Tag Archive: Shame


It’s Not My Fault

Actually, that’s not how I think.  I have what I believe to be a really unhelpful habit of looking back and blaming myself for so many things.  The way I think, it sometimes seems as if I must hate my younger self.  I feel as if I can see that I was totally wrong.  There are people who would rejoice in that, people who have already told me it is all my fault and take no responsibility for the inhumanity of their own words and actions towards me.  Some church people have been so strict and confrontational with me you wouldn’t know it was church people you were dealing with.  Those people, according to what has been said to me, still don’t want anything to do with me and are insistent that I stay away from them.  The Shearmans, the Coleses, are only two examples.  At the Christian Centre, Nottingham, one of the pastoral staff told me I was welcome to come to church but that I had frightened the Shearmans with silent calls about 16-17 years ago and I was to stay away from them. First of all they and their staff had frightened and angered me, and I was just being frightened, angry and confused OCD with my first ever mobile phone.  I’m sorry that I frightened them but they and their staff had also frightened and offended me.  They were targeting me from the platform.  I know this because one day one of them approached me and told me to leave because I wasn’t doing what I was being told to do.  As I remember it it was only coming from the platform, they weren’t talking to me otherwise.  And I think what the Coleses and their staff did to me was really nasty.  I was angry without any sign of violence, and it seems they have such an exalted idea of their position that they thought it was OK to pronounce sickness over me.  That was Moira Knight, one of their trusted few, in John Coles’s presence.  He didn’t say she was wrong.  I couldn’t believe what she had said to me, and it exploded in my mind how far they were prepared to go to resist me and keep me under.  It was a very effective double bind, which R D Laing said was operational in a lot of people called schizophrenic.

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Christmas

Have I mentioned that word yet?

Happy Christmas to my readers, and thank you for reading my rubbish – most of it is that.

I joined Facebook last night in an attempt to find a band which is no longer there.  I have 15 friends, about 3 or 4 of which I recognise.  I just put through all my aol contacts on a page without un-checking any of the boxes.  After the first page I clicked ‘skip’ and wasn’t able to recall the other contacts to send out as friend requests.  The friends that came through came through so fast I thought they must be on automatic accept, reject later mode, if there is such a thing.

Today I cooked a chickpea curry with onion, green pepper and tomato.  It was very nice.  I’ve been reading, which has alternately felt like denial and also felt good for me.  I’ve got two books on the go at the moment.  I have started Catch-22 (of course, bit masculine), and today I also started, and am now reading, Ernest Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms, which I am really enjoying.  Catch-22 I have found funny but it is beginning to get darker, shocking in places, to me.  Like the bit I just read today that obeying orders trumps being able to go home after so many missions and that if they refused to obey they would be shot.  I don’t know how serious that is at this point.  It could be just someone being nasty and on a power trip that ultimately ends with words.

I feel like Scrooge (except that I don’t have a workforce that I am mistreating).  I haven’t bought any presents, I have given a few cards.

Julie is still not talking to me and is slamming doors.  I left a card for her by her cupboard. I suppose she just found it because the response was a lot of angry door slamming.  I wish I hadn’t bothered.  It’s put me against her again.  I don’t know what I was expecting, but I wasn’t expecting that.  It is so violent it makes me want to hit back.  I feel violated, literally.  It sends my thoughts reeling and jumbled all over the place, it is like psychological and emotional acid.  It is so violent that I feel groggy and get thoughts come into my mind that are nothing to do with me and make no sense.  Words suggest themselves out of nowhere, as if physically put into my mind.

There is a character in Catch-22, Hungry Joe, shouting himself hoarse at noises and screaming nightly at nightmares.  I feel a bit like him, but I don’t scream now, I have to keep it all inside.  I think Julie must have been really hurt by something which might not have anything to do with me.

My Imaginary Friend

I have a friend, at least in my imagination, that I always want to contact with sensitive and intimate information.

On Friday I was walking along Queensway/Bayswater Road and for some reason I was remembering the time when an old lady died who had always been in Church, never said much, or anything at all, that I remember hearing, but always, without fail, had a smile on her face.  I thought she was lovely and beautiful and serene.  I know nothing about her life.

I was remembering that, when I heard she had died, I went back to my grandparents’ house crying my eyes out.  When they asked me why I was crying and I told them, one of them said ‘what are you crying for?  She wasn’t family’.

I can’t remember who it was so no one can be betrayed by me saying so.  I can’t remember if and how I answered the question.  I know my feelings and crying were not affirmed.  For a moment in Queensway I felt the pain and the emotion again, and I wanted to write and tell my imaginary friend.

I believe my imaginary friend reads my blog.  Imaginary because we have never had a close up relationship, and imaginary because, except for when things seem very simple and obvious in his favour, I feel and believe and know that things are far too complicated.  It is imaginary because I am in denial, even having it as imaginary.

But there is pain in my heart as I am writing this, and it is always him that comes to mind when this kind of thing comes up and I want to tell him.  I used to write to him a lot.  Almost always, as soon as I started, I had to push through my ambivalence and anger to do so.  He knew that, I told him so.

I once heard him saying, in answer to someone’s question, that if someone attacked him (or something like that) he would hold them in a bear hug.  On my side there is often so much resentment, and on his there must be some exceptions, that even if no attack was involved not everyone would be treated equally.  Even if there are no exceptions for him, I think, apart from my imagination which tells me I am wrong in the strongest possible terms, that I would find it awkward and difficult.

 

 

Joan of Arc

I don’t really know anything about Joan of Arc. except what I read in a George Bernard Shaw play.  She turned up to fight for France or something, and rescued the dauphin (French prince?)  The church condemned her because she heard voices and had her burnt or something, then later decided she was a saint and canonised her.  That’s how the church says sorry and tries to deal with its guilt.  Not much good to Joan, they killed her.  And they haven’t learned from the mistake and her canonisation means nothing, because these days in the same circumstances they put people in a mental hospital.  Grubby people.  Nasty, slimy and creepy.

I was just trying to make sense of why John Pantry this morning started with a reference to Joan of Arc (I think it’s her feast day or something) then followed it up with a subliminal ‘schitz’ reference.  I could tell from his voice he was going somewhere treacherous and that it would be best not to listen to him.  He seems to be trying to act in a woman’s identity.

I feel guilty because how I’ve been taught it is.  I’m writing because of how it actually is.  I think they’ve siezed my books and other personal things that I had in storage in a church.  I feel guilty about saying this because I think I should see it is having taken my things into safekeeping for me.  I was told they had got rid of them though.  No one told me they still had them.  I just thought it became obvious when I heard what they were saying.  I felt ill.  Since then it appears that both Christian and non-Christian media have had acess to my things, because I mentioned a piece of writing I had done that might make people think I was violent, and a day or two later Steve Allen on LBC was saying that it looked more like someone saying ‘every time I say something that is true someone comes at me with a belt’.  If this is true, it isn’t right, is it?  It’s hostage taking and kidnap, even though it feels so much like love I should be grateful for.

I also had a blank book among my things, a big thick one for writing in.  I still have the recording where I think that Anna Raeburn made reference to that.  I’m frightened because I feel as if it’s right and I shouldn’t be opposing it.  I’m very frightened.  If they have worked together on this no one will be for me.  No one that matters to me.  John blips so sweetly he has to be right, doesn’t he?  It makes me feel I’ve wrecked everything myself and I have no right to object, maybe even no right to live.

Is heavy shepherding right?  I’ve used the term.  It might be out of date and out of use now.

I’m listening about 6-8 minutes behind.  John just said quite forcefully that he was going to keep going on.  My stomach hurts, I’m upset and I feel sick.  I feel I am the one that is treacherous.  I really do.  I can’t defend myself against anything, even the face to face stalking I get so openly in Bulgaria.  I’ve never felt such despair and the need to give in to what I have so far maintained is obviously wrong.  I feel I am more wrong than the ‘obvious wrong’ which is actually right, that is being done to me, and I need the ‘wrongdoers’ to help and restore me.  Please someone tell me they are wrong and help me.

My connection to Premier has been terminated, and my post which was showing in the tag search is now no longer showing, even though my Colin Dye (2) post has more tags than this one.  Someone is constantly taking a decision to disempower me.

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