Good news with a Trigger warning: mention of rape

Today is a good day, I feel like I've confronted a bully, my anxiety is a lil better and I've finished my fourth book this year. The second in the mortal instruments collection, worth a go.

This will just be a small post due to the fact that I am flying high on a cloud of oramorp, for my endometriosis which has been particularly troublesome, but back to better things...

I sent the 'friend' who assaulted me this message after taking my painkillers

and I feel strangely fantastic. I'm nervous like some wild animal is inside my heart but I feel better, I feel like I've taken a step forward. The strange bundle of tension between my shoulder blades has begun to seep away.

I gave the person who hurt me a week to explain why it happened and what drove him to it or I would have to find closure some other way. He's made me do that and although I've not gone to the doctors (who I will be getting woman's centre info from) yet the appointment will be happening next week.

I have been very public about this but I feel it helps, evidence of the purge, that I can do this and that I am struggling but I am surviving. Perhaps it is cliché but that is the truth. So many people have known me during this time and have had no idea, maybe I'm just trying to explain.

Times are tough but we do what we must to survive.

Peace and health to all of you.

You are strong even as your hand shakes.

✨✨✨

All hail the glow cat

image found: http://s9.favim.com/orig/130721/cat-kawaii-pastel-pastel-grunge-pink-Favim.com-792669.jpg

Night of the secret santa

Ok, so tonight's blog post is not going to be the most cheerful and I will put here a trigger warning regarding assault and abusive relationships. Hopefully the tale has a happy tale, happier than the past but far from a fairy tale happily ever after.

The story begins in my second year at University, having been assaulted during my first year and not being the most social creature I made a few friends, some better than others as I drifted through the day to day life of a university student with mental health issues. At this point my manic depression diagnosis had not been changed to Borderline Personality Disorder with the admittance of past child abuse(which I had accepted as part of my life but not part of the present). Saying that, I suspect it is likely that those events in my childhood aided what was to come with a twisted idea of love. To this day I do not hate the young man who touched me but view him with something hazy and grey. It is possible I have yet to address this fact fully and that I live in the limbo between trauma and recovery. I know that is what it feels like now, caught in a tide of emotions unable to rise without interrupting some element of my life. but I'm getting off point.

In my second year at university I happened upon a young man in the corner shop near our campus and thought I had seen the face of god. I was your typical lonely romantic, inspired into strange bursts of creativity by this mysterious specimen who I did not see for days or possibly weeks later. I can just remember seeing him and being struck by something about him that I would later read as a recognition of demons and self disgust. 

One of my friends happened to be in the art year below me and during one of his seminars I remember seeing the same figure, seated in front, indistinguishable by any reasonable methods. I was infatuated with a stranger who looked so similar to the film crushes of my past and the pale Lotharios of the Anne Rice novels I found so enjoyable. I was compelled by his presence to draw him, to scrawl notes on what strange reactions transversed my medicated mind. But just like the first sighting life went on and he fell out of thought, inspiring nothing in absence. Out of sight was out of mind, but of course I would see him on campus and turn to my friend, gushing of his beauty and how like a favoured tv character he appeared. That character so like him, appearing so melancholy, weighted by things not all of the world can comprehend. I projected by ideas upon him and when we finally spoke I found myself insulted, a joke about my mood being pms turning my blood cold with embarrassment. This person I had found so inspiring was seemingly a wretch.

I spoke of him in later days to another friend in his year, admitting his handsomeness and despairing of his nature only to learn he had been drunk. It was an excuse that bought him a pardon but I do not recall speaking to him or when it was that we came to orbit the same circle of friends. I remember meeting them, a group of people who have either fallen to the way side as time and nature dictate. and those who I remain close with. I met them in the campus bar, we smoked together, all drunk, all happy and from then my lack of adventure into society ceased. I drifted from what friends I had already made and it was by chance that these people were his friends and that we would drink together often in the future.

It was normal then and I cannot recall the turning point but it began slowly as poison so often does. I openly despised his rudeness and called him on it whilst flirting with our mutual friends at house parties and gatherings, trying things I had never tried and propositioning people I never wanted after getting to know them. They were good people but they were my friends and nothing more. But life as it so often does throws right hooks and one of our mutual friends appeared to fall for me as we spent more time together; he, the muse and I drinking into the early hours and building a friendship I liken now to people drowning, we clung to one another with our alcoholic tendencies, gave into them, welcomed the self awareness of our miseries and distracted one another from them. They were closer friends than any in our group but as our friend's feelings appeared to come out the muse spoke to me of them curiously, defensive and vague in a way that made me explain nothing was returned. He appeared at peace then and life went on with minor blips of party flirtations until the end of the year began to draw near threatening to ruin what fragile calm had been found. Perhaps it was some fear of this or a plan to use it and escape consequence that the muse began to flirt, began to demand our attentions more frequently with fights and dramas.

There was one party where I noticed something had changed as the drunken muse arrived, provoking a guest into violence that was not to be quelled or out of character. Several good people at that party helped, one dragging the muse away as I at only 5ft channelled the wrath of god into the six foot brick shit house who had been riled. I was drunk and high on life, protective and infuriated at the prospect of someone hurting him. I had experienced such rage only once before and had been so much younger, so very sober that it had been something less endangering. The night went on, I left after attempting to calm the muse only to be shoved away. I was intoxicated as much on the chemicals in my system as my care for him. Emotional and in need of our shared friend whose want of me assured comfort I left, seeing a glimpse of the muse held up by others before walking away to the song of my name screamed from his mouth.

It was there, I could feel it, something just beneath the skin, something so knowingly wrong but so tempting. We treated each other like shit with sporadic expressions of care; my removal from a party to sit with him after he had collapsed, his watch over me at a party where I had been too drunk. There was some care but it came at a price and it had driven me to tears as I stumbled drunk to our friends window and knocked, grateful to have him answer gown clad and freshly awake. I was comforted by friends who checked I had not been struck before the muse returned to where he lived. Things were calmer, he punched a display class and we picked up glass as he paced on, apologetic and still drunk. My hand got cut and he later expressed concern after friends dropped away to sleep as normal people do. We stayed up with a hero from the party soon bidding farewell after a meal in exchange for his kindness.

The muse propositioned me then, asking if he could perform oral on me, bringing up memories of a twenty minutes riff about the greatness of my ass and the strange attraction that had started it all. I resisted and offered to help talk it out with him, his problems not, the offer. I swear now that I truly wanted to help but I would be lying if I said some part of me did not know the risk of further flirtations. It happened as did talk of his discomfort in his relationship, we curled up together before I left after his hands began to wander too far.

Months later saw us move in together with our strange group and on my birthday we exchanged the sort of affections I thought someone like me would never do with a man in a relationship. He compared me to a woman who had assaulted him in the past and called me a devil woman, we fell out and I was once again hurt by something I knew to be wrong anyway.

As time passed our friendship grew, we got to know one another, exchanged insults and odd affections, he gave the best hugs and for whatever reason expressed a protectiveness over me that made me feel safe from the world. He was too unstable for anyone to bother and at some point I heard of a fight between him and a man he knew I once slept with, I heard it was over some prejudice act by the one night mistake but I used to wonder. I preferred being at the right hand of the devil than in his path.

Since being on such strong painkillers I can describe it as an addiction of some sort, some bid to chase a spectre known only briefly in my past. I still felt some draw to the man from my childhood when I thought of him but did not connect his likeness to that of the muse until much later. The similarities in the damage they ended up doing to me just appears to be my own mistake, the itch I felt one of warning as much as one of need. My body had been warning me of what was happening and I ignored it, I forgave insults and cruelties, I blew him and accepted his distance days after. I stayed silent when his girlfriend came to stay with us and felt sick when in his absence she opened up enough to expose discomfort and want of more, her drunken admittance of interest ignored by me as I ensured she went to bed and did not know what happened when her boyfriend came to 'talk' to me in the night.

The systematic cruelty, the rejection, the distance and the kindness fell around me, eased and ignored by vodka as I slipped into practices too commonly used to cope. It was during this time that I picked up the habit of self harm to a degree that I now have more scars than I care to count and a relationship to blood that sees me lulled into a serenity sweet in a way I cannot describe. Perhaps those tribes that practised blood letting were right and these actions were an act of defiance, my tactic at a war I did not fully understand.

At Christmas despite the usual tensions between house mates we had a gathering of food, drink and secret santa, my muse had me and procured me vodka and ice cream. It is the sort of gift that says I don't know you at all but I don't mind that you're becoming an alcoholic and that night we stayed up longer than others. He was displaying the familiar signs of anguish, that he would slip into one of his episodes and end up missing for days only to return with tales of drugs and brawls. He was fascinating you see, so smart, so deliciously troubled like myself that I felt less dysfunctional around him as if I were amongst my own kind.

At some point that night I retired to my room and at some point he came to find me, we talked, we fumbled, he asked for me to put my cigarette out of him as I so often used to do to myself and I obliged before things settled into a conversation uneasy enough to dissolve whatever self control he still had. He head butted my wall and despaired of his love for a girlfriend he did not wish to be with, I calmed him for a while and we settled down together as we so often did. Something we so often had done with other friends, all of us together as if a pack of cubs curled into our siblings to hide from the horrors of the world.

I was drunk but I remember rolling over to sleep, assuming he had drifted off and I remember him against my back, moving me onto my front as he pressed against me from behind. I remember him grinding and my placating nos that soon spiralled into more insistent commands that fell on deaf ears, muffled by the pillows. We had given one another injuries before, love bites, wounds of pride but I remember the way he ignored me so completely, moving me about and commencing an act I managed to escape from in tears. It could only have been minutes but it felt longer and even as I type this now my chest gets tight whilst my limbs shake. Fear slips in easier now.

I hid myself in the bathroom whilst at some point he collapsed at the entrance to my room whilst a friend came to investigate. I remained hidden before eventually showering and returning to my room where I had to leave him asleep just outside. I text friends vague messages of s.o.s before falling asleep curled up on the part of my bed he had not touched.

The next morning he came in forgetful and fearful and I told him. I explained I was fine and did not give details of the blood he'd drawn or the constant pain his force had caused. I offered help and our friendship seemed to tumble along as it had been simply without flirtations as often and a clear avoidance at being in rooms alone together. I hinted at friends in a bid to have them guess and some did, I regret them knowing now only because I sided with my attacker, defended him, swore not to press charges if he got help. I thought I was okay, it had happened before and I had only spent days in bed before going on with life but I recall now that it was the same time I chose to go by Lola. I had found a way to change my life then but living with the man who did it, seeing him, knowing him... it slowly began to eat at me and I went to get myself assessed by doctors and was offered therapy if I agreed to go to NA and AA. I went out drinking that day with friends, offered the muse a place with me at meetings neither of us would attend. I rejected therapy, University demanded my attention and I could not fail my degree.

I thought everything was alright but after a new years eve spent stilling him from assaulting men who I spoke to that I night things began to unravel and eventually I met a person who showed me what life could be like. This post is not about my salvation though and despite my happiness I have found myself over a year later beseiged by an anxiety I have never known, unable to leave the house after only being sent into shock when I saw him months before today. The symptoms of that night have been slow in their reveal and in part I put it down to my history of repression, but maybe it is because I feel safe enough now to address what happened even as it terrifies me.

Over time I got money for my slice of the house's deposit from him as he had ruined numerous parts of the building including my bedroom wall, it felt like an agreeable pay back at the time. Now I'm disgusted I spoke to him with such civility and reason.

I've spoken to him recently after advice from friends previously pushed away in the name of defending him, I need some sort of closure from what happened instead of this elastic band that threatens to snap and take me with it. I want to know why he did it, I want to finally understand what the fuck happened, why it happened, how he could so easily ignoring me begging him and how he could look at me afterwards whilst trying to appease me with stolen croissants.

I've told him he has a week to tell me what I need to know and he has given me the usual excuses he somehow always finds but if I don't know by next Wednesday evening I'm going to seek help from a woman's centre or the police. I have no plan of pressing charges, I don't want him in prison but I need to purge myself of this toxin, something I realised last night after a week of lethargy and grey abyss was washed away by rather violent sickness.

I often contemplate the ludicrous idea that his attack is what brought on my current condition. Foolish I know.

I'm sorry if you've read this and found it poorly written or boring, pointless or self indulgent for I am sure it is all and many more things but I needed to write this for myself. I hope this will be the first step on the way to getting my life back and I will not be denied my recovery simply because of another person's offence. I'm sorry, sort of.

My best wishes to all of you out there.

Peace and health

x  

Hello there strangers

WARNING: brief mentions of assault



I'm sorry for such a long wait between posts even if it is a blog that gets read most probably by myself. If you do read however I extend my apologies to you.

I finished reading Odd Thomas' last book and have also just finished Frankenstein and have moved onto the second in The Mortal Instruments books. I've also watched more x-files after having paused several years at season six. It is great and somehow it has awoken in me a muse I have not seen for many a year. When I watch it with notes open on my phone words flow from me without hesitation and form a tale I have wished to write for an age.

The tale in question is one of my art project and fictional town, the work amassed before this inspiration was okay at best but since watching that programme some sort of hope has welled inside me, feeding my confidence to continue, to pursue the ends of tales I've only dreamt of and haphazardly pondered. A map has been made and a list of characters with surnames has begun and shortly after that the story started, fingers driven by the subconscious, perhaps by the tale itself in a demand to live. I think it is fairly telling that I have just read Frankenstein and I do not ignore that my conquest of three books this year alone most definitely plays a role in this creative rejuvenation.

I do however admit that things have weighed upon me and that is the reason behind my absence. Forms for DWP matters had to be filled in and the paperwork they require shall be sent of soon, I've been changed onto a stronger painkiller that has yet to have been collected (due to my own rush to get out the house, subsequent forgetting of the prescription and a sleeping pattern that appears to remain a sanctuary from pain). I have also been contemplating the matters of my recent assault and have found myself needing answers from the friend I lost that night. I have been told via a third party that he will answer questions I have sent to him and can only hope that this will bring some sort of closure to an incident which appears to haunt me. My anxiety regarding it, for I can distinguish my usual from this brand, had me in tears of terror and shaking before attending a doctor's appointment because the medical centre is somewhere near where I could run into this person. It was ridiculous to me to suddenly fear someone I had appeared to forgive and although I think I have I believe my mind refuses to let go of the harsh facts: this person hurt me and even though we care for them we must not be lulled back into their lives. I think my mind is attempting to protect itself and I am aware of the thousands of other things this anxiety could be and agree that yes, my current condition could have assisted.

On a lighter note I showered after days of avoidance because simply put, showering gives me too much time alone where there is nothing to do but think and my mind is not the sort that I feel safe being alone with when it wanders...

Of course I do not mean I contemplate death on the regular and indeed have not thought seriously on it for over a year and a half, excluding a pain induced delirium where the painkillers weren't working and withdrawal crept in. I told my doctor about the withdrawal, not the sudden burst of despair, and he insists I cease the tramadol once I begin the morphine... yes, he gave me a stronger drug that should I get addicted to may destroy whatever sense I have left when I try to escape its hold.

It seems in reading this that life may be bad but despite the grey cloud that hovers about my mind, chasing the communications of synapses and dripping into flesh where it festers I am disgustingly happy. I do not wish to boast but my greatest aid has been another whose presence and care has steadied me when I've come close to losing hold. He has readied me as if an officer in a guard dedicated against that great beast of misery. I have become stronger with his help, strategizing, learning and fighting with whatever helps. Sometimes it is frozen chocolate fingers, sometimes a hug with my two favourite boys and sometimes it is the near forcible ejection of me from the house for fresh air.

It isn't easy but it is possible. I'm hopeful that the morphine will cut through this pain and give me back my life. I know I've lost my job but another can be found and I would swap the concerns of a job for this pain which keeps me from normality in almost every sense.

A strange addition to this week was the Snapchat of a friend whom I once felt a little too much for. Yes I once cried in the tub because I wanted him to want me as my then fiancé did but as time passed and most importantly, as I became who I am today I realised he was not someone to desire. He's handsome yes but so are many others and despite care for him obtained through sporadic conversations of serious matters I find it now to be a care without attraction. I can see his good points but whatever I felt as a young girl entranced by stoic seemingly loveless men, is gone. I have grown up and I have found the sort of happiness no cynic could ever hope to find. I feel sorry for him, for his cold look of the world where facts are of great importance and emotions are something not to express for I suspect like every person he does feel. Perhaps I hoped that I may change him by showing him how to fight the cold darkness of the world by focusing elsewhere and perhaps it was merely a crush of a trapped young woman which swiftly spurred her into action. I surely owe my happiness in part to him for without his dry and painfully blunt observations of my life I may have stayed hiding from the world forever.

I may meet up with him when I visit my mother but I do not forget that this is a man who has been willingly cruel and inappropriate in suggestion in the past. He says he has changed but I suspect he would laugh and jest at this blog amongst a great number of things in my life and I have no wish to wallow in such company. The human mind is a mystery as are each and every person on this planet in their own way but I know, though he says he has changed, I may end up attending his company for a moment before having to excuse myself for my wellbeing. Whether I am soft or not, for I have become more free with my emotions thanks to good friends, I do not know but I'm happy at a time in my life where happiness could easily be perceived as a miracle. I'd rather not test that but I stay hopeful. We shall see.

I leave you with a song I find compelling in matters of peace and creativity which I happened upon in an x-files episode called Closure. It is divine.

Click Here

And a picture for kicks



Peace of mind to all and happy days throughout
✨✨✨



image found:

http://s9.favim.com/orig/130721/cat-kawaii-pastel-pastel-grunge-pink-Favim.com-792669.jpg 

Not safe yet, dammit

So, just when you thought it was safe 'to get back in the water' and start sorting out what has become of my life we realise that the frequent peeing has been caused by painkillers offending my kidneys. As you can imagine I swiftly stopped, a mistake of course, and spent the evening just gone with restless legs, insomnia, cold and hot sweats and weird waking night terrors in response to whenever I had an itch (I had a lot). I spent almost five hours struggling to sleep before I finally opened up to my partner after steering clear because I had felt the oncoming episode earlier in the day and did not want to worry him. After another hour of tears and then one of talking I took a painkiller to cease the withdrawal and settled down to sleep. I cannot express the hell that last night was, trapped inside a body I had little if any control of. I also cannot express the awe I feel for all drug addicts who have wadded through that valley of hell and emerged triumphant. Those people are amazing and their perseverance something to be admired. I thought I could handle my shit and maybe it was just the last nail in the coffin but those few hours had my mind slipping to the darkest places where the only escape was the stupidity of death. But I spoke about it, I took a painkiller and I am planning to ease myself away from the meds, gradually. I have to avoid feeling like that again, I have to.

On a lighter note I have ordered the book High Rise by J G Ballard and I have no noticeable illnesses beyond my conditions to concern myself with. Of course they have their wandering symptoms provoked by treatment of original symptoms and of course that sucks but what can you do?

I have also started writing notes in one of my notebooks for one of my two head-stuck ideas for Knott. So it is not all that bad.

MY tablet is playing up so only a little post today. Enjoy this random pic and all the best in health and life to you if you are actually out there and do read this ramble.

PEACE ✨✨✨

The cake is a flop, a soggy flop

As we sit here and speak I am awaiting the drying out of a banana cake I haphazardly made whilst in a painkiller haze of food cravings. I added an ingredient I should not have, banana cakes do not need more moisture, and I also left out the baking powder so... the cake has been cooking for a fair while now with foil on top after the allocated baking time ensured everything was baked but not free of excess moisture. At least it is a lighter topic than the last which I doubt shall be coming up again unless someone else were to bring it up. You may also have noticed the addition of a heading picture which I have decided to add as a 'thing' to each post because I am a very visual person so I would prefer a larger amount of pictures than I have had already which is a pitiful few at best. Plus, it brings a smile, to me anyway.

Moving on, my purse finally arrived and after realising I am living on borrowed money (overdraft) I went to poundland to buy myself some long term treats that would help keep the spirits up. I went for fizzy drink cans (I have cut down after being a junkie to the stuff), chocolate fingers for the freezer along with two notebooks and a ring I have already misplaced but will share with you once I find it as I continue the façade that someone both reads this blog and enjoys doing so. If you do, thumbs up to you from Lola Hq.

The purse & notebooks, cute yes? Yes.

The banana cake is a flop, I shall repeat the recipe tomorrow and share the results. Let experimenting with recipes we knew off by heart as a child and have now forgotten begin! Maybe I should use twitter more, share some of what people have referred to as 'funny things' I say. I'm wary, I understand if you are too. A failing twitter is a badge of honour no one wants but I've never really thought of it, what is a failing twitter? All I want to use it for is to entertain the friends I have by sharing my hopefully witty imaginings. Who knows where that will go. Hmmm, hmmm indeed.

The cake is a failure and the internet is being moody, maybe it has begun to learn from me.

The idea behind the notebooks is that they will be allocated to the small short stories I have begun to store in my head and although I have yet to use them they are working, things on my lists and the ever present pain tend to get in the way as nothing helps writer's block like crippling pain. Yes, it has been pretty bad recently and my need to pee has become likened to what I imagine pregnant women suffer from. And yes, like a lot of people, despite the guarantee I am not with child a small fear resides in my head, burrowed just behind the ear.

I guess this post is just a small update with the assurance that not all of my rambling will be miserable and serious, just in case you are actually there in which case Hi, nice to see you.

It has been an okay day, I finished watching Wolf of Wall Street early this morning and watched the second maze runner film today, both good and worth a peek and a worthy excuse for not completing more on my list like write, do art or keep cleaning instead of just the washing up and bins. The cake was a flop but the day doesn't have to be. Insert cliché saying here.

Peace and handshakes to all ✨✨✨

Warning, heavy shit here

Prior warning this is going to get a little dark so trigger warnings but it isn't going to start that way. I apologise for typos but for not wanting to reread certain parts of this post there will surely be errors.

I can say at last my leather face finally arrived! And I took a photo to share with the world including your lovely selves whoever you may be if you are in fact really there.

moviepilot.com/misslola

There we go, the chainsaw wielding cutie himself. As I had promised myself and may have mentioned (my memory has a habit of failing) I posted my review of the original film The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974) but I doubt it will make me as proud as my Ash Vs Evil Dead post which has seemingly been welcomed by fans of the franchise. Maybe they just like that I adored it or maybe they like my writing, I doubt it is the latter but who cares right? I don't feel as if I'm just throwing my words into the abyss and recently that is becoming very very important. The down spells are getting harder to fight and harder to notice before they've enveloped me and I need dragging out.

On the book challenge front I have finished Saint Odd, the last book in the Odd Thomas series and it is that shall bring me into discussions of more sensitive matters. The book lacked some of the glory of the other books however there was a scene where physiological shock is described and I realised that it was shock that I felt in September and my friends were not just exaggerating or simply wrong. This is where the trigger warning will be given again and in the next paragraph the explanation of this matter shall continue. I shall put trigger things in italics so it can be avoided.

I have been assaulted twice as an adult and the second happened Christmas 2014 in the house I shared with five friends. Now I had not been a good person, I had involved myself sexually with one of those friends who happened to have a girlfriend as I always felt some strange draw to him that has since ceased. It was this friend who assaulted me, someone I cared for and still care for attacked me whilst drunk in my own bedroom after head- butting a hole in my wall and going on about his girlfriend. We were talking, we had just had our house pizza Christmas party where secret Santa gifts had been exchanged, he had gotten me vodka and cookie dough ice cream, I disliked the ice cream but the vodka was gladly welcomed as I self medicated my way through misery, guilt and being unloved. We were both drunk and he with guilt says he cannot remember but I can and have begun to remember more clearly, most clearly in September. I guess I am rambling a bit but I have never really talked about it so I am sorry if it is as pathetic as I suspect. If it helps it all comes without self pity. To continue, after the event, as soon as I could get away from him I ran from my room in tears that had begun just before my face was buried in my pillow. He got himself to the doorway before collapsing whilst I jumped in the shower washing away blood I did not wish to see and warmed my body until the physical pain stopped. Some part of this had woken another flat mate and as he came upstairs I remained in the bathroom listening and hiding behind the noise of the shower. I got to my room eventually, stepped over the slumbering drunk and went to bed before texting a friend and passing out scrunched up on the part of my bed where it had not happened. The next day one of my friends and housemates noticed the oddity of my mood and pain that I explained as mysterious, painfully aware each time I hinted, praying that someone would guess and ask but they didn't. Not for a while.

When it finally began to get out, after telling the man himself the morning after and advising him how to cope I persuaded myself I was ok. It had happened before and although I locked myself away for days when it first happened I could cope now. Been there, done that. I continued to drink and indulge in substances no one should become friends with, I spoke about it casually at times or in whispers that always warned of tears to come. Friends were told, I was blunt, honest, open. I was ok and I would get him help, I would make sure he got help and then we could act like it never happen. I defended him to my friends and then, months later, after meeting Sam I moved in with him away from the house and room and bed where it happened, away from my friend who I still cared for and friends I had fallen out with for doing so. I would cry now and then if I dwelt but I rarely if ever did, I told myself I got what I wanted after having a strange fascination with the guy for months and helping him cheat. I had blown him willingly on times before so this was just a misunderstanding despite my clear recollection of my voice repeating no, his silence and tears. I was for all purposes doing alright, only occasionally not wishing to be touched but I put that down to a multitude of things and moved on with my life. Sam knew and we bumped into him at a mutual friend's BBQ where I curled into Sam after hugging and greeting the guy who had hurt me as if nothing happened. I was ok but when a friend from the same shared house moved in with Sam and I I did not want he who shan't be named helping, he could not come here, to my home, my safe space he had never reached. That was natural, I was coping but months later during an internship and my old unit and his current unit I was working one day when I saw him during a meeting and he saw me and it all changed. I felt dizzy, cold, sweaty, I couldn't breathe as shivers erupted and I shuffled on the spot to disguise whatever it was from others. I could barely describe it but put it down as an intense panic attack until I discussed it with others... they told me it was shock and it was only then that I realised I was not ok. He had simply been somewhere I did not expect and I had to vaguely make my excuses to my boss before rushing home to Sam who I was already desperately texting. It was a sense of vulnerability like I've never known, terrified and out in London, moving among crowds who could be like him... I admit now it may be the cause for my new discomfort in crowds and how quickly I notice men watching me, I assess possible threats now and throw my experience's energy into distractions.

This is the most I've ever said about it and I'm sorry but I felt the need to get it out. I do and don't regret every action and inaction. I blame myself still as a thing of fact not opinion and I blurt it out on occasion for reasons I'm unsure of even now. I still care about him but I hope people realise how common sexual assault is all over the world. I'm only twenty six and I was assaulted as a child before experiencing the later incidents. I think about whether I'm just an easy victim and the thought embarrasses me as much as the recognition of what my fascination with that friend had been before that night. He reminded me of E, the boy who had introduced me to the world of sexual practices and quite possibly twisted me forever (it is part of the reason behind my diagnosis shift from bipolar to borderline personality disorder) because I don't hate him even now and never did, remembering several years ago thru things I had repressed I felt a strange specialness even now. He had never caused me pain despite the things he did and no matter how inappropriate my friend acted towards me I felt special, interesting, worth the attention of people who were superior to me. It's so ducked up I know but Tada. A lot of my recovery (if that's what you call it) is down to Sam who has shown me so much including that love doesn't hurt and doesn't need fights. It is cliché but so there, it is the truth. 

Sam is now concerned due to the state of my mood whilst writing this but I told him he would understand should he read the post but I don't blame him if he doesn't get this far.

In general news the pain has been horrific but this injection contraception has caused my periods to cease apparently so hell to the yes there. Money is now the fresh issue as it so often the background one too and despite my lack of job and current help from the government due to forms remaining incomplete (I don't have all the details I need yet) I am determined to get to America this summer after planning with Sam and Pj that we would go. One got help for the trip which I told my mother in recognition of my grandfather's lack of interest in my help and she has stupidly and wonderfully put aside money for the trip despite me already owing her s great deal not only in cash but well... anything. You know how it is, she's been an amazing single mother and I will forever owe her. To help myself I will be asking for donations for handmade things such as art or jewellery so keep an eye out if you're interested.

I guess for now farewell, sorry for the purge confession ramble. I hope you're all happy, healthy and safe wherever you may be and if you suffer endometriosis too, you're a badass, trust me, this thing is hell.

✨✨✨

P.S. a song that has really helped regarding this issue and the person without name is

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KWZGAExj-es

Sia, Elastic Heart.

Also if you're one my acquaintances or friends and did not know I apologise for the lack of explanation for my behaviour if I have acted secretive. 

Something new this way comes

So... David Bowie and Alan Rickman died, Sam's birthday plans fell through, I finished my book and Ash Vs Evil, began to post some reviews and slowly attempted to take some control of my life; even if that did result in being dragged around the streets by a dog for forty five minutes in the freezing cold. It has been a peculiar few days.

As I sit here on the couch I can feel the pain rising as the evening closes in and I can think of a thousand things to write but no ideas how to transfer any from thought to word. My mind is hazy, the heat in the lounge comforting but part of the problem that is the temptation of an early night in a bed heated via electric blanket where I can read the second book on my challenge list. With that said the first book from the challenge I displayed in another post was Pet Sematary by Stephen King, a book published before I was born and sadly cannot say outdid the film that followed, possibly because I saw the film first. That said, the film did not stir the same fear that the book managed however I put that down to a weakness to reading matters of horror rather than seeing them. Perhaps I'll test the theory and get an audiobook to assess its threat to my calm. More on that later possibly.

The last in the Odd Thomas series by Dean Koontz is my book of choice for a book published this year but I am doing 2015 as 2016 has barely begun. After starting it I am already quarter of the way through so hopefully I will finish soon and be able to plough my way further through the challenge list. So far so good with it anyway, it seems a little better than others in the collection.

Although I will be posting a review of Ash Vs The Evil Dead on moviepilot.com/misslola soon I will say that if you are a fan of The Evil Dead, gore, Bruce Campbell or horror you should give this series a try. It has given me a sense of joy I suspect I used to feel before birthdays and Christmases. It is able to lift my foul moods with its dark comedy and distract me from whatever anxieties linger that day. I'm not saying it is a cure or that it will even do for you what it did for me but just give it a go, I dare ya!
(Yes, please read crazy excited tone in the last sentence.)



Because we have essentially been given around 2 months notice on our flat we have to move but in doing so, I will finally be able to get a cat to keep Winston company when we are out and cuddle me when I'm feeling too fragile for any other affection. Times like that are hard enough right now where every touch hurts rendering me unhuggable to my partner. And yes, the cat picture is in celebration of the cat to come and something for me to help focus my hopes and hide from the bad thoughts. I'm excited, could you guess?

In closing I shall leave another shameless plug of my reviews and lists regarding horror greats here:
http://moviepilot.com/misslola
I wish you all well in your endeavours and health in each day.

My boss kindly accepted my resignation.

Goodnight ✨✨✨