I like books.

  Why do I have so many books? No, seriously, I want to know. I’ve been giving this a lot of thought recently and I have to say I’m not exactly sure. Not only do I have shelf after shelf of books, most of them are unread. I gave up buying fiction in a physical format a few years ago because it was frankly embarrassing how many were sitting there, waiting to be read, looking so forlorn and unloved. My kindle app is so full of books it’s hard to find the one I’m looking for. Virtual books can be hidden away where no one will see them and tut at my addiction. As a scanner I have so many interests and several non-fiction books on each one. My shelves are filled with tomes on 19th century asylums, the plague, witchcraft, writing craft, cross stitch, symbolism,...

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Me? Silent? Make me!

This whole “Twitter Silence” thing is making me very cross today. With typical Weegie contrariness, if someone tells me not to do something, my response is “oh, you fucking think so?” and, to be honest, I could see it all far enough. I’m going through a down period. My depression is back, I have upped the medication and am doing my best to crawl out of this pit of misery. When I am in pain of any sort – physical or emotional – my coping mechanism is to be quiet, hold all the hurt inside and squeeze it until it collapses in on itself. It always does. It just takes time. Which is why I am pissed in extremis at being forced to break my silence by the trolls of the interwebz who think it’s OK to abuse people, regardless of their gender, and then have a...

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Neds

[tweetmeme source=”nettiewriter” http://www.URL.com] I have blogged about my bullying experiences before in two posts: Sticks and Stones One and Two. I spoke about how it was all in the past and that I was fine now. And until last night, I thought I was. We sat down as a family to watch Neds, a film set in Glasgow in the seventies. I expected to enjoy it as the setting and period were both very personal for me. And that was the problem. Almost at the very beginning, an older boy warned a bright, quiet young lad about how he would be treated when he moved up to secondary school: he would be tortured and killed. Big talk, maybe, but it was almost word for word the warning I had before I went up to the big school too. I had to ask for the fim to be...

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Sticks and Stones Part 2

[tweetmeme source=”nettiewriter” http://www.URL.com] I’m writing this to respond to the many comments left on my previous blog post about bullying. Firstly, please don’t feel sorry for me. What happened happened. It was years ago and I try to live each day of my life waving a two fingered salute to the past. I am what I am today because of what happened yesterday, and who is to say I’d be any happier/more confident/different if it had been otherwise? Yes, writing it down did bring a tear to my eye, but I was able to wipe it away and say ‘sod the lot of them’. I am a strong and buckery person. If everyone else is going down the right fork in the road, I have to take the left. Can’t stand a crowd. Anyhoo, it’s all done and dusted. I am very aware,...

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Sticks and Stones…

“…may break my bones, but names will never hurt me.” Whoever wrote that was wrong. There is no Superhero with the power not to be hurt by incessant name-calling. I was bullied relentlessly during almost my entire school life. I can’t remember when it started but I know it ended when I left school for University in 1979. At first it was only name calling: Bugs Bunny and What’s Up, Doc because of my protruding front teeth; Land of the Giants because I was significantly taller than everyone else in my year; Snob because…because I was different. I had no desire to be like the other kids who ran about in gangs, swearing and fighting and breaking windows. Something inside me knew it was better to pronounce my ts, to pay attention in school and to read. All I ever heard...

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