What a huge relief

Last Thursday, I had an appointment at my local breast clinic.

I had waited several months for it, and was aware of when it was.

It was routine, a doctors referral following a visit, where I complained of increased pain and general discomfort in my left breast, spreading into my armpit, at different times of the month.

I have to admit, and I am ashamed about this, I am scared to examine my own breasts. So I asked my doctor to do it for me, which she did, and she found nothing. But she referred me anyway, for my peace of mind.

So, I found myself in the waiting room, which was jam packed full, it was a warm day, and I had left KP with my mum at the nearby retail park.

As I tried to read a magazine on my phone, I couldn't help overhear other ladies conversations, which consisted of them discussing their varying stages of breast cancer, recovery, the operation, the treatment after.

It dawned on me very slowly that this was not just a general wellbeing clinic, I was surrounded by woman who were actually in the midst of breast cancer, and I suddenly felt sick.

This was real. Although I was sure that my breasts were fine and healthy, suddenly I doubted everything. What if..?
My mind would not let me go there.

I am healthy, I repeated in my head, over and over.

The clinic was running over an hour late, so I had plenty of unwanted time to conjure up unwanted thoughts.

When my name was finally called, I felt almost too weak and wobbly to stand.

But I did, and I went into the consultant's room, with a bed, a scanning machine, and a consultant. And I swear I almost vomited.

He asked lots of questions, I heard myself answering, but it didn't sound like my voice.

The consultant said he would examine me, and I felt another wave of nausea.

I stripped off my upper body (there was a nurse present, who I happened to know through school) and I felt no embarrassment or awkwardness, my breasts were just another part of my body.

As I lay on the bed I silently, hurriedly prayed to everything and anything that I was ok. The consultant examined my breasts, and the left one felt tender and slightly uncomfortable. I heard the consultant say that he could feel nothing, but he would scan my left breast anyway.

And he did. It felt very uncomfortable, but he was very thorough.

He then told me everything was fine. He could not feel, or see anything wrong at all. My breasts were fine.

Only then, when relief flooded through me, washed over me, and filled every inch of me, did I fully realise just how worried I actually was.

I could have hugged the man.
I just managed to restrain myself, and shook his hand instead. Thanking and thanking him.

I almost ran out of the room whooping with joy.
But I walked - very quickly - with a huge grin on my face. Outside, everything seemed brighter, clearer. I swear I could feel more, sense more. Nothing mattered except seeing my mum and my baby boy.

I hugged and hugged them, and cried. I told my mum and she cried too.

Thank God for my health, any other problems are solvable,
Nothing else matters but having good health.

Silent Sunday Photo 21 September 21014

No I didn't breastfeed!

This is a post I have been wanting to write for a while, and it seems more fitting to write it here, rather than on my other blog.

I DID NOT BREAST FEED ANY OF MY FOUR CHILDREN!

There! Said it! Got it out!

I read every day how breast is best (which, I am sure, it is), and how, above anything else, you MUST breastfeed your baby.

Well, I didn't.

Not one of them.

And I am going to, at last, make no apologies for it!

I had an emergency caesarian section with my eldest, and was put to sleep for it. It was very panicked and very scary.

I came round from the procedure feeling very disorientated, very confused, I couldn't actually work out for a few minutes whether I had had the baby or not!

Then, my beautiful baby girl was thrust onto my breast, the midwife telling me that she was hungry and needed feeding. And OMG it HURT like crazy! REALLY hurt. It was unpleasant, painful, awful.

I cried and cried. I tried again. It hurt. Like crazy. It HURT. I cried and cried.

Later that day, amongst disapproving tuts and glances from the various midwives and nurses who were in and out of my room, I made the decision to give my baby a bottle.

Following the overwhelming feeling of failure of not being able to give birth naturally, was now the horrible feeling that I couldn't feed her either.

The best support I had, was from a male midwife! He sat with me, listened to me, let me cry, he didn't tut, or judge or chastise me. He simply said, I have to do what feels right for me. If I breastfed and hated it, I would become stressed, which would affect my milk flow, and my baby would pick up on that too. It would be far from a positive experience.

I chose to bottle feed.

I made that decision, as the best one for me and my daughter.

And it was the best decision. I could see, at every feed, exactly what she had drunk, I could, before too long, plan her feeds, and let my then husband, and my mum feed her too. 

I used to watch my then sister-in-law having her son (three days older than my daughter) constantly 'on the boob.' Never knowing how much milk he had had, at every squeak he made, thrusting a boob into his mouth, assuming he was hungry.

Now, please don't get me wrong, breast feeding is wonderful, a beautiful thing, very special, an amazing time.

But not for everyone.

I chose to bottle feed my other three from birth, MY CHOICE! I didn't have any problem with it at all, but others did.

As much as breast feeding in public receives (sadly) mixed views, so does bottle feeding!

I was constantly frowned upon - especially when my babies were newborn, and during their first months of life.

Disapproving looks and comments and even questions as to why I wasn't feeding? Surely I was missing out - as was my baby? 

I did feel more guilty with my last baby, who is now almost two. I cried and cried with guilt at not feeding him, especially when I felt my milk coming in. My midwife was actually very understanding, and talked it through with me. As a virtual single parent, with a very busy household and three other children, I knew in my heart that, again, bottle feeding was the right choice for us. My midwife agreed.

I LIKED seeing exactly what he had drunk.

I LIKED my other children being able to feed him, easily, and have that wonderful experience with him.

All my children have slept through the night from 12 weeks old. I have had at least 8 hours sleep a night, every night with all of them (except for things like illness.) I needed that! 

All my children are bright, healthy, well developed beings.

The main thing I want to say though, is that EVERY mother has the right to feed her baby however she wants! Breast or bottle, it is up to the mum! NO ONE has the right to judge, comment, or make that mum feel awful.

My Silent Sunday Photo 14 September 2014

52 Weeks of Gratitude #1

I love the idea of this linky from the Enchanted Pixie and with everything that I am going through right now, I think this will be good for me. This is my first week.

I am grateful this week for.....

1. Diva settling into her Uni accommodation and her new life so well, and so happily.

2. Littlest KP loving his first musical toddler session.

3. The strength and love of my other two children.

4. My parents. They are away all this week, and boy am I missing them.

5. My surrogate mum and dad who are also away this week, but who gave me some money before they went to help me through this awful time. (They are very, very good friends who feel like my second set of parents)

6. Good friends, I have met up with several, and am amazed by their support.

7. The beautiful hot, sunny weather being here all week.

8. My simply getting through this very difficult week

9. My other blog gaining a couple of new review opportunities and sponsored posts

10. My mystery shop work providing some additional income

Its not goodbye

I cannot believe that this time next week, Diva will be all set up in her uni accommodation. It's only 2 and a half hours from here, not too far. Yes, too far.

I left her father when she was 2 and a half. And I moved in virtually straight away with Jon and went on to have three more children with him.

I always thought he treated her as his own, until now, looking back. He did, materially, financially and practically, and he did love her, we did the best we could for her. But it wasn't quite the same as if we were her mum and dad. He was having terrible contact problems with his own daughter, being taken to court all the time, and that had an effect on us all. Things were strained a lot of the time, and we clashed and bickered a lot. What I didn't realise was that she was listening to us rowing, to him calling me names, putting me down, and hating him inside a little more each day that we fought. You think little children don't hear or see what goes on, but they do. And they store it all inside, because they don't really know what else to do.

I was always used to sharing her with her dad and his family. Not 50% of the time, but most weekends she spent with him. A lot of memories of weekend events exclude Diva, because she wasn't with us. She was, though for all important events, like birthdays, trips, holidays and Christmas.

Thank god I have spent every Christmas Eve with her, because her dad's partner is German and they celebrate slightly differently. But, she has never been with us for Christmas night, and Christmas dinner is always slightly rushed because he insists on collecting her no later than 2pm.

I have been used to her living with Oz, her boyfriend and his family, it has happened gradually over the last 12-18 months or so, and was never an official moving in. No date was set, or announcement made, or a planned moving of her stuff, it just gradually happened so that one day, I thought 'oh, she's not stayed for the night in a while.' I am glad she had him. And them. They are lovely, we are all quite close.

If she hadn't, she was heading down the 'vodka on the beach' road, which quite a few of her friends went down, and worse.

So I thought that her going to Uni was basically an extension of that. The next step. That it was little more than when she sort of moved out. How wrong I was. The last few days it has hit me. Slowly, but hard, like a slow motion car crash in a movie. This is nothing like that. This hurts. It feels like a pain around my heart, almost a gentle pain, but it's constant, which peaks and stabs when I think about it too hard, or it's mentioned. It rears up to my throat, threatening to vomit out everywhere, but then it pulls back to its retreat in my chest, sitting there, quietly squeezing my heart.

I will miss her so very much. My girl. Yes. As in the song, which her daddy had playing full blast for us when we arrived home from hospital. My beautiful girl, my first born, my much wanted baby following a miscarriage I had six months earlier.

Jon first started properly against Diva following the birth of KP, they rowed, he shouted at her that she was lazy, and why wasn't she helping more with KP, why was she at Oz's a lot (Diva was 16 at the time), Diva replied that KP wasn't her baby or her responsibility. Jon called her gobby, cheeky, rude, disrespectful. Jon and I didn't live together at this point, I had moved out three years before, but we were still 'together'. Things did seam to heal between Jon and her, or so i thought, until the recent awful rows this summer, that ended my relationship with Jon. This summer has been literally a roller coaster ride. Her father threw out his long term partner the week before Diva's A Level exams, then proceeded to have a loud, prolonged breakdown, choosing Diva as his life support. The worry for her that he was actually in such a dark place one night, he was apparently contemplating ending it all (not at all, he is a weak attention seeking excuse of a man, but, he is her father, and of course, she took his lame threat seriously, as any daughter would) was a very real, deep worry for her. He offloaded big time to her. His then 17 year old daughter. With potentially life changing exams looming. It nearly broke her, god bless her. She couldn't revise, or barely leave his side. I was deeply worried about how it could affect her exams, and was very, very angry with her father. Two weeks later, she was battling a tirade of abuse, name calling, horrific verbal attack from Jon. It almost ruined our holiday, and our summer. She took off, in Menorca, threatening never to return. I told Jon to leave, to go back to the UK, otherwise I would call the police. He did, eventually, after a parting wish that he hoped I got cancer. She did return - thank goodness - then told me, in an emotional, painful, harrowing way, what she remembers, has heard, has seen over the last 15 years of her life. How, she has had such dark depressive thoughts, and been in such an awful, lonely place that she has actually, seriously, contemplated ending it all. And that Oz had wanted to call me several times, he was so worried about her. What a shock to me. What had Jon done to her? To me? To us all. I had to, I CHOSE to support, protect and stand by my beautiful Diva. We continued our holiday, me and the children, and build some amazing memories that will last a lifetime. With Jon gone, I have been able, finally to praise her endlessly. To celebrate her 18th birthday over several days, making her feel so special, and loved. To write on her card exactly what my heart says. Not having to censor my gushing love and pride for her. To woop with delight and burst with pride over her fantastic A Level results, again, and again. To spend as much time as possible loving her and being with her.

I then realised how censored I had been. How restrained. I couldn't fully show my feelings to her, or express them in writing, in cards, because he'd always point out the other children - which of course, I know, I love them all equally. But he was never quite as full on with Divas achievements as he was with his own children's. Whereas I burst and cried with pride and love at every single one of them.

And now,this week, I can just be with her. With the others in school, except KP, we are spending time together, cherishing this last week, guilt free, happily, free of any black clouds.

I hope I have healed her enough to make a new start. I hope I have filled her with enough love to mend her broken heart, for it must have broken at some point, when the man you live with and have in your life for 15 years as your step father turns so viciously, nastily, and with no reason against you.

I know I have done all I can this summer to show her how much I love her, how proud I am of her, how special she is to us all.

I hope that my cramming this into a few weeks will be enough.

Only time will tell ......

My Silent Sunday Photo 31 August 2014

A Painful Week

My #wotw this week is PAIN

I am in it, emotionally and physically.

My back has taken a turn for the worse, I have been to the doctors, who said it is muscular, and has put me on strong pain killers.

My emotional pain continues. It hurts as much as the physical pain.

I feel I am drowning in, and surrounded by pain.

My joints ache too, the stress and worry of everything are having a real affect on me physically.

My children are my little shots of pain relief.

They numb my pain briefly, with their smiles, cuddles, hugs and love.

As always, I thank the universe for them, for saving me.

My 3 Things

Inspired by the lovely Single Parent Pessimist, I have decided to take part in her #my3things linky this week.

Here goes....

3 things that were not so good this week

My back. I am suffering from terrible lower back pain which is getting worse. Stress is affecting it badly

Mini meltdowns worrying about money

Fending off the many abusive texts - again

3 things I want to focus on next week

Being more mindful in every moment

My eldest daughter - she is off to Uni on the 8th

Child Maintenance, I can't have the stress of hoping my ex is in a good mood to give me money for the children

3 things I have done well this week

Met with my ex with the boys, keeping calm and civil

Secured some brilliant deals for my other blog

Supporting a close friend who has just lost her mum

This is actually a really good thing to do, it has made me think about the good points of the week, and look ahead to making next week good too. I am going to try and link up every week. Thank you :) 

To Blog or not to Blog

I set up this blog for somewhere to go when I need to sound off, to release, to let go, to explore whatever is going on for me at the moment.

I have another blog, which I launched seven months ago, which follows our family life, our adventures, and is a wonderful, positive, happy little blog. It is successful in it's own little way, it has opened doors for me that I never thought possible, with review opportunities, connecting with other bloggers and more.

My other blog has become more than  hobby, it is my corner of the internet to record and share my family, and what we do.

It is kind of anonymous, but I do share photos of me and my family freely, although I haven't disclosed the blog address or details to my family or through my personal facebook.

I have had betrayal personally from people who I thought were friends, and actually weren't. People watching what I was doing, and either wanting to drag me down, or copy me.

So, when I set up my other blog, I knew from the start that I would not talk about it. Except to my eldest, Diva, who also blogs, and who inspired, and encouraged me to start. My other children know about it too, and my parents now know I blog, but not the address.

Diva knows my other blog details, and loves it. She does not know about this one, although I told her I was launching an anonymous blog for me, and she agreed it would help me.

This has to be completely private, truly anonymous so that I can really be me.

Then I ask myself 'Why?' Why am I doing this? Every minute spent on this, is a minute lost from my other blog, that I do believe could really go somewhere. 

I started this one, not caring if anyone ever read it, or found it, just somewhere for me.

But then my desire to be acknowledged, approved of, accepted kicks in, and actually, I do want someone to read it. To like it. To hear me.

I think of how my other blog has grown in seven months. And I think of what I need to put into it. But I need this one too. I need this space. For my sanity.

So, I guess I have to blog, whether anyone reads it or not! Oh, and if you are reading this, thank you and I hope you like it x

Is this normal?

Tonight, between 7pm and 9.30pm I received 20 texts from you.

This happens three to four times a week, I am guessing, depending on how fast the wine is flowing.

They start, quite civil, almost nice...

I reply that I will not be going away with you, as we are over.... Then I ignore the next few texts. The texts from you change....

Then....

I continue to ignore the texts, which are progressively absusive.

Then you send....

This is only a snapshot into the dozens and dozens of texts I receive from you. You can no longer abuse me face to face. But you continue your barrage of abuse from your phone. I ask you to stop sending me abuse. 

You reply 'it is not abuse, it is the truth.'

I have written this post actually thinking that maybe it isn't abuse. I am so used to how you speak to me, how you treat me, that it is normal. 

You call me names. You call my daughter names. 

And you have done it for so long that I think it is normal.

Why?

I am struggling today.

Asking myself 'Why?' a thousand times

Why?

Such a little word, but it's answers can change lives.

Why? Fast becoming little KP's favourite word, he has no idea that his mummy asks it a hundred times a day.

Why?

Do I wake with a dark feeling deep inside me.

Why?

Do I feel so sad inside, when I have so much to be thankful for.

Why?

Am I grumpy, weepy, cross.

Why?

Are you doing what you are? 

Why?

Do I love you one minute and hate you the next?

Why do I dread you texting, hating your abuse, your desire - still - to control me, and yet missing your texts when they don't come.

Why are you still in the background of my mind every minute of every day?

I will never have the answers. You will never admit what really happened. You will never tell the truth. 

I will have to let this go to move on, to heal. But I can't right now. Not yet.

Why?

Because I still have hope. Hope that you will. Hope that you will get help. Hope that somewhere deep inside the very core of you, you know that what you are doing is so very wrong. 

My Silent Sunday Photo 24 August 2014

Family

This week has reminded me how important my family is to me, and how lucky I am to have them.

I am a mum, a daughter, a sister, a sister-in-law, an aunty, a granddaughter, a niece, a cousin.

My parents have been helping me (again) to swop Pea and Bro's rooms over, so that KP can move in with Bro. Dad has been painting, mum has been cleaning. Both have been moving furniture, and putting together new furniture, which they have bought us.

Jon (my abusive ex) was always mocking me for being so close to my parents. He used to say things like 'You should never have left home,' and 'why haven't you cut the apron strings to mummy?'

He used to make me feel guilty for seeing my parents, and would roll his eyes and moan if I said I was meeting my mum.

Maybe the fact his mother passed away just before his 13th birthday explains this, but, I was sick of making excuses for him.

I couldn't just ask my parents (or my sister and family) over, or arrange a meet up. If I did arrange anything (or they did) we would usually end up rowing about it. Falling out and there would be a big drama.

Looking back, he was against any sort of family togetherness, including Diva's boyfriends family, who are lovely, and would invite us around, I would go on my own with the children. He would just about come to my sisters post Christmas Sleep Over, but I guess because we stayed over, he could just get drunk.

Anyway, this summer, since our break up, I have relished being able to see my family whenever I want to. I have loved having them over, meeting up with them, planning days out. I have loved Diva (my 18 yo eldest) and Oz (her boyfriend) coming over, popping in, meeting us. 

So, I have much to be thankful for, especially my family :)

Count your Blessings

All of them.

Although I am feeling so low right now, I have had two shocks that have made me STOP and count my blessings. Yesterday I had an eye test, and something has shown up on the back of my right eye. The optometrist is sure it's nothing serious, probably a tiny healed scar. But OH MY GOD it scared me. My sight? My eyes? Having been short sighted since I was 11, and quite badly so, I am used to wearing contact lenses and glasses, and not having 20/20 vision, but losing my sight?? 

Not being able to see my beautiful children, my family, my home, the sea.....it does not bear thinking about. 

Today I found that that my dearest friends mother has died. My friend is 48. I am 43. I could not function right now without my mother. 

Whatever I am facing, I am ok.

I will be ok.

I am lucky, I am blessed. 

I have my senses, my health, my children are healthy and thriving, my family are well.

All is well.

I truly Count my Blessings. 

Sinking to new depths

Sunday 17 August 2014

Just when I thought that he couldn't get any lower, than spreading malicious lies about Diva, my ex surprises me again!

He is now texting her. Offloading his abuse on her. She is just 18. She is off to UNi next month, starting a new life. He seems set to destroy it. To destroy her. Why? I have felt unnerved twice through this, once a couple of weeks ago when his texts reached an all time low of abuse and craziness, rambling, the wine clearly flowing, and tonight. It's gone midnight and I'm wide wake. I feel uneasy. A weird feeling inside. How can he still have such a hold on us - on me? 

I know Diva feels uneasy too. Scared? Maybe. You see, Jon clearly has mental health issues, and is quite possibly an alcoholic. So, I suppose, he is scary? 

Monday 18 August 2014

Diva was woken at 1.40am with a vile text telling her she is spineless. From a 49 year old man. Who was, bar a piece of paper, her step father for almost fifteen years. 

And guess what? He is texting me asking me to meet. To go for dinner, and, wait for it, to go away with him for the weekend!! To mend things! All the while, hating my eldest, MY DAUGHTER. 

We were going to go to the police, but, I thought through what could happen, and, in his present mental state, Jon could turn it all around and try and prosecute Diva for assault. And knowing our crazy legal system, she could well be arrested, and even cautioned. So convincing is his version of events. 

We have to stay strong. United. Together, we know the truth. Diva is devastated. She couldn't go to work this evening because she feels so upset and affected by all this.

She is a beautiful girl. Inside and out. She does not deserve this. She is gentle, caring, loving. Yes, a typical teenage girl. Moody, irritable, unpredictable. But not spineless. Or a liar. Or evil. Or full of bad blood. Or any of the other horrific things that she has been called. 

I just hope that he can't sink any lower.....

I feel like I am going mad

I feel like I am going mad.

I have my ex-partner ADAMANT that Diva (my eldest) hit him 7 times.

I have Diva, and my other two - Pea aged 14 and Boi aged 12 (both his) who are ADAMANT that she DID not.

He wants Diva to go into church to swear on the bible, on mine, and her siblings lives that she did not do it.

That sounds like a weird ritualistic sacrifice which I AM NOT prepared for her to do. Although she said she would.

I AM GOING MAD with this inside my head.

I believe my children. They are not liars. They are all old enough to see and say what happened.

WHY IS HE MAKING ALL THIS UP?

Pea and Boi do not want to see him. He just blames me for poisoning them. I have just spoke with him, for the first time about this mess. He will NOT take any blame. He blames Diva, and speaks so vilely about her. MY DAUGHTER.

I have no where else to vent this. No where else to talk about this. Why did she hit him even once?? 

I have been face to face with him hundreds of times, and wanted to knock his head off. I suppose fear stopped me. Fear because I knew he would hit me back. Hard.

But Diva stood up for herself. She took his verbal abuse, name calling, ranting on at her, calling me names and her father. She took him in her face shouting at her. And I guess with the wonderful naivety of youth, she hit him. Once. Not 7 times. Only Once. All three of my children have said this from the minute I entered the apartment after it happened. They would NOT lie.

Even now, weeks later, if I talk about it with Diva, she cries. She is not proud of what she did. But she did it. 

 I am angry with her.

I am angry with him.

I am angry with myself.

I am doubting everything.

He is getting inside my head.

And it won't stop.

I have no idea what to do.

I have spent the last hour searching for an appropriate photo or picture, ad can't find one. So, for now, no image.

My Silent Sunday Photo 17 August 2014

Against all odds Three A Levels

I am so very proud of Diva, who has, we found out on Thursday, got three A levels to her name, including A* in Psychology, A in English and C in Drama - to add to her 11 GCSE's! She has secured her place in Uni next month, and we are all over the moon.

She has had a difficult summer, and although I knew she would do well in her exams, it is such  relief to see the results in black and white.

The week before Diva had her main A Level exams, her father (my ex husband) threw out his long term partner of over 10 years, in a huge row apparently, then he proceeded to have a melt down, choosing Diva to be his main support. He leant heavily on her, and it was very upsetting to see her so distressed at seeing her father fall apart. I was also very cross with him for the whole scenario - well, for putting it all on Diva at that time.

Especially when he proceeded to do all that he could to woo his partner back, which he did, and they have been acting like loves young dream for the past couple of weeks. All the while, my ex husband is totally oblivious to the fact that he could have seriously messed up Diva's exams, grades, and therefore the next three years of her life.

During this time, Diva was bleeding quite heavily in between her periods, which has now stopped thank goodness, I think it was stress. She was very worried though, as was I, but I wasn't facing big exams, which would affect the rest of my life. So, she has had a tricky time......

......on top of all this, Jon, my ex partner, her 'step' dad, although we never married, chose our family holiday abroad in June / July to pick at her, and me, to pick holes in everything about the holiday, then turn on me, causing two huge rows, which ended up in Diva hitting him. Once. He pushed her and pushed her and pushed her verbally until she lashed out. He returned home and has spread vicious lies about her ever since. I actually think he has mental health problems. My other two children were present (I had taken little KP out to shield him from the shouting), and they both support Diva, confirming the incident happened exactly as she said it did. Diva was devastated, as we all were at the way Jon has turned on her.

So, despite all this, my amazing, incredible daughter has secured her future with flying colours, and leaves next month to start her new life......which is a whole other blog post! 

Single Mother Ahoy

Peace

This is my first linky and I have chosen The Reading Residence Word of the Week. I think that having a word to focus on is a great idea when facing overwhelming emotions. 

My word this week is Peace. I need peace in my life, peace inside my head, peace around me and my children. The peace that is most needed is within. 

This photo represents peace to me. 

It is very close to where I live.

Amongst all the conflict around me, I choose peace.

Goodbye Old Friend

I woke to the news that the fantastically wonderful Robin Williams has died. Suspected suicide. I was incredibly shocked, saddened, and started to cry. This was in the midst of me trying to leave the house for my (currently) only paid regular job of one morning a week, leaving my daughter (Pea) and eldest son (Boi) with KP who is 21 months, juggling writing a note for my mum who was on her way with my dad who is overhauling Peas bedroom. And waiting for a furniture delivery from IKEA.

I felt so sad, as though I'd lost a friend. We have so many happy family memories around films, one of the strongest being Mrs Doubtfire. We all loved it, loving the craziness and wacky humour. I will never forget Boi wandering into Jon when he was very small, saying 'Dad' 'Pe-pe-pe-pe-pe-pe-Piss off Dad! We (Diva, my eldest daughter, 6 years older than Boi, and Pea, 2.5 years older than him) burst out into hysterical laughter as Jon was not impressed and Boi had no idea what he'd said! Happy times! Once I'd left Jon, five years ago, it held very different connections for Boi, who was seven at the time. He couldn't watch it for a while because it made him sad, because the family has split up in the film, and now we had too.

I am literally exploring my feelings and asking why? As I'm writing this post. For me, Robin Williams passing is much more than a well loved, treasured actor leaving us.

I hate the thought of anyone feeling so alone, so low, so down that they make the choice to end their life. Life, however hard, is precious. Our animal, gut, survival instinct is to live. So how must someone feel to override that, and end theirs.

Oh god, Adele's Someone Like You is now playing - I'd better go before I have a meltdown in the middle of McDonald's. (Sneaking a quick Cappuccino before work). Oh no, and I'm going to be late. I just had to write this.

Goodbye Robin, you truly feel like an old friend, someone who I didn't see often, but was there. Someone to call on if we needed cheering up. May you find peace, and happiness where you are x x

Words don't leave wounds (that you can see)

You've battered me with your words, not your fists

You've stabbed me with verbal blades, not a knife

You've hit me with an abusive name, instead of your hand

You've kicked me with your insults, not your foot

All these attacks leave no scars. No marks. No bruises.

Daily torrents of verbal abuse, washing over me, leaving no visible trace.

But my mind. My thoughts. My heart 

Are back and blue

Are battered and bruised

Are scarred and damaged 

You see, there are scars. And marks. And bruises

They're just on the inside of me

And they're the hardest to heal 

I am me

I am me. 

Accept me as I am, or leave me alone.

Don't pretend to like or even love me, then try to change everything about me.

I am me.

Good, bad, happy, sad, raging, calm, up down.

Be with me. Be next to me. Not ahead, not behind but beside.

I am me.

If you can't cope, if you don't want to cope, you don't have to cope. Walk away.

But don't put me down. Don't shout at me.

Don't belittle me. Don't hurt me.

With your words, sharp as blades.

I am me. 

You are you.

We didn't make it but next time just maybe, if they can accept

I am me. 

Love this....