I've been feeling very tense lately, but I wasn't sure why. I think it's my anxiety going into overdrive because of my first therapy session tomo. I have no idea why I am so stressed about it though. It's only: A group of people I have never met before Run by two staff that I've never met before In a town that I have only negative/upsetting memories of In a building that I have only stressful memories of Near in locale to a place I would rather forget existed For a variable amount of time. Either as short as 6 months, or for upto 15 months. But other than that...why am I so stressed and anxious?! I'm starting to see why I bought a load of crunchy and chewy foods now. They're good for stress. Speaking of stress, I suspect my acid reflux will be in full swing for tomo. That should help me feel much more relaxed. Then I have to worry about how to get home afterwards. The more I think about it, the less I want to hang around for the next bus out. Quite a distance to walk though. In other news, I have emotional homework to do every day. I'm filling in a DBT diary card, where I log my mood each day. Yesterday I gave myself a 4 for emotional misery, and a 3 for physical misery. (On a scale of 0-5, with 5 being the worst) Recently, three groups I enjoyed came to an end, and another is on for the last time this friday. I have emotional stuff with Hope processing in the background, and I still haven't heard anything from my mum since sending her a parcel a while ago. The CAMHS nurse I was seeing is going on leave for an indefinite amount of time, and I have no replacement for her as yet. I'm trying to plan my next move for returning to the UK, which is stressing me out because of money and this uncertain timescale for the therapy. I'm waiting for an appointment with a specialist for a health issue which just adds to my stress. I also have a 'last tea' with my court advocate who means a lot to me. So that will be a rough day when it happens. I still have bags of stuff to go to charity hanging about the flat, making things look more untidy. On top of all that I have my usual stresses, battling with shitty sleep, bad eating habits, staying indoors, crappy weather, housing issues, no 'real life' friends, blah blah blah.
This will probably be a long list, and I'm just typing them out as they come to mind. 1. Sunshine 2. Warmth 3. Central Heating 4. Chip shops 5. Shops being open before 10 am 6. Things to do and places to go 7. Anything familiar that doesn't upset me 8. Carpets 9. Pavements 10. Public Transport 11. Online Deliveries 12. Decent Internet 13. Other Accents 14. My Mum 15. Domino's Pizza 16. Blue Skies 17. My Amazing Man 18. Using an Oyster Card 19. Free Banking 20. Parks 21. Sainsbury's 22. Shops being open on Sundays 23. Drivers using indicators 24. Drivers letting pedestrians cross 25. Having most of what you want within walking distance 26. Hot showers 27. Sienna 28. Hope 29. The sea 30. Xbox 31. Having someone to hang out with 32. A dry house 33. Palatable tap water 34. Not having to try and plan my life out 35. TV 36. Tumble driers 37. Not having to watch every penny I spend
This has been prompted by something CT said to me the other day, that I can't seem to get out of my head. "Well I get tired of everyone thinking we are just friends." As many of you will know, myself and @Cave Troll are in a long distance relationship (LDR). We have been together for just over a year. We are currently separated by over 4000 miles, including the North Atlantic Ocean. We met online here on 24th April 2018. I posted a thread asking for help with a sci-fi story idea I had. On the 25th April, an awesome guy came along and posted a comical idea. We didn't speak privately to one another until June 4th 2018. Prior to that, I had spent a good 2 weeks or so telling myself not to say or do anything because I knew he lived far away, it would never work, etc etc. I'd seen him around the forum, and couldn't help but notice every post he made. Eventually, I posted a rather public interest in CT, and he liked my post. I then PM'd him with a small summary of things we had in common, and things evolved from there. We both said from the start that something romantic would be nice, but if a friendship was born from it instead, that would be good too. Over a year later, here we are being sickeningly lovey dovey both privately and sometimes publicly, we have spent 8 days together 'in real life'. We will meet again for another 5 days this Christmas due to travel limitations. I have met his mum, and may meet his sister on my next visit. We've got 2 photos of us together so far, and I have created a few as well. We have counted the months together, and exchanged parcels with one another. We video chat on an ad hoc basis, and we shared most of December 2018 video calling everyday, as we opened advent calendars together. After talking online nearly every day for over 9 months, and spending 8 days together in the flesh, I proposed to him and he accepted. We do have a plan for closing this damned distance between us, but it will take at least another 2 years yet. With all that said, I am both astonished and infuriated to hear that our relationship is thought of as something casual and platonic. Yes, we are friends, but we are also a romantic couple who adore one another and plan to spend our lives in the same country, occupying the same physical location as well as getting married. Why? The reason is remarkably simple. We are in love and we are romantic! For those who have ever wondered about LDR, ask yourself this. Are couples who are in the army, navy, marines etc still 'real romantic couples', or does the distance somehow make love irrelevant and nonexistent? Just because we happened to meet for the first time online instead of face-to-face, why should that mean our relationship is any less real or any less loving than that of a close distance couple? Spoiler For those of you who may have wondered, I knew I wanted to marry him at about 7 weeks in, but I didn't say anything until 4 months in. I then waited until after we met, and I'd had even more time to think, before finally asking him to marry me on 1st March 2019.
I was on another forum, and I wrote this reply. I found it very profound, so I thought I would share it here. Ok. First things first. Take a deep breath. Then another. So you happened to fall in love with someone you haven't met. She smokes. She wants kids. So what? You've known each other three months. That isn't a long time. You have no idea what is down the road for her or for you. Life happens when you're busy making other plans. I'm not saying you should give up. That is entirely your call. Three months doesn't make a lifetime guarantee for anyone. Even marriage isn't a guarantee. Or kids. I speak from personal experience. I have two daughters, but I'm not still with their fathers. Do I regret having them? No. Do I regret my relationships with their fathers? No. For all the stuff that I have gone through in life has brought me by some miracle to this fantastic man I now know. He was married, and it ended. He smokes, and I don't like it. But you know what? I love him with all my heart. Above and beyond everything. He is my world, and I intend to marry him. I wish it could happen tomo, but I know it won't. It will take a long time to get there, because there is 1000s of miles between us. First I need to do 15 months of therapy. Then I need to move to the UK and get a job. Then when I have been earning enough for 2 years, I can marry him and bring him to live with me (hopefully). It's a long time to wait, and I hate that too. But I believe he is worth it. So I endure long periods without him, missing him and crying frequently. It seems so cruel, but what is my alternative? Give up the love of my life because an ocean happens to divide us? Even though he is perfect for me in every way, adores me, respects me, and treats me like a queen? Then I would either be alone or with someone else. But I wouldn't be anywhere near as happy as I am with him. No one else could love me like he does, the way I need. Life isn't always logical and rational, and you're not on the outside of your situation. I was adamant that I didn't want to meet my SO's family either. I didn't want to know anybody that meant something to him. IDK when, but that dissolved at some point. By the time I had booked my first visit, I knew I would meet his mum. I told him not to tell me in advance when it would be, to help with my anxiety. We went to see her, and I was kinda at odds with the whole thing, but she was fine with me. She didn't ask probing questions, which was what I feared most, and we only stayed an hour or two. She even took our photo, which I am so grateful for, because we didn't take one ourselves. When all is said and done there are only two options. One is to go for it, and see where it leads. The other is to quit before you've really begun, but then you will never know what could've been. If you walk away, would you regret it? I know I would if I left my man.
I have been mulling over and over my recent big decision to agree to a Full Term Care Order for my daughter Hope, who is 3. I have also said that I no longer want any access with her, just postal contact. I have a myriad of reasons for making this decision, and yet I keep questioning myself. I didn't at the beginning. I was convinced I was right in my choice, that it was best for both of us. But now, IDK. Nothing has changed, except for her father putting posters of her around the town encouraging people to join him at the court to protest against the Care Order. Then Hope's Guardian Ad Litem (she is appointed to represent Hope's best interests in the court) was calling and calling me. I think she also came to the door. In regards to the posters, I know he was trying to communicate with me specifically because of the poster placements. They were at both sides of the railway station in the town, which is where my local bus stops, and I get off. He'd also put them down the road where I go to CAMHS, as well as round the back of the cathedral, which I also walk past. These locations are not on the main roads, so the professionals wouldn't spot them in their cars, but I would see them on foot. I have since heard from my Court Advocate that he was also handing out flyers at the court on the day. I also heard from the woman who runs my Monday night group (which is for women dealing with domestic violence) that he was with a radical father's group. On the day of the court, I hadn't even considered that he might have flown back over specially (he now lives back in England). It wasn't until I walked out from the station that I saw a photo that struck me as familiar. It was my little girl as a baby, when she was at home with us. She was curled on me, as I was sat on a chair. I remember that picture being taken. The guilt I feel in my decision is immense. I feel that as her mother I should be going above and beyond to get her back. The fact that I am voluntarily walking away makes me feel like a despicable person. Aside from the societal expectations on mothers, I also feel like I am being selfish. That I have dressed it as being in her best interests, but it's actually in my own. That I am denying my family the opportunity to be a part of her life and her upbringing. I am denying her father and his family. I am denying my partner (my rock, My Amazing Man) the opportunity to know her and experience the utter delight that is my little ball of sunshine. View attachment 23013
In trying to break out of my perfectionist mindset, I have discovered that it wasn't only focused on me. It judges and criticises everything, all the time. I reckon that this is the reason why I am so alone in my life. I put grossly unfair and unrealistic expectations on other people, as well as myself. Then when they inevitably didn't meet them, I left. There have certainly been many times when I have just wanted a break from myself, which would likely explain my frequent moving (as well as the unrealistic expectations), and hurting myself in many different ways. I think part of this self analysis has begun as I am on the cusp of beginning 15 months of DBT (Dialectical Behavioural Therapy). I am certain that part of it has been brought to the fore because of my relationship with @Cave Troll . This is the first time I have ever been in a relationship where I am constantly trying not to re-enact my old behaviours, but this is very hard for me. Realising how multi-faceted I actually am as a human being, and that my unrealistic expectations are probably the main reason that I am so unhappy, has been difficult. It is eye-opening, painful and really really tough. But if I can at least try to fight against it, then I am winning. Spoiler: For CT
Since my youngest daughter, Hope, was taken into care at 7 weeks of age, my relationship with my mother has been awkward. I actually can't be sure of the last time I spoke to her. I have blocked her number on my mobile, and I have returned any post she has sent to my flat. I recall a card previously with my name on only. Today, I have received another piece of mail from her. From what I can see through the envelope, it is a handmade card with Paddington Bear on the front. Nothing surprising there. She is a card maker, and bear lover. I readily admit that part of me is curious as to why she is writing to me now. What could she possibly have to say to me that I need to hear? Does she have anything to say? Does she simply feel guilty? Does she have some family news? Does she want to patch things up? I don't know, but I don't intend to find out. At least not today. What bothers me is that Hope's birthday was in May, and we've had Christmas too. I heard nothing for those two events. Why not? She could easily send something for her granddaughter to my address, and I would make sure she got it. Whatever is going on between me and my mother doesn't involve Hope. She is a separate person, and she deserves to know her family. Her other grandmother. What particularly bothers me is that I know my mother has sent things to Sienna for birthdays and such. Sienna is her other grandchild. My eldest daughter. She lives in England with her paternal grandmother. My mother doesn't like Sienna's guardian, and neither do I. Despite that, she is in touch with them. So why not Hope? Granted my mother has seen Sienna a few times, but even so. Hope is her granddaughter too. She has as much right as her sister to any affection, time and attention my mother has. This just makes me feel very sad. My youngest is missing out on her maternal grandmother, and I don't know why. For clarification, I will say that my mother is a very nice person. She will be a wonderful grandmother, if she chooses to. Me and her fell out because her brother (my uncle) was the one who called Social Services on me in the first place. I strongly suspect him and my grandmother (my mother's mother) did it between the two of them. My main issue is that I don't know what part my mother played in it all, if she did anything. She has never said. As a result, I don't feel comfortable in being in touch with her. I need information, and I need facts. All I remember is her pressuring me to tell my grandmother something when I had moved to Ireland, because she said she felt she "was lying by omission". On the other side, she sent me gifts from her sister (my aunt) through her own address, so that my aunt wouldn't have our contact details. So in that instance at least, I know she protected us. Now I have upset myself, I will leave it there.
Sometimes, I really hate humans. Not all the time, but fairly often. It can be little things that set me off, like not giving way to a pedestrian waiting to cross the road. Or people at home playing loud music late at night. But sometimes, there are those moments when I can't help but see red. The mist descends, and boy does it linger! I admit I have gotten like this more than a few times in my life, though I am much better now than when I was younger. Lately, my issue has been with women, specifically. Sometimes I hate knowing that I am one of them. All humans are capable of warped and despicable behaviours, that much is true. But some people, some women, have it down to a fine art. I would admire it if it weren't sinister, self-serving, and manipulative. The power that they can wield is very impressive, but potentially very dangerous. I have seen possessive mothers who tell their adult children to be careful crossing the road, and who tell young children that anybody they may show any interest in having as a friend is a low-life, and not to be associated with. I particularly hate when I hear mothers who say to their children things along the line of "Don't run off, cos a nasty man will catch you." Genius! Making children terrified of any and all strangers/males is a brilliant idea. So if they ever get in trouble, and they need outside help, they'll be too anxious to approach anyone. Marvellous parenting. Even I am aware that I have some kind of feminine wiles, which I have to be careful when handling. Trying not to phrase things in a certain way, or put the wrong emoji, so it can't be misinterpreted by others. Though I am not the type of person who goes in for manipulation of others, having been on the receiving end of it a few times myself. I try to pride myself on being a rational voice and attempt to give sound advice. I won't say that I am always successful at it, though. After all, I am only human.
*very distressing subject matter enclosed* As I had posted an article on the Not Happy Thread about this kind of subject, I figured it would perhaps be an idea to do a blog entry about it too. I will say from the outset that I find this very distressing to think about, let alone write. It is a memory that has haunted me since that time, and I suspect will continue to haunt me ever after. With that out of the way, let us begin on an uncomfortable journey... Back in January 2012, I gave birth to my first child*, a little girl whom we named Sienna Samara Brianna** Walsh. *I had been pregnant before, but had miscarried by 12 weeks. **This name was chosen in memory of my deceased father, who passed away in November 2001. I was in hospital, and I had a long and difficult labour. When Sienna finally arrived, she was not in good condition. She had become distressed during her delivery, and by the time she was finally out, she was non-responsive. I still recall the unnatural silence in the room, as she was taken over to the examination area. Being understandably concerned, I asked if she was dead. I do not remember any response to my question. She was examined and her airways were cleared, among other things. Eventually, when she had some colour in her skin again, they brought her over to me-albeit very briefly. She was taken away to the Special Care Baby Unit, where she would stay for around 7-10 days. During that time, I was on the maternity ward, and was increasingly aware that I appeared to be the only mother who did not have their baby with them for any length of time. Instead, I went across to the SCBU, and later on to the nursery, to spend as much time with her as I could. I went back to my ward for meals, sometimes, but half the time I forgot about them entirely. She didn't do very much, on account of being a newborn baby, but that didn't seem to make any difference to me. I was captivated by her. She was my adorable little girl. On her first night in SCBU, I sang Twinkle Twinkle Little Star to her, whilst she lay in her large plastic box, with wires and such attached to her. I was so nervous just to touch her through the hand holes in the sides. I do recall when she had the heel prick test done, and understandably she cried. I instinctively gave her my finger to suck on, which she did. It seemed to give her comfort, even if it was momentary. I was discharged after 3 days on the ward, whilst she stayed in the nursery. I still walked up to the hospital every day to see her, and take clean clothes for her, and milk I had attempted to express whilst at home. After about 10 days, she was finally allowed to come home to us. We dressed her up warmly, clipped her into her new car seat, and we went home on the bus. As a family. The first night was very hard for me, as she seemed to keep crying, and I didn't know what she wanted. By the following morning, I was exhausted. Sleep deprivation has never been good for me, especially emotionally. So when we had an unannounced guest at the door, come to check on Sienna, not surprisingly I wasn't in the mood. It was a Health Visitor. I remained in bed, and my partner spoke to the woman. She seemed concerned that I wasn't feeling up to talking with her, so I got up and came out of the bedroom. I have no recollection of what she asked me or what I said to her. I know at some point I mentioned about having Sienna adopted, as I felt like I couldn't cope. Naturally, alarm bells began to ring. Within the hour, we had the Health Visitor, the Mental Health team, the Social Workers, and I think Police in the flat. A plan was made that I needed to be assessed under the Mental Health Act. I was to go back to hospital. I had two "choices" before me. I could go to hospital "voluntarily" with somebody escorting me, or I could "refuse", whereby I would be arrested and taken to hospital against my will to be assessed. In an attempt to feel like I had some control, I opted for the "voluntarily" option. I was then asked to prepare my daughter. So I gathered the things she would need, and clipped her into her car seat once more. Rather suddenly, I let out a guttural scream. She then went off to her paternal grandmother's house, and I went to hospital. When I arrived, I was taken into a room where two men I didn't know came in to question me. I barely looked at them, my face swollen and my eyes filled with tears, and after 10 minutes my fate had been decided. I was to be admitted under the Mental Health Act. I was taken to a new ward, intended for mothers and babies. Sienna joined me there for one night, during which time I couldn't cope alone. She was then taken back to her grandmother's. Some time later, I was asked by Social Services to sign a form which in effect said that I agreed to voluntarily put Sienna in their care. I refused. Her father agreed. A couple of days later, I went back and signed the forms. I knew at the time it was a bad idea, but I was being coerced into it by those around me. I knew I was in a precarious state emotionally and mentally, and I didn't deny it. But I knew that that form was wrong. I simply felt it. By the end of the year, shortly before Christmas (december 19th, I think?), Sienna was placed under a Special Guardianship Order with her paternal grandmother. I would later discover that said grandmother was in fact an alcoholic. By the time the final court date had arrived, I was so worn down and beaten that I truly believed that Sienna would be better off without me raising her, and I agreed to the Special Guardianship Order. I went to see Sienna a few times after the court case had concluded. The last time I saw her, I ended up getting into an argument with the grandmother, and I bit her arm after she insulted both myself and my mother. I haven't seen either of them since that day in 2013. This is the Sienna I remember, and the one I last saw. View attachment 23006 Now she is at primary school, and about to turn 7 years old. View attachment 23005
Now and then I am reminded of my father, who passed away back in 2001. He loved trainspotting, photography, and nature. He had a dark room at the back of the house, for developing his films. When I started Secondary School, this would become my bedroom. At the time, I didn't think much of it. Nowadays, though, I feel sort of guilty. It was a passion of his, and a space where he could retreat from the world. We lived in a three bedroomed house, and we didn't have a garage, so there wasn't anywhere else. It was either his photography or me (in a way), I guess. He was already ill by that point. He'd discovered a lump in his throat whilst shaving one morning. He was diagnosed with Acute Myeloid Leukaemia back in 1994, when I was 8. I don't know the full extent of what he must have gone through, but I know he had his spleen removed (Splenectomy). This left a huge scar across his body, as the spleen was 3x the size it should have been, because it was jammed full of cancerous cells. He had his blood cleaned, and put back (Leukapheresis). He even had a full blood transfusion, swapping his blood entirely to that of his brothers, who was a different blood type. He had chemotherapy too. He developed bad jaundice and smelled very strongly of tinned sweetcorn for a while. I still think of him when I smell it now. When my sister left home at 16, she went back indoors to get her jacket. She returned to the car and announced that he'd told her he loved her. Apparently, I responded with "Does that mean I have to move out before he'll tell me?". It's true to say that my dad was very stoic, and seemingly unemotional. But he did have depression for most of his life. He was married before he met my mother, to a woman named Jenny. They travelled around Europe in a yellow VW campervan, though I don't know where they went. They had divorced some time before he met my mother. His marriage to my mother was far from a romantic ideal. My mother discovered she was pregnant, and his response was "I suppose we'd best get married then." When he went into work with doughnuts to celebrate the birth of his first child, his co-workers were dumbfounded. They didn't even know he was married! I remember waking up in the night one Christmas, aware that someone was in my room. It was my dad dressed in red, placing our stockings by the beds. He roared the house down on one occasion, and my mother flew upstairs to see what had happened. He was laid in the bed, with his big toe pointing straight upwards. Turns out he had cramp! He would come home from work on weekdays, and often bring back some kind of sweets for us. Kinder eggs, a Thornton's chocolate pig or mouse, sometimes stickers if we were collecting a particular set. He enjoyed watching Friends, Blackadder, and nature documentaries. He enjoyed the squirrels and foxes that came to our garden. He'd buy beers with funny names, and submit his photos to magazines. He even wrote a book-about trains of course. He went to University, but I don't know what he studied there. He worked at Transport For London for thirty years. When his illness started to really impact on him, he was forced to take medical retirement. He wasn't happy about that, but he just didn't have the energy to fight the disease, work Mon-Fri and then go trainspotting at the weekend as well. It was too much. We had the odd family holiday, but we couldn't travel too far away incase he needed to go back into hospital at a moments notice. He spent a lot of time in Guy's Hospital in London. After 9/11, he told my mother not to come and see him there, incase it got hit. His eldest grandchild, whom he would never meet, was named after him. View attachment 23000 And whilst I too struggle with depression, (as much as I hate it) in a weird way it does make me feel closer to my father. So does watching steam trains, although his personal favourite was diesels. Class 62, I think.
Upon recently discovering a channel on YT that resonated with me so well, I got thinking about the many different people, positions, expectations, and demands that are placed on ourselves and on each other every single day. Life is not simple, it is hard. It has ups and downs. For some people, these will be more severe and long lasting, for others they will be brief and fleeting. We all react differently to different things because we are human. We have individual thoughts, feelings, expressions, words, body language and a multitude of other things going on in our minds, in our lives, in our relationships. Nothing is fixed. We can not guarantee anything in this life, from the sun rising in the morning, to us taking our next breath, how we will cope with the passing of an exam, or the passing of a loved one. If we take some time to remind ourselves of that, and to simply try our best each day, then we can't do much more than that. None of us are here forever, and so what we can do whilst we are here will make a difference. It may not make a difference to the whole world, but it will make a difference to some people, some animals, some thoughts. For me, I find this takes a lot of the pressure off. Knowing that when I eventually pass, the world will keep on as it was before I was walking on it.
I have recently discovered that I have ADHD. Now that I know this, my life makes so much more sense to me. It explains why I had/have: Difficulty focusing at school-I was always being told off for daydreaming, and got poked with a pen by my teacher to 'bring me back to earth' Difficulty staying still-I vividly remember my mum describing me as a fidget Difficulty staying entertained-I spent a lot of my childhood saying I was bored Trouble with maintaining friendships/making friends-Which explains why I don't have any IRL ones today! Trouble with maintaining romantic relationships-I would often get bored of people (I know that sounds horrible, and I didn't like that I was that way, but I didn't know why I was, or how to change it), lose interest, or cheat Difficulty maintaining a job-The longest one lasted for 1 year, and that was part-time. The last job I had I managed 3 weeks out of 4 for training. I got so immensely stressed, that I couldn't continue. Trouble with homework-Oh my word! If I came home with homework, my mum dreaded it, as it would mean hours of trying to get me to get it done Difficulty finishing projects-This is one that is very prominent in my adult life Trouble with chores-I have mentioned about washing up mountain elsewhere, and it is an ongoing issue! There's probably many more, but those are the main ones that come to my mind. On the one hand, it is nice to have a name for these issues, but I also know that I was and still am accountable for my past actions. At least now I know more about myself, I can work to change myself for the better, which is definitely what I want. I also have 3 good reasons (my daughters and my man) to do it, which helps. Failing At Normal: An ADHD Success Story-Jessica McCabe:
When I was diagnosed as having depression in my teens, I was quite relieved. I felt that having a name for how I felt was a good thing, as it meant it could be fixed. Years later, I have discovered that that was not to be the case. The first drug I was given was Fluoxetine (Prozac). This was far too heavy for me, and caused me to feel emotionally numb, and cut off from real life. I felt like I was in a glass box, simply watching the world around me, but not connected to it. It was whilst I was taking this, that my father passed away from Leukaemia. Technically, it was from a bug he had picked up, but as he no longer had a spleen, and had endured lots of chemotherapy and such, he essentially had no immune system left to fight it. He was admitted into hospital for it, and he never came out. Years later, when I was 26, I was diagnosed as having Emotionally Unstable Personality Disorder. I didn't know what that meant, and I didn't feel like I was helped to understand it, or how it affected me. I was referred on to an Introduction To Mentalisation-Based Therapy for 12 weeks. Some months went by after I completed this, and I was eventually enrolled onto a One-Day-Per-Week Therapy Group. I attended this for the best part of a year, and it was the highlight of my week. Eventually, I dropped out, as I moved across the country. Nowadays, I live alone with no real life friends, and neither of my daughters. Sienna is 6, and lives in England with her paternal grandmother under a Special Guardianship Order which remains in place until she turns 18. My other daughter, Hope, is 2 and is in foster care here in Ireland, and has been since she was taken at 7 weeks old. Both of them were taken, at least in part, due to my mental health difficulties. The problem I have with this is mainly that my diagnoses seem to have been used as justification for taking my daughters from me. I readily admit that with Sienna, I struggled a lot. I was sectioned for observation, and released within 2 weeks. I was prescribed mild anti-depressants. At that time, I was living with Sienna's father in a council flat, and we were on benefits. I had no friends, and my mother came to see us twice. When I fell pregnant with Hope in 2015, me and her father made the decision to move to Southern Ireland, as Social Services were making plans to take her from us. In this instance, Hope's father had a history of mental health issues, and had been sectioned for a couple of years due to physical violence towards his siblings. He was around 14 years of age at that time. When Hope was conceived, he was 23. In February 2016, we came to Dublin. By 11th March, we had signed a tenancy for a one bedroom flat in County Longford. Me and Hope's father have been split up for 15 months, and I cut him off completely in June this year. It is only now that I am totally alone, and with many professionals looking at me, that I have become very aware of myself, and my behaviour. My reactions to things and to other people. My lack of social connections, and exercise. My poor diet, insomnia, anxiety and isolating depression. I have a lot of work to do, and in a very short space of time. I doubt that I can do what is expected of me, and with my anxiety and apathy, I don't know how much I will be able to achieve for the judge to find in my favour come this December. On the one hand, if I don't turn my life around, I run the very real risk of losing my best chance of having my daughter returned to my care. On the other hand, if I can pull it off, my life will be irrevocably changed, forever. It will have a lasting impact on my mental health either way, and I am terrified of the prospect of either eventuality. Florence and The Machine-Shake It Out
So, today I discovered that my ex (Hope's father) has moved out of his flat. Hurray you might say. Well, yes, and no. Human emotion is complex. I haven't spoken to him in over 3 weeks. I blocked his number when he returned to Ireland and that was it. I've heard and seen nothing of him since. Not even an email from him or his family. I am stunned, but quietly grateful. So, why am I blogging this? Who cares? Well, probably no one. But I care, because it has upset me. He wasn't just an unpredictable aggressive arsehole, and I guess that is the reason for this blog post. I miss the person he could've been, the person I hoped he would become. I miss the idea of our little family unit, of happiness and homeschooling, birdwatching and baking. Now, it will be a new path and a new future-for me, and for Hope. I intend with every fibre of my being to fight for her return. To confront the SWs and ask them to help me get my daughter home to me. I want to be a proper, full time mother. I will take medication to help with my depression, I will attend all my appointments with all the relevant bodies. I will cook food for Hope, and take it to contacts. I will ask to take her out to the shops, to feed the ducks. I have to do these things. That is what they are looking for, for me to ask them for her return and to show my willingness to prove my abilities! It has taken me this long to figure it out, but I have finally got there! So, here's to a new and brighter future-for me and my daughter!
I am going to be truly upfront and honest here, because why the hell not? (I am going from the power a particular song has given me.) I hereby confess that my ex was/is not all sweetness and niceties. He can, and has been physically and verbally violent and aggressive. Not just towards professionals, but to me as well. I have been hiding this truth for a long time, as I was ashamed of both myself as well as him. I didn't want to accept the truth that I had been living within, but now is the time, because if not now, then when? I need to do this for my daughter, as well as myself. She deserves the world, and I plan to try and give it to her. In order to do that, I must break down my own walls and barriers, accept reality in all it's harsh light, and reach out to others. This is something I have never done in my life, and it scares the hell out of me, but I must do it! I know I can do it, and I know it will be incredibly difficult, but I have to. So, here goes...! Amy Lee-Love Exists:
