I was pretty pleased to find that we have progressed onto the letter ‘O’ as it means I can share one of my favourite Pagan-related things; the music of Omnia!
Society dictates who we are, how we look, what we say.
We’re trapped by our minds and our bodies every day.
We’re judged by what we weigh and who we’ve taken to bed.
Not by the thoughts we have or the books we’ve read.
We’re fighting a war that cannot be won.
We’re either frigid and prudish or easy and dumb.
The unwritten rules dictate what we do.
You can’t wear a mini-skirt when you’re thirty, can you?
Our boundaries have changed but they’re still there.
You’ve got to wear make-up and straighten your hair.
After a century of campaigning some still don’t get equal pay.
Intelligent women are insulted and belittled every day.
Feminism is an ugly word, not one we like to own.
But it’s time to lead the lives we want, not the ones we’re shown.
So I wrote a poem for something and thought that it was decent enough to stick on here; clearly I was feeling pretty het up when I wrote it…
’til next time,
I wish I knew what to say.
I keep noticing strangers with self harm scars/cuts. I’ve been self harming for about four years or so, I know what it looks like when you cut yourself with a razor- when you’re used to those kind of cuts you can recognise them. Actually, it’s not just about knowing what razor cuts look like, you can tell when most wounds are self inflicted.
There’s something about the angle, the grouping- a dead giveaway are cuts only on the left arm… most people are right handed.
I want to do something- god, I wish there was something I could do. I know that if someone had come up to me when I was cutting and said something, given me some advice or pointed me in the right direction, then it might have helped me.
But is it rude? Is it crossing a line? After all, it’s their body and I know nothing about them- so if I go up and start telling them to get help then maybe I’m being nosy and patronising.
I want to say something.
I want to reach out to the people in the streets who are suffering.
I can see people walk past me with the wounds out there- I want to reach out and help them but I don’t know how.
I want to do something for the waiter who served me in the restaurant and for the girl in the card shop…
Years have passed for me, but I’m still struggling to be able to do something.
What can I do?
’til next time,
This is just a boring and disappointing note to say that I will be going silent for a few days, I’ll be back as normal on Monday to talk about mental illness and my mind but I’m terrifyingly busy at the moment and so have decided to photograph things that happen for the next few days and post them as one big post over the weekend.
Hope you’re all doing well, I’ll be rehearsing all hours before popping down to London and back and trying to do something with my career then collapsing with my partner and trying to recover over the weekend… by Monday I will have aged about twenty years.
Have a good rest of the week,
’til next time,
First of all, apologies for not blogging on Friday… things kind of spiralled out of control very quickly towards the end of last week and I just didn’t organise myself well enough to allow for the usual Pagan Friday post to come.
Tonight I want to talk about what’s been causing all of this stress for me in the last week and just help to clear my head a little.
For the last year I’ve been attending a local stage-school doing a one year course that’s intended to be the equivalent of a foundation degree… I don’t actually know if it is. It was the first year that this course was run and now I’m coming to the end I’m finding myself in a horrible position. My circumstances have changed in the last year; I need a degree- and I’m not prepared to wait for another three years to get one.
I have the chance to do a degree in two years, but I have to stay with the stage-school that I’m currently at. This would be fine… but the principal/teacher/person in charge and who teaches everything is kind of worrying. By worrying I mean ‘plays mind games… all of the time.’ Recently I’ve felt that it’s got to a point where I should do something… but I can’t. I don’t know who to go to or what to say… she’s fucked with my mind and the minds of everyone else so much that no-one will say anything. And if they do then it’ll threaten one of the few chances that I have of getting a qualification that I really need. In other words, she has me well and truly by the bollocks.
In the last nine months I’ve become someone that I don’t recognise. I don’t like or recognise myself anymore… I feel like a stranger in my own head.
If I choose to take this option it’ll be because there’s nothing else for me, and I’ll be doing a deal with the devil.
I don’t know where I stand in my own head anymore, and that’s a terrifying thing for someone like me. I’m trying to concentrate on the end of the course and on taking my one-woman theatre to the streets of Edinburgh.
… But what the hell am I going to do in September?
’til next time,