FOOOOOOOD

Sweet Thai noodles with peas, sweetcorn and meat free grilled chicken breasts - YUM!

Bollocky People and Wanky Noises

1am. Screaming and shouting gang walking slowly down the street outside. Been a noise for over 10 minutes.
"FUCKING FUCKING FUCKING CUNT WANKER WAAAAAAHHHH FUCK OI FUCKER FUCKING CUNT WANKER FUCKING FUCK FUCK WOAAAAOOAHHH OH OH OI FUCK"
Massive panic attack. Bastards. Checked pub across road from my window. Doors closed. Not them this time. God knows which pub they came from, there are four on my road. Constant noisy drunks outside. It's terrifying.

I've removed the thingy on here that links to my facebook account today, after Paul called me and gave me a right peg-off for mentioning I was having a tough time at the moment on there. I figured it was best to keep all talking away from there in future.

" Paul Lloyd

answer your cocking phne lol or gimme your house number lol

Clare Elizabeth Jones Cockin phone???? Oh I want one of them!!

Alison Louise Henry

Allo gorgeous. Sorry, I've been just making excuses to everyone lately for not answering my phone. Sure, sometimes I do forget to bring it down with me in the morning, or I leave it in a jacket, but most of the time I just don't answer because I can't face anyone. I really can't apologise enough, and it's totally nothing personal. I'm having a massively hard time at the moment, and despite the obvious benefits of having friends to speak to, all I want to do is shut myself away.
I promise I'll stop making excuses now, and answer in future xxx

Clare Elizabeth Jones Oh princess hope your ok? Here if you new# me. Xxxxxx

Alison Louise Henry I'll live... I'm just feeling a bit isolated and stagnant. "

When he called me, he said "What's the matter with you?" I went to answer him, glad of someone to speak to about it all. But he cut me off, and began a long rant about how nobody cares about my problems, I shouldn't post anything about having problems on Facebook, and then gave me a story about a friend of his who 'moaned' on facebook and he told him the same as he told me. Then he added that he didn't like that person anyway so he didn't care about him. I thought hmmm, thanks Paul. I've known you now for a decade and you're treating me as badly as someone you openly hate. I told my dad, and he said he hoped I'd told Paul to go fuck himself. I admitted I hadn't. I'd just wanted to burst into tears... I was hurt, not angry. "Nobody cares, Alison". What he clearly meant was that *he* doesn't care.

I spoke to another friend this evening who didn't do my already crapola self esteem any good.
This particular friend never says hello, but rather starts talking to me as though we are in mid-conversation. He never asks how I am or what I am up to; all he does is talk about his own problems constantly. Sometimes I think he doesn't even need me there, he may as well talk to a wall. Sometimes all I can do is drop in "I know how you feel" throughout the conversation in the hopes he might say "Blah, you having a crap time too?" But no. Nothing. It's as if I'm not even talking.

Mum's coming over to visit tomorrow, and I'm sure she's only doing it because of the comments (above) on Facebook. I'm looking forward to the company, but also dreading the prospect of her poking her nose into everything and tutting at anything messy she finds. I REALLY don't need any more ego knocks. If I get any lower I'll be under the floorboards.

In brighter news I started up knitting my blanket squares again and it's been a really relaxing way to calm down this evening. After I went for a walk with the dog and dad I had a panic attack that made my ears burn and my chest stab, and it lasted for a few hours after in the form of the shakes. I've been sitting here all evening just knitting, watching (well, listening to really) A History of Britain, and drinking tea.

Yesterday I stayed up late to hand wash some undies, bras and PJ bottoms, and I am reaping the rewards tonight - clean sleepy clothes!

I was expecting at the start of this blog to be going back to knitting until my panic attack calmed down - ah crap... bugger. I was just about to say that I felt fine now and would be taking my tired bumbum off to bed. But I just felt another wave of it. And it just goes to show how good my subconscious is - it heard noise outside before I did! Car doors and loud talking. Not too bad this time... I'm going to try to go to bed. I think I'll take my knitting upstairs in case I have to sit up in bed to relieve the chest pains again.

OOH! 01:23.

apocalypse.

Bum bum bum bum BUM!

Grrrr, I can't seem to settle on anything today.
I tried writing, which I managed to do for an hour. Then I got bored, and started cleaning. Then I got bored of that too, and got out my knitting. I knitted for a bit, realised I'd done it wrong, unravelled it, started again, then got bored. Again.
I went and got my easel, but before I'd even got so far as to open my paints I got bored of that too, and sat back down at the computer.
Dolly has been slowly demolishing everything in sight today, which has been a big distraction. The house is littered with chewed paper, plastic bottles, my shoes with dismantled laces, and various other things she's picked up and had to have taken off her.
I'm sitting here now watching A History of Britain, which I'm enjoying (I've already seen it twice though) with a nice cup of tea... But I really want to draw. I've got photoshop open, but I'm uninspired as usual and just don't feel able.
I hate being like this!! It's so frustrating!!

Everything is Poop, Chapter Three

I have come to the conclusion that it really doesn't matter what I do; it will never be good enough.
Last night I stayed up late to get some extra cleaning done. Part of the cleaning involved hand washing some clothes as I do not have a washing machine, and hanging them around the house in an effort to dry them. I hoovered the floors, I made a start on folding some washing that I'd left sat in a bag for over a week, and generally tried to pick myself up out of the rutt I've been in of late. After all that I went to bed proud that I had done so, and with a head full of plans for tomorrow's chores.
This morning as my parents were dropping off their dog for me to babysit, I heard their muffled voices downstairs and my self-worth exploded into little wet smelly pieces all over my bedroom. It was too garbled to hear every word, but I got the important ones.
"Look at that ___, it's still here from ___."
"Of course it is, WE didn't move it."
*light sarcastic chuckles*
My parents, no matter how much of an effort I make, can always find one small thing I didn't get round to and turn it into a major malfunction of mine. I remember when I lived with them I'd sometimes feel so good that I'd give the whole house a go over. Hoovering, dusting, reorganising, dishes etc. And when mum came home from work she'd find something I HADN'T done, and make me feel like a failure. As she was tired and grunmpy from work she'd often then ignore me, or speak to me in irritated tones which, had she not just flattened my mood, I'd have recognised as simply having a hard day. But as the first thing said was always "That's still there from this morning", "you haven't done the dishes again", or "I'll clean all this up, shall I?!", I took every single huff, grumble, whinge and growl as completely personal. And that would be my own good mood gone, and back to sitting in my room hiding and eating sandwiches.
I am struggling enough with trying to manage a house and cope with the ego-trampling symptoms of sociophobia without having my flaws bandied about and my achievements holepunched like a bloody colander.
The bottom line is that I am trying my best. I am NOT a normal person, and despite pride making me begrudge admitting it, I am inexperienced, naive and immature. I have terrible bouts of depression which can last weeks, in which I find it much harder to gather the will to clean the house or myself.   During those times my parents look after me as much as they have time for, for which I'm very grateful. However, sometimes I think I'd rather suffer alone than have to listen to resentful sarcasm as they do it.
Looking after me has clearly become a chore that my mum no longer cares to tend. She resents having to drop by on her way home from work, she resents having to go to the shop for me, she resents having to clean up after me (despite NEVER being asked, and constantly being requested to leave it and let me do it later), and now that money is getting tight she resents me for that too.
I considered moving home to ease the money issues. But then I remembered that however bad I get it from her now I'll have it back in full force if I went back. At least here I can use the phrase "It's my house, my rules, and I'll do it when I damnwell please".
The more she moans, the less I do. It's like that saying "If you hear something enough times...". I'm turning into the person she always treats me as. And I do NOT want to.

scriblog v.3: Pfah....

scriblog v.3: Pfah....: "WOO! I have drunk half of a bottle of scotch tonight. Much needed. I was lucky enough to spend the evening with a friend for a change, and a..."

Pfah....

WOO! I have drunk half of a bottle of scotch tonight. Much needed. I was lucky enough to spend the evening with a friend for a change, and aside from falling asleep twice during me talking he was a welcome distraction from the poop storm currently surrounding me.
In the last 3 nights I have had the police in my house, a very unpleasant situation with a local haggard publicess in which I was assaulted and verbally abused, and had to cope with my dog's seizures.
I am in what one can only describe as a desperate and lonely situation.
My dad has been overbearingly and  slightly condescendingly supportive, but every bit of his support has been extremely welcome. My mother has been nowhere in sight. The last word I had from her dubbed my complaint as an 'exploit', and still refuses to speak to me other than out of the corner of her mouth. Well mum, I'm living in a nasty crappy area full of criminals and drunken wankers who scream at passers by, steal things from pubs, then litter the street with whatever they've kaifed. If I take polite English issue and end up being assaulted, threatened with further violence, and verbally abused without even saying anything then surely not only was I right to take issue, but also deserving of family support. Even if the situation wasn't one you approved of, surely it's not one where your daughter was the criminal. A hug, or a kind word would have been nice. But no. Two nights in and not a boo. Fine.
I was going to write to Bristol Zoo (my favourite place on earth recently) for a junior keeper's post, but not only did I realise I was hopelessly underqualified but also that I would ahve to deal with the cretinous public.
I really am sick of people.
There is no real love in this world.
Every time I believe I am getting a handle on the populace something immensely unpleasant happens and overshadows any minor successes I've had in overcoming my fear of this rancid species.
My father insists I am too liberal in my understanding of the world; believing people are inherently good and all deserving of the same respect. He also maintains that anyone who says boo to a goose in South London (where he is from) would have not only recieved a petrol bomb through their letterbox, but also had their entire family murdered.
My mother would have it that the world is filled with murderers, criminals and gangs that bay for blood at the slightest 'funny look'. Yet she will snap at me if I judge anyone without first acquiring their last three CVs and being a friend of the family for 13 years.
But *I* would have it known that I do not swing to either party.
My own belief is that humans are, modernally, a generally self-centred species, bent on comfort and ease at the cost of any life as long as it isn't their own. I do not view them as potential murderers, but more as victims of the current governmental and media pushing in favour of a thick-headed and ill-educated herd, easily sherpherded into the pens of their choosing. As such, I still fear and loathe. But not for such black and white reasons. I fear the fists of the drunken working class borderline ASBOers. I loathe the Jeremy Kyle watching, beans on toast wizened fag-on mothers. And I long for an existence that is simple, peaceful, and - dare I say it - fun.
I want to be able to step outside my own front door and meet with waving, smiling neighbours. Not loutish tossers howling and calling me a 'fat fucking cunt'.
I want to meet people who have specialised faculties of education... that aren't centred around dreary soap operas and white label sausages.
My mate commented tonight on a recent conversation I had with him online, in which I had expressed a strong desire for a man in my life. I answered him first with confusion, as I didn't remember saying it, and then possible realisation. I think the conversation was about how desperate I am for a strong male to protect me. I want - no, NEED - to be protected, sheltered, nurtured. I want to feed, listen and love. I don't want to have to fight, or shout or create bad feeling.
I have found so much joy both in the past and more recently with caring for children, helping charities, and being a shoulder to cry on. I can't be trusted with being the meat shield of an operation, because I just cry like a sissy and end up looking like a twit.
But living alone I am having to do everything. Alone. And I am seriously not up to it.
I have had enough, I am moving as soon as I am able, but I am terrified that this will be an ongoing saga.
Much as I have tried to keep it hidden, this move was a terrible idea. I started to feel as though I was an adult, when clearly I am not. And, right as I was, I have managed once again to ruin everything by standing up for my legal rights and my own health. My parents must have been correct when they coddled me... perhaps I should go back to that 8x5 bungalow bedroom and live my life in there.

green egg salad with basil. mmmmm.

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