There used to be a time when I would accept nothing less than perfection. I still fight the frustration when I’m not completely perfect.
I’ve come to believe perfectionism it’s a disease. An infection that slowly eats away at your skin until it buries itself into your bone and spreads to every corner of your body like an angry cancer. The growing niggle questioning whether perfectionism is something to be strived for, or maybe, abhorred has become a raging monster, and now, a blog post… (more…)
***Warning*** Audience Participation Required!
What is it that makes us creative? I mean other than the obvious grey matter, neurological synapse firing and conscious and subconscious minds? (more…)
So I pulled my head out of my own arse and after a few slaps to the face, self scalding and deprecation I well and truly got over myself!
When I say I got over myself, I mean I found a muse that inspired me enough to pull my head out my backside and see the light. A muse that made me realise: the piling emails lain untouched in my inbox, the 4000 word assignment still unwritten, the untouched 52K of my baby and my now week long hiatus of my blog, was, in sum, unacceptable.
I appeared to have momentarily tipped into an abyss of self loathing and depression. I do that sometimes… Actually quite regularly. But then I think a lot of writers fight depression or if not then a creative slump or whatever.
This particular slump is connected to a lot of other things I shall try not to elaborate on too much. My dear friend who is a hypnotherapist has agreed to treat me. I am extremely hopeful that she can help me work through whatever crap is going on in my head thats causing my absolute lack of self worth. Anyway…
This muse in particular happens to be a song. I stumbled upon it quite by mistake. I was given a voucher for iTunes for christmas and happened to be browsing the iTunes store and came across this beauty which has been on repeat ever since! Now I must caveat this song with a little explanation of me and music.
I don’t hear lyrics. Like, at all. I constantly sing the wrong words, its a rare occasion I can tell you what a song is actually about. I only hear how the music makes me feel. I hear melody, and tune, and rhythm and beat, but never do I hear lyrics. So I don’t have a scoobies what this song is about either! But I sure do like the way it makes me feel. For the first time this year I felt motivated.
The song is ‘Warrior’ by Imagine Dragons
Has anyone else found a new muse this year? What is it?
I really hate January 1st. It’s the ultimate come down. You partied hard the night before, fuelled by booze, contagious enthusiasm and ever more ridiculous resolution promises. The night seemed alive, 2015 was going to be THE year. It’s your year, your time and your chance.
What a load of shit.
Woke up this morning, feeling more bloated and fatter than ever, with a raging hangover and more resolution promises I will break before the end of month. Stepped on the scales, didn’t I?
WHY, did I do that?
Now ELEVEN pounds heavier than I was in August.
Fuck January. Fuck my life.
January 1st – berroca in the morning 11am hangover starting to disappear, better make an effort – healthy yogurt and bagel for breakfast. By 1:45pm I’d eaten chocolate, hated myself for eating it so ate more to console myself.
F***ing January. I’ll start tomorrow!
Looked at the insanity DVD pile with enough hatred to send me straight back to the chocolate drawer for another round of “stuff my face and hate myself some more” I’ll start insanity tomorrow.
Looked at my beautiful treasured Mac laptop lain unused for the entire Christmas break. Not a word written, not a thought for my assignment nor my much in need of an edit WIP. Looked at it, hated on it. Then hated on myself for slacking. I’ll start tomorrow.
Looked at the calendar, only 3 more days off till I go back to work. And the awful realisation I’ve wasted my entire precious Christmas holiday doing sweet fuck all. Something I can’t abide – waste. Spent most of the first week off being ill with a stupid cold I couldn’t rid myself of for a month. Happy to say the last two days have seen it finally bite the dust. But still. I hated on myself some more for behaving like the thing I hate – a waster – sleep is for the weak!
So where did it go? When did I lose my mojo? It’s been gone at least a month. I have no motivation AT ALL. Not to exercise and lose the weight I need to, and not to pick up my technological pen and write.
How do you get motivated when you and your mojo are lost?
Maybe you should tell me tomorrow?!
The wife has always had a penchant for Disney. I on the other hand barely watched them as a child, preferring to have my head stuck firmly in the pages of dusty old books. Disney came up in conversation again recently – having pushed a small human out – and the fact she wanted to have a large collection of disney films ready for the boy to watch. Sky had a few on demand over Christmas, so we sat down and stuck The Little Mermaid (TLM) on.
I sat, aghast for the entire film. How has disney been able to produce films that are quite simply an abomination. People – and by people I refer to the murky world of ‘parents’ – seem to rave about disney and how good their films are…. Good?
Good – sure, if you count a hideously antifeminist, despicably amoral story that has nothing even remotely like the ethics or values I want my son to grow up with.
I hate to be a mermaid basher so I will start with a positive. Race equality – TLM is a great story about how love is equal across any race, Mermaid loves a human, different races, love conquers all blah, blah, blah, Great – this is a moral I can not only live with, but as a lesbian, actively promote and encourage. I want my child to know they can love whoever they want, no matter their race, creed, gender or otherwise.
The Film:
Issue 1: Ariel falls in love with the prince. – So wrong. She spontaneously falls in love with someone she has never spoken to and mostly just perved on, in a fairly stalkerish way from afar.
Would you encourage your kid to do this? I doubt it. I can already see the injunctions and restraining orders being slapped all over him, because a stupid film told him real love happens by stalking someone for two days. Ok, I am being facetious but you see my point. I would also like to point out I am not suggesting that I don’t believe in love at first sight. More that you need to have a reality check in real life, even if you do fall for someone instantly.
Issue 2: Ariel wants to change herself to be with him.
I hate to go all feminist ranty on you. Actually, I don’t hate it, I love a good feminist rant. In fact, any sort of rant. I digress – BUT don’t we have enough antifeminist-bullshit pressure to conform to the ultra skinny, rib protruding, size of a seven year old, bulimic-anorexic, vomit inducing ‘celebrity look’ society the media loves, without having it force-fed subconsciously to our infants. UGH. No woman…. Actually no man either, should ever have to change themselves to be with someone. Is it just me? Or do we spend hours of our lives giving advice to our perpetually confused friends on their relationships, and why it’s not ok for them to allow their partner to nag them into suppression?
Issue 3: The prince starts to fall for Ariel but then deserts her instantly for a disguised Ursula over something so shallow as her voice! He decides to marry Ursula immediately having spent all of no time getting to know her…
Where do I even start with this. It is not ok to teach my child that they can desert a woman (or man) based solely on a characteristic. Thats akin to suggesting it’s ok to leave their partner if they get fat, or a scar, or a disability. I mean SERIOUSLY. And then to marry the other woman because of that same characteristic, after what 2.5 milliseconds of time spent with said woman… sure thats an outstanding idea. I am positive all parents would approve of their kids doing this.
Issue 4: Instead of Ariel taking her pride and moving on she pandas to the prince and chases after him.
This makes me want to claw my face off in frustration and resort to excessive amounts of alcohol. How low must her self confidence be to chase after a guy who only likes her because of her voice and will desert her as quickly as he met her for another woman simply because she lost that characteristic.
Issue 5: After all that the prince goes back to Ariel dumping Ursula and THEN kills Ursula just for good measure.
Now I just feel awkward. No one wants to date a psychopath, and lets be honest, the prince is looking more and more like a psychopath; with emotions unnecessarily fickle, and an assumption that it’s ok to off your ex…
Despite the fact I am resolute in knowing TLM is morally wrong, it’s not like theres anything better on the market. I think I may have to go investigate the other films!
Ok so it’s not like it’s my actual birthday, that came and went in March. But WordPress just told me it’s my blogging anniversary….
What a lovely surprise, and oh how long ago a year feels, I wasn’t even married then! I will write a semi reflective post in light of this year anniversary. But for now, I am moving house – tomorrow, starting a new job on Monday, and all whilst being pregnant. I don’t have time to pee, let alone write a meaningful blog.
Just one thing i do want to say though. Obviously blogging must mean a lot to me, because I wasnt sure, if when I started it was something I would carry on… I think I have surprised myself that I have stuck with it for a whole year. I am sufficiently impressed with myself!!
Happy Birthday Sacha Black. 😀
This is for artofstumbling, I love how she writes down her dreams some of them are fascinating, and seeing as I had a particularly bizarre one last night, and I don’t usually remember I thought I would write it down!
I am not quite sure if I was working in, or a patient, but I was in an insane asylum.
The walls were white, and there was a long corridor filled with white doors, at the end of the corridor was a circular room filled with doors, these were the bedrooms, and in the centre was a couple of sofas.
I was in the circular room with all the doors, and there were some doctors in long white coats standing with flip charts discussing patients, I stared at them for some time trying to over here what they were saying, but I couldn’t.
I heard a loud banging as a door ripped off its hinges. I turned round shocked, and the largest man I have ever seen lumbered out of his room. He must of been nearly 8ft tall. His body enormous, and cut with muscles so large he could easily crush my head in his hands. His skin was tanned and sweat was rolling down his biceps. I stepped to the side to allow him to pass, and he looked at me as he walked passed.
I don’t remember his face, just his enormous looming stature towering above me.
I watched him lumber his way down the long white corridor. He stopped turned to face me and nodded. Then disappeared up the corridor.
I could hear screaming and shouting coming from the frantic doctors behind me. I watched their slow motion moves throwing the clip boards in the air papers flying everywhere and running after the huge man.
Before they could run in front of me, I bolted down the corridor and skidded to a stop in front of the door the lumbering man had gone through. It opened into what looked like a big social room that was being turned into a modern church, rows of seats either side, tradesmen hunched over working on something on the floor. The towering man just stepped over their wide eyed stares and continued walking towards the blue door at the back of the room.
He smashed it open, and a wave of warm stuffy air filled the room. Outside was dark, but there were a few twinkling lights. He stepped outside.
I found myself looking back at the blue door from outside, there was a wooden balcony running all the way round the perimeter of the building. It was night, and we were in the desert.
The man ran off.
This part of my dream is hazy, but I know some time passed.
I found him in a seedy american motel, I think he was probably raping and torturing women, thats what it felt like he was doing, although I never caught him at it.
At this point a man, a doctor – the head of the asylum, walked in front of me and headed straight toward the rapist. I flittered between watching the doctor, and being the doctor. His words were my words, but I was watching him say them.
He spoke to the tall man, and calmed him down, convinced him that he needed to come back to the asylum,
“you need to come home son.”
The tall rapist nodded and walked back to the asylum with the doctor. It was daylight now, and I could feel how weary I was getting.
Suddenly, I was in a long narrow garden, with funny stone squares planted in the floor. The long garden was littered with green plants and pebbles. I was a the top of the garden with the doctor and another women, and behind us, was the army or some similar ‘authority’ the soldiers were dressed in army greens and holding shiny black weapons.
Infront of us was a low lying arch, the other end of which was the real world. Inside the arch were a couple of pills, and half a mannequin of the body and breasts of a pregnant women, but no arms or legs.
It was a rebirth canal. The patients who got better has to be reborn into the world to start their new lives.
The army people were questioning the doctor and a box of pills he was holding, they wanted them, wanted his secrets. But the doctor wouldn’t give them to them.
The doctor, now me, was explaining what the pills were, the garden was flooding but the army hadn’t noticed.
I threw the pills into the flooded arch to save them and watched them disappear. Chaos ensued and I woke up…
I have to apologise that firstly, this blog over the last few weeks seems to have become a dumping ground for the batshit crazy, irrational and overly depressed Sacha.
I don’t really have many other outlets to talk about how I feel, but more importantly whilst I love talking in general I hate talking about how I ‘feel’. I much prefer writing it down. I am a born writer, and it helps me to process my shameless, most private thoughts.
Today is bad. Really really bad. I meant to write a blog a couple of days ago about the aching silence between the first couple of days after IUI and the last couple when you can test before your period.
There was silence. It was horrendous.
My body stopped doing anything. There were no cramps, no signs, no symptoms. Silence is sometimes worst than hearing a cacophony of signs and opinions. It was just waiting. Unending, tortuous, mind numbingly slow waiting.
I am now 7dpIUI.
I am due on in 6 days.
Today was bad because I genuinely wanted to punch myself in the face. I am so fucking annoying. I (and by I, I mean my head/mind – my voice in my head which thinks and reasons) would not shut the fuck up.
I felt like I had a split personality, and all over a god damn pair of tits.
Usually by now my boobs would hurt. I thought, they hurt every month. Usually starts 8ish days before I come on and then stops a couple of days before I actually come on.
So I asked the wife this morning if she could remember if they always hurt, and she said no. Pretty bluntly too. I was like oh. Because I was so sure they hurt every month.
Anyway, point being, they don’t; I (irrespective of whether or not she can) can’t remember the last time they didn’t hurt before I came on.
Well, this sent me off on some insane thought process, some ridiculous symptom spotting madness all day. I could scream I am so pathetic.
All that happened this morning, was I woke up and my boobs DIDN’T hurt, and to be fair, I was bloated.
What kind of mad women spends an entire day twisting herself into knots over breasts that DON’T hurt for god sake?
Am I pregnant, am I not? Am I pregnant, am I not? Am I pregnant, am I not? Am I pregnant, am I not?Am I pregnant, am I not?Am I pregnant, am I not?Am I pregnant, am I not?Am I pregnant, am I not?Am I pregnant, am I not?Am I pregnant, am I not?Am I pregnant, am I not?Am I pregnant, am I not?Am I pregnant, am I not?Am I pregnant, am I not?Am I pregnant, am I not?Am I pregnant, am I not?Am I pregnant, am I not?Am I pregnant, am I not?Am I pregnant, am I not?Am I pregnant, am I not?Am I pregnant, am I not?Am I pregnant, am I not?Am I pregnant, am I not?Am I pregnant, am I not?Am I pregnant, am I not?Am I pregnant, am I not?Am I pregnant, am I not?Am I pregnant, am I not?Am I pregnant, am I not?Am I pregnant, am I not?Am I pregnant, am I not?
That is literally what my head has been doing all day. I just want it to shut the fuck up. It’s made me angry, and I was already exhausted today without my head twisting me into a mess.
I am in pieces. Exhausted, desperate, and seemingly slightly nuts.
I found the pregnancy tests that the NHS use, some really cheap pee strips. That apparently are the most sensitive pregnancy tests on the market.
Traditional tests like Clear Blue and First Response, are good, but they measure up to 50mlu. Before your pregnant you have about 5mlu in you. So 50 is about the time your period is due. These NHS ones supposedly test to a sensitivity of 10mlu… thats basically as soon as the egg implants.
The tests arrived yesterday.
I am now away on business so I can’t use them anyway. I don’t really know whether or not I should test, or just wait to see if I come on.
I partly don’t think I can wait. But at the same time I am aware that an egg can take as long as 12 days to implant. but 12 days is the day before I am due on…
How would my body know not to come on?
Look there I go again, I just need to shut up!
I am exhausted, I really am. I nearly fell asleep in the middle of the day today. It can’t be good to do this to myself!!
I just need to keep telling myself it will be ok, whether I get a BFP or BFN… it will be ok.
So this is it.
The tortuous two week wait has started.
I had my first IUI on valentines day. Ironic hey?!
I know I am kidding myself, thinking I could get pregnant on my first IUI.
But I can’t help it. Bloody human nature to be hopeful. I am just terrified of setting myself up to fail.
I mean I KNOW the odds are against us. The chances are fairly slim even if you have no fertility issues. Most women take 3 – 4 IUIs before a successful pregnancy.
UGH.
I feel like the picture. The tests, in fact the whole process is waving a big fuck you in my face at the moment. Laughing at me, because theres nothing I can do but sit and wait for hours, days, weeks… ok just two weeks, but honestly, it feels like a lifetime. A full blown, eon of time before I can take a test!
I am slightly unsure of when to test too. I am due on, on the 27th Feb. But thats only 13 days after treatment, and usually your due 14 days after. So if I tested, I am not sure if I would get a false positive or vice a versa. The clinic said to wait 16 days. But that would be a few days after I was due on…. which might be a give away!
I have our NHS appointment on the 26th, so part of me wants to test then, and according to the clear blue tests I could test as early as the 24/5th but no point testing early.
I have cramps, supposedly you can get cramps after IUI and its normal, I had a minute amount of bleeding yesterday too. Again apparently thats normal. But cramps are still there on day 2.
They are off putting. My head knows they are IUI linked. But part of you, the irrational, illogical, emotional part of you wants desperately to cling to some shred, a sliver of hope that it might, just might be a sign.
I’m an idiot.
Mentally I keep slapping myself around the face, for being stupid, for clinging to any hope. I need to get real here. The odds are low. Plus this is my first time, I would have to have some serious luck to get pregnant first time.
The frustration I’m feeling has penetrated my skin, my cells, my every fibre. I woke up feeling irritable this morning, and exhausted.
The emotional journey we have been on since before Christmas, is draining my energy reserves to nil, in fact, I think I am in debt with myself!!
Whilst I might be able to see a light at the end of the tunnel. A tiny pee stick might ruin it all. Throw a big Fuck You my way, and thats it. All over for another month.
I suppose the one ‘small mercy’ I have at the moment, is my cycle is so short, that if I do get a BFN (Big fat negative) I only have 10 days to wait before I would go back to Denmark to try again…
I feel like irony is playing tricks on me, if I have to go back to Denmark, the next time will be on my birthday. What is it with me and dates?
If it does work this time, I will hit 12 weeks and be able to tell my friends whilst were all on holiday at Gran Canaria pride!
And there I go again, trying to piece tiny, insignificant nothings together to find some shred of ‘pregnancy’ or fate or anything.
Two Weeks… Two Weeks… Two Weeks… I hate two weeks.
Fortnights are not my friend any more.
I keep falling prey to ‘googling’
No woman trying to get pregnant should use google. It should be banned, locked down and banished from your life.
I am beginning to think its the ‘google of death.’ You end up in this vicious pattern, of googling one desperate question after the next. Getting more anxious and upset each time. One answer sends you flying on a blanket of elation, the next, down into a depressive tear ridden mess.
Everyone said it would be an emotional journey. It really is.
I have taken to wearing some Danish Kronor. I got these whilst over there, change for our train tickets I think. But now I’m wearing them round my neck… for luck I guess.
Another stupid made up superstition.
*slaps self mentally*
How the hell am I going to get through the next 11 days?
This is pain.
But pain of a whole different nature.
It’s pain you cant feel physically.
It’s a nasty squirming sensation. A plague that infects the veins in your brain. Wriggles its way around your cerebrum. Nudging and irritating you just often enough you don’t forget it is STILL 11 days…… or 264 hours, or 15,840 minutes.
Sounds like a lifetime.
I am feeling worse than ever. I saw the above picture today, and I just cried. For me it’s such an inspirational picture. It takes me back to when I was travelling. Reminds me of the breath taking Himalayan mountains I trekked through. The peace I found when I was there. I want nothing more right now than to run away and climb into a big dark hole, hiding away from the world forever.
I want to be that girl in the photo. I should be that girl in the photo. All I ever wanted to do was go to uni and go travelling. Bum around the world for a while, sucking life experiences in and just ‘being’. No responsibilities, no plans, no cares. Coming from someone so anal, and organised I surprised myself at how much I enjoyed travelling. But I really did find a kind of peace when I was away. A kind of silence. Like the silence late at night when it’s snowed or is snowing. When it’s 1am, and nothing moves not even the air… Travelling was my muse, it inspired me, it humbled me and it gave me peace.
I am a shell, a living breathing carcass right now.
The last year has crushed me.
I don’t think I even know who I am anymore.
The stress of my family during the wedding, the job that has sucked every ounce of individuality out of me and forced a monotonous drone of boring beige routine into my life, and worst into me…. but worst of all the fertility issue.
I have been in and out of depression enough over the last 18 months because of ‘life’ but right now… it truly has to be the worst place I have been in…
I just cant cope.
My senior manager told me the other day that he couldn’t believe how well I was coping. He said no one would notice that something so horrific was happening to me. He said that I was really strong, and he was very impressed with my resilience.
It’s a facade. I am a fake. A plastic temporary smile, that I wear for 8 hours a day that drains every last ounce of anything I have in me.
He shouldn’t be impressed. He might think I am still brilliant, I am coasting through the days just to keep myself going. I am on autopilot… again.
I just didn’t picture my life like this, when I think back, this picture, that girl… that’s who I was going to be. I think that’s why the photo has struck such a deep resonance with me.
I have started testing my ovulation again today… when I ovulate this week, we will be flying to Denmark to try insemination.
The wife is so positive that it scares me. I already feel like a failure, my body… my ovaries are inadequate and I don’t want to disappoint her if the insemination doesn’t work. It only has a 25% chance of working at the best of times, let alone with my problems. I am also worried because I have been trying to be really healthy, but I seem to have got a cold this week… that is not going to help me get pregnant… more worries.
Then the thought of actually getting pregnant is also terrifying. All the life changes, I am still trying to get my head around it all, giving up everything I thought I was going to have, that was who I was going to be in my 30’s… not in my mid twenties. The next 5 years were meant to be fun before we tried to have a family…. I just can’t get my head around it. I just can’t. Why hasn’t someone told me it’s all a big mistake yet? WHY?????
I just…
I am in a very dark, very strange, very lonely place right now. Words are failing me, I just can’t explain where my head is. I don’t want to talk to anyone, I don’t want to see anyone, I don’t want to do anything. I can feel myself locking down, and shutting the world out and theres nothing I can do about it. I can’t muster enough ‘me’ to talk about how I feel. I don’t fucking know how I feel. That’s probably the problem. I don’t have words. The complexity of emotions I am feeling right now is indescribable.
I feel bad because I know I should be communicating, but I just don’t want to talk, about anything to anyone. I don’t want to have to justify myself, and I don’t want to explain my feelings. I just want to be quiet and for it all to go away. I want to wake up in the morning and be that girl in the photo…
But I won’t.
I am going to wake up… still be Sacha, still be depressed, still have a job I hate, and still have fertility issues.
Sacha Black 