Withdrawal

It’s been a while since I wrote down my thoughts, and I think it’s about bloody time. I shouldn’t bottle as much as I do.

The last week, I’ve had a very interesting experience. I stopped taking my antidepressants for five days (long story, but it wasn’t deliberate or purposeful). Now I’ve been on these things since April 2012. That’s a very long time in drug land. At this point, my body has stopped producing serotonin and other happy brain chemicals by itself. So for five days I lived life with no happy buzz, no hormones to help me deal. And fuck me, did it change my perspective on life. Having lived in a drug induced haze, helped along by alcohol for a REALLY long time, it was terrifying and exhilarating to live without it. Mostly terrifying. Like really terrifying. I spent every day crying and having panic attacks and wanting to die, but for the first time in years I could also think fucking clearly. Reality slapped me in the face and rode me up and down the street like a rodeo bull. It said LOOK AT YOUR LIFE. WHAT ARE YOU DOING? WHY ARE YOU DOING IT? The last three months I’ve just been bumbling along doing the bare minimum I need to get by. eating just enough, sleeping just enough (or not enough mostly), drinking more than I should, smoking like a coal powered power station and doing the absolute least work for university that I could manage.

And I needed that reality check. I needed the screaming down my ear of complete reality unhindered by hormones and drugs to get my shit sorted. It said, why are you at university if you’re not working? Why pay £9000 a fucking year to be lazy? Why drink for no reason when hal the time you don’t even enjoy it? It also said a lot of painful and unnecessary things, so don’t get me wrong, I would NEVER EVER recommend someone going cold turkey off their medication (and I didn’t intend to do so either!). That reality also told me that I was worthless, fat, ugly, stupid, slutty, bitchy, selfish and a million and one unhelpful things.

So, whilst I’m glad to now be back on drug buffered life, that experience has changed my attitude, because by god did it need changing. Don’t ever for a minute take your own life for granted people. Life is so incredible and precious, so I need to stop wasting it. As do half the rest of the world.

Debbimouse, over and out.

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Smile, It’s Easy

What if nothing is wrong?
What if yours is the fantasy?
Why shouldn't I lie in bed?
Why can't you let me be?
Get up, go to school
Get up, wash your hair
Cheer up, you're not alone
Cheer up, no need to be scared
Smile, it's easy
Smile, just pretend at least.

Be happy
Like sadness is a disease
Don't be yourself
That's too scary for me
Be happy
Like sadness is a disease
It's easy to be alone
When you're a misery
smile, it's easy
smile, just pretend for me

What if I don't wanna be me?
What if I'm scared of what people say?
What if they say nothing at all?
Why can't you just stay?
Get up, you gotta put some clothes on
Get up, say that you're okay
Cheer up, you're scaring me
Cheer up, it's a nice day
Smile, it's easy
Smile, at least pretend for me

Be happy
Like sadness is a disease
Don't be yourself
That's too scary for me
Be happy
Like sadness is a disease
It's easy to be alone
When you're a misery
smile, it's easy
smile, just pretend for me

no no no, I'm never alone
no no no, I wish I was
no no no, it's never easy to smile

Thoughts on Philosophy

So in my ‘Introduction to Cultural Theory’ lectures, we’re being taught to think about words as concepts rather than realities. A word is a picture in your head that means something completely different to anyone who reads it. The relationship between the idea in your head and the actual word is completely arbitrary.
Now you see, I have ALWAYS thought this. My meaning is not your meaning, my words are not your words, when trying to explain myself you will always walk away with a different meaning to what I actually meant.
So, being a blogger, this is an infinitely important concept to me. What do you readers think I mean when I type? In Craft of Writing we are taught to always consider our readership and write to the readers. Personally I think that’s bollocks. If I always wrote what I thought people wanted to read, my writing wouldn’t be worth the calories burned typing. So why do I write? If I am not writing what you want to hear, why do I write at all?
To CHALLENGE you. To encourage you to broaden your minds, readers. To say things that you don’t want to hear.
You can never understand what it is I mean, but I write to allow you to find your own meaning inside of my words. Find your own interpretation, discover your own opinions (not that anyone has their “own” opinions are such, merely ideas formed out of influence). Read what you want to hear out of the words I write, not caring what you want to hear.
And of course, I write for myself.
Writing is an act of expression, of release. To let out the complex meanings confined in my own head through the medium of speech. I don’t give a flying monkeys if anyone actually reads it and understands or cares. Writing it down and putting it out there is enough for me.
Which is why I will never be an author. Screw the readership, screw the sales, I will always be freelance. I write for me first and secondly for others that care to listen to the complete jumble of bollocks I come out with.
So, if anyone is still listening, what do YOU think I mean? What do YOU think this blog is for? What is any of this for? Why do we write? Leave opinions below for discussions and fun times.
Debbimouse, over and muthafucking out.

New Beginnings

So. Here I am. I’m blogging from the IT suite at Falmouth University.
Are you surprised? Did you think I’d make it?
Here I am, two weeks in. I LOVE the work. I love learning again, I love writing again and discussions in classes and broadening my mind to new opinions and new ways of thinking. However, I am worried that this degree will scare me out of writing. I don’t think I want to be a writer anyway, not an author as such. I want to be a critic, or a journalist. And you know what? I reckon I’d be pretty damn good at it. Giving opinions, studying and researching. I’m thriving in this.
Of course, that’s only the one side to life.
What of the underbelly of university life? The all night drinking and orgies?
Well, lets just say last night was the first in 16 days that I didn’t have a single drink and more than four hours sleep. As for the orgies, I’ll keep you guessing 😉
I have to say though, it’s nothing special. Nothing more fun than my nights out back home or at a festival. Drinking is the same the world over, wherever you do it. And all the people gagging for sex kind of repulse me. Not that I’m exactly a nun, or subtle when it comes to being on the pull. But as everyone who reads my blog knows, I am a total screaming hypocrite, and proud!
As much as I am always willing for a crazy night out (house party tonight yeahhhhh) I actually enjoy the lectures and seminars much, much more. This was the best decision I ever made. I don’t miss living with my parents (although I do obviously miss them!), I love meeting new people and making new friends. My house mates are fantastic people, I totally adore them, I’m joining societies and having fun.
My only regret is that I can’t have my best friend with me in all of this. There is definitely some gutpunching that needs to be done around here! I feel like one half of Tom and Jerry, Elizabeth Barrett-Browning without her Robert. My Deni and just become Debbi.
But I solider on, and even without my bffl I’m coping reasonably well with the fact my cuntface ex broke up with me halfway through freshers (BY ANSWERPHONE MESSAGE NO LESS). Nah, he’s not a cunt, just a bit of an idiot and a lot confused. Oh well, he’ll be missing his sexy vixen and I’ll be running up the hills singing WHAT DOES THE FOX SAY (because I love that song) and flirting with anyone I please.
Debbimouse, off to enjoy life, over and out ❤

Open Season on Young Black Men

Welcome to the Leftside

Last night, George Zimmerman was found “not guilty” of the murder of Trayvon Martin. I firmly believe that if the situation was reversed, and George Zimmerman was black, he would currently be serving a life sentence in a hellhole like Pelican Bay.

But I’d like to try something different, and this is specifically aimed at those white mothers of 17 year old boys who are telling themselves this morning that justice was served, that Trayvon was a hoodlum and a thug and deserved what he got and that George Zimmerman got a fair trial and the verdict is just.

So, you hypothetical white woman (and I happen to know a specific woman in Arizona who fits the above description to a tee, including the teenaged honor student son), let’s get started, ask some questions, and set a different scene, shall we?

You’re a white woman. You have a 17 year…

View original post 584 more words

Open Season on Young Black Men

Welcome to the Leftside

Last night, George Zimmerman was found “not guilty” of the murder of Trayvon Martin. I firmly believe that if the situation was reversed, and George Zimmerman was black, he would currently be serving a life sentence in a hellhole like Pelican Bay.

But I’d like to try something different, and this is specifically aimed at those white mothers of 17 year old boys who are telling themselves this morning that justice was served, that Trayvon was a hoodlum and a thug and deserved what he got and that George Zimmerman got a fair trial and the verdict is just.

So, you hypothetical white woman (and I happen to know a specific woman in Arizona who fits the above description to a tee, including the teenaged honor student son), let’s get started, ask some questions, and set a different scene, shall we?

You’re a white woman. You have a 17 year…

View original post 584 more words

Addition, subtraction and equations.

Have you ever read Additon by Toni Jordan? It’s not very well written but the character came alive for me in so many ways because I often feel like her. The woman in it (Grace) suffers from a form of OCD that entails her counting everything right down to the number of bristles in her toothbrush. When she gets upset she counts and she feels like her world will end if she stops counting. The story in a nutshell, she dates a lovely irish guy who persuades her to try therapy and drugs and to stop counting. She loses everything. She leaves him and starts again, stops treating her counting like a curse and works it into a part of her life in a positive way.
I wish I counted. At least that would be a coping mechanism. The mechanisms I have tried to date include; self mutilation, drinking, smoking, sleeping, sleep deprivation, comfort eating, starving myself, working constantly, doing nothing, writing, painting, singing, dancing, gratuitous sex and just about everything else. But nothing seems to fill the hole. My life is a depressive spiral around this huge hole somewhere below my ribs that ACHES all the time. It’s been worse lately. I decided to go to uni, I start in 14 days. It doesn’t sound like a huge step but for me?
My anxiety dragged me down a year and a half ago. I dropped out of my exams and sank into a hole. The few times I emerged the world abused me to the extent my hole pretty much reached the earths core. There was weeks I didn’t leave the house, days on end I never saw light. I kept to my bed and my room and my depression and pain ate away at me like a poison. I’ve been getting better. I had a bad patch last October as I’m sure I’ve mentioned previously. But I’ve been working these past three months. Paying bills, doing the groceries. Behaving like a functioning member of society. I even managed to half my medications.
My anxiety is creeping up on me. Going 300 miles away to live woth strangers? To study again? To have deadlines and lectures and essays? What the hell was I thinking? How could someone like me cope? Someone who still can’t get over her fathers abandonment, 15 years on? Someone who doesn’t sleep at night for fear of the things I see in dreams? Me, who can’t get through a single day without the little white pills without screaming and crying and shaking. Me, who can’t even make a doctors appointment over the phone without having someone to hold her hand.
What is wrong with me?
My therapist is trying to help me unravel it, help me understand myself. Why I have to have either total control or none at all. Why I am incapable of looking after myself. Why I constantly crave company but abuse everyone close to me. My obsession and fear of sex. I don’t have the answers. Maybe it’s my repressive religious upbringing. Maybe it’s my father’s mistreatment of me. Maybe it’s the men who have forced themselves upon me against my will.
Or maybe, just maybe Toni Jordan was onto something.
My biggest problem is the fixed idea in my head that there is something wrong with me. I am constantly told this by everyone. You need therapy, you need drugs, you’re too fat, you’re too thin, you’re too quiet, you’re too loud. Maybe my bordering on psychopathic need to please is the biggest problem. What’s wrong with the way I am underneath all your expectations and therapy and mind numbing drugs? I don’t even know anymore because it’s all I know. What if with a little subtraction of your bullshit rules and a little addition of personal realisation we could make an equation that works for everyone?
Debbimouse, over and out.