A Spoonful of Sugar

I’m sitting here weighing up the pros and cons of whether to continue with some anti-depressants I’ve just been prescribed.  I struggled for years and years without any medication, just the odd couple of counselling sessions, mainly because of the work I used to do and not wanting medication use going against me, but this month I finally gave in.  For some reason I’ve been feeling particularly down about my ex, possibly beginning to realise I’m kidding myself trying to imagine a future where we’re back together as a happy family but the thought of him being with someone else absolutely devastates me-yet it’s what I often dream about, probably because it plays on my mind a lot.

I was thinking whether to buy a bottle of wine tonight or to properly start the medication.  I took a pill last week (along with a lovely glass of red wine-and no I’m not a big drinker really and yes, I realise the two don’t mix), and had the most horrendous side effects just from one pill.  I was suddenly wide awake at 3am and couldn’t get back to sleep.  I had a horrendous upset tummy and hot sweats which made me paranoid about driving anywhere for any length of time, but on the plus side it also affected my appetite, as in, it became non existant (which is a very good thing-I’m not overweight, but I’m still not quite back to my slim, beautiful, pre-baby figure).  I think I might start tomorrow morning so I can at least have a good night’s sleep tonight.

The weather is lousy here, grey and drizzly, so right now I’m not sure I can be bothered to go and buy myself some wine.  Maybe I’ll start doing online grocery shopping again (something my ex never approved of), so I can have wine without the effort.  Although I very much love living where I am, surrounded by beautiful countryside, another huge downside to living here is that no one delivers take-aways as it’s too rural.  I’m absolutely gutted about this-I can no longer order my favourite curry delivered without the effort.  I’ve always been a rubbish cook, well not rubbish exactly, actually, I’m pretty good at making the few things that I can cook, it’s just that I have a very limited repertoire and a huge lack of organisational skills, so most of the time I probably wouldn’t have the right ingredients in to cook a lovely gourmet meal anyway, which is probably just as well for my waistline.

As for the medication-well I’ll start it tomorrow and see how it goes I guess.  The GP said it would take all the emotion out of my thinking and allow me to be more rational which can only be a good thing right?!

PS That image up there is an old pharmacy carboy-I very vaguely remember as a young child seeing them outside of chemists and being utterly fascinated by them, so thought I’d use one for this post!

‘Little White Feathers’

I chose the name ‘littlewhitefeathers’ for my blog because in recent years, I’ve often come across little white feathers, sometimes in random places where a feather wouldn’t normally end up, such as in my shoe, or coming out of a job interview once and finding my entire car surrounded by them (no cats around!).  They are always the same small, white fluffy kind.  Perhaps I’ve always had these ‘gifts’ around me, but it’s only recently that I’ve really started noticing them, and in increasing numbers.  Finding a white feather is meant to be a sign that your angels are near, they want to help and are guiding you.  White feathers are a symbol of hope and that’s often given me comfort through some really difficult times.

I was physically and emotionally abused as a child for ten years.  No one knew until recently when I started talking about it, and even now, the few people I’ve told either haven’t believed me or don’t want to know.  That’s the hardest part-not being believed, but I can’t think of a single reason why anyone would make this stuff up.  I’m an adult survivor but I still bear many unseen, emotional scars.  I think growing up, all I ever really wanted was to have a mum and dad who loved me, and I really believe every child deserves at least that.

Now, many years on, I have my own child, I thought I had the perfect life, with a man I loved very much, but he also turned out to be emotionally abusive, and left me when my child (who is absolutely the very best thing thats ever happened in my life), had just turned two years old.  Admittedly, it wasn’t all his fault-we argued a lot, we were both stubborn and headstrong and I was deeply insecure, but he did nothing to help with that as I’ll explain later on.  I still very much love him, but he doesn’t want me, so now I find myself alone again (except this time I have a small child by my side most of the time, so life is much better than being totally alone).  The very last thing I wanted for my own child was to grow up as I did.  I so desperately wanted him to grow up in a loving, stable family unit with both his biological parents around all the time.

So now I’m writing this blog, about my experiences, in the hope that the act of writing, all but retrospectively, is therapeutic, and also that maybe this can somehow help others-I’m not sure how, but I know it’s helped me in the past to know I’m not alone when reading others’ blogs and comments with similar experiences. (Not that the internet really existed to the masses when I was growing up, but it has helped me as an adult).  I guess I also want a permanent record of what happened to me, for some reason I’ve really had the urge recently to get everything down on paper-so in time, others who knew me can know what happened, and what my life was really like.

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