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Wednesday, 18 March 2015

Feigning Control ........ #MicroPoetry

Copyright©2015kimmie All Rights Reserved 

Thank you for allowing me to share

God bless you, and all those you love

Kimmie x

Wednesday, 11 March 2015

Scribbled Memories

Today has been a good day.

Of-course my mental health issues, physical issues (and other *Big Issues*) didn't magically disappear over night - I still had to deal with the (ever present) symptoms of mental illness, I'm still worried sick about our housing situation, I'm still jumping every time the phone rings, afraid that the incoming is to inform me that my Dad (who has terminal Cancer) has died....and to put it bluntly, after weeks of  restless, stress filled nights, on top of chronic fatigue; I was still bloody exhausted!

So what do I mean when I say I've had a good day?

Today was a good day because, despite having to deal with all of the above (and more) - I managed to get through the morning calmly (whilst feeling anything but) - this afternoon I've sorted 'Littlie's' playhouse (she'll be happy about that) - I've prepared a roast and made the (promised) stewed apple for her tea (she'll be 'very' happy about that!) and, (despite brain fog) Iv'e managed to write a bit.


My diaries (messy scribbles) hold lots of dark, despairing, negative thoughts; bad days - but held there also, are my cherished moments, positive thoughts; good days. 
Sometimes, when I'm stuck-in-awful, I take myself (through the scribbles) to a good day.

I've added today to my diary (scruffy notepad thingy) and some 'awful' day, I'll stumble upon it, Littlie will get stewed apple for tea, and I'll feel better :O)

If you're still with me, I'd like to share with you one of my past scribbles, tidied up a bit (a lot) for the blog; It's one of my favorites.. :o)

After falling into bed at 2am, and then waking with 'Littlie' at 4am, I didn’t feel up to much at all, apart from screaming perhaps!

However, by seven o’clock 'Littlie's' endearing chatter and usual gorgeousness had worked on me just enough to encourage me to swallow the stress ball that had been stuck in my throat since stumbling down the stairs at 'stupid o’clock', and agree to me and 'Thebodyguard' (that's hubs to the newbies) taking her to the local park for a picnic.

Her enthusiasm as we packed our culinary delights lifted my spirits, and my tiredness; prompting me to invite my friend and her own little early risers to join us.
We arrived at the square just before lunch, and almost as soon as we had laid our blankets on the ground we were joined by said friend, and her delightful twin daughters.

Chatting comfortably as good friends do, we enjoyed our substantial (though not extravagant) picnic, then the more able children (Littlie is disabled) scooted happily around the square whilst 'Littlie' watched, and chilled.

After scooting the girls decided it would be fun to feed their left over sandwiches (and anything else that looked vaguely edible) to the numerous pigeons that frequent the square.

Lovely! Three well behaved (thus far) beautiful girls, eyes smiling, delightful in their pretty dresses, hair blowing prettily in the breeze, surrounded by eager pigeons. An idyllic picture.

What happened next can only be described as a ‘Laugh Out Loud' moment; though I’m not sure the poor bird would agree!

'Twinnie one' the tomboy half of the hilarious duo, bent down endearingly, stroked one of the pigeons lovingly.... then picked it up by its tail and threw it (with more force than a waif such as she should be capable of ) over her shoulder! o_O
Finding itself suddenly mid-air (not to mention breadless) the offended bird flapped its wings fiercely and flew quickly away from its little assailant!

We shouldn’t have laughed, but (though we did check 'pigeon' was unharmed) we did, loudly and oblivious to any ‘TUT TUTS’ that may have been echoing around the square, we laughed till we cried.
I can’t remember the last time I laughed out loud, and it felt fantastic!

We did have the decency to reprimand the offending twin once we'd regained our composure, and couldn’t help but notice that the bird in question didn’t waste much time in coming back for more! (Bread that is, not abuse)

We ended our afternoon with a little sing song, the girls making use of the musical instruments we'd bought from home, 'T' and me caterwauling, and ‘ThebodyGuard’ wishing the ground would open up.

By the end of our little outdoor performance we were treating passers by to a delightful rendition of ‘What do you do if you wanna go the loo in an English country garden’ and everyone (including 'TheBodyGuard') had the giggles.

You had to be there :O)

Though some days you have to go looking for it.

Thank you for allowing me to share

GOD bless you and all those you love

Kimmie x                                                          

Friday, 27 February 2015

MARIE'S VOICE ........ #1000speak

Once upon a time (1970 to be exact) in a children's home in by an order of nuns called 'The Poor Sisters Of Nazareth'....there lived a very 'special' little girl.
She was a tiny little dot, who had short cropped hair, and the bluest of blue eyes.
Her beauty (often overlooked) was breathtaking!

Like all children, the child had needs, ....the need to be kept fed and safe if she were to survive, and the need of attention, love, and compassion if she were to thrive - but, (as mentioned before) she was a 'special little girl, and as such her needs far outweighed those of the other children who lived at the orphanage.

At five years old (such as she was) she was unable to feed herself..she couldn't walk..she couldn't talk..her understanding of the world around her was limited, and her behaviour would have tried the patience of a saint (or nun, as the case may be!)

The child had 'special' needs - She needed 'special' care.
And so it was, that the Nuns (in order to best manage their 'special' little charge), had devised an extraordinary care plan....

The child was fed on 'special' food - wickedly small portions of Librium laced cereal!
She was given a 'special' bed - a cot cage on the nursery floor, away from children her own age, which was tied to the wall with keep her safe contained!
And, she was given her own 'special' play room prison - The pram storage room, which contained, well..prams!

There were no toys in the pram room for the little girl to play with, no cushions for her to snuggle into when she napped fell into an exhausted (scream worn) sleep - no padding to protect her, when out of fear, abandonment, desperation, she smashed her head against the floor.... over and over again!

There were no hearers of responders to her screams, no wipes for her tear stained (often blood stained) cheeks, no cuddles for calm.... no attention - no love - no compassion.

If she wasn't trapped in a cot or squeezed into a high chair, she was allowed to forced to use her 'special' room (unattended) for most of the day.

Her only companion - the frightened little girl in the mirror!

The little girls name was Marie, she was born profoundly disabled, with severe learning disability, cerebral Palsy, mobility problems and epilepsy.
She was placed into Nazareth house children's home when she was six weeks old.

In my minds eye
The room is just as I imagined it to be - empty..aside from a row of old fashioned prams and a long mirror on the wall, the main door to the room is closed, and the doors to the veranda are locked.

The child is sat with her back to me in front of the mirror, head down, torso slumped, and she is crying..body-wracking sobs.
Another lonely day - voiceless, trapped, afraid - hopelessness surrounds her!

She lifts her head, and (through the rain) looks despairingly at her mirrored self - the expression in the eyes reflected back at her is one of pleading.... the child is in such pain.

There are no words for the emotion that almost explodes from my heart. It hurts to look, and just for a moment - I turn away.

I want to reach out and touch her, lift her onto my lap, cuddle her calm, and tell her I love her.
I want to take wipes from my bag - wipe the blood from her forehead, and the tears from her cheeks.
I want to hold her to me, stroke her hair, kiss her perfect little face and tickle her into giggles.

I sit down next to her, and imagining that she can see/hear me, as I can her; I say, "It's okay darling.. everything's gonna be okay.. Compassion is on her way.
She'll be here soon - she'll be your voice, and one day (though she doesn't yet know it herself) she'll be your mum.
She will fight for you, care for you, love you....and she'll be with you - always."

Just before I opened my eyes (and headed back to my laptop) the child shuffled forward, and (still gulping down sobs) she reached out toward the mirror,  lifted her gaze above and to the right of her reflection, and smiled.... I smiled back.

Michelle Daly was just under 17 years old when, after taking on the role of housemother at Nazareth house children's home in Bristol, England, she first met Marie. Marie had just turned 5.

On that first meeting, Marie was in a cot on the nursery floor which was tied to a pipe with rope, she was incredibly thin, of pale complexion, and had a large lump on her forehead. Michelle was told that the child screamed for hours on end, and bashed her head on the floor, or against the side of her cot.

"I looked at the child's pale face; her eyes were like glass. I thought how strange it was that we stood so close and she didn't reach out to be picked up, as though she was used to being looked at, but not touched" ~ Michelle Daly

The following day Michelle was horrified to learn, that not only was Marie dosed up on Librium three times a day (to keep her calm) but also that she was locked in a storage room (and left there alone) for hours on end each day (to keep her out of the way) -  Staff couldn't possibly be expected to watch over such a challenging child and get the floors shining (priorities! o_O) and the nuns couldn't abide the way Marie, (who was unable to walk) dragged her feet over their beautiful polished floors.

Marie, was placed on the floor in the pram store room, the door was closed on her, and she was left there alone for hours.
Her screams could be heard all over the house, until she either exhausted herself or knocked herself unconscious! She was bought out at meal times and fed a small potion of Librium laced cereal, then returned to the pram room or put in her cot.

Michelle couldn't bear it, she soon found ways to sneak Marie out of the store room, and very quickly formed a strong bond with 'her little friend'.

"Come on!" I said, picking her up, "You'll get me shot!" I ran down the stairs with her. She laughed; glad to be rescued. I sat her on the table in the empty Laundry basket while I emptied the drier. For a bit of fun I put the hot nappies over her and she laughed again; she loved to get the attention. I turned my back on her to fill the washing machine, and when I looked around again she was fast asleep; her little face still wet from crying."Michelle Daly

Toward the end of 1970, Nazareth house was condemned and the home office closed it down - Marie was given a bed in a hospital in Taunton for the mentally handicapped - 17 year old Michelle followed her, taking a job in the same hospital, and visiting her little friend whenever she could.

"Working in the hospital was like stepping into another world; a world where human beings with over-whelming qualities were classed as sub-normal" ~ Michelle Daly
Within a few months Michelle knew she couldn't continue working at the hospital, she also knew she couldn't leave Marie behind. She was getting out, and she was getting Marie out too! 

To cut a very long story, a lot of opposition, and much heartache short - Michelle traced Marie's birth mother, who agreed to sign over legal guardianship papers, and eventually, Michelle was able to take Marie home. 

Michelle was just 19 years old when she took Marie (who was eight by this time) home.... Nineteen! A bit of a lass, with her whole life ahead of her, and she chose to take Marie along for the ride. 

It's been one hell of a ride hasn't it 'M'?!  (At this point Michelle is nodding :O)) 

Ask me to define compassion.... and I'll answer 'Michelle'. 
Marie is 50 years old now, a year older than me, (I'll avoid a virtual slap by leaving you, Dear reader, to work Michelle's age out for yourself)

Marie has not always found life easy - but she has lived! 

She is still profoundly disabled - but there are things she can do, and is encouraged to do (she especially loves playing with her building blocks, and colouring books) 

She still needs full time care, and she still struggles (terribly so) on the rare occasions that she has to go in to respite - but (these occasions aside) she is happy. 

She still has extremely limited speech and understanding - but she understands love.... and my word is she loved! 

If you'd like to read more about Michelle and Marie's life together you can find her book here
Follow her blog here >>
And find her on Twitter here >>  @michelledalyliv

Thank you for allowing me to share

God bless you, and all those you love

Kimmie X

*NB: I originally planned to finish this piece in time for the *1000 voices for compassion* event (#1000speak) on '20th Feb 2015' - Unfortunately, health (and other issues) prevented me from completing it in time. I shall link it up at the next event, which will take place on 20th March 2015.

It's such a beautiful idea.... there were so many beautiful contributions (from all over the world) on the 20th of Feburary, and more are anticipated for the March event. I would encourage you to check them out if you get a chance.

You can do that by following @1000speak #1000speak on Twitter, or by checking out the FaceBook page here*

Tuesday, 24 February 2015

Mental Illness #Quote

"People assume you aren’t sick 
unless they see the sickness on your skin
like scars forming a map of all the ways you’re hurting.

My heart is a prison of have you tried?s

Have you tried exercising? Have you tried eating better
Have you tried not being sad, not being sick?
Have you tried being more like me?
 Have you tried shutting up?

Yes, I have tried. Yes, I am still trying, 
and yes, I am still sick.

Sometimes monsters are invisible, and 
sometimes demons attack you from the inside. 
Just because you cannot see the claws and the teeth 
does not mean they aren’t ripping through me. 
Pain does not need to be seen to be felt.

Telling me there is no problem 
won’t solve the problem.

This is not how miracles are born. 
This is not how sickness works.” 

credit ― Emm RoyThe First Step