Who are you calling ‘mad cat lady’?

Nothing like a nagging, compulsion to write at 1am.

I am trying to process my ineptitude surrounding matters of the heart. Relationships. I liken myself to a newborn lamb, barely able to stand, very wobbly and prone to bleating at the first sign of trouble. Hopefully less gloopy.

I can’t quite get to grips with having a healthy relationship. I am not surprised considering the mixture of a somewhat dysfunctional upbringing and the mixed messages that are drip fed into the sub-conscious of every woman in today’s society.

Media, advertising, even the bloody government push this constant idea that it is better to be part of a duo. Where would we be without a significant other? You even get fucking tax allowances if you are married and they hilariously charge you to get divorced. In fact you have to ‘apply’ to part from your betrothed. As someone who is currently going through this hideous process it brings up all matter of questions, mainly, how did it go so wrong?

On one hand women still have the old fashioned expectation of being the soft ones, the carers, the cleaners, the feeders… (I sorely lack at that last one.. cooking has never been a strong point) and yet within a lot of us is a desire to be self sufficient. Independent. Feisty. Strong. Some can manage this. They can incorporate everything within their personality and relationship and still be a likeable person. I can’t. I am more of a “fuck off I can do this by myself, can you help me?” type of gal.

I think the crux of the matter is that for me, and I presume countless others, we are brought up to believe by society that we need to find ‘the one’. Our soulmate. You are generally expected to procreate and then stay in a happy bubble until one of you drops off this mortal coil. However, I am perplexed as to why this idealistic (and is it even idealistic?) notion even exists. There is a recently a stronger voice for us women (and men) now which propels us towards the belief that all we really need is to love ourselves and only then can we find ‘true’ love with another. The concept that we are to be happy alone before we can really be happy with another. This isn’t a new concept by any means but it is one which is now presenting itself quite regularly via social media memes and is peddled in self help books and among support groups.

And it is here that I am presented with a huge, stumbling block. I am trying to do this. It makes sense. Don’t rely on another to make you happy. Go within. Love thyself.. all that jazz. The issue that this then seems to present to me is I don’t know how to combine that with getting close to another. I am very much all or nothing. For those that I have been with, this can present as a terrifying mix of nonchalance and Fatal Attraction. The ones that succumb to my charms probably have equally as many issues with their own self esteem and relationships, otherwise they would run a mile. Those that start walking backwards the moment they spot this are wise enough to know that I am anything but simple to be with. Minus the lover, I revert to being almost human again and I merrily skip along (think 3 month old lamb stage) without stumbling too often and you might even spot a little skip into the air. Bring in a new lover and cue the bleating.

I have actually got better in that I now at least recognise this. And I know where it stems from and the how’s and why’s.. but it doesn’t seem to make the actual transition from Normal(ish) Chloe to Lunatic Chloe any easier to bear. I don’t appear to know what normal behaviour is in a relationship. And is that purely an issue that I have or is it one that has been exacerbated and promoted by society? We are shown via film, TV, books etc that true love is all giddiness and butterflies. However when I look back, butterflies have always been teamed with anxiety. Anxiety that the one I have started to like, won’t call or like me back enough. The ‘can’t stop thinking about you’ feeling that we get in those early days, is that always healthy? We very willingly, cup our heart with both hands and hand it over to the other person and say, ‘there, you can have that’… and then wonder why, when they drop it or accidentally sit/shit on it that we fall apart and our confidence in love is crushed. So how do we find this elusive happy medium? Is it possible to have giddiness and a healthy relationship?

I am stumped. I can see myself being single forever because I can’t imagine having the self sufficiency I feel when I am alone and being able to feel that confident independence within a relationship. And so, with that, I am just going to the rescue centre to get another ten cats……(who are you calling mad cat lady?….🙄)

p.s. apologies for a probably crap piece of writing.. a compulsion to write and being too tired to think straight = the above 😉

Slipping

Demons, little monkeys, scurrying to my shoulders, “slipping, slipping” they giggle in my ear. They pinch my skin, tug at my hair.

Where’s your flo Chlo? Like a slurry of sludge, I’m sticking. Trees whisper in the wind, “promises, promises, what happened to the promises?”

No longer making, creating, just sating. But it’s a good day, a bad day, a roast day, a sad day.

Slipping, slipping.

Change the gear, pick up the pace. It’s not too late, gather your arsenal, lay it all out. Straighten your britches, smooth out the creases and gently, soothe the soul.

More moon wafflings..

At which point did the majority of the world forget that it is both the moon and sun that harness the tide, nurture our crops.. or hell, let’s really throw it out there… keep us alive? How far removed have we become that we no longer hold either of these big, fuck off balls of energy with the revere they deserve?

It’s not like this is a new concept to me. The corona virus lockdown hasn’t suddenly given me some sort of existential breakdown (that was alcohol), but it has given me the time to really ponder what the fuck us humans are all about.

Last night I did my first ever New Moon ritual of writing my intentions for this month and then burning them whilst I had a detox bath. It was cathartic and wet.

It didn’t quite give me the unbroken, restful nights sleep I had been hoping for and when I woke up before 5 this morning I decided to walk to the beach so I could see the sunrise. It must be one of the first times I have done this when it hasn’t been post-clubbing and I can assure you, sober sunrise watching is a lot less messy. And to be honest I’m pretty mental anyway so I still have the capacity to wonder why we don’t have obese birds flying and if we did, would they fly much slower and actually, don’t birds fly quite fast considering? Then I start imagining having a race with a bird and then laughing at how they slow down and land but reminding myself that I can’t actually fly (despite my dreams telling me otherwise) so I should just shut up with my judgementalness. This reminds me of the time I did try and fly. My eldest was only a baby and I had had a very vivid dream that I could fly and if I only flapped my arms down hard enough it would work when I was awake. Needless to say, it didn’t.

It’s time for me to head back home now. ‘Other’ people have started to appear. Yuck.

Alanis Morrisette as God.

“Let’s have a girlie night Mum. I can wax your face”.

Sorry what? Wax my face? I look at the ridiculously gorgeous non-hairy-faced 16 year old who stands before me all pretty and young, and glare. Wax my face? What do you mean? Wax my face?

Is this what lockdown has resorted us to? I’ll admit if a fine fuzzy look is the worst of my problems then perhaps I am not doing too badly, but still. I harrumphed, threatened imminent death and stomped off incredulously.

To be honest, lockdown for us in a house with a garden in a town with a beach and the Sussex Downs a short drive away is luxury in comparison to those without. Lockdown in early recovery? Not so sweet. I attend Zoom meetings to connect with other recovery fellows and I speak to friends daily but the reality of not being able to physically connect or have cups of tea in their houses is difficult when having an illness that thrives on isolation.

However one’s addiction manifests itself, it really is only symptomatic of a void that has lost its plug. You know the paddling pools with the plug in the bottom? The ones we buy year after year, that only last for a month before a cat punctures it or it gets left on its side until you can’t see past the slugs that have taken residence within it? One of them. It’s like trying to refill a slug-ridden, plug-less void with *insert addiction of choice* and constantly wondering why the gnawing never stops.

I remember sitting in a flat I shared with my EO (Eldest One) who was about 1 or 2 at the time time and wondering why it was I could never feel sated. I always felt like something was missing and here I am 16 years later slowly piecing the puzzle together and a warm glow is starting to build.

These last three weeks since leaving the treatment centre have been a rollercoaster. However, the good news is that this rollercoaster would have been out of place in somewhere like Thorpe Park and more suited to a toddler’s version at Lego World or whatever it’s called. The ups and downs have been more muted and less vomit inducing which for someone who can’t even watch someone else playing racing games without wanting to hurl, is a good thing. (Of note, I have never ever, and never ever will, go on a rollercoaster).

To help with mentally riding my toddler’s rollercoaster, I have been asked by my – let’s call her my ‘human’ guide – to pray and talk to my higher power. Now I have an issue with organised religion personally but completely get that it is a wonderful thing for lots of other people. For me, I believe in the power of energy, Earth, Mother Nature and Spirit. I have my own guides in the ether whom I talk to but I don’t have a particular God. So this makes praying a bit cumbersome. It takes quite a while to go through “Dear higher power, Mother Nature, mother goddess, spirit guides, animal guides, ancestors etc” each time I want to communicate so I decided that I needed a name. I immediately though of Alanis Morrisette who plays god in Dogma and I decided to name my multitude of higher powers the one name, ‘Alanis’. I was very excited about this and proceeded to tell all those who were remotely interested that I was talking to my goddess ‘Alanis’. Even my counsellor took it on board and managed not to laugh during our sessions when referring to Alanis (he did smirk but looked very chuffed at his lack of laughter). The problem I had was that every time I did my morning and evening chats with Alanis, it felt like I was addressing the Alanis Morrisette. And then it all felt wrong. I mean she may well have heard me telepathically, who knows how spiritual she is? She might have been buttering her toast in Canada or wherever she is from and suddenly out of the blue heard me waffling on about how I need to remain sober and could she possibly sort out the leaking overflow pipe…

In case you wondered, no, she didn’t answer.

So with that I have gone back to naming each of my zillion higher powers and just mix up the order so that none of them get jealous of who gets named first.

There are benefits to talking with an entity that you believe hold a larger power than yourself. I will write this more eloquently in another post, for now I am far too glib to describe with any justice. And I need a pee.