Where to start? At the beginning, an inner voice says . . . but where is the beginning? The beginning of this . . . this what? depression? zombie-like state? I don't even know what. And really it was triggered by a number of things, one of which began seven years ago . . . One of which began forty seven years ago. Others are not so specific.
It could be an on-going post in stages . . . I can't see me covering this lot without interruptions. Maybe just one aspect . . .
The phobia . . .
This alone could cover pages. My life has been; sometimes ruled, sometimes blighted and at best, just lived in tandem with, an irrational phobia. All phobias are irrational, if they aren't irrational (ie, snakes and potentially harmful creatures) they are not phobias. Phobias are of things like buttons, cotton wool, flags . . . . fill in the blank. I won't be filling in the blank. I can barely say the word, let alone see it written.
I could write a thesis on Phobias. I have studied them throughout my life (pre and post internet). I will not say what my phobia is, I am too afraid to say . . . Yes, the fearless Bugerlugs has one huge great massive fear. In fact one psychiatrist once told me, all of my fears are focused into this one inanimate object . . . hence my apparent lack of fear in other areas. I don't know if this is so . . . it's all just theories.
My early life was ruled from the age of three by this phobia. I am not blaming anyone here, kids can be cruel. Adults can be cruel . . . and have been, that is why I guard this close to me now. If anyone reading this, knows me and is aware of this, please, please respect the one thing I wish to keep to myself.
So . . . fast forward through 30 years of making decisions based on the phobia . . . I found myself at 33 with a little boy (Stropster). I decide I need to address this before something awful happens. As this object is found outdoors, my phobia was beginning to morph into agoraphobia. Deal with it . . . Hypnotherapy, regression therapy . . .exposure therapy, cognitive behavioural therapy . . . Blah blah bledy blah . . . Nothing worked. My Dad even had elders perform an exorcism on me as a teenager in an attempt to rid me of what he considered to be a demonic possession.
I continued to see a psychiatrist who assured me that my Son would protect me. If I was honest and open with him, he would naturally protect me. I took a risk, he protected me . . .
Three years later along came Geekster, he too was understanding and protected me. I made sure that both of their Dads dealt with this object with both of my Sons to assure that they were not afraid . . . God forbid that anyone should live a life in fear of such a ridiculous thing. I too, told my boys this was not to be afraid of . . . it was me who was wrong, flawed, traumatised.
Heroin helped. It helps all things anxiety related. I was on Seroxat for many years prior to Heroin to calm my anxiety and stop the phobia escalating into agoraphobia again. Believe me, I am cutting this short . . . I came off gear once maybe ten years ago and went onto subutex (now known as Suboxone) That is when I realised how much the gear had been masking the phobia.
Fast-forward again to three years ago. Hamper G was two. I noticed something different with Hamper. When told not to do something she was very defiant, naughty? . . . I worried, rightly so, about revealing this fear to her . . . I had a feeling she would not be so protective. I tried to avoid it . . impossible. I told her I had a severe allergy. That it is dangerous to me . . .
Fast forward to last week on holiday. I can't give too many details without giving clues, suffice to say that my Brother (who obviously knows the extent of my fear) saw Hamper G coming towards me with this thing behind her back . . . Issue one; he sat there calmly and told me, rather than doing something about it. Luckily Stropster was there and leapt to my rescue . . . Issue two . . . What The Fuck!!?!
This is one of the major things that has caused my anxiety to soar through he roof . . . has caused me to stay in the house since I returned from Wales (apart from having to buy food). I discussed this with my drugs worker, along with the other stuff that surfaced during my "holiday" . . . Her advice. Get. This. Dealt. With. Now. . . . Before I go through a repeat of my childhood.
I can't put into words how scared I am. I'm dripping in sweat just thinking about it. The nearest I came to successfully ridding myself of this bastard monkey on my back was through exposure therapy (I won't elaborate, the clue is in the word exposure) . . . horrific, my blood runs cold at the thought of it . . . but what is the alternative?
Well there you go.
Other issues came to light in Wales. I want to write through this lot, if only to separate the strands . . . the whole lot is just a jumble at the moment of anxiety, anger, resentment . . . and fear.
Apart from referring me to my Dr to go back into exposure therapy . . . My drugs worker has also referred me for a full mental health assessment. I hadn't self-harmed in years. I have no idea which of the strands has caused me to start digging holes in my arms again . . . I'm sorry if this is not comfortable. It is what it is. The truth. My life.
It's ten am . . . that's one strand separated. I will be back later . . . Meantime I will try so so hard to get on with normality . . . to go into the garden and do what needs doing. To enjoy the Sun. To smile and try to be normal for the kids. To pray for some peace and some relief from this fucking turmoil . . . And maybe even for day one.
Okay, the kids are hungry, good timing.
I can't express how grateful I am to all of you for sticking with me through this. I appreciate each one of you. Thanks for reading and understanding. Much love to you x
No time to edit . . . it is what it is.