On being ignored…

When I was a girl, the only time I got noticed was when I stuck my hand up in class to answer a question. But this was, ultimately, the wrong kind of attention. It showed people that I was clever and that I could do the work easily, so then i would get picked on. I never got asked – or ordered for that matter – to do anyone’s homework for them. But there were those who thought I was just a teacher’s pet, that I was sucking up, kissing ass.
So then I would get all the comments. If this is you, you know the ones I mean. From those people who aren’t stupid, but who aren’t mega clever either. Who are jealous of your intellect and can find no other way to express this other than taking the piss. It’s really pretty bad. And when you’re a struggling teenager who hates the way they look, well, that just makes it all the worse.
Because you know that they are only jealous. But because the comments about your smarts go unheard, they start to pick holes in the rest of you – your hair, your face, your non-existent breasts. They call you a dyke, a boy. they notice you don’t have fancy trainers, or new clothes every 6 weeks.
So they make these things the subject of their ridicule. And you can’t help but react, because that shit is personal. So you unconsciously make faces of pain when they say these things. These bullies notice your discomfort, so they just do it more.

And so continues a cycle of hurt and pain, and hiding for a vast number of years.

You want so much to be noticed for who you are, your strengths, your beauty. You learn that everything HAS beauty, but you are desperate for someone to acknowledge this.
When someone actually does, you want them to say it all the time, to tell you over and over, to reinforce it for you. You want to be showered in affection and kisses and you want to be touched. Because then you know that more beauty will spring from those acts.

But, because you crave it so deeply, you seek it out at the cost of all else. You want that connection, for someone to idolise you, adore you, to call you names that should only be repeated in private, in intimate moments. It’s like a drug, you just HAVE to have it. It becomes all consuming – the thing you think about last thing at night, the thought you wake up to every morning.

So you seek it, and you push people to give you that fix. And because they don’t want to tell you today, because they don’t want to hurt your feelings, they are silent. They don’t want to be a part of your addiction right now so, having acknowledged your request, they remain tightlipped. The words don’t come, the eyes you want so much to look upon you don’t turn in your direction.

You feel that awful rejection again.

The pain returns, the hopelessness, the futility of your quest. You hide in solitude once more. You pull a blanket over your hurt and cry yourself to sleep.


So, here we go…..

A Very Small Witch

I really should have done this some time ago now, but then you always say that, don’t you? ‘Oooh, let’s write a blog! It’ll be awesome! I’ll do it every day and then the whole world can know what’s going on in my life, coz I’m so FUCKING interesting!’
Yeah, OK. EGO!!!
Already I’m finding this hard, I mean, what do I write? Seriously. I’m trying to get myself into the habit of writing every day. This needs to happen for me. I can’t keep all the words inside me any longer. I have wanted to write for at least 15 years now, maybe even longer. I’ve always loved words. Reading has always been one of my fave things to do and it’s now a bit of a shame that I don’t get to do much of it any more. Kids will do that you know. Steal your time away, slowly but surely. They also take your brain.
Anyway, yes, reading and WORDS. I don’t know why I’ve always loved them, seems a bit of a weird thing to love. Why should a series of lines on a page hold such sway over my life. If you think about it, they don’t really amount to much. Who was it that decided a certain formation of lines made a certain letter. Who decided what that letter should sound like? Who decided it should go with some other letters and make up this thing called a ‘word’?
But there’s something about them, isn’t there. So many of us are drawn to the beauty of these lines and marks on the page in front of us. You’re reading my words now and I’m just making shit up!
What shall I talk about today?
I get angry –  A LOT. This might need to be a place where I vent. I hope you don’t mind. Need somewhere to deposit all the shit that builds up in my head. And I want to write a book, if I’m honest. So if I start rambling on about some make-believe idiots in medieval Poland you’ll know why that is.
You don’t need to know all the details of my life. But basically a lot of shit has happened to me, as it has to so many of us. As Brendan Benson says: ‘My life in the D is a tragicomedy or poetic verse’. Alright, i don’t live in the D (Detroit, by the way), but you get the picture. I think probably everyone’s life is a tragicomedy, not always poetic though. After all the crap I’ve endured I’ve finally found happiness.
Might get a bit vomit inducingly soppy now, soz…
Today I am thankful for the following:
My gorgeous babies who are my world
My amazing partner who puts up with all my emotional freak-ness
For my being a freak, because being ‘normal’ is boring
For true friends, of whom I only have 2, but that’s enough
For a home, food, warmth and clothes, safety – because so many people in the world don’t have that luxury
Let’s face it, that last one is a luxury. Please, Universe, redress this balance. ‘Come on people now, smile on your brother, everybody get together, try to love one another right now.’ That’s Shannon Hoon of Blind Melon (RIP).
This year I really need to get myself together. Over the past 12 months I’ve done a LOT of soul searching and found some things about myself. Like I have been a slave to so much utter shit in my life. It’s time to let it all go. Only yesterday I had a convo with my man about this, I can’t live life in the past any more. I think and dither and weigh up possibilities in my head until all joy is sucked from my soul. There are people who have contributed to this. Some of them think they are helping me when all they’re really doing is stifling me and not allowing me to listen to my intuition, my very soul. Well, frankly, I kind of let them do this. I ask for people’s approval quite a bit when I really don’t need to. I’m in my 30s now, why the hell do I need anyone’s permission to be myself!?
Uh Oh! There it is, that’s my main topic today!
I am NOT anybody’s bitch! I am a woman, dammit, who has her own life and her own mind. I have kids who love me and need to respect me. Right now, I don’t respect myself, this has to change. I need to learn to trust myself. Lisa Lister, you would so love this http://www.sassyology.com
This is a big part of my problem, I think. I don’t trust myself. Recently I’ve been thinking about this a great deal. I don’t trust myself. I need to learn this skill. As a child, growing up in a very traditional Christian household, I was taught to trust God in all things. No matter what happened to you, God was the one to trust. Something went tits up and you didn’t understand why – trust God. Someone was mean to you, hurt you – turn the other cheek and trust God. etc etc. ‘Intuition’ is not a word used in churchy circles. You are taught to listen to God, not yourself. Emotion and self-awareness like this is seen as (can’t think of the right word so I’ll just put) bad thing. If your gut tells you to do one thing, but it goes against the teaching of the Bible, you should not do it. And trust God. WTF?
I don’t even know why I’m using a capital G when I write the word god. As he’s no longer the real deal for me. He gave me jack shit (if I look at it from as spiritual point of view). Or rather, he gave me stuff, then took it away again. And I’m still meant to trust that fucker?!
No thanks.
I’ve learned, at least, to see that this doesn’t have to be my belief system. My parents’ views are not my views. Church views are not my views.
Revelation! Eureka! etc. I am not a slave to this any more. I release myself. And breathe…..
As I said, I’ve been thinking about this a lot recently and have found that Paganism is WAY more my thing. It truly is like coming home. This is where I should have been all along. I know this because, when I was 14 or 15 I remember wanting it. I don’t know how (given my upbringing) but I found out about Tarot cards. Instantly I was fascinated and I tried to find out more. There was no way my parents would let me have any, so I secretly made my own deck. They were black. Or rather, I coloured them in black. Yes, I really did take it that far – I drew them all, I coloured them all, the whole works. Again, I don’t remember exactly, but they were taken from me, or I ‘lost’ them, basically they were gone and I don’t know how that happened. But you see, this is so many years ago and I knew then that this was something I could trust. Same with astrology.
Now, at 31, after all the crap I’ve endured, either in the name of my (then) faith, or just life generally, I have the thing I wanted most of all. Since I was a little girl I dreamed of finding the perfect man – I now have him. I dreamed of children – I have a boy and a girl, both perfect. I dreamed of a spirituality that I could trust and would let me be myself (Christianity is so stifling, how did I put up with it for 20 odd years) – I have found that.
So it is time for me to follow my heart. Finally, I can follow it. Finally, I can begin to leave all that past hurt behind. (Well, technically continue to leave it, but you get the gist). Finally, I can be the woman I was born to be.
What a fucking relief!