Fight Within 

Bottle

Figuratively speaking a bottle is a negative load of nothing in our house. This bottle is a seductress who challenges our sanity, taunts our ph balance. 

This object of desire usurps my authority & the integrity of my nature constantly. She is an evil who drives a wedge between love of & love for anyone who matters. She is constant in her temptation, she is relentless, stroking an ego so insecure, that I wish at times that bottle I could smash & strike a blow so bloody it’s presence would frighten the day-lights out of my love, who cannot after much trying, find the willpower to fight against its power. For the contents of a bottle holds such confidence for a weak, bold, anguished soul that the fight this family has at staying together is reaching a fragile state. Children caught in the middle of substance abuse are emotionally neglected by the family who struggle daily to have peace, so longed for, that it keeps you wide awake in your dreams when you see the destruction of morals, of bounderies, of responsibility & accountability for actions you can deny in your wake from slumber induced by a body no longer capable of binging on that bravado of the bottle that’s been your friend for eons. A friend who holds your hand in a remorse no longer believed. 

It is sad that the norm is a taste I can no longer take, it makes us nauseous just the reek on a breath, it turns a once lovely home into a battlefield of will…

 

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Hindsight

Unmoored

So to my personal platform I come… 

Its bin a month of ups & downs. A few actually. 

You know when you set out to overcome hurdles & despite your resolve it seems the road dips very low. In fact in celebrating Freedom Day & the upcoming Workers Day its been pretty unsteady, you know the kind where you keep holding onto the ground & it keeps slipping under you. Almost as if you thought you arrived but it was only a dream. 

The thing that’s kept me focused, the one physical thing has been cooking. Making a melody of fillings for pies, etc… The notes never faltering, the flavour precisely what you’d had on your tongue… 

We had a cancellation after we’d started a new order.. I took my stand. This gave me much confidence, for my first collision with a negative client left me feeling completely deflated back in March and though that person keeps posting horrid comments on my posts, I breathe, I pray for Sustainance. The kind that builds up your willpower & cloaks you.

Turmoil is what aches in my dreams, we have hands guided by our hearts. These hands of mine & Jade’s, swollen at times with the effects of sugar or the acidity of lemon, potato or onion peeling doesn’t diminish our aspirations to successfully build relationships with our clientele. These people are so warm, generous of spirit, mind- blowingly kind, that it irks me when someone so cruel – selfish – infantile – deceptive – vain – narcissistic, tries every couple of weeks to rattle our dream and not just any dream…  But the one where we become completely independent of our environment….that has been motivation number 1….number 2…

We have discovered since June last year how beautiful it is to shape someone’s vision. Yes we had a bad run with the wedding drama in March but your constant badgering, defaming, dishonest floating out of control moral compass to save mankind, with your so called community consumer watchdog” facebook smeering campaign would have been justified were we solely responsible for its failure. ⌚⌚🗽⏳. Time and time again the truth sets you free in such a way, that any action from a venemous heart will record empty results, people are not blind or deaf, they have an innate sense of someone’s character, aura, spirit….it is the Shepherd who watches the flock so to speak. 

Get behind me Satan.. 

I will fall..

But I will get up…

Unmoored our actions may sometimes be, but conscience is an anchor that holds my hand so I may act always without negligence, dishonesty, reason or vanity.  

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SUNDAY Morning

​Today, I woke too early. Thankfully my Elijah decided we could take an extra nap. Much needed, haven’t slept well in weeks.

Today Sunday, a sadness has crept into my spirit. I miss so many people, especially those who are no longer a phone call away. I find when I have unrest inside, he always pops into visit. I still haven’t gotten used to it. The dead don’t  visit. They are on another Plain. He’s favourite music plays in my ear and I hear his voice. I see him strumming the guitar and singing with emotion. It leaves me sad that he passed on years ago and I wish I had the opportunity to do things for him in a better way. More patiently, with more understanding for how he felt as a man who was no longer able to stroke my hair or kiss me gently, or lift a glass to sip some water. He succumbed gently to the consequences of Motor Neurone Disease at 39. I was left a widow at age 30. I look back and wish I had the same vital list of things you do to make family life work. We never had many bad times and we weren’t the perfect husband and wife but I am eternally grateful that he was in my life. That he took notice of the little things so much so, that he comes back every time to encourage me to remember the many things he taught me. The many moments in our relationship when things could’ve have turned out bad but they didn’t, because he was a man of reason, honour, strength, hope. He grew up independent of his parents and siblings, instead lived with his maternal aunt and uncle, who are also no longer with us. He didn’t want to move to Johannesburg, preferred Cape Town.

So when I’m down and my world is unhappy and unfair, he pitches up and just sits looking at me. Calmly, concerned, gently waiting until I get up and breakdown with such remorse that isn’t necessary but I feel it anyway…..and I close myself up  and refuse to share my warmth with this world inside these walls….

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