truth, we take control away not just away from our abusers and rapists but all abusers and rapists. More than that we give power to all other survivors and victims of rape and abuse, whomever our rapists and abusers are. 

Same is the case for mental health, the more we talk about it, the more we normalise the language of mental health and the reality those of us who live with it face each and everyday, the more we are empowered and the mental ill health and those who would keep us there whether through stereotypes or lack of support are dis-empowered. 

#MentalHealthAwareness

If this blog has triggered anything for you please do seek help from the likes of 
MIND mind.org.uk
Samaritans samaritans.org.uk
Womens Aid womensaid.org.uk
sane.org.uk
thecalmzone.net
mensaid

Straws and ableism

So I had a conversation on FB on a post, I didn't make, that told those complaining about the switch to paper straws in McDonalds et al to start adulting, implying their complaints are childish. 

Here are screen shots in order:- 

The original post

My reply

My reply continued

A reply from someone not the op, I'll call Roe (Becca James is myself)

Their response cont 

 Further cont response from Roe

Roes further reply. 

My response to the only part of Roe's reply on topic

My continued reply

At this point I had to go to work. I came home to this response

So To begin anew in the hopes the message is heard rather than twisted beyond recognition. 

Disability and accessibility campaigners are not saying to continue using plastic straws, not at all. what is being said is that they need straws as like the disposable plastic ones as possible. Even if they're only made available for those who need them. 

Reusable straws have issues for a significant number of people with disabilities; some people with cognitive disabilities struggle with the texture and solidity of metal or bamboo straws. Some people with physical disabilities have burned themselves using metal straws as the straw gets too hot and retains heat too long. Bamboo straws alongside metal straws are too rigid, some conditions mean people need flexible straws, not rigid ones. In addition if you have certain physical disabilities properly and safely cleaning reusable straws is tricky. These and many more issues are all ones brought up by people living with disability. 

Instead of listening to them and trying to find a way forward to protect our world and allow people to keep their accessibility we and Capital are ignoring them. The OP literally told anyone complaining about the paper straws to "take the lid off and drink it like a f***ing grown up". 

What needs to happen is those of us, rightly, pushing for a radical change in our need for disposable plastic need to also push for sustainable accessible straws as like disposable plastic straws as possible. For many people those straws are what allow them the ability to drink, without them they'd have to have their drinks thickened to a jelly or mousse like consistency and eat them. 

Imagine that for one moment, loosing that sensory loveliness of a drink, the sensations of it in your mouth, on your lips, going down your throat. All of that gone. 

There need be no conflict of interest in fighting for sustainable straws as close to plastic as possible for those who need them, and doing away with current disposable plastic straws. 

For one, if we really want sustainable then paper is nowhere near as sustainable as hemp, hemp paper straws would be far better. 

See how easy it is once we think outside the box Capital is shoving this discussion to start thinking of alternatives even to paper straws? 

I'm not arguing that we bring back plastic straws, as such, I'm arguing against silencing those who need them to live a full and rich life. 

For example, this thread dismisses entirely there could be any validity to those complaining against paper straws. It mocks the very notion. That is ableism. 

https://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=Ableism 

Sustainability needn't happen in ways that hurt people living with disabilities be they physical or cognitive. Silencing, mocking, deriding, telling them to grow up, infantilising them, all of which the op did is ableism, it's vile, it is unnecessary. 

Now to address some of the responses to my posts. 

a) not sure how relevant Roe being a vegetarian is to a discussion about straws but I've been a veggie since I was 6 am a vegan now. I'm 41. Never been in a McDonalds et al except for work (I'm a support worker for adults with profound learning disabilities). 

b) this post; - 

b) cont - not relevant to the issue of paper straws etc, why I ignored it in the first place, but ok let me address it anyway. My choice for morality and health is not to eat fast food. However, there are laws in the UK (Eire and most of EU, US too btw) re consent for adults with profound disabilities. If individuals wish to eat or drink at a McDonalds then if they have capacity we would be guilty of abuse to prevent that. Much like if someone felt I as a vegan needed to eat meat would be guilty of abuse to force me to eat dead animal or cheese. Again your point is ableism assuming you or I get to enforce our personal beliefs on someone else because they happen to have a disability. We don't. 

You also presume anyone living with a disability is unhealthy, people can and do treat fast food as a treat, once a week or fortnight or month. Again you do not get to decide how someone living with disabilities should live. You do not get to force your way of living on them. 

Yes, I did see that film, it was by Morgan Spurlock, it's irrelevant to paper straws and ableism discussion the op started. 

b) response cont- again you're judging based on your own prejudices, you do not know the situation for that family. I'm vegan, been veggie since I was 6. I don't go in fast food places myself, only with work supporting others to live the lives THEY choose. 

b) cont again - yes it's called junk food for a reason. It's also called consent for a reason. We do not get to force other people to make the choices we do. Again this is all irrelevant to paper straws and ableism. 

c) The op was specifically about straws. My reply that you took exception too was about straws. Again, people who live with disabilities have a right to make their own choices regarding the foods they eat. The only legal way to interfere is if they eat treats to excess, then it might, might mind you, be possible to launch a mental capacity assessment and initiate a best interest protocol. Neither of which is legal if someone like fast food on occasion. 

Again, the entire conversation is about straws and ableism. You're trying to insert irrelevancies for your own reasons. 

c) cont - I'm not angry, or rather I wasn't angry, strawmen and gaslighting are tactics I abhor. They are tactics of bullies and abusers, as a survivor of paternal abuse I recognise them instantly. Only those aware of their shaky logic need them, use them to silence and shame and belittle. 

Oh and at 41 I'm not a girl.   

Capital, particularly companies such as McDonalds could more than afford to invest in sustainable straws more like the bad plastic ones, to keep straws accessible for all. Ignoring those who need such straws is simply not ok. Mocking them, as the op did, is not ok. Pressuring companies to invest in research to develop better straws, straws that would help those who can only use ones like the current plastic straws, THAT is where our energies should go. Not into ableism. 

The way forward must be both sustainable AND accessible. The only reason that is not happening now is lack of will, from both Capital and from sustainability activists. Which is typical of Capital but activists should be downright ashamed of ourselves.