A lifetime in 20 minutes


Wide open eyes


glowing landscapes


misty skies

Settling gently 

On cotton wool

Into strong arms

a lover

Gazing into

smiling eyes

Sharing kisses with one another

rain sprinkles

rosy damp cheeks

Clouds emerging




a wooden raft

Lovers gone forever



Waves crashing fiercely



Under the deep sea



shipwrecks so ghostly

tunnel, black

sensing deathly



Going forever

But into the light 

And to sunnier weather
By Lis 


You always give me your salad.  A poem about salad, loosely ripping off The Beatles.

You always give me your salad

You don’t care about the consequences

I only asked you for a god damn toastie

Why you treat me this way?

You always give me you salad

That rancid lettuce it irritates me

Those shitty onions smell worse than cats wee

I didn’t come here for this

You always give me your salad

Even though I said ‘just a toastie’

It winds me up the way you force it on me

And I get sad.

I didn’t ask for additions

Raw tomatoes give me nightmare visions

Celery it is a nasty villain 

And cucumbers… Bad.

1, 2, 3, 4, throw your salad on the floor

5, 6, 7, 8, keep that salad off my plate
By Lis who hates salad.  Particularly ‘side salad’. 


How I become someone else (and it’s amazing)

My alter ego for the weekend…

This week my alter ego is pictured above.  Her name is Shaniqua.  She is one half of a pair of the deceased Siamese twins, Beniqua and Shaniqua.  

This pair of Thai beauties worked a wardrobe/laundry in a vaudevillian theatre in Thanet in the early 60’s.  They are vintage Thai ghetto, at least they were until they accidentally electrocuted each other.  

Being someone else is what I’m good at.

Don’t get me wrong.  I like being me, but we all have talents and mine is for acting.  I’m really confident about this, I feel so at peace with myself when I erase all of Lis and step into those lights as another being.  

It’s nice to have a break from Lis for a little while.

My busy creative, intense mind is always on the go.  I’m always thinking and analysing everything.  And on top of that I have to cope with fatigue and pain all the time.  When I’m on stage, my mind is so focused on being the mind of someone or something else, it makes all the usual day to day stresses disappear.  It’s a relief.

It helps with my pain levels, it’s as good as a tramadol.

That’s true.  I think it’s the adrenalin of doing something exciting that helps.  I barely feel pain on stage.  Off stage is another story, and I’m often found slumped in the wings or wangling a cheeky massage off someone.  Adrenalin is of course a natural pain killer.  Our bodies are so amazing! 

I’d do this full time if it wasn’t so exhausting! If you haven’t ever tried it, you must, just be brave and put yourself out there.  Feel the fear and do it anyway. 

Kisses from Lis x

Letting go of stress


I decided to sit in the sun and do a short blog on my lunch break.  I was full of negativity this morning.  I had an awful Sunday being on-call and having just stress after stress from 6.30am until 9.30pm, the phone didn’t stop ringing, I gave myself the mother of all migraines that lasted until yesterday afternoon.  I’ve been bedbound for 2 days, something I hate happening.  In February I was so bedbound I didn’t think I’d ever get up again, I kinda resent those days wallowing under a duvet, I feel I’ve wasted time, I’ve wasted living, and enjoying my life.  

This morning I awoke as usual, ridiculously fatigued (I do have chronic fatigue syndrome and fibromyalgia so I’m used to that).  Usually I drag myself up and crawl like nosferatu to the bathroom; today I just went back to sleep.  I awoke 10 minutes before my taxi arrived for work.

I did everything I could to dress, I grabbed my toothbrush and my make up bag and crawled to my taxi.  Luckily I was the first one at work so nobody saw me looking half dead, and 20 years older that I should look. 

Working full time when you have a chronic illness is no mean feat.  If only benefits paid my basic living expenses.  We can dream right?

Anyway I just felt so angsty, stressed, resentful that work would make me go through all that hell. 

Time to re-evaluate 

I have this way of letting go of stress like this.  I have to, or it would consume me, and I would just get sicker.  You know stress is the no.1 cause of employee absenteeism?  I like working.  I like my job… Well most elements of it.


I make myself accountable for everything that happens to me.  I take the responsibility, this gives me the power to change the way I think and feel and ultimately gives me control of the situation I previously felt helpless in.

I chose to do this job.  I chose to agree to be on-call knowing it could be stressful.  I can choose to continue, or not.

I actually chose to discuss the situation with my bosses.  I won’t go further as that’s confidential.  But it was a positive experience for me.  I feel that things now have the potential to change.  I feel more positive. 

If they don’t.  Well I revert back to my spirit guide Maya Angelou, who said, if you don’t like something, change it. If you can’t change it, change your attitude.  This isomer definitely something I can change.  

Very seldom is there  situation in the workplace that we can’t change.

Well my lunch is early over.  For someone who has been light sensitive for the past two days, I’ve enjoyed a little bit of sunshine xx

losing grip

You calmly stroll towards me

Looking straight ahead




A vision of everything I need to feel complete

Standing here as half a woman

missing one whole side

I’m toppling over

Falling down

Down the hill I slide

You run so fast to catch me

But I’m slipping out of sight

I’m tumbling down so rapidly now

Fear at the speed to light

I’m hurtling past the barriers

The warnings flashing bright

They blind your eyes and hold you up

You heart is full of fright

And as you sprint so strongly

Your chest beating at full pace

You only catch sight of my harrowing eyes

The panic on my face

I roll towards the edge

This time I know I’ll die

Speeding fast

can’t stop

But I try 

I dig in my nails to the dirt as I slide

I try to grip on to the nothing at my sides

And then in a blur a yell and a clutch

Of your strong hand, so firm to the touch

That I’m yanked from the slope and

Wrapped tight in your arms

I’ll never let go

Touch your skin til I’m calm

Are neurological painkillers worth it?

I’m wondering why the hell I’ve been put on a drug that messes so wildly with my mind.  I hear lots of conspiracy theories about big pharma and government control, and to be honest I’ve brushed them off.  I think the reason for this is many of the people who are vocal in the subject promote the use if cannabis.  I’m against cannabis massively, I’ve experienced first hand the damage it can do when misused, and I don’t trust it.  I know it’s natural, but so is opium right? 
Anyway I’m not here to debate cannabis use.  I’m here to debate neurological pain killer use.  Now I didn’t start out taking these drugs for a mental health problem as many people do.  It was for pain, for serious nerve and muscle pain caused by whatever gives my fibromyalgia symptoms.  I would have tried anything.  I’ve been bed bound, isolated, worried that I’ll never work, have a family of my own or even see my friends again.  I took amytriptaline, then nortriptaline, then pregabalin.  All of these treatments failed to help much at all and have only left me with huge weight gain and cognitive problems (mainly my memory).  I eventually was prescribed Duloxetine (or Cymbalta).  Now this did make a difference, I worked my way up to 90mg.  I still have pain but I can function semi normally, and get through most days if I take it really easy.  At 120mg I suffered the most awful bone pain, I felt like my bones were twisting, it was hell and I immediate reduced to 90mg. 

When the problems started.

I went on holiday and when I got to my destination realised my repeat prescription had been totally messed up.  I had received one completely empty pill bottle, in the middle of mountains, no phone reception, and we were travelling around so no way of organising a chemist, it was a nightmare and I lived on tramadol.  Tramadol is a drug I have tried to limit my use of, but it’s very valuable in keeping me mobile especially in times of no meds crises like these.  

After I got back my next prescription was messed up and delayed further.  I wrote copious shirty complaints that I fear got me nowhere.  Since then I struggled to get back into a routine of taking my medication properly.  I started a new job and moved home, I didn’t feel much different so I thought it would be ok if I missed a day or two here and there.  As someone who worked in mental health over a decade, yes I should have known better.  Sometimes the rebel in me takes over, I don’t know, I don’t know why I can’t follow the rules sometimes, but I didn’t.

I started getting horrible images in my mind, like short nightmares or scenes from graphic horror films flashing in my mind.  My phobias that I’ve been dealing with are worse, I won’t type about them as I can’t fixate at all, I can’t give them air time in my head, they will abuse it. It’s like a power surge of anxiety presenting itself in day dreams, or day nightmares.  They make me feel sick.  They are torturing me.  I told my husband-to-be tonight, the first person I’ve told.  I suddenly feel that I’m not suffering by myself, it’s still horrible, but just knowing that he’s there for me is huge.  

What is Cymbalta?

I don’t know but I’m sure these visions are a withdrawal symptom.  I have had anxiety before and I do tend to fixate on negative things, like massacres in the news or images online of horrific events, it oddly calms me.  I think the knowledge that it could be much much worse, makes me feel normal, makes me rationalise things.  I know that my brain may be creating images as a warning or a distraction, that I need some intervention to get that balance back.  Maybe it’s just my prefrontal cortex crying out for more cymbalta.  

They says it’s ‘non addictive’

I’m sorry but that’s bullshit.  I have recently read online people reducing Cymbalta 1mg a week, yes 1!  They open the capsules and take out 1 bead each week.  I thought that was madness when I read it.  Alas, no.  This is madness, imagining your whole face being crushed in a machine whilst you are eating your breakfast.  


Why prescribe something with such horrible withdrawal affects?  

Then I remember that pharmaceuticals is big business, some fat cat is sipping champagne and smoking a Cuban whilst my brain ties itself in shitty knots and the NHS are funding that wanker.  Is that it?

I’ve read Brave New World.  

And I think I’m becoming a ‘conspiracy theorist’… The name given to people who have the nerve to question what they’ve been told to believe.

So I’m back on it.

60mg this time, and I then need to make a decision to reduce or stay on it.  I’m dammed if I do, and I’m damned if I don’t. I think I’ll stay for the time being.  I need to get over this trauma.  I hope it goes away again.  If it doesn’t things could get tough for me.

Any typos or grammatical errors are the fault of autocorrect and Cymbalta.