Would you consider them to be hateful/violent in nature?

I would. As would hundreds of others who have reported these and others similar (and i’m sad to say, some far more horrific) to Facebook as a violation of their community standards for the above reasons.

Now look again, just to make sure you have them firmly in your mind.

Still find them offensive? Awful? Grotesque? Graphic?

Facebook don’t.

The rules of Facebook posting/reporting is thus:

Facebook have their own guidelines on imagery (and other postings on site) much like any other social network. Once posted you have the option of reporting said post with a limited number of options of what and why. Should the image in question not meet their “community standards” it is removed, and vice versa should it be deemed acceptable.

To quote their Community Standards:

“we do not permit individuals or groups to attack others based on their race, ethnicity, national origin, religion, sex, gender, sexual orientation, disability or medical condition.”

Now, judging by the images below, I do have wonder/worry how their (obviously epically low) “standards” are decided. There appears to be little logic in their maddening methods, with those standards being enforced by little more than a few lines of coding leaving no space for constructive comment.

With this in mind, should Facebook be banning the bots and their quick fix faux-pas, and put in place something all the more practical for the people that responsible for its present (and future!) popularity?

The point of this post is two-fold.

1. A plea to the people - to please, please, please continue to report these vile and violent images (‘Hate Speech’ is the appropriate selection for reporting). If the image is not removed, remember you can always provide feedback from your support dashboard to hammer home your intended point.
2. A plea to Facebook - to please, please, please wake up and see the sexism. Save our sanity and start standing up for  those of us that are civil, that have a great sense of humour, and most importantly; that are the crux of your corporation. Without us, there really wouldn’t be a company to speak of at all.

Shame. On. You.

Now I don’t doubt that with every condition, mental or physical, there is what I like to call a “spectrum of severity”, some are more affected by certain things than others. Even the common cold can hit one with a sniffle and send another shivering in a blanket.

However I all too often find myself faced with the phrase “Y’know, I think I’m a little bit…*enter medical condition here*” and it really does bother me.

I have Bipolar and OCD. Firstly, I’ll give you a quick overview of what this means:

My OCD is not really about cleaning, more about numbers. Everything carefully calculated, from the radio/television volume (seriously BBC iPlayer, why 11… why?!?!? It makes no sense!) to the quantity of food that I eat. Its not about odds and evens, there are particular numbers that I have set aside for items. 2, 5, 7, 10, 12, 15…. and the list goes on. At times it was crippling, even now I can’t just grab a handful of grapes, I still count. But its not as overwhelming as it was even a year ago. It gets worse when I am anxious or stressed. But due to medication I find myself managing it all the better.

Bipolar (or manic depression as it once was called) is swings in mood from mania/manic highs to debilitating depression.   When I am manic, I feel on top of the world. When I am depressed, I feel like I am being crushed underneath it. Mania can be induced if I do too much or get carried away with the simplest things. Depression seems to loom around every corner and the drop post-mania is crippling. Those days are darker than ever imaginable. Those simplest things I did without question before seem like a distant dream, and evensomething small like making a cup of tea can reduce me to tears.

Okay, so that’s that done. Probably super-simplified, and if you want to learn more about either condition I have various topics on my blog, or visit the Mind UK website for some great insight and information.

So herein lies the issue. When discussing either condition, I all too often hear the “I think I’m a little bit…” shortly followed by Bipolar or OCD. I can almost here the “lolz…its totes amazeballs isn’t it?!” or similar following their sentiment.

I am sure that in their (albeit naive) wisdom they think they are being supportive. Or perhaps that is the problem – they aren’t thinking at all.

Their self-diagnosis based on enjoying a clean house or getting a bit hyper after a sugary soda is actually quite offensive. All too often its inaccurate information that they start to reel off, and I am quick to correct them and highlight that actually, its not all that fun having either condition.  The word that should follow that phrase?

“Insensitive”.

It is great that the word is out there, mental health is ’okay’, and it is okay to talk about it. But it seems with the outing of several celebrities of their own struggles that its actually pretty cool to have a mental health condition. They look all shiny and glossy, with their touch ups and tans smiling sweetly at the camera. I wonder how ‘cool’ it would be if they saw the grimy gruesome side that all too often nobody sees, because we lock ourselves away and wait for the clouds to pass and the sun to reappear in our lives once more.

That is the reality. The flawless façade that we so often portray to people is purely protection. Protecting them from seeing the deep dark truth, and protecting us, from insensitive comment on how awesome it must be to essentially “be ill”.

So please, if you find yourself faced with someone with a condition, of any kind. Please don’t patronise. Please don’t pretend.

Please, just be ‘real’. No ‘little bits’ or ‘lolz’.

Real.

We’ll appreciate it. Promise.

Her most recent article (which lets face it, its for the Daily Fail, what were we to expect anyway?) is possibly one of her worst yet. 

It is worth mentioning for those with/recovering/recovered from eating disorders (as I know I have a large mental health following on my blog) that this article can hold triggers for some, so please read with caution:

“Joan Collins is right. Any woman who wants to stay beautiful (like me!) needs to diet every day of her life“.

I would like to think of myself as the ‘every day’ sort of girl. I have the same pro’s and problems as pretty much every single woman I’ve met.

Worryingly, the thing we all have in common? Is a battered self-esteem.

Much like Samantha, I have to admit I have tried many a diet, more than I would care to try and list. There was a point in college I would only eat a bowl of porridge and a salad (no meat, no dressing, just leaves) every day, whilst still exercising around 2 hours every other day (I used to put on Spiderman on and jump on the cross trainer whilst I watched). Needless to say, it wasn’t healthy. The saddest part is, although I was much lighter (almost dangerously so) I wasn’t any happier. The real key to my confidence?

I started investing in myself rather than books and plans, and my view of myself became one of acceptance and appreciation.

Nowadays I find myself avoiding the media, and delving into the social media-sphere for optimism and honest views on women – real women, who are happy with themselves and aren’t conforming to SB’s narrow minded (and unhealthy) view of ‘beauty’.

I have met so many great women that are beyond inspirational, and as a result, made me feel much better about just being ‘me’.

The problem is, I still find a pang of guilt, a little voice in my head that thinks “ooh, the polo diet? I wonder if…” which I quickly have to snap into shape before it gets the better of me.

Therein lies the issues with this article.

At every angle I feel I should conform to a certain look, a certain weight, a certain ‘appeal’. As SB says, “ Bitter experience taught me that the world pays no attention to dumpy girls”.

She goes on to say the best jobs and men go on to those that are the thinnest, and those of us that criticize, are merely jealous.

Well, SB (or BS as I may start referring to her as) – I criticise, and no, I am not a size 8. But your crass attempt at content for the Daily Fail leaves me unbelievably cross.

A point I so often make to the social snarkers, is that if women can’t begin to accept each other, HOWEVER we look, how on earth can we expect others to do the same?

It shouldn’t matter if we are a 6 or 16. It shouldn’t matter what men think of us – nor should we worry about being dumped for enjoying ourselves from time to time. Don’t even get me started on the job market, as I am more successful and happy now than I was a few stone ago (where half the office I worked in had eating disorders of varying severity).

SB needs to stop spouting so much BS, and start realising that there are consequences to her actions. Whoever we are, tall, short, fat, slim, apples or pears and everything in between. It seems a little cliché, but if we can’t love ourselves, how can we expect anyone to do so as well?

If we (as women) don’t start challenging these outdated and outrageous claims that only the thin are happy and successful, it only serves to perpetuate a level of unseen sexism – not conjured up by society… but by ourselves.

It is articles like these that should inspire us not to jump on the latest media circus’ and crazes. Nor should it makes us question the pounds and possibilities.

What I think? We are all beautiful, and health of both mental and physical are of the utmost importance.

If you don’t have your health, what else do you really, honestly have?

On Sunday Sinéad O’Connor appeared on the Andrew Marr Show, and during a rather awkward (and antagonistic)  interview, she clearly had her defences up – rightly or wrongly – and came across as rude and/or defensive (depending on which camp you sit in) to those that watched and listened. (You can watch the interview on BBC iPlayer, from around 54mins onwards…)

For me, it is not her behaviour that is mostly in question. The resulting media commenting on said interview highlighted appalling discrimination against those with mental health conditions.

Jonathan Vernon-Smith, had particular disdain with O’ Connor, citing her as ‘utterly bonkers’, and refused to see the issue with such wording.

Now, as far as I can tell, her mental health is not in question. If you think she was rude, fine. If you think she was provoked and felt the need to defend herself, also fine. Lets face it – everyone has a right to express ourselves how we see fit in given situations. (within reason of course, i’m not advocating violence!)

So I wonder exactly how  her mental health came into the limelight, and what exactly did she do to deserve abuse concerning said mental health with the use of words such as ‘bonkers’, ‘loony’ and ‘crazy’ similar by Jonathan, Jeremy Clarkson, and other high profile people in the media.

I expect the barrage of ensuing comments on social media platforms such as Facebook to perhaps succumb to childish commentary, almost borderline bullying, however an intelligent broadcaster should surely know better.

What I find the most appalling of all, is that despite responding to a tweet without abuse, and highlighting my issue with the reference to her mental health, I was told to “grow up” and subsequently involved in a Facebook discussion which (to those who do not understand Twitter) looks like I was one of those giving him “abuse” – of course neglecting to involve any intellectual debate that I had initiated. I left my response as thus:

“As I have been mentioned above in a ‘tweet’ (I was copied in, but had no part in what was sent) I feel it is only right that I have my own say on the subject. As mentioned on twitter (which of course you haven’t decided to bring up) I am a Mental Health advocate and writer. I believe that referring to anyone as a ‘creature’ is vile in itself, there are much better ways to express disdain or disapproving behaviour. I am not a fan per cé of Sinead, what I am a fan of is appropriate use of language when discussing those that suffer with a mental health condition, and also a fan of educated discussion and debate, not attack with childish slander.”

He goes on to tweet further regarding how “weird” all her fans are, and focusing on his own ‘personal attacks’ rather than his clear misdemeanours and misunderstandings when it comes to mental health. If this wasn’t enough – he then took to his radio show for….well, i’m finding it hard to find the right words. Sympathy? Support? Simply ‘because’ ?

We get it, Jonathan. you find her rude. But (and I shall put it in capitals as it is something that is missed time and time again):

IT IS YOUR USE OF DEROGATORY WORDS AGAINST SOMEONE WITH A MENTAL HEALTH CONDITION THAT WAS DEEMED UNNECESSARY AND WRONG.

We aren’t disputing how rude she was or wasn’t – its your insistence at calling her bonkers and crazy. its unnecessary and uncalled for, and in itself, downright vile and rude.

We all have our bad days, mental health or otherwise. But I challenge Jonathan and his fans to make similar comments to those who have had cancer, or who were diabetic, or have a physical disability of some kind.

It quite simply, would not be tolerated.

We all have mental health, and some of us have conditions that dictate we take medication, or need a bit of extra support now and then. But dear Jonathan, we are just like you, and deserve every ounce of respect that every other person in society deserves. Yes we (the people) may be rude, or we (the people) may have a bad day, and we (well, some of the people) are downright arseholes. But that isn’t dictated by our mental health, it is dictated by us as individuals.

By excusing yourself from derogative comments by implying that those of us that disapprove for said reasons are “weird” then you really need to take a long hard look in the mirror.

I’ve said it before, and I will continue to say it – the scary thing about us with mental health issues? We are (shock) just like you. We have feelings, and thoughts, and find ourselves terribly discriminated against. Is Sinéad rude? Or simply just not the polished plastic of other celebrities in the limelight? Either way, lets discuss her as a person and not opt for overly offensive mental health chat.

Stop using words that simply aren’t necessary. Take some responsibility for the actual issue at hand, rather than making a media circus over nothing.

However, I seem to have encountered a whole new set of …of….. pro……..ACHOO!!!

*sniffles*

Yes, I have a cold. And I seem to have had colds, coughs, and a collection of other complaints since starting my medication. My immune system – for want of a better phrase – seems to be shot to shit.

Now, I’ve never been a particularly sickly person, I of course caught the old cold here and there, much like the rest of the population. But bearing in mind I work from home, my exposure to germs of any kind and the infamous plagued sneezing dude on the bus (thanks, NHS ad!)  is rather far from  my existence.

I have had a blood test of course. And spoken to my doctors (mental health related and GP) and both say that there is no direct correlation between my medication and my physical ailments. I’m just plain ‘unlucky’ they say, with at the time, a slightly raised white blood cell count.

So, herein lies my problem. Whilst I am please to have my mental health back in the realms of normality (whatever ‘normal’ really is, of course!), my physical health has taken an almighty negative turn, leaving me run down, tired, and not surprisingly, a little down.

I’ve done my Googling over the past few weeks, and other than many websites already pronouncing me dead and Googling from beyond the grave, it seems others who take or know those who do similar medication suffer from similar problems (though of course, there is little medical information I can find to back up said claims).

I currently take Quetiapine and Sertraline, both of which (if you care to have a search) have various other names depending where in the world you happen to reside.

So, at the end of my tether (and nearing the end of my third tissue box in as many weeks) I put it out there to my ever-loyal and ever-knowledgeable Mental Health “nuts” who know more than most of the gibbering GPs who are far too quick to class my hype as hypochondria.

There is a long standing partnership between a decline in Physical Health resulting in a similar decline in Mental Health. However, is there much to show of the reverse with the same downward spiral?

Have you had a similar experience with medication? Or know someone who has? Or are you a medical professional who have seen similar studies and symptoms, with any sort of solution?

I’d love to hear from you all. Anyone and everyone who would like to contribute. I think it is a topic that is perhaps neglected somewhat when it comes to mental health awareness, and is something far too readily swept under the germ-ridden carpet.

Thank you all in advance for your contribution….and as per the picture above, I am off back to Bedfordshire and the largest cup of tea known to mankind.

xxx

However, recent coverage of the events has turned my sadness to another direction for another disappointing reason; as the same old stereotypes and assumptions have risen their ever-increasing ugly heads once more.

The simplest way to open such a post, is to share the source of said sadness, from an individual I have little care or liking for in most instances, however has far outshone himself with this gem of zero wisdom:

Now, I don’t know about you – but this is one of the most ridiculous and sweeping generalisations about mental health I have ever heard from a public figure.

I myself, have no desire to own a gun. Other than perhaps a passing interest to try out clay pigeon shooting after watching a documentary, I have  no interest in weaponry of any sort. In fact with a quick glance around my room, the most dangerous things I seem to own are a can of rather potent hairspray and a small-but-safe guillotine for my card and craft making, which the only injury ever sustained using was a rather nasty paper cut.

I have Bipolar, with a hint of OCD and BPD. So I guess, in a manner of speaking, I am widely recognised on the most part as (judging by television, films, and other depictions of exaggerations mental health) something “seriously dangerous/psychotic/likely to harm/insert-other-idiocies-here”. If you even look up BPD, the most recognised example of such a case is indeed fictional and I find myself compared to Anakin Skywalker and his path to destruction and the dark side.

I don’t see myself as any of those words, and I doubt anyone I know would describe me as them either. I am kind, thoughtful, almost ‘Disney-like’ in my approach to life. I’m positive, and together, and would never dream of hurting someone in any sort of way that i’m supposedly ‘pre-disposed to do’.

It is worth at this point highlighting that any knowledge of Adam Lanza’s mental state has been largely assumptive, and nothing conclusive has been released formally.

Which brings me to my main concern.

If we are so quick to assign the criminally minded to being criminally insane, how are those otherwise tarnished with the obligatory “insane” label ever going to receive the treatment and support they deserve without unjust and unmerited associations which only succeed in attributing to further social stigma?

There needs to be a distinction, for everyone. I don’t doubt that some mental health conditions provoke certain kinds of behaviour and actions. But even in my worst states, I have always know the difference between good and bad, right and wrong. As have everyone I have spoken to with mental health concerns and worries. On the most part, we are fun loving, long living, laughter liking members of society. The only scary part is – we’re just like you. (*gasp of sarcasm*)

Yes, America. You are right. You do need a mental health reform, much like the rest of the world. We need to get up to speed with Acts and resulting actions and stop living in the dark ages assuming those ‘plighted’ with mental health issues are as a result belonging firmly to the “Dark Side”.

Lets take a moment to remember the every-person that lives their lives in a ‘most ordinary manner. The lady next door, the boy in your maths class. The man at the bank. The girl writing this blog post.

We’re part of society too. And we deserve to be counted as the people we are, not the people you continue to naively view us to be.

Give us a chance to be ‘good’.

I guess perhaps I should set the scene a little. The other evening I was out with boyfriend and friends at a gig. Everyone was drinking and dancing, chatting and cheering, altogether it was a fantastic night. However; the excitement started to creep further and further into an uncontrollable state, and I beat it back in its place with a few tablets which seemed (on the large part) to do the job.

However, this left me in an altogether difficult situation. I sat at the side of the dance floor whilst everyone danced their cares away to whatever tune happened to be blasting at the time. I was quite happy doing so of course, any sort of forced merriment could have escalated my mood, so a bit of people watching (and making some notes for this blog post) did me no harm whatsoever. I stayed calm, manageable…and most importantly; healthy.

The problem therein lay with the image that sent out to everyone else, and caused me almost as much anxiety than the risk of mania itself. I felt a bit subdued post medication (as anyone who takes Quetiapine in any dose can relate to) but the ‘are-you-okays’ and ‘are-you-alrights’ left me more ridden with guilt than anything else.

What if I were ruining their nights? What if they were then worried I wasn’t having fun? What if I were considered (that simple six letter word that anyone manic or otherwise would dread to hear) …boring?

So herein lies my problem.

When it comes to socialising in society, do you step into the shadows for the benefit of all and ultimately, yourself; or do you facture a façade to just ‘get through’ and lead the life that others expect of you?

Realistically, you can’t close yourself off from living life completely. Shrinking away into your shell and shunning yourself from said society is never a positive step forward, whatever your ailment. Though, I do find myself having to limit my social ‘dalliances’  to maintain the mania and make sure my health is deemed ‘manageable’ by myself and medical professionals.

Its a balancing act, of epic proportions. Constantly walking the trembling tightrope of  mental health, falling either way of the wayside  causing (sometimes) irreparable damage to my ongoing and successful progress to wellness. I guess it makes you wish the rope was a little wider, giving you a little more scope with where and how you choose to walk in your life. The balancing becoming a gentle stroll, and slowly but surely, you begin enjoying every step, disregarding the balance beam for a more stable and steadfast existence.

I suppose for now; I must continue to wobble along like an acrobat awaiting their punchline. What makes it all a little easier, and always will continue to do so – is the support I have either side of that tightrope. Waiting patiently and helping me to stay upright. Or worst case, waiting to catch me should I fall. For which I will not only be ever grateful, but will continue to contribute to my ongoing path to finding that stable stroll I so desperately long for.

Today….was pretty normal. I did some work, put on my laundry, went to collect a prescription that was out of stock the day before. I decided to go out around 3/30pm, which (for those of you that aren’t aware/don’t have kids/live outside the UK) is the usual time for primary schools in my area to kick out. Naturally, the pavements were awash with tales of the playground, homework to be done, and parents arranging meet-ups and play-meets galore most like any other day.

Until, I got to the main road. You know the ones, not much in the way of supermarkets (in our case, except a Waitrose) and then awash with charity shops, estate agents and takeaways, and is the main road in and out of the town.

I passed a young family, a mother and three children. Two were walking quietly ahead, heads down not speaking a word to each other. Behind them, a mother and what I can only assume was their younger sibling, a boy around the age of 6/7.

The boy may or may not have done something wrong, perhaps dawdled and dragged his feet, or answered back with a word that would leave many a parent in shock, but I speculate. In fact, whatever he had done was completely irrelevant to the reaction of the mother.

The woman was a garish creature and was shouting at the boy, pushing and pulling him about, with him clearly in distress. She shoved him nearly missing a shop window, and hit him several times – far more so than any ‘smacking’ debate would ever have cause to allow.

He was crying rather quietly for said violence, sobbing, hood over his head, whilst the monster of a mother lured over him with a look in her eyes that I knew all too well.

From that look, I myself felt vulnerable. I felt once again like the small child that had received similar treatment and too scared to say a word. I walked past (as did many others) in shock, but…. in silence.

So now, I sit. Racked with guilt, feeling like I should have done something. Anything. But what?

Once upon a time; I was trailing my local supermarket with Step Father and younger brother (far younger, who was sat nicely in the trolley seat as young children often do). It was a Saturday, and I remember discussing my week at school. The overall content of the conversation is hazy, but I remember it being about maths. What I had learnt, what I knew, what the teachers had said. I was told I was wrong and that my teachers were wrong, and that particular area of maths I had learnt was ultimately (you guessed it) wrong.

Now, at this point, I was still a rather spirited youngster (something to be later beaten out of me at an older age); and questioned this and how education probably changed over the years and different people must have learnt different things. A fairly accurate and wise deduction for someone of that age, though of course I paraphase it as my 26 year old self.

I was asked to go in front of the trolley to pick up I don’t know what. I remember it being the toiletries aisle. Baby stuff on one side, shampoos and cosmetics on the other. The trolley was rammed into my ankles for being so disrespectful. I fell to the floor, and told to get up and keep quiet. If I cried, he said, he would give me something to cry about. This trolley ramming continued, with shoving into various aisles. And all I remember; head down, with the most silent of tears falling down my face, is that nobody did ANYTHING. No-one stepped forward, no-one helped, no-one said a word. I looked at them with every shove and every shunt, willing them to save me. But they looked away, hurrying past only to look back and gossip with their significant others bestowing unwanted pity and little else.

So, herein lies my dilemma.

As someone having been on the receiving end of such behaviour, why didn’t I step forward? Why didn’t I speak up?

I keep battling with this over and over in my head. Am I just extra sensitive to such situations? Maybe I over analysed it perhaps. Maybe because I’m too close to the situation I couldn’t have possibly helped, given my own demons on the subject…. or maybe that was why I would have been perfect to step in and involve myself to help such a boy?

Of course, I again know all too well what happens when people speak up or try to help. Mostly, it comes down on you tenfold. Like you wouldn’t believe. The lady at the check out asked if I were okay to carry the obscene amounts of bags I had been given as punishment and clearly struggled with. As a result of my insolence obviously imploring her to question his judgement; I was given more to carry and shoved against a windowsill, bruising my head and leaving me in significant pain. How could I ever speak up against such hideous behaviour, knowing it could risk it becoming even worse on such an innocent boy in the long run?

So I ask of you all…what would you have done? What could I have done? Where is the line between ultimately interfering and ensuring a child’s safety?

Of course, the fact that I am outraged at such behaviours and incidents of course puts me (mostly by men, I must add) into the “Angry Feminist” camp. I’m sure they’re waiting for me to shave my head, burn my bra and wonder around various locations with provocative placards in my dungarees. I decided that 140 characters really aren’t enough to put my point and feelings across on the subject; so here is a blog to do so.

Firstly – I think its best to clear up a few clichés before I begin:

• Men, if you hold the door open for me….thank you. I would do exactly the same for you. Its not sexist… its manners. Its an activity everyone should partake in.
• By saying I look nice or give me a compliment; again, thank you. I in turn compliment my friends/family on nice clothes, or new looks/hair cuts et al. Its just a nice thing to do. I’m not going to go off on one about objectifying me and how you’re a parasite to the human race. Everyone likes to receive compliments (providing they are ‘nice’ ones. “Your tits looks great in that” does not constitute a ‘nice’ compliment)
• I believe in equal rights for all. Male, Female, Gay Straight, any race, religion (or lack of) or ethnicity. Of course; we are all different, and embracing those differences is part of what makes our world so diverse and interesting. But there is a line. A very firm one, that is very often over stepped.
• I don’t hate Men. I don’t think you’re “all the same”; as above… everyone is an individual. But whether its 1,100 or 1000; discriminatory behaviour, of any sort… is wrong.

I could go on; but I think you get the idea.

My bone of contention at the moment, is as the title of this blog – boobs.

Now, as a curvy girl with boobs, that are, shall we say, ‘above average’… I get attention. A lot. And i’m afraid to say, it is never positive.

I’ve been told in the past I should be flattered and take it as a compliment, but frankly – I fail to see how a derogatory comment, incident or behaviour is anything other than downright offensive.

At a business exhibition last year I was discussing the intricacies of digital marketing with a number of fellow professionals. I was (on the most part) the only female in the group. Now, to clarify (frankly I don’t see why it matters, but I can guarantee I will get the age old ‘provocatively dressed’ argument  I had a high neck navy blue dress, with thick black tights. I was dressed conservatively and appropriately for the situation at hand (again, not sure how a lower cut would be deemed ‘inappropriate’, especially judging by some of the rather larger men I see commuting in London legs spread in a form of almost ‘peacocking’, with trousers too tight revealing…pretty much everything. A male ‘camel toe’ if you will. Hardly appropriate. Ever.)

I was at said event with my Director/Manager; and talking to a CEO of another business about an exchange of services and helping them with their website. However, said man refused to address me to my face, and every time he talked to me, he leered at my chest, talking only to my mute mammaries, making me feel uncomfortable and rather disgusted. I made a passing comment about manners and the fact that said mammaries didn’t tend to respond. The man looked incredibly embarrassed and was apologetic…though continuing to do so all the same. I was reprimanded by my boss; saying that I was ‘inappropriate’ and ‘rude’ and ‘who cares where he talks if we get the business’. He even suggested perhaps I wore something a little more suggestive next time. I be the looks, he be the brains.

I was horrified. What’s worse, is that this isn’t the only case of such blatant…ergh. I can’t even think of a word that describes my anger at said situation.

In a sales job in my younger days (I was only 18) an older customer asked me on a date. Fairly nice, I was flattered. I respectfully declined, and thanked him. And that was that. My sales manager said I should have used such “proposition” to my advantage; gaining finance and insurances if I agreed to go. Now, I don’t know about you… but that really isn’t appropriate.

I’d like to say these are the only two examples of such situation. This sort of – what I can only bring myself to call “Corporate Prostitution” is widespread…. and occurs to women more often than you think.

Even outside of work; I’m called ‘easy’ and groped at. Because of course; having boobs makes me easy pickings… and I should enjoy being letched over. I block it out most of the time now. Its the only way to get through the day. But my boyfriend picks up on it – its not exactly ever subtle. I love how protective he is when it happens; but the point is… why should it happen at all?

A famous quote my mum told me about once (and I paraphrase) is that “When a man walks into a room, people listen. When a woman walks into a room; people stop, and if they like what they see…they listen”.

So here is me. Without a room. Hoping that the message gets across without the opportunity for people to judge me for not how I look – but for what I have to say.

Because what I have to say… in this case, is something very worrying and very important indeed.

Firstly, lets set the scene:

You’re cooking..well, anything that boils and bubbles on your electric cooker (gas really doesn’t have the same effect at all; either that or of course i’m really just not all that good at cooking). Its simmering and steaming, perhaps needing the odd stir. All is under control, and your dinner/lunch/you get the idea is coming along rather nicely, if you do say so yourself.

Suddenly – disaster. It seems the cooker was on far too high a setting. What was once a calm and controlled pot of pending yumminess, has turned into a overflowing out of control mess. The hob begins hissing and howling with the heat taking hold of the once sombre saucepan. You turn down the heat in panic, trying to rectify the ruminants of your meal, but of course, as we all know too well, electric cookers never respond half as quickly as ever needed. It takes minutes that seem like hours to regain control of your cooking, and by which point of course, chaos has descending into the kitchen, and a a simple something has become a something that causes disaster and destruction - and one hell of a clean up job looming in your imminent future.

This, is exactly how my brain feels. All of the time.

Since my break down four years ago, I have mostly regained a ‘normal’ life (*chuckles*, whatever ‘normal’ really is). I went from successful in sales, to housebound and horrified in the space of 24 hours, with no clue as to what had happened and how. I now work for myself, and maintain a fairly healthy day-to-day living. I manage the ups and downs of my mental health ‘afflictions’ (odd choice of word, I know, as of course without them I wouldn’t be ‘me’ – but that’s an altogether other philosophical blog post waiting to be written) as best as I can, with a recent addition of medication to maintain a livable spectrum of emotional well-being.

However, no matter how many steps forward I seem to take, my brain is ever simmering, just like the saucepan. Sitting; silently, waiting for me to make my move, taking on that extra piece of work or extra commitment that sends me deep into the depths of frustration and fear – bubbling over and dragging me back to an unsightly and unkempt brain, in dire need of a scourer and some industrial strength emotional emulsion.

As I write this post, I know i’m not the only one to feel this way. In fact, my Doctor applauded my description and said its perfectly (*cough*) ‘normal’ to feel that way, and is something I need to monitor and manage on an on going basis.

So, four years in – I still am. Daily doses of all sorts and juggling a social and solid survival of the bare minimum of…well, life.

My question is; does this ever go away? Or is this something I am ever stuck with; constantly watching and waiting for that inevitable increase in something sending my saucepan of self-health spiralling out of control?

For what is ‘normal’ now, do you ever get to refurbish your kitchen – so to speak – and peak behind the metaphorical curtain to find yourself in that ‘abnormal’ place of control and composure, where – out that metaphorical window, you can see everyone existing – every day.

For me, that ‘abnormal’ actuality seems more and more distant as days go by. Perhaps acceptance is the first step in not only facing that fear, but maybe a chance to consider installing a more regulatory cooking device for the future.