What happens when…

What happens when your body can’t shut up, shut off or be still. Not even for 5 minutes.

What happens when you have to get up the next day for work, and battle against every inch of your being to put a smile on your face to hide the pain. The physical, emotional, mentally exhausting pain.

What happens when you can’t do this any longer. When the Dr looks at you with the same old eyes, same old expression, same old “here, let’s try this” as they hand you yet another box of unwanted and unneeded medication.

What happens when no one around you understands. Not friends, colleagues, family… no one.

What happens when you become a problem, an issue, someone else’s responsibility. When you inevitably become invisible.

What happens when it all becomes too much… who can I turn to when  there is no one left to listen… where do I go from here?


The Biker

Walking toward that high raised bridge, only one thought was on my mind. It was dark and cold, even when the sun was shining. I had no other choices in my life. I’d lost everything and it had been this way for a while.

Walking across the bridge, closer and closer to what I chosen to be my fate, I heard a motorbike coming from behind me. I glanced back as I continued to walk and quickly the bike came alongside me then pulled and stopped in my path. I did not recognise the bike, nor the driver. But I was not scared.

Silently, I was offered a helmet and jacket. I glanced toward the spot on which I intended to end it all, then looked back at the gloved hands.

Still silent.

I didn’t feel the need to question, or even speak. What else did I have to lose at this point, everything was already gone.

I took the helmet and jacket, put them on, perched myself on the spare seat of the bike and off we went across the bridge that I thought would be the end.

Street lights flashed by and before I knew it, we had driven into darkness with nothing but the lights of the bike showing the way. Which way I did not know, but I felt safe, the first time I had felt anything in a long time.

For miles and miles the bike twisted and turned, without a single word from the driver or myself. We just kept on going and with no concept of time or even where I was, I still did not worry.

Shortly after dawn broke, we pulled down a thin country path covered by trees. We pulled into a large yard and stopped. I got off the bike and removed the helmet and jacket that had protected me for my journey. As I turned to the driver, I asked

“Where are we?”

They pointed at the farmhouse further down the yard. It was slightly run down with Ivy growing around the edges, but as I looked closer I realised there was smoke pouring from the chimney and there was a light on in one of the downstairs rooms.

As I turned back to the bike, it was already moving. Before I could blink, it was heading back down the country path.

I headed toward the farmhouse, still clutching the helmet and jacket given to me. I did not feel scared. I did not feel worried. I did not feel anything. I approached the door but before I could even knock, it slowly started opening.

“Needed saving did we?” Said the woman who stood before me.

“Well they wouldn’t have brought you here if you didn’t need saving Petal. Come inside”

I stepped in through the old farmhouse door and heard it click shut behind me.

How we became ultra race haters

Before the attack of 9/11 back in 2001, Terrorism was never really a big issue. It was known about, but never really made the News or worried people.

If the first plane that hit the North Tower had been the only plane that day, it would not have been seen or classed as a terror attack but an accident. Once the second plane hit the South Tower, the third in the Pentagon and the discovery of the forth heading to Washington, then it became an attack.

The aftermath of the devastation not only lead to thousands of ruined lives, it also lead to the beginning of hatred. Not just hatred toward the Terrorists, but hatred toward any race and religion linked with them. On the day of the attacks, I remember hearing about 2 school children getting the bus home. The bus driver refused to take them because of the colour of their skin and visual religious beliefs. That bus driver set an example to other children that it was perfectly fine to fling abuse and reject another human being because they are seen as different.

When children got home from school and asked about what had happened in New York, parents told them what they thought and brought those children up the same way. To believe that different skin colour and religion made them  ‘bad people’. This is exactly how we got to where we are now, 17 years later.

This is also where I get to my point.

Whenever anything that is seen as an attack happens, it is automatically published as a Terrorist Incident. Why? Because that is everything we believe that can be blamed on a group of people. A labelled group of people. And what I mean by labelled is coloured or religion. And for the next few months, even years, after an incident Muslims, Islam and other similar religions are verbally and even physically attacked by us. Anyone who’s skin colour even resembles that of a religion is attacked. And it is so, so wrong!

Why do we allow our children to think that it is O.K to treat people like this? Why do we think its acceptable to make passing comments on how someone else leads their innocent lives?

In the recent events of the Westminster attack in London, everyone automatically blamed a religion before there was even evidence of it being a Terror attack! It could have been a none religious man who suffered from severe mental health issues that lead him to that attack. But people are too quick to make judgement.

The day after the attack on Westminster, a photo emerged of a young woman wearing a head scarf walking among the chaos, visibly upset and on her phone. It was instantly criticized and made to appear that she didn’t care about what had just happened or that she gave a crap about the people dying around her, purely based on the colour of her skin and the fact she was wearing a head scarf. Yet no one mentioned the other people stood around, leaning against walls, taking photos using selfie sticks.

The woman emerged to comment on the horrendous harassment she had been facing online because of ONE arse hole idiot who posted a status along with the photo. She, in actual fact, had ensured that those around her did not require any help or assistance before she got on her phone, contacted her family letting them know she was safe. This was the moment that was captured.

I think its incredibly sad that hundreds of thousands even millions of people around the World are dying from lack of basic human needs and instead of attempting to get money and help to them, we are tearing chunks out of each other for the sake of a skin colour or religious belief.

The quicker we teach our future generations that everyone is equal and that the colour of skin or the religion we follow does not make us any different to anybody else.

It starts with us, and it starts now.

The day I left my past behind… along with a tissue and a bottle of semi-skimmed milk…

In August 2015, my Grandma died. Literally in the blink of an eye. She was gone. I was obviously saddened by  her passing. I’d grown up around her and as she lived a few streets away, we would see each other on a regular basis. She would often take both me and my sister on trips to London and we would go and watch ‘The Lion King’ on Broadway every single time. She taught me how to bake, and whenever we slept over, we would always wake in the morning to a sausage sandwich. But as I hit my late teens/early adulthood, things changed dramatically.

My father (Grandmas son) divorced my Mum and slowly spiraled into alcoholism. And as Mum had left the family home, leaving him to continue bringing me up, it became more apparent that I would be the one caring for him. Now don’t get me wrong, for the first few years he was great! Would do anything to make me smile. But the older I got, the more the Vodka became involved. Almost like because I didn’t need him as much, he turned to something else instead. Well after that it just got shittier and shittier. He would pick me up from college drunk, he knew most of the bar staff in most of the pubs in our area and beyond, INCLUDING the one down the road from campus… 40 Minutes drive from our home. It was awful. But yet no one could see what was happening. My Mum helped and supported me as much as she could, but the entirety of HIS side of the family and his friends stood up for him, blamed my Mum, and then blamed me.

I remember coming home from a friends one night to him curled up on the living room floor crying. My sister was dead. I was heartbroken, panicking and immediately tried calling her phone. She was next door at her boyfriends, and very much alive. I remember coming back from work to him crying begging me for help. To help him fix it, help him find a cure, to help him find help. So I tried but couldn’t actually do anything unless HE called and asked himself. He got himself into AA meetings, held every Wednesday in the church hall. Didn’t work. He just lied his was through it. He got himself into a basic rehab system. He learnt where to hid the booze so we wouldn’t find it. Then my Uncle got him into a private rehab clinic, all paid for by my Uncles savings and hard work. The first weekend he was out, he was back on it. He basically went to all these things to make him look like he wanted help.

Nothing stopped him.

He got into a relationship with a single mother and after only a few months, planned on evicting me and my sister so he could move them in. They got engaged and that ended after she got sick of his shit too.

In the end, my Mum bought his share of the house off him. He moved out and back in with my Grandma. That just made things worse for me. Because I was the one who should of been dealing with him, not her. I should be the one to care for him no matter what, not her. She sent him packing not long after. She broke her hip after a fall and her health deteriorated after that. She let him move back in after finding out he was sleeping rough/sofa surfing, which of course ended badly. He tried to kill her.

Only got a suspended sentence, a fine and he wasn’t allowed within a certain radius of the area.

Her health deteriorated more and she ended up in a care home facility. She was only there for a few months before she passed. We had lost contact after he first moved in with her due to other members of the family. I was quickly pushed out. But when I had heard of what he’d done to her, I tried contacting, with success, but only after me and my Uncle had an exchange of words and a lot of truths came out. I would send her letters or make the odd phone call and he would help her respond. I managed to visit her a few times before as well.


The day of the funeral, I was shitting myself. I knew he would be there, my Uncle had told me he would be. I also knew that the entire half of the family (or who was left) would be there and I probably wouldn’t be welcomed. I was asked if I would like to take the family car to the funeral, but decided it best if I didn’t. I arrived before them, seeing people I hadn’t seen in years, but were there to support me. All knowing what he had done. When the car pulled up, one by one they climbed out. I was quickly spotted and approached, firstly by my Uncle and then my Great Aunt, then by him. He hugged me, told me how much he missed me and how he was doing so well etc… it was all lies of course. He sat next to me during the service. I gave him a tissue.

At the end, everyone congregated outside to chat and share memories etc. The wake would be held in my Grandmas house. Tea, Coffee and cake. I had very mixed feelings about going, I didn’t want to be near him, let alone be stuck talking to him about my life and where I live now. My Uncle approached me and asked if I would go to the shop on the way as he’d forgotten to get milk for the wake. I seized the chance and left. Driving as quickly as I could (within the law) I raced into the shop, got milk and sped to the house, hoping to god I got back before they did. So I could leave the milk on the door step and leave. I got there at the same time as them… crap…

I waited for everyone to go inside, except my Uncle, who had chosen to wait for me, probably knowing I wouldn’t stay. He promised he would look after me and I didn’t have to speak to him. I left anyway.

The last thing I gave to my past, was a tissue and a bottle of semi-skimmed milk.






Sitting on the edge of the wooden walk-way, side by side, she listens to his every word.
He tells her all his problems and fears, and she listens.
He asks her for advice, she gives the best she can.
She smiles, and he smiles back.
All around them is peace and the quiet sound of water lapping at their feet.
He says,
“Thanks for being here with me, listening to me and chatting to me”

‘Thats what I’m here for’
She smiles.

“If you listen to everyone else’s problems and dramas, who listens to yours?”
He asks.


Awww, you work with animals! You must love your job!?!

‘What’s your occupation?’
‘I work in a rescue centre’
‘Awww wow! You must love your job!?!’

If it has fur, feathers, scales, 8 legs, no legs, a million legs… I’m interested… always have been, always will be. Which is funny because my family arn’t particularly ‘animal orientated’. I’ve just always loved them and grown up interested in them.
So when people state how much I must love my job, I always have the same thought… you have absolutely NO idea do you?

Every day I roll up to work, I expect exactly the same and nothing less.
I expect to be scrubbing poop and urine puddles off the tiled floors. I expect to be picking up chewed up, smelly pieces of bedding, I expect to be soaked by a leaky hose and if not a hose, a stray bucket of disinfectant water chucked by a member of staff who’s not quite paying attention. I love my job.

I expect to bump into a variety of volunteers who, as amazing as they are, will quite happily trample muddy foot prints (as well as paw prints) onto the wonderfully clean tiled floors I’ve just spent the last 2 hours of my life scrubbing. I expect to hold 30 minute conversations with those same wonderful volunteers, despite the fact I’m miles behind. But those conversations always put some form of smile on my face. I love my job.

I expect the weather to be, well British weather. The wonderful British weather that I’m about to spend my afternoon outside in… rain or shine, one dog or 5 dogs… I love my job.

I expect to be bitten, scratched, cornered, kicked, jumped on, dragged over onto my face (or my butt) snarled at, barked at, smiled at, pee’d on, poop’d on and covered from head to toe in muddy paw prints. I love my job.

I expect to meet numerous amounts of new faces. Some friendly and inquisitive, some annoyed, and some just plain damn rude. I expect to answer the constant string of phone calls and hear the sounds of happiness, sadness, tears, stress, anger and annoyance. I expect to repeat myself several times and then explain why it is that ‘you can no longer view the dogs in their kennels anymore’ on more than one occasion. I love my job.

I expect to ‘have to drop everything’ to rush out and rescue an injured animal… even if it is on a roof 4 floors up and it’s looking like it’s going to eat your face the second you get near it. I love my job.

I expect to work a rotation of 6AM starts and 7.30PM finishes, 5 days a week, including weekends, hungover or not. I expect to work every bank holiday, school holiday, festive holiday, under the sun… because after all, animals are 24/7. I expect to bring work home with me after a farmer found a family of new-borns, abandoned by their mother. I love my job.

I expect to take the ’emergency phone’ with me on a romantic night out, just in case there’s an animal in need… even at 3am…
I love my job.

So to answer the above question, yeah, I love my job… it has its downs, but it wouldn’t be my job then would it! I chose the animal life, even if I wasn’t born and raised into it.
From an outside view, it seems like the best and easiest job in the world, but would any of you cope with all of the above?

The stupidest species to walk the planet… us.

Humans. That’s what we are. It’s a namesake that we’ve taken on through generation upon generation, from the very first of us, up until the very last. But is this something to be proud of?
OK so there are some VERY intelligent people that walk among us, people so intelligent that they created transport, technology, skyrise buildings, medicines, weapons, money, religion… but creating something that initially helps us in our day to day lives doesn’t nessicarily mean it’s any good for us in the long term.
Transport- gets us from A to B in as quick a way as possible. We’ve adjusted transport to make them bigger, stronger, faster… big enough, strong enough and fast enough to kill.
Technology- keeps us up to date with the happenings of the world. Lets us gain knowledge on the click of a ‘Google’ icon… has created an alternate world where future generations no longer talk, play outside and are so used to having the world at their fingertips, they have no idea what a book is.
Skyrise buildings- wonderfully created artistic structures that serve purpose for offices and apartment blocks… but what natural habitat stood there first? One that we can never get back.
Medicines- cures for a mass amount of ailments that have diseased the human race, continuing work to help fight Cancer, HIV and AIDS… slowly killing off many an innocent species, creating addiction, creating problems.
Weapons- first created to hunt with… now mostly used to scare, injure or kill other humans out of jealousy, greed and anger.
Money- ways and means to purchase anything in the world you desire. You get what you want, they get money to get what they want. Everyones happy… except for the homeless, third world countries, elder generation and pretty much anyone who works at minimum wage level. There is currently enough money in the world for every single one of us to become a multi-millionaire.
Religion- creates family units, creates friends, unites people together… as long as you follow the rules. As long as you believe everything within that religion. As long as you celebrate the ‘God’, whomever they may be… causes Wars…

As intelligent as we can be, we’ve actually created things, discovered things, evolved things that destroy and kill. We, as the human race, as the name we carry for our entire lives… are the stupidest species of them all. We’re the only species that is intelligent enough to create something that will kill ourselves or someone else.
Right now, as you’re reading this, another human is entering this world that we’ve helped create. And another is leaving because of it.
Well done humans, well done!