Y is not feeling very “Christmassy” this year so he asked me to write something on the subject for him.
So today Iam guest posting here!!
Come check it out! 
Edit: Have you ever seen me blog at 03:15? No. There’s a reason for that, being that I’m asleep. Somebody snuck in here whilst I was sleeping and did a little self-promotion. There will be much grovelling to be done when I return home tonight!
If you never had to worry about money and do volunteer work forever, what cause would you dedicate your life to?
The short answer is I’d train to be a counsellor and do that. Not sure of a particular cause but there’s enough people out there that need it.
And of course, there’s a long answer.
I believe I first started to show signs of depression at the age of 10 or 11, by the time I was diagnosed at 17 a great deal of damage had already been done. You see, my depression was diagnosed after a suicide attempt.
They say that there are two types of suicides: those that are reaching out for help, that don’t really want to die and those that fully intend to die, that withdrawn when they don’t succeed. I was the latter. It is said that in the days after my suicide attempt, as I sat in hospital, I was a shadow of my former self. When the hospital psychiatrist spoke to me, she asked if I would try to take my life again. I couldn’t guarantee that I wouldn’t.
They couldn’t keep me in the hospital as after a time there wasn’t anything physically wrong with me. Between my mother and the psychiatrist it was decided I should be admitted into a mental health unit.
Once there I met with a psychiatrist based in a more local unit who I continued to see after my release. I was medicated, assigned a community psychiatric nurse and given regular appointments to check in with the psychiatrist. At those appointments I was asked how I was feeling and my medication was reviewed but I was offered no counselling of any sort. After four months I was readmitted to the mental health unit as my problems continued.
Following my discharge from the unit (although not from the care of the community mental health team) the same care pattern continued, and again, I was offered no form of counselling. As the next year progressed, and I became stuck in a cycle of binging and laxative abuse, instead of talking it through with my psychiatrist I kept everything inside for fear of being sent back into the unit again. Still, I didn’t get the chance to work through the issues that had brought me to this point in the first place. My recovery was more down to my will and desire to recover than any treatment I received.
With time I recovered, but those issues that had caused my depression were still there, festering below the surface.
It wasn’t long until the depression came back. I was pregnant, we were living in Brasil, in far from ideal circumstances and following the birth of our son the depression really took hold. Before long I was suffering from severe depression again, and this time getting help was to be a real struggle. We were lucky that my doctor spoke some English, but not a great deal, and so Y would accompany me to my appointments. Although counselling was available through my health insurance plan, being unable to speak Portuguese I was unable to take up the counselling.
We returned home in order to get me treated properly. A referral to the CMHT was easy enough to get but I refused to see that same doctor who had treated me before. Not only did I feel that it would be a waste of time but I felt that to undergo the same style of treatment a second time would only serve to make my depression worse in the long run. The doctor I saw that time around was not interested in me or find a way to treat my depression and sought only to medicate me in order that I wouldn’t cause any further problems. I returned to my health visitor and GP, and between them they agreed to monitor me for the time being. I was also given the details of a private counselling service which, although wasn’t free, did agree to see me for a nominal sum and began to help. But before I could gain any real benefit we moved again, and I was back to square one, with no referral to a counselling service.
After another six months having found an understanding and helpful doctor, I started to recover. But, once I had come off the medication, I had only a few month’s respite before the depression returned, this time kicking off by being detained by the police under the Mental Health Act. My doctor signed me off work for three weeks, which was time enough to pull myself together and carry on like normal but the borough in which I lived had no counselling service.
This time around I really needed help. The instance of depression was brought about by looking more closely at those issues which had caused the previous episodes of depression. I couldn’t continue to ignore things.
The church we were attending had a counselling service, but it was understaffed and oversubscribed. I was, however, lucky to be assigned a trainee counsellor but our sessions weren’t going to be easy. Not only did I need to work through the events that triggered my latest depression and surrounded it closely, but there were also the issues to look at from the years before. I had been quite traumatised by the hours leading up to and including my detention by the police and found it incredibly difficult to talk about. It didn’t help that the counsellor was insistent on talking about her own experiences. I found that whenever I started to open up and be able to talk, amongst other things she would take over and talk me into submission. I came away from each session feeling worse than before I’d started. In the end, Y complained. I was persevering with the sessions in the hope that they would eventually start to work, but he saw that it was of no use, and as I was seemingly unable to do so for myself, he requested I be assigned a new counsellor.
It was an organisational feat to meet with my new counsellor as she was incredibly busy, but she also came highly recommended. In the few sessions we spent together, I started to come to terms with the events that had happened. She enoucraged me to talk; pushed me enough to get me started, but never so much that I couldn’t cope. She helped me to function again but I still had a long way to go and she didn’t have the time to devote to the intensive work I needed.
Since I had been signed off work I’d been on the waiting list for an intensive counselling weekend. Just over a year after my detention by the police I was granted a place on a weekend. It was hard. Working through so many emotions and issues in one go was draining, both physically and emotionally. But, it worked. I came away from that weekend seeing things in a much different light. I gave up my place on the NHS counselling waiting list that I’d gone on. Although I’m still on medication, and have agreed with my doctor that it’s best to stay medicated in the long term, I feel better. I am better.
Throughout all my struggles, one thing that would really have helped would have been the availability of talking therapies. Not only from my experience, but from hearing of the experiences of others, it seems that there is a great deficit in the mental health services provided by the NHS, being that it is incredibly difficult to access counselling services. If I had the chance, and money was no object, I would like to set up a free counselling service to help others like me; those with genuine need and without the finances to fund private counselling sessions. I myself am interested in counselling and would love the opportunity to retrain in that area and would intend to follow that path whilst setting up the service.
I could show you this:
or this:
or this:
or this:
or this:
or this:
Or I could just jump up and down shouting “I WON! I WON! I WON!!!”
Because I did it. I actually wrote over 50,000 words all under my own steam. In under a month.
Best of all, I’m still going. I’m taking a break today (although that’s more to do with actually having work to do for once) and then I’ll carry on. I think I may be heading in he direction of 100k and beyond, which is all quiet exciting for someone who always wished they could write a novel but never really believed they’d be able to go the distance. 50k will remain online, I’ll keep posting as I have more to add (hopefully daily during the weeks still) and as always, I still love to hear what you think - even the criticisms.
Today I won’t be giving thanks. Boo hiss n’all that, I can take it. Today is just another normal day. Get up, go to work, force yourself past Starbucks without getting the coffee you so desperately crave because you definitely overdosed yesterday and don’t want to feel like that two days running, get to the office, have breakfast, sit down and blog. Nothing out of the ordinary.
So I feel like posting, but I have nothing much to say really. Click away if you’d prefer not to hear my random mumblings.
Only 3,020 words to go and I’ve won NanNo. In a perfect world I’d like to pull that one off tonight. In a slightly more realistic one it’ll be tomorrow, probably the afternoon. When I look back and think how daunting that 50,000 was it seems amazing that I’ve made it this far. I guess since I committed I’ve wanted to try and win, but it’s only been in the past week or so that winning has actually seemed possible. And I can say, that barring the end of the world or other more serious disasters, I will win. Wow! That actually feels amazing.
Of course now I’ve managed to run out of things to say, and I’m sure this was all really very pointless. Maybe I should just get back to writing a wedding scene.
”I suppose you wish to tell your mother then?”
”Please” she said, asking his permission. She bit her lip, hoping he would say yes.
”In the morning.”
She hugged him tightly and retreated to her room. She hadn’t slept for days and was starting to tire. As she slid under the covers of her bed she imagined her mother’s reaction to her news. She could only hope that it would not upset her. Of all people, it was Alia who struggled most with the realities of Reixa’s life. The rate at which Reixa was growing saddened Alia beyond belief; news of her daughter’s relationship could only make that grief worse.
After only a few hours sleep, Reixa woke early, determined to be ready for her mother before she woke. When she emerged from her room, Larius was still sitting in the same chair as the night before, still reading the same book. Together they waited, in silence, for Alia to wake and greet them.
The moment she saw her united and her daughter, sitting together, waiting, Alia knew something was wrong. She eased herself into a chair, waiting for one of them to speak. Reixa looked to her father, waiting for his permission to go ahead. After a moment he nodded; she knew it was time to speak up.
”Mother?” she said, walking towards Alia, taking her hand as she knelt to her level. “I’ve met someone.” Alia nodded, softly, inviting Reixa to continue. “His name is Faust. His parents own a tavern in the human sector.” She waited in Alia’s silence, for something, anything.
”Garvey and Merrida? I know them well.” Reixa took this to be a good sign.
”He means a lot to me.”
“Do you love him?” Alia squeezed her daughter’s hand.
”I do” Reixa nodded, surprised at her mother’s easy acceptance.
”And does he love you?”
”I think so.” Reixa paused. “I honestly think he does.”
”Then be happy Little One” she said, using the pet name she have given Reixa in her brief childhood.
”Thank you mama” she smiled lovingly.
Silent tears slid down Alia’s cheeks. The daughter she had loved for such a short time was growing up. Soon she would no longer be able to call Reixa hers; she would belong to another. With a soft finger Reixa wiped away her mother’s tears, her lips brushing her cheeks tenderly as she kissed her goodbye. “I’ll always be here with you mama. Just around the corner” she reassured. “I’m still young, there’s time. I’m not yet ready to leave.”
Reixa backed away, unable to watch Alia’s tears for another moment. The love she felt for her mother, and the love she felt for Faust, both tore at the two sides of her heart, slowly ripping her apart. Leaving her mother behind that moment, knowing that despite her joy Alia was hurting, Reixa felt her own tears spill. But, the thought of Faust, waiting for her that evening, the way his face lit up as she came into view, it felt as though her stomach were a sky full of butterflies. Despite her apparent age she still felt like a small child, and as the two feelings pulled her in different directions she knew she was not ready. She needed time.
Unable to shake the slightly numb feeling from her heart, Reixa slowly made her way up to the tower. For the first time in many weeks she hoped for simple tasks; mundane jobs that she could complete without thinking. Perhaps if she could just lose herself in the simplicity of her labours she could ignore the pain she felt inside.
However, it was not to be, and when she reached the top of the tower she found Nasiya surrounded by musical instruments, enough to comprise an orchestra. Her task was to make them sing. Closing her eyes, reaching out to the instruments she found the cello. Delicately, she bowed out a slow lament. Carefully adding in instrument by instrument she drew out her tune. Gradually tears began to roll along the sides of her face, until they streamed, and the song was accompanied by her distraught sobs. She swayed to the sound of the music, her shoulders heaving with the weight of her sorrows. Nasiya backed away from the room, unable to see her student so distressed. Reixa was alone, just her and the music, crying out in her grief.
The instruments clattered to the ground as Reixa felt an arm tighten around her pitching shoulders. “Don’t cry little one” the smooth voice said to her. “We’ll be alright.” Reixa sank into her mothers arms, sobbing heavily.
”Oh mama” she wept, “I don’t know what I should do.”
Alia stoked the tears away from the side of her face. “Shhh little one. Let time take it’s course.” And as Reixa’s tears dried out, Alia knew that it was time to let her go. Despite her own pain, she could not make her daughter suffer. It was time to let her butterfly free.
The boy is four. He started big school in September. Every night he gets homework.
Hold up there. Homework? For a four year old? Yeah, that’s what I thought. I was lucky (or should that be unlucky?) if I had much in the way of homework at the age of ten. At four? Well, it was all half my class could do not to cry as their mummies left the playground in the morning. Homework was most definitely not in order. It wasn’t until I was about six that I started bringing reading books home. In my day, learning was done in the classroom, not in the home.
Every night the boy brings home a sound sheet. At first they were single letters, he had to trace and then write the letter himself. It was the letter they’d learnt that day in school. Now they’ve gone through all the letters he brings back sheets with two letters combined. He has to blend the letters to create the words. The other night it was book, look, took and so on. Every Tuesday he gets a reading book for the week. They’re still totally beyond his reading level, and are more for us to read to him. This bit I like - it means no power rangers or transformers every night at bedtime! He also gets a word box - about eight words which he has to sound out, blend and practice. Once he’s got them sorted, we sign a form and a new box comes home. Then there’s tricky words - every Friday he gets two more sent. They’re words like the, she and it that can’t be sounded out. He has to learn them off by heart. And there’s the math game - another one every Friday to be played over the weekend and returned.
Mornings are chaos in our house - none of us are good with them. We all get up at 7 and somehow manage to make it through breakfast, showers and getting dressed in time to leave at 8:30. There is no way we would be able to fit homework into that end of the routine. Because Y and I both work, TB gets picked up from school by the YMCA and taken to their after-school club. He gets home somewhere between 6 and 6:30 (usually the latter) and still needs feeding. I get home around 6:30. The chaos begins again. By 7:30 we’re trying to bundle him off to bed and somewhere in the middle of that hour we have to sit down and try and achieve the day’s homework. With a tired boy who’s had enough and really can’t be bothered.
Last night, I sat down with the boy to try his math game. Luckily, he’s very enthusiastic towards them, which at least is half the battle done. The next is getting the adult to read and understand the instructions. Last night’s game involved each person laying down a card from a deck, and the boy having to add up the numbers and shout if they made 10. Naughty me changed the rules and just tried to get him to add the numbers. It was a struggle. I fail to see how it’s constructive to push a four year old into adding numbers of that size in his head. Needless to say, he couldn’t manage it, and we gave up.
Now, forgive me if I’m completely wrong here, but I don’t see that this level of pressure can be a good thing for a kid his age. It’s certainly not good for me, and I’m only the mother. I don’t think I’m the one really suffering here. I wasn’t pushed at the age of four, neither were my sister or my brother. We can all read, add up, play nice. I just don’t see the reasoning behind it. Sure, he’s got to learn - every kid does - but does it have to be at such a rapid pace. Surely they can go slow now and speed up once they’ve got the basics solidly under their belts. Surely at this age they can learn in other ways, without reading or writing and adding up numbers in excess of ten?
So I ask you, have I got it wrong? Is there some vital point that I’m missing here? What was wrong with the way I was taught that things have to be so different for my son? What are your thoughts, your experiences? What really works?
Over the past few weeks I’ve been carefully watching my statistics. I’ve not been looking at numbers, or what you’re here for (because honestly, I don’t care to know how “dr. who” pink shoes or chan pie gnon brought you over here). What I’ve been interested in is where you’re coming from.
So I figured I’d issue a challenge. Own up to your location. I’ve got an idea of some of the owners, but others I’ve no idea who you are. I’d like to know who you all are, and everything about you - I’m nosy like that - so it’s time to own up. And as a reward for eschewing your anonymity, if you ask me a question, I might just answer it for you. Here. Providing it doesn’t make me blush too much.
 Dubayy, AE
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 Atherstone, Warwickshire, GB Belfast, GB Birmingham, GB Brentford, Greater London, GB Brighton, Brighton & Hove, GB Bristol, GB Bromley, Greater London, GB Cambridge, Cambridgeshire, GB Cardiff, GB Chelmsford, Essex, GB Dudley, GB Ealing, Greater London, GB Edinburgh, GB Failsworth, Oldham, GB Fareham, Hampshire, GB Farnborough, Hampshire, GB Gateshead, GB Gillingham, Medway, GB Grimsby, North East Lincolnshire, GB Hackney, Greater London, GB Hitchin, Hertfordshire, GB Ilford, Greater London, GB Kempston, Bedfordshire, GB Kendal, Cumbria, GB Kingston Upon Thames, Greater London, GB Lambeth, Greater London, GB Lincoln, Lincolnshire, GB London, Greater London, GB Manchester, Manchester, GB Mansfield, Nottinghamshire, GB Market Harborough, Leicestershire, GB Newcastle Upon Tyne, GB Norwich, Norfolk, GB Oxford, Oxfordshire, GB Pentwyn, Cardiff, GB Peterborough, GB Poole, GB Reading, GB Sheffield, GB South Shields, South Tyneside, GB Southend-on-sea, GB Stockport, GB Stoke-on-trent, GB Swansea, GB Swindon, GB Watford, Hertfordshire, GB West Bromwich, Sandwell, GB Withington, Gloucestershire, GB |
 Anchorage, AK, US Lake Havasu City, AZ, US Show Low, AZ, US Anaheim, CA, US Irvine, CA, US Los Angeles, CA, US Sacramento, CA, US San Diego, CA, US San Francisco, CA, US San Ramon, CA, US Boulder, CO, US Centennial, CO, US Littleton, CO, US Washington, DC, US Lewes, DE, US Kissimmee, FL, US Orlando, FL, US Palm Beach Gardens, FL, US Tampa, FL, US Idaho Falls, ID, US Chicago, IL, US Mount Prospect, IL, US Springfield, IL, US Lafayette, IN, US Louisville, KS, US Bay City, MI, US Chelsea, MI, US Dearborn, MI, US Hicksville, NY, US New York, NY, US Middleburg Heights, OH, US Warminster, PA, US Nashville, TN, US Dallas, TX, US Houston, TX, US Plano, TX, US Dale City, VA, US Dulles, VA, US Vienna, VA, US Seattle, WA, US Racine, WI, US Bluefield, WV, US Cheyenne, WY, US
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p.s. If you can get someone from Forks, Washington to come over for a read, it’d make my day knowing there’s a vampire out there!
How the credit crunch will affect Britain.
Will one be wanting fries with that?
The 8.15 Woking to London Waterloo service. No change there then!
The new Apple Iphone
Windows 2010
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| Barack Obama | US President Robert Steele Little Britain USA |
*All in the spirit of fun and games, I might add. Please take no offence, I have few enough readers as it is.
For this week’s search engine story our main prompt was candle in the mist. Seeing as the desert doesn’t seem to be a particularly misty place, I’m not sure if I can pull that one in anywhere. Maybe if I get back to the crystal towers before the end of the week.
The ‘Just One’ prompt (previously perfect paragraphs) was fragile, which seemed highly appropriate for a story with rather a few vampires. Saturday I was buzzing; into the history section and the ideas were running away with me. I made a deal with Y that if we ordered out for dinner, I would stop when the food arrived. Probably a good thing otherwise I may have continued to write until exhaustion overtook me.
This afternoon, when I opened up the laptop to write, I had no idea where I should start. I’d come to a really good stopping point the night before, a point where all the past was tied up and the only way forward was to move the story on. I just didn’t know how. So I went straight over to Search Engine Stories for a prompt. Once again, SES saves the day. The only reason I’ve stopped to write this is to ask my twitter friends how much deeper I should take a particular point in the story.
Larius sat, beckoning Alia to join him on the daybed. Slowly she moved towards him, and lowering herself on to the seat she curled in to the crook of his arm as the tears flowed from her eyes. “Shhh…” he murmured, pulling her in closer. “I’m so sorry. You shouldn’t have had to see that.” Her sobbing did not cease, but she raised her head to him, her eyes begging him to continue.
”I was never leaving you” he went on. “I run to think. It’s impossible to make sense of anything here. All the noise…” At that moment, Alia realised that as a vampire his senses must be heightened, for she heard little noise around the compound. Even her breathing, she wondered, must sounds as loud as a crowd to him.
She turned to face him, and he cradled her face in his cool hands. “I know” she whispered, her voice singing out to him. “I understand now.” She gazed at him, her eyes full of expectant longing. As she drew closer, he pulled her into him, his cold lips barely touching her warm mouth, he kissed her slowly and gently. Alia felt the breath draining out of her, but she could not pull away. He was too beautiful and his kiss felt too right, like she was made for this moment.
As she puled him closer to her with an urgent need Larius pulled away, hanging his head. He could not bear her fragility, so afraid of hurting her with his colossal strength. She was so flawless, unblemished. So perfect. He could not risk changing that. Alia reached out to him, “please” she begged of him, “don’t stop. Don’t go,” her eyes welling up with tears. “I couldn’t bear to lose you.”
He held her to him once again, his fingers trailing along her arms, soothing her. “I can’t” his voice faltered. “You don’t understand. You’re so gentle, so fragile, and I would crush you in an instant if you let me near you. I can’t lose you like that” he trailed off, his voice full of sorrow and longing.
Alia disentangled herself from Larius’ arms and placing her hands around his neck pulled him in closer. “No” she murmured as her lips found his once again and she kissed him with a passion she had never know to be within her.
Larius wound his arms back around her, and pulling her into him squeezed Alia tightly as he kissed her back, his need evident in his strength. Fearing that he would break her fragile body, crack her porcelain skin, he pulled away, staring into her eyes with wonder as he realised she was barely touched. As she sat back from him he noticed that her eyes had changed from the sea green he was familiar with, to a cobalt blue, swirled with violet. Her whole body was surrounded with a protective sparkle of gold, at it’s most strong where he touched her.
Larius realised, that no matter what he did, he could never hurt her. Her magic was so strongly intertwined with her being that it protected her without her knowing. It was instinctual. Alia saw the change in his eyes as he came to terms with her power and stepped off the day bed, giving him time to change his mind.
He followed her, rising and moving to her side instantly. Now that he knew she needed him, he could not bear to be torn from her side. He spun her around and yanking her towards him in a swift and graceful movement he kissed her with a force he never imagined possible, pulling her into him with a strength that, if not for her magic, would have killed her.
* * *
Don’t forget, if you’re curious enough you can read the whole story (as it unfolds) at 50k or bust. Just ask me (or any of the others who are hooked) for the password and we’ll hook you up.
The Good, The Bad and The Undead (Rachel Morgan 2) by Kim Harrison
Melbourne, Victoria, AU
Antwerpen, BE
Rio De Janeiro, Rio De Janeiro, BR
Edmonton, AB, CA
Bonn, Nordrhein-westfalen, DE
Orleans, Loiret, FR
Roma, Lazio, IT
P’yongt’aek, Kyonggi-do, KR
Mumbai, Maharashtra, IN
Luxembourg, Luxembourg, LU
Kuala Lumpur, MY
Singapore, SG