Thoughts

Decisions…

~ MKW Publishing ~ 3 Comments

I think it all started with the first real decision that was put upon me.

‘Who do you want to live with? Your mum, or your dad?’

I remember the room, I remember the solicitor and her name. I remember the feeling, the emotion, and confusion and ultimately the decision that I felt was so heavy on my shoulders. I didn’t understand why they were asking me, I was nobody, the youngest. I was 7. I looked at my older siblings and understood they would say mum, so I took the unspoken implied lead and said what I thought I should say. It was power I didn’t want. I almost feel as though I stepped out of my body to make this decision and once I was out, I could see myself as a person. Sudden self-awareness all at once while under pressure, it was overwhelming and enlightening to say the least.

And from that I believe, my ability to make decisions was affected, either for good or bad I’m not entirely sure. But I have spent much time in my life mulling over the fallout from that, how many lives were changed forever just from that one question and answer that followed. My self-awareness became like a friend and a dark shadow to me after that. I was a child trying to learn how to function in a society I was already part of, but felt more apart from than they could ever know. Trying to work out other people’s intentions, while constantly questioning your own makes it hard to join in and just be yourself. I didn’t know who ‘myself’ was. And I didn’t join in. I was invited to very few birthday parties in my childhood and although I lived in a socially busy house, my home was not really open to friends from school unless they had been ‘vetted’ by my mum. This was awkward in itself and I found it easier to just not invite people home or go to their house instead. They usually had quite normal parents and it was nice sometimes to pretend to be a normal happy go lucky child, I could pull it off for a few hours at a time.

I was troubled though, I won’t lie. My awareness may have increased, but my understanding did not. And this started to lead me into all sorts of trouble and behaviours. I struggled to adapt to life, like many I’m sure. But sometimes I wonder if I ever really got over the sudden change and sense of responsibility, could it be that someone can spend their whole life being in shock?…

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(c) K Wicks

Hyperphantasia…

~ MKW Publishing ~ 1 Comment

I have recently been writing about the differences between two people living together with Aphantasia and Hyperphantasia (myself and my husband), but just wanted to do a small piece focusing on how it feels to have Hyperphantasia.

Visual imagery has been a big part of my life, for my learning, experiences and memories. I didn’t know there were varying degrees of this and now wonder how much this has affected my general interactions with people. For a start I have more hobbies than anyone I know, I need constant stimulation or thoughts to have as my brain feels like it is going ten to the dozen all the time. I never understood why so few people if any had the same mental rate of processing and interest in things as I did. I thought I was neurotic, people told me I was neurotic.

Now I suspect differently. From learning about various things I believe I come into the category of mild hyperthymesia, full hyperphantasia and chronesthesia (capability of mental time travel). All these labels actually well describe why there is so much going in on my head. Like doing a days work, while writing a book, and watching multiple movies, and having conversations – all at the same time as trying to engage in what is actually going on. Occasionally it gets very crowded and jumbled in there, but I have worked on systems, methods and mechanisms to live with it and try and make the best of it. But understanding it is helping. And some things calm and focus my brain to minimize it – like my job, singing and watching a good program. The downside of that is, if the program is that good, it will stay with me after and forever, getting logged in the giant filing room I have inside my head. It’s the same with songs or lyrics (or sometimes just an average phrase), they can get stuck on repeat in my mind, even if I haven’t heard them for an age.

I have had to make a big effort to dissociate emotions from these visuals though, for some that may sound odd, why wouldn’t you want to feel? Somewhere along the line, I felt having traumatic memories or invasive thoughts with imagery disturbing and didn’t want it, it wasn’t productive or helpful. I can’t stop the pictures, but I could work on how they are then processed in mind.

The constant visualization isn’t only confined to my waking hours though. Dreaming is something I have come to see both as an affliction and a welcome escape. The vividness and memory of these dreams is very intense, sometimes following me through the day. Sometimes my dreams are anxious, tiring and stressful, so I have to ask myself, do I feel anxious because of my dream, or was it an anxious dream because of my subconscious trying to tell me something? Or are they just directly influenced by what you see and watch and there is no hidden meaning at all? I am on the fence on that one, either way, they aren’t very settling but are great for fiction writing and ideas, just not for having a restful nights sleep.

For now I am just trying to keep up with my brain and will continue to work on the hows and whys of it all…

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Here is the full book that came of writing about this subject, if it happens to be of interest.

(c) K Wicks

When you forget you’re a grown up…

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My self inflicted ridiculous injuries seemed to get less after I grew up, but the end of them was marked with a big one.

I was 22, and had been working the Friday all day and was a couple of hours into another double shift on the Saturday as a bar manager. It was around lunchtime and the overall pub manager decided to put in an appearance, with an attitude of someone who was up very late and hadn’t really been to bed yet. I was not in the mood and decided today was the day to tell him to ‘do it himself then’ and storm out, which I did.

Then proceeding to go to the park instead with my friends on that hot sunny day and have a few drinks. Naturally staying in the park seemed boring so it was decided to go to the woods to check out a potential party site that we had heard about. My friends were a bit of a party lot. Cue a drive up into the woods and a small trek to a patch with a big dip and a rope swing. Yes, the rope swing. Can you guess what happened next?

Well, in my vaguely drunken and annoyed state, I had deduced that it would be a good idea to have a go on the rope swing. Got myself into position and swung out, but knew the moment I did, something was off. Nothing was wrong with the branch or the rope, but it was me. In my head for a split second I had been 12 again, full of it and bold. But in my stupor had misjudged it, the weight ratio was off and I knew I couldn’t swing round the tree and back onto my feet. No, I was going to swing out and straight back into the tree itself.

But there really was nothing I could do by that point except be correct. It happened as I saw it, I swung into the tree, hitting my ankle as I did and then back out into the middle of the area, still holding onto the rope and stick for a seat. The drop was about 10 feet, so I didn’t want to knowing I would land on my ankle. I didn’t have a choice, I dropped to the floor. The pain was immense and I started to try and stand before I realised it was really bad. The male friends I was with said I would be fine and disappeared over the way to check out the site, leaving one with me to try and help me walk. Minutes later they returned and leaned over the edge saying,

“Oh shit, is she still crying, we better get her out of there”…

Luckily they came through when they knew I was really hurt, carrying me back to the car and getting me to the hospital. Where I got given a tubigrip and a pair of crutches and told to go to the general hospital over 10 miles away – cue another favour from a friend. I happened to chose a bank holiday weekend for my injury so it was packed and faced with a minimum four hour wait and in lots of pain, I went home to return the next day.

So finally two days later what turns out to be a broken ankle is fixed, my leg is in cast and I am signed off work. I learnt my lesson there to not drink when annoyed, don’t think you are young when you are not, and don’t let people get to you. Easier said than done sometimes!…

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(c) K Wicks

The Hay Bale Incident…

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I’m not sure if everyone was prone to accidents when they were a child, I was sort of a tomboy and liked getting into it and giving it a go, which given my lack of awareness and balance, often led to some comedic accidents.

One of which I will share as it still amuses me very much to this day. As the title suggests, it does indeed involve a hay bale. So, I am 12 at the time, I lived in Hampshire as part of an army camp but not a restricted one. Squaddie brat was the term for us kids of the military folk and I think I lived up to the name quite well. We used to have to find things to occupy ourselves outside of school as all children do although on Thursdays I did used to attend cadets. During the specific school holidays the army were very good at providing activities and schemes for us while parents still had to work. These would include shooting, swimming, PT and other type things. But the rest of the time, we were mostly up to no good.

We were lucky enough to be surrounded by lots of countryside, fields and woods and as much adventuring as we could fit it. But come the late summer we had lots of large round hay bales begin to appear in field out the back of our estate. A game was devised, or trick if you will. Here it was, push the one ton hay bale down the slight incline of the hill, grab onto the netting covering said hay bale, hook your fingers into it and get pulled over with the now moving bale. The trick being a crafty leg swing as you are pulled over the top, and releasing your fingers at the same time. Which all going well, puts you in front of the hay bale while it now picks up speed down to the bottom of the field.

The principle was simple, and I see two of my friends complete this seemingly new manoeuvre without any issue or hesitation. I know what must be done and take my turn. But what I didn’t factor into this, was my lack of skill. I did not lack bravery or willing when I was younger, but as I got older the evidence became clear that I lacked skill, and this is what kept leading me into injury.

So, I stepped up to my hay bale and gave it a push, both hands in front of me starting the motion, I chose my moment to grip onto the plastic netting and was instantly pulled upwards towards the top. I swung my legs round as best I could planning the same smooth stunt I had witnessed, but something went wrong. My fingers didn’t unwrap from the netting, my legs didn’t quite go all the way round, and instead of jumping in front of it, I went with it. Imagine a steam roller made of hay with a person on it. That’s what happened. I went straight over the front of it and then proceeded to be crushed by it. Luckily only having some bruises and cuts on my face and a sore rib cage. I had to go home to my mother an explain why I had odd scratches and bruises down one side of my face. She laughed, a lot.

I would like to say that was a one off, an isolated incident, but I would be lying. My younger years really were filled with a number of mishaps…

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(c) K Wicks photographer

Why do you want to scare people?…

~ MKW Publishing ~ 5 Comments

It’s an odd thing for me, horror. I have defended it, been scared by it, wanted to read it, watch it and write it, and by extension, share it.

Now I give more thought to why I feel the need. I would say my childhood was both molded and traumatised by horror films and books (mostly films), yet I cannot leave it alone. They have partly made me who I am, shaped my phobias and fears and set me upon this path.

But I wonder, should people like me share the story in it’s full unbridled horror, or should we filter it? For those who don’t have an imagination themselves or are limited with it, are we just putting unnecessary concepts and ideas forward? Ones that shouldn’t have ever got out? And after we have written it, it can take on a new form where the horror or idea no longer belongs to us, is no longer down to the imagination. Film and its brutal visual imagery assault can be both impressive and terrifying. But lets be clear, it is an assault on the senses. Just one we choose. But why?

All stories can evoke feeling and emotion, so why do we choose to put ourselves through heartbreak, love, horror, fear, intrigue and laughter, for something that is not happening to us or anyone we know. Is it because it is safe? Because it isn’t happening to us and we can just pause, identify from afar or turn it off? Unlike real life.

I am in two minds about whether we should, just because we can…

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(c) K L Wicks

 

I wanted to buy a puppy

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It sounds like a normal thing, you decide you would like to have a dog. You just have to know where find one. I did not. We had an Alsatian border collie cross growing up over the years and I decided that would be a good breed to go for as I was familiar with them.

I started looking through papers and on the internet. I think I eventually found one on TradeIt. It was in Kettering which was quite a distance from where I was in Gloucestershire, but it was a male puppy, exactly the colouring I wanted. I called and made the arrangement.

Now, my inexperience and desire for a dog completely clouded my judgement. I didn’t really know much about the dog market and hadn’t even heard of puppy farms at this stage. When I arrived, I was given a story about the parent dogs being in kennels as they were going away, so no I didn’t get to see the parents. Just a few bundles of fur, and my quiet looking little puppy in the corner. As she handed me my puppy, she said “Oh by the way, he’s been a little unwell from his worming tablets, but he’ll be fine”. He was quiet and not very puppy like, but adorable and I wanted to look after him. So we left.

It was not a good 24 hours, upon getting home, he wasn’t well at all, being sick and unsteady on his little feet, I had already named him Victor after my childhood dog. But I could tell he wasn’t doing well, I was trying to give him water and keep him warm, but I didn’t understand how fragile puppies are. I took him to the vets within 12 hours, they booked him straight in. And within another 12 hours he was gone. It was an incredibly heartbreaking situation and I was devastated. I called the woman I had brought him off and told her what had happened. She text me back to say they were away – but that she knew someone with some more puppies that would be ready in a couple of weeks when she was back. Still, my brain didn’t flag up anything to say, hang on a minute.

I was very down for a couple of weeks, but trying to focus on feeling positive and trying to look forward to actually being able to have a dog. The next time came. Funnily enough she still didn’t have the previous puppies parent dogs anywhere, but I didn’t think. Instead she had 3 more puppies, who all looked tiny and cuddled up together. And then I did think they all looked a little small, and identical. I hadn’t really ever seen mongrel puppies all looking the same. But she assured me they were crosses and I picked mine. He was covered in fleas and had the tiniest little face, but was adorable. After a few days, he actually got sick too, but with tonsillitis and needed to be put on antibiotics. This was a brief but stressful time as I was convinced he was going to die too. It was a strange beginning for us and one that probably paved the way for what ended up being a very strange dog – but that’s a completely different story.

Also turns out he was a Saluki, a breed I had no experience of, and nothing like the dogs I had ever had before. If you know of them, you will know what I mean. But I believe now on reflection, that he came from a puppy farming environment. When I decided to get a companion for him, that was also through advertising, but such a different environment, family home, all the puppies playing together, parent dog on hand and owners who looked liked they cared for their dogs. It makes all the difference.

One day I will write the story of Kody.

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(c) K Wicks

A Sense of Security

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In today’s current climate of the housing crisis, it’d hard to imagine that no-one saw it coming. Or at least no-one who would do anything about it. I noticed this trend and pending problem back in 2002, when I luckily was in the position to begin looking for my first home by way of a mortgage. I had a partner (there was no way you do this on your own), we both had family who ‘lent us’ the deposit, then we applied for more from the mortgage company. Ordinarily this would have just been a normal look and buy, but I happened to be working at an Estate Agents at the time. So had already seen the number of houses available becoming less, the prices creeping up and more and more people applying for each house to view, and then the inevitable negotiations. It was heartbreaking watching people get excited about getting a house, then losing it to someone else. It wasn’t nice to watch, and it wasn’t nice to be part of. There was no enjoyment to looking for a house, there were 5 in the end in our price range, in a town of around 40,000 houses back then. So of the 5, the best option was picked – no parking, a garden separated from the house by way of a shared pathway. But it was mine, so I overlooked the issues and weird things about the property because I wanted somewhere to live.

My desire to settle down I feel has always been driven by a turbulent past, I was moved (dragged) around a lot in my youth, around my home town living in various houses, then around the world and the UK. My mother was never settled and we felt it. We moved every year or two and it made me never feel settled. I wanted different, I wanted to be local and for somewhere to feel familiar, for more than a year or two. So getting my first house made me feel secure, it made me feel safe and happy. Yes, I was in debt for it and it wasn’t really mine, but it was in my head, as long as I paid my way. Not a bad trade off I thought. I had picked where I was in the country and I was in control of what I did, it was empowering. I was 22 then, which makes me sad to think many people can’t even think of having their own home, let alone the opportunity of doing it so young, when you really can enjoy it and use it to improve your life.

My brain relaxed in a way it hadn’t before, no less neurotic, just relaxed in the deep. I started to focus on what I wanted to do, what did I want to be, who was I going to be. After a few years of different Monday-Friday jobs, I decided I didn’t want to work for other people anymore, my ambition and motivation seemed to outweigh my managers at this point. So I undertook a series of courses (I happen to have left school early having done NO exams whatsoever), to get trained in finance. I seemed to be good at it and enjoyed the precision. It took the pressure off my future at the same time as giving me one. I was able to grow my business, move to a bigger house, improve as a person, employ a number of other people and contribute to society – you know, what we are trained for…

But you don’t know what life is going to throw at you. I loved my bigger house, it had a lovely garden, great views from the front, it was detached. Everything you want in an old crumbling house. Except where it was. For the first few years it was ok, but then it changed. A church opposite started holding meetings for alcoholics a couple of night a week. The community building just over the way started renting out for children’s birthdays and alcoholics and drug users meetings and hand outs – I really did see a conflict of safety there. And to top it all off, some reckless driver smashed their car into my house while screeching round the corner. The signs were already there to leave. But instead I decided I was in a dead relationship, became single and tried to get my head down and not go out as much.

Then I met my husband, by way of the internet because I really didn’t get out much. And he pointed out it wasn’t really a great place to live if you couldn’t go out. So we put the house on the market and moved into rented. That really is the speed version of that story, it was a stressful few months and very dramatic at the time – we did actually try to sort out the issues without having to move by going through the proper authorities, but this made it worse. So leaving was easier, so I thought. Because I hadn’t really been able to explain to my husband the sense of security I had from having a home. Or properly to myself, I had adapted and didn’t want to go back to how I felt before. But I did.

It was hard to find a rented property initially as well – I had heard all the hype over the years about rental values, lack of availability and issues and did understand, but the reality is so much worse. I also had a dog, so that meant 95% of the properties weren’t available to us. Luckily I did find one that would accept dogs, it did mean relocating areas but I didn’t mind at that point, I was just happy to have somewhere to go, and felt lucky I was in a position to have money available for deposit, rent and all the costs. But that doesn’t account for the mental state someone can go through. Despite having a nice place to live and being able to just about afford the rent for a year, I became very insecure. I needed to be able to think further ahead than this, and I couldn’t anymore. I suddenly felt stunted. I was starkly aware that this wasn’t my house, it was someone else’s.

Not helped by the fact the landlords of said property sent gardeners round at 8.30am on a Sunday to do a garden survey, without informing us. That tipped me over the edge a bit. I knew I could be homeless if I complained, but we did anyway. And then the agent made it worse by coming into the property when we were absent, again without informing us and being completely aware we weren’t there. These two incidents were enough to cause me to become unstable and anxious, reverting back to how and who I used to be. I didn’t like it. And that led to another few years of renting, moving, renting, moving and having the most horrendous experiences with letting and estate agents. Some of that was in Spain, and is a whole different kettle of fish. But the idea of being homeless when you have paid your way, and have done nothing wrong, really upset me. I am quite old school in thought, and liked to believe there is a code of conduct, we understand we are all in this together – but I have been shown in the last few years. We really aren’t.

But I have now finally got back on the housing ladder and am starting to find my feet again, settle down in mind and get back to what I was suppose to be doing. Writing.

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(c) K L Wicks

Aphantasia – a difference in mind

~ MKW Publishing ~ 2 Comments

Sometimes you discover something which changes the very way in which you think about things, it may be a new idea, information or a different viewpoint. Or you may find that things are not what you thought they once were. Reality, truth and perspective are and can be very personal, and while we try and untangle the workings of the human mind, we are finding there is much to learn along the way

This is now also a published book available on Amazon –

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(c) K L Wicks

Living in Fear

~ MKW Publishing ~ 3 Comments

My childhood growing up in the 80’s in the UK seemed to be filled with war, terrorism and espionage. Over three decades later I am still trying to make sense of a world fuelled by turmoil and greed. I didn’t have massively political parents, they moaned liked everyone else and picked a side. But didn’t really do anything, just talked a lot about what should be done.

My first few years of really being aware were in England and the back-end years of the cold war, the build up to the poll tax riots and very real threats and acts of Irish Terrorism from the IRA. I distinctly remember a certain bearded man (Gerry Adams if you don’t remember), who’s opinions were deemed so poisonous his voice wasn’t even allowed on television. Although the footage of him and someone else reading his words were okay.

The Lockerbie air disaster was a terrible event noted by all too and reminded us we were at threat from at home and abroad. Apparently. Details and the full story were as sketchy and hazy then as they are today. And as I do now, relied on the media to give me information and keep me updated of the terrifying world around me. And that made me think something may fall out of the sky at any moment and land on you. I wasn’t very comfortable flying after that.

The 90’s brought a very different and worrying way of life for me. We moved into the military with my mother’s third marriage and were instantly posted to Germany, around the time of the Berlin wall coming down. My step-father had served in Northern Ireland before he was with us and it made it all a bit more real. It was no longer just reports on the TV. We were in Germany, where it was very real. On reflection, I may have had a realism sensory overload from that point on and never fully recovered. As we left for Germany, the first Gulf war kicked off, followed quite closely by Bosnia. My early teenage years were to be a continuation it seemed of being surrounded by societal turmoil. My home life wasn’t entirely standard either, dysfunctional and erratic I would call it. But that can easily go unnoticed when you realise what goes on outside. The world was falling to pieces, what does it matter if your family does too?

Thrown in between were other things to be afraid of, murderers, viruses and catastrophic natural events and man-made ones threatened every year. The O-zone, solar flares, earthquakes, asteroids, tsunamis. It was endless. 

After that followed more wars and conflict, 9/11 and new laws and propaganda for what we were meant to be afraid of.  I have a feeling that being constantly bombarded (through choice sometimes) with the negative reality of human nature hasn’t helped me to be a happier person, but perhaps a better informed one. Mid-teens I kind of fell off the map for a bit, but when I realise what I was contending with, I’m just glad I made it through.

(c) K L Wicks

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(c) K Wicks