20TwentyFour in review.

I’m a writer at heart.

Always have been, always will.

My eldest daughter following blindly in my footsteps, lovingly documenting her colourful and enriched life, and also creating vividly depicted and imaginative stories in her free time. My heart bursts.

Gone are her dreams of being an author or famous journalist, ambitions now driving her to expand her knowledge about the real world from a sociological and psychological standpoint.

She is brave.

She is bold.

She is fierce like her Mother.

Her passion, no doubt will take her far and on an incredible journey, I can’t wait for her to soar.

Why do I divulge this?

A fascinating question. Simply my intention is to give the reader an insight into the inner workings of my mind.

I am just as metaphorical and literate in my train of thought as I am distracted and often distressed by sensory and emotional overwhelm. Bought on by traumatic experience, or interpreted threat thereof.

I am a complex individual and I can be hard to decipher at the best of times, let alone mid crisis.

This year has been far from harmonious and progressive. It has been stagnant and at times oppressive.

May saw yet another medication introduced to my pain ridden, weary, under cared for, massively sleep deprived body. It was a surprising downfall as the medication had so many wonderful benefits.

I had regained control of my mind. It was if I had woken up from out of some sort of coma like state that I had been living in for the past five years. A common trauma response and also medication side effect is diminished cognitive ability. The ability to process, react, understand, plan ahead, it’s all impacted, particularly when you have a rather severe case of ADHD that has never been medicated. I had been a barely functioning zombie, prisoner of my own mind for far too long. Disconnected, fractured, barely existing.

Despite the severe lack of sleep, we’re talking at this point on average of three hours of sleep per night. Disturbed, interrupted nights of sleep, perhaps a maximum ten minutes of sleep at a time, across a period of three hours. This was the good phase, good sleep at this point, I had no idea what was in store for me. I had never felt so alive!

I was living for the first time. I started applying for jobs again, desperately searching for something that would make me feel worthy, significant. A contributor towards the household income that wasn’t dependant on my ‘low rate’ disability and medical exemption from work income. I felt like a fraud and that I had to prove myself in order to get rid of the shame that I had inherited from generations before me. I heard it all loud and clear, for it was well documented and imprinted upon my mind, forever echoing in my ever failing ears.

The job liberated me. I couldn’t hide it, and everyone had commented and congratulated me on the transformation. So soon however, after I had crumbled the year before in my previous attempt to lose myself in the world of work and servitude. I was like a pig in mud. I had free reign, or so I thought. An extremely overbearing boss and a contract that I had not fully understood completely took away my freedom and rights, and I was being consistently underpaid. The constant threat of being told I would yet again lose my job if I complained was too much to bear. As someone who was finally coming to terms with the fact that it is highly likely that she is Autistic, I was frustrated at the conflict within me, created by the desperate urge to correct and take a stand against the injustice. Not for myself, I was happy to lose my job over it, but for the women and mothers, and disabled individuals after me that deserve just as many rights and equal, fair pay to reflect their role and responsibilities. If I was to work alone, and act as a Manager, and not be allowed ANY time off at the weekend, then pay me a managers wage, not minimum wage. Especially when I was the only one with an ounce of sense and structure in the vicinity. Lord only knows how it will survive the coming years.

I had never in the almost 40 years of my life felt worthy of deserving of anything. Of this, I was confident I was deserving. I felt able. I was not an imposter. I was contributing.  Serving. Passionately giving myself to others selflessly as I do adored.

I digress.

I rode that high. Feeling in the best health, as the medication had somehow temporarily magically cured most of the symptoms involved with many of the gastric conditions I have as comorbidities to my HEDS disability diagnosis. Not, unfortunately having any impact on my other abdominal and pelvic issues, again, common comorbidities of HEDS.

I developed sensorimotor OCD that May.

I had never heard of it. I didn’t understand it and it took me months to discover and admit to myself that it was a manifestation of my own severe anxiety. I have multiple sensory issues, this is like that, but on a level like nothing else. It is non stop obsession and compulsion. 24/7. I became so worn down and preoccupied with it.

I couldn’t eat. I was in too much pain. The rare form of OCD had this time manifested in my mouth. I have always had an anxious, oral fixation. Particularly around my lips and teeth. I have an incredibly small mouth, very overcrowded teeth, impacted wisdom teeth, infected swellings in my gum from the impaction. Severe bruxism, a deformed jaw from multiple dislocations and over 20 years of disordered eating. The propensity for my teeth to regularly move, I was aware of all of it, my tongue red raw from constantly checking and examining the permanent wire on the back of my teeth, in order to fix them in their tiny space. My lips cracked and raw, from constantly licking, eliminating saliva, that I was constantly aware was being produced. A constant tingling in the many glands and nerve endings in my mouth, I was on high alert all the time and it was exhausting. Not understanding what was wrong with me, and why I couldn’t get a hold of it, no matter what I tried, no amount of meditation or medication, even alcohol would stop it. Only sleep, and I was severely sleep deprived.

Nothing that I desperately tried worked to distract me from it. I begged once again for psychiatric help, but to no avail. I was dismissed again, after five years of being dismissed and discharged from the same service, after multiple critical incidents. I was alone, but determined to fight.

My plans that year had always been to propose. I was getting more and more anxious as I felt my sanity and strength slowly slipping through my fingers. But we always got through this together right, I had my soulmate and best friend at my side. I could conquer anything.

I had finally, after all, come to terms with some of my own major failings in terms of parenting and within my romantic relationship too. I could become overbearing at times, seen as needy and requiring an awful lot of validation. In terms of parenting, I was perhaps guilty of having become a bit of a helicopter parent at times. I was aware of it, but I hadn’t known how to let go. My love for all of them was ferocious, but plenty of times had been very misunderstood and heavily criticised publicly.

Forever seeking to improve myself, you will know of me that this is a never-ending story. I am ALWAYS working on myself. Always reflecting, criticising myself, learning from my many mistakes, and also at times celebratory of my achievements and continuing passion and effort. I was tenaciously relentless in that, at all times, and had always protected the children from the heights of my overwhelming emotions, and at times, reactive behaviours. They were aware that my emotions were temperamental, and I was fragile in certain areas and at certain times. They were comforted in the knowledge that I had a handle of myself generally. I contained it all. A Mother hen at heart, my little ducklings were shielded from an awful lot of hurt and trauma.

One of my biggest bug bears is lack of accountability within individuals. Lack of remorse or promise of improvement. It is a fundamental ingredient within any healthy and sustainable relationship, and I could no longer remain the only accountable parent, the only accountable partner. I took a stand against it, and things rapidly became hostile and reactive.

I am a protector.

A guardian of sorts. I had enough knowledge of self improvement to know that I had to set myself healthy boundaries in order to release me from the endless cycle of breaking down from complete exhaustion and utter loneliness. I was lost, and I was going to navigate my way out of the biggest storm I had ever found myself in.

If I could break that self-destructive cycle then I could conquer anything. I would be a far better, more relaxed and available and more engaged parent. A more engaged and attentive partner, not only continuing to serve and adorn with gifts and delicacies, but affection and adoration and praise. Really start to build a future together. We had it all planned intricately anyway, our futures drawn out like a map in the stars, our wedding rehearsed multiple times, redesigned, recomposed, invited, uninvited certain guests, outfits, location, the lot. It was just the one question, who was to propose?

I had been playing the long game. Of course I dreamed of the perfect proposal. My previous experience had been so haphazard and catastrophic, that my mind had gone wild hearing the story of her proposal to her previous wife. Not to mention the perfect honeymoon, that one could only dream of. Far, far from my world, my experience. We had lived such juxtaposed lives, such opposites, but bearing so many similarities and so many many missed opportunities. The stars had truly lined up with this one.

As soon as she declared to me sincerely years ago that she would indeed step up to the mark, my mind was made up. Gone were my fears of not being able to create anything near the perfect and luxurious proposal she had offered to her first love. Just deep satisfaction and gratification for the willingness and sacrifice, the selfless act. For me.

I planned the day I would propose, but had no one to confer with. I was filled with so much hesitation because of the impending judgement from so many others around us. Not to mention my evidently waivering mental health.

‘It didn’t matter’ I told myself. This was between us and us only. Nothing changes. There is no immediate impact, other than it provides me comfort, safety, love, stability, a future. What did anyone care otherwise? I was proud, I was happy, I was able to be the best woman I could ever be and that was all that mattered. Or so I thought.

My boundary setting was dismissed as high maintenance, demanding, demeaning, persistent, destructive and potentially abusive.

I could not contain the frustration and devastation that I felt within myself. I hated myself. I was trying to better myself. I was communicating very calmy and affectively. I am an incredibly, incredibly patient individual, I can tolerate a hell of a lot of bullshit, before I ultimately crumble and possibly explode with aggressive expletives. Words are all I have. My only weapon. My downfall. My Achilles heel.

Words that have been spat and sneered against me verbally cannot ever be recreated or proven. They are never to be heard again other than the continuous echo in the spiralling walls of my mind. My words, my venom, my poison is oft written in ink, for inspection and introspection in hindsight. I only EVER react.

I do not discriminate.

I do not target.

I do not have control over my emotional fragilities.

It is not an excuse.

I’m working to change it, but also learning to understand it as largely sensory overwhelm.

I was in a constant state of sensory overwhelm, hypervigilance, second-guessing, questioning, overthinking, malnourishment and dehydration a common occurrence. Combined with the now only one hour of overall, highly disturbed sleep. Loaded with nightmares and auditory hallucinations, and daily suicidal ideation.

A severe rejection from a family member when I disclosed my ideations, leading me into a further familiar spiral of despair. An impending engagement, that I had gained permission and approval from all four children. I could not abandon at this late stage. How could I let them down? They were so incredibly excited and proud of me.

I had never ever really made anyone else truly proud before.  Aside from my four much adored and cherished children.

I dedicated my life to nourishing and enriching their lives in as many ways as I possibly could.  I dedicated myself to it.  My only ever goal in life was to be an adequate Mother. A present and resilient Mother.

I diligently educated, inspired, created with, imagined and story told with. Went on many an adventure with. Wiped many a tear and defeated many a foe with each and every one of my babies. But I never felt enough. Forever searching for ways to improve and correct my many failings.

I was not however, about to hide, dismiss or be ashamed of my emotional tendencies, my battle scars. That was my only humanity.  My way of demonstrating how to (theoretically) hopefully manage such undulating emotions.  We had four, undeniably neurodiverse and emotional children, displaying a range of constantly varied and challenging emotions. Let alone the hormones being thrown around. I understood this.  I was prepared for this.  I had time and endless patience for this.  A listening ear, a gentle or embracing hug. An offer of calmness in the storms I’d so frequently weathered myself.  Who better than I to weather them through this? Together.

I was not resilient, and I was becoming less and less present.  Impatient at times. Despite my acute awareness and chastisement of myself for this, I was equally paralysed and unable to snap myself out of it. My best efforts were constant near misses, misunderstandings, frustrated and heated miscommunication due to my high level of insecurity, extreme auditory and visual processing disorders. Low blood sugar levels, tachycardic heart rate, deafening tinnitus, chronic vestibular migraine, osteoporosis and fibromyalgic pain riddled, premenopausal body.

I was a walking car crash.

I’m not going to go into the catastrophic details and intricacies of the proposal, but it involved complete betrayal from a particular ‘Best Friend’ that I have regularly been accused of childishly being jealous of. Considering the multiple affirmations from many other parties that they themselves have long drawn the same conclusions in regards to the nature of this particular relationship, it was dismissed as crazy BPD nonsense.

Despite this disaster. In true, stoic Jade form, I gathered the pieces of my shattered heart from off the floor, told literally no one about the restructuring of my plan, that I turned complete disaster into utter beauty within two days. All. On. My. Own.

I also made a delicate and intricate, lucious chocolate birthday cake for my youngest daughter that day. For the first time ever, allowing my almost never calm cake making state self to be assisted in the kitchen. By none other than my miniature arch nemesis, my other Achilles heel, but my most adorable and most big hearted and generous soul that ever existed, my youngest step son. He held my hand throughout, cheered me on, wiped my tears, and steadied my rapidly beating heart.

Food was adorned aplenty, not without predictable disaster though. I hadn’t counted on the Turkish restaurant I had ordered from to not be able to deliver, and the children had ordered pizza. Everyone I called had had a glass, I even had to stop another person from having a panic attack, one of the only people who was aware of what I was doing that day. The guilt overwhelmed her, and there I was, dressed to the nines, a glamorously sweating bag of nerves, calming her down, whilst anxiously trying to formulate a plan as to how to recover the situation. I did. I hauled myself and the children into a taxi. I hate taxis after several upsetting experiences. But here we were, crammed in the car, freezing cold. Kids impeccably behaved, like they had been bewitched by the magic of it all. I couldn’t have hoped for more perfection.

The ruse had been that I was giving her an early Xmas gift, to cover the suspicion of all the secrecy and hushed excited whispers filling the house. The background music of the song I had lovingly composed gently being hummed at intervals during the day. Teasing. Enticing.

I had never sung openly in front of her before. I had never ever let myself be that vulnerable. I loved singing. I adored music and frequently escaped and disappeared into lyrics and soothing tunes and beats that echo within my chest and lungs. Repetitive. Relatable. A neurodivergent haven.

Tonight I was going to sing acapella, in front of the firepit, in my green ‘Goddess’ dress. Make up to boot, which always makes me incredibly conscious and shy as I hate the attention and compliments it draws. Fairy lights, roses, and flameless, sparkling, gently flickering, heart shaped tea light candles a picture perfect backdrop. Stars above.

No sea, no sand, no Spain, but perfect nonetheless, and the day had played out oh so perfectly. This was it. It was meant to be.

The perfect, carefully chosen and ‘forever’ engraved platinum diamond studded ring. Simple, elegant, from the heart.

Everything was perfect.

Until it wasn’t.

The blissfully happy acceptance was short lived.

I was sworn to secrecy, the whole debacle shrouded in yet more shame.

I tried to rectify the situation by reaching out to apologise to the offender. I was expected to tolerate the holiday from my nightmares with this woman, and I wasn’t about to have a meltdown, alone, outnumbered in a foreign country. She may as well have slapped me across the face with her lacklustre response, lack of accountability, and persistent denial of multiple previous wrongdoings and deceptions.

A criminally active woman, a life led by deception and greed. However, it seems totally implausible that she be guilty of such manipulative behaviour and later aggressive intimidation and threats against me if I dare ever speak up and embarrass her again.

The safeguarding concerns filed at the school regarding heavy drinking, medication, illegal driving and money laundering activities. In terms of suitable condition to parent the children in such a display of agitation and frustration fell yet again upon deaf ears, and apparently so with the tax office.

Do not double Cross me and expect no impulse reaction. My sense of justice and justification was sent into overdrive in current conditions. Guilt may overwhelm at haunt me later, but for now, it is a cross I am willing to bear, and be judged upon heavily. Disowned even.

I was devastated. Anyone else would have been rightfully enraged. But of course, after years of being made to believe, that I was the root of all problems, this was all my fault, I was comletely to blame, and I had further ruined, what should be the happiest and proudest moment of my lovers’ life.

The overwhelm hit me again, and my body shut down completely. How could I have failed so miserably? Again Jade? You went in, with completely pure and genuine intentions of improving everyones lives, making us all happier, and here you are, as per usual, scraping yourself up off the floor again in a fractured, broken, emotionaly exhausted mess.

My body was desperately screaming at me that I had sustained enough. Endured enough emotional torture and physical pain. Sensory overwhelm and absolute fear of abandonment and being utterly unlovable as I am.

And that’s where the story should have ended.

Unfortunately it didn’t.

I lost everything.

My sanity.

My dignity.

My self respect.

My will to live.

My children.

My home.

My future wife.

My security.

My independence after being left crippled by an unlawful incident against me, and a hoard of lies and deliberate, calculated misinformation.

I have lost my rights.

My freedom.

I failed in so many ways, and there are so many more tales to tell that will forever remain untold. They are too upsetting to bear, and have already ruined my life for daring to reveal them at all, daring to ask for help. Daring to wave my white flag.

Because they were all so desperate to escape their own greed ridden, selfish, and depraved lives.

The injustice has been astounding.

2025 is my year to rise from the ashes and shine my bright light again.

I am rebuilding from nothing.

Broken bones, shattered soul, exhausted and endlessly tortured mind, that is existing in complete solitude and darkness.

Unsure when she will retain her freedom.

Unaware of any rescue.

Unaware and unsure of her future.

How she will rebuild a home?

One that never even existed before.

One she could only dream of x

I shall carry and learn from my mistakes openly, yet incredibly discretely and reservedly, so that my daughters learn the utmost importance of loving themselves first x