Sunday scribbles

When I was with Dan, I was miserable. I'd just gotten out of a physically abusive relationship, and I was incredibly vulnerable. I was also heavily addicted to cocaine, scared of having to move back to England and constantly worried that the man who had raped me was going to get out of prison. I was unhappy, I was scared, and I didn't know what to do. 

As I've mentioned in previous posts, Dan was incredibly abusive. The shouting, the insults, the going out all night, and not telling me where he was going or if he'd be home. It filled me with misery that I convinced myself wasn't there. I did my best to convince myself I was happy, but I wasn't. I thought I loved him, but that treatment wasn't love. The people who love you don't treat you like that. 

I've also mentioned in the past that I don't want kids. I'd be a terrible mother, and I hate children. At one point during our relationship, I thought I was pregnant because my period was late. I told Dan, and he sat in silence, angry and refusing to talk about it. I wasn't, obviously. My body was shutting down because of how much I was abusing it. Dan said that he wanted me to get clean so my body could be healthy enough for us to have kids, and I thought I could see myself having children with him. When you're vulnerable, you'll fall for anything and anyone, and the abuse I have put up with is testament to that. 

One of the ways I tried to get Dan to stop treating me the way I did was to ask him how he would feel if someone treated our future daughter how he treated me. Yes, that was a line that actually left my mouth. I was willing to put up with his abuse, but couldn't find a way of getting him to treat me better other than mentioning a human being that didn't exist. Unsurprisingly, it didn't work. He wouldn't even change his behaviour towards the woman he claimed to want to have children with by thinking about how he would feel if someone treated his child in the same way. I put up with so much from him because I was so unhappy, but I had nowhere else to go. I wasn't on the lease, I couldn't afford to live alone, and I didn't even exist in the eyes of the council. I was just there, being nothing more than a rent payment that dramatically exceeded his. His parents "let me live there," and that's all the situation ever was. The entire 9 months we were together were some of the worst of my life. 

The reason I'm thinking about this today is that I'm reading the final book in a wonderfully awful series that I plan on reading again and again and again. It involves a guy in his early twenties being in a relationship with someone with a kid that he automatically saw as his own child. I'm fully aware that this is fiction, but it also happens in real life. Neither of my parents' partners ever saw me as their own. I was just someone who came along with my mum or dad. Thinking about how my own parents treated me in terms of including me in their future relationships definitely shaped how I allow myself to be treated today. It baffles me that I can be so strong in some areas of my life, but so weak in others. 

Thinking about this I've decided I want to go on a dating fast for a while. I use the word dating very loosely and think that I might even be taking a break from hooking up with new people, I don't really know. All I do know is that I have to address how I allow people to treat me. I just don't know where to start. 

Stay safe on the road

Jess 

Life is a cabaret old chum

I always say that I'd trade anything in the world in exchange for having not been raped. But that's not true. Never in a million years would I trade my voice for anything. I'm a singer, I've always been a singer and I always will be a singer. When I'm singing every molecule of insecurity fades away. I don't need to be shy, I don't need to be insecure. I'm good. I know I'm good, and there's nothing anyone could say to make me think otherwise. 

When I was younger I started amateur dramatic performances thanks to a woman that aggressively bullied me. She made my life a living hell at times but the one thing we had in common was that we were performers. Me a singer, her a dancer and a singer. It started off with a read through of The King and I and we continued to perform together until a fun performance of Oklahoma towards the end of high school. Performinng on stage brings a buzz like nothing I've ever felt before. Singing with lights shining in my face and a full audience will always be one of my favourite things, but I haven't done it in a while. 

Last year I signed up for an audition to Mary Poppins and didn't get a part. I can't blame them, I can't dance for shit. I fall over stood still on flat ground so anything that requires any form of movement tends to be a no go. My vocal audition was perfect, a quick rendition of I Dreamed a Dream from Les Miserable always goes down well and shows off my vocal abilities. They asked why I didn't go for a part and had me read some lines but ultimately saw my lack of coordination and decided to choose someone else. 

I can't say I blame them. 

Next month I have an audition for The Rocky Horror Picture show and I can. Not.Wait. There's something about auditioning that I now love even if I don't succeed. I get to perform for an actual audience, no matter how small. The confidence it gives when I feel their engagement is second to no other. The high is indescribable.

One of the best ways I find to get into character for a song is to connect it with a specific memory. When I sing I Dreamed a Dream I think of my good friend Matt who died in a car accident ten years ago. When I sing Roxanne from Moulin Rouge I think of my mother and how she allows her boyfriend to treat her. When I sing As Long as he Needs Me from Oliver I think of River and how I loved him even though he hit me. Mary J Blige's No More Drama soothed my addiction. By associating songs with feelings and experiences I've had in the past I tap into something that not everyone can. Quite often I end up crying but, as I said to a friend the other day, is it really a rehearsal if you don't  end up in tears. 

Admittedly there was a time when I was insecure about my voice. As a female alto I often felt that I lacked talent because there were high notes I couldn't reach. Then I realised that my talent and ability as an alto was just as valid as that of a soprano. Every singer is different, and that's the beauty of vocal range. 

I'll always be kind of bummed that I'm not a tenor though. 

Stay safe on the road

Jess

Borderline Personality Cleaning

Without a doubt, the best thing that has happened to me since I moved to Australia is finding my apartment. I panic move and have ended up in some horrible places in the past and I've also been homeless twice. Because of my history with eating disorders, I find it difficult to cook in any kind of communal kitchen and often live off of takeaways when I'm not able to cook my food alone. My apartment is tiny, but it has a self-contained kitchen and bathroom, meaning that although it's not very big, it's more than big enough for me. 

The problem with having a small apartment is that any type of mess makes the place look like a tornado has torn through it. Dishes in the sink become mountains of food-encrusted crockery. A pile of clothes on a chair becomes an 18th-century washerwoman's to-do list. A dirty floor turns into a dessert. If I let my place get even the slightest bit messy, then it becomes an uncomfortable place to live. 

This sends me into a bit of a catch-22 situation. When my BPD is bad and my mood is low, I don't want to clean, meaning my home becomes very dirty. This buildup of dirt makes me feel worse and makes my mood tank even further so I'm unable to clean. It's only by keeping up with a regular cleaning rhythm that I'm able to feel calm, but this balance can be difficult to find. 

When my BPD turns obsessive, I often turn to cleaning. I once spent four hours cleaning my floor with bleach and a ruler, and I often spend hours scrubbing each tile in the room. This then inevitably leads to burnout and prevents me from being able to do anything else. It also tends to end in the consumption of multiple bottles of wine, passing out in bed filled with regret and another wasted day. I'm implementing a no-drinking on a school night rule, and so wine-fuelled cleaning wasn't an option today. 

Instead, I decided to map out my room and dedicate a number to each area that needed cleaning. From the kitchen sink to the bookcase, the shoe rack to the wardrobe, every area that needed cleaning was assigned a number, and I used Google to generate a number to tell me which part of my home needed cleaning next. I'll admit, there were times I tried to skip a task, but I forced myself to do the bits that I didn't want to. Cleaning the shower for instance is a particular hatred of mine, purely because I have no idea how to clear off soap scum, but I pushed through my procrastination and managed to return my home to it's shiny status. 

There aren't many areas of my BPD that I feel I have "hacked". I still have a crippling fear of abandonment and rejection and I often obsess over insignificant moments for hours and hours. The system I came up with today is a little different. It's by no means a life-changing discovery for the majority of people, but if it stops me from feeling like I'm living in the back end of a landfill, it's good enough for me. 

Stay safe on the road

Jess