Lady Fuckwit

Taking pleasure in the small things in life

04 Jun 2013

Naked

Screen Shot 2013-06-04 at 13.20.34She rallied her thoughts, trying to comprehend the words he spewed with venom. She was falling apart, her thoughts conflicting as he was watched her. She needed to regain her composure or he would win. Her body was trembling with adrenalin flowing through her and producing an agitated appearance. His words rattled her, his questioning and attempts to excuse his behaviour becoming intense and manipulative. She was drawn to glancing sideways at the door instinctually wanting to be sure she could leave, she needed to know she had the comfort of an escape if it was necessary.

She desperately tried to hang onto a semblances of normality, she felt physically sick as she listened to him attempting to justify his behavior. She almost laughed when he tried to convince her this was, in part, her fault and blame had to be shared. She didn’t remember herself paying for high-class call girls as he had done or engaged in years of cheating, she told him. His twisting of words was irrational and illogical and she felt comfortable in knowing she had him cornered, he flipped from one train of thought to another, unable to produce a convincing argument beyond vague and unspecific statements.

She disagreed that she had reaped the benefits of being married to him; her luxurious lifestyle, he said, was a result of his money. His orientation towards monetary excesses and gains was palpable as he tried to degrade her by insinuating her reasoning for being with him all these years was because of affluence. His accusations prompted her in to action, she removed the keys to the sports car from her pocket that he had presented to her only weeks ago and placed them on the cold marble counter top, silently. Whilst he continued on his rant, beads of sweat formed on his forehead and she could see he was becoming increasingly uncomfortable her confidence returned. Once his gaze followed her hand and it dawned on him that she was returning the car, he faltered, hesitated and began to change tact, saying if she returned everything she would have nothing. Now she knew she had him unnerved.

Nothing was what she wanted from him, his dirty deeds and inadequate words made her feel violated and used, she continued, sensing his insecurity by removing her three carat diamond engagement ring and matching wedding ring and slowly she placed them beside the car keys. She smirked at him, not wanting to break eye contact, she was finally rising to the challenge, goading him with her silent actions and composed demeanor. He raised his voice and as it filled the large shadowy dark room in which was once a dining area that held much laughter and friends, she removed her jewel encrusted designer watch and held it out for him to take. He snarled as he dismissed her efforts with a sweeping hand and a deep-throated guttural attempt at a condescending laugh. She was enjoying her power over him, something she now realized she had never had before and so she continued. Slowly removing her short black jacket, bought just recently during a long weekend in Milan in a store that oozed quality, she dropped it on the floor in front of her and continued to strip.

He began a tirade of caustic humiliating remarks, saying she was crazy and her mind was warped as she slowly resumed her efforts by removing her clothing and her coveted high heels until she stood naked in front of him. Her clothing was now in a pile on the hard wooden floor between them. He was mute, almost fearful in his approach; she was enjoying his confusion between admiration and uncertainty. Unhurriedly she spoke, she began by gesturing to the floor and then leisurely raised her hand to draw attention to her toned and tanned body. She began to speak, staring him in the face, holding her head high as she spoke with factual confidence, “I never wanted anything from you but your love, you cannot buy me and you no longer own me, I am no longer yours, this is the last time she will see me naked” He motioned to speak but she extended her hand and held her palm gesturing for him to stop. Once he closed his mouth she continued, “I hope you and your money are very happy together, I will get what is rightfully mine and I will destroy you, I know too much for you to play games with me, your money will not save you, not anymore”.

With these as her parting words she left the room and knowing he wouldn’t follow her because her threat would have frozen him she went upstairs, called a cab, dressed in her gym wear and packed a bag. She had earned her own money and though it was not anything like the amount he had, it was enough. Tonight, she would check into a hotel and begin to formulate her plan. As the taxi pulled away from the imposing house that had once been her home she saw his silhouette in the front doorway and she swore she would never look back. She was emotionally and mentally naked, bent, but she knew she was not broken. Her nakedness would be her strength eventually, she had nothing to hide unlike the man she had left behind.

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a Comment
26 Mar 2013

Disparity ~ Cruelty

The truth was he had needs, needs that were beyond his control he told himself. He paced the floor of a room illuminated with an eerie glow. The light of the lamp allowed him enough light to withstand total darkness, he pondered how he could have been so irresponsible, or moreover how she could have been so prudent. He had never thought her wise before, beautiful yes, innocent definitely, devoted to him undoubtedly, talented of course, but wise, how had he missed that he now asked himself. The reflection in the mirror overhead the fire-place caught his eye, as the painting on the wall behind him increased his tension and anger.

He turned to look at it and walking towards it he was almost fearful of this beautiful painting. The light above it creating a sombre halo effect, it looked almost menacing now. She had painted it shortly after they had first met, a portrait of him. He narrowed his eyes and for an instance he did not recognise himself, the person before him was sinister and mocking, he had never seen these traits before and blamed the brandy as he diverted his attention and returned to blaming others.

He seized the mentally domineering photographs, held six of them in his hand, and relinquished the crystal cut glass he had held in a vice-grip placing it on the antique lamp table. He examined each photograph in detail, he quickly flicked through the debris of his life that unfolded before him. He began to feel a strain in his groin as his, until now, flaccid cock was aroused by the revelation that lay before him. Preposterously, he couldn’t even remember her name; this stunning long-legged, blonde on all fours as he knelt behind her unleashing his masculinity, buried deep inside her.

He could not fathom how the photographer had managed to get such a photograph and as he swore distinctively, spitting venom in the low ebb of light of the room, he felt so alone as he swore he would find him and ruin the bastard that had paradoxically ruined his life and in return he would pay him the gratitude of destroying his life, as best he could. He had immense experience in ruining lives; he knew this would not be a challenge.  He felt no remorse as he vowed to obliterate this man who had compromised his entire life. He thought, if this professional had been clever enough to catch him fucking another woman then he should have been clever enough to have checked his credentials. A professional, he told himself, would have known who he was, the photographer should have realised he was not a man to trifle with, for he was someone with considerable power and prestige, someone who could ruin people with little effort. Should the investigator have come to him and told him what he had been requested to do by his wife, he would have paid him double to produce an innocent report.

As for the girl, he had paid the top rate to the agency; he had paid for her physically but also to be protected from such an encounter. The agency, he used, had prided itself on discretion and as he threw the photographs onto the coffee table from whence they came, he swore to destroy the agency too. He would do what he had to do to end their reign of eroticism paid for by men and women like him, people who compensated discretion. The sorrow and hurt he had felt earlier in the day was now churning its way to bitterness and formulating plans of revenge. He swallowed another shot of brandy, feeling warmth in contrast to the coldness he sensed inside himself and as he increased the volume on the classical music that filled the house, he manipulated his own feelings. He had not to think of his wife sleeping whilst he fumed with anger, he blamed everyone for how he was now negatively portrayed, he blamed everyone involved, except himself.

He reflected how had paid for a service; his cash had been accepted as a contract for protection, he had done nothing wrong he told himself. He was well aware that he had betrayed his wife and broken her heart but only because he was caught. He began to reflect as to why she had felt it necessary to doubt him and as he poured himself another brandy and he began to seethe with rage.

He had given her everything she wanted, since the day he met her, that wonderful day now tainted by the photographs that lay before him as evidence. His obsessive negative behaviour propelled him to believe she would manipulate the evidence that lay before him to extract half of all he had acquired. Yet, he knew, without her, half of everything would mean nothing, he had to have her, to possess and own her, being without her was not an option. Even in light of all that lay before him, the anger and lack of control he now felt would never make sense of his burning need to possess her, the raw necessity he felt to be inside her as she gloriously succumbed to his every effort to sexually undo her, to fuck her into submission by his prowess and yet to keep her pure.

He had not set out to fall in love with her, he was happy to be in control of such weak emotion he told himself as he reflected on the first time he saw her. She had sat cross-legged on a picnic blanket in a park to which he had never been before. He had broken up with a work intern the night before and in an effort to avoid the girl and the drama he knew would ensue; he had went for a walk.

As he climbed the path into the park, she had caught his eye and he watched her to distract himself from envisaging the mournful scene the night before. The stupid girl had taken the break up dramatically. He thought she should have known she was nothing important, surely, he reflected she knew he had tired of her and her upper class conduct. He had explored everything sexual with her, pushed her boundaries waited for her to refrain from his wanton ways. He had wanted her to declare that she had had enough, but the devoted fool kept giving until there was no more he could do with her. He realized that she could contribute nothing more because she had physically and mentally assumed everything and when he recognized her ineptitude to yield to his desires he wanted to get out. In fact he had to break free of her, stifled as he felt, her a weight around his him. She had become needy and wanting.

He knew she was devoted to him, everyone did and although she was very beautiful she was no challenge and therefore he methodically has ordained that she no longer served him any purpose. Now, he reflected that the disparity between the women in his life was not lost on him, not lost on him at all.

Posted in Uncategorized and tagged , | Leave a Comment
10 Mar 2013
2 Comments

Cruelty

QuestionsHe sat at his desk and in a moment of weakness put his head in his hands. Colleagues were leaving for the weekend going home to partners, lovers, family and friends. They discussed their plans to spend time with those who made them happy or those to whom they must fulfill their obligations and the details he had been forced to hear had bored him. He had half-heartedly listened as they discussed during random conversations how their long weekend would come to pass but nothing they said could hold his interest.

With no fear of interruption, he absentmindedly drew a line on a blank page with the pen she had given him for his birthday. He continued by drawing intersectional lines, it was a timeline, a crude rough draft of a timeline he was used to drawing in his head, to anyone else they would mean nothing, to him it was his way of trying to make sense of how he now found himself in this position.  He realised he was making a timeline and turning over the page he drew a circle and thought how could he make sense of something that had no beginning and no end?  He was fed up and losing patience with himself as he scribbled wildly over the page and threw the silver pen across the large wooden desk. None of this was really his fault he knew, he just needed to reexamine the circumstances and construct his own reality.

He had avoided leaving the office too early, for he now had no one to go home to. No aroma of a home cooked evening meal would greet him at the door, no sound of her humming to herself as she did when she thought she was alone. No more would the house they had once shared feel warm and inviting, now it was just bricks and mortar, cold and forlorn without her magical touch. The power of her was so strong that being in her comforting presence had made his life more meaningful and as these thoughts warmed his heart and lifted his mood, slowly his emotions fell to a bottomless place deep within him and once again he felt wounded and vacant . He had taken all he had for granted and hadn’t even realised until it was too late to turn back.

His phone vibrated and he automatically checked to see if it was her, anyone else could go to hell he thought to himself. Curling the side of what had once been a mouth used to smiling, he exhaled sharply through his nose as he remembered the saying ‘go to hell’ as the last words she had said to him.  As he made his way from the office to his car, he tried to place when he had withdrawn from her, when had he begun loving her without desire and desiring another without love? He pondered the thought, like someone looking  for a set of lost keys, he could not go forward until he was able  to find the answer. He had to start somewhere in order to make sense of his actions and what he had become.

The crux of this problem was sex. He had thought her too precious to engage in the deviant sex acts he himself was uncomfortable even admitting he craved.  To him, she was better than other women he thought of as sluts or whores. Women who were ‘up for it’, women who used their erotic power to break his will, his resolve and his happiness. She was more than that to him, she was to be idolised, to be adored and to be revered, and she was not to be treated as a sexual plaything. He began to perspire as he become uncomfortable in his own body. He adjusted the air conditioning on the dashboard in an effort to cool down as he remembered her wanting to try ‘something new’ in the bedroom and how shame had overcome him. He couldn’t do with her what he did with other women and that was why he did what he did with them, to spare her to humiliation he thought she would feel,to him, she was just too precious.

As he turned the key in his front door and entered the eerily quiet hallway, the words he had used that fateful day resonated in his memory.  He told himself  he did it all for her, he  told her so when she produced the evidence the private investigator had presented.  He had tried to explain his dilemma; he was unable to love any woman who could satisfy him sexually and was unable to be sexually satisfied by her whom he loved.  She had tried to understand, she explained that she would have offered him any part of herself, she did not have to have a limited sexual identity.  She said she had wanted to be everything to him and that she would have done anything to fit into his sexual values and desires. Anything to make him happy, to work through any exploration, self and sexual to keep him and make their relationship stronger.

He sunk into the beautifully upholstered armchair and brought his hands to his face, trying to erase the thoughts in his head.  She was beside herself with anguish, describing the evidence that now littered the coffee table in front of him, photographs, private messages on social network sites, GPS reports on his car and timetables of his cruelty, yes that is the word she used, he remembered, his cruelty.

Posted in Uncategorized and tagged , , ,
09 Mar 2013
1 Comment

Two-faced

Two facedShe rolled her eyes, tossed her dark hair over her right shoulder, apathetically admired her fingernails and slowly released a deep sigh. She had heard this all before, the contempt in his voice, the desperation in his words, the pleading engraved on his furrowed brow like lines on a old school copy book.  She perceived herself as being a kind person, a good-natured happy go lucky kind of girl, a good friend, an attentive lover and clever. She didn’t identify with how he portrayed her to be, a heartless bitch, a liar and a cheat. She was uncomfortable with his description of her. She had learned to justify almost anything to herself; it was a skill she was proud to have acquired, thrust upon her almost when she was unable to align who she really was with what others knew her to be.

It was just a discrepancy to her, all about perception she thought, she pointed her finger and blamed others when they challenged her in anyway. Blaming anyone, other than herself, even when the truth was unavoidable. The truth was she had been unfaithful, she had lied to others and also to herself justifying her actions by twisting the truth until it was bent out of all proportion and no longer resembled reality.

Now stood in front of him the discrepancies had to be faced, she felt anxious, wondered if there was enough air in the room, she was becoming more agitated as he listed the facts of her infidelity. She felt uncomfortable in her own skin, stressed and distressed as she had to face all that she might lose if she could not lie to herself and lie her way out of this mess in which she now found herself.

Ideally and usually he would see things her way, gloss over her imperfections and in a loving way see her behavior as quirky.  Not this time, this time, she had to face the picture that she had painted of herself and to him, was not the image of herself she had in her head. Her actual and ideal self was skewed, he told her, her misconceptions of herself as a caring, respectful, kind person was becoming frayed at the edges.  As the ideal image she had of herself was lying in tatters, no longer could she deny that his words were the truth. She was agitated, felt threatened and slowly guilt began to creep into her very soul.

Damn him, she thought, damn him for confronting her, she scrambled to formulate thought in her head that would allow her to take control and make him see her the way she wanted him to.  She tried to use tactics to avoid facing reality, to apply the blame game to anyone or anything that would help her to stay in the cocooned belief she had of her self. She knew she ought to take responsibility for her own actions, but why start now when she never had before, she desperately wanted to avoid the truth about who she really was, to deny that he was in fact correct.

He was leaving and there was nothing she could do to stop him, she fired venomous words at him, words contrived of hate and spite. She denied to herself how happy having him in her life had made her.  In these closing minutes she clung to cues of achievement and success, desperately trying to pursue the upper hand. Her emotions were failing her now. Guilt, agitation and anxiety were taking over as she made last-minute efforts to achieve some semblance of winning, but it was too late, he was gone as she spat the hollow words ‘You are nothing without me’.

She wanted to feel elated and having the last say and whilst she felt relieved there was no sense of pleasure.  She listened to the silence that surrounded her and like so many times before, she once again tried to rewrite what had just happened. She heard his car pull away in the rain, she wanted to be sitting beside him going somewhere fun, listening to him confidently talking to her. Tears betrayed her and in sheer anger she threw her phone at the mirror in the hallway, smashing both to pieces, like the pieces of her life, splintered by her inability to control how two-faced she had become and never to be the same again.

Posted in Uncategorized and tagged , , ,
01 Feb 2013
1 Comment

Drink and be Merry

ImageSo my month of sobriety is now complete, waved away like a forlorn friend, it will be missed but I also feel a huge sigh of relief I can enjoy a few glasses of wine this evening. I have enjoyed the experience and I must admit I am sad to see it go, I almost became comfortable with not drinking, for the most part.  I enjoyed the lack of hangovers with which I had become accustomed and I have always found it easy to function with a hangover, never casting it another thought.  I would regularly say ‘never again’ after yet another ‘all-hours-into-the-morning’ session with the girls whilst thinking about the ‘hair of the dog’.   The renewed energy was revitalizing, it is easy to get out of bed after an uninterrupted good night’s sleep. My mind was more alert, I definitely lost weight and as I commenced Bikram yoga, I am more toned than I have been in a long time. So I am delighted with all that, but this is not why you are reading, you want to know about the tantrums and tears.

The first real Friday night after the festive season, I will now refer to as the ‘climbing-of-the-walls’ night.  I thought I would actually die, my mind was all set for a few glasses of wine in front of a blazing fire because that was the habit I had created. My body was almost preempting the relaxing qualities associated with the Friday night ritual. I actually did not know what to do with myself as I sat in my favourite armchair, house in silence. My twitter timeline was an alcohol fuelled wash, a text from the girls said they were meeting for drinks, everyone, I felt was having an unwinding tipple, except me and I was sulking. I had a very long bath practically floating with indignation. I had a good old chat with a friend about their troublesome teens and I went to bed early and alone. The following morning I was at yoga by 9am, delighted with myself but not entirely happy. For anyone that has taken Bikram yoga classes in forty degrees heat would concur it would be an impossible task with a hangover.

There was a Christening, a fortieth birthday party and a meal out with friends during the month of January with everyone drinking except me. I became the resident taxi to friends and family and at times, I behaved like a spoilt brat but just in my head though. I have raised a significant amount of money for a charity that supports people with depression and when I was sulking or being ‘bratty’, this pulled me through. I was doing it for a worthy cause and my tantrums were nothing in comparison to the suffering people face with depression. One twitter friend described depression as an evil disease and I can empathise with anyone suffering from ‘the black dog’ based on my own research.

Something remarkable did happen because of my abstinence, I received much support from twitter friends, many people through my mentions, direct messages and email, showed their appreciation by connecting with me and freely telling me their battles with depression. The stigma attached to depression was openly discussed amongst suffers and stories of loved one’s agonies were confided in me, some so very harrowing indeed. I must admit I was very overwhelmed by the donations people made in aid of the charity, size indeed does not matter, I am very grateful for each and every donation and thank you to all those that could manage it. Each of you made me stay on track as did my many friends who offered friendly support especially on Friday evenings when I was drinking sparkling water instead of hovering glasses of vino.

I have broken the awful habit of overindulgence, a fine lesson to myself indeed. I will never go back to drinking too much and too frequently, I hope. However, I will always enjoy a few alcoholic beverages on occasion and my girlfriends are delighted to have ‘me’ back too. I guess my aim for the future and the lesson I have learned is to ‘drink and be merry’ as opposed to being a slave to alcohol. So please raise a glass with me this evening and remember to look after your mental health and that of those around you.  If you need help with feelings of depression please reach out, there are many organizations out there than can help and one charity is www.aware.ie the charity that will soon receive the donations my twitter friends made. So, once again thank you to everyone for your kindness, your friendship and your support.  Now someone please fetch me a glass of wine, I’m parched.

Here is the link to the charity of my choice: http://www.mycharity.ie/event/ladyf/

Posted in Uncategorized and tagged , ,
19 Jan 2013
7 Comments

A Mother’s Story of Autism and Bullying ~ Can you help?

This isn’t my usual type of blog post but a UK based twitter mom has asked me to write her story and to ask for twitter’s advice. This isn’t my story. If you have any advice or help, please leave a much appreciated comment.

 

“My son, Adam is 21 years, has Asperger’s syndrome, ADHD and Neurofibromatosis type 2 and has an assessed mental age of 12/13 years.

 

For over a year now, local youths have treated Adam as a source of entertainment. They have befriended him and taken advantage of his vulnerability, behaving as his best friend on his “payday”, when he gets his Employment and Support (ESA) benefit. They have coerced my son into buying cigarettes, alcohol, take away food, sweets, and have sold him broken mobile phones. Then they stayed away until his next payday.  I have had no choice but to control his access to his money buying him the things he needs, thus reducing his independence.

 

As a family, we have all become victims of the people that harass our son. Some and not all incidents include, been bombarded with knocks at our door, stones thrown at windows, verbal abuse and eggs thrown through open windows of our daughter’s bedroom. I have made several reports to the police over the past year or more resulting in some restrictive justice orders (RJO’s) being put into place. Temporarily, circumstances became quiet until one of the youths came to see Adam and said he would like to be his friend. I warned Adam against befriending someone that had previously treated him so badly, but Adam has the intellect of a 12 year old boy and is so desperate to have friends, he believed this boy and rejected all efforts I have made to protect him.

 

Late last year, my 20 year old daughter informed me the boy that befriended my son erroneously and another boy brought drugs into my home and smoked the drugs in my garage and garden. I physically dragged these boys from my home and subsequently contacted and received full support from their families.

 

Last week, my daughter and I were watching a film when a number of times local older teenagers called to our door for Adam. I assumed they wanted Adam to go to buy them cigarettes as I have had many encounters about Adam being used to buy cigarettes and alcohol for these teenagers. After the police failed to act on my complaint and I approached the local shops and told them I would report them if they continued to serve Adam with cigarettes and alcohol.  Shortly after this incident Adam ran into the house, out of breath and upset.

 

Two boys had knocked him to the ground and punched and kicked him in the head.  The earlier visitors had been acting as lookout and informed the attackers when Adam was on his way home, the remainder of the teenagers had stood and watched as Adam was attacked. The police arrived and the teenagers admitted hitting Adam and apologized for the police record. I cannot begin to explain how angry this hate motivated crime against my son makes me feel. A vulnerable 21 year old, with diagnosed learning difficulties, Autism and medical and mental health issues.

 

Comments have been made about Adam, my intellectually challenged boy, suggesting he is doing something wrong by having younger friends. People have openly called Adam a pedophile on Facebook, to his face and to mine. I have been informed by they bullies the more I complain, the more Adam will get “battered”.  Facebook have since removed some of the posts because of the “credible threats of violence”.

 

Adam has said if ‘they’ carry on bullying him and calling him ‘pedophile’ I will find him hanging in the loft. We are intimidated by the comments made by these people and their friends. This has resulted in Adam not going out of the house alone and I cannot sleep. I am comfortably leaving my home, fearing attacks both verbal and physical. Harassment is not being able to sleep at night for fear of being attacked as stones have been thrown at my windows during the night demanding to see my son.

 

The RSJ orders have failed miserably, my son is victimized, my family suffers because of this bullying and I feel I have nowhere else to turn for help. I would greatly appreciate any help and advise before it is too late for me and my family and especially my beloved son Adam.”

Posted in Autism and tagged , ,
12 Jan 2013
6 Comments

Sober Me – Challenging times?

ImageResolutions? I have always felt resolutions are a way of setting myself up for a fall, another reason to beat myself up when my resolve inevitably weakens and I am unable to meet the high standards I am renowned for setting myself. However, my drive for giving up alcohol was twofold initially, I find the stigma attached to depression weighs heavy on my mind, I detest that people are afraid to speak out about their mental health issues. As someone that has never suffered from a black mood that I cannot overcome by having a good chat with myself, I know how lucky I am.

Some of us are unable to alleviate the ‘black dog’ and I feel very strongly about the support they should be getting and mostly are not receiving. The second reason I wanted to give up alcohol was to see if I could do it, as I discussed in my initial blog post, prior to New Year’s Day, I have an ingrained culture of alcohol that seems to have crept into a habit. I know a lot of people choose to have a dry January and although it was something I have never done before it was a knee-jerk reaction to seeing a friend suffer from depression. My calculated spontaneity and lack of fear, often exasperates those close to me, yet I felt it was the right time to marry my ragged-trousered philanthropist approach and giving up alcohol, whilst hopefully raising donations and awareness for depression sufferers with the help of twitter. I am hugely impressed by people that openly discuss their mental health issues on twitter, I find it commendable, refreshing and honest, I am happy people discuss their mental health issues so openly, I wish it would transfer more to other areas of life too.

Long ago, chatting with my father I said that the worst thing in the world for me would be to be incarcerated because personal freedom means everything to me. His response stayed with me, he said ‘My darling daughter, I could be happy anywhere because I am at peace in my head’. I felt I had become a slave to alcohol, in effect, I had lost personal freedom. I had become resolute to hangovers, functioning as normal and yet I knew I was not reaching my full potential as I need to go beyond just functioning, I need to soar, to be free, for my mind and body to be in unison.

So on New Year’s Eve I waved alcohol away and I haven’t looked back, much. A few days ago driving home, from a stressful meeting, I was temporarily overwhelmed by emotions and like a subconscious trigger I figured that the wine at home could be opened and consumed to alleviate the stress I felt at that particular moment. Luckily a good friend called me and although they don’t know it, their kind words and support helped me to analyze that alcohol was no solution and their concern as to how I felt after the meeting was enough, more than enough, in fact it was all I needed. Of course, I didn’t drink, I had made a commitment, my sobriety challenge had to be honoured as I had a greater responsibility I am raising donations for aware.ie in aid of support for people with depression. I thought it might be a journey, although to what extent I was unsure.

My girlfriends and I meet regularly, a lot of the time it involves alcohol but one friend suggested that now I wasn’t drinking I might join her doing Bikram Yoga. I showed mild interest until she explained that one of the positions can induce near orgasm, I needed no other convincing and after some internet research on the subject, off we went the following evening to engage in strenuous activity for ninety minutes in a room heated to 37 degrees Celsius. Bikram yoga is certainly not something I could do if alcohol was still part of my life and I am certainly glad I have found something that improves mind and body and requires dedication. I am on a thirty-day challenge with Bikram yoga, everyday for thirty consecutive days, which will extend beyond the end of January, so I will not be getting drunk on the 1st of February, I will be completing the challenge and then, who knows?

So what has changed? Physically, I am devoid of hangovers, headaches, exhaustion and poor sleep. I have more get-up-and-go I am more active. Sober sex is more fun, it is said that alcohol lowers our inhibitions, which in my case is fruitless because I seem to be devoid of sexual inhibitions. However, alcohol, to the extent of 4 glasses of wine is proven to suppress desire and physical ability and I am happy to wave that sloppiness goodbye. Mentally, my mind is sharper, which is a good thing. I guess I used alcohol as a crutch, to overcome grief after my father died, to support a social life, to block out marital issues and just to relax. I am eating healthier, drawn to the right foods and I look forward to studying with a clear head when I return to university later this month.

I want to thank you for reading this and to everyone that has sponsored me so far in my sobering endeavours. I still have far to go, not just in embracing sobriety but also in life, as we all do and now I see I would rather continue on my journey without alcohol holding me back. I am happier now, more patient and more focused, my end goal is my studies and a career and although both are two years away, I finally feel I have taken a step in the right direction. I look forward to drinking again in a more responsible way, to enjoy alcohol as opposed to just getting drunk. I am happy, truly happy in myself.

Here is the link to the charity of my choice: http://www.mycharity.ie/event/ladyf/

Posted in Alcohol, Uncategorized and tagged , , , , ,
11 Jan 2013
2 Comments

The Adventures of LadyF

Lips2I hold my breathing at a steady pace, inhaling and exhaling through my nose, the perspiration glides down my face as I blink it away, in the mirror I can see my face is already flushed. I can feel the heat building inside me, matching the intense heat of the room and I stare at the wall in front of me. In a kneeling poition, my neck and back are entirely straight as if my hair is being pulled upwards to the ceiling. My knees are spread apart and my thighs make a sideward V-shape with my now, sweating calves. I reach my arms above my head and slowly reach back and grab both ankles, first the right and then the left and slowly I lean towards my ankles, shoulders lowered, my head drops backwards, free of tension and I calmly seek out a spot on the wall on which to focus, my body completely bent back on itself. Then I begin to bounce, building a rhythm as I listen to my body, all the time concentrating on the ebb and flow of my breathing, staying in the room remaining focused. I am bathed in my own moisture, every pore oozing perspiration as it glistens over my entire body even my hands slide under my own wetness. All this time I am in control, in my full senses, I am aware of my surrounding and yet just concentrating on listening to my own body as I push myself to my limit of exertion.

Maintaining a regular rhythm, I stretch my gaze backwards, feeling the welcome pressure on my thighs as my back extends almost perpendicular with my calves. As I lean back, the muscles of my upper body get closer to my ankles as each ankle remains held by my hands. I pull my elbows tighter towards the middle of my back and I arch as far back as my body will allow until I have exerted myself far beyond my capacity, I experience the pleasure of pain. If I could speak, I would be commending myself on my bendiness, but I cannot speak for I am in an almost transcendental state whilst still remaining focused. I am beyond words, conserving my energy for what us yet to come and yet my breathing remains slow and steady.

My eyes settle half way down the wall behind me as I release a slow, deep and low groan my entire upper body tingles, my muscles contracting, my hair touching the surface behind me as I am bent backwards in half and from my fingertips to between my legs I am undone with pleasure, immense, intense pleasure. I slowly become aware of my surroundings as I mentally return to the room I have went beyond. The intensity slowly passes and I hear soothing and strong words of praise. The sense of release fills my head and floods my body and like a reward, I am complete. I have realized my aim, the satisfaction is incalculable. I release my limbs and slowly lie on my back with the fabric beneath me absorbing the moisture from my now soaking body, my breathing is steady once more.

Lying perfectly still and unable to move following the intensity that has lasted in its entirity for over an hour and a half, once again I hear the words of praise reaching me and as I slowly rise, the words become clearer, saying they hope they will see me again tomorrow. I gently smile and nod, briefly making eye contact and as I turn my back I run my fingers from the top of my head all the way back and release my hair now soaking wet to the root from my own glistening dampness still covering my body. I make my way to the shower, head up and completely spent. With hot water running I enter the shower and with my two arms locked at the elbows I support myself against the shower wall, slowly coming around to my full senses again.

I feel the water cascading over ever pore, the welcome relief of the gentle, soft, touch of the water caressing me, hugging me after such a punishing and strenuousness activity. I stand and think of nothing at all, I am beyond thought, already reliving what I have just done and relishing the fulfillment and gratification as my mind and body are relieved and satisfied for another day. I slowly dress, pack my bag and prepare to leave, as I open the door the same voice, strong and dominant says ‘I will see you tomorrow, same time, right?’ I raise my hand and smile tenderly, I nod briefly and reply ‘of course, bye now’ and then I leave. The cold evening air is welcoming on my flushed face and as I drive home, listening to some soothing romantic ballad sung in dulcet tones, I return to reality. Hunger pangs no longer subdued by the bottled water I have been drinking, I think of food that will reward my hunger, as I always do when I return home from such an intense evening.

The headlights illuminate the driveway, I notice my husband’s car is already parked and I can see the welcoming warm glow escape the heavy curtains from the large bay window. I gently close the front door for I know my husband will be working. I open the large wooden door of his study and see him attentively working. He doesn’t look up, I greet him and ask him how his day was, a distracted and disinterested muffled reply of ‘good, good, all good, you? Were you at class?’. Minimum pleasantries exchanged I make my excuses, pleading hunger. He seems relieved and explains he has hours of work to do before bed.

I dump my bag in the utility room, remove my shoes and barefoot, make my way to the refrigerator, the cold marble tiles refreshing beneath my feet. I pour a large cold glass of wine and returning to the study, place it on my husband’s desk and without saying a word he doesn’t look up but mumbles appreciation. I return to the kitchen and as I pour the dressing on my salad, I drink heavily from a bottle of sparkling water, intoxicating in itself, after my evening’s pursuits. I check my phone and see friendly messages and informative emails to which I must reply whilst eating alone. I make further arrangements for a weekend away I confirm details with friends and begin my late night reading. The lights are dimmed and the warm inviting kitchen shows no signs of the daytime bustle, calm has descended for another day. I climb the stairs on my tip-toes and feel my upper thighs pinching, I smile to myself, remembering how they came to ache as I undress and sliding naked between the cool sheets I send a text ‘I need you to ravish me again, like you did earlier today, I need to feel you inside me’.

I hear my husband downstairs locking up for the night and I quickly turn off my phone and the bedroom light pretending to be asleep. The light from the hallway fills the room when he opens the door and when he climbs into bed he whispers ‘I got your text, you going to practice your yoga poses on me before I ravish you liked you asked?’ I engage my mouth, but this time not to speak as I assume the position with which I am now so familiar, knees the same width apart only this time I have something more interesting between my legs.

Posted in Uncategorized and tagged ,
31 Dec 2012
2 Comments

2012 in review

The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2012 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

4,329 films were submitted to the 2012 Cannes Film Festival. This blog had 26,000 views in 2012. If each view were a film, this blog would power 6 Film Festivals

Click here to see the complete report.

Posted in Uncategorized
30 Dec 2012
3 Comments

My Intoxicating Affair

http://www.mycharity.ie/event/ladyf/

no-alcoholWe have a tradition, the girls and I, on New Year’s Day evening, we drink cocktails. This year I shall not be drinking, it will be the first time, besides pregnancy that I won’t be drinking alcohol. The girls are acting like someone has died, suspiciously mouthing the words ‘she is giving up alcohol’ akin to if I had a life threatening disease. Disbelieving questions such as; Not even a small glass of wine? Vodka and coke hardly counts, surely?

My husband wants to know if our sex lives will change ‘dramatically’, he wonders if it will be ‘safe’ for him to bring alcohol into the house. I’ve been asked to give my regards to the staff at the Priory and advised that I may need mental health services myself before February first. My partially contrived reputation does indeed proceed me.

I don’t drink everyday, sometimes not during the week, but I do enjoy a glass of wine when cooking sometimes and when I meet friends it is almost always in a cafe bar or a pub. Sporting events result in alcohol whether our team win or lose. Wine with dinner, G&T afterwards, champagne on occasion, Guinness on a Friday evening in the pub. Brandy in cream sauces, beef and ale stew, a hot whiskey when a cold is brewing, a Bailey’s or port with dessert. Drinks at weddings, funerals, the theatre and concerts. I can drink in moderation, I can drink to excess and I can always hold my drink.

Drinking alcohol in ingrained in my personal culture, as a habit, not as an addiction although no one thinks I can not drink for a month. I would rather sit with a glass of wine, by the fire, with my phone in my hand, bantering about on twitter on a Friday evening than not. I am also as stubborn as the proverbial mule, just as feisty and twice as determined, so I’ll succeed. So why now, why when I couldn’t give a continental toss about resolutions am I depriving myself of something I enjoy?

Because it is a sacrifice I can make, in an effort to raise funds and awareness for mental health.

A leading psychologist explained at a conference I attended, recently, how after a long drive his back aches, he described this as his physical strength and depending on what he is doing his physical health changes. Our mental health also changes, we rarely feel the same, he said, on a Monday morning as we do on a Friday evening, we have Monday morning blues and TGIF feelings. The difficulty begins if we cannot rise above feeling down. Then it becomes an issue with which we need help, just as if we had a physical issue.

If someone breaks their arm, the visual impact of a cast and a sling induces feelings of sympathy in us, but if someone is struggling emotionally, generally we don’t want to know, we are often uncomfortable discussing mental health because of the stigma. This stigma is harmful and mental health issues need compassion, understanding and awareness.

The charity I have chosen is http://www.aware.ie supporting people going through depression, highlighting awareness and proactively promote mental well-being. There are lots of charities that do the same as Aware, I just randomly picked one such charity as http://www.aware.ie relies on public donations and fundraising for more than 80% of its annual funding.

The facts are figures of mental health issues are statistically significant, http://www.mind.org.uk use the most supported evidence of 1 in 4 people suffering from mental health problems in any given year. One in Four!!!!!!!! The facts and figures proffered by http://www.mentalhealth.org.uk are self-explanatory,

  • 1 in 4 people will experience some kind of mental health problem in the course of a year
  • Mixed anxiety and depression is the most common mental disorder in Britain
  • Women are more likely to have been treated for a mental health problem than men About 10% of children have a mental health problem at any one time
  • Depression affects 1 in 5 older people
  • Suicides rates show that British men are three times as likely to die by suicide than British women
  • Self-harm statistics for the UK show one of the highest rates in Europe: 400 per 100,000 population
  • Only 1 in 10 prisoners has no mental disorder

These figures, were the most accessible I could find and transfer to any European country with adjustment. The seriousness of mental health issues is further supported by the World Health Organisation;

Mental health is a most important,maybe the most important, public health issue, which even the poorest society must afford to promote, to protect and to invest in. (World Health Organisation, 2003)

I am lucky but I have lots of friends that will openly discuss their problems with their mental health issues and I am happy to be there for them. Without alcohol, my mind will be sharper, my liver relieved and I will make a donation myself on completion. Hopefully I will raise awareness of depression and monetary donations for http://www.mycharity.ie/event/ladyf/ on behalf of http://www.aware.ie.

This will be a journey, an interesting one for me, a bumpy ride or plain sailing? Who can tell. I shall tweet through it, whilst drinking my San Pelligrino, coffee or Ribena. I would be very grateful, for any donation received no matter how small and if you would be so kind as to retweet this I would appreciate that too. So for New Year’s eve it will be bottoms up until midnight and then…with stealth determination, I shall keep my spirits up.

You can follow http://www.aware.ie @awareireland

http://www.centreformentalhealth.org.uk

Goldberg, D. & Huxley, P., (1992), ‘Common mental disorders: a bio-social model’, London: Routledge

Meltzer et al (1995) Surveys of psychiatric morbidity in Great Britain: Report HMSO: London

Posted in Uncategorized and tagged , , , ,

Post Navigation

← Older Entries
Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 11,877 other followers