Broken Bella Donna











Freshly disowned in some frozen devotion,

No more alone or myself could I be.

Lurched like a stray to the arms that were open,

No shortage of sordid, no protest from me.

The first time I heard this song I loved it. Then I listened to the lyrics and… this jumped out at me. In spite of the subject of the song being irrelevant to my life, these lyrics just perfectly sum up the last few years for me. The situation with PP. The situation as it is now, that I am alone in this ‘friendship’, that I became compulsive about someone who accepted me, faults and all and basically forced my friendship down their throat until we were both so caught up in the complicated disaster that it became that we couldn’t see it until it was too late, that it was wrong and that we willingly dipped into the wrongness that it was.

And I wouldn’t change a goddamn thing.

What a massive experience it proved to be, and a huge step in my life. I learned life lessons I never thought I’d get to learn, and grew in an amazing way. But that door seems to be shut now and that makes me sad. But not as sad as it used to.

I haven’t blogged worth a damn because, well… spazz attacks. They’re kicking my arse still (6 months!) and I have retreated backwards badly. I know that I wont defeat them until I try and I think I’m getting closer to ready but.. it’s hard, harder than it was before I think. Last time (back at the start) I was forced constantly, daily, multiple times a day to face it and man up. My life was very hard and I had no idea what was wrong with me, just that something was. The very act of hiding it from everyone and being made constantly to butt heads with my spazz attacks forced my hand. Now I’m older, I have that understanding that YES I can get past it and YES I will but I also know what the problem is now. I have others around me who have been exposed to it now. This is both a good and a bad thing – I am using it as an excuse now. I am telling people no, and no because of spazz attacks. That isn’t fixing the problem – it anything it has made it a lot harder. It has become an acceptable crutch and I’m not having to mentally slap myself around the face and get the fuck over it.

It’s just easier to say ok, time to back off and let life wash over you for awhile. You can gain strength and confidence and attack when you’re ready.

I thought I’d be ready by now. I’m not sure I am. Every day that passes compounds the problem.

What I DID do was get into the habit of talking about it CONSTANTLY. People in my life who every time I felt bad I had to report it to, People who tried to talk me thru shit. I know this was meant well and that it helped at the time but all it has done is lengthen the process of getting out of this funk. I realise now that I have to stop talking about it constantly and reminding myself that it is there. I have to stop holding it in the forefront of my brain. It is literally always there, to the point that now all I think of when people leave me alone at home is “what if someone shows up and I have to talk to them and have a spazz attack?”. I am literally spazzy about leaving the house, *and* about being at home. This is a thousand different types of fucked up.

I need to push down the spazzy feelings. I need to separate myself from them. I need to acknowledge that they are there, that they are trying to show me a threat that doesn’t exist. I need to remind myself that I am safe. I have some control over the situation – not all of the control, but nor do I need that control.

I need to get back into all of my old healthy habits, and away from these unhealthy ones.Physical and mental.

I need to retain all of my healthy relationships, and remove myself from the unhealthy ones or at very least understand that the unhealthiness isn’t necessarily a result of my actions. Those who leave my life have left because our involvement in each others lives has come to a close, we have learned what we had to learn. If there is any more to be learned, we will reconnect. That they have their own story and that their story affects how they react to others, and that how they treat me doesn’t necessarily reflect on me.

That’s the key thing. That’s what has taken me until my 30s to understand. That how people treat me isn’t necessarily a reflection on me and my story. Yes, sometimes how I behave causes others to react and affects the way they treat me in a certain way, but that’s a much smaller piece of the pie. The majority of the pie is them. Their story. Their life experience.

I am not a bad person. I try to do my best. Sometimes I get it wrong but mostly I don’t. I have to remember this. After a life time of never being enough, of being wrong, of being pushed down, minimalised, encouraged to under achieve so as to not be better than those that see me as a threat… that’s their problem. Not mine. I am enough. I do my best with what I have been given and what is available to me right now.

  • Ongoing forward progress in MBP.
  • A new job offer that has the potential to be terrific (if I get brave enough)
  • Incoming (and spazz free) work starting soon
  • New beginnings
  • Warm heaters
  • Onesies
  • My furry kids
  • Electricity!


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