Dysfunction in the Hundred Acre Wood

Ellie Sofia:

This was beautifully and brilliantly written by my blogging friend, Meghan. Thanks, Meghan, Ellie xxx :)

Originally posted on Finding Hope's Sunshine:


Now that I am done with my taxes (long sigh of relief) I am going to spend some quality time with my kids. It is still early in the morning and because everyone is on winter break, I am letting my kids watch a little TV while eating their breakfast. I can hear their munch, munch on cereal while I am typing this post.

From where I sit, I can hear Winnie the Pooh laughing and Tigger bouncing across the screen. Oh, it brings back wonderful childhood memories when I used to watch those loveable creatures. Back then, I counted them as my friends. Their magical forest, The Hundred Acre Wood, followed me whenever I went into my own woods that surrounded my home. I wanted to squeeze Pooh, play with Tigger, tell Rabbit to “chill out”, and just love Eeyore’s sadness away.

They seemed a happy lot, on the most part, and I wanted…

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No more will I seek love from war
or expect peace from my enemies
No longer will I play the game
of fetch and carry

Nor shall I bend or my branches break
like a weary tree in a raging storm
and when the guns fire hostility
why should I still grant affection?

I am tired of this game that they insist upon
where my heart and soul are the chess pieces
on the chequered board
and I am expected to play the knight

I tell you that in this grey, grey world
my blood still runs red and fluid
but my veins swell and fill with tar
and my anger sullies the sunlight

When I speak the words
my voice is now silent
And may lips may smile
but my eyes tell no lies.

crying eye1

Please Love Me!

Ellie Sofia:

This is such a beautiful and touching poem written by my friend, Meghan. Hugs, Meghan xxx <3

Originally posted on Finding Hope's Sunshine:


Please love me the way I am.

I am lonely and broken, helpless and afraid.

I am a pleaser only to find love.

I smile and comply because I want to be accepted.

I don’t speak my mind, for I am afraid.

I don’t want to be myself. No one will like me.

I’ve been betrayed. I’ve been rejected.

I cry out, “Please someone want me!”

Notice my pain.

Help me to see that I am not alone.

Let me see my worth.

It’s not based on what I do, or who I am.

I am accepted, loved and belong in one place.

Help Your love to be enough.


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It’s been a year since the ‘event’, or more correctly ‘non-event’! Yes, I’m harping on about that bloody Facebook issue with my two children!! Sorry to drag this one out from the mire again….just when I thought I’d ‘put it to bed’ too. I thought I’d come to terms with the loss of my relationship with both *Tom* and *Claire* although I hadn’t got over the loss of having no relationship with any of my four small grandchildren, one of whom I’ve never even met and he’s nearly three months now.

Over the last few months there has been some very tentative contact with *Tom and *Claire, and this time I thought I was really getting somewhere at last. After all, I am a different person now than when my daughter hacked into my FB account and found a truth she really didn’t like (that being that I had no contact with them!). Now, (I thought) I’d built my life up despite the family rift. I go to college, I attend church activities and I am doing some volunteering at my local university to further the understanding of mental health with new students training to be Social Workers and CPNs in the community mental health field. I’m working on an eight week project at college (much of which is done at home) and I am in the process of writing my fourth book to be published. So, I can’t be doing all that badly. And yet…still…they won’t ‘forgive’ my mental health conditions, nor, come to that, my physical disability meaning I use a wheelchair. I don’t let either of those conditions stop me from living a full life so why should they be so ‘anti-me’?!

facebook share

I’ve just had a halfway decent conversation with *Claire where I kept it light and didn’t make any demands that they come and see me. And then the ugly subject of FB came up. I mentioned that as things were so different with me now and my thinking clearer (up until tonight, that was), maybe she would accept my friend request so at least I could see photos of my four little ones and keep up with their news. And what did I get?…..Flat out, downright REJECTION again! And this, now, just minutes before my bedtime when I should be thinking of a peaceful repose not a night where I’m up writing my feelings till the wee small hours. I’m more angry than upset but it throws up all my issues of attachment/rejection/abandonment and chucks them in my face! Shit!!!

Why can’t I just cut myself off and disown them….yes, I could with *Tom and *Claire because of what they’ve put and are still putting me through but not my four innocent little grandchildren.

 8 questions I am asking of myself:

  1. Why don’t I stop chasing a dream?
  2. Why can’t I disown them?
  3. Why am I letting this get to me again?
  4. Why am I allowing them to do this to me?
  5. How do I get rid of this bitter taste in my mouth?
  6. Why can’t i forgive them in the name of the Lord and pray and hand it over to God to deal with? I am not strong or mighty enough to cause change to happen. Only God is and in His own time. When will I ever learn? (1 Peter 5:6-7) ~ Humble yourselves, then, under God’s mighty hand, so that he will lift you up in his own good time. Leave all your worries with him, because he cares for you ~
  7. Why don’t I have the conviction of my faith and believe enough?

35 Ways to Say, “I Am Sorry”

Ellie Sofia:

This amazingly inspiring list was compiled by a lovely friend of mine here at WP. Thank you, Meghan xxx :)

Originally posted on Finding Hope's Sunshine:


I realize that I have a problem saying “sorry” for things that are not my fault. This little word is way over used, and then when I need to use it for real, it has lost its meaning. I have been on a search for other ways to voice my concern, for when something bad happens and you want other people to know that you care for them. Here is my list. Thank you to all that wrote me, giving your responses. These are just a few ways, but should help get us started in sharing our love.

1.    My heart goes out to you.

2.    I am touched by your situation.

3.    My compassion is with you.

4.    I am impressed by your courage.

5.    My sympathies are with you right now.

6.    Can I pray for you?

7.    You must be overwhelmed right now. How can I help?

8.    I…

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On Sunday, after church, my wheelchair started going wrong. It just about limped home as if it had lost a wheel and then conked out! “Oh, great!”, I thought – now I’m stuck indoors until I can get it repaired……..

It’s Thursday today and I haven’t been out since then and I’ve already missed the first session of a new college course and a church meeting. The wheelchair mechanic came out this morning with two new big batteries, took the old ones off and replaced them with the new shiny ones. He was here a couple of hours and tested the charger too and then said it should be fine. So, I thought I’d get out for some fresh air and to get a few bits in town so I confidently set off and trundled down the hill and then on reaching the cycle path, I bombed off at top speed as I usually do!


I got to the end of the cycle path, then halfway down the next road and past the bend when suddenly the amber flashing warning light came on! I stopped abruptly and thought to myself, “oh, ‘#$*%£&’. I fished into my handbag, tossing out an old house brick and the kitchen sink and delved to the bottom where I found my mobile phone. I rang the workshop and spoke to the mechanic again who said not to go any further (obviously!) and to try and make it back home to my house, (up the steep hill). I looked ahead of me and wondered if my wheelchair (named Charley, by the way, female Charley that is, not male, because women are better drivers, of course!!!), would make it. The mechanic had said if I broke down, to phone him back and he’ll come out to me.

So about turn, and this time I drove carefully around the bend in the road and took it slowly along the cycle path. Now for the hill….Charley huffed and puffed, gradually limping up the road with by now, the red warning light flashing! “C’mon Charley…you can do it”, I said out loud much to the amusement of the two teenagers walking past me at the time. I didn’t think I would make it home but I did. When I got to the door’s threshold, I thought I was home, safe and dry but no, I was wrong! I was stuck! The chair just didn’t have enough ‘oomph’ left in it to go any further. I tried again but again it was no good. Finally, I decided to give it one more final go and revved it up as high as it would go and suddenly, whoosh, we lurched forward, over the threshold at top speed, nearly knocked the front door off its hinges and hurtled down the hallway towards the cloakroom…

speed cloud

We stopped just in the nick of time! Any further and I would have been catapulted headfirst down the toilet in front of me!! Phew! That was close. I eventually got myself into my living-room, phoned the mechanic (again) who very kindly said he would come out tomorrow afternoon to collect my poor Charley and supply me with a loan wheelchair to get me to church on Sunday.

I’ll have to miss college again tomorrow but hey, I’m home in the warm and what’s more I don’t have my head stuck down the toilet thus requiring the fire brigade to attend!!

NEXT INSTALMENT – Sunday morning…..look out world, here I come…………



Today I’ve sunk
like a ship wrecked out at sea,
drowning in the murky waters
deserted and forlorn
with only the coral and plankton
alive by my side.

I sit all day,
curtains drawn tight
as if to shut out the sunlight
as it mocks me with its gaiety
when I indeed have none,
or so it feels.

Despair has set in
and self-pity, no doubt
when there is no need for such.
I wallow in my own wretchedness
and self-centredness,
I confess.

Oh! These BPD down days
where I have no wish
for light nor company
and then complain
that I have neither.
Self-inflicted misery.

And so to bed, I think,
is positively the order of the day;
or more accurately refrained
for certain is a negative outlook.
Another day tomorrow.
Perhaps a little less morose.


Oh, sod it!! That’s put a spanner in the works, hasn’t it? That’s told me!! There’s no pleasing some people, is there? I’m referring to my last post ‘Skeletons From the Closet’. And there was me, actually allowing myself (for once) feeling pleased with myself for the progress I feel I have made….until I spoke to a family member I shall call *Carol* who pulled me up on this one. After I told her of my progress and my decision which I so carefully thought through, I was told that I was either selfish or not as ‘recovered’ as well as I was ‘making out’ to be! I am sooo angry! And hurt! And disillusioned! Apparently, according to *Carol, if I have recovered this well then surely I am being very selfish in not wanting to attend the ‘Telling Your Story’ group to work with other students to enable them to have hope that it is possible to move on (all be it in babysteps).

If I attended that course and listened to other students recounting their awful experiences, I know this would have a negative impact on me and in fact, set me back in my recovery. On hearing this, *Carol pronounced, “Well, if those sort of things still affect you badly, perhaps you haven’t recovered as much as you think you have”. I was brought from feeling a good 8/10 on the positivity scale down to somewhere around my ankles on the positivity scale! I’m speechless, almost! I cannot win. Does she think the sort of memories I have from my past can be simply washed away or disregarded, even after all these years? Yes, I’ve had therapy, lots of it and still do but I now don’t need to talk endlessly about my abuse as I did not so long ago. Okay, yes, sometimes I still do need to talk about these things but how could anyone who has been through such atrocities just wipe them clean from their memory?!

So, now I’m left doubting myself, my decision, my self image, my confidence….I can tell you, this has really ‘knocked me for six’ (as they say) and left me feeling like a wounded deer on the side of the road which I could have well done without. I have been ‘shot down’ many times but always got back up again in the past.


(Later in the day)

But this time, my anger has risen and I can taste the bile rising from my stomach. I know that I have spoken at length to my college course tutor who has made it plain in no uncertain terms that at no time am I to risk my own mental health by putting myself in a vulnerable position such as this one. But *Carol hasn’t considered that I might not lay down and play dead. She has not bargained for the fact that I will get up again and fight the good fight. Hence, I am still determined not to be dragged down again by some ignorant, thoughtless idiot who I am unfortunate enough to have as part of my family. I will continue in my studies in a way where I know I am keeping myself mentally safe (and I’m sure my psychiatrist would agree). And yes, I do still see a Psychiatrist, my GP, my therapist and my CPN but that’s partly what keeps me on the forward route. It doesn’t make me weak, or any lesser a person. I don’t intend to sacrifice my future well-being because of one unpleasant person’s attitude. So, to *Carol, I say ‘UP YOURS!!’ as I continue to get on, one day at a time, with the rest of my life.

boxing ring fight

Watch this space…..



I’ve been offered a new course at college – it’s called ‘Telling Your Story’. At first I was keen….I wanted my story to be one of finding some positives from so many negatives in my life. The idea behind the course is that I would look back on where I’ve been (mentally and emotionally), through various ages and stages of my life and then work out what helped me to move on from the darkest places (where I still find myself on bad days) to the better place that I am in now, in general that is. I’m not saying that all my worries and gremlins from the past have disappeared, far from it. They will always be there. My past will always be a big part of my life…my past will always be my past – it’s just that I don’t choose to live there on a permanent basis anymore. I am in good therapy and that is where I deal with any gremlins and Grinches when they do arise. I don’t want to carry them round with me like a great big sack of potatoes.


I’ve thought carefully about doing this course and have spoken to my college tutor about it at some length. There is something about it that I find strangely attractive and yet, if I am honest with myself and after speaking with my therapist today, I have found myself thinking, do I really want to drag that old pile of skeletons out of the closet again? Do I really want to dig through all that sh*t again? Is it worth risking how far I’ve come just to prove something to others and to myself? And…..I think the conclusion that I have come to is no. There is just too much at stake.

Having said that, there is something to be said for making a neat little (or large in my case) package from my not very neat life, ‘telling my story‘ and sharing my feelings. Equally, there is also something to be said for not recounting my story or doing anything with it for that matter, other than letting sleeping dogs lie.

However, I am still very affected by what happened to me, mostly as a child or as a direct result of that, and I still have awful memories, flashbacks, nightmares, thoughts, reminders, triggers that I’d obviously rather not have. But I am a human being and that is just reality. Then, on talking with my Support Worker, we struck upon the idea of a black memory box. Sound strange?! It did to me at first but then the more I thought about it, the more things I thought of that I’d like to box up and put in there.

black box

Things like the first book I had published which I dedicated to my first therapist who turned out to be very dangerous and has since been ‘struck off’ the accredited list of counsellors in this country. I won’t go into detail about the content of this book other than to say it is morbid to the extreme. There are books and gifts she bought me at the time which are still kicking about my house. The song lyrics to REM’s ‘Everybody Hurts’ which I used to play over and over on repeat which just drove me further into my despair. A photo of my father who abused me for all of my childhood. A piece of classical music that reminds of my further abuse, an empty bottle of alcohol from my drinking days, a razor blade from when I used to self-harm (not that long ago) etc…..all things that I’d let to literally and metaphorically shove somewhere where they can’t hurt me anymore. I’d pack it up and put it somewhere like the attic or the back of the garage where it wasn’t on constant view. I just don’t want to live in that place any more. I want and intend to move on.


navy fiesta car

My younger sister, *L* owns (or should I say past tense, owned) a little car that she has had for many years. It has served her well and got her out of many a fix. She used her little car for all sort of things including ferrying her three children back and forth to their school in the next village, shopping, getting to work etc. It didn’t have a name although if it were mine, I would have named it Clarissa, but then I’m odd like that; I name all sorts of personal but inanimate possessions (more about that in a later post) but I will admit that I am typing this post on ‘Triceratops’ which is my heavy, old dinosaur of a laptop as my new, lightweight ultrabook called ‘Harry’, named after the picture of a hedgehog on the sticker of its top, has also suffered a demise (much to my dismay).

I decided to write this little ditty for my sister *L in memory of her beloved little car:

Fiesta, navy, lady owner 1997 – 2015 – not for sale.
you’ve been the best of
friends for many years.
From preschool jigs
to metal gigs,
Tesco shops,
To station drops.
You’ve NEVER ever
let her down,
made her frown,
been late to town.
You have had a little park
of lichens, moss and woody bark!
Despite her quite uncanny lack
of spatial sense
You’ve stayed on track.
Your MOT runs out tonight,
at twelve o’clock
upon the dot.
No amount of loving care
will sadly get you back in gear.
You’ve really been a total star.
Thank you special little car.