Mental, mardy, but a little bit marvellous..

Weekends are made for this

It’s a Saturday morning. The children are at their dads for the weekend; the two big boys are sleeping. The house is quiet, it’s just me and Dan and it’s lovely.

Our bedroom has French doors that look out onto the back garden. Yesterday we got it mown and tidied and it’s beautiful – we have a wild area at the back, a bird feeder and a gorgeous big space to look out on. There are solar lights and cats and birds. Flowers and plants and pretty things.

In the night it’s like a fairy village, the giant tree at the back overlooking us and hanging over the outer fence is the gateway to all sorts of wonderful sights in my mind and I go to sleep thinking of fairies and dragons and magic.

Today we are off to Silverdale. A walk around a nature reserve and the area Dan remembers as a child. Some old ruins to see and birds and nature. A pub lunch and some loveliness. Lots of time together, just how I like it.

Saturday should be a good day.


April 28

10 months we’ve been together. A whole 10! It’s been the best 10 months of my life.

We’ve been hiking and walking and stone gathering. We’ve done tourist stuff in our own city, he’s taken me around this whole north western country – places I’d heard of and never seen, seen but never heard of. Laughing and running and playing and walking and just verb-ing all the way along.

I have visited more places in this 10 months than in the previous 10 years of my life. We’ve taken the children out for dinners, trips, jaunts, walks, gardening. We’ve been out as a couple more in 10 months than I ever went out with anyone in my life. Ever.

He lights me up. Makes me want a tomorrow, a future.

Today marks the day I received my official divorce paperwork. He got his last week. 10 months in and we are both divorced, looking to get married again. Do we wait for our 1 year anniversary? We’ll see.

He makes me feel… everything. I look at him and I’m amazed. I haven’t lost any of the depth of feeling I have for him, it increases daily, but it never goes away. I fancy him more – if that’s even possible. I watch him sleeping now as much as I ever did (read: ever could, since I’m usually asleep first).

He lights me up. And I’m so glad we started talking. I’m so glad we fell so quickly. I’m so glad the universe gifted him to me. I’ll love him like no one has ever been loved before. And I’ll know that he loves me. Because that’s my truth. He loves me. I can hold on to it in my darkest moments and believe it, not because it’s believable (it’s not) but because it’s a truth. In my bones I know this. And He knows the same. That I love him. And I always will.

Happy 10 months Mr Spooner. I love you. ❤️

April the 2nd.

So far this year I’ve read 3 books. That’s all. I’ve watched a couple seasons of Supernatural. I’ve been for walks and discovered new places and new things I’d like to do. Ive been out for dinner, shopping, discovering. I’m a very proud parent. I’ve made plans. I have a life, these days.

I don’t have medication. I don’t have to binge eat. I don’t have such a bad relationship with food, family or ex family as I did. I don’t cry every day anymore.

I do have a home. I do have 4 cats, 6 full time children, 1 part time child and a whole lot of love. I do have sensitive teeth, a parent in the hospital with heart failure and a different car since the old one caught fire on December 1st last year. The new one passed its MOT this week and frankly, it’s a keeper. I do have online courses to complete, a cv looking better than ever and a wedding to plan. I do have a grown up, working, upstanding member of society for a son.

These days are busy. They can be hard, they can drag; they can be quick and fast and hurried. They are full. They are never lonely. These days are loved and loving. These days are family and weathering and smiling and crying and feeling. These days are my days. They are good, for the most part. The end of the days are always good.

The nights, these days, are magnificent. They are mine, and he is mine. He is magnificent and I am lucky. He is lucky, and I am his. We fit. We snuggle. And these days and nights are good.


Ikea is one of my new favourite places. First time I went I was on the edge of a huge panic attack the whole way round. Found a wee stuffed elephant – Nellyphant – and cuddled her and with Nelly and Mr Fantastic – otherwise known as Mr Sexypants – kept me even enough.

We’ve been there 5 times in as many weeks and it’s been awesome.

Our house is finally looking like a home and it feels so good. It feels like a place for staying.. not just a stepping stone anymore. A home. A place to live and bring up a family. It’s lovely. All it took was a good man and some hard work. And a good man. Actually that’s everything. A good man. The best one. My best friend. My everything.

The divorces are taking so long that it gets me down when I think about having to wait to get married. But I guess that’s an up side to next year – it’ll be our wedding year.

Our house is changing every day. Our lives are both so different than this time last year. We both have our troubles but we have each other. Not just each other but the smalls too. It’s brilliant.

I worry that the universe will take it away – that one person isn’t allowed to be this happy, this settled, this content. But if that’s my only worry I’ll take it.

Catching up

This should be a long catch up huh?

The household has changed somewhat since I was last here. There are now two adults and 5 children. And two extras every other weekend. 

Mr Fantastic and I are getting divorced from our respective exes – both sets of paperwork have been sent, hurrah! We are in the process of planning our own wedding – so far it consists of “let’s get married and grab two witnesses off the street”. Sounds almost perfect to me.

He moved in, weeks ago now. Furniture and everything. Given up his house. I literally couldn’t be happier. To have him here with me, every day – it’s a dream come true. I get to wake up and see his face, feel his heartbeat next to mine. I never felt so loved before. 

We’re looking to move house. Neither of us want to unless we find somewhere perfect though, so it’s a case of looking and looking and leaving and looking and looking some more.

My girl has moved out. She’s 11 and can’t live with me anymore. She hates it here. It saddens me. She lives with her aunty and uncle and they love having her there and she clearly prefers to be there and it breaks my heart. Every time I hear of them doing stuff with her that I can’t do. Or her having friends round, or going here or there – it kills me a little bit more each time. She doesn’t want to do any of that stuff with me and her brothers and sisters. Because she doesn’t get enough attention. She doesn’t get everything her own way and while I understand that (and I do) it makes it very difficult to not be hard on myself or to feel like I’m not an absolute failure. 

On the plus side, since she moved out, she is much happier. Her aunt and uncle have some help with their baby, my girl is a little star with said baby, she is happy, and the children at home are definitely much more chilled because she’s not here to wind them all up all the time. The atmosphere is so much better, there’s less swearing and fighting and arguing. Its a lot easier – And a huge shame that she can’t be here to enjoy it – even though it would be completely different if she was. It’s so confusing. And hard. So hard. I’m so tired of always feeling like the bad guy. And I do when it comes to her. She actually hates me – she only loves me when she’s not near me. If she’s near me I’m less than nothing to her. Just someone to grind underfoot and take all her frustrations out on. It’s very difficult. I’m hoping as she gets older she will realise that all I’ve ever done is love her and care for her but I suspect her mind is potentially a victims mind and that’s the problem. I refuse to victimise anyone and that includes myself, I have little sympathy for those seeking it. Perhaps that’s my problem and I’ve driven her away. I don’t know. It’s a bloody mess. 

So that’s that, anyway. She’s moved out. Permanently I think. With the aim of her dad having her once he gets a new place. The 17 year old has given up college. He got his level 2 diploma and now is looking for an engineering apprenticeship. It could be worse. The 16 (I have a 16 year old now) asked for a bike for his birthday and is now showering and cleaning and doing his jobs and earning money and generally being much more grown up than he has been in the last few years which although welcome, is inherently scary for me. He’s my baby. 

Mr Fantastic and I are trying for a baby. Well, not trying as such – but not preventing. There is no birth control involved at any rate. If we fall then we do and it’ll be wonderful. If not I’ll be broken-hearted and so, I suspect, will he. Everything crossed though. I’m considered an old woman by baby making standards now, 35 is well past it. However it has only been 16 weeks since we met – we’ve plenty of time yet. I hope. 

So that’s that. We have Mr Fantastics son every other weekend – he slots right right in between Toria and Jack and it’s like he was meant to be here with us. It’s marvellous to see his smiley little face, and Mr Fantastic, although he seems extra stressed, is completely happier – his smile and his laughs seem more, somehow. Not more anything, just more. More him.

Maya comes home every other weekend too. We’ve only had her once since she moved out – and she hated every second and went back early on the Saturday – but with any luck it’ll get better and easier with time. I miss her so much. 

So that’s it. It’s a post of mixed feelings, this. It is however, a happy house. Happy children, happy cats. Happy Mr Fantastic. And a happy me. 

Bad night 

I was going to do a catchup – I’ve lots to tell you – but im freaking out instead. It’s half past 1 in the morning and I’ve just got onto the couch. I’ve been awake for ages. I was asleep for an hour and a half. It was a great sleep, vivid dreams, warmth, craziness. All winners. 

Certain things you can put up with when you’re mentally – ill? – different. I’m currently off my meds’ so I don’t know what’s me and what’s not. It’s been a few weeks – I thought I’d made a note of the dates but I haven’t. I think I’m on the third week without but it feels much longer. I’m not sure at all. 

So. Seeing things that aren’t there, predominantly in the garden, at night? Fine. I can live with that. I can put it all down to other things. An overactive imagination. Treading the line between sleep and waking. Trusting that it’s all good and I’m really safe. I can totally have some faith and live with that. 

Hearing things that aren’t there I can’t. Not in the middle of the night. I don’t like whispers at the best of times. A voice whispering loudly in my ear? No. Ohhhh no. 

Being terrified when all I want to do is sleep? Can’t do it. I’m used to being awake so many times in the middle of the night, that’s fine. Terror is somewhat different. 

I have a Mr Fantastic all night every night to keep me safe.

Looking at it objectively I’m really quite used to being scared to a certain extent. I’ve been regularly freaking out like this since I was 13 – however this is the first big one since Mr F and I moved in together. 

I’m used to feeling rubbish about the sleeping and the waking and the not having much of a what’s actual reality/what’s not actual reality line there in the middle. That’s fine. Dealable. 

I’m even kind of used to having the odd freaking out night. The ones where you do actually get  scared at everything and you do get worried about things and you do generally just suffer for 8 of the longest hours of your life. Exhaustion is fine, it’s easy and you know what you’re going to get. Not this though. This hurts. It’s scary. 

Im laying on the couch with ALL the lights on. The Amazing World of Gumball on the telly, the volume turned up just loud enough that it’s clearly disturbing my 4 year old but not quite enough for him to wake. Yet. I’m so tired. I’m exhausted. But I can’t let go because that space between waking and sleeping is the scary one. That’s my help but I don’t want to. I don’t want to. 

I feel sick. 

Update: The 4 year old woke up about ten minutes after I posted this. He was awake until half past 4. We got back into bed around then. Last time on the clock I saw was 5am. Up again at 6.15. 4 year old slept in until 7. 


I had a good weekend. Not a special one, not a particularly great one (bar the company) just a good one – a solid weekend, especially when compared to recent experience. We went to visit pets at home and see the small furry animals and the fish, went to the park for a bit, shopping, just stuff. Solid weekendy stuff. It was pretty darn good. Mr Fantastic was here ALL WEEKEND and that made even the worst (kids, meltdowns, tantrums, fights) moments bearable. He seems to hold my smiles. 

I’ve noticed that my mum guilt has lessened. Although it’s increased when it comes to me being out of the house more and actually leaving the childers for some lengths of time in each other’s (or others) company, it’s lessened in regards to the holiday guilt I had last year. 

I don’t feel the drive to make it marvellous – I’m content for them to relax and have fun, in their own way, in their own time, with me or without, and just make the most of it without being hounded out the door to school every morning and forced to suffer the cruelty of other children or the indignity of not feeling good enough. It’s a good thing, to relax. And they need to learn how.


I been thinking today. My brain has been forcing stuff on me and kept me low today and it’s been a real struggle. I told my bump girls how its got. They understand me by now. We’ve been friends over 4 years; it’s unbelievable that we were just a group of randoms and this far on we’re firm friends. I appreciate them more than I have words to say.  Especially with the little monsters. 

Its 5 am, Abraham and Victoria are both up and running about screaming. I’ve not slept yet, as I went to bed (at midnight), Abraham woke up and that’s him for the night.

5:30am. Abe and Toria are both installed in front of the tv, on the couch, under blankets. My head hurts. I don’t know if I can physically stay awake much longer. I’m considering getting up and cleaning. As usual it looks like a bombs gone off in the house so I could probably manage it. Might keep me busy until those two sleep again at least. 

This post was going to be an exploration of potential triggers and instead I ended up moaning again. Truth is I don’t always know what triggers a down episode. I can feel the gradual slide into it but it’s so inexorable and unavoidable that it feels like there’s nothing I can do to actually stop it. And that’s weird because shouldn’t there be? I don’t know. 

AM thoughts. I hate them. Earlier I told mr Fantastic I didn’t like his wallpaper and I’m paying for it now. He knows I don’t like his ex. Should I not say these things? What if I stop? What if he just thinks I’m a negative nancy all the time and actually he starts to hate it the same as everyone else? Moaning myrtle, whinging Wendy, negative nancy. All names I’ve worn before. But he makes me positive there’s a future and I’m in it and he’s in it and we’re (both) alive and we’re happy because we’re together. I guess I need to get rid of the bad habits my brain has of second guessing and third thoughting and fourth thinking my every single little word or thought or action. 

How the hell do I do that?


Last week everything went purple. The light spots you see around things after looking at a bright light? Purple. Purple haloes around everything else. 

The week before it was green. Several times in the past few weeks it’s been yellow. 

Wherever I look is yellow and lights increase in size. They swell as I watch. The daylight is yellow and it makes everything else yellow. The artificial lights are yellow. Everything is yellow and shines so bright I have to close my eyes. Haloes. 

This morning I was hit with a headache with physical force. It punched into my head on one side, interrupting the conversation I was having. Twice. Then it refused to disappear – it was a pure, strong pain that only went once I took a pill that at that point I’d been 36 hours not taking. I think it makes such a difference. 

On the drive home down the motorway I noticed three pointy small trees shaped like rabbits ears. The back of the junction signs have ladders on them. The pattern of the crash barriers along the edges of the motorway make waffles. I saw 3 black cats. Two cars with blue headlamps. I was overtaken by a white car and then undertaken by an orange version of the same car. 

I kept forgetting to breathe. I wasn’t there, really. My hands were on the steering wheel so hard my knuckles were white. I didn’t go above 73 miles an hour. I couldn’t breathe.

That feeling stayed with me. I wasn’t in my body properly. I was at the back of my head, watching everything else, struggling to focus on the road, the driving, the breathing. 

Tonight I looked at Mr Fantastic until he fell asleep and then I watched him sleep until I felt sleepy. It looked like his face was shaking and I realised it was my me shaking free of my body. I held on to him and made to move; he woke up and he was right where I needed him, and there I was. Home again. 

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