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There, I said it. What no one except the truly destitute can say without fear of retribution and stern glares and ‘but you have so much’es. I’m sorry. I find Christmas internally quite hard. Part of me feels that it’s about family and being cosy and having nice meals together and feeling good, and part of me feels lonely and hollow and can’t shake the ache no matter how hard I try.
It’s a known fact that returning to the bosom of one’s family seems to make everyone revert to the roles of their childhood, and interact in the way they did all those years ago. It’s certainly true in our house. My brother becomes the arrogant, smug ‘I’m always right and no one else’s opinion matters because you are all wrong, oh and by the way I’m amazing’ pain in the arse. I become the child that couldn’t make anyone see how it really was for her and so struggles inside and sometimes it slips out in biting sarcasm or manipulative side swipes. My sister usually just gets drunk which at least affords some laughter. Our father treats us all as if we’re still five and can’t do a single damn thing for ourselves, (that also includes thinking), and Mum is ever the peace maker.
A normal family I guess, with its secrets and sadnesses, its laughter and rubbing along together. Probably something a lot of people would give an awful lot for, so let’s just add some guilt for not being grateful enough for my extraordinary good fortune in life.
I know I sound like a grinch. I want so much to feel the magic of Christmas. Part of me wants to be a kid again to feel that anticipation and excitement, and the joy of opening presents and the routine of the day that makes it full of family traditions and warmth. I have so much, more than my fair share, but that is all Things and as much as I am truly grateful for those, there is still this big old hole on the inside that likes to make itself felt on Important Happy Occasions. That little voice I’ve not heard or managed not to take notice of gets louder, and tells me how I’m no good, and hateful for being so ungrateful, and I’m not enough not enough not enough. I know those things aren’t true; hell, almost a decade of therapy has to have taught me something! So I will make the annual concerted effort to ignore the voice, let the family tensions wash over me, and I’ll probably find, as I usually do, that I enjoy Christmas Day in the end. It is, after all, only one day.
(So much for the blog break.)
I am unable to be in my flat now without feeling physically sick and uncomfortable, not to mention the dread of bumping into my neighbours in the hall. All the months of anxiety and low level stress have taken their toll and with the catalyst of the letter seem to have caused some kind of inner meltdown. I’m relieved that it hasn’t turned into a full blown depression, but I am struggling to hold it together as I try to find ways around this, whilst also attempting to be ready for the launch of my business. It was meant to be this Thursday but I’ve had to push it back, and what should be an exciting time has become just a mess in my head of things that need doing, and worry about things that frankly shouldn’t even be figuring on my radar.
Yes I am very sensitive; I often think the best way to describe myself is like a crab without its shell. I’ve spent years in therapy and am largely a mostly sane person now. But this episode has thrown into relief the fact that I will never be free of this (enter your favourite phrase here; black dog, grey cloud, mire of despond), and that being well is constant work for me. Sometimes, when things come to a head all at once, as they tend to do in life, I find that I haven’t been working hard enough at it, and am unable to pull on the inner resources I’ve been taught to strengthen.
But as I say, at the moment I’m still functioning; getting up in the morning, getting things done (kind of), and not giving up. I have worked hard to make this business a reality, and I’m buggered if I’m going to let some nasty piece of lowlife scum take that away from me. I firmly believe that there are always ways around things, you just have to think laterally.
So I’ve left a note (again, polite and reasonable; not the things I really wanted to say but I WILL keep the moral high ground here), suggesting that the wife come and have a coffee with me so we can hopefully come to some agreement like adults. There is no way in hell that man is taking one step inside my home. He’s taken far too much space in my head already. I know it’s bad karma to wish ill on him. But I wish he could be humbled. A decent human being doesn’t treat others like the shit on their shoe.
Well, I’ve had a horrible 24 hours. 26 actually. For many months I have been struggling with my neighbours, who are making my nights a misery by staying up late. Yes, they are just living their lives, but mine has become so restricted that I can’t go to bed until they do, or I am forced to sleep on the sofa, and they frequently wake me up in the morning. The configuration of our flats means that their living room/kitchen/conservatory is directly beneath my bedroom, so what with the acoustics and the high decibel level of his voice, as well as cupboards banging, footsteps, TV, or whatever else they happen to be doing down there, there is no chance of me going to sleep at the time of my choice. No, it’s up to them. When I first moved back in, notes were exchanged, and they were extremely understanding. It was ok for a while, but has been getting steadily worse. So I wrote another. It was polite, reasonable, and completely inoffensive. Then I went out to work.
When I got home I found the most vitriolic, rude, unkind letter on my door mat. He insulted me, said I needed to get a life, leave my job and move the country. He basically said I am nothing and he doesn’t care what I think or say. He made it extremely personal. All I did was ask him to compromise a bit, as I have been doing for months now, and have some consideration after 11pm. We all have to learn to live together, and while I understand that we will not all keep to the same schedule, I simply don’t understand his response; he comes across as a selfish, arrogant and ignorant little man. He said he can guarantee that he works harder than me and accused me of thinking I was more important than him! All I wanted was to reach an amicable compromise; and the torrent of abuse I got has upset me beyond belief.
I am extremely grateful to have my parents’ house round the corner to escape to; I couldn’t stay there a second longer with that atmosphere, and I was really distraught. I knew he’d respond, but I never expected such a tirade. I felt physically sick, to have this abuse in my own home. It strikes me as ironic to be told to move to the country by someone who is not even from this country, and neither is his wife, AND they are renting. I own my home and I don’t expect to be treated so appallingly. I have done nothing to him and I don’t deserve this.
So, I have gathered myself together and started finding information about what can be done to sort this out. I am trying to squash the part of me that wants him to suffer as much as I have. I was unable to go to work today with constant nausea and a stomach upset. I am furious at the way he’s behaved, completely uncomprehending of his immaturity and selfishness (oh yes, he’s going to do exactly as he pleases, he told me), and on top of that have a business that is launching in a week and a mountain of work to do in preparation, which I have been unable to do today.
Going back there makes me feel even more sick, but I have to get some things (something else I haven’t been able to do today) and tomorrow I’m going to the country, to see my parents and make a plan. I can’t think about this except in a very abstract way because it makes me so livid, and my stomach’s in knots as it is. My best friend and my parents insist I mustn’t be driven out of my own home, but I will confess that yes, I have thought about it. Of course it would be insanity to give up my lovely flat for some horrible, and temporary tenants downstairs. But look, this is making me ill! I am not a victim, but I am entitled to a life as much as they are.
I’m going to find out how long their lease is. I’m going to speak to the council. I’m going to get information from the Citizens’ Advice Bureau. And on no account am I going to stoop to his pitiful and bullying level. But GOD I want to make him fucking suffer, that pathetic, selfish little shit.
Edit: I hate confrontation, I hate animosity, I thought we could sort this out as adults, but apparently he cannot. As I don’t see why I should lie down and take this any longer, clearly I am going to have to take some action, or I will never be able to live in my own home. But let it be noted that this is NOT what I want. I have a life to live and I do not want to waste it on some miserable low life like him.
This week I’ve had the pleasure of being reminded why London is sometimes a crappy place to live.
First of all I asked a girl on the bus to turn down her radio; everyone was glancing at her and it was a tinny and unpleasant noise. I’ll put up with headphone overflow but I could hear her radio over my ipod. I was really nice and just asked if she would mind turning the volume down, and she slid her eyes towards me with real hatred, and just said ‘Wha’ever, why don’t you turn your own music down?’ (So not only was she rude but she was also stupid.)
I don’t know if I expected her to actually do what I asked, but what was so horrible was the waves of hatred emanating from her, just at this simple and frankly very reasonable request. I doubt very much that the rage was due to me asking, but feeling the force of it directed at me was not very nice, to say the least. I didn’t know what to say then, except something insulting, so I didn’t say anything more. Everyone else rolled their eyes and muttered things like ‘Unbelievable!’, and the girl got off at the next stop thank god.
So then I got off the bus a bit later at my stop, and nearly got run down by a guy cycling on the (thin and overcrowded) pavement! His eyes were completely dead. People cycling on the pavement makes me mad because it’s so clearly a selfish and stupid thing to do, and really, what’s the point of cycle lanes if you are just going to mow down pedestrians?
Once off the bus I went to a newsagent to top up my Oyster card, where I was quite blatantly queue barged by a guy who knew I was there and waiting and just stepped past me. By that point I couldn’t be bothered to say anything, I just let it go. There’s enough aggro in this city without me adding to it.
But it made me feel sad; there are so many angry, hateful, sad, aggressive, selfish people out there. I kind of feel sorry for that girl on the bus. She obviously had something going on. But why can’t people just be a bit kinder? A bit less selfish and a bit more courteous? It costs nothing and just makes people feel better.
So I was talking with my boss about shopping (well, what else would we be doing, working?!), and she was telling me how she went to Primark and it completely freaked her out and made her feel really quite depressed. She said there was just so much stuff everywhere and it was all in a mess and everything was so ridiculously cheap. And as she pointed out, clothes that cheap seem to make people think it’s ok to throw them about and treat them with disrespect. Much the way the people who make them are. (Well, perhaps not thown about.) Both of which seem wrong. How disrespectful to buy something and think, ‘Oh well, if I get bored with it/spill something on it/don’t wear it, it doesn’t matter, it only cost me a fiver.’ Someone worked to make that item, quite probably in horrible conditions and living a considerably harder life than the person who bought it at the other end.
I’ve shopped in Primark. I loved it; that feeling of leaving a shop with seven items and only having spent thirty odd quid. Then I thought, someone must be paying for this, and it isn’t me. And I did some reading (well you can’t not really, can you, it’s in the press all the time, as it should be), and came to the conclusion that I would no longer be shopping there. If I am paying £2 for a t shirt, it’s a fairly safe bet the person who made it probably wasn’t even paid that. So as much as Primark shopping is fun, that’s not the kind of fun my conscience feels comfortable with. Oh well, I shall just have to buy expensive clothes instead. Ha ha.
I do try to shop consciously, but it’s still very much the case that ethical goods, whether they are clothes, household products, food items or skincare products, are usually more expensive than the alternative. Not everyone can afford to shop ethically, and until that happens, shops like Primark will continue to be full of people sucking up the bargains. New ethical/eco friendly shops and websites are popping up all the time, so hopefully a time will come when choosing something that gives back to its creators is easy and affordable for everyone. Unrealistic? Maybe. I just know that I can’t in all good conscience buy something that at best doesn’t benefit, and at worst harms someone else while it gives me pleasure. There’s no real pleasure to be had from that.
Everywhere I turn there are adverts for anti-ageing creams, wrinkle smoothing serums, line fillers, magical (and extortionate) miracle cures, blah blah blah. They must give so many women a huge complex, like there’ s something wrong with getting older or with it showing.
I don’t get it. I think a few crow’s feet and laughter lines show that someone’s had some good times and life experiences. Nothing to be ashamed of about that; I’m fairly wrinkle free but I wouldn’t mind having a few more. There’s something dignified about seeing someone’s life in their face, I think. Of course if you’ve smoked 60 a day since you were 15 that’s a different matter….
And why doesn’t anyone tell all those people who have plastic surgery that they don’t look young, they look like they’ve had plastic surgery?
