Be A Survivor!


It has been on my mind quite a bit of late.

I have been talking to fellow sufferers, although I do hate that word, sufferer.

Whether you are deep in the midst of a depressive episode, or have come out the other side, I believe we are depression survivors, not sufferers.

Don’t get me wrong, when depression hits us, we do suffer.

It is a shockingly painful and debilitating illness.

It is not a matter of simply pulling oneself together.

It is not a matter of simply being sad.

I can only speak of my experience, and perhaps others people’s are very different, but for me it was a dark, confusing time, where the act of making myself get up and get dressed felt like too difficult a task some days.

I used to describe it as brain fog.

Fellow women readers, think the world’s worst case of PMS you can imagine, multiply it tenfold, then keep multiplying for about an hour or so… now you are beginning to get close.

Making decisions was overwhelming.

I remember struggling not to cry in a supermarket because I couldn’t even remember why I was there.

The physical symptoms are often underappreciated by people who have never been there.

Fatigue is not a powerful enough word to describe the incapacitating weakness and lack of energy that accompanies depression.

I felt like I was lugging a massive weight around with me.

I felt aches in my body, physical pain in my chest.

Literally the weight of the world on my tense shoulders.

In addition to feeling exhausted, I was restless and agitated, which in itself is exhausting.

I spent everyday feeling useless, inadequate and worthless.

The sheer lack of hope was excruciating. I simply could not see how life could ever improve.

I would feel anxious about leaving the house, having to ‘deal’ with people so it was easier to avoiding other people

I said hateful things to myself, things I would never dream of saying to anyone else.

I was constantly blaming myself for everything that had ever gone wrong.

Constantly feeling guilty… and then I would look objectively at my life and think, “Who the hell am I to feel so miserable? Other people have it worse than me…

And the guilt would kick in.

I simply could not see that it didn’t matter that I wasn’t homeless, on the street or starving.

I could not see that I was, in fact, sick.

The self-harming behavior was very, well… self-destructive! Obviously! But strangely comforting. If you haven’t been there, it is incredibly difficult to explain.

The classic, most obvious symptom of depression people always think of is suicide ideation.

I clearly remember walking into town, looking at the busy traffic and thinking how fucking easy it would be to just walk into it.

When the car skidded on ice, rather than panic, I felt a somewhat detached sense of relief, “Finally! It’s going to be over!”

I understand now that what I really wanted was not necessarily to die, but rather, to simply not be here anymore, to not feel any more pain.

But friends, I came out of it!

If you are feeling some of the feelings I described above on a regular basis, please understand you do not have to continue to feel so awful.

There is help out there.

Talk to someone you trust.

If you cannot do that, call a helpline or visit your doctor.

I understand the stigma. I only told my own sister relatively recently that I take my medication and she was blown away. She had never suspected a thing.

Us depressives can be the best fucking actors you will ever meet!

On a side note… that is another point, you could be living close to or with a person who is depressed and not have a clue. So many people hide it and yes, they do suffer, in silence.

For me?

It came to a point where I was becoming seriously, physically, ill from my depression and anxiety and the self destructive, self-harming behavior was taking over.

It was on the drive home from what was meant to be a romantic getaway, that had been practically ruined by my self-loathing behavior, I asked the OH to pull over the car and I called my doctor.

I will never forget the sense of shame I felt telling my doctor that I had been living a complete lie throughout my teenage and my adult life.

I felt I was a failure. I should have been able to cope and I had not been.

I had been raised to believe strength was the most important attribute a person could have. Weakness was not tolerated or encouraged.

But readers, take note of this one thing please, if nothing else that I shared here today stays with you, let this be the one thing…

Accepting we are vulnerable, that we need help, and asking for that help is the strongest thing you will ever do.

I still have bad days, like everyone else and I still struggle with issue around self-esteem and destructive behaviours… bigtime!

But on the whole, I am happy. Certainly happier than before.

When my meds started to work, it was as if a curtain had been lifted from the world.

I saw colours more clearly, it was like someone had just turned the lights on.

Now I laugh, I sing, I dance, a lot!

And I plucked up the courage to start my three blogs.

The courage to finally be me, all of me.

The courage to share me with the world.

And get your head around this…  people liked me!

Please, if you are feeling bad, please know you are not alone.

You might feel it, but you are not.

Please reach out for help. You will be amazed at how good people can be!

Please be a survivor!

Thanks for stopping by and taking the time to read this. I sincerely hope it helps someone today.

Peace out…




 Copyright 2014, kittykatsbitsandbobs

All rights reserved

So I am a slut now???

FullSizeRenderSo… today I got called a slut on twitter.

An “attention seeking slut” to be exact.

I felt this remark like a punch straight to my stomach.

I was shocked and hurt.

It hurt even more because another woman had tweeted it…

First of all, I detest the word slut, and everything it represents – misogyny, shame, double standards, judgment, ignorance.

Secondly, I would NEVER call another woman a slut, whore, tramp or any other derogatory word that places judgment on her for simply being a sexual creature.

So what did I do to deserve this label?

I will never know for sure, because she unfollowed and blocked me, on twitter and Instagram. So basically, I am dead to her!

I had spent part of yesterday having an enjoyable chat with another person this woman followed and I tweeted him a link to my erotica blogs.

I can only speculate that perhaps that was one step too far in her eyes…

How dare I seek attention in such a way? And with a guy she was friends with? How outrageous of me!

(She then blocked this lovely guy also, much to his disappointment…)

I discovered later that, apparently, she has always felt threatened by me and my confidence and approachable style of interacting.

That is fair enough I guess, but why not discuss this with me?

Or simply unfollow me.

That’s the beauty of twitter…. No one is forced to interact with anyone else if they don’t want to.

But, to label me a slut, simply because I see no problem admitting I love sex?

Because I write some erotic stories?

Because my stories have a bit of kink to them?

Because I flirt on twitter?

Cooooooome on!

I am an adult woman, who has experienced enough shit in my life to have at last grown into being comfortable in my own skin.

After years of fear and hiding my true self, I have finally accepted that I am sexual… so what? We all are!


My writing has helped me to discover parts of myself I was scared to fully and openly explore before. I have connected with amazing people who are on a similar journey as myself, exploring their sexuality and their true, core selves. I feel profound gratitude that I have met these new friends, and if I could hug each one of you for helping me to accept that I have nothing to feel shame about, I would hug you guys so hard!

I have decided that this woman on twitter must be a deeply unhappy and, perhaps angry, person who deserves my sympathy rather than wrath.

Perhaps she will one day begin to look inwards, to try to figure out why she ever felt the need to be so unnecessarily hurtful and bitter toward a person who was never anything less than respectful and friendly towards her.

I make it my daily goal to leave whomever I encounter happier than before they met me.

I aim to spread some kindness and joy, always, never pain.

I compliment complete strangers in shops FFS!

I hurt if I suspect I have caused any other person discomfort.

I simply do not believe in judging people, because, who the hell am I to cast any critical eye over them or the way they chose to live their lives?

I do not know what burdens they may be carrying that cause them to be unpleasant or rude.

I prefer to give people the benefit of the doubt.

So, it is with a heavy heart that I share this account of my day with you.

My hope is that this perhaps makes you think before you say anything hurtful to someone, even someone you only know through social media.

Think twice; ask yourself how you would feel in their shoes?

How you would feel if someone called you or your special person that name?

Thanks for reading this…. In order to live up to my new monocle I will resume the filth very soon, I promise!


 Copyright 2014,

All rights reserved.

The Perfect Man?


A very lovely new guy friend of mine said this and I was floored by it.

It makes me sad, that a man who has such obvious respect and admiration for women as him, really should not be alone. Sometimes, I think, the universe gets it wrong.

More than that however, it made me want to write about what constitutes the perfect man or woman… which of course is total nonsense, no one is perfect.

But what is perfect for me? Reader, allow me to fantasise for a while…

The very basic, real things I want are…

First of all, I share my friend’s viewpoint; I could not find a man attractive if he did not engage my mind, and if he did not want to explore mine, then he is not really interested in ME.


I want him to talk to me, ask me questions, challenge me, and REALLY listen.

I want him to not shy away from the hard stuff.

I want him to argue with me and call me out when I am being an idiot.

I want him to teach me new things and be willing, and eager, to learn things from me.

I want him to make me laugh out loud, and I want him to find me funny.


I want him to share with me; his dreams, hopes, fears, worries.

I want him to want to know mine, but to be respectful if I am not ready to share, as I would be with him.

I want him to remember things I say, things that are important to me.

I want him to be a reader.

I want him to be interested in the world around us.

I want him to value keeping informed about the world.

I want him to be curious.

I want him to love nature and animals.

I want him to genuinely like people, to find them as fascinating as I do.

I want him to not only tolerate my silliness, but to love it.

I want him to be willing to be silly in front of me.

I want him to always be willing to try new things with me.

I want him to value trying new things more than he fears looking foolish if he fails.



These things I can live without, but if I am honest, the perfect man could…


Play music


Create; art, craft, DIY, anything!

Write, express himself well


Fix things


I probably sound like the highest maintainance gal you have ever encountered, but trust me, nothing could be further from the truth!

All I want is a man who respects me enough to treat me as more than a body, an object, a warm place to lay.

A man who wants to really know me.

Days and evenings spent endlessly talking, laughing, exploring each others minds… and bodies.

I hope my lovely friend finds his perfect woman, and spends many happy years exploring her mind, (and her body! He would be very upset if I didn’t wish that for him!), and having her explore his.

After all, it is what we are all looking for… isn’t it?



Oh So Lovely Blog Award

My new bestie Felicity at The Dark Night Chronicles ( very kindly nominated me for this award… thank you honey! If you haven’t read her blog… correct that right now!

Here are the rules for our nominees:

1. You must thank the person who nominated you and include a link to their blog.

2. You must list the rules.

3. You must add 7 facts about yourself.

4. You must nominate 15 other bloggers and comment on one of their posts to let them know they have been nominated.

5. You must display the award logo and follow the blogger who nominated you.


Seven facts about me…

1. I am a lover, not a fighter

2. I adore my dogs

3. I love to laugh and make people laugh

4. I never, ever follow rules

5. I never judge

6. I don’t do ‘grey’, it’s all or nothing with me

7. I am short, like really short

Now for my nominations!


The Darkside of the Moon

The Dark Night Chronicles

Steve and Jon’s best things

Where’s my xanax…??


P.S. Please Don’t Be a Serial Killer



story medic



Alexzandra Goode






Can You Keep A Secret?


Recently, I read letter to an agony aunt in a newspaper. I never usually read those things, but this one caught my eye.

It was a letter from someone who was about to get married and they had kept something from their partner during the course of the relationship. It was something in this person’s own past and was of no relevance to the current relationship. The person writing the letter had the idea that there should be no secrets whatsoever between husband and wife and was conflicted as to whether to share their secret or not.

It got me thinking…

If there is something in my past, that belongs to me, and is not going to impact on my current relationship, am I really obliged to tell my partner?

I think not.

Whatever relationships I had before my partner are mine. Unless one of them is likely to have an impact on my future with this person, I feel no duty to tell them everything about it.

Is it important to swap the number of people you have been with before?

Nope. As long as you are with me now, that’s all that matters. It is none of my business if you have been with one woman or one hundred women.

My only concern would be sexual health… now THAT is something we need to be upfront about.

What if I have cheated on someone in my past? Should I tell him that?

If it was a one-off occurence and not my usual pattern in relationships, would he benfit from knowing about that? Would it not make him wary and suspicious that I would cheat again? Is a person not allowed a clean slate?

What if I was the ‘other woman’ in the past? Does my new partner need to know I was involved with a married man?

What if I had done a job I was not exactly proud of… exotic dancer maybe? I guess there is a chance someone from my past would recognize me, which makes that a dilemma.

Then I thought, what if I had an abortion as a teenager? Should I disclose that?

I still think that is my own personal history, and unless I feel the need to share that, it is not the business of anyone else, even my partner.

What if meet a man and fall in love, but do not disclose that I am, in fact, bisexual?

Does that matter? As far as I am concerned I am with THIS man. Being bisexual does not mean I am any more likely to be unfaithful than if I were straight.

So… do I have any obligation to tell him?

Again I think not. (Although I will say I cannot think of any reason not to tell him, unless I fear he will be appalled, in which case I wouldn’t want to be with him anyway.)

I think, if my secret has a potential to cause reverberations in my present relationship, then I should disclose it. If it doesn’t, then I am under no obligation to tell.

Then I thought about the ‘secrets’ we keep regarding our present day lives.

you CAN tell does not mean you HAVE to tell

you CAN tell does not mean you HAVE to tell

Does my partner need to know everything about me? What I am thinking? What I have been doing? Where I have been? Who I see?

This is maybe more difficult I think.

The obvious point is, what have I got to hide? Why wouldn’t I tell him everything I have been doing and thinking?

Probably because he wouldn’t want to know anyway, but more so, I need my own private world where I can feel free to think, do and see who and what I like.

Does this mean I am cold and unsharing? Not at all.

Ask my OH and you will be told this:  I talk… a lot. I ask questions… a lot.

But sometimes I will be quiet and I need to be left to my own internal world.

This worries him and he asks what is wrong.

Nothing is wrong. I am simply thinking, fantasising, imagining.

And, to be honest, I don’t always want to share that part of me.

To be even more honest, it irritates me to be constantly badgered to tell my secret thoughts.

How dull a relationship would be if there was no mystery at all?

How trapped I would feel if I cannot escape inside my own private world when I need to?

How monitored I would feel if I have to account for who I see, where I go, what I do?

Case in point…

I also, do not judge me!, run a twitter account for Lily, (AKA The Love Of My Life), and the OH had the password to access it.

Last year, before he officially joined twitter, the OH questioned me about a flirty twitter exchange I had with a guy, who found funny and entertaining, who I still tweet with today.

I heard judgement and almost accusation in his voice. I asked how he had even seen this exchange and he told me he had entered Lily’s account and looked to see who I was talking to.

I was LIVID.

As far as I was concerned, this was a complete invasion of my privacy.

I had always told him about any funny chats I had enjoyed during the day when he came home in the evenings. He had no need to access an account in order to see what I was doing. I was having funny, flirty banter, in full view of everyone on twitter, and it was perfectly harmless. But he made me feel awkward and ashamed about it.

That was when I decided I needed my secrets, my privacy, my own space.

We argued.

Other ways he unconsciously stepped over the line were discussed. For example, he would stand over my shoulder as I was online, tweeting, surfing the net, whatever.

I hate that feeling of someone watching me.

I should point out, the OH is not a monster. We have agreed on boundaries and limits since then, and, with the odd lapse, he has stuck to his end of the deal.

Recently the OH joined twitter and we exchanged several tweets throughout the day.

It did feel strange. Where we once texted each other to say something or ask something, now we were communicating on this very public forum and it just felt… weird.

Furthermore, anyone who follows me on twitter knows I am an outrageous flirt and I say what ever I like. So far, people seem to like it! The OH was fully aware that on twitter, what you see is what you get as far as I am concerned, so the flirting was not an issue, seeing as I would flirt with my own shadow in real life.

Not to mention he was aware of my twitter life after his snooping exercise!

The problem was not necessarily with him.

It was me. I started to feel less free to be me, silly as that may sound. I think the way I can explain it is, it was as if, during a night in with my girlfriends and a bottle of wine, he was suddenly there, listening to all our conversations.

I told him we needed space. I need a place where I can go… without him.

He was upset and disappointed but agreed.

I feel much happier now that I have my own space back.


Not all secrets are bad in relationships.

On the contrary, the pressure to share every single aspect of oneself can feel suffocating and limiting in the extreme.

I would rather be in a relationship where both parties feel free to share what they feel is relevant and important, as well as feeling free to harbour their own secret thoughts, desires, fears, fantasies.

A secret willingly shared is worth much, much more than one discovered through subterfuge or coercion.

I would LOVE to hear your thoughts on this topic of past and present secrets in relationships.

Please do leave a comment, whether you agree or whether you think I am spouting complete tosh!

As always, thanks for stopping by…