I tell a good story, but writing a good story doesn’t come naturally to me, I skived more days off school than attended, I left school at 15yrs to look after old people.
I did return to school and sat a couple of GCSE exams, but I didn’t return for the results, I was probably avoiding further disappointed in myself.
I’m 45yrs old now and a Therapist with a busy schedule, I seem to have found a way of living with an attitude that keeps me centred, generally happy, compassionate and amused.
I’m constantly badgered by people saying “Alexia, please write a book” (thank you for those who have encouraged me I do appreciate it and love you for believing in me)
I’ve written and written and written, whilst having a number of existential therapy sessions, to guide me through the soul swamplands and then deleted the 40.000 words, I finally penned.
The words I scribbled were fuelled by tears, sweat and belly laughter.
Why did I delete it? I found sharing my vulnerability to daunting, bearing your soul, is somewhat painful in a “ You must be perfect to be a worthy, society”
I decided to write a collection of essays, which hopefully will capture the essence of my story and offer some useful insights and maybe make you giggle a little.
Essay 1 fairy tales
When I was a little girl, I dreamt a handsome boy would turn up on a white horse steal my heart, and drag me off to his castle.
I wasn’t alone in this fantasy, I think a lot of little girls dream a similar dream.
Fairy tales have confused the majority of humans in different ways. The boys grew up thinking they need to be rich, strong and show no feelings to be manly.
Women need to be shy, beautiful, and enthusiastic to hand over our personal power.
I believed this deep down, I dreamt and could not wait for my boy-prince to whisk me away and rescue me, like the beautiful girls in my fairy tales’ books. The madness in this delusion was, I had never actually witnessed any evidence of this occurring in real life.
I watched copious films as a child, that reinforced this narrative and I learnt if you are incredibly beautiful it’s more likely you go to the castle with the prince. I also discovered from the television and celebrities you need to be blonde, with tanned skin, thin legs and large breasts. (This seems to have changed to becoming a carbon copy of Kim Kardashian)
My naivety flourished on the nonsense fairy tale princess narrative; consequently, I brought a home dye and made it a dreadful yellow, I smothered myself in fake tan, lowered my top and tightened my bra strap to showcase my budding plumage, and found Boyfriend Number one, I’ll call him Nathan.
I offered my heart on a plate to Nathan, which he grabbed and buried like a dog with a fresh bone, he didn’t know what to do with my heart, he was hell-bent on not giving it up. Nathan had many strange behaviours clearly rooted in his childhood poverty.
Nathan was one of those lads who learnt to shoplift to avoid starving, he learnt a formidable dexterity thanks to his cruel Mother and step Father who used beating, abuse and neglect as a primary child-rearing approach.
Nathan didn’t any get fairy tales as a kid, he got threats, squalor and revolving visits to kid’s homes for more abuse. Nathan hated his mother, while desperately wanting her validation and love.
I wanted his and my father’s validation more than the fairy tale dream, and this is why Nathan and I collided. We were not that different, we just reacted to deep abandonment in opposition. I hid and hoped I’d be saved, he fought and hated the world not saving hm.
I knew deep down, I had made a mistake the day I traded my heart in the hope of my fairy tale romance. My unconscious desire for the fairy tale that dropped me slap bang at the beginning of a new landscape.
A landscape I had to navigate alone to reclaim my heart.
A bit like the wizard of Oz, I was living out Dorothy’s story, and that wasn’t the plan I wanted to be Cinderella.
There were various stages to this journey.
1. Lost and unaware
2. Ask God hope he listens
4. Ask God hope he hears me
5. Feel Sad
6. Angry with myself for being such a fool
7. Angry with everyone and life, blame the world
8. Fight with self and everyone like a rabid dog
9. Go mad
10. Go feral
11. Surrender and realise the simplicity
12. Reclaim my heart
13. Dance with life
So, rather than a yellow brick road, I hit the skids and descended into turmoil in a neighbourhood which I’ll call Bluegates Estate, an imposing grey labyrinth decorated with prostitutes, needles, stray dogs and burnt out cars. Bluegates could be likened to a government care home for fractured souls discarded into poverty.
These empty-eyed humans can only see as far as the end of their noses and believe they are screwing the system, the same system they are unknowingly enslaved too, the Government’s Intravenous feed aka Social Security.
Some folk opt out of the government’s toxic system, which results in a lack of identity leaving crime the only way to survive. Getting drugs was simpler than getting a bottle of milk in Bluegates, yet the availability of drugs was of no value to me, drugs at this time petrified me.
These characters brought colour to the debauchery in the concrete commune, whoever designed this estate screwed up royally, Bluegates estate was a perfect habitat for criminality. Oh, great Mother sunshine seemed to be unacquainted with this habitat, or maybe she was too afraid to shine her rays here. Either way, it was continually overcast.
How have fairy tales and myths affected you? What narratives guide you, do any work for you? How have they effected?
I have some wonderful stories about Bluegates, which ill share in another essay,
With BIG BIG Love Alexia x
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