It is New Years eve…

I am in the midst of spring cleaning.  My mother had a theory, that if your house was spotless on New Year’s Eve then it will be spotless for the rest of the year and I have always followed this advice. So I am decluttering, tidying and throwing a lot of crap out.

And “Oh My God” I have a lot of crap.

 I have clothes I never wear…(according to the KonMari method, this is the place you start purging especially the “One day I will fit into that” items from my wardrobe)  So I have tossed anything that isn’t stretchy or a tent. 

I own six pairs of shoes.  Two pairs are ‘Crocs’ a black pair and a pink one that belonged to my mum and are really ratty but I love them and wear them everywhere, even to my book launches :) I have three pairs of sneakers, purple, red and black, and two pairs of jandals that hurt my feet so I don’t wear them.  I just counted and that is seven pairs, I also have a pair of slippers with sheep skin insides and I would wear them all the time if I could.  (Once I accidentally went out with one shoe and one slipper on.  I got distracted while I was getting changed and didn’t notice until I was out, in a crowded pub, at a pub quiz.  After the initially panic and mortification I just pretended I’d hurt my foot and limped around all night.)

So back to the things.

    
my desk and over my bedhead

I am not a normal western woman, obviously, the number and style of shoes will tell you that.  I had a past life in which I owned a few pairs of high heels, for work, because we woman love pain in our lives, every day to make us perform at our best.   Like our grandmothers and great grandmothers who forced their bodies into whale boned and steel framed corsets because a narrow waist and straight back is much more important than the ability to breathe and think.
 I lived in discomfort.  Now I refuse to.  I don’t even wear a bra unless I am going out into the world and the wobble, (or flap), of a post-menopausal boobie may shock and stun the young. 

I also no longer feel the need to compromise my comfort for impression externally.  Over my saggy baggy undies are holy tee-shirts, men’s (Scotty’s) shirts and black leggings, lots and lots of leggings.

I have recently acquired two nice going out outfits, one bought for me by my daughter and the other gifted by my sister, and they will be worn on the—being optimistic here—maybe two occasions I leave the gates of my house this year.

I am sipping diet ginger beer  as I am still on the Keto and will remain on it for another 100 days and reassess at the end of that.  I am utilising a few things I used over the previous 100 days to power up the Keto such as doing more intermittent fasting which is really easy for me as I don't crawl out of bed until well past morning. 
 The boys have both joined me on the Keto but there is will be a pause in it for them for a week starting tomorrow as we are having ham for New Years Dinner.  A whole one.  So, until that is all gone they want bread for sandwiches. No problemo, I'm not a meanie *grinds teeth* having bread in the house won't stress me the hell out with cravings *grinds teeth* I however will be enjoying fried ham and eggs...heaven.


nom nom nom



So what am I looking forward too is 2019.

Just breathing really, and maybe loving and doing things that I want. I'm not holding out for success in anything.  Probably because I am not that great with it.

I have had success, a few times, but me being me—the thickie that I am—ran away from it.  In fact on I usually respond with a breakdown and depression.  Yeah I know, what is that all about.  I’ve worked it out over the years.  I think that I do not like success even though I strive for it, when it happens I freak out.  I know deep down in my gut it is because I don’t believe I am capable of it and thus, when it happens I consequently believe I do not deserve it.  Which leads on to the fact that when it happens I don’t believe it is happening and when people tell me it’s happened I think the world is lying.

In 1991 I’d sent some short stories off to a publisher on a whim, because writing, as far as I knew, was the only think I was any good at to a competitive degree.  The publisher did not only accept the stories; they wrote back quickly begging for more. 

So, what did I do in the face of this enthusiasm for my work?  I immediately had a mental breakdown of epic proportion which was horrifically, devastatingly, Armageddon-ly, crippling. 

I neither replied to their letter, nor any of the subsequent ones.  Thus I never gave them permission to publish what I had sent or sent them more.  I froze, paralysed and incapable of dealing with any of it and subsequently anything else.  Thus a chance didn’t just pass me by, I pulled on a pair of doc martins and stomped all over it and it ran away.   
So hey if good things happen they happen if they don't cest la vie...

Amazing things happened for me 2018 

 I enjoyed every single day of it, even the shit days when I was so depressed it was an effort to even open my eyes.  Even in those deep dark horrible days I was still breathing, I was still alive and that is what it is all about.  If you are breathing you are winning.
People think there is no reason for depression to exist and I do not believe this at all.  Not for me anyway.  
Depression makes me stop, it makes me say no to things that the rest of me is too polite and too conditioned to refuse.  It makes me reassess what I need out of life.  It makes me so miserable and unhappy that when happiness comes it is a bright shining amazing light that explodes all around me.  It, like the anxiety, is the part of me that saves me from taking on too much and becoming overwhelmed by the world.
While I fucking hate it while I am being dragged  down by it, like a drowning person wrapped up in a sodden wool blanket, dropped into the centre of a lake.  If I go with it, and hold on knowing it will pass and I will come back I am okay.
 When it just swept in and cast its amorphous black shadow over my life and I had no clue what the fuck it was--that was when it was suicide inducingly frightening. 
Also, the madness of mania, which made me feel the shame of being an out of control, self destructive, loser, is now just another thing in my life and if I stay in my room, disconnected from the social medias, while my brain and senses are bouncing around like lotto balls, I can't hurt myself or anybody else.   
I know I am lucky. When I don't have the insight to know I am crackers I am surrounded and protected by overwhelming love and support. 
 I am the luckiest person ever.  Lucky lucky lucky :)

 Happy fecking new year :)

Love Oliviaxxx