The Truth About Potty Training

I am not sure where this is going but there I was, sitting in me bath, pondering... as I do...random and relevant stuff that all seems to merge into one and I realised that I had spent my afternoon waiting around on a call that I am not likely to get.

Three guesses who it was supposed to be from? Actually need to give more of a clue but most people would be able to generalise that it would be someone at the local MH Trust...due to necessary but tiresome communications I have tried to uphold with the organisation for longer than is tolerable for most sane people. It's okay, I am mad. Not like I have anything better to do.

So the truth about potty training is that once you get past a certain age is too late. I would explain but my brain is still trying to formalise the links between my thinking on 'personal trauma/damage'...the strange fekked up life that follows and the 'care' condundrum/obstacle course that gets harder to work your way through the further you get into it.

"Jump ship". I hear the cry. If only I could but I just don't trust the care system to make things more comfortable/safer/tolerable for my father. I have given up expecting anything in regards to myself. Saves the disappointments of 'pretendy care plans' that lie festering in sulks in overflowing intrays.

Somewhere in all this there is another chain of thought going on. About the fool in Shakespear's plays. What a key role, they played. The wisdom through the mockery (particularly in King Lear). Anyway, that is written, if I can focus my thought long enough, because there is a level of acceptance of lunacy in life (even amongst the solidatory circles of 'the ill') As long as you play the game...you know the rules and you don't overstep the mark. After that, you are sent back to Coventry..to twitter along to yourself (trying to work out just how deep the rot goes...and not just internally either but throughout human kind).

To be honest, I am not in the best place to be working all this through. I know there is a mania that is sort of troughing into depression every few hours but that doesn't stop my brain chundling.

I think I am pretty hurt at the moment...not by people I don't know (who play silly beggars with me). I have taken much more damage from people who I let get close before..to know who to keep at arm's length and beyond. It is people who know me...and supposedly accept me as I am...then expressing surprise and disappointment that I am behaving 'outfield'. Tut Tut Mandy. You really should know the boundaries by now.

So deflated....I am going to skuttle off and find the quietest place of my 'state of being', a la sedation city and let it all go because it will be what it will be. I will be what I am and right now there is fekk all I can do to stop it.