angelwithabullet
Trust female - 46 years
Blog / Tags / life
Blog messages with the tag 'life':
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Loneliness
As soon as we are born, we are separate. We are ripped from the womb and our connection to another human being is cut at the cord – literally. That applies to every living thing on this planet (unless you can figure some out that are joined at the hip – apart from those who are … joined at the hip, head or heel through a bodily mis-hap in the womb – ok, let’s get off this subject).
So, the bottom line is, we are born to be an individual. A person in our own right.
Why then, is it so painful to experience loneliness?
Loneliness – an experience in and of itself – is not wrong. It’s the emotions that rise within us that cause the pain. The overwhelming surge of emptiness, as we stare at the floor a gaping black casm opens up before us. That ‘wanting’, that ‘needing’ – it doesn’t seem to go away. It grips your heart - and your stomach – and tickles it spitefully.
Loneliness is not the same as being alone. There have been many times when I’ve enjoyed my alone-time. My ‘Me Time’. The time I use to re-coup and recharge my drained and flat batteries. I’ve even enjoyed it, found pleasure in my own thoughts, sights, sounds and aromas that enter the very being of me.
The worst type of loneliness is when you’re in a relationship and it’s dead. There’s no love there. No giving. No receiving. No tender touch in the quiet of night. And I’ve been there too. I’ve experienced that kind of forlorn emptiness.
The type of loneliness I’m experiencing of late, is an unbearable feeling of being apart from all those who I love. It is affecting me quite deeply. My skin hungers for the brush of hair against my fingers. A finger on my neck or the small of my back, sends shivers along my spine and I want to embarrassingly lean into it.
I don’t feel abandoned, or rejected. I’m not experiencing depression or insecurity. I’m not anxious and I don’t feel unworthy or that my life is meaningless. There is no resentment in my heart for those who have what I don’t.
My situation is quite odd.
I’m surrounded – daily – by hundreds of men (and to a lesser extent, women). Yet I don’t get to be with any of them.
I don’t think I’m an unloveable woman. I don’t have low-self-esteem.
I know quite a few people on this site that are lonely. They use the networking facility to chat to people who, ordinarily, would be out of reach. And I applaud their bravery.
Their loneliness has been useful in that it has seeminly led to some rather fantastic creative bursts that appear to be leading them into a brilliant future. Poems, paintings, photographs, music and writing. An outpouring of beautiful gifts presented to the world that would not have been shown to the light if it had not been for their loneliness urging them to make a connection with others.
I have Bud and Blue to keep me company. Bud forces me to go out into the open, come rain or shine. I’ve met some rather interesting people while out on adventures with my four legged pal. Blue, on the other hand, wakes me in the morning with his delightful little chirps – as he flies out of his cage and onto my pillow to nibble gently on my lashes, he also sits on my tray while I eat my TV dinner (in front of the laptop) and nicks the mash from my plate.
But, dear and valued though their company is, it doesn’t compensate for another human being. It cannot.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not yearning to any great capacity, for something that I can't have. I’m not desperate or dying because human touch is denied to me. Loneliness came to me early, so I guess I should know now how to cope with it. As a child, I was alone most of the time. After my parents divorced, I shoved myself into a world of written words, where people could not cause that painful pang of rejection and neglect to return again. Surrounded by sisters and brothers, I buried my mind in books – in stories of other lands and lives. Love in another kingdom, a kingdom where anything was possible, if you dreamt it to be that way. I withdrew from the real world.
I lived in a big city where, I am told, there are the loneliest people on the planet. Because of the big concrete buildings, the harsh realities of drugs and violence, people are seemingly cut off and out of life. They immerse themselves in crowds of black coats so they won’t be identified or singled out, or picked on.
There are more people living alone today than there ever has been throughout the history of mankind. Big statement. Perhaps a true one? Over a quarter of the American population live alone. That’s over 30 million by my reckoning (but I’ve always been crap at maths, so correct me if I’m wrong)!
I should be grateful. Many lonely people turn to alcohol (oops, better watch that my Strongbow consumption doesn’t get to be more than one can a week!). Loads of people lose sleep over it (I get more than my 8 hour allocation every night – apart from when Blue wakes me up with the dawn chorus). Men, who are lonely get to have a higher risk of heart disease – because of the higher levels of a chemical in their blood that leads to higher blood pressure. Why? Because men live longer when they are with a partner, than when they are alone. Women don’t. Or so I’m reliably informed.
Then I think of those who have been put into cell blocks that offer a punishment – isolation. Or even those who are in padded cells because of madness and insanity. Or those who have been snatched from the streets and taken as hostages or to work as slaves. Or those who are locked in their own little houses as they can’t get out – because of a phobia of some sort. Or even those go out into the desert, or ice caps or mountains, or those who bury themselves in the ground in order to ‘find’ themselves – alone. What gives there?
But if I’ve not experienced any of those debilitating illnesses (depression, anxiety, fear, phobias), I’ve not gone on a madcap adventure, and I'm not on a search to know who I am or where I belong or where I am – what am I supposed to do to take away this aching in my heart?
I understand the cause: I’m away from home, family, friends and I have no intimate relationship.
I understand the reasons: I decided to accept a new job.
I understand the symptoms: aching, overwhelming emptiness, tears, thoughts of being alone for the rest of my natural days on earth.
I understand I have a support system: my work, my employers, my animal friends
I understand I have opportunities: I’m joining the clay pigeon shooting club tomorrow, and the gym in two weeks time
I understand I have a wonderful doctor: I took on a course of ten sessions of accupuncture treatment a couple of days ago
I understand the universe is abundant with rich life that never stops moving: it has already given me what I’ve asked for, many times over. I only have to ask again, and I will receive.
So, what am I to do with this aching inside of me? How can I put a stop to these tears that keep falling without warning?
I need to understand that I am human and I have been told that loneliness is an important part of being human, to be alone, to experience the depths as well as the heights. It’s all part of the rich pattern of life.
It’s not the challenge, but the way you handle the challenge that defines the person you are.
So, we’re born alone, live alone and die alone. Shouldn’t we used to it by now?
Off to bury my mind in a film ... "Step Brothers" should neatly take me out of this serious frame of mind...
Kaye -
Life and Death
I woke this morning and lay there, very still. I listened to the dawn chorus and breathed in the scent of the fresh duvet cover and felt the familiar thump of my heart beat beneath this cage of bone.
Truthfully, that was an odd sensation.
Some of the photographs I've uploaded recently go back 26 years to the early 80s. This got me to thinking about how fast those years had whizzed by and I wondered if the next 26 years would do the same.
Strange the way time is so slow while you are going through it, and when you look to the future. But to live in the 'now' takes a bit more of an effort. We miss so many things in the present. The gift that is today. We don't often stop to feel the rise and fall of our chest as our lungs breathe precious air in and out so rhythmically that we don't even notice it is happening right beneath our noses. The blood rushes through our veins to our heart and out again at such a fantastic speed that, if we had to consciously control it, it would be impossible to get anything else done.
That's when I got to thinking of the future. 26 years in the future. I'll be 72. What a fine age to be. The age of my father now. I wonder if I will make it. Will I want to? Then, one day, this breathing will come to a halt. One day, this body that my soul resides within will lay still and silent while others peer down at me. One day this skin I'm wrapped within will decay and rot away. I will be in my box then (hopefully, at least), so they won't have to see that happen.
Why are these classed as morbid thoughts? Why do we consider death to be something we don't want to talk about? Is it because it is too final to even contemplate? Is it too scary to not know what's beyond the point of no return? Or too frightening to not know where we are going? Forgive me, but I thought, if (as some people think she will) Jade Goody wants to film her own demise (to get as much cash for her children as she possibly can), then why shouldn't she? She would be doing us all a service. She would be making us face what is inevitable to us all, yet denied, hushed up and shut away. Of course, I wouldn't blame her if she didn't want to.
One day, like her, the very essence of me will be free to fly away from the chains that bind me to this mortal existance. I look at passing through the moment of death as walking through a veil of silken silver thread. Shining and beautiful where all the love I can ever know awaits me.
Don't get me wrong, I don't wish to rush off and do it now. There are so many wonderful adventures to be had while sharing this planet with others who are biding their time. But I'm not frightened of it.
The only thing that does scare me is lingering on when no one wants you. Existing alone in a world where no one knows the person you once were, the achievements you made, the dreams you had and I don't want to be a burden to those who don't know me or even care that I exist.
Perhaps that won't be my fate. Perhaps I'll meet my end quickly, and peacefully, and hopefully while amongst those who love and care for the person I am. I guess this is why it is good to take everything that is offered to you in the moment. Cherishing every second that enters into your time-frame and learning to do something magical with those moments that you do pay attention to.
Why am I in this mood? Perhaps because so many people around me are nearing their term on this earth and it's sad to have to say goodbye to them. Knowing that you'll never be able to speak with them again. You'll never be able to just pick up the phone or send a text or an email or (God forbid!) one of those letter thingies!
So, that's why you have to live in the now. To be able to look back and be thankful, to not regret about the things you've done or said. But to learn from them and - if they weren't to your liking - try to do things differently. And to not look forward to the future with worry in your heart. No good can come of either of these things.
That's why we're to cherish every precious moment. -
Friends are the family you choose ...
I read a blog this morning about ‘why women can’t keep friends’ and I disagreed.
The writer said that women, in general, tend to keep friends for a short while – friends who ‘fit’ that season in their life. Whether that be as a single girl so that they can go out clubbing together, as a young mum so they can share baby tales together, or as wifey-buddies (friends of the wives of their husband’s), who they can ‘share’ the latest gossip or dissect the meaning behind their man’s secret messages (which there aren’t, believe me) and even cry with and console each other with.
She went on to say that once that ‘season’ is over (i.e. one gets married, the other stays single), the woman will find something about that friend that irks them in some way and then find some excuse to kick them out of their life. Forever.
Hmm.
Apparently, women can’t stand each other’s company for too long. Too much competition. For men.
I disagreed, simply because I have a mixture of friends. Older and younger. Men and women. Some of them have been sharing this old life of mine for a very long time - the longest from school. Some of the others, bless them, have hung around for over 15 years.
The youngest friend that shares my adventures is 23, the oldest is 89. The richest is a millionaire who lives with her husband and two cats in London; the poorest lives on his own in a council flat in Slough is on the dole with two kids and a dog in tow.
The best thing about having and holding onto friends for a very long time, is that I get to share a variety of extra-ordinary qualities from each individual person. From a valuable, intimate, position. And I get to see those qualities shaping up (or down), at each stage – or season – in their life.
I certainly don't subscribe to the widely accepted notion that the more acquaintances you have in your life the more 'shallow' you are perceived, because somebody said that means you’re spreading yourself thinly. The reasoning behind that is that the smaller group of contacts you have, the more deeply committed you are to those particular people.
Over the years, I got to thinking I should not, not invite another person to share my life simply because of someone else’s judgement in that quarter.
I began to think this way: if I have only one friend then I’m going to want to use a huge chunk of that time with them. In that I would find disappointment. Simply because they’re not going to be able to give that to me. That’s not because they don’t want to share life with me. It’s because they want to share their life with other people – as well as me.
~ ~ ~
So, in your mind, you may be thinking that because your friends don’t want to spend a certain time with you, they don’t care for you - because they are not giving you the time you want with them. But if you don’t learn to allow your friend to grow in their own way in another direction – without you - you’ll be seen by them as clingy and demanding. You’ll be seen as needy and suffocating.
What I appreciate is that each individual has only a finite amount of time to spare. Each part of their life is special. Each part of their life is experienced so as to improve it and enable them to move on. They, too, are going to experience each season in a myriad of different ways.
Therefore, if you can invite a variety of people into your circle that you can talk with, share views with, agree and disagree with, go places with, capture memories with - then you’ll never be truly alone. You’ll always have somebody there. You’ll always have some valuable lesson to learn from – through another individual.
You’ll also get to witness how they cope with the hurdles they face. From that, you can observe one friend and how they deal with that issue - and improve your own life by learning, then you’ll be in a better position to help another friend through their issue by offering your own advice or counsel from what you’ve learned. They are free to accept or reject as their own conscience dictates.
~ ~ ~
I subscribe to the point of view that the more variety I have in my life the better it gets. The more people that wish to share my life, the richer my outlook becomes.
The more people that willingly enter my life, the less I have to place the burden of ‘friendship’ responsibility upon them. They can come and go as freely as they wish. I will be here for them if they need me. And I know because I don’t place any demands upon them, they will always be willing to listen to, or to help me – in good times and bad.
I don’t say this with a callous heart. I say it with an open mind. With warmth and gratitude, respect and admiration.
Anyhow, I pose the question: wanna stay in my life and give me a few lessons to learn from? In return, you might gain something from me too.
What say you, friend? -
Magpie Messages
One for sorrow.
Two for joy.
Three for a girl.
Four for a boy
Five for silver
Six for gold
Seven is a secret ready to be told
Eight a wish
Nine a kiss
Ten is a bird you must not miss.
So goes the song. I learned that from "Magpie", a kids programme in the 70s. As well as the story "Meg of Magpie Manor" in my Mandy magazine, which I used to look forward to every week.
Here's a metaphorical story. See if you can guess the meaning and read the message ...
On this wet and miserable day of sullen days in surrey, I was walking with my best pal through the local park. It's a very big park. Lots of trees. Lots of bushes. Lots of smells for my dog. Lots of birds (of the feathered kind) for me to sit and listen to and watch as nature goes about her business.
As we were walking through the field of wet grass and slippery mud, I decided to walk beside the hedge. The grass seemed shorter there, and there was a dry path under the shelter of a big beautiful bushy hedge.
As I walked, I spied a magpie. All alone.
My heart sank. I don’t like to think myself superstitious, but for some reason, I felt a tinge of sorrow creeping into my heart at the sight of one wee black and white bird alone, pecking and poking for food and peeking at life in the wet grass.
Then I looked up to find my dog doing a doodle in the middle of the mud strewn field.
Urgh!
Not one for leaving behind my mess for others to clean up, I traipsed all the way over to where that pile of shite was to pick the darned smelly thing up. Not nice.
When I got there, I searched and searched, but could I find the little pile of shite the darned wee mutt had deposited? Nope!
But when I looked up, I did see that magpie again.
This time she wasn’t alone. She was accompanied by her gorgeous sleek black and white mate.
He had been there all along. Beside her. Foraging with her. Surviving alongside her.
I just couldn’t see him from where I was on that dry, easy path, because the thick branches and leaves obscured my line of sight.
It was only when I trod the difficult, slippery path on my journey to clean up, and stood looking at her from another angle that I could see the full picture.
I got the message.
I hope you who think you only find sorrow (or shite) in your lives, do too. -
The Dark Age of Deviants
If we sat down to consider all the bad things that are happening on our streets, of kids being knifed and men being shot, women being raped and animals being skinned alive, innocents being mentally tortured and physically abused, soldiers and civilians caught up in wars not of their own choosing, of all the horrendous crimes pitted against humanity performed by governments under the guise of justice when we all know it’s just a bunch of lies sown to us so that our hearts will be patriotic enough to go out and do the dirty work … if we really sat and thought about it all, we would go simply crazy.
And we do.
Today, we believe we are living in a society that’s so full of hatred and evil and treachery that some people fear venturing outside their own front door. They cannot trust their own flesh and blood and life simply piles up agonies by the minute.
And this is a terrible shame.
Families educate you through simply being - while life can teach you a great deal through stirring things up. I have had a colourful array of both; richly endowed with a beautiful tree on paper that is mightily impressive in its history as well as experiencing some shallow, turgid ignorance in the present. The life I have lived to-date has reflected those experiences. It has been up and down and round and about, upside down and even, at times, the right way up. Hours have disappeared without me knowing their radiance was blessing me, while seconds have dragged on so slowly that I’ve pleaded for them to bloody well end.
My family educated me. They complained to me that I stuck my head in books far too often. My step-mother would nag me to ‘get your head out of that blasted book and clean the kitchen floor’ (to earn my 50p weekly pocket money). So, while I worked, I sneaked a peek in my pages. When we were teenagers, we weren’t allowed out to experience life, so I made use of my time in my bedroom by soaking up more of the history of mankind.
I had dreams of becoming an architect or an archaeologist. Man’s ability to get his tiny hands carving those beautifully intricate designs on massive stone blocks in an ode to the Gods on coliseums of the past – as well walk confidently along impossibly narrow girders high in the sky of the buildings of the present, still can’t fail to enthral me. But both my parents, in their infinite wisdom, encouraged me to get a job in an office because “a career is simply a waste of time” - I’d be getting married and having babies before long, so where was the point? That was in the 1970s.
Today, in the new Millennium, at the grand old age of 45, I don’t have a marriage, nor do I have babies. But I still have my books.
They have taught me a great deal. And while it may have appeared that I have chosen to ignore this terrible, fearful world as it passed me by growing up, and instead chose to hide myself away amongst pages about it, I believe I’ve learned a great deal. Much more, perhaps, than if I had succumbed to marriage and a family of my own.
Books, to me, are instruction manuals. They teach you how to deal with life and how to suffer (if you like) families.
I still read an awful lot. I don’t think that passion will ever die, unless I go blind – but then there’s always audio and internet. And if ever you were to walk across my threshold you’d express one of two emotions: either you would be dismayed and roll your eyes or you’d be impressed by the dazzling spines on display. But you know what? While my family has been discouraging my participation in soaking up instructions from manuals that have taught me so much about life, I do believe I have learned just a little bit about living it.
My defiance in the face of discouragement taught me to be strong and to make a stand for what I believed in. I was taught not to be discouraged by those who thought they knew better about a life they were not living. And although my life, to-date, hasn’t amounted to a great deal (let’s be honest here), I can say that I am happy with it. I am content the way things have turned out. I am living in this little niche I have carved for myself and I have enjoyed being an observer.
One of the reasons for this is this …
I’m in awe of people who, in their young lives, have suffered such terrible hardships and such horrendous sorrows, far more than I have ever experienced. I’m impressed with those who are still able to find strength within them, to turn their lives around and make a stand with the ability to make their life of some value and of some precious substance to others.
Take this young girl, as an example.
Her name is Lizzy and she had a really awful, womanising father who was extremely violent that no one dared cross him. She was the daughter of his second wife and she had an older half-sister. When Lizzy was three, her dad murdered her mum. The court allowed him to get away with it though and because of this, Lizzy had to live with foster carers – she had at least four placements.
When she was a teenager, she returned to her dad’s care. At that time, he chose to remarry - to a woman named Kath.
Things were ok for Lizzy until her dad died and Kath married again to a man called Tom. Unfortunately, Tom was a paedophile and wanted Lizzy to have a sexual relationship with him until Kath found them kissing. After that, Tom left Lizzy alone, until Kath died during complications with her pregnancy.
Again, Lizzy found herself in care again - Tom’s care. He started to pressurise her into marrying him – even though she was only 15. Eventually, Tom went to prison where he was killed.
Sadly, when she was 21 her half-sister accused her of trying to kill her. Of course, Lizzy was innocent, but she was still sent to prison. Then her half-sister died and they found out her half-sister had cancer and it was the sickness that made her paranoid.
This poor girl. To think of what she experienced in her one small lifetime. For one young girl to have to face that amount of trauma you would think she would crumble and cry and die alone in misery.
But she didn’t do that.
Not only did she become a mighty woman in her own right, she turned a bankrupt, backwater country into one of the largest empires the world has ever seen.
Her father was Henry VIII. She was Queen Elizabeth the 1st.
So you see (even though - realistically - I'll never become as impressive a figure-head as good old Queen Bess), if my books have taught me one thing, it is this:
What is happening in our country now – the violence and treachery, murder and poverty, this is what happened several hundred years ago. It’s what happened in ‘the good old days’ too – when my dad was a ‘teddy boy’ lad and my great-grandfather sat in the muddy, murderous trenches of the Great War ('Great' as in quantity - not quality).
If we don’t learn the lessons of our forefathers, history has a habit of repeating itself.
The history books don’t need to be re-written. It’s all there for us to absorb. To learn from. To hopefully help us see that we are no different today than we were several hundred or even several thousand years ago.
The buildings we are building now are no more difficult than they were when the Roman’s got their architects to think up impressive monuments. The people nowadays are no more violent than the men that followed Attila the Hun to war. But that doesn’t mean we have to stay the same. That doesn't mean we have to lock ourselves in our homes to hide from the dangers outside.
If we keep reading, we can keep learning. If we keep our eyes open to what has happened in the past – then perhaps we won't have to make the same mistakes again and again in the present. And perhaps we could even begin to build a better world for our children’s children for the future.
Perhaps then we’ll allow them to read as many books as they want – without rolling our eyes at them wasting their time burying their head in one.
Perhaps, just perhaps, we'll be able to open our front door and live life the way it's meant to be lived - amongst the family of man (kind).
That's my twopenneth worth.
ps I read the bit about Lizzy in a psychotherapy magazine – Chris Dyas wrote an article about a young, abused, girl who had spent her life in care and turned into what today's society would call a 'deviant'. After hearing about Lizzy, she turned her life around.
