The Dogs, and the cat.

 

Last night I got more talkative than usual, maybe. Or  maybe I just couldn't keep it in anymore... I dunno. Doesn't really matter, the outcome was my admittance to how much I've been fucking up in terms of keeping my bulimia in hand lately. It didn't go down too well, obviously. Why would it? I can't actually imagine what it must be like to have to live with, no worse, love, another human being who has their finger permanently on the self destruct button, especially when the only time it gets removed is when I stick it down my throat. Well, I can imagine... I have a good idea. Only fleeting, just for a few minutes, and it was horrible. The feelings it evoked in me were not ones I am able to deal with. And you know who I called on for help and guidance when I had to feel those feelings? The very person I admitted my bulimic behaviours to last night. So. I understand the anger, I understand the tears and everything else, I get it. And it broke me. 

Had a bad night anyway... two night terrors. They shake me. I wake up the next morning and I'm like a shell of who I actually am. I have this weight on my chest, this ache, and it doesn't lift for hours and hours, well in to the day when the night is truly passed on. I wake up screaming, I'm stuck to the sheets I'm sweating so much, questioning whether I've wet the bed it's that drenched. (I'm just creating a picture, not trying to gross you out, reader) I am shaking, literally vibrating with sheer terror, and I can't get my breath, I don't know where to look, which part of my body needs to be held, just held, until the pain stops, first. Usually I'd hug my knees first because it envelops quite a lot of the body, that type of self embrace. Not that it works anyway. I have never successfully calmed myself down after a night terror. 

My usual response is to get the fuck out of bed, because I need to move, and because bed is not a safe place for me anyway. And I usually end up in the kitchen eating, followed by the bathroom, bringing it back up. It's my go - to reaction/response when something goes wrong , when I feel scared, when I'm anxious, upset... get sick. Bring up whatever might be in your stomach, if anything, in the hope that some of the pain will come up as well. Just for the record, it doesn't. But it is my first response when feeling emotion, is to vomit. Fuck, fucking hell. Even pleasure. I swear to God, I have honestly, even reasonably recently, induced vomiting when I am not remotely distressed. Not only because it's an automatic response for me after eating, but it's like.... Jesus, this is so fucked up. Forgive me, but I've only ever told one person this, and it was last weekend. I have to get this out. Okay so basically, like any addiction, as bulimia is, there are highs and lows. With bulimia, for me anyway, I get a very distinct rush, a high, if you will, from bringing up something I have eaten. Not every time, but enough. The other day I actually said to myself "God that felt good". And it's not the first time I've said it, nor, I doubt will it be the last. Well. That's a stupid thing to say actually because it gives the implication that I intend to continue being bulimic. Which I don't... I actually never have. Every day I wake up with a new intention to get it right today. 

But I did get high from it. That's why I call food a drug. Same as any alcohol or drug addiction, I do, on a daily basis, experience highs and lows before, during and after, in my case, meal times and eating and episodes of purging. I know how fucked up that is, but it's the truth. And I tell the truth. I've lied a lot in my life, and though some people may not like what I say, this is my space, this blog, to say what I feel and think and experience, so damned if I'm going to lie on this. No way. To use a major cliche, truth hurts, huh?

But the rush I get is more than that. That part explains the highs, what it doesn't explain is my thought process behind inducing vomiting while I am feeling good. I actually found myself doing the same with cigarettes. I feel anxious, I have a cigarette to calm my nerves. I feel stressed, I cool down, take a moment, and have a ciggie. I cry for ages, after it's over, I reach for the tobacco. And... I feel happy, relaxed, elated... I have a cigarette to 'celebrate', in a way I suppose it's like heightening the good feeling, by intoxicating your body with an addictive substance which also makes you feel better/good. For me, it's the same with my bulimia. There I said it. I don't get that sensation anymore, and I would never, ever, attempt now, to search for that high by doing it, but I won't lie, it has happened before, that I have done it even when feeling good. I would not do that now. I honestly only admitted that for the first time 6 days ago, and that was to another person with my illness. I have never ever told that, even to someone with anorexia, I honestly don't think even they would understand it. Only someone with bulimia could understand that. I don't have a lot of followers of my blog, but I know that saying that could actually stop some people from ever even looking in my direction again. And for that, I am sorry. Please don't think too badly of me, 'cos it's nothing compared to some of the stuff I've got buried in me, but it's enough.

So, night terrors. Last night I did not get out of bed when I woke up or eat anything, but the whole point of that diversion was that I was going to say, that I have, very often, woken up from a night terror and got physically sick. It's an emotional response for me, and I honestly can't say how soon that is going to change? Even if I stop inducing it, which I have already by the way, I don't know how long it will be before the feeling that I am going to get sick goes away when I am feeling emotional in any way. I feel nausea at the slightest bit of upset and distress and it's becoming increasingly noticeable. I worry those feelings will never go away. Which brings me to the first point of this post. 

Depression. 

I can't count the amount of times the words "Snap out of it" have been said to me. It's not that bad, they say. Just eat it, they say. It's easy, they say. WHY DON'T YOU GO AND FUCK YOURSELF. Anybody with depression will have that response. Nobody with depression wants to hear that. People have a vague idea sometimes, that it actually is that simple. (Maybe it is?) People, without knowing what is really involved in the process, have suggested hypnonis (rather than hypnotherapy) as a  means of doing the said "snapping out of it". Like, wake up and magically want to eat again, like that kind of snapping out of it. I've mentioned of course that I've had hypnotherapy and of course it doesn't work like that, but people watch TV, they assume that it works like that, you wake up and you're cured. But anybody with depression, or indeed, any mental health issue in any shape or form, even mild stress, will surely agree with me on this one, for someone to say, "Get your shit together, grow up, come on, you can do better...." and the dreaded snap out of it, or worse, for me, JUST EAT IT, is the single most stupid thing you can say to someone who is literally sitting wondering why the fuck they're still alive.

Which is really, in all honesty, where I was at this morning. My attempts at explaining how I felt were pretty lame, such as, "I don't matter" and "What's the point", which of course evoked the response Snap out of it, hardly surprising given my pathetic replies, but it was all I could muster up. When I'm feeling that level and that intensity of despair, apart from anything else, I barely have the strength in any part of my body to cry or scream, and I can't talk. I'm sitting there focusing all my energy on just breathing, and as soon as I become aware of that, I wonder why I'm bothering breathing in the first place. And it's just such a feeling of total darkness that you really have to wrench yourself out of like tar just to force yourself to take another breath... No, I do not want to launch in to explanations of "how I'm feeling". This is why therapy was ineffective for me for years. I didn't want to be here, and I didn't know how I was feeling, nor did I care. And being asked to explain it just pissed me off. Basically, I have no idea how to express myself, all I can think is.... black. Just black. And thick, like something you have to wade through with so much strength, that in the end isn't even worth the effort to get to, so you just give up and sink in to the blackness.

Which is how my dream started last night. I was in a sea or river, at night. I don't really remember much about my dreams most nights, I tend to block them out before they can grip my soul too tightly, but I do remember from this one, this incredible, vast, endless, wave of black, black, water washed over me, came at me... there was nothing I could do... As I'm sure a lot of people know, eating disorders, particularly anorexia, are all about control. I do not, DO NOT, like, feeling out of control. It's why I rarely drink. It scares me, I mean the most deep rooted sheer terror that you can possibly imagine. I really, really hate it. When I have these dreams, the really bad ones that wake me up, that feeling is there. It's not a case of fight or flight. It's freeze. Like, petrified still, rooted to the spot with fright, in the knowledge that there is nothing, absolutely nothing I can do to prevent what is about to happen to me, and the only thing I am certain of at this moment is that it is going to hurt. So you know what? I wake up, and I get sick. I really cannot describe any better, the feeling I get in these situations. Luckily now, it's only in my sleep. But I can safely put my hand on my heart and say, because I've experienced it (See one of my earlier blog posts, I think the one called The Past), that is what rape feels like. That feeling of total and utter helplessness powerlessness. Particularly when you've been drugged, because it intensifies the lack of control over the situation and over your own body. It engulfs you more than flames engulf wood, every part of you is going to feel that pain, and there is no choice but to succumb to it. That's night terrors, for me. Like I said, not very nice! And I had it twice last night.

Which brings me back to my introduction of: This morning was not much god damn fucking fun, yeah? Most of the time I was sitting there making the aforementioned pathetic attempts to explain myself with statements like, what's the point, I was actually mentally dragging razor blades down my stomach. It seemed like a good option at the time. I didn't, just for the record. But my God, I wanted to. Like I said before as well, I just didn't have the fucking energy to bother with anything. (I refer to my earlier: What's the point). Then it would lift, something would shift slightly after a particularly truthful statement that hit home, and I'd see things clearer... but it just went back. And kept going back, back to hopeless. Back to black, to quote the song. Took a long time to get out of this morning, and to be honest I'm not really sure if I have come out of it. I feel a lot sort of... quieter, or humble, or something, than I did before.

However, I did shift. Significantly. This is why, and the reason for at least half the title of this post. The dogs. I looked up, in the middle of all this, and said, let's take the dogs out. I know, I know, they do say that exercise is good for depression, which I am a firm believer of. I advise exercise for every living thing on this planet, it's just the most fantastic thing you can give yourself. (As long as you don't walk til your feet bleed... and as long as you nourish yourself with the right foods to balance the exercise, which obviously I have a wee bit of a problem with) But seriously, generally, exercise? Fucking brilliant. It releases chemicals in your brain, endorphins, which in turn bring about positive and happy feelings. Same you get when you eat chocolate. Seratonin. Happy hormone! Exercise does it too, and it's great. Anyway, I just suddenly thought, let's take the dogs out. Let's get out and see the world, taste the air, give the dogs something to feel good about, breathe the cool morning dew and just generally let nature wash over us. It seemed like a good option, given how I was feeling. So we did.

It's not difficult to describe the feeling of walking through muddy fields in wellies and the feeling of fresh air hitting your face. Most of you, I'm sure, have had that simple pleasure more than once in your lifetime. Fresh. Cold. Dewy, just... pure. I get that every day, the second I step outside. But today I noticed it a bit more, and once we got to the field and the dogs went running after the frisbee, I allowed it to soak in while watching the dogs fetch it. The redness of the frisbee against the subtle colours of the winter scene struck me. It didn't bother me, it just struck me in particular. I guess I was watching it too, following its path like the dogs were. The rest of course was the gentle greens of surrounding pasture, the soft pastels that blend in to each other. And of course, the person I love was standing beside me, training the dogs, in the most amazing way, gently explaining his actions (I'm not exactly someone who knows how to train a dog). And that calmed me, because it was just... the situation. As it was happening, right now. That's it. So I started to feel a bit more like the person, the woman, that I am. My age, my name, my size, my sex, my shape... Pippa.

And then I got thinking about the dogs, while watching the dynamic between dog and owner, and between the two dogs themselves. The dominance of Skippy, the way she needs to be in control to feel like she is doing her job, her absolute adamancy that she will do what she is told and be the best dog she can be, and loving the satisfaction, versus the humble nature of my lovely, Milo, who is clearly more interested in giving his love for me and for everyone around him, than engaging in silly frisbee games. It's not that he won't play, he chases it, I've watched his body arc in exactly the same fashion as the frisbee as it flies. He just is busy loving. Anyway, we talked about this, we watched it, and soaked in the good feelings it envoked. We walked a little through the fields, not more than a stroll, but somehow it felt like enough exercise. And I do a shit tonne of exercise, this is not something I would usually even consider counting towards my calorie burn for the day. It just somehow felt like enough, the right amount. Which is pretty rare for me. Usually it takes a lot, or I still angst that I haven't done enough. So you can understand the goodness I was beginning to feel.

It was nice.

Tiny, pathetic, insignificant word really. Nice. Doesn't really belong in the English language...and yet, it does. Sometimes it describes something perfectly. It's just a little word, and it's misused and overused. But what I felt was nice. In the sort of... not good, not bad...just comfortable, steady, satisfied and enough, in the right way... nice. You know?

Kept watching the dogs, and continued to feel nice because of the thoughts about my dog, my Milo, and what he means to me. I'm sure most dog owners will feel this, and also say what I'm about to say "He's special. Nobody else has a bond this strong with their dog". But nevertheless, I do feel that. Milo, though I've had him barely two years, has been a constant in my life. His love for me, I feel, is unconditional, and always will be. He doesn't ask for anything, and therefore doesn't punish me if he doesn't get anything. And so, it's really easy to give to him. And he accepts with so much joy, and radiates love and care for me. He knows, he knows, how much I hurt inside. And he knows when it's bad, he knows when he needs to be there, but he also knows when I need a bit of fun, that this will help, so he plays. The way he behaves towards me, other people, and other dogs, is how I think humans should behave towards each other. I genuinely believe that if Milo was a man, and that the world was full of men, and women, like Milo, that the world would be a seriously lovely place to be in. I know that's kind of a weird thing to say about a dog, but hey, it's less fucked up than some of the other shit I've come out with tonight, so let's let it slide. Again, I'm trying to create a picture here. Go with it.

Not only that, but Milo was there for me at a time when I didn't feel I could rely on anyone else. I said, he was a constant. He IS a constant, that still remains, even though he knows now that I do not need to rely on him. Nobody else in my life was that constant, always there, no matter what, and he doesn't even have a smart phone! Sure, there were people I did rely on, all the time, and still do, I don't need to name you because you know if you're one of them. There's a lot. But people have their lives, their shit, their problems, and they need to be places, whatever. Life. I wouldn't ever expect another human to be my constant. (Yet I seem to have stumbled upon a constant in my life I never ever even dreamed of). Milo was that person. He just knows. He knows everything. Sure of course he does, I've told him things I wouldn't tell another living soul, of course he knows. He looks at me, and he understands every god damn word I'm saying.  Also, he's watched me go through it, and trust me, the looks he gives me while it's happening have actually made me stop in my tracks, at least in front of him. It's crushing, all he is, is disappointed, and downright heartbroken. He can't bear it, I mean literally he leaves the room, or waits outside the bathroom, he cannot stand by watching his Person in that much pain. Okay, I'm stopping dog talk now cos I recognize I might be starting to sound slightly off my game here (but start at the top of the post, it's a lot crazier up there). The point is, I just love my dog, I love Skippy, and I am more in love with the person I share home with these two incredible creatures than I ever thought possible to love another.

So, I started to feel a whole lot better. Exercise eh? Air. Nature. Does the trick. And all that love.  You may be in open air, but you're surrounded in it, it's just like a warm wind from another direction. It's subtle, but you feel it and you notice it. I think it even has a smell, you know the same way sea air does. It's a bit like being hugged, all the time.

I feel a lot better, and blackness shifts and lightens. In the same way that a thick smoke clears, so too, does dark water. Eventually you begin to edge closer to the sun... in other words, you do, quite literally, See The Sun. There's songs about this stuff, it's real. It doesn't get more real than what being outside this morning did to shift such deep feelings not only of falling and flailing, but failing, in to feeling well, alive... and it honestly took about four minutes from start to finish.

(Just in case anyone wants a bit of mush, I'm now tearing up, for two reasons. One, because Milo just wandered over and licked me, at the perfect moment And then, I took a break from writing this, I just wanted a cuddle, and I was feeling loving but turned away typing, so I really wanted to give a cuddle, and the little cat was curled up behind us - no, I haven't forgotten Lottie in this, notice the blog post is called The Dogs... and The Cat, she's a major part of this, but the latter half - and I was gazed at with this immense flow of endless love that put a sort of balloon in my chest, and then the dogs came over and lay down at our feet and it was just this lovely sense of being part of a family, my family, that really made me feel... at One.)

Do you know what changed all that, in seconds? It's nothing I did or said, no behaviour, thought, word, action or feeling; nor was it anyone else's. It was purely physical. Nothing alarming, no. But it changed things for me, and I went back to a darker place, because of how I was feeling physically, and the reasons that led me to feel like that.

Bit of a whirlwind week with the health to be honest! Compilation of a bunch of things, and a serious mother fucker of a toothache. On top of crippling digestive problems (I had a year long stint of taking a hundred laxatives a day and eating fourteen packets of chewing gum a day, and my stomach rarely had anything in it for very long, for a really really long time, my digestive system and my whole stomach lining and all that is pretty fucked by now. Not to mention a bunch of other stuff, including how many prescription drugs I was on to fuck up my stomach), I had to have a tooth extraction. Wasn't a routine extraction so lots of pain and then, inevitably, it got infected, so she put me on antibiotics. Which I had a pretty alarmingly bad allergic reaction to, resulting in some pretty awful stuff for two days, only really ended last night. So, I haven't actually kept anything down for two days, and before that (the whole cause of my 'fess up last night as stated at the start of this) my bulimia had gone pretty haywire. So there wasn't a whole lot of anything in my system. Funnily enough, I've gone eight days without ingesting anything except black tea, and water with lemon in it, and functioned an eight hour exercise day without a wobble in the past, but these days, I guess my body has had enough of my bullshit, because it gets a bit narky when it goes through, or gets put through by me, much rough treatment. My point is that basically I began to find it pretty hard to stand up because my head just went really fuzzy and dizzy and I just kinda wanted to lie down but the ground was wet and I didn't want to cause a fuss all over again. So bluffed my way back somehow and ate something, which I did actually keep down. I wanted to because I needed to. And in that respect, and after everything that was said, and that I felt, it was pretty easy to do.

Wrote that paragraph you just read before I took my break, and then came back and wrote all the stuff about my family and all the love I'm surrounded by,  and how it's like being hugged all the time, and when I came back, I deleted was written about the day, all the dizziness what it represents blah blah, and about the mental struggle of lunch blahde blah,  because actually, none of that really matters any more, what matters is what is right in front of me, here and now. That, readers, is what we have. We have a fixed past, and we have a potential future... but we have a sure and completely definitive Right Now, and that is actually all we need, because once that is secured, whatever That is (doesn't even have to be good) the rest is laid out in the pattern we choose before we act in the present moment that means the future is secured too, for the better. So even if the present isn't good, you know you've already changed it. Not only that, but once we're Present, in the present moment, the past doesn't matter either, and it just melts away a bit, until it's easier to let go of. 

I felt this a lot while I was away and scribbling in a notebook while travelling. I thought about my life now, my whole present way of life and of being, and it brought me back from any not so good places I was going, which it always does. Being in the present moment shifts all that. I forgot that, this morning, and had not remembered until after I wrote the first part of this post, and looking back, it's pretty bleak. 

I honestly nearly went too far down this morning. Came back up for a bit, but that dizzy thing slipped me back again. It brought up a lot of emotions to do with inadaquacy, feeling like my eating disorder ruined a good moment again, and that it would always do so...and bad memories of blood sugar dips (it kinda makes you hallucinate if it gets really low) and those feelings kept coming back all day, I wasn't feeling lighter when I started this post. And the knowledge that all this stuff started because of my bulimia was repeatedly doubling all those feelings. The whole feeling was too much. I honestly nearly went too far.

I don't want to go there again. I said I nearly went too far - I have been too far, that is what I mean when I say I don't want to go there again. Last time I went there, even though it was only for a few hours, I nearly died because of what I did to try and escape it. It would kill me this time, if I went there again. You know what? I don't deserve to go there again. With this knowledge, it's in my power to prevent myself from going there. It makes it my choice, where I go in my head and which side of me I choose to help me in which situation. This thing is about using my whole self to heal my whole self, not trying to completely eliminate the negative sides of me, which I end up abusing myself with. We all have different parts, some good, some not so good - "a dark side" so to speak; or a devil on one side and an angel on the other. Whatever way you look at it, this is fairly commonplace. I have these two extra devils on my shoulder called anorexia and bulimia, so it's a little tricky, but it seems that it can be figured out in a way that you sort of mould yourself back in to one amazing being, a complete version of your true self;  but in a way that you remain separate from the negative part of you, which allows it to work with you rather than against you. Reading back over this it seems so simply put, and actually sounded a lot more complex in my head: it is complicated alright, but once you integrate yourself, the whole You is fighting against the badness, the demons. It's a good place to be, united with yourself.

I did a brave thing today. It sounds like nothing but for me, it was. Not buying chocolate today... I've used it as a security a long time, but it got to the stage where I was replacing meals with it after purging, and eventually, purging because I knew I could just eat some chocolate... It goes in to this cycle every few months actually... love-hate relationship. For a time, I replaced meals with it in general, until for years, it was the only thing that was safe. I spent a number of years in my very early twenties, eating enough calories to be on a safe weight gain program, but I never ate an actual meal, ever. This of course got me in a lot of trouble in hospital because I was forced the meals but purged them because I was getting enough calories in my own way, which was of course the wrong way, and I got little proper nutrition. I  refused to follow their programs and did it on my terms, which pissed off one hell of a lot of people, but at the time, my terms kept me alive, and it was the only way I could do it without literally falling in to emotional oblivion. 

If anybody is reading this who ever bought for me, or brought in, special food for me... I know you may have felt like you were doing the wrong thing, but it was the only thing that stopped me from going so crazed inside those places that they sectioned me. It saved me. I mean, I barely wanted to be alive during those times, but somewhere inside deep down I did, so I ate chocolate to keep me alive, because the will to live wasn't strong enough to eat, and my eating disorder and body dysmorphia was consuming every rational thought in my head so that I could NOT eat....except one rational thought, I have to stay alive, I can't do this to my family...I knew I had to survive.... It became the only thing I could eat for months at a time. Even if it's half a square, that's enough to keep you alive. Chocolate also actually saved my life at times. I've eaten it before when I could literally feel life draining out of me, and in so doing, felt life flow back around my body.

So, not buying a bar of chocolate today, just in case I, a) bring up my dinner or, b) freak out and can't eat it... either way, not having a chocolate get out clause of either of those situations is a pretty big step, it would seem. I didn't need that security today for the first time possibly ever. Because I knew, I just had complete faith in myself that I knew what I ate for dinner tonight was one hundred percent going to stay in my body.

Another way that a negative part of me worked with Me in the Now, and created a good future, certainly for this evening and its outcome, despite being built from a rocky past. It's pretty cool. And really, all I have to do is open my eyes, look up, and take a good visual intake of what's happening right now. In all aspects of your present. Finances, romantic, all of it. Have a good long look at it, take it in, see how it makes you feel, and why, and what you might change - not about the situation - but about your response or reaction to it, to make it better for next time, or improve another aspect of your life, the best way to go about making that inner change or adjustment... by the time you've done all that thinking, it's already happening, because it's now again, and the rest doesn't matter, as it is in the past, and because you're a master of living in the Now, you can let go of the past.

Another interesting thing that happened last night while I was writing this was that I texted my best friend about something in the first bit of this post, about loving yourself. She said, it's not that easy is it? I was feeling pretty low when I started replying, and said You know what, no, it bloody isn't. I was actually getting sort of het up inside feeling frustrated at having to do this impossible task of learning to love myself. I said, I've spent my whole life feeling at fault, for everything I do and have ever done, and not only that but I've been conditioned to believe that assumption is correct, that I need to apologise for who I am, and that I am a failure as a person. Even if I wanted to love myself (which I don't, because I don't feel I deserve to) I have no fucking idea how.

In a previous text I had said that I was upset at being told that if you don't love yourself, you don't truly love others. And she said it was easier said than done, so I said yeah, exactly, the truth was that it broke my heart, because it's true. Love another in a way that makes the other grow as a person, you cannot, until you have those feelings for yourself. 

I then said this.... and I wasn't planning on saying it, and had to go back and edit it to include what I was going to say just to make it fit with what I'd already typed, because out of nowhere, I just completely changed tack and it just came out as I typed. I started off saying I was crushed... then: it makes me see how much more I have to give once I start loving myself. What I added was - through all the self hate and self-abuse, somewhere in there I've been able to see that I am loving, have the power to help others, and was born a care giver and empath. Realizing that you can't do any of this without self love made me feel like I'd failed even at loving people, and that's why I was feeling so low all day. And then it just turned around in my head, just like that. I just sort of went, oh, can't believe I just wrote that, and realised that it was the way I should be looking at it becuase it was -is- completely true: If I am as loving as I am now without the self love, then the love I have to give after literally knows no bounds. 

Again, this knowledge instantly makes it easier to change the way things are in terms of self love. And that was it. The text started out with what verged on despair, if writing could have tears in it, then my words were crying, and as I typed it was like a little light flicked on and filled me with light. I think I might have actually been told as much before, or showed that way of looking at it, I'm not sure... maybe, but it felt like such a revelation for me really. I actually turned around and asked if the lights got brighter, I felt like this little glow had lifted the darkness I'd been feeling all day. This, with all the love I was feeling (aforementioned)... I went to bed and slept beside the man I love for twelve hours straight. No dreams, night terrors, no medication to aid sleep... Just sleep. 

 

Anger is a tough emotion. At the end of the day there are actually only two emotions: Love and Fear... all the others stem from one of these. I think anger stems a little from both. But for me, mostly fear. And you know what else? I fear my anger. I fear what I might do if I allow the anger inside me to come to the surface. I may have little to no self-love, but I have enough to know not to let the anger out because I think it would kill me - that I'd hurt myself so badly - as we've established the self-love is there enough that I have not managed that yet: that's why. 

But I have quite deep rooted fears of anger. I get scared of other people's anger very easily, even if it's not directed at me, I'm just in the room with it; my instinct tells me to run away. In this case of fight or flight, for me, it's flight. Sometimes it's even freeze - going back to my fear of losing control. Which makes complete sense: I see anger as a form of loss of control. So, yes, I fear my own anger. Because I fear losing control. Perhaps it is time to look at why I fear control or lack of it, and figure out a way of dealing with that; perhaps if I do that the rest will fall in to place? Like the fact that at the moment that anger is directed inwards. Consequences aren't great.

On the flip side of fear and anger, love resides, and lives on inside all of us, protecting us from the fearful things and the feelings we fear. The last thing I wanted to write about today was a form of love, and the newest source of it in our home: Lottie.

Lottie is a little kitten, a little piece of delight that came in to our lives about four weeks ago. Given to me by a friend of mine and her family, even the circumstances by which she came in to my life are the exact ones I am, and want, to be in. Having Lottie here (in all her cuteness), heightens this feeling every time I see her, and play with her, bring her up to be the lioness she has the potential for. It's like a It's not just 'Pippa and her dog came to stay' feeling. Having a cat together allowed me to settle in more firmly in to being here, and gave me a huge sense of belonging, and of worthiness within the space I live. Like me not being here would make it not as nice... These kinds of things, are the things which came about for me when we got the cat. She's so important to me, I can't tell you. (Bear with me, I may not have children but it's my birthright and is written in the stars that I will have them, so my maternal instincts are pretty strong) Not comparing animals to children, but I just mean in the sense of rearing a tiny, helpless life form. 

Lottie is a pretty amazing little creature to be honest. I've had a lot of kittens and loved them all in all their different ways, known them all, but Lottie seems remarkable in some ways that I had yet to see in a cat. Specifically in one way which I haven't seen - she sits on pain. It's different than the way dogs sense emotion and come to aid the situation, Lottie, because of her size, can actually come directly to, and then sit on, the site of pain. She does it with emotional pain and physical pain, the sites that the emotional pain is manifesting in the body. She sat on my chest this morning, where I was carrying a big brick of emotion, and she did it the night I had the antibiotic sickness, she sat on my stomach all night. It's taking a typical cat behaviour and going further with it: She, like all cats, likes to sit and sleep in warm spots. They seek them out, and they know where to find them. Lottie... she sits on the pain. It's like she can feel a surge of energy coming from the site of  the pain, the warm spot, so to speak, and she comes to rest herself and emanate her healing by sitting there. 

She goes where she's needed, too: Sometimes, I am in a snuggly cushion and kitten mood, and she comes to me and sits with me, and sometimes, it might not be me that needs the hug or attention, so she goes there instead. She anticipates mood and feelings, and it's really quite remarkable in such a tiny creature. 

The reason for the pictures in this post is sort of tied to the cat, and it wasn't entirely a mistake that Lottie ended up in the pictures. This little marble model cat, was a mascot of mine for a long time, for the duration of my first hospital stay and throughout many more that followed. He came with me, accompanied me, to every meal and snack I had for years, and didn't leave my sight when I had to eat for a long time after even hospital stays. He was my little guy. I eventually had to let him go, as I do with a lot of comfort things, but this one had significance for me, and I couldn't eat without him there.

If you look at what's written on the base, the sides: Health. Happy. Wealth. Those words are etched in to the marble base and that's what I like so much about it. Things to live by, and a little happy kitty on top to prove how easy it is to live by those things. The cat simply sits on top there, smiling away, because he's living three things: Healthy, happy, and because of that, wealthy.

But as you see from the last picture, my little mascot has actually broken. The cat has come away from its base. The base that holds it down. It's been sat there forever, since it was made, but now it's free to move around. When I noticed a few days ago that it was broken, I felt a bit stricken and made plans to fix it. And then I thought about it and it seems like the wrong thing to do. It is not a case of wanting to be away from health, happiness and wealth. It's just that being free from any base gives a certain sense of autonomy that being in hospital and being unable to eat without a mascot next to you will never give you. And I am not in that place anymore. I am free. Not just from institutions and rules, but in my head too. I am free, when I choose to be so. I do not feel a need to fix this little carved cat. He can still sit on his base whenever he wants, the health, happiness and wealth are still part of him, in fact, he doesn't stand up without the base anyway, he needs them. But like I said, it's not fixed anymore. 

In that respect it's like Lottie, who has very much got a home, and a base, and she has people she needs and wants to love here in that base, and the dogs too, she loves. However, she is not barricaded. She can go wherever she wants. The thing is, is that she doesn't feel the need, because she knows she can go. She knows she's got a good life and she likes it and she feels part of it, and wants to stay. 

It's nice, knowing that I contribute to a cat wanting to stay in her home. I feel like I too, am finally home.