Let the worm turn in her own time…

Colour status: turquoise eye shadow, orange nails with glitter red stripe and glitter blue blob, green and yellow glass necklace, purple top.

It has turned bitterly cold again. I piled on the layers and wondered if I would ever get warm walking across town through the back streets to work. But after ten minutes of stomping I started the slow striptease …da-da daah off come the gloves… da-da daah off come the leg-warmers that I wear on my arms …de-da daah … hm, maybe I’ll keep my socks on …

I saw the sickle moon hanging over the hill, both reflected in the river, and a yellow star. I love early mornings.

On Thursday I am meeting with my agency boss to talk to her about how I’m feeling about a certain colleague in Germany. This colleague has been abusive to me in the past (he would never speak to me like this if I was a man!). Even though he is all the way over in Germany his callous disregard and aggressive language leave me a gibbering wreck. At 35 years old I sit in front of my computer and cry with my hands shaking because I feel powerless in the face of yet another aggressive and bullying man. Last time I complained to his boss directly in Germany. This time I haven’t complained, but will be making an unofficial statement of “not being very happy” about his attitude. This was partly the impetus behind me wanting to jack in my work last week; I just didn’t want to have to put up with the stress and fear of upsetting this control freak of a man.  I am merely a function for him, a translating machine. Usually I operate flawlessly, occasionally there is a glitsch in the machinery. And just as we may curse at and wallop our computers when they misbehave, so he does the same with me verbally … except I don’t even have to misbehave.

Bullies seems to be able to smell the passive and vulnerable. And we passive creatures are somehow always pulled into the orbit of the fiery comet of someone else’s insecurities. Unhelpfully I was told be someone, “Change. Just be different. DON’T be insecure. GET self-esteem.” Obviously the person who said this knew squat and had zilch empathy. And frankly if I did change, if I was confident, if I did have self-esteem I probably wouldn’t put up with these dismissive comments. If the worm turned, this person wouldn’t be first in line cheering my transformation. Ironic, and yet typical.

So, I want to get on with my work. The sooner it is done, the sooner I can return to my embroidery. I have started hand embellishing the foreground – it’s a lot of work and I want to make good headway before Friday’s college class.

©Tattooed Witch 2010

Colourful kissy-kissy

Having really allowed this colour issue to get under my skin, I wore colours yesterday including a red coat and red handbag. Then I went shopping … a blue top, a turquoise top, purple shoes, greeny scarf, orange scarf, purple/blue/turquoise eye shadow later, I wonder if I may have over done the colour thing … But everything was marked down – half-price this, two thirds off that, buy one get one free. I’ve never been a bargain hunter, but I can understand the buzz!!

I’m not giving much thought to co-ordination so am justing piling on the colours. If my insecurity can be seen in my dark clothes, then colour is my armour and will be worn so thick that people will assume I am either super-confident … or a clown.

It’s interesting to see that men are more attracted to the colourful me. This is not necessarily a welcome thing. Having scuddy men making kissy-kissy faces at me in the street is not something that makes me feel comfortable. I don’t get men, I really don’t. Remember how much flattering attention I had when I had a mohawk? I thought I would get abuse not chat-up lines. I’ve never really known what to do with male attention: I either freeze like a rabbit in headlights or roll over and act passive like a dog who has been beaten too often … Ah well, not an issue at the moment. Apart from Scuddy Man, no one else is making kissy-kissy faces at me these days!

I have stalled on my college work. I am nearing completion and suddenly stuck in a panic that I could ruin the whole thing. There is some fabric loosening from the edges and even though I think I can sort this with my black velvet ribbon edging, I have dire images of the whole thing crumbling apart in my hands like some ancient papyri. The next piece will be worked on one stretch of fabric not multiple as for this piece. I already have an idea of what I’d like to do and may even work on Vilene, or Stiff Stuff as we call it in the trade!

I hope that my office will be moved this weekend. If that is the case I will quote to you copious amounts from a book I’m reading on Mystery religions. Last night it felt like an “aha” moment every other paragraph. Such a shame I have no one to TALK to about this kind of thing – not just email or send opinions flying into the cyber void. Someone said yesterday that he was aware of how intensely lonely I am. It hurt to hear it, because it’s true. Physical closeness is lacking, although I am the luckiest witch on earth to have such good friends in contact by text and email. They know that their texts have made the difference on the darkest nights of the soul between me stepping through the veil and remaining here earthbound.

So, time for coffee and work. As we say in German, “I wish you what!”

©Tattooed Witch 2010

Freeform crochet

Check out this link

http://www.freeformcrochet.com/2009/Pages/main.html

Dolce & Gabbana eat your hearts out – high fashion could learn a lot from these beautiful creations!

Close but no cigar

I’m starting to feel like my blog is turning into SpringWatch, but this morning I saw that the swans had returned to the river…

Yesterday afternoon the chemical toggle switch was thrown in the other direction and from one minute to the next I felt much happier, focused, motivated … Just goes to show how “unreal” our moods and emotions can be. We are but a stew of chemicals and sometimes the balance of ingredients goes off and creates a nasty tasting brew. And of course there are those bastard chemicals that dictate who we are attracted to, whether they are good for us or not …

I did some research on various proteins, amino acids, neurotransmitters – primarily GABA and BDNF. I read that sodium valproate has the highest instance of birth defects in pregnant women taking the drug. I read that lots of exercise can create the same effect as valproate … I need to discuss that with my Psych-Men (team of super-heroes bound to set the world of the Tattooed Witch to rights) and see if we can work out a plan. One day I may want a child; one day I would like to be on fewer pills.

At college last week we touched on Colour Theory. I sat in a small circle with the tutor (a woman) and two other women. They started talking about colour matching – the whole are you a spring, summer, autumn or winter person? Apparently “it works”. The tutor started to speak about the confidence of women who wear colour, the effects of colour psychologically. She would have said more I am sure. I saw her censor herself when she looked at me sitting there in black with a dark maroon head scarf. The other women, arrayed in pink and yellow and blues and purples, nodded wisely and I felt like my whole vulnerability was literally being worn on my sleeve. I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me whole. I felt like a dark, cloudy lump. I remember in my late teens that I wore multi-coloured striped dungarees with red boots and a purple and green velvet hat … just the thought of attracting that much attention these days gives me palpitations.

I was flicking through the latest Vogue last night (what a collection of emaciated, startled-looking women!). I was horrified to see a crocheted clutch bag from Dolce & Gabana going for over £2500 when I could easily make one for a tenner. I’ve never been a labels girl and don’t know cars or actors or what is in or out. I was looking at some amazing shoes in Vogue (I’m not a shoe person) that looked more like furniture than clothing. I wondered what I would look like if I had ever gone the fashion route … and then I saw tie-dyed socks and brown clogs! I burst out laughing because if I had to chose fashion that is probably what I would end up wearing … close but no cigar.

I feel that at so many times in my life my appearance has been dictated by others, from my brother who told me not to be tall (!) because men wouldn’t like me and I was too fat to be attractive, to boyfriends who would thrust old photos in my face and shout, “Dyou want to look like that again? Do you?” and I think to myself … but that was when you first fell in love with me … was I really so horrendous to look at then? And “I love you because you change yourself for me …” – is that any kind of love? Is that something I should take inside my heart and value?

Some day I want to look in the mirror and see me, not a marionette of somebody else’s fantasies or a shadow of the person I could be. I would like to be beautiful from the inside out and for someone to look at me and say, “I love you, and your messy hair and mismatching clothes make me smile.” Ah well.

So, the swans are back. Did you know they mate for life? Soon there will be cygnets on the river …

©Tattooed Witch 2010

Hanging

Awful, awful, awful few days and no end in sight as yet. In the space of a week I have “decided” to commit suicide, give up work, stop my medication and various other dire and self-destructive things. I am sure it is the increase in valproate that has kicked off this depressive spate again, just like when I first started taking it. I also had the same headaches as when I started it before Christmas. Logic would dictate that I need to hang in there for a month and things will set themselves right, but the emotional side of me wonders if I will be stuck in a depressive state, whether I will survive the violent dips and whether any of my medication is doing me any good at all. The jury is still out, and frankly I am not in a state to think about it or make good decisions.

I have work to catch up on today, so this will have to be it for now. Still here. Still keeping on keeping on. Still hanging from the broom.

©Tattooed Witch 2010

Sliding…

I should have known. I have spent all my life avoiding anger, either from others or in myself. Yesterday and today fury runs in my blood and last night I didn’t know what to do with it so I self-harmed. First time in a couple of weeks, I think, so that is a bonus. I had tried to dissipate the energy with exercise, but that just sent me into high-octane energy, a narrow flame which I then turned on myself. Often following self-harming there is a period of physical shock. I was cold so went to bed and listened to comedy reruns that at least had me laughing again. Today I feel skewed, tired, in need of being held and weary. It’s also not a good sign that I feel the need to carry my self-harming pouch with me today…

So, what brightness can I share to cover that awful gloom (see? suppression is a wonderful thing …). I heard my first woodpecker at the weekend, and I can already see the birds pairing off and collecting nest materials. Somehow it all seems a little too soon and I wonder how they will fare with the snow we are still supposed to get. I saw my favourite blackbird; he has one pure white tail feather. I always wonder if this is a sign of prestige for him amongst the other birds, or if he is treated as an oddity … or maybe it is just my human brain stuck on the judgements we make at people’s appearances.

Recently I was talking with a friend about life drawing. She bemoaned her life drawing classes at university because the model had been wippet thin with very short spikey hair. She said that the best life drawing model had lumps and bumps and long hair so you could do lots of shading. I suddenly wondered if I had missed my calling – I can do lumps and bumps. I’m currently growing my hair, so once it is long enough I will see if I have the courage to become a life model. Somehow that feels less of an exposure than undressing for a lover. The one scenario is just my body, the other involves my soul… although I sometimes wonder which scenario goes with which. I have been in those awful relationships where Generic Male actually says, “Can’t you just lie back and think of Britain.” In my mind I thought, “Trust me, thoughts of the Commonwealth are the only thing on my mind, and a nice cup of tea … oh, you’re done. Right. Time to put the kettle on then.” I joke, but the damage such relationships do are insidious and persistent, the split between body, mind and soul becomes further calcified and so it feels like nothing to cut myself and bleed till the smell of blood makes me feel sick. My mantra at such times: It doesn’t matter. Because I don’t feel I matter, and because it doesn’t matter to anyone else, in that, no one else is hurt by my actions although they may be disgusted or disapproving. Sigh.

I think half of what exacerbated yesterday was that I was overtired from working too hard and I was hungry – both states are the open doors to allow other demons to rise up from the pit. Today I will try to take things more slowly, and then hopefully I will have enough energy tonight to sew my coastline.

©Tattooed Witch 2010

A wrong being righted …

It has been a week of extremes where I feel like I have traversed the highways and byways of my psyche both in sleep and awake. I am still having sleeping troubles, however I saw my specialist who suggested I add metal studs to my chemical cosh and so I promptly doubled the dose. This allows me to get about 5 hours in, which is a start. People say you don’t dream on these pills, or if you do you don’t remember it. My dreams must be in Technicolour and set to loud because I still dream, and I do remember them.

This week I received a tentative diagnosis which ties in all my ill health over the last 7 years. For once it covers my body, my mind, my soul, rather than the trawl of past specialists who have vainly tried to squeeze as many symptoms as possible into their particular field of disorders, only then to kick the remaining inexplicable symptoms under the desk. The specialist I am now seeing is a psychiatrist and it is a breath of fresh air to sit with an intelligent man who speaks to me as if I too have a vested interest in understanding my health. He is open to any “subject area” that touches my life so we have had fascinating discussions about paganism, socialism amongst apes, the division of work amongst meerkats (apparently I’m a mole! …), intellectual pursuits as a means of diversion … oh, and lots of other things. Half of me looks forwards to my meetings with him less for the health review and update, and more for the good chat about the world and human nature. Shame I can’t have more conversations like that.

The other day my mother said to me, “So do they know yet what’s WRONG with you?!” I said that mental health diagnoses can take years. “Yes, but they’ve given you pills to sort it, haven’t they?!” This was an exasperated cry from her that I STILL wasn’t behaving in the way that she wished and therefore I was still “wrong”. Some things will never change.

So, I can’t exactly tell you what is WRONG with me as my psychiatrist steers clear of labels such as bipolar, but in essence if it quacks like a duck… BUT, the interesting thing for me was his identification of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder dating back to childhood events (yes, I know that sounds awfully like American pop-psychology, but the fact is that some children are abused and it will leave its mark). Recent research has shown that the hippocampus (Greek for seahorse )…

…continually produces new cells that are required for memory, metabolism, spatial awareness and much more. The malfunction of this major part of the brain has been linked, for example to epilepsy and schizophrenia (which shares many symptoms with bipolar disorder). But when the brain experiences continual exposure to an excess of stress hormones, a protein called BDNF (brain-derived neurotrophic factor) which is required to generate new cells in the hippocampus is stopped and the hippocampus stops working as it should leading to any number of health problems. I have been prescribed Sodium Valproate (in addition to Fluoxetine for depression). This is less toxic than Lithium, the common medication for bipolar disorder, but has been proven to be just as effective for many people. This drug is a neural protector; it places something like a protective jacket around the hippocampus, protecting it from stress hormones, and thus bringing the BDNF back “on line”. The hippocampus then has a chance to heal and start working. You may be on medication for the rest of your life, you may not. Frankly, I don’t care as long as I start “functioning” again.

So as a consequence of taking the neural protector I have been able to drop the medication for my IBS from one every other day to … well … I haven’t had to take a single one for the last two weeks. And my sugar issues although still prevalent have lifted enough for me to eat some fruit and indulge in a glass of port (yum!!!). As to the depression and self-harming, well, that’s still an issue. I haven’t self-harmed in a week and a half now, which is very good going. Over Christmas I was suicidal several times, but was “prevented” and I survived each dark night (obviously!).

Naturally I’m not telling the whole story, and I may not refer to this again. But there are some of you who have followed my blog incarnations for over a year, and I know that you will rejoice with me that I have found a reason, a cause and have some hope at healing.

In typical Tattooed Witch style I immediately went out and (by chance?) found a pure gold seahorse half-price in the Sales which I now wear as a talisman. I touch it occasionally to remind myself that whatever I have been told, whatever people try to convince me – I am not WRONG: I am fragile, and damaged, and ill … and now I maybe have a chance to begin healing.

©Tattooed Witch 2010

Red currant to share

Yesterday was dire. In conversation with a person about my dream and the memories surrounding it, I experienced full paralysis and was unable to move or speak. It was terrifying. At the moment I am unsure if I am taking myself apart or putting myself back together.

I was tired when I went to bed but then experienced the same paralysis and sobbed. I slept in two-hourly bursts and woke ill at 4am. Today is one of those days when I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and gasp, “Ohmigod. Oh dear.” I am tired-beyond-tired. I could do with a cuddle in a duvet and a hot drink. Instead I have work and an evening alone with my sewing machine ahead of me. C’est la vie.

And that, as they say, is it for today. Half a brain cell squeezed like a red currant onto the blog desert plate of my musings.

©Tattooed Witch 2010

Like the Duracell bunny!

I saw the shy duck this morning. I looked out for her and found her swimming in the wake of two mallards who were ignoring her. Hmmm… insecure female trailing after self-involved males who ignore her … duck web to human hand – high-five! I hear ya sista!

It’s a beautiful morning with mist rising off the river and meadows. The sun low enough for its light to be pulled through the mist and surround the land in a glow.

I slept on and off last night, but mostly on, I think. I had bad dreams and woke in a sweat with a feeling of electricity running down my arms. Thankfully the feeling was washed away by the mist and I feel quite chipper now.

I have been having terrible collywobbles about my assessment piece, including a dream where my tutor said, “Oh dear. Never mind. You can always start again.” A comment that broke my heart. The fact is that the embroidery is currently my sole source of 100 % positive feelings. I have such ambiguous feelings or just plain negative feelings about everything else at the moment; embroidery has become my solace and source of strength. If this is taken away from me, I have nothing. Logically I see this is untrue, emotionally it is true.

But last night I put on “101 Running Songs”, sang loudly and badly while I pushed through the psychological barrier and finished both mountains and islands. Today I will be researching boats. I did a couple of sketches last night and realised that I am absolutely pants at drawing boats. They are a great exercise in perspective because of the curve, the lines, the glimpse of the inside. The boat in my piece is offset at an angle, and even though I have the perspective fine, it just doesn’t feel right yet.

So, the odd thing about not sleeping over the last week is the phenomenal energy I have still had – enough to stay on top of work and art, AND I have started morning yoga again, with an hour of exercise in the evenings. Last night I was bopping away into the wee hours with excess nervous energy.

Embedding disabled on the vid, but it perfectly expresses my current restlessness:

Can’t stop movin’

©Tattooed Witch 2010

Fudge, feet, sleep

The world has turned upside down and I am walking automatically along the earth. A Gnostic might say that I am experiencing a heightened awareness of the dream-like essence of life and am one step closer to waking to my true nature … someone else might say, for god’s sake get some sleep! I have only slept a few hours since Tuesday, and today is Saturday. Summat’s up, because I am physically tired but mentally sparking, although today I am stuttering a little (mentally, although when I am tired I do develop a slight stutter – my uncle stutters badly…).

Some women melt at the sight of babies (bare with me today, I may jump around a bit), but I have the same heart-warming “aaah” feeling at the sight of duck’s feet. Each day as I walk or cycle to work across the Iron Bridge I stop when I see ducks coming into land; I love the way they kick up their heels and brake their descent with webbed toes splayed. Today I saw a completely new duck. It was less than half the size of a usual duck. I thought it was a rogue baby and wondered how it was surviving. But it was an adult (not a moorhen!!) and the shyest little duck I have ever met. She saw me on the bridge and !**! she was gone. Nothing but a ripple betraying she had been there. I waited and looked for her. She appeared 10 feet up river having swum underwater away from me. She looked up at the bridge, saw with a tremble that I was still there and !**! she was gone again. She had the prettiest of faces. I don’t know what her feet were like though …

I’m in a bit of a mood today. It’s the kind of day where if you asked me if your bum looked big in your new dress I would probably say “yes”. I wish I could have just stayed in bed surrounded by my books, but I have cycled across town to work as people are in the home-house working on renovating it today and tomorrow. There is only one source of power, an extension drum; this we have to share, “Do you need power today or may I keep it?” “We need power,” and so I vacate as there is no point staying without heater, without sewing machine, without light or even radio. There’s enough work for me to be getting on with anyway.

That’s it for today – my brain is fudge.

©Tattooed Witch 2010