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Do You have to Love Your Family?

I came across a blog recently while surfing, by lauraauthor.com titled ‘Family’ (check it out people…).  The blog about her family and what it means to her was interesting.  I can’t say I agree with her sentiments, because I don’t – actually not in the slightest.  Her assertion that she needed to prove herself constantly to her parents and sibling was alien to me.   Here’s her final comment, just in case you don’t have the time to check the whole blog out, (which would be a pity however):

To me, this is family. Family is about proving myself. Not proving that I am one of us but rather proving that I am a capable independent and don’t “need” them. Perhaps that sounds harsh. But it’s how I’ve been raised and learned to think. Toughen up–or you won’t make it in this cold world.

For me, family is ‘about’ lots of things.  It is a shared background, a shared upbringing that means I don’t have to explain my opinions or myself.  It is about a deep sense of belonging to something bigger than myself, of me being part of a whole and that ‘whole’ is my family unit.  It’s also about responsibility towards others; my siblings and my parents, to be the best person I can be, not only for me, but for our unit also.  Yes, I want to be independent and capable of standing on my own, yes it’s important to be an independent thinker and accomplished in this life as I do agree it is a tough world out there.  But I view it from a different perspective; I feel that I don’t ‘have’ to do it alone because I am not alone.  My family offers me unconditional love and support.  My sisters and brothers want to spend time with me when they can.  I am not a person they ‘put up with’, or see because it is expected and we’re family and vice versa.  My relationship with my siblings and my parents is borne from actually liking each other and wanting to spend time getting to know the adult individual when we’ve known and grown up with the ‘child’ sibling for so long.  Even in saying that, I am twelve years younger than my oldest brother and his experiences of our family and my parents is vastly different to mine.   It is that shared history, yet shared ‘difference’ that is exciting and challenging and in our case bonding.   And for that I am truly grateful.

It’s funny that I found this particular blog after just returning from Australia where I have spent the last few weeks visiting my sister and two of my three brothers.  This always makes me very introspective because I only get to see them once a year.  Even in that, I am extremely lucky! I miss them terribly throughout the year but especially after I’ve just come home because I know it’ll be at least a year before I see them again.   In the past, festive holidays used to be spent crammed around my parents table where I and all my siblings and their spouses or partners and children would spend the day lapping up each others company and usually playing card or board games into the wee hours of the night.   Now however, with only one sister still in Ireland, we don’t quite ‘rattle’ around my parents’ table but we’re not far off.

Having said all that, distance is a great motivator too.  It means for three weeks of the year, I get to see the best of my siblings; there are no fights, no issues, just harmony and cohesion.  Its amazing what I learn each time I visit them.  As each of them heads what seems ever faster towards middle age, I see them in a light I may not have were they still here in Ireland.  We may all have taken each other for granted, we may have seen each other only rarely, but I don’t ever envisage us not getting along.  We are one of those families where each child stays part of the family; mind you we are far from children now.  Do we all seem similar? – Yes.  Are we boring? Oh, far from it.  In her blog, Laura said that when it comes to family, if someone uses the word love, is it because of the blood relation and innocent memories? To me, family is something to be grateful for but it is also an exchange.  For Laura the exchange was about ensuring they knew she could stand on her own two feet.  For me, family is knowing I can stand on my own two feet but because I am part of a family, it is also the very gratifying knowledge that I don’t have to!

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What Makes Us Happy?

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What Makes Us Happy?

My brother asked me recently was I happy?  And as I listed off my ‘life’s ‘work’ and how I felt about it; my job as a mother to three growing teenagers and the angst they bring to any life, my job outside my home as an editor in a busy publishing company, as the wife of a busy businessman,’ he shished me into silence and asked me, “Yes, but are YOU happy?” 

 It gave me pause because for me, my life is my work, my life also revolves around my children, around their schedules, their school or college life, their hectic social life, my husbands work, his hectic schedule and for a while I had to think hard: well, am I happy?  It’s not a question I get asked a lot:  am I happy?  I am happy to do all those things, and be ‘all things to all people’ in my life; a daughter to parents I adore and who are actively in my life every day, a mother, a wife, a business partner, an agony aunt, a confidant, a lover to my husband of 22 years and yes a friend to my pals. Even that means different things to different pals.

I have a few women friends who own their own businesses and to each other we are a sounding board, a shoulder to cry on and a place to go to seek advice with work related issues, we find in each other a conspirator even and above all else an understanding ear; the worth of which can never be discounted.   To talk to other women who understand intimately the intricacies of business life for me is worth more than I can ever tell them. To others I am a confidant, a friend ready to listen and if my advice is sought to give it honestly in as much as I can; I’m closer to some than to others, but I am not a gossiper and what is said in confidence, remains that way.  I have friends whose company I enjoy and I would actively seek out if I was in need advice.  There are others who just want a meet up for a bit of fun and for them the strappings of friendship do not mean the same and therefore they do not get my one hundred percent!  After going through all of that quickly in my head as us women are wont to do, I had to think for a second as he shushed me quiet again; and consider am I happy?

It’s been a long time since that question was asked of me in such an open way.  Normally it would been prefaced with an incident resolved, or an upcoming function and it would be couched in those forms; are you happy the way things went – are you happy with the turnout – are you happy with the response – are you happy with a hundred other things that were within my control.  And the answer to those types of questions varies depending on how well or good I feel and what I have achieved.  But again my brother asked:  Sis, I don’t want to know about the ins and outs of your life; I want to know are you happy?

And I thought for a good while before I answered.

Yes, I am happy with myself, my lot, my family, my friends, my work, and everything else that makes up being a responsible adult…  Were I not happy in any sphere of any of that, I could still be happy in myself.  The same however can not be said the other way round.  When I am struggling with a bout of depression, then everything I do in life is tarnished as a result.  Everything is seen through a fog of unhappiness.  It’s been a while since I thought about just me; not work, not kids, not hubby, not anything else – just me as an individual.  I went to great lengths to explain to my brother that were I not happy, I wouldn’t or couldn’t do the things I do on a daily basis for everyone else, because putting yourself last can only be done as an act of selflessness and love towards others and if I am capable of loving others in that fashion, my own self worth is intact; therefore I do love my life and I am happy in it…

 

I don’t think he quite got it….  I think he felt for me be happy I need to think only about myself at times, and in my opinion that’s not true.  Not by a long shot!  But all this self-analysis did get me thinking however, what is actual happiness, how does it manifest itself and how do we all deal with it?  Just from our conversation, I know that the things that make him happy would drive me up the wall and I am sure vice versa. Am I content in my life, (under normal circumstances when I’m well,) absolutely; am I happy with my lot; absolutely, am I in control of my life and where it is heading; not always, but that’s life. Would I like to win the lotto and not have to worry again about doing work I don’t enjoy – pony up – where’s the winning ticket?  But who doesn’t regret certain elements of their lives.  Life wouldn’t be life without regret. Its how we choose to move on from and learn from that regret that is the true test of our mettle!!  And me – I’m pretty contented.  I’m still learning and I firmly believe you are never too old to learn something new and useful for your own life.  And with a big sigh I finally answered my brothers’ question.  ‘There is no place else I’d rather be than in his company right now, having this conversation, in the place he calls home surrounded by my family and those I love.  Yes, I am very happy indeed.’

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Down the Rabbit Hole Again!

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Deep in the dark recesses of my brain, somewhere that is still conscious of what is going on, I know that I am in a place I wouldn’t want to be had I a choice. Deep down there too, is the knowledge that I am in big trouble.

Deep in my brain is the wisdom, the knowing that I can’t help myself and I end up screaming at myself every night; because at night time – when I am asleep – is the time my subconscious can reach up and punch my conscious mind.   But that constant punching causes problems with my mind during the day, as I struggle to cope with the waking hours having spent all night battling myself as I tossed and turned with my mind screaming; assaulting me with images, thoughts, struggles, pressures, worries that refuse to let me sleep a restful, useful sleep.

Having slumbered, tossed, and turned, my waking moments are lived in slow motion, with words forgotten, tears coming uncalled and the world seen through a veil of cotton wool, as if everything is dulled, muted and I slovenly work on half speed, with a mask in place to pretend I am still me, still fully there. I feel a lot of things and absolutely nothing at the same time. It is as if I know I should feel, am remembering a feeling but am equally incapable of feeling that feeling; I am recalling it as if from memory and not from the process of actually feeling it. My world is getting smaller, it wants to be smaller, and I want to be alone – to be quiet.

As if my very spirit has been stolen, my life is lived purely by going through the motions; as if I have to do it, but no longer want to do it. It is as if someone has turned off a light in my head, in my heart. My brain just refuses to work at times and as I struggle for words more and more it makes me worry, angry, sad, and weary… Not even the words want to come from my head. Just be silent. Just to be silent, that would be wonderful.

To be alone and quiet and peaceful, resting, if that could happen, then perhaps I could mend….

Being depressed, suffering from depression is not a choice; it is an action, something that happens TO you, unwanted, unbidden and sometimes by complete surprise. It is also a battle; a fight with an unseen, powerful thing that sucks the very life out of everything you see, you touch, you do, you are…. It is an insidious illness that can destroy your very spirit, soul, heart, mind and life.

I have bi-polar disorder. I have struggled with this for twenty years and for twenty years I have managed the highs and lows with the help and support of my doctor, family, my husband and my children. But even with me, after so many years and so many swings I was in the depths of clinical depression without realizing it. Despite knowing and managing the symptoms of depression before, they snuck up on me this time.  I felt ‘deflated’, I felt unmotivated, flat and devoid of the slightest hint of energy or joy. I forgot the simplest of words regularly and struggled to put sentences together sometimes. I wanted quiet, silently screamed for it, in my surroundings, in my home, but most of all in my head.

When I slept, I tossed and turned, I didn’t get a refreshing sleep, not for months. I am exhausted both mentally and physically but being in a position of having to go on, I did, until I couldn’t any more. When I began to imagine myself crashing into the nearest truck just so I didn’t have to go to work and I could get some rest I knew there was something wrong. Who does that; imagines themselves slightly hurt; enough they’d have to go to hospital where they could sleep, be quiet and not be disturbed for a few weeks??

This is not like the depression I had felt before with the bi-polar. This came on so gradually I didn’t even realize I was different. Not until having seriously thought of hurting myself over and over and then wanting to do it morning after morning, did I admit to myself that I could be sick. So I asked for an emergency appointment with my doctor who has looked after me for over ten years and she told me that I was suffering from clinical depression.

To be honest, some of it was a relief. The idea of forgetting my words when I enjoy writing so much was very frightening.   When I talked, I couldn’t piece a sentence together without struggling to reach the words that were just ‘gone’. Simple words for everyday things were missing, unknown, unreachable, vanished completely from memory. This is a symptom of depression.

The idea of wanting to harm myself for some peace and quiet was seriously wrong, but this is a classic symptom of depression.

The thought of getting up day after day and going to work  – just doing the ‘run of the mill’ things we all have to do, was destroying my soul, my being and I was beginning to be incapable of doing it; this is a symptom of depression.

The idea of peace and quiet where I can be on my own to just sleep, to rest, is a symptom of depression.

Flashes of anger were not uncommon with my bi-polar but with this episode, it was more like absolute apathy, a feeling like I was wading through glue and no matter how hard I tried it was never going to get any easier, it was just going to get worse…

If I had thought my life was no longer worth living I would not be sitting here writing this now. Fortunately for me, I realized before that happened, there was something wrong.

What I am trying to tell you is that even someone who is used to a bi-polar disorder can struggle with an episode of clinical depression. This one snuck up on me, blindsided me, left me very depleted, more depleted than I have ever felt in my life. This is not a choice, this is not something I am in control of, this is not something I want nor would I wish this condition on any other person, friend or enemy. Unless you have suffered depression, there is no explaining what it does to your mind, body, soul and spirit. No explaining how depleted and spent and lacking in determination, joy or love you feel for life in general, for your life, for the lives of those you do actually love and who surround you every day. It’s not easy getting over depression. It takes an enormous effort from everyone, from the one struggling with it, to the ones who surround that person. I am extremely blessed to have a husband who understands me: my mind, soul and heart. His love, patience and caring is what at times gets me through the darkest of days, even when I feel absolutely nothing but apathy for him because of that very illness. Surrounding yourself with loved ones who know the real you, who can wait for the real you to come back is more important than they will ever understand. To those who say to people who have been struck down with depression like me “just snap out of it”, I wish you never have to feel this way. There is no ‘snapping out of it’; that’s the whole point. Were it that simple, don’t you think it’s a choice we would quickly, wholeheartedly, delightedly make? But depression takes time to recover from; time to heal, time to rest, time to come back to oneself. I am on that road now. I travel it as quickly as my mind allows. I travel this road more than willingly and I know there are times when I feel like I’m back at the start, moments when I feel utterly distraught for no reason, there are moments when I just want to sit down wherever I am and just not get up ever again, there are times when I just don’t want to talk to anyone for what feels like ever again, but I will get there.  I know I will – how long it takes, I’m not sure…..

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Death is never an acceptable option

Death is never the acceptable option

 

In Ireland last week a programme aired about depression on one of our terrestrial channels.  It centred around three well-known Irish personalities who have struggled with depression for most of their lives. 

 

Watching the programme as someone who struggles with bi-polar, I felt it was in fact a lost opportunity.  The three personalities who spoke of their own difficulties  were eloquent in detailing their struggles, but I do think the programme could have done more by way of presenting facts too.  That being said, something is better than nothing.  But what has appalled me today, what is making my blood boil today, is the following:

 

On a well-followed afternoon radio show in Ireland today (5th November), a caller was talking about how difficult it is being married to someone who is suffering with Depression.  There have been many blogs on this subject before and I do agree, it must be desperate to feel that lack of control while all you can do is sit and watch someone you love suffer or worse still, be on the receiving end of their behavior.    At the same time, as I have also said before, however difficult it is, it is not as bad as being the one struggling with depression in my opinion.

 

But the caller said during her comments that she felt sometimes ‘there are things worse than death’ for someone struggling with depression.  I was appalled and almost crashed the car I happened to be driving at the time.  She was talking about the incessant talk of her spouse killing themselves and that to end his eternal suffering and struggling might not have been the worst thing for him.

 

With this one sentence, in my opinion she has managed to put back by years the plight of those struggling with depression to gain some sort of compassionate understanding and inform a public not quite ready to see depression as a debilitating illness that happens ‘to you’ and not something you have any ‘control over.’  Not only was I appalled by her comments, I was disgusted that the shows host did not challenge that statement in any meaningful way.   This is a human being we are talking about.  Lets for a moment, replace the word depression with cancer.  Would it ever be suggested that someone struggling with cancer give up the fight and just kill themselves instead, because that’s the easier option on them?  Instead of cancer if that’s too disgusting a thought, then put in any illness you want here and then rethink what that comment would have sounded like suggesting that the worst that can happen is not death?

 

I can only sympathise with this womans experience, but I can totally empathise with her husband because as someone who has struggled with depression for the past twenty five years, I know it’s not an easy road to travel.   It is one of the hardest things in life to put one foot in front of the other and keep going when every fibre of your being is screaming at you that you are worthless, your life is worthless and you will amount to nothing. But to continue to walk this path is ultimately the better option than death.  Death is the end, from here there can be no getting better EVER.  My fellow bloggers, I would ask that you let me know what you think?  Am I being too hard on this woman, am I being overly sensitive to what was suggested here?   Can anyone tell me why ‘depression the illness’ is still so misunderstood and those who struggle with it, still so misjudged?  And how can that statement ever be true?

 

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What Am I?

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I had to fill out a form once, while I was on a five year break from work while my children were young.  Officially, I was a ‘housewife’, but that just didn’t seem to cover the job description of what mothers do, or are expected to do.  So as I pondered my role in the family, I sat down and wrote this ditty to motherhood and who exactly I am…..  Hope you can relate or at least enjoy….

What am I?

I’ve been driven to write this,
To explain what I am
When asked what I do
The term ‘housewife’ is so bland…
So read on now and look anew
At my everyday job redefined for you

First and foremost, I suppose I’m a wife
Although some men would call this their ‘trouble and strife’
I prefer the endearments, Lover and Friend
And you’ll see what I mean towards the end….
Housing Technician, I like the sound of that
However when I say it aloud, I sound like a prat.
It doesn’t however explain what I do,
So lets think on the title afresh and anew..
We’ll start at the top and work to the end
Where again, I’ll be a lover and friend
But the more mundane titles are in between
Read on now and see what I mean……

I could start off and say that I’m a great chef
Although by the end of the day, I feel more like a ref
A ‘negotiator of treaties’, now that’s more grand
Or perhaps a draughtsman, who draws up the family plans
A nurse when I’m needed and a doctor too
Cleaning and Wiping up cuts, puke and even wee and poo.
And I have to add cleaner to the list,
And that’s already enough to drive me round the twist.
Because everday I have to start again
I swear I’m going round the bend

Speaking of bends, I’m a plumber too
Armed with a plunger when you block up the loo
Small time electrician, part qualified
I can live with that
I change light bulbs, plugs, fuses,
Tune in TVs, videos and DVD machines
Actually come to think of it, I’m quite handy I mean.

When the children were babies, they were fed from the breast
So a built in bottle and milk plant was attached to my chest
Of course this meant I was on duty day and night
So sometimes I thought breastfeeding was such shite…
Montessory teacher next comes to mind,
A seeker of things you all need to find
A labourer, gardener and a painter at times
Are just a few of the titles that come to mind
An agony aunt, advice giver and psychologist
Those really also have to go on the list.

A massager of broken hearts, crushed egos, and feet!!
Creator of character and backbone, now that’s neat
Financier, bank manager and lending agent all rolled into one
When dealing with money I get the job done.
Payer of bills, a buyer of clothes, books and shoes,
Shopping assistant? Naw, that just won’t do
There are people who shop for the rich for a living,
So a personal shopper I am too, Don’t I just go on giving and giving….

A stauncer support you won’t ever find
Because my family are in my heart, soul and mind.
But judge, jury and prison warden I am sometimes I find
Because I often have to be cruel to be kind.
‘Broken record’ too, of that I’ve no doubt
And sometimes I just have to let out a good shout.
So raving lunatic might have to go down there too
Cause up till now I sound like ‘Miss Goody Two Shoes.’
But I am regularly naughty, if you catch my drift
Although the label for this you won’t find on my list….

So you see this leads us down to the end
And we’re back to the start at lover and friend…
And what went in between the start and this
is some of what I am and that is the list….
A chef, ref, negotiator of treaties, draughtsman, planner, nurse, doctor, cleaner, plumber, electrician (part qualified) built in milk factory (now closed down and all workers made redundant) Montessori teacher, a seeker and finder of things, a labourer, gardener, painter, agony aunt, psychologist, massage artist with magic fingers, creator of character and backbone, financier, bank manager, lending agent, payer of bills, personal shopper, judge, jury, prison warden, broken record, nervous wreck, raving lunatic, naughty girl, oh… and lover and friend…….Try fitting all that down on a form when you’re asked what you are……

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August 20, 2013 · 9:41 pm

Those three most Important Words…

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I wrote this as a gift for my best friend when she was getting married a number of years ago.  I wanted to give her some ‘wisdom’ gleaned from my many years of marriage.  So I thought long and hard about what to tell her, and eventually just gave her the advice my father gave me when I was getting married.  Three important words, he told me are not what I assumed would be ‘I love you’, that he said is taken as a given, it’s the other three important words I need to keep as part of my repetoire for what he called ‘effective communication’…  I have to laugh every time I use these words because they are quite apt, as is most of his advice.

So I passed on his advice through my filter and in the guise of a poem…  Read on and enjoy (I hope…)

Those three most important words….

The three most important words you need to hear
Is not ‘I love you’, but ‘I’m sorry dear’
Yes, love is important in the early stage,
But love grows less important as you age,
That shivery lovey dovey feeling goes
But marriages last when the man knows
The three most important words you need to hear
Are not ‘I love you’, but ‘I’m sorry dear!’

The honeymoon stage, as yes, ain’t, that grand
When together, united and strong you both stand
But the winding road of life has many a bend
And all too soon, the ‘honeymoon’ phase will end
What comes after is for you to know
Because you only reap from what you sow
And while love is desperately important – in the end
What’s more important is he’s your best friend
And as best friends sometimes – you will fight
But there’s something guaranteed to make it right
Yes, you’ve guessed it – you need to hear,
Those three little words – ‘I’m sorry dear.’

When one becomes two and ‘I’ becomes ‘we,’
It’s strange how stupid and stubborn we can be
Life is hard, and basically a grind.
The secret is simple; take one step at a time
But in the end, you will find:
You’ll fight over him leaving the toilet seat up
You’ll fight over who left the tea in their cup
You’ll fight over him leaving his clothes on the floor
You’ll fight over him not locking up the back door
You’ll fight over him not looking after the bins,
You’ll fight and you’ll fight but no-body wins
And you’ll fight some more because he’s too logical
And he’ll say you’re just too bloody emotional
But makes the difference is when you hear
Not ‘you’re a silly cow’, but ‘I’m sorry dear’.

My advice to you now is explain this to your man
Put it in writing if you can
Tell him to read it and keep it close to his heart
Because there’s one way to stop fights before they start
Yes, he’ll then know what you need to hear
Those most important words: I’m sorry dear.
And let me tell you because this is not the end
And because you are my best friend
I’ll tell you what sometimes he needs to hear
It’s for you to say sometimes ‘I’m sorry dear.’
The trick is in knowing whose turn it is…
But if you both get it right you’ll have wedded bliss….

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My grandmother……

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For most of my childhood, my granny Hayes, my dads Mam, was in a nursing home.  She suffered four strokes before she died when I was fifteen.  As a child, my dad and I used to visit my gran in the nursing home every single Sunday.  She had lost the power of her left side and ability to speak, but somehow I could understand what she wanted with her grunts, her incoherent language and her prods..    I wrote this poem for my grandmother when I was about 19 years old.  My dad discovered it years later and it still brings a tear to both our eyes…  She was a wonderful jolly woman, despite her disabilities and even in my forties, her laugh still echoes in my minds eye…  Enjoy….

For my Gran….

I still remember you
Your gentle smile
Your shining eyes that mist with tears
Yes you still live in my heart.

I can still feel your hand in mind
Although my hand is much bigger now.
And I feel your frustration
When you tried to talk but no words came

I can still see your fingers
Pushing to the sweets
‘Take one, have one’ you’d communicate
And we’d munch away on toffees together.

I still fee the pride
You had for me
‘This is my granddaughter’
And you’d push me forward so your friends could see

But I also remember the biting smell
Of the nursing home we’d leave you in
And I still remember your shaking body
Crying, when it came time to say goodbye

You are at rest now Gran
But I still feel you near
Watch over me Gran
And I can almost hear you say…

‘I will my dear…..’

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Who the heck is Liam….. A poem about my big brother…..

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I wrote this poem for my big brother Liam who has spent the last 25 years in Australia.   I suppose to get the true value out of the poem you would have to know my brother but I hope that you can at least get some of its’ humour..  My brother is the first-born son of an Irish mother, and as such has always been her ‘extra special’ pride and joy.  While all six of us children know we are cherished and loved, there is I think, a special place in my mothers heart for her firstborn. My brother and I are actually very close, so it was certainly with tongue in cheek that I wrote this. Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it…

Who the heck is Liam…

I love my siblings, one and all,
But there is one that I seem unable to recall
His name came to mind as if in a dream
Liam, Liam…  who the heck is Liam…..

I heard tell of a brother who left to make money
So he emigrated from our land of ‘milk and honey’
Off to the prison colonies of Australia he went
But I heard tell, whatever he earned, he spent….

Fancy cars, fast women, or was that the other way round.
He made plenty of dollars instead of our punds.
Life over there was great it seems
But I still can’t recall who the heck is Liam…

I heard my folks tell of his legendary wealth
They whisper to themselves ‘we knew he’d do well’
But there’s something in the back of my mind I can’t palce
Oh yes, of course – it’s this guys face!!

My mum tells stories of when I was young
And how this Liam and I had such fun
Apparently I was a favourite sister of his
But what you can’t remember, you don’t miss…

Now that sounds sad but it’s not my intention
It’s just that I always hear this guy mentioned
And it causes me great confusion you see
I don’t remember him, but does he remember me?

He could be sitting at home as we speak
Just about to sit down to have something to eat
He could be thinking to himself as well
Edel, Edel, who the heck is Edel….

Now that I find hard to imagine you see
Cause once we meet, you’ll not forget me
But the other guy is not so special it seems
Because I just can’t remember this guy, Liam…..

Perhaps the confusion is caused by my mind
Perhaps my memory of him is just blind
But you know there is this thing called a plane
That can take you from there to here in a day.

But maybe he’s stupid and not heard of these things
Or perhaps he’s waiting to sprout his own own wings
Whatever the reason he remains sight unseen
And I continue to say, who the heck is Liam?

I vaguely remember a few things come to mention.
I didn’t think he’d last to collect his pension.
He liked fast cars and he talked in a mumble
Oh yes, and he found it impossible to be humble…..

When he met someone new he wanted to know
If they’d always dress nice because beside him, they’re on show
So he liked his women looking sweet like honey
And oh yes, did they or their family have money?

There’s one final thing I just want to say,
Its fifteen years and one month to the day
Since I’ve seen you and as I write this poem
What I want to know Liam is; when will you be home??

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August 20, 2013 · 7:28 pm

Oh for Sleep…..

Will the pounding ever cease.
Will the urge to shut my eyes
and dream all day, ever go away
My body aches for bed……

My temper rises without fail
God help those in the way
For my tongue is very sharp today
I am just so tired……

My muscles won’t react
They don’t want to be pushed
Into activity they can’t do today
Oh, the strain, the strain

God, my eyes won’t stay open
The burning sensation is just so strong
Each time I blink,
Each lid becomes so damn heavy

I pause and try to think
But all thought flees
I am just so tired
I want to sleep……

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Innuendos

Innuendo

How can it be that this is so,
When did it change to this.
Within the blink of my eye,
the knife fell and it threw me over the edge.

My mind screams to answer back your words.
Because behind them is not the meaning you meant – but the meaning you mean!
But I only smile nervously.
And You – you hide behind your grin.

A hand (mis)placed upon my shoulder and a shiver worms up my spine.
As I turn to look at you my eyes meet your sneer
You’re secure in the knowledge, there’s no one else near.
Innuendo’s, sly strokes, recklessly placed hands, insinuations,
All designed with only one thing in mind,
to undermine me and leave me open
to what you have in mind – on your mind.
You’re out of your mind and I’m losing mine!

I am strong, I AM strong, I say over and over.
But your sexual ranting’s leave me tongue-tied
and speechless and squirming inside.
Like a small child caught with her hand stuck in the cookie jar.
But I am no child – no child…..
And you – you’re less than nothing,
a cowards – a man without balls.
Reduced to preening your ego by destroying someone else,
younger, weaker,
by destroying someone else – Me!

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