He Hit Me. And It Felt Like A Kiss...

I spent a lot of my younger days getting beaten by my brother. He 'kindly' stepped in where my dad had finished and when he himself became too big to be beaten and in doing so he took the role to a new level.
My brother hates my dad. He wasn't a brilliant guy when we were growing up and we were neither to be seen nor heard. The punishments he dished out were, by comparison to our 'crimes' usually very harsh. I am in the strong belief that I could easily survive life imprisoned living only off of bread and water due to the usual living under lockdown in the bedroom, only being allowed out for toilet breaks. Meals were brought to us. When we were very young, and after being caught playing frisbee with a butter lid, all our possessions were taken into the garden, and while we were made to watch, burned
As we grew and my dad got older he calmed and I made life choices which affected his relationship with me. Basically I chose whether to see the family or not and if things kicked off I would just get up and go.
My brother though lived through this and more with me and yet has evolved into more of a monster than my dad ever was, all the while bitching and moaning about how they (the parents) have messed his life up.
My brother bullied me from a young kid, always hitting me and going for my weak spots and enjoyed throwing his weight around at the school we both attended. I was usually held up by the neck, feet dangling, in full view of teachers, but due to his reputaion I think no-one ever said anything to him. Once, another kid kicked me as hard as he could in the stomach leaving me gasping for breath. My brother came immediately and hit him, knocking him over and shouting that no-one fucks with his sister... no-one but him. His reputation at the school was always bad and by proxy so was mine. He was suspended 7 times before they had had enough and expelled him aged 14 due to violence and a volatile nature. My mother kept this from my father. Even now I don't know what I would have done in that situation. Do you tell him and let my brother suffer the consequences or keep it from him and teach my bro that no matter what happens there will always be someone to cover for you. She chose the latter, something she had always done for him and something she continues to do to this very day. Meanwhile he blames them all for the way his life as gone and has never taken ownership of his mistakes and his choices. I on the other hand, wasn't graced with the same parenting techniques.
I think one of the last straws of that family was when, before Christmas in about 93/94, my brother was in a rage and he chose to kick me down the stairs using my chest as the pushing point. At this point I must tell you I have asthma and was born with a hole in my heart, so although tough, treatment like this can bring on asthma attacks or even infection which can be deadly if it goes to the heart.
In his rage, and after throwing an iron at my dad's head, he proceeded to smash the windows in my car. No-one did anything. My dad went mental and took his anger out on me and I just went and sat in a cupboard, where I could lock myself in the dark and think about happier times and getting the hell out of there one day. Just previous to this episode I had stepped in front of him when he went to hit my best friend, also his girlfriend, as I saw the same old look in his eye. This happened in a public place, a pub, and he had me in a head lock while pounding at my head with his fist. He then took my car and left me stuck in London. I stayed under the protection of my friend and her family that night and when my mum came to collect me she was given an almighty piece of my friend's mum's mind.
But get out I did and I spent a long time sleeping in my car and on people's sofas/floors. I slept in wooded areas and by the sea to avoid anyone giving me grief and asking questions. My parents had never given me a curfew when a kid and so I don't really think anyone noticed I was gone. I spent a lot of time as well at the stables sleeping in a stable and working 12 hour days for £15 to get food to feed myself and for petrol. From there I enrolled myself in Art School and paid for it by receiving a grant for tuition as well as working late nights in pubs. I got a job as a youth worker due to all the 'experiences' I had had, something I could help other kids with and after a few years working there I got a degree in Youth & Community and I could get help in getting somewhere to live permanantly.
I have lived in my apartment for 8 years. I have never in my life lived somewhere so long as we always moved around a lot when I was little, my dad disappearing for months at a time, we lived with friends and family and just about anywhere. Staying settled is odd to me, I don't always like it and get itchy feet to move on.
I made my peace with my dad years ago, everything that went between us just needed to go and I needed to move on. I was almost commited to a mental hospital in 2001 due to a massive nervous breakdown, my speech had become so disrupted by then that nothing I said made sense and I went daily therapy with a bunch of doctors scared that I was going to pull myself apart. That started the 10 years of treatment I am currently on. (I stopped my therapy in 2008, they told me they couldn't help with the issues I had/was facing) But through this I became aware that I needed to let go of the anger, resentment and negativity that had been plagueing me since I was in my early teens. As much of a pacifist that I was, there were times I could have killed the male members of my family. But then, my dad was no longer a threat right? It slowly dawned on me that he had gone though a way worse childhood than I had, he had fought in wars and seen such things that even the goriest horror stories couldn't conjure up and when it happened to him, no-one took mental health seriously. His mother had been commited to a mental hospital and given electro shock therapy, something which caused her mind to shut down for a long time and even now she is unable to remember a lot of her past.
By comparison, although 'ill', I was doing ok.
At about the same time, my dad made an ever so brief but very humble and heartfelt apology for our childhood; something that still brings tears to my eyes this very day as I write. And when he did I forgave him, I won't forget; I wish I could, but I just accept the way things were, not that I agree with them you understand but I can't go back and change things. Backwards time travel is physically impossible and anyway, I may not be me or such a compassionate person now...
My brother though is someone who always blames others, fists first, fuck 'em later and I find this situation a lot harder to tackle, a lot harder. What worries me is that he has a son and his son is and will be affected (especially as he gets older and understands more) by his actions.
At this moment in time I hadn't had contact with my family for over 6 motnhs due to something my brother had said and done to me. I was supposed to go and see them all today and see my dad who has spent the last 6 weeks in and out of hospital. This morning my mum tells me that my brother is going to their house as he hasn't seen his son in 4 days and wants to see him today. I phoned to tell them I choose not to go at all as my brother has said in the past week that he is 'going to kill me' for something I haven't and wouldn't have done. My dad was silent when I phoned to tell him, I think very upset, as his relationship with my brother is non existant. My mother was angry with me for spoiling things despite my protests that my brother lives across the street and could have seen his son yesterday or tomorrow. But then she has and always will choose her son. I guess I won't be seeing my family this year.

They Say A Pictures Worth A Thousand Words, So With These Thousand Words...

I’ll paint a picture in your mind that breaks the rule of thirds

Yesterday I figured out that I had a grand in cash in the apartment in various envelopes, my way of saving, although I didn't realise I had quite so much. In fact I thought I had about a fifth of that.

Being a bit confused about the cash and realising I should do something with it, I actually braved the crowds in town and found a bank to pay it into. I hate shops, shopping and the people who like to shop! Usually if I need something I'll get it online. If I need clothes I'll just order something for kids in size 13-14 years old (164cm height in the UK, I don't actually know my actual 'adult' size at all)... Underwear is my biggest bugbear though.

My dog eats my panties if I don't put them at the bottom of the laundry bin... He's a perv, what can I say. But seriously, I have only ever owned female dogs in the past and owning a boy dog is a whole new ball game.

When I got him off of the arsehole who was beating him up he was 8 months old and scared as hell, didn't like to be stroked even and his skin just crawled under my touch. He was skinny and bald with mange and used to crawl on his belly instead of walk. It took me months to get to the point I could lay with him and just stroke him and even now he gets a bit funny on rare occasions. He hates tall people and guys who wear hats; strange noises; hates his paws being touched or having me examine any part of him. Also when I got him he used to follow me into the bathroom all the time and sniff around the toilet when I peed, I figured like dog's on the street he was smelling 'my news' (wierd I know but he is wierd!)

I then got his balls removed as the sniffing and 'lipstick' thing was too much and made me feel odd. Plus I think boy dogs smell different to girl dogs. He's cool now though and he knows his place in our two person family pack; I am alpha and he is beta. He eats after I do, enters rooms after me and is generally a really great dog. After the way he attacked snow during a snowball fight the other day, I am sure he would have my back in a scary situation as well.

The only problem is his obsession with my panties, he takes them out of the laundry bin if he can and will then just chew and lick on them, so I've got to be careful, but underwear is the one thing I need to buy in person to get the right size... Kids are generally a little too small and who wants panties with kids cartoon characters on them at 35? Adults are generally a little too big and I'm not a lace knda girl; to be honest I am happy in boxer shorts. And then bras... I hate shopping for them, pain in the arse and I hate padded... 98% of all bras in shops lately are padded, whats that about?

So Santa, for christmas I would like underwear, a lot of it, not padded or lacy please! Also a decent flight now I have the money. Instructions on using an international calling card. A phone call from a certain friend or two and finally my secret super special gift, kept between me and you, but the most important of the lot 

ps... if there is a spare Olympus Pen in your sack please may I 'borrow' it for a while

x

If I Should Vanish, Don't Get Caught Off Guard (Don't Hold It Against Me, Unless It Gets Hard)

It's a trick I do every now and again when modern life becomes a little too much. I shall either cut all [most?] ties to the outside world or I will go travel somewhere, alone.
Yesterday I drove for an hour and a half to collect a mug I had made and glazed for the bossman with swastikas and auspicious eternal knotwork. I painted it all on freehand and one mug took me three hours to paint. I was hoping to do three but I seriously misjudged myself. The drive however I love, if not for the fact my music is all over the place as a Classic Mini is not the kind of car you'd really want a cd player in, the suspension is too stiff and the damn thing jumps around more than it plays the music I want to hear :) but I wouldn't want it any other way, I love my little car as much as I love my dog, simple.
I have today and tomorrow of work left before having time off for the first time in a year. In all I have had about 5 days off in total this year but have also enjoyed every minute of the challenges friends have set to keep me occupied and focused whilst the real bessie mates are working abroad. I have also set myself an almost impossible task of waking at silly o'clock in the morning to do something... anyone want to take bets I chicken out? You guys know what I'm like after all!!!
Mr Kev 'Harry The Cake' Yeoman I miss you when you are in Oman! A year is by far too long for my 'tinfoil hat' wearing, chaos theorizing friend not to fall asleep on my couch. Liz and Wes miss ya a whole ton as well but life just isn't the same without ya. Concerts, although good, are lonely when you're by yourself.
Liz and Wes who'da thunk that I would become such firm friends with someone I haven't known that long,but I love ya both very much even though I'm like a second child to you Liz and possibly a little bit of a bad influence on Wes due to my stories and the like.
Chigs, you as always have given me confidence and hope, I just never tell you that. I just hope 2011 is better for you and Ange. Oh, and roll on 2038 when you'll have you're own studio and I'll be working with you, ha ha.
Steve and Faye I need to get off my arse and spend more time with you guys as I love you both so much, but then we are all cut from similar cloth and know that we love each other without actually being in each others presence. And you guys are the most likely to know where I am at all times when I go 'off the radar'
Finally Meatball, what can I say? Stuck beside me and not judged me when everything falls down around my ears and family go uber psycho weird on me.
Next year however I need to set foot outside of the UK again desperately and visit Jondix in Barcelona for tattoo time,  and Sam in LA, amongst others. Ohio is off my travel list and although some of my oldest friends live there and I really should see them if in the States, I don't feel as now is the best time, for them. Issues and goings on I have no idea about but in which I cannot be part. Shit happens huh? But as of yesterday I have flight money, now just needs me some moneys to spend and for motels. That's not to mention the amount of money I need to save to get the planned '11 body art, although it is only three pieces of art to cover boobs, neck and chest and hands...
Viva 2011.... Viva la revolucion, Viva la desvalido!!!!!

I Drove All Night. To Get To You. Is That Alright?

When I drive I sort a lot of the shit that surrounds my family life out in my head. I go through conversations that I know are around the corner and I think about how I'm going to respond to them ahead of time so that I can, at least, remain calm and pleasent.
I haven't been in contact with my family for many months until recently. My dad was taken into hospital for something or other and had half his stomach removed; not a gastric band or stomach bypass; removed. I never fell out with him over all this mess but he and I don't talk a lot, he knows if I'm not in contact it means I'm generally OK and happy. But this worried me.
I'm not gonna lie, as I did think he may pass on at points but we're fighters. As part of this wierd group of people with seperate lives and an underlying uneasy feeling, it would be he and Carlos that I would miss the most, which if you understood where I'm coming from (my family of friends that is) may surprise you. He was the worst kind of father when we were growing up but the years has changed this guy, a lot. Coming out of the family and living anywhere I could, aged 17, I got a new perspective on family dynamics and how ours in particular [dis]functioned.
I saw for the first time how my mum drank and became nasty and manipulative. How my brother was an angry volatile person with everyone and not just his blood. I saw the patience and weariness in my dad's eyes from all this around him and gained an understanding of how fighting in war affected him.
My brother...
He isn't a nice person. There. I've said it. He plays the victim of circumstance and plays the 'my dad screwed up my life card' and yet he was the one who made all the mistakes and he is the one who is becoming worse than the father we had when we grew up. I once tried to write him a letter from the heart, one that said that his impending fatherhood should be taken as a new leaf of his life, a new chance. Drop the anger, forgive and forget or don't forgive, just accept. He tore up the letter and his wife let me know to steer clear for a while. He was angry.
When Carlos was born I thought everything would be fine but now he has a new 'big bad' to use as his bargaining chip. His son.
Speaking to my dad for a record half hour the other day I was informed that my brother is out for me again, apparently I took his Marshall Amp Stack System, despite the fact I haven't seen or heard from him in over a year. So boxing day will be interesting. I'm to go to London to have a BBQ at my dad's with Carlos and my mum and G my Bro's wife. My brother isn't invited but he will know that I'm there. (at this point I'll let you know he lives alone over the road from our folks. His wife and child lives with my folks due to 'anger issues') All the possible conversations are currently working their way into my thoughts and interrupting my dreams. I'm nervous.
I'm going to be fine though

There's A Voice, Keeps On Calling Me...

Next June I am off to the States for a bit, supposedly to work as a fine/graffiti artist at Tattoolapalooza in Miami but the more I explore this the more I get invited to alternative places.

My trip really should start where it ended 17 years ago when I got sent home in disgrace from Camp Wakatomika in Columbus, Ohio for, well, let's just say I tried the local 'erb.

So from Ohio, I should go to Miami for 4 or so days, then I have invites from Kentucky, Ontario, Seattle, possibly LA (but not sure wether it was an invitation or suggestion) New Orleans, East Bay, New Mexico.... You see what I mean?

Ohio is was a must, to see the old partner in crime of days past and maybe take someone up on an offer of a movie / meal / tattoo / kayaking (tho I don't know white water)...(what does an 'American date' entail?)

I would love to say LA is a must but I don't know, well meant politeness but not really meant? And so I fear it will be useless and damn lonely there.

But my problem is how to connect all these places, flying, amtrack or greyhound (is that right for rail and bus) and whether anyone would want to join me for any of the voyage...

Answers on a postcard to The Littlest Hobo

Every Sound Monotone, Every Colour Monochrome...

...and unless someone spells things out to me in no uncertain terms I am very unlikely to act on anything.
Put it this way, there are two guys on my friends list on a certain Facemyspazzbook who I think are really cool. If they said 'Jump' I would ask 'How high?' with one eyebrow raised and a semi smirk on my face (to be fair I'd be trying to look slightly seductive, yet failing at the first hurdle. Understand also, I never say how high to anyone or anything )

I would give you examples but there are things I like to keep close to my chest. Ask me about my life as a kid, my family or anything else and I'll spill, but ask my more about this and I won't reply.

So you see, I just sit on the sidelines and watch the world go by with my lucid dreams and crazy imagination where the girl gets the guy and things are OK, for now. I think it's safe to say that people always have and always will see me as a 'quirky little sister' figure, sadly. Little do they know huh?

In other news:
I have a stalkery kind of person in my life, totally harmless (ATM) but constantly going on about their dick, how they are hung (Like a black man apparently), how it always gets hard looking at pics of me on SG (I figured that was kinda the idea, along with those who simply can appreciate the naked form in all it's glory) and whilst trying to get me respond to sex crazed nonsensical messages where demons take him over causing him to scream whilst 'giving it' to me. He has read every single blog entry I have made on SG dating back to 2004... he has also read various other blogs and is happy to quote them to me as if I were to jump into his arms so happy that someone is taking an interest. I have standards. He is also the biggest fucking wind up going and for some reason it gets my back up and I need to argue back. This isn't like me, I don't give a monkeys if people fuck with me usually but I do in this particular case.

It's been years since I was aware anyone was into me so with it comes a sense of flattery. However this kind will not get you anywhere. Remember kids, this girl, beneath her nice and calm exterior lies a trained killer in the ilk of Mathilda Lando, You had to survive in my family, with my brother and with my friends where I grew up, and through this I've learnt a trick or 12 ;)

Move along folks. Ain't nothing to see here...

Tomorrow I am 35.
This is in no way a problem in itself but is bringing me problems due to many other reasons. Firstly the date, 9/11 for which I have a double meaning tattoo. I feel wrong celebrating while there are memorial programmes on TV.

I fell out with my brother a few months ago. Well to be honest I saw a re-emergence of his true colours rearing their ugly heads when we were on a family holiday last year. His wife and son were there but from the get go things weren't good. His attitude and mood were horrible and he was his usual argumentative self.
The room was no good as it had tiles on a floor, a toddler could fall and hurt themselves. There was no baby pool. Reason after reason kept coming and brought with it a dark mood.

Then his true form came out. He argued badly with his wife on night and they fell out. I missed all the tension at first as I had gone off with my dad somewhere and when we met up again with everyone else you could quite clearly cut the tension with a knife.

Al stormed off taking Carlos with him.

From the early evening Al just got angrier, thrusted Carlos to me, and in amongst all the anger Carlos was crying out for his dad and Al just turned his back on him whilst refusing his paternity.

These events started out to be the beginning of the end of my relationship with Al. We never got on as kids, at any age. He was always volatile, always beating me up at school, holding me off the ground by my neck. Always going for the biggest weak spot in my body, my chest which due to a childhood heart condition as well as chronic asthma was just a stupid place to kick out at.

After taking a couple of heavy beatings in my late teens, once while trying to 'step in' on the fact he was going to lay out my best friend (whom he was dating at the time) and the other when he kicked me in the chest down the stairs and carried on with his fists. I left home. My folks weren't doing anything to help and anything I said fell on deaf ears as usual. My mum just downed her bottles of gin or whatever the fuck she was drinking and hiding all whilst hiding anything Al did from my dad to avoid conflict. In doing this his whole life she created a monster in Al.

We started talking again when I was in my late 20's. His volatile nature hadn't subsided but by then I realised that I could simply walk away at any time. My relationship with them all [my family] was on my terms. I made the move to go and see them in London when I wanted and they didn't make the hour drive to see me unless I asked them to. At the end of the day a perfect relationship.

Recently I made the 'error' of standing up to Al, not taking his crap even online and speaking out at him when he comes into my online domain and launches a barrage of abuse at me for all to see. I will not bow down to his moods and I sure as hell won't keep things quiet for the sake of a quiet life like my mum asks. But in doing so the relationship between me and my mum has disintegrated into nothing and we haven't spoken or had any contact at all for a few months now, maybe more, I lose track. The last contact I had with her was her rant of an email informing me she is giving me some money and that I shouldn't contact her again all the while sticking up for my bro, although said in not such a nice way.

I say 'error' as in doing all this, in having enough of their madness, I have lost contact with my dad. He won't respond to phone messages, text messages or emails from me. The worst part is losing touch with the boy genius, Carlos Alberto. Gaby and Carlos do not live with Al, mainly due to the reasons explained above, and so they live the other side of the road with my folks. Any way you put it though I am not welcome and so I can't see Carlos, the kid I travelled to Argentina with, the kid I sat on a bus for 28 hours straight with, the kid who calls me 'Tia' and that is the only thing for which my heart bleeds.

And so back to the point in question, my birthday. Not celebrated for 9 years now and it isn't going to be celebrated this year either. My best friend is out in the Oman desert until next year and my family are [for the time being] strangers to me. Another friend is going to the Festival of Speed on a whim and I have just about given up even thinking about it.

So move along folks, nothing to see here. Definitely no sign of a birthday or any form of celebration but I'm cool with that.

The Memories Are Now Sepia

When I hear about people's first memories they generally are funny or about the things toddlers do and say, maybe swearing or eating worms. The things I remember are all coloured sepia and again, not quite the usual.
I can't remember dates and to be honest I don't know what order my memories go in as with a lot of things in my family, they are not talked about.

So I spent a great deal of time in hospital when I was younger as I was born with a heart murmur. If you look back to my previous posting you'll remember that my Pa was in the Army, so that makes me an Army brat. I do remember that any treatment I had for both my heart murmur and my asthma was always in military hospitals, one of which was located near Aldershot in Surrey I believe.

I remember watching Playschool there on a little TV with about 3 other kids. Toast that the nurses had put butter on (I refused dairy back in the day. Not much changed now though) Waking up each night screaming but being comforted by a man in khaki scrubs and being played Pink Floyd's 'Echoes'
I can't remember anything else, any operations or treatment. And again, it's something the family won't talk about.

My other great pre school memory is the near death experience I had when I was about the same age, in some part of the world were clothes would make you sweat and overheat. I remember clearly falling into a pool and being face down with my arms and legs seemingly dangling and everything was coloured in shades of sepia. I'm told (for once) that a young man dived into save me and I wasn't breathing, that the parents had taken their eyes off of the metaphorical ball, and that with a bit of persuasion and kneading of the body I was breathing again, all in a matter of moments, and no doubt within the hour I was running around like a little nutter again.

But everything was calm and sepia. That is clearly imprinted into my memory

Induction into madness

Ten years ago just gone I was officially diagnosed with Bipolar after fighting a running battle to be kept out of hospital due to racing random thoughts and the feeling I need to either run or hide away from the world in general. I also was unable to string a coherent sentence together.
Ten years down the line the racing random thoughts are still there. I still feel the occasional need to hide myself from the world and have learnt to lie pretty convincingly to everyone that I'm OK. I am OK. I am not OK.
I am lonely truth be told. But I don't really want company or someone there 24/7.

When I was very little my dad would disappear into the hugeness that is the world. He lived in Philly when I was about 3 leaving my mum sobbing quietly. He would disappear a lot like that when I was a kid. One moment be there and the next he'd be gone. It's only with age and experience that I can understand what he may have been experiencing. He's a war Vet. Fought in Ireland (Belfast) in the 70's and got hurt pretty badly. fought in the Falklands... He refuses point blank to talk about his experiences to the point he will get up and walk out of the room if Belfast is even mentioned.

I honestly believe he suffered post traumatic stress disorder which over the years, having gone untreated (or even recognised for so many years) has turned into a black depression. His mum, my nan, also went through a lot of  'hospitals' and had a serious amount of brutal treatment via 'doctors' so I strongly believe the bipolar thing is only to be expected really.

But I live with it, I sometimes embrace it for all it's weird and wackiness and sometimes, in the deepest darkest depths of winter I hate it. I have found that if I say the randomness that is on my mind I can usually make people laugh a lot. The flip side of that is feeling overly sad by things, the state of humanity, the lack of compassion, the death of a sense of community, but I do what I can and try to live with karma in mind. Being important is nice but being nice is important.