Archives for category: Boundaries

I’m awake wandering if the wind is making the thudding noise, my heart or my neighbour cleaning. When he’s pissed off, he sweeps the floor banging the skirting board repeatedly. He does this because he is a controlling little shit who doesn’t like women ignoring him. Yes, I swapped one wanker for another, what’s new.

I’ve had a chest infection since April due to white mould. I have only recently seen it. I turned my lights on and saw what appeared to be oil splodges… running my finger over them proved they were not (why would they be in a bedroom?).

I’m wheezing, bubbling, having a break with reality and a heart attack all at once… Think I’ll distract myself with Star Trek. It was the episode where Nelix has an existential crisis and contemplates and plans suicide. For fuck sake.

It’s a year since my uncle died, my electric company thinks £280 is fair monthly payment for one loner in a flat. I did some work and I didn’t get paid in the same fortnight as they are deducting the money back off my benefits, which means this month I am £70 down.

Last month I had an interview to prep for, it didn’t happen and thought that I would be sanctioned. My dad is A.W.O.L. since he got a back payment (fine fuck him, but also ouch). And my neck is swollen… is that part of the mould problem, or some fresh fuckery?

My brother is sending me messages about how much he’s struggling financially, and sending songs about giving up, and mate, I can’t even look after my own mental health, please contact the number I gave you… Love you, please don’t kill yourself.

The last straw was the way Star Trek ‘resolved’ this episode. They managed to block Nelix from transporting in to the middle of a nebula… While someone was trying to ‘talk him down’, someone else came looking for him and asked him to help get her little girl to sleep. Whilst the original person reminded him of all the people that needed him, and he decides he won’t kill himself today as “duty calls”.

That is why people kill themselves. Some call it people pleasing, but that belies the very serious effects of being responsible for other peoples happiness. It belies the fact that this is one of the ‘signs’ that abusive people look for in ‘soft targets’ and it completely glosses over the years of self denial that a person has endured before they get to the point where life is not worth living.

This emotional black mail asks the person to self abnegate at the precise moment when they need to find a reason to care for themselves most. Fuck. That. It terrifies me to hear people say they need me… Duty is a dirty word, a slave maker, a soul killer… I learned that when I was trying to find a reason not to transport myself into the middle of a nebula.

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Today has been the absolute pits. I went to sign on, because I had to submit a sick note. Apparently, when I’m ill, the general rule of thumb is that life is going to show me how absolutely alone I am. My counselling sessions have ended again. I cant even explain how I feel about that.  I have no money in my account (we’ll get to that later) so I couldn’t afford to delay handing in my sick note.

The absolute last straw came after 14 unanswered telephone calls. I just wanted to give in, fortunately, I was too ill to do anything except cry myself to sleep. I woke about 1 1/2 later and ate three meals in one go. I will come to regret this…

My advisor said that I needed time off to recuperate, but I have done anything but. My account was closed, because, I’m ill and this is what the tory suicide plan is all about. Lets fuck with this person and see if they kill themselves. When my money didn’t go in, I rang to see where it was. Whoops, they said, we closed your claim. No reason, just cos.

Apparently, rebuilding my claim didn’t extend to telling me what they had done, so I had no idea till I didn’t get paid. My rent was due. I borrowed some money, it wasn’t enough. I had to haul arse into town and pay my art fund in to cover rent and council tax. I have no money but I’m not over my planned over draft, the bank still want to pass my account to collections. I have to make my food last at least three more days. There is enough, but it all needs cooking, except hash browns. I post shit on the internet to keep myself awake while they cook. Or send SOS messages that go unheeded.

My doctors kicked me off their service, so I have to find a new one. I keep missing appointments. I’m officially what they call in my trade living a chaotic lifestyle now. Remember I keep being told that I’m ok, and I’m sane and I can cope etc? Right now, my needs are high enough to warrant support… If I applied for help, I would be too well when it finally comes and would be managed off a support list. I know this is a fractured read, but it’s difficult to concentrate and I’m still crying.

I nearly got run over yesterday, by a man on a bike. I asked him if it was worth nearly running me over to get his train. He said, sorry I wasn’t thinking… I just flipped. I said I didn’t want to hear it. But he just kept going on. I just flipped and told him to shut his fucking mouth. He said there was no need to be rude, I said there was no need to ride a bike 20mph on a footpath. He kept on.

I walked right up to him and I asked him how far he wanted to take things. He pointed to the camera on his head, I said good! When you up load that footage, make sure you put the bit where you clip my jumper on too. He momentarily checked himself, and looked around for intervention. I said, I just want you to shut your fucking mouth, dickhead.

He spent the rest of the time speaking to two men about how badly done to he felt, and he either tried or did take a picture of me on his phone. He felt inconvenienced because I didn’t want to hear about his bad day. I thought if you only fucking knew.

A couple of days before, I had a meeting with the family, they want my bank details for my inheritance. Another false call as it happens, with the added bonus of them letting me know they really don’t like me. It was a bit of a kick in the guts to hear my dad join in. I did what I usually do with things I don’t like to hear, I push it away and let it resurface when I’m really down.

I have to walk up a hill to catch a train, and then walk up another hill to get to the doctors. I can’t afford a taxi. My limbs ache because I can’t breathe and I’m coughing like I have consumption. The doctors gave me some antibiotics for a chest and sinus infection, and I want to be ill in bed, but my body wants food and breathing is secondary to paying my rent, etc. I have to cook or go hungry. I’ve eaten hash browns cooked on a George foreman grill. It’s all I’ve been able to do. I got home from signing on just worn out. My chest rattling, my nose wheezing and feeling like I was drowning. Then I recall the time I tried to patch things up with my mum…

I was saying something about hate being a strong word, trying to give her an out, and she said, “No, I really *hated* you”. Her face wrinkled and her voice filled with that venomous hatred. So while I was lying in bed crying, trying to find someone to love me, that’s what I had in my head. Even your own mother thinks you are not worthy of love.

Someone finally picked up the phone. It was the Samaritans. They wanted to know if there was anyone I could call for help… I still haven’t stopped crying. I fell asleep crying, I woke up crying, I ate crying, I’m typing this crying… I spent the whole of the phone call crying, till he asked if I ever thought about suicide. I laughed and said everyday, but don’t worry, I’m too spiteful to kill myself: my family aren’t getting a fucking penny of the inheritance I don’t have. I was still crying through the laughter and said thanks for speaking to me, and rang off.

The doctors say while it may take me a week or two to stop coughing, I should start to feel better in a few days.

Pull the other one.

This is a longer post than usual. I am quite agitated. My electronic world is beginning to impinge on my right to peaceful enjoyment. My stomach is in uproar: I do not know if this is anxiety, antibiotics I’m taking for a nasty water infection or the cream based raspberry compote I ate yesterday (it was tiny!).

I suspect it’s a little of all three, though I suffer the latter two with fortitude. I do not, however, suffer the former with any thing other than dread, anxiety, a sense of impending doom, the desire to flee conflict and the utterly infuriating insomnia as a result of mentally writing letters. Fine! said I, and roused myself from bed.

Time was when one could read ones emails on an evening and find nought but fun and smiles. Now it’s a Temple of Doom. The worst offender being The Letting Agents, but we’ll save them for last. Let us deal with a person who recently befriended me on-line; we play scrabble. As a result of our conversations, he says he would like to meet me.

Whoa. I did not sign up for this. What do I want? You might be satisfied about me as a person, but I remain unconvinced, even though you do pleasantly surprise me… He is the uncle of a friend of a friend, and when I approached the mutual friend about this, she spoke positively about him, saying she was meaning to introduce us as we have similar interests. Indeed we do.

But I’m not in a meeting people frame of mind. I’m in a paranoid and anxious frame of mind: unwilling to make myself feel vulnerable to any extent. I have enough going on with out adding ‘new people’ to the mix. To his credit, he hasn’t pushed since I said I would think about it, but today, I had to show him my feminist credentials. After I shrugged at his baiting and replied ‘three strikes and you get relegated’. He admitted to feeling a little hurt.

While I have no desire to hurt anyone – I do not have the desire to massage any mans wounded ego. Whether I like them or not. This is my motivation for all to witness: I am not allowing any form of external fuckery to dominate my life.

Which brings me on to the woman who is coordinating volunteers at a place I have expressed interest in. I have the feeling that as a former volunteer she is eager to show that she has the capacity to lead and coordinate. However, she is going to have to apply her belt and braces approach elsewhere. I find a phone call, a text message and two emails somewhat excessive. If I have missed a call, an email OR text would suffice. Please, step back, sister.

And then The Letting Agent. Dear Letting Agent, Section 27 – 33 of The Housing Act 1988 (Right to peaceful enjoyment). This is the thing that is keeping me awake. This is the thing that is creating an undue sense of insecurity. Today, I received two emails, from two different people, seeking access to my property on two separate days one week apart. One of the emails states the landlord will let himself in if I aren’t home.

No. He will not. No, no, no no. Hey nonny no!

They want to inspect the property, as is their right. Only, this will be the fourth inspection in 17 months. Enough. If The Landlord wants to remortgage the property, he can have the valuation done while I am present. There is no reason in my mind why they can not combine the two.

Before you get to thinking that is all… When I first moved in, I had a subcontractor try to gain access to the property, both with out permission and with out warning. Worse, I was in bed at the time, and in a state of dishabille had to call out to get him to stop trying to force entry. The door is not jammed, it is locked!

I thought that I had made myself clear at that point: I would always insist on Myself or an Agent Acting on My Behalf being present for any repairs, inspections or other requirements needing access (emergencies excepted as per The Housing Act 1988). I am therefore most upset to see in writing “the landlord will let himself in”. No. Just no.

Also, on the subject of inspections, it is not the job of contractors to carry out ad hoc inspections when they come to do a repair. I knew at the time that I should have raised a grievance, but you know, I’ve had a bit on. Furthermore, the contractor was asked to look at a none existent problem with damp. I have never had damp. I believe the previous tenant did, due to a hole in the roof, but it was successfully fixed.

What she is talking about is mold in the bathroom. Mold which I was told to leave untreated so they could check the progress of, and if necessary treat with another coat of anti-fungal, anti-mildew paint. Which I did. Which was then subsequently signed off as satisfactory. Which I am now worrying about.

This all needs to be put in a letter. But as several people have told me I seem angry, I am even more keen to get my tone right, lest it lead to eviction for antifuckingsocialbastardbehaviour. Of course I am angry, and legally, in this instance, I have a right to be, but still: I am tired of living embattled. I am tired of living under the threat of poverty (worse poverty) and homelessness.

I whole heartedly refuse to believe that my behavior is some how unreasonable, or unwarranted. I am feeling particularly vulnerable at present, and I do not have a constant ally on whom I can rely “to act as a buffer”. There’s just me and some boundaries. I am adamant they and I, will be respected.