Lady Fuckwit

Taking pleasure in the small things in life

Blue for girls and pink for boys ??

Having completed the obligatory pre-Christmas trip to the toy store, I had a little rant on twitter. My rant was focused on the affects of standing in the store and feeling like I must venture the pink aisle for my daughter and the blue aisle for my sons. There is nothing implicit about the way in which toys are presented to us; it is gobsmackingly unashamedly explicit in fact. Why do I find this so offensive? Because it is wrong on so many levels. We are identified at birth by or anatomy, the same baby dressed in pink or blue will receive very different comments ‘oh she is so pretty’, ‘what a handsome boy he is, so strong’,

Ah yes! the great nature versus nurture debate prevails. However, let us be perfectly clear on what we all know, sex is biological and gender is a social construct.  Gender encompasses our need for conformity more than anything else. We use gender as a frame of reference; we feel we need gender to operate, which is evident in the toy store. Gender is something we ‘do’. An enactment between individuals and society and in a lot of social interactions gender defines how we treat each other.

Twitter dads were annoyed and bemused that Nerf guns had to be available in pink for it to be considered acceptable for girls to play with weapons. It seemed the world and its mother (or father – oops!) were shaking their heads at Kinder’s production of gendered chocolate eggs.  The important question on twitter was why would companies driven by profit isolate half the population? The answer has to be because marketing research proves it works.  Gendering goes beyond profit, when we accept gender biases everyone loses out.  The male versus female and femininity versus masculinity debates have one commonality – women and men are seen as opposed to each other. Boys don’t cry and girls aren’t great at science and maths – both preposterous but often socially accepted myths. It serves no interest for the male of the species to by emotionally inept and unable to expression themselves with tears if that is how to feel, except maybe the drugs companies that produce medication for depression and anxiety – no society wants that. Equally, girls doing needlework and avoiding maths or science would manifest in negative connotations both socially and psychologically.

When my daughter was four, with a furrowed brow she worriedly asked to whom she would get married, I explained that she didn’t have to get married, the look of relief flooded her little cheeky face. Her brother then blurted ‘ and why do I have to get married if she doesn’t?’ he was equally relieved that he didn’t have to either. My teenage son gets antsy when ‘gay’ is mentioned, regardless of the amount of work I have done to reinforce equality of all individuals but he’ll grow out of it – I will make sure of it. My daughter was once given a pink ironing board as a birthday present and I couldn’t consign it to recycling fast enough. My issue was not with a play ironing board but the gendering of it.

Part of what makes me a massive contradiction is the way I ‘do’ gender personally. I epitomize femininity; hair, nails, clothes, high heels, demeanor, and attitude.  As a child I played contact sports, climbed walls, sported scabby knees as a badge of honor and could spit as far as my male cohorts when challenged. Gendering, is a result of our primary socialization, how our parents raised us and how we ‘fulfilled our roles as daughters or sons was often implicitly rewarded. Reared by my father I was taught that education was paramount and no boys were necessarily ‘better’ than me – I learned this whilst attending an all girl’s convent school – the irony isn’t lost on me either.

My twitter timeline and interactions are proof that neither men nor women are buying into gendered stereotyping. Fathers especially are disgruntled that society is attempting to dictate the toys their beautiful (oops) and intelligent (of course) daughters are supposed to play with and indeed women too are aghast that even good old-fashioned Lego is available in gendered ways.

The media is often blamed as the perpetrators of negative gendering. I think it is more than that I think the locus of control is within each of us. If my boys want to play with guns and their sister too, then I will encourage their creativity and inclusiveness. When my boys bake or sort laundry with me I avail of the opportunity to tell them that domesticity is something they must be able to do as part of life’s skills. The fact still remains though, I will not be buying gendered Kinder chocolate eggs but my favorite color is still pink and 12-year-old me would still wrestle any boy to the ground that wanted to make an issue of my choice. I’ll still ‘do’ gender my way but with respect because gendering doesn’t have to be derisory or derogatory.  Trust me…I’m a girl…


Trust me ~ I’m no pistanthrophobe

photo.PNGI firmly believe that secure attachment in our relationships is similar to that of a child’s relationship with their primary carer. In a positive, loving relationship a child intrinsically knows that their needs will be met. They know they will be loved, listened to, kept safe, offered unconditional advice, protected, wanted, needed and valued. As a healthy relationship grows between the parent and child, laughter, friendship, comfort, respect and more will flourish. Our secure relationships as adults are no different. Of course, not everyone has had a secure attachment in childhood and if that is the case, then they just have a different starting point, one that requires much effort but effort that will reap rewards. The solid groundwork for romantic positive relationships can be created in childhood. I believe, secure relationships stem from trust.

Recently I was driving somewhere unimportant and the whole concept of trust and integrity came to mind. I was sat  in my car at a junction and watched another driver indicate. I have  learned to protect myself when driving, watching the signals from other drivers.  I have learned that if they are driving too fast or have not slowed down then it is not a given that they will behave as indicated. I have learned to read the signs, I know that should I trust the other driver implicitly, I could put myself in danger and therefore I wait. I wait until I am sure that they will in fact turn as they have indicated or until I am sure that I can move off unscathed.  We all learn that others may  become distracted, accidently used their indicators, or changed their minds and although they mean us no harm they could potentially do us a lot of damage. Why then would we behave any differently in a relationship? Why would trust be something that we would do without protecting ourselves?

Throwing caution to the wind and trusting someone completely would seem careless, ludicrous perhaps. Yet, we do trust our partners, we trust them in the same way a child trusts a parent to whom they are securely attached, except we do so in an adult manner. We know the other person has the ability to hurt us, for it would be rare that anyone would not have suffered heartache at the hands of a lover at some stage in their lives.  My father used to say, ‘it’s the getting up again, not the falling that matters’. In love, sometimes we have to take a leap of faith, a leap that is based on our past experiences, experiences that shape us yet do not define us unless we let them. We must learn to trust.

Our trust issues are our own. We own them and when we know we are responsible for our own decisions, actions and choices then we have a high degree of internal control. My father, a wise man, offered much advice that stays with me, he was forthright in his expectation that I would take responsibility for my own actions and used to say ‘when you point a finger at someone, remember there are three more pointing back at you’.

We cannot take responsibility for the behavior of others. If the behavior of another has hurt us too much from which we can recover, we will not give them further credence by allowing their behavior to define us. We have already given them more than they deserve.

I was having a chat with a dear twitter friend on the timeline recently about trust, it wasn’t intentional but it was fruitful. He said something to me that can be applied to almost anyone, ‘TIME and the right, informed and understanding man will earn your trust. He’ll be willing to bide his time and prove his worth”, @facetiousphil has a way with words.

We all have vulnerabilities, I tend to express mine in order to work through them and I’m ok with that. You see, I have people in my life that I trust completely; we all have, if we are lucky. People are important to me, and I know intuitively that they are worth trusting and so am I. I want to trust even if I must risk getting hurt, for without trust there is a void.  Like standing on the sideline of a rugby match, cheering on my son. I wrap my coat around me, deep breathe in the cold air, smile encouragement at him and mouth the words ‘trust me! you’re doing great’. He responds with a smile so similar to my own and I tell myself ‘you’re doing great too’.

The next step…

Divorce conceptNo tears from me, as the transitional nature of moving from one phase to another in our lives often leaves us temporarily on unsolid ground. The ensuing turmoil when mistakes are made, when lashing out becomes the order of the day and when fear irks our hearts. The period of time between solid-ground is not a time for tears, but a time for bravery.

You know it is over when there is no bravery in their eyes, no respect shown in their behavior, angry silences, unspoken hatred burning twisting and turning deep within, when blame and seething are the only certainties, then it is time to walk away. When there is no effort to engage beyond responses to proposed questions, that is when only one person is trying at any given time. Then the courage to finally say enough is enough and to take the step to leave underhanded, subconscious and often conscious, if not always intentional, abuse. When good intentions are questioned and doubts are at the fore, then it is apparent that nothing can make two people stay together. Yet, all is not lost when valuable lessons are learned.

I gave my heart and offered it to be broken, it was a risk, would I do it again? Yes I would.  Would I change who and what I am? Life will alter me I have no reason to force adjustment.  Would I lose myself again? Never.  Would I go back? Well that doesn’t even need to be answered, for there is nothing to go back to, only forward.  Devoid of love, respect and trust? Then, no thank you very much, I’ll pass.

When someone is a kind and thoughtful person, when they appear to care more about another’s happiness than their own, they will be taken for granted until they balance their wants and needs with their lover’s wants and needs. Because two people no longer want to be together, because their relationship became fractured, does not make either of them bad people, it just means they are no longer good for each other.  I have never believed that opposites attract, like-minded people validate each other’s beliefs and views, and there tends to be fewer conflicts as a result. I like nothing better than to meet people with whom I have common beliefs and interests.  Therefore, another lover is a certainty for me.

The next man will eventually wake each morning beside me, knowing he is as lucky to be mine as I am his. He will feel my passion for life and his strength will appreciate my sensuality. He will be my best friend, my wonderful lover, my anchor, the steady hand that guides me when I am unsure and I will be all of this and more to him. Our insecurities and weaknesses will be understood for what they are, not just flaws but part of who we are. Forgiveness and kindness whilst on our journey, as we find our feet will be given due respect and attention.  We will share laughter and love, through the rough and the smooth tides of life. We will support each other. There will be nothing punitive and when mistakes are made they will not be used against but rather for the betterment of the relationship. The banal will become interesting as we operate as individuals and organically we will be a team, nothing forced, no demands, no unattainable standards.  The fragility of love that we have found in each other will be honored and protected. It will be a learning curve, I am far from perfect but I know I am worth it.

I don’t need a man. I am not afraid to be alone, alone is good and it is educational and has benefits but I am a sensual being and one cannot be sensual alone. I will never say never as I am too clever to be a fool and previous hurt and pain will not dictate how I live the rest of my life. I am in no hurry, there is no rush, the time will come, when I am good and ready. I would rather have peace and tranquility for anxiety and fear have no place in true love any more than I have a need for a chocolate fireguard and are about as useful. I know very little of romance, and what I did know I have forgotten so that also will be interesting, is there a romantic side to all of us and will my skepticism betray me? Who knows what life will bring, all I really do know is the next chapter has but a number and I will enjoy every step of the journey…



She sat in her hotel room on the edge of the bed, her hands clutching the plush soft cotton sheets beneath her fingers, her legs crossed and her back straight. She was scanning the room and taking in every detail trying to focus her mind on the events that got her to where she now was.  She had to concentrate on breathing and trying not to cry she exhaled every breath steady but painfully.  She looked down at her legs, realising she still hadn’t changed her clothes.  Her tight blue denim jeans were restrictive, but she didn’t have the energy to remove them just yet.  Her bare feet were moving slowly feeling the soft carpet almost like a child would a comfort blanket.  She tried to align her thoughts, his rejection played heavy on her mind and the games he had played were dangerous and nonsensical to her. She had loved him she told herself, yet the uncertainty on her mind made her finish her thought with the word ‘once’.

She reflected on the final descent of her relationship with him, unsure of the relationship he had had with her now.  They had argued again and again. She questioned  how their relationship had devolved into one dark and deep power struggle. Her personal worth was overshadowed by his mind games and as she had tried to make sense of his behaviour she realised that logic had no place in how he argued.  Shifting from one point to another always wanting to come out on top, never staying on one issue long enough to reach any sort of constructive conclusion.

She had been drinking with friends that evening, celebrating a friend’s recent engagement and also another friend’s pregnancy announcement. The champagne had flowed and whilst she had intended on joining others for a meal in a local restaurant the evening was mostly a blur after a few too many proffered cocktails.

She had arrived home to find him pacing the living room floor and as he grabbed her wrist insisting to know where she had been and whom she was with she felt queasy and pushing him away she made her way to bed. She remembers seeing his silhouette in the open doorway with the light from the bedroom hallway behind him. He had a glass in his hand and drinking the last of the contents she asked him to leave and she closed her eyes. She was roused by the touch of his hand on her back as he firmly grabbed her breast she pushed him away telling him she wanted him to leave her alone, she was no longer his. He left the room and she began to relax surrendering to sleep in an effort to stop the spinning room.

Now, in her hotel room, she got undressed and ran the shower. The fluffy white towels she placed on the bathroom shelf and as she succumbed to the warmth of the shower she blocked out what had happened.  How she had woken from an unconscious sleep and felt the weight of him on top of her, slowly withdrawing from between her legs and looking her straight in the face had smiled and said ‘thanks’.  As the water cascaded down her body washing away the evidence, she noticed the bruising on her thighs and tried to wash it away but, to no avail.  She could not cry, she could not think straight, all she knew was that she would make him pay, someday, someday when she was stronger.

For now she was empty, empty but grateful that they would never have to make a pregnancy announcement like all their friends were doing compatible with their age. They’re break-up would appear to be a cut and dried to everyone else would see it as inevitable. Exhausted she climbed between the sheets.  Tears slid slowly and steadily down her cheeks and as she lay on her back looking at the ceiling in the dim soothing light she felt overwhelmed.

Tonight she would rest, no one knew where she was, she just needed to be alone, tomorrow she would be stronger.  The emptiness, the void she felt deep within would perpetuate until she could formulate a plan, of this she was sure.  A plan to destroy him, a plan to break him, nothing else mattered to her now; he would pay for what he had done to her and pay handsomely.  The softness to her, the warmth she had always felt towards him was gone and now she felt nothing but a need to navigate through this transition and as she contemplated her future an awareness and thoughtfulness rose within her, with indecision behind her she faced the gaunt emptiness inside.


Screen Shot 2013-06-04 at 13.20.34She rallied her thoughts, trying to comprehend the words he spewed with venom. She was falling apart, her thoughts conflicting as he was watched her. She needed to regain her composure or he would win. Her body was trembling with adrenalin flowing through her and producing an agitated appearance. His words rattled her, his questioning and attempts to excuse his behaviour becoming intense and manipulative. She was drawn to glancing sideways at the door instinctually wanting to be sure she could leave, she needed to know she had the comfort of an escape if it was necessary.

She desperately tried to hang onto a semblances of normality, she felt physically sick as she listened to him attempting to justify his behavior. She almost laughed when he tried to convince her this was, in part, her fault and blame had to be shared. She didn’t remember herself paying for high-class call girls as he had done or engaged in years of cheating, she told him. His twisting of words was irrational and illogical and she felt comfortable in knowing she had him cornered, he flipped from one train of thought to another, unable to produce a convincing argument beyond vague and unspecific statements.

She disagreed that she had reaped the benefits of being married to him; her luxurious lifestyle, he said, was a result of his money. His orientation towards monetary excesses and gains was palpable as he tried to degrade her by insinuating her reasoning for being with him all these years was because of affluence. His accusations prompted her in to action, she removed the keys to the sports car from her pocket that he had presented to her only weeks ago and placed them on the cold marble counter top, silently. Whilst he continued on his rant, beads of sweat formed on his forehead and she could see he was becoming increasingly uncomfortable her confidence returned. Once his gaze followed her hand and it dawned on him that she was returning the car, he faltered, hesitated and began to change tact, saying if she returned everything she would have nothing. Now she knew she had him unnerved.

Nothing was what she wanted from him, his dirty deeds and inadequate words made her feel violated and used, she continued, sensing his insecurity by removing her three carat diamond engagement ring and matching wedding ring and slowly she placed them beside the car keys. She smirked at him, not wanting to break eye contact, she was finally rising to the challenge, goading him with her silent actions and composed demeanor. He raised his voice and as it filled the large shadowy dark room in which was once a dining area that held much laughter and friends, she removed her jewel encrusted designer watch and held it out for him to take. He snarled as he dismissed her efforts with a sweeping hand and a deep-throated guttural attempt at a condescending laugh. She was enjoying her power over him, something she now realized she had never had before and so she continued. Slowly removing her short black jacket, bought just recently during a long weekend in Milan in a store that oozed quality, she dropped it on the floor in front of her and continued to strip.

He began a tirade of caustic humiliating remarks, saying she was crazy and her mind was warped as she slowly resumed her efforts by removing her clothing and her coveted high heels until she stood naked in front of him. Her clothing was now in a pile on the hard wooden floor between them. He was mute, almost fearful in his approach; she was enjoying his confusion between admiration and uncertainty. Unhurriedly she spoke, she began by gesturing to the floor and then leisurely raised her hand to draw attention to her toned and tanned body. She began to speak, staring him in the face, holding her head high as she spoke with factual confidence, “I never wanted anything from you but your love, you cannot buy me and you no longer own me, I am no longer yours, this is the last time she will see me naked” He motioned to speak but she extended her hand and held her palm gesturing for him to stop. Once he closed his mouth she continued, “I hope you and your money are very happy together, I will get what is rightfully mine and I will destroy you, I know too much for you to play games with me, your money will not save you, not anymore”.

With these as her parting words she left the room and knowing he wouldn’t follow her because her threat would have frozen him she went upstairs, called a cab, dressed in her gym wear and packed a bag. She had earned her own money and though it was not anything like the amount he had, it was enough. Tonight, she would check into a hotel and begin to formulate her plan. As the taxi pulled away from the imposing house that had once been her home she saw his silhouette in the front doorway and she swore she would never look back. She was emotionally and mentally naked, bent, but she knew she was not broken. Her nakedness would be her strength eventually, she had nothing to hide unlike the man she had left behind.

Disparity ~ Cruelty

The truth was he had needs, needs that were beyond his control he told himself. He paced the floor of a room illuminated with an eerie glow. The light of the lamp allowed him enough light to withstand total darkness, he pondered how he could have been so irresponsible, or moreover how she could have been so prudent. He had never thought her wise before, beautiful yes, innocent definitely, devoted to him undoubtedly, talented of course, but wise, how had he missed that he now asked himself. The reflection in the mirror overhead the fire-place caught his eye, as the painting on the wall behind him increased his tension and anger.

He turned to look at it and walking towards it he was almost fearful of this beautiful painting. The light above it creating a sombre halo effect, it looked almost menacing now. She had painted it shortly after they had first met, a portrait of him. He narrowed his eyes and for an instance he did not recognise himself, the person before him was sinister and mocking, he had never seen these traits before and blamed the brandy as he diverted his attention and returned to blaming others.

He seized the mentally domineering photographs, held six of them in his hand, and relinquished the crystal cut glass he had held in a vice-grip placing it on the antique lamp table. He examined each photograph in detail, he quickly flicked through the debris of his life that unfolded before him. He began to feel a strain in his groin as his, until now, flaccid cock was aroused by the revelation that lay before him. Preposterously, he couldn’t even remember her name; this stunning long-legged, blonde on all fours as he knelt behind her unleashing his masculinity, buried deep inside her.

He could not fathom how the photographer had managed to get such a photograph and as he swore distinctively, spitting venom in the low ebb of light of the room, he felt so alone as he swore he would find him and ruin the bastard that had paradoxically ruined his life and in return he would pay him the gratitude of destroying his life, as best he could. He had immense experience in ruining lives; he knew this would not be a challenge.  He felt no remorse as he vowed to obliterate this man who had compromised his entire life. He thought, if this professional had been clever enough to catch him fucking another woman then he should have been clever enough to have checked his credentials. A professional, he told himself, would have known who he was, the photographer should have realised he was not a man to trifle with, for he was someone with considerable power and prestige, someone who could ruin people with little effort. Should the investigator have come to him and told him what he had been requested to do by his wife, he would have paid him double to produce an innocent report.

As for the girl, he had paid the top rate to the agency; he had paid for her physically but also to be protected from such an encounter. The agency, he used, had prided itself on discretion and as he threw the photographs onto the coffee table from whence they came, he swore to destroy the agency too. He would do what he had to do to end their reign of eroticism paid for by men and women like him, people who compensated discretion. The sorrow and hurt he had felt earlier in the day was now churning its way to bitterness and formulating plans of revenge. He swallowed another shot of brandy, feeling warmth in contrast to the coldness he sensed inside himself and as he increased the volume on the classical music that filled the house, he manipulated his own feelings. He had not to think of his wife sleeping whilst he fumed with anger, he blamed everyone for how he was now negatively portrayed, he blamed everyone involved, except himself.

He reflected how had paid for a service; his cash had been accepted as a contract for protection, he had done nothing wrong he told himself. He was well aware that he had betrayed his wife and broken her heart but only because he was caught. He began to reflect as to why she had felt it necessary to doubt him and as he poured himself another brandy and he began to seethe with rage.

He had given her everything she wanted, since the day he met her, that wonderful day now tainted by the photographs that lay before him as evidence. His obsessive negative behaviour propelled him to believe she would manipulate the evidence that lay before him to extract half of all he had acquired. Yet, he knew, without her, half of everything would mean nothing, he had to have her, to possess and own her, being without her was not an option. Even in light of all that lay before him, the anger and lack of control he now felt would never make sense of his burning need to possess her, the raw necessity he felt to be inside her as she gloriously succumbed to his every effort to sexually undo her, to fuck her into submission by his prowess and yet to keep her pure.

He had not set out to fall in love with her, he was happy to be in control of such weak emotion he told himself as he reflected on the first time he saw her. She had sat cross-legged on a picnic blanket in a park to which he had never been before. He had broken up with a work intern the night before and in an effort to avoid the girl and the drama he knew would ensue; he had went for a walk.

As he climbed the path into the park, she had caught his eye and he watched her to distract himself from envisaging the mournful scene the night before. The stupid girl had taken the break up dramatically. He thought she should have known she was nothing important, surely, he reflected she knew he had tired of her and her upper class conduct. He had explored everything sexual with her, pushed her boundaries waited for her to refrain from his wanton ways. He had wanted her to declare that she had had enough, but the devoted fool kept giving until there was no more he could do with her. He realized that she could contribute nothing more because she had physically and mentally assumed everything and when he recognized her ineptitude to yield to his desires he wanted to get out. In fact he had to break free of her, stifled as he felt, her a weight around his him. She had become needy and wanting.

He knew she was devoted to him, everyone did and although she was very beautiful she was no challenge and therefore he methodically has ordained that she no longer served him any purpose. Now, he reflected that the disparity between the women in his life was not lost on him, not lost on him at all.


QuestionsHe sat at his desk and in a moment of weakness put his head in his hands. Colleagues were leaving for the weekend going home to partners, lovers, family and friends. They discussed their plans to spend time with those who made them happy or those to whom they must fulfill their obligations and the details he had been forced to hear had bored him. He had half-heartedly listened as they discussed during random conversations how their long weekend would come to pass but nothing they said could hold his interest.

With no fear of interruption, he absentmindedly drew a line on a blank page with the pen she had given him for his birthday. He continued by drawing intersectional lines, it was a timeline, a crude rough draft of a timeline he was used to drawing in his head, to anyone else they would mean nothing, to him it was his way of trying to make sense of how he now found himself in this position.  He realised he was making a timeline and turning over the page he drew a circle and thought how could he make sense of something that had no beginning and no end?  He was fed up and losing patience with himself as he scribbled wildly over the page and threw the silver pen across the large wooden desk. None of this was really his fault he knew, he just needed to reexamine the circumstances and construct his own reality.

He had avoided leaving the office too early, for he now had no one to go home to. No aroma of a home cooked evening meal would greet him at the door, no sound of her humming to herself as she did when she thought she was alone. No more would the house they had once shared feel warm and inviting, now it was just bricks and mortar, cold and forlorn without her magical touch. The power of her was so strong that being in her comforting presence had made his life more meaningful and as these thoughts warmed his heart and lifted his mood, slowly his emotions fell to a bottomless place deep within him and once again he felt wounded and vacant . He had taken all he had for granted and hadn’t even realised until it was too late to turn back.

His phone vibrated and he automatically checked to see if it was her, anyone else could go to hell he thought to himself. Curling the side of what had once been a mouth used to smiling, he exhaled sharply through his nose as he remembered the saying ‘go to hell’ as the last words she had said to him.  As he made his way from the office to his car, he tried to place when he had withdrawn from her, when had he begun loving her without desire and desiring another without love? He pondered the thought, like someone looking  for a set of lost keys, he could not go forward until he was able  to find the answer. He had to start somewhere in order to make sense of his actions and what he had become.

The crux of this problem was sex. He had thought her too precious to engage in the deviant sex acts he himself was uncomfortable even admitting he craved.  To him, she was better than other women he thought of as sluts or whores. Women who were ‘up for it’, women who used their erotic power to break his will, his resolve and his happiness. She was more than that to him, she was to be idolised, to be adored and to be revered, and she was not to be treated as a sexual plaything. He began to perspire as he become uncomfortable in his own body. He adjusted the air conditioning on the dashboard in an effort to cool down as he remembered her wanting to try ‘something new’ in the bedroom and how shame had overcome him. He couldn’t do with her what he did with other women and that was why he did what he did with them, to spare her to humiliation he thought she would feel,to him, she was just too precious.

As he turned the key in his front door and entered the eerily quiet hallway, the words he had used that fateful day resonated in his memory.  He told himself  he did it all for her, he  told her so when she produced the evidence the private investigator had presented.  He had tried to explain his dilemma; he was unable to love any woman who could satisfy him sexually and was unable to be sexually satisfied by her whom he loved.  She had tried to understand, she explained that she would have offered him any part of herself, she did not have to have a limited sexual identity.  She said she had wanted to be everything to him and that she would have done anything to fit into his sexual values and desires. Anything to make him happy, to work through any exploration, self and sexual to keep him and make their relationship stronger.

He sunk into the beautifully upholstered armchair and brought his hands to his face, trying to erase the thoughts in his head.  She was beside herself with anguish, describing the evidence that now littered the coffee table in front of him, photographs, private messages on social network sites, GPS reports on his car and timetables of his cruelty, yes that is the word she used, he remembered, his cruelty.


Two facedShe rolled her eyes, tossed her dark hair over her right shoulder, apathetically admired her fingernails and slowly released a deep sigh. She had heard this all before, the contempt in his voice, the desperation in his words, the pleading engraved on his furrowed brow like lines on a old school copy book.  She perceived herself as being a kind person, a good-natured happy go lucky kind of girl, a good friend, an attentive lover and clever. She didn’t identify with how he portrayed her to be, a heartless bitch, a liar and a cheat. She was uncomfortable with his description of her. She had learned to justify almost anything to herself; it was a skill she was proud to have acquired, thrust upon her almost when she was unable to align who she really was with what others knew her to be.

It was just a discrepancy to her, all about perception she thought, she pointed her finger and blamed others when they challenged her in anyway. Blaming anyone, other than herself, even when the truth was unavoidable. The truth was she had been unfaithful, she had lied to others and also to herself justifying her actions by twisting the truth until it was bent out of all proportion and no longer resembled reality.

Now stood in front of him the discrepancies had to be faced, she felt anxious, wondered if there was enough air in the room, she was becoming more agitated as he listed the facts of her infidelity. She felt uncomfortable in her own skin, stressed and distressed as she had to face all that she might lose if she could not lie to herself and lie her way out of this mess in which she now found herself.

Ideally and usually he would see things her way, gloss over her imperfections and in a loving way see her behavior as quirky.  Not this time, this time, she had to face the picture that she had painted of herself and to him, was not the image of herself she had in her head. Her actual and ideal self was skewed, he told her, her misconceptions of herself as a caring, respectful, kind person was becoming frayed at the edges.  As the ideal image she had of herself was lying in tatters, no longer could she deny that his words were the truth. She was agitated, felt threatened and slowly guilt began to creep into her very soul.

Damn him, she thought, damn him for confronting her, she scrambled to formulate thought in her head that would allow her to take control and make him see her the way she wanted him to.  She tried to use tactics to avoid facing reality, to apply the blame game to anyone or anything that would help her to stay in the cocooned belief she had of her self. She knew she ought to take responsibility for her own actions, but why start now when she never had before, she desperately wanted to avoid the truth about who she really was, to deny that he was in fact correct.

He was leaving and there was nothing she could do to stop him, she fired venomous words at him, words contrived of hate and spite. She denied to herself how happy having him in her life had made her.  In these closing minutes she clung to cues of achievement and success, desperately trying to pursue the upper hand. Her emotions were failing her now. Guilt, agitation and anxiety were taking over as she made last-minute efforts to achieve some semblance of winning, but it was too late, he was gone as she spat the hollow words ‘You are nothing without me’.

She wanted to feel elated and having the last say and whilst she felt relieved there was no sense of pleasure.  She listened to the silence that surrounded her and like so many times before, she once again tried to rewrite what had just happened. She heard his car pull away in the rain, she wanted to be sitting beside him going somewhere fun, listening to him confidently talking to her. Tears betrayed her and in sheer anger she threw her phone at the mirror in the hallway, smashing both to pieces, like the pieces of her life, splintered by her inability to control how two-faced she had become and never to be the same again.

Drink and be Merry

ImageSo my month of sobriety is now complete, waved away like a forlorn friend, it will be missed but I also feel a huge sigh of relief I can enjoy a few glasses of wine this evening. I have enjoyed the experience and I must admit I am sad to see it go, I almost became comfortable with not drinking, for the most part.  I enjoyed the lack of hangovers with which I had become accustomed and I have always found it easy to function with a hangover, never casting it another thought.  I would regularly say ‘never again’ after yet another ‘all-hours-into-the-morning’ session with the girls whilst thinking about the ‘hair of the dog’.   The renewed energy was revitalizing, it is easy to get out of bed after an uninterrupted good night’s sleep. My mind was more alert, I definitely lost weight and as I commenced Bikram yoga, I am more toned than I have been in a long time. So I am delighted with all that, but this is not why you are reading, you want to know about the tantrums and tears.

The first real Friday night after the festive season, I will now refer to as the ‘climbing-of-the-walls’ night.  I thought I would actually die, my mind was all set for a few glasses of wine in front of a blazing fire because that was the habit I had created. My body was almost preempting the relaxing qualities associated with the Friday night ritual. I actually did not know what to do with myself as I sat in my favourite armchair, house in silence. My twitter timeline was an alcohol fuelled wash, a text from the girls said they were meeting for drinks, everyone, I felt was having an unwinding tipple, except me and I was sulking. I had a very long bath practically floating with indignation. I had a good old chat with a friend about their troublesome teens and I went to bed early and alone. The following morning I was at yoga by 9am, delighted with myself but not entirely happy. For anyone that has taken Bikram yoga classes in forty degrees heat would concur it would be an impossible task with a hangover.

There was a Christening, a fortieth birthday party and a meal out with friends during the month of January with everyone drinking except me. I became the resident taxi to friends and family and at times, I behaved like a spoilt brat but just in my head though. I have raised a significant amount of money for a charity that supports people with depression and when I was sulking or being ‘bratty’, this pulled me through. I was doing it for a worthy cause and my tantrums were nothing in comparison to the suffering people face with depression. One twitter friend described depression as an evil disease and I can empathise with anyone suffering from ‘the black dog’ based on my own research.

Something remarkable did happen because of my abstinence, I received much support from twitter friends, many people through my mentions, direct messages and email, showed their appreciation by connecting with me and freely telling me their battles with depression. The stigma attached to depression was openly discussed amongst suffers and stories of loved one’s agonies were confided in me, some so very harrowing indeed. I must admit I was very overwhelmed by the donations people made in aid of the charity, size indeed does not matter, I am very grateful for each and every donation and thank you to all those that could manage it. Each of you made me stay on track as did my many friends who offered friendly support especially on Friday evenings when I was drinking sparkling water instead of hovering glasses of vino.

I have broken the awful habit of overindulgence, a fine lesson to myself indeed. I will never go back to drinking too much and too frequently, I hope. However, I will always enjoy a few alcoholic beverages on occasion and my girlfriends are delighted to have ‘me’ back too. I guess my aim for the future and the lesson I have learned is to ‘drink and be merry’ as opposed to being a slave to alcohol. So please raise a glass with me this evening and remember to look after your mental health and that of those around you.  If you need help with feelings of depression please reach out, there are many organizations out there than can help and one charity is the charity that will soon receive the donations my twitter friends made. So, once again thank you to everyone for your kindness, your friendship and your support.  Now someone please fetch me a glass of wine, I’m parched.

Here is the link to the charity of my choice:

A Mother’s Story of Autism and Bullying ~ Can you help?

This isn’t my usual type of blog post but a UK based twitter mom has asked me to write her story and to ask for twitter’s advice. This isn’t my story. If you have any advice or help, please leave a much appreciated comment.


“My son, Adam is 21 years, has Asperger’s syndrome, ADHD and Neurofibromatosis type 2 and has an assessed mental age of 12/13 years.


For over a year now, local youths have treated Adam as a source of entertainment. They have befriended him and taken advantage of his vulnerability, behaving as his best friend on his “payday”, when he gets his Employment and Support (ESA) benefit. They have coerced my son into buying cigarettes, alcohol, take away food, sweets, and have sold him broken mobile phones. Then they stayed away until his next payday.  I have had no choice but to control his access to his money buying him the things he needs, thus reducing his independence.


As a family, we have all become victims of the people that harass our son. Some and not all incidents include, been bombarded with knocks at our door, stones thrown at windows, verbal abuse and eggs thrown through open windows of our daughter’s bedroom. I have made several reports to the police over the past year or more resulting in some restrictive justice orders (RJO’s) being put into place. Temporarily, circumstances became quiet until one of the youths came to see Adam and said he would like to be his friend. I warned Adam against befriending someone that had previously treated him so badly, but Adam has the intellect of a 12 year old boy and is so desperate to have friends, he believed this boy and rejected all efforts I have made to protect him.


Late last year, my 20 year old daughter informed me the boy that befriended my son erroneously and another boy brought drugs into my home and smoked the drugs in my garage and garden. I physically dragged these boys from my home and subsequently contacted and received full support from their families.


Last week, my daughter and I were watching a film when a number of times local older teenagers called to our door for Adam. I assumed they wanted Adam to go to buy them cigarettes as I have had many encounters about Adam being used to buy cigarettes and alcohol for these teenagers. After the police failed to act on my complaint and I approached the local shops and told them I would report them if they continued to serve Adam with cigarettes and alcohol.  Shortly after this incident Adam ran into the house, out of breath and upset.


Two boys had knocked him to the ground and punched and kicked him in the head.  The earlier visitors had been acting as lookout and informed the attackers when Adam was on his way home, the remainder of the teenagers had stood and watched as Adam was attacked. The police arrived and the teenagers admitted hitting Adam and apologized for the police record. I cannot begin to explain how angry this hate motivated crime against my son makes me feel. A vulnerable 21 year old, with diagnosed learning difficulties, Autism and medical and mental health issues.


Comments have been made about Adam, my intellectually challenged boy, suggesting he is doing something wrong by having younger friends. People have openly called Adam a pedophile on Facebook, to his face and to mine. I have been informed by they bullies the more I complain, the more Adam will get “battered”.  Facebook have since removed some of the posts because of the “credible threats of violence”.


Adam has said if ‘they’ carry on bullying him and calling him ‘pedophile’ I will find him hanging in the loft. We are intimidated by the comments made by these people and their friends. This has resulted in Adam not going out of the house alone and I cannot sleep. I am comfortably leaving my home, fearing attacks both verbal and physical. Harassment is not being able to sleep at night for fear of being attacked as stones have been thrown at my windows during the night demanding to see my son.


The RSJ orders have failed miserably, my son is victimized, my family suffers because of this bullying and I feel I have nowhere else to turn for help. I would greatly appreciate any help and advise before it is too late for me and my family and especially my beloved son Adam.”

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