Driving Me Crazy!

It may not seem like it, but I honestly don’t like to moan and try my best not to – although sometimes it’s made damn hard. The majority of the time it doesn’t change anything so I do what I can, hold shit down and get on…mostly!

There are certain circumstances however, where people give me no option but to voice an opinion…ok I lie, I do have an option and I choose to voice it loud and clear! I wouldn’t call it road rage as such. The recipients of my choice words and horn bibbing may beg to differ but really idgaf.

If you live in England you’ll have noticed that the big, yellow orb in the sky we’re use to occasionally seeing has been teasing the life out of us over the past few months. I’m not knocking it (much) as I’m a sun child at heart, and it’s not as if I haven’t travelled to hotter climates, but there’s a big difference when you’re abroad.

They’re equipped for heat and we’re so not! I sensed the eye roll and heard the snigger when I told my cousin in the states I was sweating like a bitch in the 30 degree heat we had a little while back. I had to break down the fact that they have homes with air con and sea breezes whilst I live in the ‘penthouse’ á la greenhouse with a fan circulating hot air and frustration.

That being said, I’d never wish it away. When you have the right setting there’s nothing better than a sunshiny day. For those who don’t know, I have neuropathy (nerve damage) in my feet. It’s bad enough on a good day but the weather has played havoc with them – rain or shine. Thankfully I can drive, but since the neuropathy took hold all joy of being behind the wheel soon disappeared. The pedals added to the pain, so eventually after years of driving various cars I gave in and opted for an automatic.

I say gave in because I use to be one of those people who thought driving an automatic car was a cop out for lazy drivers. I fully take it all back! I’m glad I learned to drive manually, but I’m even happier there’s an option for me to drive relatively comfortably in my AD life. And after watching the button with lust and forever wanting, my latest car has air con that actually works!

She has become my sanctuary. I can enjoy the sun whilst pandering to my protean feet, blaring my tunes, feeling that vibe that only the sun can bring and life is good…. until some dickhead tries to wipe me out.

I wish I was joking but it’s coming like that’s the aim of the game for some of these fuckwits. It starts with the low level infringements and works it’s way up! Indicators for instance, although not a major deal it’s nice to have an INDICATION of where the frig you want to go! It’s bad enough when they expect you to mind read; it adds insult to injury when they decide they’ll switch the indicator on when they’ve done cut you up and are in front of you.

The Mexican standoff at a mini roundabout because they can’t figure out who moves first is another delight that has to get a mention.

YOU GIVE WAY TO THE RIGHT!

If that’s too hard to understand, one of you move and the rest should follow – it’s really not that hard.

Then you’ve got the ones who are waiting to pull out of a road and blatantly see you coming from afar. They make no attempt to move until you’re right up on them – which is fine IF you can follow it through and maintain the speed and distance necessary.

DO IT WITH CONVICTION OR DON’T DO IT AT ALL!

About you want ME to hit you up the backside when you pull out like you’re driving Miss Daisy! #NotToday

The last shout for the minors goes to the Sunday drivers, the *OAP’s and the boy/girl/trans racers who put their foot down to beat you to the lights by 5 seconds, and then sit revving their engines like a dick.

You get the ones who edge out further and further because they just have to beat you! Some of them are so busy edging out that when the lights actually do change they’re not ready, so they feel the need for extra speed. Am I the only one who secretly wishes I’d drive on to find they’d crashed? Not a serious hit with innocents and casualties; just enough damage done to dent their car and pride rather than their body or anyone else’s….like in a bush. A big fat bush, subliminally and metaphorically representing the pussies they are…

Just me is it?…ok I may need to talk someone…

I admit I’ve been done for speeding – twice! Once by those sneaky bastards and their speed guns, and the other time via speed camera coming back from London. I was caught doing 36 in a 30mph zone and 45 in a 40mph zone respectively. Hardly Lewis Hamilton speeds but they nabbed me all the same.

I paid my dues, did the course, and have avoided being done since. But the speeds I reached were not overly excessive in comparison to what others clock up, and I wasn’t in an environment where others were at risk from my speed.

It’s coming like red lights are a mere suggestion nowadays, and you don’t have to stop at them if you believe you can make it through. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve gone through on an amber, but when it’s blatantly red I’m stopping. Yeah, waiting is a pain, but I’d rather arrive at my intended destination and not my final one, so I keep my backside where it’s suppose to be.

I’ve witnessed the aftermath of someone speeding through a red light when those whose who are supposed to go have moved off and it ain’t pretty! It may seem worthwhile to you but you put other lives at risk to save on a few minutes.

 

I wasn’t too fussed about driving until I got the motivation – my kids. I’ve been with their dad since we were 17 and he could drive so it wasn’t a necessity. Naturally he wasn’t able to take me everywhere I wanted to go so I’d use taxis and public transport to get around, which is fine if you’re on your own. But as any parent will tell you, kids come with a lot of shit, and dragging a pushchair, child and paraphernalia on a bus ain’t the one!

Fast forward to the present day and it’s my daughters who are now experiencing the many joys the road has to offer. It’s nice to see them gain their independence with the added bonus of ‘mums cab’ in decline, but it’s also another worry until they’ve had a bit more experience out there on their own.

Obviously the only way you can gain experience is to do the task at hand. When she was learning I took my eldest out for lessons and I was pleasantly surprised at how attentive she was in regards to her surroundings and the mad manoeuvres some people like to pull; drivers and pedestrians alike! It’s like some of them believe they’re invincible!

Wtf happened to the Green Cross Code??? Do they not teach it anymore? Like, seriously!?! It’s needed more than ever these days with the many distractions of everyday living. I can’t tell you the amount of people who I’ve had near misses with because their focus is elsewhere and they can’t hear my car as she’s so quiet (and environmentally friendly!).

She was called Aurora but I’ve renamed her Arya – silent and deadly.

Three major infringements that cause the most concern and are my biggest worries are; Alcohol, Drugs and Mobile Fucking Phones!

I’m not a major risk taker. Life is too short and precious. I don’t drink alcohol and never have, and the drugs I take are purely medicinal (😏), but even if I did decide I’d like to try something different, the last place you’d find me is in the driving seat of a potential metal coffin on wheels whilst I’m doing so!

I don’t care how ‘safe’ a car is suppose to be, I’d prefer not to be the one to find out how good their makers word is! I have very little sympathy for those who choose to catch a buzz and endanger lives. Call an Uber, a friend, walk, run, crawl, or better still STAY YA ASS AT HOME! 

YOU’VE GOT OPTIONS! USE THEM!!

It’s easy to get distracted, and one of the biggest distractions of our times is the mobile phone. We’ve come a long way with technology and they offer multiple functions at the tap of a screen, which is great an’ all, but there’s a time and a place. Again this applies to both drivers and pedestrians.

I really don’t understand what is so hard in allowing the phone whilst you’re driving or crossing roads. Personally I can drive any distance, no matter how far, and not once touch my phone. I’m lucky enough to have hands free and sat nav built in, but even if I didn’t I’d wait until it was safe to use it.

It’s one of my biggest bugbears as it’s totally unnecessary and to me unforgivable if it is the cause of an accident. Sorry, not sorry. I’m sick of seeing heediyats driving like cocks, swerving and having to slam on breaks because they can’t leave the phone alone. Some of them don’t even business about being discreet. Got their arm hitch’ up on the window or armrest just shooting the breeze! Not a care in the world or a thought for others.

I’m sure there’s a lot of you out there who think I’m just being extra, but tell that to the families of those wiped out because answering a call or sending a text was more of a priority than paying attention. The roads are bad enough as it is without you adding to the mix!

I could go on for days with the issues driving can bring, (potholes, parking and car problems especially!), but that’s enough for today! Despite driving driving me crazy, it’s also as much of a pleasure as a curse. There’s nothing like the freedom it can bring once the planets align, the vibe is right and there’s no dickheads in sight!

 

R.I.P Peter Mayhew and all those who have lost their lives this week.

Respect to Arya Stark, Lyanna Mormont, Black Widow and all the others females who show and prove – fictional or not!

*I mean no disrespect to all OAP’s, I know there are many competent older drivers. I’m addressing the ones who would give Mr Magoo a run for his money – and trust me they’re out there! I understand wanting their independence but some are downright reckless and need to be informed there is no shame to be had in hanging up their keys and accepting the bus pass gracefully! Just saying…

 

Think & Drive, Stay Blessed & #CelebrateLife

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Now You C Me (Part 7)

Before I get into the nitty gritty of what has been happening in my life over the last few years, let me address something else.

I’ve touched upon humanity previously, and you’d have to be blind not to notice that there is something seriously lacking with a lot of people around the world – way too many. I could run down a whole list but I actually don’t have the energy for it, I’m sure you’ve come across enough yourself to get the gist.

One thing that goes hand in hand with humanity is care. We all need it or have needed it. At the very least someone got you from a dependent baby to fending for yourself, no matter what age the care stopped. Be it a parent, family member, foster carer or wolves (I’m beginning to think it’s a possibility), someone raised you.

I believe without doubt that both nature and nurture have an impact on the person you are, but as an adult there are some choices you have to make regardless of what you’ve gone through, like how do I pay my bills? How can I make my moolah?

If you’re lucky enough to have a job you love, way to go! Right now I’m in the process of trying to do so…kinda. To be honest I need a little breathing space first, but naturally I’m thinking about which way to go next.

I’m creating my NuDawn Bible and it has its dating system. BC – Before Cancer, and AD – After Damage.

The BC me was a full time working mum, fit and so I thought, relatively healthy. I loved to shake a leg and could be on my feet all night with hardly any griping. I loved MONDAY’S (Tanya Brooks-Carty’s workout regime), and I could wear heels and run around to my hearts content should I feel the need. My mum had had a heart attack some years before and since then I’d taken care of her and her needs too. Life could always be better, but overall I was good.

The AD me had to face the fact that times had changed. Naturally I’d prefer it if my feet didn’t hurt all the time and I didn’t need to use a stick to help me, but at least I still have the ability to walk. I’ll take that and own it! “I’m an African warrior, rolling with my stick in my hand!” The alternative would be me bussin’ my ass on the floor when I lose balance so I’d rather not if you please.

AD me means that the running and jumping around I used to do without thinking twice is no longer a joy and in fact a pain in the ass, but I’ve learnt and I’m still learning how to deal with it. I’ve said it before but you really don’t realise how often you’re on your feet until it’s sending you constant reminders with and without every step.

But I suck it up because it is what it is and where would bitching get me?, which in turn causes certain people to watch you with side eye and wonder if it’s really as bad as it seems. ‘People’ will always be questioning, but that’s not for me to worry about. I have jack shit to prove to anyone.* #WhoFeelsItKnowsIt

So I now find myself wondering what sort of job the ‘nu’ me should do considering my limitations. I swore to myself when I went back to work it would be doing something I enjoyed, and to not dread waking each morning already counting the hours until I was back at home. Unfortunately that’s easier said than done, especially when bills have to be paid!

I know a few people, but not enough, who actually love their job. I can’t say the same for any job I’ve had to date, not wholeheartedly anyway, apart from my “job” as a mother and my last one – which I wouldn’t necessarily call a ‘job’ as such. That’s not to say it was an easy experience, as anyone who has worked as a carer can testify to, but the person in question was my mum, so it was undoubtedly a bit easier for me as there was that love and personal attachment.

I’ve been told by several people that I should consider becoming a carer as I am so good with taking care of my mum. I get where they’re coming from. I’ve made a few friends at the home my mum is now staying in. It wasn’t hard to be fair. I’m there near enough every day and I’m quite comfortable chatting to the Golden Oldies, which is all they want really. In turn I’ve met some right characters! I swear they give me the most jokes.

That’s the easy upside, but then you’ve got the other side too. Literally the shitty side. I don’t have an issue dealing with my mums personal care and toilet issues because she’s my mum, but I’m honest enough with myself to be unsure about if I’d be able to handle anybody else’s. I think it’s essential to give a job like that serious thought.

I’ll never forget my time spent in hospital when I was ill, but one (of many!) incident in particular really got to me and is a good example of what I mean. My haters and those of you who think a lot of shit comes out of my mouth will appreciate this!

Two days after my op I was still as rough as arseholes. I was attached to a monitor and drip whilst being weaned off of morphine. I was still nil by mouth and in pain after having a third of my bowel removed and my stomach held closed with staples. I recall feeling really nauseous, then before I knew it I was throwing up. It didn’t take long for me to notice there was something not right with this picture.

Due to the op, my waste product had only one way of vacating my body. I was literally throwing shit up. You can only imagine my distress! The situation and pain was already bad enough and this was the cherry on the cake…or so I thought then. With every heave my stomach was on fire and as it took me by surprise there was no vessel for me to throw up in. I couldn’t stop, and in no time at all I was covered in putrid puke. #TheStruggleWasReal

The curtain was around my bed so I couldn’t be seen by anyone and could not call out. I managed to grab the call button to try and get someone to help me. It seemed like an age had gone by but in reality I’m sure it was only a minute or so that had passed before Nurse Fucking Ratched pulled back the curtain. She stood there, exhaled deeply and rolled her eyes with a look of disgust and disdain that I’ll never forget.

By this point the heaving had receded and she came over and told me to take my gown off. Because of the way I had been hooked up to the machinery it was a task I couldn’t do by myself which I pointed out, so she huffed and donned on gloves to scornfully help me out of my filthy gown and bed and onto a chair. She then disappeared and returned with a bowl of water and fresh gown and told me to clean myself off whilst she stripped the bed.

She was the most stone cold, heartless bitch I’d ever come across. Not once did she give an ounce of sympathy and had zero fucks to give about how I felt. All she knew was that she had to deal with clearing shit up.

Now up until this point I was on full on Warrior Woman mode. I had fought to get to a point where I was taken seriously, and I knew I had some hard work ahead to do, but I was due the results of my biopsy that day and had already known it was more than likely cancer. I was just happy to know that at last I had some kind of answer after months of fuckery and pain.

Then along comes nursey with her own special kinda medicine – a truth serum of sorts, and throws my issues clean in my face, quietly but oh-so-loudly pointing out that I am, in fact, no warrior. I can’t even manage to take off my gown, I’m weak, pissing in a bag and throwing up shit.

I admit to feeling a tad sorry for myself. I had a huge lump in my throat and could feel the tears coming but still managed to hold it down.

I climbed back into bed and she hooked me back up and left. A couple of minutes later the surgeon, his companions and Nurse Ratched came over to discuss what was happening. Apparently it wasn’t an uncommon occurrence under these circumstances and they would be putting a tube in to help clear out my stomach as it was more than likely that I would start throwing up again soon. All I heard was tube and stomach!

I’m one of those people who have a bad gag reflex. I can do my thang, but I ain’t no Dawnie Deepthroat! (sorry to burst your bubble!). Seriously though, it’s on if the toothbrush goes too far back let alone owt else!, so hearing talk about them feeding a tube through my nostril down the back of my throat and into my stomach filled me with complete and utter dread – then I clocked Ratched and had a vision of her doing the job and the dam burst.

Thankfully she was called away but by this time I was a hot mess. They said they would give me some time to calm down but we’d have to get it done soon. A little while later another nurse came along for attempts one and two. It was horrendous. I’ll allow you the finer details but it involved a whole load of retching, snot and tears. Then along came my angel in disguise.

For the life of me I can’t remember his name, but he was from the Philippines and one of the most caring souls you could ever hope to meet. He was the one who was with me when the surgeons told me what they’d discovered when I came round from my op, and he was amazed at how well I had received the news. I think he now recognised a woman at breaking point!

He knew it would be a 2 man task and enlisted the help of his colleague, who he assured me was a pro at doing this procedure, and it would be over in no time if I listened to what they asked me to do. He said he’d be right next to me holding my hand and giving me sips of water to help with the job.

They worked as a double act, cracking jokes to calm me down and then talked and walked me through it; me swallowing the sips of water to help ease the tube down with each gulp once it had reached the back of my throat, and then it was over, with only one heave in between.

They praised me on a job well done, which sounds really stupid, but they realised what a scary time it was for me and did their utmost to make sure I was comfortable.

I only wish others would take the time out and consider if the job they are doing is the right one for them. Despite me not finding my dream job yet, I made sure that the jobs that I did do were done to the best of my ability.

When you decide to do a job that involves taking care of a person it usually means that they are vulnerable and not in a position to help themselves, so you should at the very least try to be empathetic to whatever their plight may be especially as it’s something you chose to do.

I’ve experienced the good and bad side of the caring coin. I know the job is hard and a mostly unrewarding one, but you should really have some level of compassion and caring when you’re dealing with people at their weakest or lowest in particular. I said in particular because really it’s something that we should all have a touch of regardless.

I know that since my trip around the Topics of Cancer I have a lot more empathy for others plights. I can relate on a level that I truly understand folk can go through shit you can’t even relate to, but we can all relate to being treated respectfully.

R.I.P Nipsey Hussle and all those who have lost their lives recently.

*Apart from the government! 😑…yet another story for another day! KMT!

Handle With Care, Stay Blessed & #CelebrateLife

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Thankh You Mama (Part 1)

I’m sure that some of you are questioning if I really am as allergic to BFD (Bullshit, Fuckery and Drama) as I claim to be! If you’re a regular reader, or know me at all, you’ll know it really is the case, but there are certain circumstances where you can’t just dismiss it and walk away.

Sometimes it’s not just about you. Despite what you are dealing with personally, there’s a bigger picture. It all boils down to the type of person you are. My situation involves my mum, which to me is a no brainer. I’m not about to let anyone take the ‘berties with the woman who gave me life. Add to that the fact that she is now elderly and vulnerable, and trust me you’ve got a fight on your hands – no matter who you are! #RealTalk

Seven weeks ago we had to put my mum in respite care. I will eventually divulge the details that have lead up to this point but for now I want to tell you about the situation as it stands. So before any of my fellow brothers and sisters whip out The Black Bible and start quoting scriptures on thou shalt not abandon thy parents to a care home, let me set the record straight.

I would love nothing more than to have my mother either at peace in her own home or with me in mine, but at present that is not possible. Hear me when I say I have been down every avenue available to me, but the reality is without a substantial amount of cash I can’t change the circumstances. Whoever said money can’t buy you happiness was a liar. It’s what you’re willing to do for it and how you utilise it that effects how you feel about it, but that is another topic for another day.

To recap quickly from previous blogs, my mum originally hailed from the beautiful island of Antigua, is 83 years old and has had vascular dementia for 4 years. Her name is Dolly and she is 5ft nothing bless her! She was tiny as a baby, which is why she was named so as she resembled a doll. We are nothing alike in looks but I definitely take after her. She’s loving and cool ‘n’ all, but don’t fuck about or she won’t hold back in telling you about yourself…but that was before dementia. Now she’s still just as loving and cool but she’s lost a lot of her bite – for now anyway.

As Dementia and Alzheimer’s progress sufferers can become aggressive, sometimes quite severely so. Thankfully mum hasn’t reached that stage yet, but I have seen a few episodes from others and can totally understand some people’s lack of ability to cope. Nothing about it is easy. They are literally robbed of their mind and memories and it’s extremely hard to witness and absolutely heartbreaking.

In true West Indian fashion my mum was full of old sayings and proverbs. One of them is once a man, twice a child. It’s the truth. If you’re lucky enough to get to an old age, no matter how independent you may believe yourself to be, there will come a time when you will need somebody. If you’re truly lucky you will still have all of your faculties to some extent, but if you’re like my mum it really is like having a child.

Going back to The Black Bible, the confusion and misunderstanding of the scripture comes from the word abandon. No, thou shalt not abandon thy parents to a care home. Thine has the power and the glory to maketh ones elders twilight years as loving, comfortable and safe as possible, no matter where thine dwellings shall be. #NuDawnBible #OldTestament

I can’t tell you the amount of times I’ve heard, “If you put them in a care home they will deteriorate quickly and die.” Here’s the part they forget to mention. That can be addressed and hindered if you spend a little time. That is literally all it takes, but it’s easier to put the onus on the care home. Don’t get me wrong, their ass is responsible too, but they can only provide so much. If they are slacking or lacking in their duties then that can be addressed (and believe me I’ve done so), but you can’t expect them to keep your memory alive in their residents minds.

I’m no expert but I’d hazard a guess that if you spend more time with a person with memory issues it’s more likely that they will recognise or at least respond to you as a familiar face. Naturally that’s not necessarily the case with full blown dementia, but if they are at my mums stage it’s crucial if you don’t want them to deteriorate faster. You can’t expect to have no contact for weeks on end then have them react to you like it was yesterday, especially when they are not fully compos mentis.

Myself and my twin have had every day she’s been there covered. Meaning that, even if it’s only for an hour, we have been to see and spend time with her. We want to try our best to keep her spirit alive and also keep an eye on her surroundings. She’s precious cargo and needs to be dealt with accordingly.

I know a lot of people who have lost their mothers and I feel privileged and blessed to still have mine here, regardless of how she is. Some, like my husband, lost theirs when they were just kids and I can’t imagine how that must feel. For those of us who have/had good ones the love and respect is immeasurable.

We put people in care homes for various reasons. Sometimes it’s not under our control but that doesn’t mean that because they are no longer under your or their own roof you should abandon and forget them.

I’m not suggesting you spend every minute of the day with them. We’ve all got shit to do, but a little time means a lot. I’m fortunate enough to be able to spend a lot of time with my mum for now so I’m making the most of it, but even when the time comes that I can’t spend as much time with her I guarantee you I will never just stop or leave it weeks on end unless I am physically unable to do so.

Without trying to sound conceited I hope (if I’m afforded the pleasure) that when I get old I have someone like myself or my brother looking out and taking care of me. It’s not guaranteed that just because you have kids they’ll be there to wipe your ass when you can’t.

Some family have questioned the type of people we are in accepting that mum is better off in respite care. Yet those same people are quick to forget she exists and are responsible for her being where she is. It would be funny if it wasn’t so sad.

She is the longest surviving Merchant offspring to date. I have some tales of her life but I wish I had more stories to tell you about her. Unfortunately I missed the boat but hopefully it’s not too late for you.

Appreciate the life that gave you life! Make those memories. Listen to their tales of experience. Catalogue those favourite recipes and longtime remedies. Take pictures and videos and most importantly just show them some love and attention.

I thankh you mama for the nine months you carried us through. Now it’s our time to help carry you.

R.I.P to all those who have lost their lives this week.

Show Your Love, Stay Blessed & #CelebrateLife

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Sticks And Stones (Part 2)

Happy New Year one and all! Congratulations on making it through another one. I’m not even about to speculate on what 2019 has to offer, but where there’s life there’s hope, so I’ll leave it at that and keep trying to celebrate it.

As ever I had every intention of getting more blogs out but shit happened, and it’s shit happening that I’d like to acknowledge.

I started writing my blogs for a number of reasons. As it turns out I love writing them and it’s kind of therapeutic. My main aim is to share my experiences and be real.

My opinion may not be to your liking and you may not like how I go about things, but I’d prefer to be 100% me and have you not like me than pretend to be someone or something I’m not. I’m fully aware I’m only human and what that entails, it’s just a pity some can’t grasp the concept that they’re only human too.

As much as some of us may try to go through life avoiding having to deal with shit, it happens. How we handle it is the real issue. We all know it stinks, so some like to mask it, wrap it up and gift it. Some like to leave it, which tends to involve people treading in it and spreading it further. Then you’ve got my type. We like to clear it up and flush it.

Unfortunately shit is messy, and I’m dealing with the type that flows – one wipe and flush will not suffice. I’ve had to let nature take her course until the shits have completely gone and I can clean up the pebble dash, bleach, disinfect and flush it away for good. Anytime soon I’m hoping.

Fortunately for you all, I’m a sharing is caring type. I was recently reminded of this when a family member told me there’s a reason why I got cancer. Naturally I’d had my thoughts on the matter, but for a minute questioned what she’d said and the type of person that I am.

According to her it is because I am a wicked and bitter person and I should take the sign from God to live my life differently. This was after initially agreeing with another family member who told me, and I quote: “You should have fucking died of cancer you fucking bitch!”

They are entitled to their opinion, so I’ll allow them that. I’m grown and experienced enough to know that sickness is for any and everybody. Saint and fucking sinner. We’re all on limited time.

I can’t deny that getting ill did make me look at my life differently. I’ve changed certain things to help maintain my health but I don’t think it’s changed the person that I was before then.

If anything it has taught me to appreciate life more and enhance what was given to me via the higher power and my momma. I’ve got to spend a lot of time with both ladies lately, (yes, I believe the higher power is a female), and value the lessons both have given me.

All too often, and especially in the Black community, we like to hide the ugly side and pretend everything is fine. I’m not one for pretending and I won’t be quiet when I know something or someone is wrong in any instance – work, rest and play.

It’s not healthy to keep shit in. I could sit here and lie to you that the words they said didn’t hurt me but I’d only be lying to myself. They have thrown a lot at me, and at the time made the worst time of my life to date even harder.

Well, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger! The running diarrhoea has trickled down to short bursts now and I’m sure it’s nearing the end, which is when I’ll give you the full rundown on how I got the shits in the first place. I wouldn’t want anybody else catching a dose.

During my absence I’ve seen and heard the most amount of fuckery happening in the world, most recently being the Surviving R Kelly scandal. To me, it has highlighted the importance of speaking up and brings me back to the point I made about us all being human.

Some may think they are Teflon dons and above reproach because of what they have achieved or who they are perceived to be. That shit doesn’t wash with me. If they are toxic and have the ability to mess up people’s lives then they deserve to come with a warning label. I have nothing but love and admiration for those strong enough to stand up and speak their truth no matter what repercussions it may bring them.

Nobody is perfect, but if you know your conscience is clear you have nothing to fear.

SAY IT WITH YOUR CHEST!

Family, friend or foe, let them know! You may lose a few along the way but the right ones will be by your side throughout the precious time you have left on this earth. I may well die tomorrow but I can honestly say I get what it means to be rich in more than gold. I may not have the big house, or bank account, (although I wouldn’t say no if they were to come along sometime soon), but I’ve got big love. No money or status can buy the real deal.

Those involved in my *BFD can wish me all kinds until the day your dreams come true. I said I’ll allow you your opinions but I’ll be damned if I allow you anything else. I will continue being me – which might not be so great for you, but such is life and shit!

R.I.P to all those who have lost their lives this week.

Thoughts and prayers going out to Emiliano Sala, the pilot and their families.

*Bullshit/Fuckery/Drama

Say It With Your Chest!, Stay Blessed & #CelebrateLife

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