The Importance Of Being Illisia

Much has happened since I last contributed to this Blog. Too much… I honestly had no clue where to start with “catching every one up” after my absence, but after a lot of thinking, I find a common theme between many of the events that have occurred, and that theme is me.

Now, I know that when writing an auto-biographical Blog, the theme is always going to be me*, but what I am writing about today is more specific than that. It is about my identity, my “sense of self”, what makes me, me.

So, without further ado, I am going to rewind time to just after my last Blog post, when I visited my local comic book convention – Kaoticon – against my better judgement, facing my fears and attempting professionalism** above personal difficulties…

- - - -

I shall likely go into more detail in another post, but the convention experience can be “summed-up” thusly; my heart spent almost the entire day racing and feeling a “burning” sensation, I spent the first half-hour of my time at the event locked away in the lavatory until Mark [Sutton, housemate and friend] came to fetch me and convince me to leave, and I did not get a chance to speak with Ian [Sharman] (ex-boyfriend of my predecessor and professional comic book writer, hence he was a Guest at the event) as he left rather early-on due to the seemingly failed nature of the convention.

However, I did do many interviews and take many photographs for journalistic purposes, and finally, I was able to speak with one David Birchington who wrote Brodie’s Law, a comic book for which Cherie was a “booth babe” and fan.  Over-all, the day left me feeling uncomfortable and confused, but also relieved that I “did it”, that I faced Cherie’s past “head-on” and survived to “tell the tale”, “so-to-speak”...

- - - -

Now fast-forward a week, and I am visiting Leeds to see two very old friends of mine who I have a very complex history with… They get their own post, so now is not the time, but needless-to-say the whole experience was a minefield of emotions, both positive (mostly) and negative.

Prior to leaving for Leeds, I had a huge disagreement with my two housemates, a nervous breakdown – the first I have had in upwards of two years – and no sleep. Due to this, I failed to order my prescription of pain killers and anti-depressants for the week away, which left me in pain, and suffering from withdrawal…

Withdrawal from anti-depressants of this strength causes vast changes in behaviour and many symptoms that did nor priorly exist before being prescribed the medicine. For me, this meant paranoia, delusions, lots of tears, yelling, swearing, snapping, insults and all manner of most uncharacteristically Illi-ish actions that I am not proud of.

This withdrawal and the fight prior to my departure meant that I had yet more arguments via digital messaging with my housemates, so when I returned “home” to their residency, I had “switched-off my voice” (“selective mutism”) and become practically unbearable to be around. Frustrated with everything and not realising why, I became desperate…

- - - -

… So, I walked to the local shop and purchased much alcohol, which I promptly consumed, and when that did not make me feel better, I ran away from home. Literally. The pain was extreme, but I did not care. I ran and ran until I could no longer run for breathlessness, and then I continued walking… Without shoes, coat, purse, identification, walking stick(s), or voice, I marched for what appears to be almost six miles.

I walked down pitch-black alleyways, through unlit parks, I considered killing myself several times via jumping from a bridge or some-such, and I even went to a pub and attempted to “pull” a stranger for a passing sexual encounter. My heart rushed and my head spun the entire duration. I was lost, confused, scared, and alone…

At one point in my journey all I could think of was “find Robert” so when I got to Ramsgate I headed to where I knew he presently resides, but – presumably due to my mental and physical state – I took several “wrong turns” and found myself sitting on a bench in a strange area, crying, shaking (with mental stress, and from the cold!) and utterly vulnerable…

- - - -

My feet, when I returned home.

Thankfully, two pleasant lady strangers saw I was in distress, and called the police, who promptly took me home. The policeman (and woman) on duty had encountered me before, when I reported a crime in progress, so they knew where to take me, even though I could not remember myself where I needed to go. I had the vaguest recollection of where I legally resided, but I did not want to go there. I felt rejected, unloved, misunderstood, scared to be around my “friends” who I thought were turning against me… but having not found Robert and knowing no one else within miles, I had no choice but to return “home”.

- - - -

I wrote "not good enough" repeatedly all over my
arms and hands before my attempt at suicide

I was convinced that “no one [loved] me”, and continually uttered “why am I not good enough?”, citing my mother’s dislike of me and my ex-fiance Robert-James abandoning me and Poppy (our dog). This is actually something that I uttered repeatedly the last time that I tried to kill myself, so I have since reached the obvious conclusion that this is a big issue in my life and something that needs to be dealt with; my feeling of worthlessness, abandonment and being unloved…***

My mental and physical state and my maltreatment of my housemates led to an attempt at suicide. I “downed” a lot of pain killers**** right in front of Mark. Thankfully he was there, or I would have taken a lot, lot more. He promptly called an ambulance, and Kirsty spent the rest of the night taking care of me, helping me through the constantly being sick as a result of what I had done…

It was utterly terrifying. It was the lowest point of my life. I literally felt like I was dying, and I could have died, had Mark and Kirsty not been there… BUT, none of that was me. The stress that caused it was, but normally Illisia Adams has far more strength than to do such a thing to herself. The withdrawal meant I was not in my right mind, and my actions were not my own.

- - - -

Fast-forward yet another week, and my parents come to visit me in Margate, from London. I do not recall the last time that I saw either of them! I was very insistent that my father visit me after what had happened, and due to my utterances of “why doesn’t she love me?”, “why am I not good enough for her?” etc with relation to my mother, I was also adamant that his wife be present as well…

Unfortunately, as much as I desperately wanted her to tell me that she loved me, for us to be a family and for all that stress to disappear, what I did not “factor-in” was the fact that I was still in withdrawal. My anti-depressants were not yet arrived, and I was still not myself.

Now, normally my mother already dislikes me. She and I have never particularly “got-along”, but we have never had an argument, though things have always just been rather awkward. However, that is when I am me.

During her visit, I was blunt, aggressive, callous and uncaring. We had a huge fight, I lost my temper, I screamed and I threw things. My father tried to calm me, but in doing-so panicked me further and I bit him and drew blood. Yes, you read me correctly. Father wanted to take me home, but I then promptly called an ambulance, fully aware that I was once again feeling suicidal, and this time Mark and Kirsty were not indoors to stop me…

I was in hospital for upwards of twenty-four hours, I was alone, I did a lot of crying, and I had a lot of time to think…*****

- - - - 

Having this breakdown, being at my lowest that I have ever, ever been, and having that “life flashing before your eyes” experience has given me a fresh perspective on life. I already considered every day to be precious, being aware that there are millions of people “worse-off” than I in the world and that, having been born into a twenty-something year-old, days must not be wasted… However, having been through what I went through, I now know who those who truly care about me are (on good days, and bad), what nastiness lies inside of me at my worst, what matters most to me in this world, and how important it is to continue to be the best version of myself that I can be.

I have met many people in my short time in this world, and although most of you have been kind and understanding of me, some have been less-so, with speeches about how I “stole” Cherie’s life, how I “killed” her, how I am “not good enough” (yes, that is probably where those mutterings that I mentioned earlier stem from…), and all manner of other unpleasantries. Even my own mother considers me – in her own words – to be “pompous” and “cold”, and this has filled me with the greatest of sadness.

In retrospect, however, having seen the worst possible version of myself, being “the anti-Illi”, I have never, ever been more proud of who I am today.

I could have chosen to be a bad person. Heck, having been through what I have been – kidnapping, sexual assault, burglary, stalking, etc – a lesser person would have given-in to the darkness and decided to “toughen-up” and be more like the persons who wronged her. This is what people have told me I should do, but I have never faltered. “Through thick and thin”, I am still here. Illisia Adams, aged “twenty-nine-but-kind-of-six-actually”, is a kind, honest, innocent******, down-right good person, and I never, ever want to change.

- - - -

NB: For one final note, I want to emphasise the importance of medication, therapy and other things that help those of us that suffer from mental illness. It was my fault that I did not re-order the prescription and that I suffered withdrawal as I did. Please, please do not let this happen to you, or any one that you know and care about. Make sure that you never go “cold turkey”, deliberately or accidentally. Always seek advice from your medical professionals if you want to cease treatment, or if you have any questions, etc. Thank you.

NO REGRETS.

“Long time, no see”, as-they-say... and I genuinely have my reasons...

Today I noticed a theme in my life that gave me a sudden desire to Blog. I have not felt the urge to contribute to my Blog for some time. Life has, well, happened. I know that I want to be prioritising my contributions to this life story, but want and need are two very different things. What I have needed to do is live my life, and I have had little time to sit down and tell you my story. Today, however, I got a mental and emotional slap around the face, and I need to tell you why.

- - - - 

Robert-James, Poppy (dog) and Scratch (cat).

- - - -

Drum roll, please... The theme is “No Regrets”. Okay, so you get no points if you guessed that correctly because the key is in the title of the post, but this gives it no less meaning.

“No regrets” has been a big part of my life for a long time. I think it might have been the first “Illi-ism” that I invented. My Illi-isms are the rules by which I live my life. They are my guiding light in the dark; my rose in the thorns; my personal moral compass. When I wake every day, I am proud of who I am and confident that I am having a positive impact on the people I care about, and even for strangers who I pass by, and a big part of this is my Illi-isms.

- - - - 

I know that for a lot of people, having no regrets seems like a difficult – if not impossible – task. After all, is it not in human nature to regret? I would argue against this**. My stance on the matter is this:

“Illi-ism #1: No regrets. Ever.
If you regret any life experience, you are doubting who you are today because they are our building blocks.” - a quote from my Illi-isms.

This means that a bad relationship may indirectly lead to a good one and to lifelong happiness, bad school grades might help you become a professional singer, or being homeless and hungry for a week could have made you into a more humble and grateful person.

The extreme for this is that I have been through so much in my lifetime that no one should ever have to go through – physically, mentally, emotionally and sexually assaulted, robbed, burgled, lied to – but I remain vigilant and positive, through all of it. I am not happy about what I have been through. It makes me sad. But I am also very proud of how strong it has made me, of the choices I have made since those events and of the moral person I continue to be.

When we were happy, before everything
went wrong. 28th July 2014.

- - - - 

Precisely two years ago today, I met a man - Matt [Osborne] - who would several months later sexually assault me inside my own home, on my own bed, while I tried to sleep. He was a close friend, a romantic interest (we kissed a few times) and most importantly of all, my legal (fully qualified!) Carer. I truly trusted him, and it cost me dearly. His reason? He claimed he did not know what he was doing and that he was asleep while doing it. Whether this is true or not, I do not know.

Although the experience weakened me at the time and for many months after (PTSD: Post Traumatic Stress Disorder), it also made me stronger. Without that experience, I might not be as independent as I am today. I lost my ability to entrust my physical and mental wellbeing to another, so I had to learn to fend for myself (again).

I found the strength within me to report the crime, with the help of my friend Jon [Thurtell]. Although the police referred to it as a “mild” sexual assault due to the fact that he “only” touched my breast without my consent and on another occasion indecently exposed himself to me, I stood my ground that it was wrong and he deserved to be made accountable. I sadly lost my case due to a “his word against yours” situation - even though I had an email confession from him – but I am still to this day amazed that I even tried.

The final FaceBook Chat between Matt - aka "Lupus Solitaras" and myself.

- - - - 

Fast-forward two years, and I find myself looking at the “On This Day...” FaceBook feature, noticing the “Anniversary” of our meeting... and not particularly caring...

I had a brief moment of upset and recollection, but it faded very quickly and was replaced by an odd feeling of “Has it really only been that short a time?”. Nor did I shed a single tear. These facts mean that I am recovered.

My road to recovery... The first photograph is of the "evidence" returned to me from the police investigation: my bed sheets and my night clothes that I was wearing at the time that Matt told me were a "cock tease" and the reason for his actions. The second is the day that I was able to finally open the bag... and the third is present-day me, when I am now able to actually wear the nightclothes that I wore that night, without hurt.

- - - - 

Another thing that I ought to regret – yet I do not – is my now failed engagement. Robert-James [Brazier] and I recently (a few weeks ago) decided that our relationship was not working, and that we must stop trying to force it. It was a difficult and sad decision, but also a relieving one. We still feel something for one another, but sometimes love is not enough, and you must move on. We remain friends, all-be-it somewhat awkward ones.(..)

August 10th 2015: "We met a gentleman at Ramsgate Train
Station with a bag full of puppies, accompanied
by their mother and father. So sweet!"

Furthermore, I need to state that this means that my ex-boyfriend, ex-boss, ex-friend Matthew B was correct in his judgement of our (Robert-James and my) coupling being a poor match and his reasoning behind this opinion also proved to be true. I shan't go into detail, but one thing is clear here, and that is in the ending of the “RJ-IA” romance, I have suffered two very heavy losses, but neither of which I can regret.

I lost my fiance, and I lost my friendship (and potentially rekindled romance) with my ex, Matthew B***. He made it clear that he did not want to continue being a part of my life because I chose Robert-James and he knew it was doomed to fail and that I would be hurt. If he ever reads this, he can quietly and smugly utter “I told you so” and know that it is well-founded.

"Enjoy your life with this replacement Mark. I do not want to have to stand by and watch you destroy everything you fought so hard for." - Matthew B's last words to me, via FaceBook Message.

However, without my failed relationship with Robert-James and the loss of my friendship with Matthew B, I would not have my wonderful dog Poppy, nor would I have met the lady who I consider to be my closest friend in the world, Kirsty [Swan], and rekindled my lost friendship with her long-term partner Mark [Sutton], aka “my Amy Pond”.

- - - - 

No regrets. Not ever. Everything that happened in the past forms who we are in the present. I love who I am today**** and I would not want it changed.

I hope that each of you can read this and take some of that positive attitude and put it into your own lives. Be proud of who you are!

PS. Containing the theme, I am returning to my Being Erica marathon. It is a television program about time travelling to change your regrets, full of heart and humour.

- - - -

*Eviction notice, for one!

**Except I would not, because not arguing is another Illi-ism.

***Just over a year ago, right after E3 2015...

****(although I do have plenty of faults, I feel they are far outweighed by things I am proud of)

Un-Sticking The Love Addiction Rut

Me with my new glasses. Apparently
I needed them and never knew!

Forgive me, readers, for I have sinned. It has been six, long months since my last confession (aka Blog post). I have circum to sloth and fallen prey to habit and complacency in my day-to-day life. 

Essentially, I have been in what is commonly referred to as a “rut”. Today, however, I – figuratively - stand tall and proudly state that that “rut” officially ends; because today I signify this by returning to writing my (/our) life story.

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Week, after week, after week I sit at my keyboard and think about what to write. Some times I even manage a few paragraphs. However, I always fall short of completion, for various reasons.

My number one reason, I have come to realise, and the topic for my “come-back” post is depression and loss. It has taken me a lot of soul-searching and self-analysing to realise that, un-coincidentally, six months ago was when one of the most important people in my life left me very abruptly and we have not seen one another nor spoken since.

My last update spoke about recovering from my love addiction, but I have in fact still been suffering from it.

- - - - 

My fiance Robert-James and I with our puppy
Poppy, the day that we brought her home.

My ex-boyfriend Matthew met with my then-boyfriend, now-fiance Robert-James and I and it did not go well. He became utterly convinced that we were a terrible fit and that “RJ” would be my undoing. He left in anger and sent me several very long, passionate messages and promptly “Blocked” me on social media so that I could not help him see reason.

I respect his decision, but I do not agree with his reasons. I and all who know me well enough can see that Robert has been a huge, positive influence on me; helping me to grow as a person and become more independent, rekindling friendships that I thought were long past and of course getting me through my past traumas step-by-step, day-by-day.

- - - - 

So, for the past six months I have been happy. But also sad. I gained a future husband, but I lost some one that I cared – and still care – for deeply. He and I may have had our “ups-and-downs” but I choose to concentrate on the “ups”, and this is why I miss him almost every day. I hope that he will return to our friendship in the future, but I think that it is time that I move on and realise that I cannot dwell on some thing that I have no power over. No amount of (ignored) phone calls, emails or gifts will make him return to me, no matter though I wish it might.

The problem with being a love addict is that it can seriously “creep-up” on you some times. I have, essentially, been in six months of denial. I was concentrating so much on the fact that I had found my “Happily Ever After” with my Robert-James, recovering from my love addiction and forming a healthy, stable relationship, that I did not realise that I have been in deep, solumn mourning for the loss of a different kind of love; a friendship that has been with me for literally more than half of my life.

- - - -

Ironically, my last post spoke about how quickly I was able to move on from the loss of my friendship. I stated confidently “I was able to recover from the loss of one of my closest confidants, friends and ex-love within days, rather than moping and mourning for months.” The irony is in that last part, where I reference my usual moping-for-months pattern that I presumed I had passed from, but this is obviously not the case.

So, it has essentially taken me six months, but I think that now, finally - though it pains me ever-so – I need to let go, because this mourning-filled rut needs to end.

- - - - 

Mark and I have welcomed one another into each-others
lives again. Scratch missed him, clearly!

- - - -

I have done a great deal of personal growth within the past six months. I have made new friends, rebuilt bridges with old ones, I see a therapist frequently to help me with my traumas, I am going outside more often and even alone, without Robert-James to cling on to, and I have even finally managed to pick up my camera again for the first time since my “mild sexual assault*”. However, I have, quite unintentionally, been holding my self back with my sorrow, rather than moving forward with my joy.

So, today is the day that I send my most sincere, best wishes out to my old friend Matthew and bare him a fond farewell. He knows where I am, should he decide he wants us to be friends again, but I need to stop holding on to that hope and instead embrace the love that I know is real; the love of friends and family that are still a part of my life.

Good-bye, Matthew. Hello, Illisia Adams, still-recovering love addict extraordinaire!

- - - - 

* As stated by the authorities. This is a topic that I shall be writing about in the near future.

Growing Pains

Me cuddling my first-ever candyfloss at the Folkestone Jubilee
Air Show back in 2012, looking innocent as always.

- - - - 

One of my more defining traits has always been my innocence. People often call me “cute”, “sweet” and “naive” and I have always held proud to these titles.

I have always looked at other adults and felt somewhat sorry for them that they cannot see the world with the purity and positivity that I do; that they are so often pessimistic, crude-minded and serious. In contrast, I look at the world and see its beauty and its wonder, I see the good in every one and every thing, and to be honest, I have never wanted to “grow up” and become part of the “real world” (as others have phrased it) because I would feel like I was losing some thing that is very precious and should be held onto tightly by any means.

- - - - 

In contrast, however, this innocence I have has also made me an outcast. I find myself being the center of many jokes, more-often-than-not because “friends” use adult humour in my presence and due to my naivety meaning that I do not “get” the joke, they then laugh at me. It is a most unpleasant feeling.

I also find that I do not seem to “fit-in” to any one age group, which makes it difficult to make friends, and to keep them. I am physically twenty-seven years of age, I have the intelligence quotient, lifestyle choices and “posh” speaking voice of some one three times my age, and I have the spirit of a child, being as how I am sonew to this world.

I can hold a philosophical debate or discuss classical music with older people, go "clubbing" with people my age, and play games with toddlers who treat me like one of them***, and yet I feel empty somehow because I do not feel like I truly belong any where.

- - - - 

Likely the most consequential result of my innocent outlook on this world, however, is how easy it is for others to hurt me and take advantage of me. On one-hand, I am happy to have such an open heart to others and to be so positive against all odds, but on the other-hand, I have been lied to, robbed and even physically and sexually assaulted by those I chose to trust, who were able to use what they knew about me, against me.

I cannot always be "angelic", I "need to grow up"
people tell me... Or can I find balance with both?
Photograph and edit: Michael Hare

My best friend stole hundreds of pounds from me on my Birthday of all days and I have not heard from her since*, my house-mate Mark [Sutton] was well aware that if he spent his share of the rent and bill money I would “cover it” and simply put it on our mental “tab” because I was so nice*, and of course I have had several men take advantage of my trust and innocence to abuse me sexually, knowing that either I would not know what they were doing and would not complain, that I would forgive them, or that I would not tell any one.

- - - - 

As much as I cherish my innocence, I cannot hold on to it forever. Part of living life is growing up. Each of us progresses through “stages” in our lives, and I think that is is time enough for me to progress to the next stage in mine.

I hope that I shall always be a positive person and that I will always hold true to my principles of kindness and always see the world in beautiful, vibrant colours, etc, but it is time for me to intermix those factors with more adult ones.

- - - - 

Robert and myself doing a webcam "selfie"

I have decided that this point in my life is what can only be described as my “teenage stage”. I am experimenting with who I am, expanding my social horizons, and even developing a fondness for alcoholic beverages and romance. Even my new boyfriend [Robert] says that I “giggle like a school girl” and act like I have never been in a relationship before! Perhaps he is partially correct. Was I not ready to share my life romantically with another person up until this point, because I was not emotionally mature enough? It also helps that I am now dating some one who is more my physical age**, not long-since a teenager himself.

Robert has a boyishness to him that pairs nicely with my IQ and my innocence and is somewhat refreshing. He tells rude jokes, laughs at bodily functions and enjoys partying and computer games (etc), often leading me to jest that “[he is] such a boy!”, and yet he is also intelligent, and has his whole life still ahead of him, having barely left College. We have a healthy balance in our relationship, with love, respect, equality, intellect and fun between us.

- - - - 

With regards to my priorly discussed love addiction, spiritual youth and recovery from sexual assault, he has also been very supportive and understanding. I feel like I am with him because I want to be, not because I must be, which is far healthier, he is open minded to my spiritually-three-years-old plight and he is very happy to wait for me to be ready for sex.

I am hoping that – with Robert's help – I can progress, but also still be the Illisia Adams that my friends know and love.

- - - - 

* To be discussed at a later date.

** I am twenty-seven, he is twenty-four.

*** I think that perhaps they "sense" my spiritual age, that I am not simply a grown-up.

“Onwards And Upwards” Or Is It “The Song Remains The Same”?

Myself and Daniel (cut out because he is
camera-shy) atop London, in a London Eye carriage.

This past week has been a rather eventful one. In fact, the week end had more excitement than many others combined! It has been a real “game-changer” for me.

I had decided that a visit to London was long-over-due, so I asked friends if they were free to spend time together, and – in a rather unusual (and brave, I think) move on my part – I also invited my family to spend time with me.

- - - - 

For the first time since before my “mild” sexual assault last year* I packed my bags, booked my travel, and set off for London alone. I had been to London for my Re-Birthday on November 1^st with a few friends, but this was different. This was a serious challenge, after what I had experienced. But I was not letting my assailant control me. The more that I stayed indoors and refrained from seeing my friends (and family) and doing the things that I love, the more he was winning, even if he is no longer physically in my life.

Before I got the National Express coach, however, my friend David cancelled on me, informing me that his grand mother had fallen ill so he was unable to meet me and spend time with me on Friday. I was scared by this, but there was no thing that I could do about it, so I simply accepted it, and carried on.

- - - -  

A photograph that I took at London Victoria train station, one of the
busiest in the country, that I navigated alone this weekend.

During the coach journey, I “made conversation” with other travellers and the driver (who was very considerate of my disabled needs), and upon arrival I went to the Disabled Lounge and was offered the use of a mobile phone by a good samaritan so that I could call friends and family and figure out what to do. I spoke with my mother and father who were happy to have me over to visit their home for a few hours, ahead of the pre-scheduled Sunday meeting.

I soon wished that I had not made this arrangement, however, because as soon as I entered their home, my mother was already making me feel like an unwelcome outsider and not like her daughter in the slightest. Father had given me the misconception that mother had accepted “Illisia Adams” and that we would be okay. We were not. She spent the next several hours making me feel very uncomfortable, insulting my life decisions, my dress sense and the way that I speak (apparently I am "snooty" and “pompus”), and taking every opportunity to try to argue with me. We were truly polar opposites, and clashed on far too many levels.

- - - -

Myself with Cleo, the Donovan family dog. She and I have never really got along, I think that she knows that I am not Cherie, the human that she knew and loved. But she has gotten used to me, the more times that she and I have met.

 - - - - 

I was very, very glad when it was time to leave to meet with my friend Daniel in the centre of London, whom I would be staying with. I was several hours late after getting utterly lost in the London transport system, but I felt a wonderful sense of accomplishment, having done it myself, and I did not panic or cry, even once. I had a very Heroes moment, proclaiming “yu-tu!” to the sky.

The evening progressed with Daniel and myself playing a (my first-ever in-real-life) Magic: The Gathering game with his ever-brilliant German housemate and her two friends whom she had invited over, and there was also much drinking and general merriment. I was initially nervous, but I know matter-of-factually that alcohol calms my nerves and makes me more able to socialise, etc, so after a little bit of “booze” in me, I was able to join-in, and I had a fantastic night.

Our game of Magic: The Gathering on Saturday night.

- - - - 

The next day Daniel and I spent visiting The London Eye and The London Dungeon, after I redeemed my Tesco Clubcard Merlin Pass which I purchased off of eBay last year, which gives me access to all of the attraction owned by the Merlin company for the next year, and free entry for a person whom accompanies me also. I discovered that I had already made-back the value of my eBay purchase with the equivalent entrance fees for Daniel and myself for the attractions we visited, which was excellent.

I had great fun at both attractions, although neither were particularly disabled-friendly. Thankfully with my Disabled Merlin Pass I was able to bypass most of the queuing. Daniel and I both agreed that we were glad that we had use of my Merlin Pass, because we did not think the attractions were actually worth the usual price. Free, however, was fantastic value. Obviously.

- - - - 

The dinner that I had with my mother, father
and grand-mother on Sunday evening.

We reach Sunday, and I make arrangements to meet with my parents for dinner, along with my mother’s mother. I played a couple of two-player Magic: The Gathering games with Daniel first, one of which I won and one of which I lost. The journey to my parents’ home had me on the London Underground and getting rather lost and confused several times, but again, I did not panic, and I was not late in meeting my father in the car park, so over-all I was pleased with myself.

Once again, however, I spent the next few hours tolerating consistent insults and negativity, the result of which is that, sadly, I feel that I must now abandon my efforts to become part of my physical family. I respect and love my mother because she gave this body life, but I cannot abide her company. It is far too stressful an experience. I literally "downed" my galss of wine to help myself cope.

I have also noted that the more time that I spend with my mother, and the more time she insists that I am Cherie and she insults who I am, etc, the more I – subconsciously – try to change myself to please her, and that is not fair on me. I am happy with who I am, and she needs to be too, or I cannot spend time with her. Hence, I have had to fly my white flag and accept that this is unfortunately a lost cause…

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My room, where I stayed for the night in Dover. Alone.
It was terrifying, but also somewhat empowering...

Sunday’s journey home was also a stressful disaster. My father and I had an uncomfortable discussion as he drove me to the train station, where I proceeded to ask one of the staff which half of the train I needed to be seated in to journey to Margate. He told me the second-half, so I walked to “carriage six of eight”, where I fell asleep. When I awoke, however, I found myself in Dover, not in Margate, and it was nearly midnight, so there were no further trains running, and I was utterly lost, confused, tired and scared.

I initially tried using a nearby phone box to call my legal Carer, Matthew [B], but there was no answer, so I presume that he was asleep, given the hour. I had no access to Wi-Fi and no phone numbers for any of the locals that I knew, and the taxis waiting outside the station would have charged goodness-knows-how-much for the journey back home, so after a few minutes of tears and shaking, I decided to be brave and approach the local pub - The Priory Pub/Hotel - for help.

I am glad that I did, because the “regulars” and the staff, etc, were all wonderfully understanding of my plight and helpful to a fault. They got me a Single room for the night for £25, and spoke with me until I had calmed. The scotch that I purchased was also a big help, and a very reasonable price. I made friends, and I “chilled-out” enough to fall asleep fairly quickly when the pub closed for the night and it was time to close my eyes and rest.

The next day I had breakfast there and then arranged for a friend to meet me at Ramsgate Station. I am now borrowing use of his laptop to write this Blog post, as I am still not home as yet, but I shall be soon enough.

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The external view of the Donovan home. It is lovely and cosey!

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I had every intention of this week’s Blog post being titled Onwards And Upwards, and being centered around my efforts to form a mother-daughter bond and how we are moving forward and being a family at last, with a group photograph to share with you all, etc. Unfortunately, the fantasy did not match the reality.

However, in retrospect, there was indeed a lot of moving onwards and upwards, just not in the way(s) that I had hoped. I travelled alone, socialised, and even managed to maintain my “cool” through extreme stresses.

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A lot has stayed unchanged, however. I am still living alone in Margate, still held back here by many of my fears (several assaults, for a start) and the constraints of a physically disabled person. Add to the mix the fact that I am starting to realise I seem to be incapable of relaxing in Thanet, compared to London, where when I visit, even though my surroundings are new and things are a little noisy, etc, I feel happier and healthier and stronger as a person. Which leads me to wonder, if I stay in Thanet, am I holding myself back? Will “The Song Remain[s] The Same”? Or could I consider saving up money to move back to London?

I have a lot of thinking to do. But, there is no rush. I am still very young, and I know that I have friends who will help me through these decisions to hopefully a more positive future.

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NB: I shall be seeking compensation from National Rail for the distress and the money that I had to spend because of them.

* To be discussed at a later date.