Happy New Year!

I hope you all had a great new year celebration whether you decided to go out all glammed up or stayed at home and ate junk food. Hell even if you were in bed by nine I hope it was the best damn sleep you ever had, if you worked your arse off then I hope your next day off rocks!

I’m in a good mood, can you tell?

So everyone is talking about resolutions and whether they will be making them or not. I don’t so much go for resolutions like ‘exercise more’ or ‘loose weight’ because those are year round ongoing battles for me. Sometimes I’m great at it and sometimes I suck. That’s life. However I did decide to make two little resolutions and the first is about how I interact with people online. I’d made the choice to stop arguing with stupid.

What I mean by that is whenever I read an article, or a Facebook post, or watch a video on YouTube and I inevitably end up wandering down to the comments section only to find it flooded with ridiculous comments I’m no longer going to engage in keyboard arguments.

Whatever it was that prompted them to spew their uninformed bile into the comments section won’t suddenly go away if I reply. The stupid is strong and my comment won’t make them less stupid. It won’t make me feel better and neither will the barrage of abuse that usually comes after posting any kind of comment online. So my answer to this is to just step away from it all.

At the end of the day my opinion won’t change their opinion. All it does it leave people feeling angry or frustrated. I don’t have time for that anymore. I don’t need the negativity and I sure as shit don’t want it.

I have a feeling I’m going to end up backspacing a lot this year so 2016 is your year backspace key! It’s time to step up!

The second is about taking better care of me. I guess the first resolution sort of ties into this because that’s about taking care of my mental well being sort of but the rest is a mixture of mental and physical health.

I’m not disgusting person. I don’t smell. I bathe regularly. However I can get a bit lazy about doing the little things that make a huge difference in the long run like remembering to take off my make up before I go to sleep, actually moisturizing after a shower or brushing and flossing my teeth properly for a full 2-3 minutes instead of giving them a quick scrub and saying ‘fuck the floss’. They’re little things that if you occasionally don’t do don’t really matter but I am a lazy bitch and I need to push myself to get back into good habits!

As for my mental health I’ve discovered since going low contact with my family that I don’t need to let people torture me just because I think they should be in my life. Family isn’t family if they aren’t supportive, loving and nurturing. Friends aren’t friends if they take advantage, use you for their own gains or treat you like a doormat. You don’t need these people in your life, I don’t need them in my life. So I’m choosing to back away from relationships that are detrimental to me and my well being. I’ve been guilty of letting people close to me become abusive before I’m forced to cut them out of my life. It’s not something I’ll be continuing.

Did you make resolutions?

2015 was apparently the year everyone was offended. Personally I don’t think 2016 will mean that people are any less offended because with such an enormous social media presence for every tiny little thing that’s ever existed people will find ever new and strange ways to find something offensive. It was a strange year for me. Lot’s of good, quite a bit of bad, but all in all I wouldn’t say it was a terrible year. I learned a lot about my life, I came to some very stark realizations and I have improved.

2016 is going to be a good year. I’m due to hit an important milestone on my Second Life blog which I’m super excited about, I’m working on my skills and I’m feeling good about my mental health. I’m a happy little Cryssie and I very much want it to continue. Plus there will be some more weird hair colours!

I hope 2016 will be good year for you too!




Christmas Delight!

I hope you’re all having an awesome Christmas or whichever other holiday you celebrate this time of year. If you don’t celebrate anything then I hope you had an awesome Friday!

So as you know I opted for a family free Christmas this year and while I was looking forward to it I was a little apprehensive about cooking a huge turkey, since I’ve never cooked anything as big as a turkey before, and not burning everything and ruining it.

However I’m pleased to report that I managed to cook a turkey and all the trimmings without ruining anything. I was told it tasted absolutely delicious too so I’m feeling more than a little pleased with myself.


I definitely ate way too much food but it really did taste bloody delicious. Not that i’m blowing my own horn or anything but I kinda am. Toot toot toot!

We decided to make some new traditions of our own and making a ham and having a ham dinner on Christmas Eve was one of them. So here’s a bit more horn blowing about my gorgeous ham!


Mmmmm, honey and mustard glaze. It was the perfect amount of salty and piled on buttery mash potatoes with stewed red cabbage and apple, it was to die for. I got lots of compliments about the ham too. I’ve always been a fairly decent cook, although I’m no Nigella, but I am proudly donning my domestic goddess badge after the past two days.

Plus I made mince pies. They might not be the prettiest mince pies ever made but they tasted amazing and I crammed them full of mincemeat, cranberries and clementine juice.

mince pies

There was so much more food I didn’t take pictures off like the Christmas pudding and the trifle but we were too busy eating them to care.

I honestly wish I’d done this years and years ago. I’ve never felt more relaxed, happy and content at Christmas in my life. No family picking at  me until I’m almost crying, nobody verbally abusing me, no snide digs about my weight, outfit, make-up, etc. It’s been bliss! BLISS!

Also just because I fancied a change, and I will probably end up going back pink once this wears off, I went with some teal hair for Christmas!


It comes out much bluer in pictures. Not entirely sure why. Still, even looking blue it looks awesome. It almost looks like a wig when I look in the mirror. I wish it was a wig, it would be so much easier to switch colours.

Everyone needs to worship my M.A.C Russian Red lipstick. I love that thing so hard. It’s sheer joy to wear.

Enjoy your holidays! Tomorrow I’m going to stuff my face with leftovers and be just as happy as I was today.


Mr Hissy Fit & The Bus Journey

Today my other half and I decided that we were going to go on a little bus trip to the local big city. We don’t go often but there’s a Greyhound bus that runs from where we live to the city and it’s cheap and direct.

As you may, or may not know, I’m officially registered as disabled. I have a serious problem with my left knee that means it doesn’t bend fully, is in chronic pain and often dislocates with little or no warning. I walk with crutches on a permanent basis and probably will for the rest of my life.

The front two seats on any coach usual have the most leg room. If I book coach tickets I always book as a disabled passenger and they reserve those seats for me. However on the Greyhound there’s no pre-booking. Just turn up and pay.

Coming back from the city the bus pulls into the bay and there are two men sitting in each the front seats. One in each double set of seats. I get on the bus and politely ask both of them if one of them would please move so I could sit there because my disability means I struggle with the narrower seats further up the bus. One stays utterly silent but the other who makes eye contact with me makes a rather loud and grumpy huffing sound and reluctantly moves his jacket and bag from the seat next to him and grumps that I can sit there. The hissy fit was already starting…

I explain I’m with someone and would like to sit next to them and would he mind shuffling over to sit next to the other guy in the adjacent front seat. The hissy fit went into full force. The muttering and huffing that I was an inconvenience to him and then he made the following comment,

‘Thank God I’m not surgically attached to my partner’

My irritated (at his hissy fit) yet thankful (that he was moving) demeanour immediately changed. I said very clearly as he sat in the adjacent seat ‘RUDE!’. Which he indeed was. My other half sat down and asked me what was going on and I explained, loud enough for Mr Hissy Fit to hear, what he’s said to me. I thought my other half was going to explode. I don’t think wanting to sit next to the person I’m travelling with, and engaged to, is an unreasonable request. Surely sitting next to a fat, grumpy, pained stranger while she squirms around trying to get comfortable is worse than moving 6ft? The man sat in the adjacent seat was even his friend! So he wasn’t sat next to a stranger by moving there.

I hope Mr Hissy Fit feels proud of the temper tantrum he had at a disabled woman on a bus full of people. Nobody said a word, not even the driver. I was polite in my request for him to move and I’ve done this several times before and people usually move with no fuss or even offer me the seat before I get chance to ask.

I wonder if he realises that today my disability cost him 30 seconds of inconvenience out of his day and his hissy fit more than made up for that. However my disability inconveniences me every second of every damn day. I don’t get to leave that inconvenience behind after 30 seconds, I have to take it everywhere I go. I have to find special access to buildings, I have to plead with strangers to let me sit in places that have the space allowance I need, I have to deal with the draining exhaustion of being in chronic pain and having dramatically reduced mobility while I go about my day doing things he takes for granted.

I wish I could say he was the first and that he’d be the last but he won’t. While most people are brought up to be polite and considerate, and have been incredibly sweet to me, I’ll always meet the self absorbed pricks who think I’m a nuisance and should spend my time hiding indoors away from the general public.

His karma will come. Maybe one day he’ll be in my position and will have to deal with someone who is as big of an asshole as he was to me.

Moving on to a plus side we went to the big city to get in some shopping and stuff before the Christmas rush gets crazy. I nipped into the Beauty Store by Superdrug (think Sephora but nowhere near as cool) to get my usual bits and I ended up getting this awesome freebie!


How amazing is that! I can’t believe they were just giving it away for free. It’s way, way too nice for that but I’m super happy I got one. GOSH make awesome make-up but weirdly I’ve never used their eye shadow before so I’m excited to try this out. Going to be getting my YouTube smokey eye tutorials on the go soon. Maybe MannyMUA has something I can recreate. Love Manny so hard! He gives me life.



A Family Free Christmas

After the big blow out I had with my parents back at the end of July I made the decision that I wouldn’t be making the effort to go home for Christmas again. Ever.

I assumed at the time that I’d been disowned after what they’d said to me but apparently this wasn’t the case. Since July and now my mother has made a few half arsed attempts at getting me to contact them. Most of them seem to have involved sending me presents or money I didn’t ask for. She didn’t send me anything HUGE, just things I think that were supposed to ‘bribe’ me into breaking my no contact rule. I guess in a sense I did break it because each of her ‘presents’ resulted in a ‘thank you’ text from me. I think I’ve said a grand total of 6 words to my mother via text since July.

I did however have a ridiculous conversation with my Golden Child Sister (ACoN will know what this means). She sent me a FB message to inform me that my mother was going into hospital and then proceeded to berate me when I didn’t immediately rush to text her. I got lots of choice phrases like ‘have a heart, she’s your mother‘, ‘If you give a shit about Mam you you would text her!‘ and ‘All this needs to stop, just text and say sorry and that you want everything to go back to normal‘. Only ‘normal’ for me means being abused by my family so I’d rather avoid that normal… kthnxbai.

I’m getting distracted now so back to the family free Christmas. I guess if things had calmed down and I’d gotten a proper apology I probably would have caved and ended up going back home for Christmas and suffering through it like I always did. But that apology never came and the decision to not go home has stuck.

I dread Christmas every year and it honestly makes me a bit of a Scrooge. I end up hating Christmas by the time it arrives because by the time it rolls around my anxiety of having to spend time with people who seem to actively dislike me makes me really angry about it being Christmas.

This Christmas I am actually looking forward to it! I can’t believe the change in my attitude towards it all. I’m excited about it! I’m making my own Christmas dinner. I bought my turkey the other day and I felt sheer excitement about it. I’ve got everything planned out and AHHHH EXCITEMENT! ACTUAL FUCKING EXCITEMENT! ABOUT CHRISTMAS! It’s the oddest feeling but I’m loving it.

I should have done this years ago.

In even happier news… I got a cat! His name is Buddy and he’s 5 years old. We adopted him from a couple who weren’t allowed to keep him any more and he’s my sookie ginger prince.



He’s so affectionate and very, very vocal. He loves nothing more than waking me up with the song of his people every morning as well as rubbing his wet nose all over my face. Although honestly it’s kind of nice to be woken up by a handsome furry face purring like you’re the best thing he’s ever seen. So much love. We’ve had him for about two months now and he’s here to stay. He’s found his forever home.


When ‘Black Sheep’ Just Doesn’t Cover It.

I know I’ve been gone for a while and I’ve been dealing with some high pain levels, having to get Peaches surgery to remove a tumour and having to put Splinter to sleep because she developed a Pituitary Tumour and there’s no surgery to fix that. It’s been a rough couple of months and the past few days really haven’t helped. This is going to be a long post about my parents and the way they’ve treated me. It might be a trigger for those of you going through, or been through, something similar.

I know there are lots of people who struggle with parental issues and while my teenage years were at best tolerable and at worst torturous I thought that now I was a grown ass adult, I’m 31 in a few short weeks, that my parents would at least pretend to have a level of respect for me that they would show another adult.

This is apparently not the case. I’m not even sure where to start with this because I spent most of yesterday bouncing between upset, angry and offended and while I’m not sitting around bawling my eyes out like I was yesterday the feelings definitely have not gone away.

So let’s start with some back story. My father is a bully and my mother is an enabler.

She allows him to treat me, specifically, with a level of what I can only describe as hatred that I normally would reserve for my biggest enemies. The worst part is he bounces in and out of it with such dramatic swings that I feel like I could get whiplash just watching him. He does things that make me think… ‘wow, my Dad is actually being a Dad. I guess he really does like me.’… only for him to turn around mere moments later and say or do something so horrific that I start wondering if he’s actually two people. Baring in mind that I have TWO siblings who are both younger than me and I’ve never seen either of my parents display the level of contempt they appear to have for me towards either of them.

I haven’t lived with them for about 10 years. I moved an hour away from where they live to go to university. They think it’s because the university course I wanted to do wasn’t available in the university that would have allowed me to live at home. It was because I wanted out. I wanted to be away from the torment that is my father and mother. I don’t remember being hugged, I don’t remember being encouraged, I don’t remember being told I did a good job. If these things did happen the level of resentment I hold for them has wiped it from my memory.

You may think I’m overreacting and sometimes I think it myself. I’ve always wanted my family to like me and try to understand me but no matter how hard I try it’s never seemed to happen. I was bullied a lot growing up and while most people would consider their home a safe haven mine was just another place where I was bullied. He picked on me constantly about my weight. Every time I put any form of food near my lips he’d comment on it. He’d say I looked like the side of a house, like a beached whale, like a tank and other loving comments every teenage girl wants to hear. He’d comment on my hair, my clothes, my make-up. Nothing was how he wanted it look and that meant he had to speak the ‘truth’ and tell me how terrible it was. He thinks spouting his opinion left and right is the truth and that if you can’t handle his ‘truth’ then it’s your problem and not his.

When it wasn’t him personally it was him and my enabling mother allowing my siblings to pick, pick, pick at me like vultures until I reached my limit and snapped. Once I snapped I was punished for being mean to my siblings yet they were allowed to continue picking at me.

So moving for me was the break I needed from a home that was anything but a safe, loving environment. They weren’t happy about this and I foolishly though it was because they would miss me but I’m beginning to think the reality of it is that they were losing their emotional punching bag. I think they took a level of joy in emotionally torturing me until I broke and then making me feel worse by calling me over emotional and too sensitive when it happened.

It’s continued through the years. My siblings still pick at me every time they can, my father still shares his ‘truths’ until I want to curl up in a corner and die. I’ve considered suicide more times that I care to admit because of how they make me feel. Because of how much of an outcast I feel within my own family and yet something inside me still wants them to love me. They won’t. They never did. They never will.

It all started coming to a head about two weeks ago. My father received a Christmas Gift that was a ride on some zip line in North Wales. At Christmas time we’d all talked about going and my Dad had made a point of saying we’d all go as a family. He repeatedly talking about making a night of it, even if I couldn’t ride the zip line. He made a fuss about making sure to remind my fiancé to book time off work and it would be a big family adventure. Everyone was excited and for the first time in as long as I could remember I felt included. They’d done so many other ‘family’ things without me and I’d find the ‘family pictures’ on Facebook and I wasn’t in them. I thought things were changing for the better. I was wrong.

I found the pictures of them all in North Wales while I was sat in the bus station waiting for my bus. I’d been to see my doctor and my bus was a good 45 minute wait so I decided to flip through Facebook to pass the time. They popped up right away. Pictures of them all together having fun on the zip line, pictures of them out at the pub afterwards having family meals and drinks with not only my siblings but their respective partners. Where was my invite? Wasn’t I supposed to be going to?

I sent my mother a text message asking where my invite was. She responded telling me that I wouldn’t have liked it because those not on the zip line had, had to wait around in the cold for a while. I responded to tell her that I never got the opportunity to find out because I hadn’t been invited. She didn’t respond. No apology for not inviting me. Not even a fake ‘oh we forgot’. Nothing. I spent the 45 minutes sat in the bus station desperately trying not to break down in public. The last thing I needed was people trying to ask me if I was okay.

Once I got home I cried for a while and then I posted a status on Facebook saying that ‘We’ll all go’ means everyone except me. This was the first time I’ve never dared to voice my feelings over being left out. I’ve never once told them how what they say and do makes me feel but having had to put Splinter to sleep earlier in the week I had way too many emotions to contain and this one had to come out. I found out yesterday that this comment enraged my mother but more on that later.

So we’ve finally hit what happened yesterday. My father is a racist, homophobic, sexist man and loves to share posts from a vile, disgusting excuse of a Facebook group called Britain First. They’re a lesser known political party in the UK and their motto way as well be ‘if you aren’t white, fuck off’ because that’s exactly what their vile pushing of anything not white or ‘British’ is. I hate everything they stand for and I’d pretty much hit my limit of seeing him repost this filth.

I decided that I would ask him to stop. I left a comment on his latest racist, hate filled repost telling him that he should probably stop reposting things from the Britain First FB group. He almost immediately sent me a FB message telling me that if I had a problem with what he posted that I should inbox him because he ‘doesn’t share his live [sic] on this site’. I explained that everything he shares from Britain First says a lot about his life. I got the following response:


From my Dad. The man who is supposed to be loving, supportive and a role model for me had that as a response to me. It took me a while to digest it so I called my mother. She answered the phone with a huff and a ‘hello’ to which I said ‘He doesn’t get to say fuck you to me’. She hung up immediately. I called back, I was crying by this point, and was desperately trying to get her to understand that what he’d said to me was unacceptable. Not in her eyes.

She screamed and lectured me that he could post whatever he wanted on Facebook and I had no right to say otherwise. She screamed at me about the status update about them leaving me out of the North Wales trip. Every time I tried to speak she’d hang up on me like a petulant teenager. She eventually turned off her phone and I had to resort to calling the home number. They would refuse to answer and when they did they wouldn’t listen to anything I had to say. Eventually I managed to convince her to just stop and listen to what I had to say. I explained they’d hurt my feelings about the trip and she told me to grow up, despite her being the one throwing a temper tantrum right now, and proceeded to give me a list of reasons why I couldn’t go them. Most of them seemed to revolve around my disability and I think it’s the first time they’ve ever used it against me and that hurt more than anything. An apology would have fixed that entire ‘family trip’ issue but I won’t be getting one. She hung up mid sentence again.

My father finally answered the phone and told me that none of my siblings or family had the audacity to comment on his Facebook posts and that I had no right. I tried explaining that people on Facebook can see what he reposts and if he posts it he gives people the opportunity and right to comment. He told me I was laughing-stock of the family and that they all think I’m pathetic and hung up.

I kept trying to call to have them keep ignoring it and sending it to the voice mail. When my mother did answer it was to screech at me how she ‘wasn’t getting involved’ and when I asked if she thought it was acceptable he spoke to me that way she said it was. She’d started swearing at me and telling me it was my fault she was now swearing. My Dad was yelling things across the room in the meantime about how I should fuck off. I asked to talk to him so that I could apologise for commenting on his Facebook post, even though I had nothing to apologise for, and he could apologise for what he’d said to me. He refused and said he was done with me. My mother told me to ‘let it drop’ and hung up.

They made it so I couldn’t call them back by answering the phone, muting it and leaving it in the base with my call still connected. As you can imagine I was devastated. Despite the way they treat me I kept wanting them to see me as a family member and not the black sheep or failed first attempt they see me as.

At first I was upset but the more I thought about the more angry I grew. I didn’t resort to personal attacks about being a laughing-stock of the family or how I’d pathetic. I didn’t swear or screech like a banshee. I simply asked him to stop reposting racist posts and suddenly I’m disowned?

I think now it’s too late for an apology. I think the reason they turned on me so harshly is because I dared to show my hurt feelings about the family trip. I’m guessing feeling guilty for leaving me out has made them try to justify it by being angry at me for having feelings. I guess it makes it easier for them to cope with their guilt by making it my fault. How dare she have hurt feelings!

My mother made sure to throw in a few choice phrases while she was screeching at me. Most of them about me being ungrateful for all the things they do for me. How I receive so much more from them than my brother and sister (on what fucking planet??!?!) and that they bought me a washing machine. Which is true, they did. I offered, more than once, to give them the money for it to which my mother brushed it off and said it was a gift. Gifts apparently only count when they’re not holding them against you, once it becomes something to scream about it’s no longer a gift. Now it’s a reason why I’m an ungrateful little bitch.

I’d be lying if I said my parents never did anything for me because they did. They helped me move, they got carpet for my house and they’ve bought me things I needed. I didn’t ask for any of these things, these are thing they’ve offered to me as gifts and I’ve always been completely grateful. But that’s where their love ends, at the end of their credit card. I’m not sure whether they think they can fix the years of emotional abuse with money or that they don’t even realise they were abusive parents and just think money is how you show love. Just because someone doesn’t hit doesn’t mean they aren’t abusive. However money doesn’t justify being bullied by my own father, it doesn’t justify being made to feel so small that I wanted to die, it doesn’t justify talking to me like I’m something you scraped off the bottom of my shoe.

A friend of mine has a similar issue and we went through some of the main points that people with Narcissistic Personality Disorder display. My father has ever last one of them except physical abuse. The more I think about how they treated me as a child, as a teenager and even now as an adult the more I realise that he is a Narc Parent. I am the scapegoat, my siblings are the golden children, he is the narc parent and my mother is the enabler.

I’m not sure right now if I’m able to forgive him for the things he said to me yesterday. I offered an apology, like an adult, but he refused it. I’ve had time to sit and think and while he never deserved the apology it is now no longer on offer. He doesn’t deserve to be forgiven. I may calm down enough to ‘let it drop’ and we can go back to pretending that I’m okay with how they treat me but I will never forgive him or her for yesterday. I won’t ever be going home for Christmas again (I only used to do this to help out my mother because during Christmas they all become rowdy, drunk twats and my mother ends up feeling very frustrated, angry and unsupported – wow what a drag huh?). I won’t be calling them. I won’t be asking for help or offering my help either. I’m going low or no contact to keep my mental health in check.

That is if they decide that the disowning thing was just them overreacting. They may not and I don’t necessarily think that it’s a bad thing any more. I might just be better off.

Showing Compassion

I have a big mouth and lots tends to come out of it but today I was stunned into a little bit of silence. Well for a while at least.

I’m a chronic pain sufferer. I have been for almost 11 years now and as most CP sufferers will tell you there are good days and bad days.

Good days mean I can get up, get dressed, do some housework (or go to work before I was made redundant), make dinner and maybe just have enough ‘Spoons’ left for something fun. A hobby, a few drinks with a friend, a bit of a crutch around the marina. Whatever it was that lifted my spirits. Being in pain 24/7 can do a lot to making you feel angry, bitter and depressed so if you find something that makes you feel good then you cling to it with a passion.

Bad days involve me barely being able to get to the bathroom. Taking 20 minutes to shuffle from my bed to the toilet and back. They mean not showering or getting dressed, barely eating or drinking (unless you have someone to bring you something) and forgoing anything that may have lifted your spirits. Bad days are the worst.

Bad days tend to follow good days for the following reason. You push harder than you should, you do more than your body is really capable of and you feel invincible. On the other hand when those bad days roll around we still push and grit our teeth through the pain because you dread the one word that makes you feel like a failure of a human being. Lazy.

We even think it of ourselves when we simple cannot muster the will to do something that may need to get done. I think out of all the insults I face that ‘Lazy’ is the worst. We’re not being lazy. We are trying to work within our limits but this can be hard when things are expected of us. It can be hard when we have expectations of ourselves too.

Today I watched in horror as a supposed chronic pain (Person A) sufferer tore down a follow sufferer (Person B) for not coping with their pain the same way as they do. Person A seemed to have little or no compassion for Person B who had stated that sometimes they are unable to finish a blog post in a way that they would want to because their chronic pain is not something they are coping well with that day. Person A jumped to massive conclusions about Person B with zero idea of what is going on on their life.

Person A’s answer was, in much ruder terms, to just not bother. To put aside their blog post until they can complete it to standard that is suddenly being deemed as ‘acceptable’ amongst the Second Life Plurk community. There was lots of yelling and lots of insults towards anyone who dared to try and defend Person B.

I’ll be the first to say that it’s your blog. You complete your posts to whatever standard YOU deem acceptable and nobody else. If someone doesn’t like your blog then they are not forced to read it or have any part in it.

Not everyone deals or copes with their chronic pain the same way. Something that could knock me on my ass for days is something that someone else might be able to run a marathon through. Chronic pain is not just about a physical pain, it’s also the emotional impact is has on you. It’s exhausting, draining and sometimes it’s just too much. If writing a blog post, making dinner or knitting a scarf is the thing that gets you through those bad days (even if they are the worst blog posts, scarves and dinners you’ve ever made) then it’s what you need to keep doing.

Nobody gets to tell you to ‘shelve’ your hobby until you feel better. Only you can decide that. You are the person experiencing your pain. Nobody else.

As a fellow suffer I want to see less of the ‘special snowflake’ stuff banded about. It takes a great deal of courage to admit that you’ve hit your pain limit for the day and that it’s something that is holding you back. It’s not an excuse and it’s not making you (or anyone else) look bad. It’s being honest about your limits for that day. Those limits may be better tomorrow, they may be worse but they are your limits. Yes it can be frustrating when other CP sufferers seem to be able to achieve more than you but they are NOT you. They are not in your body.

Fellow CP sufferers who tear down, belittle and bully those who don’t handle their pain the exact same way make me angry. Person A it’s only a matter of time before you become the ‘lazy’ person to someone else. I hope you remember Person B and the way you tore them down, because that’s how you made them feel. They are not lesser than you because they can’t do the things you do. They look at you and wonder how the hell you manage it all because right now they can barely string together a cohesive thought. They do not need to be made to feel like even less of a person by those who should be offering support.

Let’s try being more compassionate towards our fellow CP suffers. Let’s spread encouragement and kind words instead of vitriol and condemning people for not handling things exactly as you do. The beauty of the human condition is that none of us are the same so why should our pain, and how we handle it, be? A lot of us know that this wild difference in how we deal with our pain is hard enough to cope with when we are trying to explain it to our doctors. Let’s have a bit more understanding for those going through the same things we are instead of being mean, cruel and downright disgusting in our behaviour.

My pain is a 7 today. Dinner won’t be happening because standing is ruled out for today but I did manage to finish my Second Life blog post and write this one. Yesterday was an 8. I was too sore to move, blog, make dinner, shower or anything else. Anyone feel like calling me lazy?


Redefining The Pain Scale

I woke up Monday morning in quite possibly the most pain I’ve ever been in. Everything, including my fingers, hurt and no matter which pain killers to took nothing seemed to be helping. It basically involved me sitting in a corner trying not to weep.

I’m guessing that I’m having a very bad fibromyalgia flare but I don’t have a lot of experience with the fibro so I don’t always associate my pain with this condition. I’m still in the process of being diagnosed so even though they think it might be fibro there’s a chance it could be something else. It can be very unnerving to be in that amount of pain without really knowing what is it that is causing it.

I mentioned on Plurk how bad my pain was because there’s a nice bunch on plurk and whenever you need a hug they’re always there for a virtual dog pile. I said that the pain chart needed a number higher than 10 because what I was feeling right at that point in time was actually making my consider calling the paramedics to take me to the hospital.

One of the fibro ladies (there’s a few and they are great with advise for a fibro noob like me) posted a graphic that I think more accurately defined my pain than any chart a doctor has presented me with.


 The graphic was linked from this website in the original Plurk but I’m not 100% sure who made it. If it was you I’ll gladly give you credit.

On that Monday I pegged me as a solid 11. That’s how much pain I was in. Despite my pain reading this actually gave me a much needed giggle and I propose that from now on all hospitals and doctors use this as a pain scale. I think it’s a much more accurate representation of how people with any kind of chronic pain tend to feel.

I like to call it a pain parade. My knee does the most hurting and then the other parts of my body like to join in with their own pain to make everything a bit worse until eventually I can’t figure out where one pain ends and the next one begins.

Now I’m down to what I’d consider a decent seven. I’m hoping this flare doesn’t last too long because I hate being rendered less mobile than I usually am because of it. I can usually deal with about a six in my knee. Yes it’s ridiculous that I can sit here and write that a level of six on the pain scale in my knee is a normal thing, but it is. The rest of my body needs to shut up and stop trying to get all the attention.

I might print this off and start carrying it around to point at which number I’m feeling. Here doc, I’m over 11 today. Can I get the body transplant yet?!?!


Achievement Unlocked: Pink Hair


You may or may not have read my blog post about the never ending quest for pink hair but after what feels like forever and a day of trying endless products I’ve found one that actually turned my hair pink!

It’s pink! It’s actually fucking pink!!!

I used the Manic Panic dye and honestly I wish I’d gone with this stuff straight away. I wish I’d known about it. It worked so well!


I got the Cotton Candy Pink and the pot of pastelizer. No more fucking around with conditioner that may or may not work.

I used half of each pot, so that means I still have another application hiding away in my cupboard for when this one fades, and it came out a lovely light pink that I’d pretty much been aiming for.

It’s not perfect. It didn’t take very well to the ends of my hair where the stripper had been applied but for the most part it’s pink and it’s all I wanted. I actually quite like the way it fades slightly towards the ends.

Here’s the big reveal!


SEE! PINK!! I’m so damn happy I want to dance around throwing petals and singing girly songs.

Next quest… teal (or aqua, we’ll see). That won’t be for a while though.


Stick A Cork In It

BIG MASSIVE DISCLAIMER! – Don’t read this if you are in any way squeamish about women, tampons or things that women use tampons for… you were warned!

So it’s ‘Day 2’. Most of you women will know what that means. For me it means cramps so bad I might pass out, a temper so short that if you look at me for a second too long I might bitch slap you into next week and a craving for anything that’s packed full of sugar, salt, fat and meat. So basically anything from McDonalds.

Normally I’m a Tampax girl. I occasionally stray to other brand named tampons if they are on mega sale or something like that but I always end up buying Tampax again. However in my local supermarket they are £2.75 a box. I always feel like I’m being punished for having a womb every time I get a period because urgh… £2.75 a box.

I’d run out and on my last supermarket trip I was feeling particularly cheap since they weren’t on offer. I figured I’d give the supermarket own brand a try since they were only £1.15 a box.

Biggest. Mistake. Ever.

Okay, I might be slightly exaggerating about it being the biggest mistake ever because I can assure you I’ve probably made much bigger mistakes in my life but I’m that annoyed by these shitty, useless attempts at feminine hygiene products that it feels that bad.

If I’d known the applicator for these things was this shit I’d have gone for the non applicator version. The crappy cardboard they’ve used for them is so shiny on the outside that it has zero grip so actually using the applicator for its intended purpose is near impossible.  It took me THREE attempts with three fucking tampons to get one where it’s supposed to go.

I am so far from impressed it’s almost painful. Next time I’m in the supermarket and feeling cheap please someone run up behind me and slap me and say… ‘No! Don’t be cheap!’. I’ll be going back to Tampax and staying there.

Period and tampon anger rant over!

On a less gross, shark week, themed note when I was in town the other day I popped into Primark. If you don’t know what Primark is it’s basically a low end clothing store with cheap clothing, accessories, home wares etc. They also do things like make-up and nail polish etc.

I grabbed myself some nail falsies with an adorable little swallow pattern.


They aren’t the best quality of nails but they were only £1 and they’ve managed to stay on for the day which is surprising because I usually end up popping the suckers off on the keyboard with my heavy handed typing.

I got some with owls on too so I might pick up a few different patterns to have fun with since they’re so much fun for such a low price.


The Never-ending Quest For Pink Hair

The quest for pink hair seemed so simple in theory but has turned into bit of a never-ending nightmare…

It all started so innocently. ‘Let’s dye my hair pink!’. Believe it or not the quest is still ongoing but I feel I should share with you my journey to this point as I’ve hit a milestone. A disappointing milestone but one none the less.

This was the haircut that started journey. Up until this point I’d always dyed my hair ginger. When I say ginger I mean proper carrot orange ginger.


I got myself some hair lightener and did a little bit of trawling through youtube to find some tried and tested videos by some of the hair vloggers to see what would be the best product to use. Almost all of them at some point suggested the Ion Color Brilliance in Rose from Sallys.

So off I toddled to ebay and got myself two tubes of this stuff because I almost always fuck stuff up. The video above seemed like the easiest and she’d managed to get it close to the colour I wanted too.

My first task was to strip my hair and try and get as much as the ginger out of my hair as possible. I had about six inches of virgin hair at the roots but the rest had been subjected to some serious ginger in the past.


As you can see I’m the height of class with a bit of cling film around my head. I’ve stripped my hair before and it works just fine. Usually the colour I put on over the top takes really, really well.

After stripping my hair it was almost identical to my natural, boring, bland, mousey colour.


Things seemed to be going well. I gave my hair a little bit of time to relax for being subjected to the stripper and used my usual brand of hair lightener to take it up to a platinum blonde.


However when it came to washing it out my lightener had not performed to expected standards. I figured the ends of my hair might not hit the platinum blonde I wanted but even the virgin hair was having none of it.

By this point I had what only can be described as yellow hair. Yellow fucking hair. Yellow fucking hair and no more lightener to have a second attempt to get it to platinum. So I had to go into town and into the local drug store to get more lightener looking like this…


This is my unimpressed face if you weren’t 100% sure. Urgh why am I even showing you this picture. It’s yellow!!

The rage was slowly starting to set in. Getting my hair to the pretty, girly pink I wanted was beginning to get more and more difficult. I don’t have much patience either. I couldn’t just throw another lightener on my hair because I’d end up frying the crap out of it so I had to give it a few more days and some love and conditioning to make sure I didn’t kill it.

Finally after applying a second round of lightener I got to a decent platinum blonde! Sure the tips were still a bit dark but it was something I could live with.


SCARYFACEMUCH! But as you can see the colour was good and pretty close to the colour of the hair in the video I was following. Now it was time for the pink. Oh the pink… I was so, so looking forward to the pink.

I used the whole tube and mixed it 1 part hair dye to 2 parts conditioner like the video suggested. The colour seemed a bit more intense than it was in the video but I guessed that was probably just down to the lighting she’d used to film. I didn’t mind if it ended up dark to be honest.

Nothing fucking happened. Nothing! NADA! I left it on for over an hour because I was pottering around the house and got distracted. When I rinsed it out with the coldest water I could physically stand it all washed out. Every. Last. Fucking. Molecule.

The red mist had descended. Why the fuck wasn’t this working for me??? It seemed to work perfectly for so many other people. I did a bit of googling to see what could have made it go wrong. It was suggested that a conditioner with silicone that it would stop the dye getting into the hair. So I scurried off the bathroom to check and my conditioner a brand that is silicone free.

I decided to go all out and apply the second tube. This time I applied it neat with just a dab of conditioner to make it spread since this stuff is pretty thick out of the tube. It all looked good, it was shocking pink on my head and honest even if my hair turned out hot pink at the end it was still going to be pink.

It did not come out hot pink. it’s barely pastel pink…


It’s the least amount of pink it could possibly be and someone go… hey is your hair pink? Even then I’d be reluctant to say yes.

So the journey continues. Lots of people have recommended Manic Panic and so I’ve just ordered myself some and in about a week, when it arrives, we’ll try this all over again.

I will have pink hair even if I have to sit down and colour it with a bloody Crayola felt tip pen like I did to my Barbie dolls when I was kid!