The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2012 annual report for this blog.
Here’s an excerpt:
600 people reached the top of Mt. Everest in 2012. This blog got about 5,700 views in 2012. If every person who reached the top of Mt. Everest viewed this blog, it would have taken 10 years to get that many views.
Hey folks. Happy Christmas and New Year to all of you. Christmas Day for me is at my Mum’s shared with her Bengal kittens and my lovely seventeen-year -old son. And yes. So far, he’s been lovely. Very sociable and chatty. We compared notes on the ‘dark’ movies we both like to watch online. His behaviour was immaculate and he was a pleasure to be with. Well done J.
I feel fortunate to have any company at all for Christmas, let alone my two closest people in the world. Not all are that lucky. M for instance is on his own in prison. I wonder how long they are let out of the cells in honour of the season. Such a shame if they have to eat Christmas dinner sequestered in their cells as they do normally. On the other hand no washing-up or general Christmas mess for them… I’m a thoroughly lazy bint at the moment, not liking the idea of sweating over a hot stove later. Shame we can’t just eat lentil soup as I did on a previous lone Christmas. Yes, I’ve known lone Christmases before, and have never minded them to my recollection. Thoughts go out to those who have no choice.
What can I come up with for a Christmas message? Hmm, not a lot. Bengal kittens like to rush around the house getting into mischief with random objects. I thought I’d lost an ecig earlier but my thoughtful mother had put it somewhere safe knowing Nala’s predilection for anything that looks like a pen.
The Christmas service is on the radio with beautifully sung carols. This is the best part of Christmas. The longueur comes later with what feels like a week of bank holidays and the torpor of overeating. Being vegan is an advantage there. The food is not so heavy on the stomach. Mum is making spelt flour pancakes for breakfast. I’m so lucky to have a mother still living, who still has all her marbles and is pretty fit and active for her 80 years. I hope one day J will feel the same about me, though I am not the good parent she is. But while there’s life there is hope. I may be able to prove myself more useful in the future. Lack of good parenting ability is in my genes I’m afraid. My brother inherited it but I was at the back of the queue. One thing I have inherited from my Mum is lack of good judgment in choosing partners, as this year’s events have made more than clear.
That’s all for now. Thanks to everyone who has persisted with my blog over the last year, narcissistic though it often is (I inherit that from my Dad). I haven’t had a single negative comment in all that time. You are all lovely.
Zoe xx
Hi Peeps. Well here it is, merry Christmas, everybody’s, ah. Hoping to survive it. Just wanting it to be over. Or is that just me and my select band of brothers and sisters?
It’s been reasonably painless so far, except that Christmas dinner last week with the Women’s Group. I felt so out of it. Usually I go to such events, dreading them but am then pleasantly surprised. This was the exception that proves the rule.
The application for a personal budget malarkey continues apace. My care coordinator continues to offer me no support whatsoever in filling in any of the forms where we have to make a case for what we want. I’m on my own with that, and it’s even worse than the dreaded DLA form which at least is familiar. God knows what hoops of fire lie in wait for us next year when DLA is abolished in favour of Personal Independence Payments. Carefully avoid any reference to disability, huh? That’s the way to go. Let’s patronise the f***ers instead. Squeeze ’em till the pips squeak.
Gimme a job! Can it honestly be any harder than filling in these endless forms? I’ve a friend who bangs on endlessly about his fears of being stuck on Jobseekers instead of Employment Support Allowance. The amount of energy he puts into ranting and moaning about it could be better employed elsewhere, I can’t help thinking: maybe I’ve just got compassion fatigue. Who would give me a job though? It’s been twenty years. Have to get back to the drawing board with the old CV, but it’s hard to make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear.
I’ve been contemplating voluntary work again. It’s a bit overwhelming. I have to turn down so many opps, I begin to feel worthless after a while. There’s got to be something out there for me…
I have done zero Christmas shopping. Sent zero cards. Going to head out to the dreaded Wood Green tomorrow. Or preferably Muswell Hill if possible. It all seems slightly insane to me.
Love, and season’s greetings folks! xx
Whew. Lovely Bulgarian lady with a big smile to make up for her lack of English came and did my house proud today. That cheered me up no end. She even went 40 minutes over her two hours. What is it with these east Europeans. They have a fantastic work ethic. No wonder they’ve taken over. She just made so light of the dirt and decay. Which, naturally, was not really as bad as I had thought … She motivated me to do some cleaning and tidying myself. Which was just what I hoped would happen. Someone else cares about whether my house is clean or not. That’s all I really needed.
Best thing I’ve ever done, to hire a cleaner.
After all that excitement I took myself reluctantly off to DRA in central London. It was a small meeting, but good, and we all hugged afterward wishing each other a happy Christmas (it’s the last one until the New Year). Afterward my friend R and I went for a tea. I began to think about buying a new computer monitor, and when I got home I ordered one online from Amazon. Spending around £100, and the reviews are glowing. I’m looking forward to some High Definition, stunning colour and contrast etc. My current one is M’s brother’s cast-off and not up to much at all, plus it’s really small.
It’s amazing how many things can be done online these days. Not an original observation I know.
Phoned up the foster carer. J is up to all his usual tricks of refusing to leave the house to attend appointments etc, getting peed off because his internet is getting switched off at 10pm. He doesn’t seem to know he’s born. Acting like a big baby. He hasn’t even committed definitely to what he wants to do for Christmas. Hasn’t told anyone what he wants as a present either. Pain in the fundament.
All in all, a good day. Much better than yesterday. I was wakeful in the night and felt quite alone, scared and vulnerable. The cat is my only reassurance. I know if there was an intruder she wouldn’t jump up on me and purr.
Zoe xx
Hi folks. It’s a beautiful sunny Sunday, and I’m a bit more settled than I’ve been on recent Sundays. I’ve been busy with socialising and being out and about for the last week. It actually feels OK to take a day off from all that and just please myself, mooching about my house and generally doing what comes naturally.
I’ve engaged a cleaner to come tomorrow morning, and am already fretting about what she will find. I feel I should clean for the cleaner but still have barely lifted a finger. What I really want is not to have someone do it all for me, but someone to give me moral support and maybe work alongside me. The motivation to do it in the first place. The feeling that it matters what sort of state my house is in. I fear that only another person can really do that for me.
My self-neglect does not extend to neglecting my food, sleep and personal hygiene, but it does extend to letting the place go. This stuff is important. I deserve to live in a reasonably clean and tidy home, whatever lengths I have to go to to achieve this.
I’m also a bit embarrassed. She will probably be puzzled as to why I can’t do it myself. And dirt and mess is quite a personal thing. Ah well. We’ll see how it goes. I hope she’s understanding and doesn’t secretly despise me, lol.
My son J phoned last night. He had received my letter, originally written for his birthday but sent a week later because I didn’t want to upset him in any way. He found it a nice letter though, and it made him cry a bit. He’s cried a few times he says. He’s been contemplating his disinclination to live and his dislike of other people. He admits he is unhappy though. He doesn’t like the foster placement and has argued with the foster carer. He complains that she is nothing like a counsellor. The social worker had been to see him and given him to understand that no move was planned for the time being.
In many ways I can relate to my son. I don’t much like living either, it is a necessary evil in my book. There really is no alternative, so we must make the best of it, hey folks? Life goes by quicker when one is productively engaged, so it’s certainly not in our interests to sit on our arses doing nothing. I too am most comfortable on my own and messing about on the internet. I too am ambivalent toward other people (as to myself), and recently have struggled to like them unequivocally (and not to judge and be annoyed by them secretly). I think I manage, with a greater or lesser degree of success, to hide my feelings. He may not have yet developed this necessary subterfuge.
I made it clear to him that I would be delighted to have him back living with me under some very important conditions. He has to be doing a bit more than what he currently is. Getting up in the morning, washed and dressed, eating meals downstairs, keeping his room reasonably tidy, engaging in some social interaction and realistically facing his future; these should be givens. He also needs to get out and exercise in the fresh air. Contribute to the running of the house. Begin learning to cook and prepare food for himself. See a counsellor once a week as a bare minimum.
If he’s genuinely mentally or emotionally unwell he probably needs more intervention than just a counsellor/therapist once a week. He doesn’t think he is unwell though.
Poor old chap. Bless his poor suffering heart.
Zoe xx
| Hi M. I’ve just reread the emails I sent you so far. I was shocked at how conciliatory I was toward you, and that I expressed gratitude for your ‘caring’ for me when I was in a bad way mentally. You always had an agenda, I realise that now. I’ve been extensively researching the subject of psychopathy and I’m afraid you fit the bill. I realise now you never cared for me and never will…you are a disordered individual who can’t love, full stop. I would only be hurting myself and setting myself up for further hurt if I continued in contact with you. It’s a sad thing for me to come to terms with as it is.
When I visited you I realised you had no remorse, guilt or shame for anything that you’ve done. Instead you continued to wallow in self-pity as you have done since I’ve known you. The crime you committed and where you now find yourself as a result is the consequence of your own actions, but instead you continue to deny this, and bang on endlessly about your physical ailments and the hell you are enduring. You even try to get my pity/sympathy by talking of killing yourself. I’ve already told you I feel no sympathy for you at all these days, regardless of your sad childhood and all the ‘abuse’ you’ve experienced in your life. There is absolutely no excuse for your behaviour. You have no fellow feeling for other people with mental disorders, and that includes me. You simply see a victim that you can manipulate, dominate and control. Why could you not hold your fire with this guy in the knowledge that he had problems? To attack someone with a knife outside a mental health day centre: well, it says it all really doesn’t it M? You believe you are unique in your suffering and care not a jot for anyone else’s. Regardless of whether you are invoking words of love or not, you are actually very dangerous to my peace of mind. Your romantic talk is a sham designed to try and keep me hooked, as a source of supply for your narcissism (and money, never forget money!)The advice of those who know about psychopathy first hand is to have no contact whatsoever. I still have some of your stuff at my house, including your art portfolio and you’re lucky I haven’t just thrown it away. I don’t want to see you ever again, but know that I will have to see your face again unfortunately for me. I even ask myself if you had the feeling you were shortly going to blow the goodwill and help you have received by offending again. Is that why you deliberately left some of your most treasured possessions at my house: to keep the connection with me alive and the door open for you to come back yet again? Don’t waste your breath with words of love M. They only make me laugh. You are so transparent. |
Hi Peeps.
I have little spring in my step or tiger in my tank right now. I’m invited to several Christmas parties, but I want to flunk them all. I will struggle making small talk. I won’t find it easy to feign an interest in others’ lives that I don’t feel. I’m not good at subterfuge and faking it, though lately I spend most of my social time doing just that. I’m tormented by thoughts of my own inadequacy and comparative worthlessness. I don’t like confessing this. I fear alienating even you, loyal and patient reader.
But what the heck. You’re probably able to relate at least a little bit. I’m still human aren’t I? Not some kind of ill-fated freak of nature.
As well as recovering from a psychopathic ‘relationship’, I have chosen to invest myself in several different support groups. Three of them are for ex-addicts. I’m even a failure at being a proper drug addict, lol! This wretched condition of bipolar pushes all other problems to the side. It’s hard for me to admit this, but even harder to pretend to be ‘normal’.
Today I’m going to meet a friend for coffee. Needless to say, I don’t want to go. The day I skip out of the door looking forward to socialising has not dawned for some considerable time, and when it does happen, it is probably a sign of encroaching hypomania. What a doggone life. I’m damned if I do or don’t. Caught between a rock and a hard place. The devil and the deep, well you get the picture…apologies for a surfeit of cliches. I am a cliche right now.
I want to flunk out of life itself. Yet that’s not an option, dammit.
Hi folks. I’m going to see a Panto today. Huh, talk about out of the comfort zone. I’m going with my women’s group. I’ll be surprised if I enjoy it. I thought I might as well go as I haven’t anything else to do today. It’s Dick Whittington and his Cat at the Hackney Empire, a matinee performance.
It’s so cold out I would be happy to stay right here at home.
The professional carpet cleaner came yesterday. He seemed a bit slapdash but he has improved the look of the stains upstairs, though not totally removed them. His equipment was industrial-sized (fnarr fnarr). He could barely get it through the door.
The Home Treatment Team have been continuing to visit, which I’ve appreciated a lot, especially when it’s my favourite workers, who I’ve known forever. They don’t seem to be saying ‘ah well, you’re doing OK Zoe, we’ll be off’. They have taken my difficulties seriously, unlike the so-called care coordinator.
There are various Christmas parties coming up…two tomorrow afternoon. I’m not sure how many of them I’ll get to. We’ll see. Good socialising practice huh? I’ll probably gravitate to the metaphorical kitchen.
That’s why you’ll always find me in the kitchen at parties.
That’s all for now.
Eww. How I hate Sundays. Actually it isn’t really Sundays. It’s me. It’s my so-called life. I’m not doing well folks. I’m really not.
I’m horribly lonely, but when I try to think of who I could contact to meet up with, I’m all ambivalent about them and think I don’t really like them. I’m not liking myself in this aftermath of M. I haven’t forgiven myself for the depredations he made in my life. I haven’t forgiven me for how totally I was swept up in that firestorm.
This uneasy relationship with myself makes it very uncomfortable being in my own company, but being with others is every bit as challenging if not more so. There’s some basic human comfort in the companionship. But I’m struggling to affirm others or to feel I have anything to offer them, and I’m likely to interpret even the most innocent remark as a slight or a sign of their dislike. It’s also painful to witness the social connectedness of others. Feelings of envy don’t help my self-esteem one bit.
I have an opportunity. He’s firmly locked away from me. I can go cold turkey and free myself of that addiction once and for all. But like any detox it’s scary, it’s messy, it’s terribly hard. I don’t quite know who I am anymore. I have a feeling I might have weakened and gone back to him if he hadn’t been banged up. The loneliness is just too much to bear. I crave even just a few moments of that irresistible intoxication. Very much like crack cocaine.
Yet he did something I can never condone. Something shameful which offends my values, or what’s left of them after a 20 month rollercoaster ride with a psychopath. I can’t go back, even if he were released tomorrow. I know too much, now. I know he never really loved me, that he can’t love, that I was just prey.
I’ve been watching movies and British comedy shows on Netflix as well as a documentary on psychopathy. I’m struggling with answering emails. It’s odd. I’m too lonely to want to be with people, even virtually. I’m ashamed for them to see how needy I am. I’m all twisted up and contorted. Even prayers don’t provide a release. Everything I try fails to fill the enormous black hole that’s opened up in my life. All I can reasonably do is survive it, keep breathing and know this too shall pass.
I’ve booked a professional carpet cleaner to come tomorrow and hopefully remove some nasty stains on the upstairs carpets. I want to remove the stains of M. I want to make the house acceptable and hospitable to my son, if and when he was to return.
I want to regain my lost innocence. I want the redemption I wishfully saw in M when we started out. The redemption he threw out along with the garbage he used to obsessively dump, the clothes to charity, the bigger articles to the recycling centre, me in favour of targets new and interesting to his predator’s eye. Of course I dumped him, technically. But that was all part of his game plan. He deliberately made himself impossible to live with. He didn’t want the responsibility of dumping me.
Suicidal thoughts flit past like butterflies. They are not serious, they have no root. But life is absolutely horrible right now.
I need people. But I don’t want to go to them. Being together is even more painful than being alone. It’s all a bit strange. I guess at the root of it is shame. I’m feeling all the shame which M should be feeling but isn’t. I want to isolate. Only when my house turns into a pressure chamber do I leave it gladly. The rest of the time going out is a test of will. Today is DRA. As per usual, I don’t want to go…
Damn. Damn. Damn.
But writing this has helped, a bit. So thank you gentle reader for allowing me to vent. You’re kinder to me than I am to myself. Yet like all of us I am a work in progress. I am not stuck. I will move on and up.
Hello M. Thanks for your letter. I’ve just written back and enclosed a postal order for £15. This will have to be enough for your radio. I’m not sending any more! I found it’s not possible to send one in. Good luck with that. I can totally understand the need for some music etc.
As I’ve said before, try and use this time to work on yourself M. That’s partly why criminals are in jail. To give them time to ponder the error of their ways! Or as a cynic might say – to work toward a PhD in crime. I expect it’s what you make of it.
I thought you might have some idea of what sort of time you’re likely to serve. It seems not. That can’t make it easier on you – the uncertainty.
I haven’t got much left to say to you M, and I really don’t know if I’ll visit again. You were lovely to me sometimes but looking back I feel you had an agenda and that you conned and brainwashed me, hooking me in while I was psychotic and vulnerable. I don’t think you experience empathy or remorse, nor do you have normal attachments. I saw you walk away from me multiple times without a care in the world. No grieving. No hurt. Easy come, easy go, just like the car!
So I know you’ll be fine without me. And I need to put my own needs first. If that means no contact with you, that’s what it means. Sorry to go into such personal stuff in an email. It does look cold and hard in print, but I thought you might need an explanation of why you need to look elsewhere for support while you’re in there.
I know you’re very alone, but you have chosen to be that way at the end of the day. I would not last five minutes in your shoes. I said in my letter I have no sympathy for you, but I can manage a bit of pity. Your life is pretty horrible. I’m sorry.
Z
Just had your letter M. I am trying to cut my contact with you, in an effort to protect my own sanity and mental and emotional balance. Yesterday I sent off a letter with £15 for you to buy a radio. I feel my responsibility to you ends there. Actually it never existed in the first place, but thinking how I would feel locked up with no radio, tobacco, and no visits I wanted to help you out there. That’s called empathy M. Something you appear to totally lack.
Will your family help you out do you think? I don’t know why you wanted to alienate your Mum and brother to such a degree, but why couldn’t you have thought of all this before you did such a crazy thing (starting with your relapse onto cannabis)??
I might have known you would bust a gut to justify yourself and excuse your behaviour. Sorry, but there’s no excuse whatsoever. A fight, that I could understand. The fact that you were carrying the knife says it all. It’s no longer about self-defence. It was a really nasty, cowardly attack. I’m frankly ashamed of you, and instead of self-justifications and a self-pity party about your childhood, you really would do well to feel ashamed of yourself. You obviously have no remorse. Yet you will pretend to the judge that you do no doubt.
Haha M, you try to make out I had a ‘fight’ with the Romanians and they ‘had to’ hide my kitchen knives from me! In your dreams! You’re just attempting to drag me down to your level, as you did throughout our so-called relationship. Not up for that anymore mate.
Well, nice try. I’m not buying your version of events, nor your words of love, so save your breath to cool your porridge (hah!)
Z
Hi folks. I awoke at about four this morning, and gave up on trying to get back to sleep. Sometimes having a bit less sleep lifts my mood. I’m kind of better today… Still struggle to find the strength and courage to venture out of the house. When the walls start closing in on me, I get pushed out like toothpaste from a tube. I hate traffic: the fear of being hit. I hate the way I visualise falling, especially down steps. I don’t want to see other people with kids or friends or partners. They face me with my solitary state. I’ve become a stereotypical lonely woman.
Loneliness in my opinion is partly determined from within, and partly a function of one’s external world, as well as an interaction between the two. I sometimes really don’t like myself, at best I tolerate myself with a degree of ambivalence. This makes it difficult to really like others. The negative commentary that goes on in my head when around others is a source of shame. But at least recognising my own part in my loneliness means there is a possibility of changing it. Preferable to becoming a victim of it, and looking to others for the remedy. It’s not about them. It’s about me.
In my therapy group I’m regularly irritated and set on edge by certain people within the group. Most of them in actual fact. Again, not about them. I found myself sighing in obvious irritation yesterday, but after I was able to offload some of my current preoccupations and be heard, my mood instantly lifted and the irritation melted as it nearly always does, to be replaced by gratitude and appreciation of this circle of souls.
I’ve been almost living on a website called Lovefraud.com. I haven’t written any comments at all as yet, but have been reading the archive and finding much I can relate to. Sociopaths are far more alike than they are different, as is their deleterious effect on others who are lumbered with human hearts and souls and the vulnerabilities that go with them.
The psychologist who runs our group commented that he’d far rather be human than go through life with a pitifully shallow affect and the inability to connect properly with others, or relate to them in any way other than the predator-prey relationship. I’ve been thinking much the same. No one can take that from me. I can love, laugh from my guts and enjoy and savour my freedom to walk out of the door whenever I want. I can hurt too, but that is part of the deal. No joy without pain.
For a psychopath there IS no joy, just the glee of putting one over another. The deep hatred and envy for the human race which M had in spades. These ‘people’ rightly perceive that others have something they lack, and they set about trying to take that from them. M admitted as much to me in a letter from prison. He envied me my friends who are there for me through all my struggles. He, on the other hand, believes he has so many enemies he’s surprised he’s still alive.
I will survive, and thrive. I will bounce back as I always do and find purpose and faith in life again. Everything to play for.
I tracked down the present my son wanted yesterday and sent it off with a card for his birthday in a few days. I also had written a two page typed letter in which I praised some of his efforts, but then got onto the business of whether I would be happy to house him again (re our phone conversation of the other day). I told him no under the present circumstances, as I believed it would end badly just as it did before. I then decided that the letter was too much of a potential downer to send as a birthday letter. I didn’t want the poor chap to feel any worse than he does already. So I just sent the card with a simple, positive message. Sometimes less is more. I may send the letter at a later date.
He feels I didn’t want him. Regrettably there’s some truth in that. However despite the unwanted and unexpected nature of the pregnancy, I bonded with my baby on sight. I was so delighted and proud of my son, blown away by this huge new commitment, and I made a solemn oath to myself to care for him to the very best of my ability. Nothing has changed. I will always do my best for my son, pitifully poor though it may sometimes seem. I hope to God he will know that come what may I will be there for him, and choose to act lovingly even while actually feeling the opposite at times…
Sorry to any I offend by failing to live up to the myth of motherhood. I’m not going to pretend. That will not make me magically a better parent, or person.
You’re going to be seventeen, son. And I love you.
Mum xx
Is there hope for me? Of course. While there’s life, there’s hope.
I was still struggling with feelings of self-loathing today. How could I be so badly taken in by M, to find out that my ‘soulmate’ was a violent monster. Then as if to compound my mistake, I actually let the other character into my house (he had stalked me to the end of my road basically…) and he ended up disappearing with my old mobile phone. He’s now incommunicado.
Well, it could have been worse. The phone wasn’t worth much, and I did say he could have it. But I gave him £20 a few weeks ago as well. Something about the guy makes me open my hand and say ‘here you are’, as if he were the Prodigal Son.
This has got to stop.
My loneliness and insecurity make me a perfect target for these scumbags. I need to find myself some boundaries and self-esteem from somewhere before I am finally rendered homeless and bankrupt.
The shame over all of this (especially the M saga) doesn’t help needless to say. But I’ve got to allow myself time to heal.
I said to my friend today, it may be an idea to tell my bank to remove the overdraft facility on my account. I can then send any excess funds to my Mum to look after, so that I simply don’t have the money there where I might be tempted to spend, or give it away.
Technology, in the form of all kinds of gadgets, gizmos and electrical goods, has become my personal nightmare. It’s streaked ahead of my ability to understand it. I also dread losing things and the bags and cupboards full of stuff that I don’t have the courage or motivation to look at. I don’t know what I’ve got and what I haven’t.
This is why I need a Personal Assistant. I talked on the phone to my Care Coordinator yesterday. She sounded VERY upset and emotional. I obviously really hurt her feelings. I apologised and tried to calm her down. She finally agreed to continue with the application for my personal budget. I feel bad about having criticised her to that awful doctor. The doctor was much worse than her… I was so frustrated about the personalisation thing, and also really missed having a care coordinator I could actually talk to. Is it so much to ask?
I’m now on oral meds. No more depot injections.
This blog is pretty much a diary at the moment. Maybe not particularly enthralling reading, but it helps me order my thoughts a bit, and I need an outlet. I had an assessment for counselling but was told I would probably be waiting for six to eight weeks. I have an assessment at another organisation as backup. Maybe they’ll be able to come through with something a bit sooner.
Still considering my options regarding voluntary work. Hopefully the return of self-respect and esteem will occur before too long if I just keep doing the next right thing.
xx
Hello Peeps. I’m in a somewhat self-hating mood this morning. All manner of muddles first thing this morning. Was going to go for my depot injection of Risperidone to the health centre, and apologised to my care coordinator by text for criticising her to the doc in front of her last week. She texted me back saying I was now officially on oral meds, as I had requested last week. She had to then phone the Home Treatment to let them know that I needed the meds, as the GP could not see me today. At first the Home Treatment said they could not come today, but then they phoned me back saying they would visit tonight. This small mix-up left me feeling stressed.
I also had to phone the washing machine repair people this morning to make an appointment. The first time I tried I was in a crowded cafe with my mobile and I couldn’t understand a word the guy was saying. When I got home I tried again on the landline and was able to understand the guy this time. They are coming this afternoon at 3pm.
The other day I let the charming sociopath no 2 take my last Nokia mobile phone (a fairly basic model): he said he would give me £20 for it next week. I realised the next day that I might need the old phone as backup. I thought at first he’d taken my sim card but then I found it…I texted him saying, look, it’s only on loan, I want it back. He kept replying with more blandishments but not answering what I said. I was getting more and more frustrated and stressed out. I was angry with myself, and woke up with self-loathing this morning, because I felt I’d let another psychopath rip me off again!
I wonder where this is going to end. I’ve really got to wise up. There is definitely a pattern emerging. Why do I continue to attract these people, even when I am just becoming fully aware of what they are? When psychotic I invariably get sucked into someone’s sob story and for some unknown reason, I start handing out cash! I feel so guilty about all the money I’ve given away over the years to drug-addicted ne’er do wells … government money funded by the taxpayer.
Is it manic guilt, and IS there such a thing? Or is it just simply that, while psychotic, I tend to feel like a millionnaire with a Robin Hood-style desire to redistribute wealth from the rich to the poor as it were?
I was disgusted when M once complained that he didn’t get enough benefits, after spending approx £200 per week on cannabis! But some people might reasonably feel disgusted with me for the good money I’ve thrown away after bad while in a manic episode.
Of course there are far worse cases than mine. I never normally intend to play the system and most of the time I am careful with money (that’s how I come to have extra in the bank to begin with!). My manic episodes are pretty rare these days. I know people who receive high rate disability money and spend it all on crack, or other addictions, like the shopaholism that affected M. Though I could devoutly wish I didnt know such people and go out of my way to avoid them when in my right mind.
I owe it to myself and the tax-payer to sort myself out and get to the bottom of my own motives. Then again, manic depressives are well-known for going on spending sprees and otherwise recklessly draining their accounts when manic. I won’t be alone there … The only difference is that I allow others to do it for me.
I’m being assessed for counselling this afternoon. I hope the counsellor I get assigned to knows something about psychopathy because I’m going to want to discuss the subject and its effect on me. Psychopaths are often known to fool psychotherapists and other ‘experts’. If this counsellor takes the view that ‘there is good in everyone’, things are going to be tricky already.
Muddles galore.
Am I Still Ill? 