Writing Workshop: Pushing Buttons

I thought I would join in with Josie @ Sleep is for the Weak's Wednesday writing workshop. One of the prompts caught my attention:

Blog about a button you pressed that you weren’t supposed to.

I wrote the below short story in response. It's fiction, and I would be really interested in what you think (constructive criticism please!)


Pushing Buttons

‘Bitch!’

The bus was noisy, laughter mingling with moans about PE and double Science, and snatches of music as last-minute texts were sent. It wasn’t so noisy that Rachel didn’t hear the insult hissing through the din. She felt her spine lengthen a notch, and concentrated on the stripped outline of the trees as they slipped by the window. She suppressed a sigh as they drew through high metal gates, and joined the queue at the turning circle.

She went with the throng down the steps, ignoring the whispers and smirks directed her way, and hitched up her bag. Plain black and satchel-like, it was all wrong, but there was no point in lobbying for a more fashionable one. It was heavy with books to return to the library; she found its bulk reassuring. She set off for registration.

Here, there was some respite. Shar was in her form, and they often sat next to each other. Today though, Shar was giggling with a group in the corner, and didn’t look up. Rachel sat in the first available seat, and took out her homework for Miss Taylor. History was her favourite subject. She liked the glimpse into other lives, the feeling of being a detective, piecing sources together to form a different world. Miss Taylor had once taken her to one side and asked her whether she’d be staying on for A levels. In a few years, Miss Taylor said, she could be at university - maybe even Oxbridge - if she was prepared to put in the work.

The comment had kept Rachel tossing in bed, her mind conjuring possibilities. She consistently did well in lessons, but somehow most of her teachers seemed to take her for granted. She merged into the background. One of the students who gave no trouble, but a little too reticent for her own good. And there was something unattractive about her. Not in a physical sense, although she couldn't be called pretty with her over-wide mouth. But there was an intensity about her that put people off. She had few friends, and compliments rarely came her way. So, she treasured Miss Taylor’s words, repeating them to herself as other girls spat at her, or smirked ‘Troll!’ as she slid by.

Registration was over, and she hauled her bag from under the desk. She weighed its bulk in her hand, but felt a lightness lift her at the thought of History in an hour. She reached into the bag to stroke the pages of her essay, so carefully written out. Her lips twitched - for a moment she almost smiled.

***
Rachel went into History. Shar was already there, and Rachel hesitated. Shar nodded and shrugged slightly, and Rachel sat next to her, perching on the edge of her seat and wriggling her foot. They were studying the French Revolution, and she had written about the inception of the Terror. She was fascinated by the period, by the excitement and sense of possibility - but also the darkness at its centre. Maybe a little of the guillotine could be found in every human heart.

Miss Taylor was a rarity - a teacher able to retain control of her class through some indefinable quality - charisma perhaps - that held their attention. She had little need to shout. But today, her edges seemed frayed. Her clothes, usually stylish and well put together, were a little crumpled, and she wore ugly, flat pumps. The class were restless. Damp shoes and coats steamed up the windows. The room was too hot, and Rachel could feel herself begin to sweat next to the double radiator. Someone flicked a pen across the room.

‘Daniel! Come here and pick that up right now,’ Miss Taylor’s voice was rough, lower than usual, and Rachel jerked her head up.

Daniel dragged his feet to the front of the class, his mouth twisted to one side.

‘You alright Miss? Sounds like you’ve got a cold,’

‘I’m fine, Daniel - but I’m grateful for your concern.’ Her reply, meant to sound self-deprecating, ended up sarcastic. Rachel stared, and a pulse seemed to run around the room.

Daniel made his way back to his seat, and muttered something loudly enough for Rachel to hear,

‘Trannie!’

Miss Taylor’s hand faltered for a second on the Smart Board, but she carried on as if she hadn’t heard. Yet, the set of her shoulders was a fraction higher than normal.

The lesson wore on. Minutes passed, but Rachel felt herself winding tighter and tighter. After Daniel’s comment, the whisper was taken up. A girl at the back snickered loudly, and Miss Taylor stopped talking to shout,

‘Will all of you just quieten down. What’s wrong with you today?’

She may as well have said, what’s wrong with me? The class was turning, respect trickling away.
There was a pause as Miss Taylor gazed at her class. Then, she seemed to shake herself, and arranged her features into a passable imitation of usual easy smile.

‘Right, homework everyone. Come one, let’s have it,’

There were the usual groans and sighs, and a general rustling in bags. Miss Taylor began a circuit of the classroom, collecting work. At first, all was fine, but then she reached Daniel’s table. She held out her hand, and he slanted his eyes at her.

‘Haven’t done it Miss,’ he said.

There was a pause as they seized each other up. Miss Taylor’s smile looked worn.

‘Ok Daniel, any particular reason why?’

‘Didn’t feel like it,’

On any other day she would have rolled her eyes, and asked him to stay behind for a chat. But today was not a normal day.

‘Fine!’ she barked, and moved onto the boy next to Daniel.

‘Sor-ry Miss,’ he smirked.

She gazed at him for a second, and then wordlessly moved on. Rachel looked around the room. Excitement was written on every face. They were thrilled at the rebellion, and Rachel felt her chest constrict as Miss Taylor moved impotently from pupil to pupil. Everywhere she was met with the same shrug and faux-apologetic smile.

‘Haven’t had time Miss,’

‘Didn’t understand the question,’

‘Who cares about some dead French posh-os anyway?’

Miss Taylor’s face was painful. Bewildered, she slowed her movements before coming to a halt in front of Shar, who simply shook her head. Her pale, eyes turned to Rachel.

Rachel’s had clenched tight around the pages in her bag. She looked at Miss Taylor and shifted slightly in her seat. Her eyes began to signal an apology on behalf of her classmates as her hand started it’s ascent…and stopped. She had glimpsed something in Miss Taylor’s face. A flicker of nervousness, and pleading. And suddenly, it was more than she could bear, to see her favourite teacher looking so humble, so human in front of her. She felt betrayed somehow.

She held her teacher’s gaze for the longest second. She sensed Shar shifting next to her. The hot air seemed to swirl as the class waited. And then, Rachel jerked her head sideways. Just before she looked down, she caught the look of puzzlement in Miss Taylor’s face. The silence stretched out, punctuated finally by a whisper and a short laugh from somewhere to her left. And then., she sensed rather than saw the defeated shrug.

‘Well, I have to say I am very disappointed with you all. We may as well finish for today,’
There was a scrape of chairs as the delighted class jumped up, chattering and sniping at one another. Miss Taylor was already forgotten.

Rachel left, avoiding everyone’s gaze. As she reached the door, she glanced back once, to see Miss Taylor sit down slowly, her head seemingly too heavy to hold up.

***

Not long afterwards, Miss Taylor left. Rumours circulated: of illness, a nervous breakdown, torrid love affairs, even a prison sentence. Rachel never found out if any of the stories were true. She didn’t blame herself for her actions that day. She understood the unpredictability of people, and the ease with which they could turn. She could see now that Miss Taylor’s silent entreaty had been too much for a lonely schoolgirl. But sometimes, an image of her old teacher would occasionally come, unbidden, into her mind and she would shut it off with care. She went to Cambridge and took a first in Modern History. But she never studied the French Revolution again.


Photo credit: ne*

Curls and a Duh! Moment

All my family have straight hair. Maybe, on a damp day, there's a bit of fluff to it, but that's about it. I longed for curly hair as a child and even had an extremely ill-advised perm. Well, it was the early 90s.

H's family, on the other hand, are blessed with heads full of thick, gorgeous hair, in various states of curliness. One of his sisters sports stunning pre-raphaelite curls down her back that make me so envious I could spit. I've always harboured a secret hope monkey will inherit the curly gene and - very gratifyingly - as it grew, it obligingly began to twist itself into little auburn corkscrews. I was delighted, and still am. She has beautiful hair, but there is one small problem. The picture at the top of this post was taken a while ago, and since then, her curls have gotten longer. They still look gorgeous, but washing and brushing them are a total nightmare. They get extremely tangled and frizzy very quickly, and trying to keep monkey still so I can hold the top of her hair and tease out the tangles is ... erm, challenging.

Then, the other day, H had a brainwave. When I got in from work, a huge bottle of baby conditioner was sitting proudly on the stairs. How had this not occurred to us before? Who knows, but it hadn't. The last few hair washes have meant an extra rinse stage, but brushing afterwards has been a dream. Monkey is even starting to accept hair washing with less fuss once I tell her it's time for the 'magic cream.'

A 'duh!' moment indeed!

Shoe-phobia

A few short weeks ago, monkey loved the shoe shop. She sat happily trying on multiple pairs of shoes as I vetoed everything pink and sparkly (pretty much everything) before settling on a pair of white (with pink stripes but no sparkles) trainers. She charmed the lady in the shop, obligingly went for a slightly comical little walk around and finally popped off with a jaunty wave smiling 'ba-BYE!'

Fast forward a couple of months, which in toddler time is an eternity. Her shoes need checking: she's already a size '5' at nineteen months. I fear she's going to be like her Mummy and end up with size sevens at the age of thirteen (luckily the rest of me caught up to my comedy clown's feet eventually.) So off we pop to get her checked and try and pick up some wellies at the same time. We enter the shop feeling relaxed. For once there's no huge queue and a young sales assistant comes straight over to help.

Now, I have to pause in this story to admit to something. My nephew went through a stage of screaming blue murder when it came to anything like shoe fitting or hair cuts. In the way of someone who has yet to parent a toddler through sometimes completely inexplicable tantrums, I smugly told myself he was clearly highly sensitive and essentially overreacting. I'm sure you can imagine what came next: let's just say I got my comeuppance.

Back to the shoe shop, or as monkey now believes it to be, the Gates of Hell. I still have no idea what is to come and confidently ask for a quick check up. The sales assistant reaches forward to touch monkey's foot just as I am saying:

'Look! Shoe...iiitt!'

She has just booted the sales assistant in the face. I freeze as the woman jumps back. Monkey is climbing over my shoulder and screaming the loudest scream I've ever - I swear, ever -heard. H is in shock next to me. I'm desperately trying not to drop monkey who has now made it halfway down my back. I've still got hold of an ankle so now I have an upside down, screaming toddler who is also smacking me with her fists. The sales assistant looks at her like she's just come straight out of the Exorcist and takes a few more steps back.

I manage to swing monkey down and pick her up again with a firmer grip. She takes a pause to breathe and I can feel my ears ringing. I am crimson, muttering apologies to the sales assistant who looks extremely unimpressed. I look at H and his eyes flick once to the exit. We leg it.

This happened a couple of weeks ago and H has since tried a couple of times to get monkey near the shoe shop but each time she goes crazy. I guess I'll be fitting her shoes from now on. Good job I once has a Saturday job in Clarkes.

No Kate, Skinny doesn't feel that good

Kate Moss is in the news for claiming in an interview that 'nothing tastes as good as skinny feels.' Apparently pro-anorexia websites often use this as a slogan to 'motivate' those who visit to starve themselves that bit more.

I've blogged a little before about my own struggles with an eating disorder; something I thought was long behind me but which has startled me by kicking in again recently. I suppose it's not that surprising. I've been suffering from post-natal depression for a long time. I can now recognise the signs were there shortly after monkey was born, 19 months ago, and were then compounded by feeding problems, sleep deprivation, returning to work and a great deal of work based stress. Given everything I've coped with over the past year and a half the only thing I'm surprised about is that I didn't get more depressed sooner. So, when I was at a real low point and the options seemed limited, it is again not surprising that I revived (subconsciously) the eating disorder as a way of coping.

In some ways, it served its purpose. I pulled out of the worst of the depression, began functioning again and started therapy. I started to feel more positive but there was a problem. After only a few weeks of skipping meals and despite over a decade of solid recovery, the voice in my head telling me not to eat had resurrected so powerfully I felt trapped. My perceptions were already massively skewed: all food seemed complicated and despite dropping over a stone in a few weeks, my clothes hanging off me and concerned comments coming in from all sides, food just seemed too difficult. Better not to eat. Simpler too - starving focuses the mind on food, the scales and calories, neatly sidestepping the need to think about anything more painful.

Fortunately for me, I was able to retain a mature part of my mind which knew what I was doing was incredibly risky - physically and mentally. The physiology of starvation means once you stop eating you can become obsessed extremely quickly with food and shape. There have been studies on healthy people subjected to restricted calorie diets and without fail they all became extremely preoccupied with food, appearance and weight and frightened of eating. It can happen in a matter of a few weeks, a few pounds.

Why, at the age of 28 and now a mother, did starvation suddenly seem like an option for me? There are very few women who are happy with the way they look, do not want to lose a few pounds or are not affected by the daily bombardment of images of size zero and smaller models. Do I think size zero causes eating disorders? No. That is too simplistic. But we all live in a social context and no matter how hard we try we absorb thousands of messages and images every day telling us to be thinner, more attractive, younger looking. Susie Orbach has described how a human can process and 'mirror' expressions in milliseconds. We absorb images of skinny models and celebrities and even if we reject them consciously we have already, in a fraction of a second, taken in the ideals they are pushing. It's subtle brainwashing.

For someone experiencing a difficult time, losing a few pounds can easily seem like the solution. For the unfortunate, eating disordered behaviour can begin. And before you think that doesn't apply to you, have you ever skipped a meal, gone on a severely calorie restricted diet, over-exercised to burn off the pounds, smoked rather than eaten, or had 'good' and 'bad' days where you alternately eat too little and then too much? All these things and more are on a spectrum, they are part of the same web of influences affecting us all and making it difficult for so many to simply eat when we are hungry and stop when we are full.

I would argue there are few women in our society who remain unaffected by the unrelenting pressure to look a certain way. The fashion and diet industries are a big part of this picture.

I am fortunate I have been well-supported and received help at an appropriate time. I am eating again and have put on a couple of pounds. I feel much better physically and mentally for it. I won't go into a long list of the effects of starvation but it is not glamorous. It is agonising.

It is a painful and difficult process to shut up the voice which tells me to keep starving, that eating is weak, but it is a profoundly necessary one. I will not bring my daughter up as an eating disordered mother. She will have enough pressure on her as it is unless things radically change. But it is unbelievably hard, even after all the years of health I have enjoyed. It is also a wake up call to me to never become complacent and to continue to understand and work against the pernicious messages being sent out daily by those who make money from creating insecurity and misery.

So no Kate, skinny is not nirvana. Food does taste better than illness, despair and a half-life lived in a straight jacket and quite frankly you can keep your damaging, dangerous and pathetic opinions to yourself.

Progress and Baby Yearnings

Still not keeping up too well with the blogging world but things are seeming brighter. I've been going to psychotherapy and last week had a couple of 'a-ha!' moments. More importantly, I've finally arranged properly with work I'll be doing a four day week from now on. It's a huge relief although I've had to book a series of random days off up to Christmas to fit around existing commitments. My workload seems to be steadily increasing again so the key will be to keep on top of that on reduced hours without getting too stressed...

I've bought a book on mindfulness and I'm slowly working my way through it. There are some interesting insights about the thought patterns which occur when we're depressed and how trying to solve the issue often only entangles us further. I also went to my first reading group last week and really enjoyed the book (Sarah Waters' 'The Little Stranger'.) There are still some big hurdles to face and one of them is admitting that things with my eating have been - how shall I say this? - a little ropey. It went downhill with startling swiftness and all the old thoughts kicked back in as if they'd never been away. It is so insidious. But after dropping a lot of weight very quickly I have managed to stabilise things for the last couple of weeks.

I can feel my healthy mind fighting back now - hence being able to post about it - but the 'bitch on my shoulder' (as I term her) is not going without a fight. Hence things seem finely balanced right now.

And then, amidst all this, I have recently had the privilege of meeting my friend's newborn son for the first time and also seeing my husband's five month old niece. Oddly, given where I am, the two experiences have really stirred up a longing for a second baby. It was an amazingly physical feeling. The way holding both babies felt so natural and comfortable. The way I almost tingled with the urge to breastfeed again. Even - God help me - looking forward to lying awake at night because there's a baby doing the tango on my bladder or giving birth again (this time my way.)

I know of course this is not a good time, not yet. But Monkey is two in April and H and I have decided if I can get to a more stable place and sustain it we can think again then about beginning to try. That means no more weight loss, doing the work with my therapist, enjoying my time with monkey and keeping things at work in the same positive place they've been the past couple of weeks. Oh, and stopping smoking.

So there is a lot of work to do. I need to be in a place where I am well in mind and body and not just for monkey or H or any potential new baby but for me. In the meantime I am choosing to take this new broodiness as a good sign I am properly emerging from a nasty, but temporary, episode and looking to the future with a more hopeful attitude.

What are your 5 a day?

I stumbled across a really interesting website the other day called Mindapples. The idea behind it is that everyone is affected by mental wellbeing, not just those who may have suffered from a mental illness. Mindapples aims to build a resource for everyone to use to take steps to improve their own mental wellbeing.

We are encouraged to take care of our physical wellbeing by eating five portions of fruit and vegetables a day yet we neglect our mental health. Mindapples aims to build a resource to combat this, by creating a stigma-free public debate about the importance of good mental health and the simple steps we can all take - our mental 5 a day. That is, five things we do each day to take care of our minds and souls as well as our bodies. This could be something like going for a walk, 'mindfulness' or being in the present (another post to follow on this at some point), reading a good book, connecting with others or taking a nice bubble bath.

The website is asking people to fill in a short (anonymous) survey and share their own mindapples to help build the resource. If you have time, do log on, take the test and have a browse through what others have said. Or post here!

I have been struggling to find even one thing I consciously do to take care of myself (which may be part of my problem) so I've decided to come up with a list of things and try and start doing some of them over the next few weeks:

1. Take a hot bubble bath with a glass of wine or some fruit tea
2. Read a book I enjoy and try to lose myself in it. This one's interesting for me because I have been finding it difficult to really get into books recently. I'm not sure why but it's something I really miss. I'm going to try some different authors and genres to see if that helps.
3. Do some exercise. This is pretty obvious; we all know that exercise is good for you but I find motivating myself to exercise difficult. I want to try something I enjoy - perhaps simply putting on some music and dancing (I'll banish H from the living room first).
4. Write in my journal. I've bought a beautiful blue book with lovely thick pages for this and I want to try simply writing whatever comes into my head, or a stream of consciousness.
5. Be kind to myself. Try to think of positive things about myself and find ways of shutting up the inner voice which snipes at and criticises me for being a bad mother, wife and friend.
6. Garden. Plant some herbs and cook something nice with them. Grow some vegetables in the spring.
7. Meditate.
8. Be mindful. Try to enjoy the present moment and take the time to appreciate nature, the turning of the seasons or a simple cuddle with monkey or H without worrying about what I need to do next.

I am sure I can continue to add to this list and I know I won't be able to do all of it. But if I can create some space to just do one or two things that will be a start.

If anyone is interested in joining me and trying out your own Mindapples please do and let me know how you get on.

MMR pain and an update on me

Monkey's MMR jab was due a couple of months ago. I put the jab off then, wanting to avoid any unnecessary trips to the docs during the swine flu outbreak. After that things have been a bit tricky and I just didn't have the energy.

However, after I received a reminder I gave myself a stern talking to, got my act together and booked her in. Off we went on Monday, armed with an afternoon off work, dolly (who got plasters too) and her dummy. Her previous jabs, whilst traumatic for both of us, went off as smoothly as these things can with only a few mild after-effects so I was confident the MMR would be the same. I expected to be back at work the next day and had even booked my car for its MOT. I'd also done a little bit of reading about safety and was reassured all the evidence shows no link with autism and the dangers of her actually contracting Measles or Mumps outweighed any risks to getting her vaccinated.

I still think that's the case. But I was woefully unprepared for the potential side effects of the jab. The procedure itself was quick but upsetting for us both and of course I felt guilty. That evening, monkey was restless and grumpy and came up in a high fever. She seemed to become more and more unwell and at about 1 a.m. I called NHS Direct. Having been assured it was just a reaction, I tried to settle her down but it was impossible and things got worse. She continued with her fever all week, being highly grouchy, not eating or drinking much, wobbly and refusing to sleep other than being held in a particular way in my arms. I'm sure my biceps are bigger! H and I were taking it in turns to sit up with her most of the night and by yesterday I felt like a zombie.

Luckily she has finally perked up a bit today and although she has a rash seems to be over the worst. It was truly horrible to see her go through feeling so poorly and I am quite cross that I was not warned this could be a normal effect of the jab. The nurse who did the MMR only advised me to watch for a rash in 6 days or so. We actually went back to the doctors as I was so worried about her and after waiting half an hour with an increasingly hysterical child who thought she was about to be stabbed again was roundly dismissed: the doctor implied I was overreacting. I'm sure there's probably a note somewhere in her file saying she has a hysterical mother but I was genuinely unprepared for such a strong reaction and frightened by how poorly she seemed to be.

I'm so glad the old monkey seems to be staging a recovery now but had I known how lengthy and severe the side effects could be I would have thought twice about the timing - scheduling closer to the weekend and booking some more time off work would have helped.

As for me, I've been in a bit of a haze. Sleep deprivation seems so much harder when you've gotten out of the habit of it. But I'm feeling better and getting on with things. I had my first appointment with a psychotherapist last week and really liked her. I'll be seeing her weekly and I'm hopeful we can do some work to lay past issues to rest and help me to think more positively. I owe it to monkey to at least try.

Photo Credit prashant_zi