My dad has been single for ages and he said he isn't lonely, he claims he potters along quite merrily on his own thank you very much. Still, it doesn't stop me worrying about him or wondering if his protestations of non-loneliness are entirely true. I just got married last year and so am still in the sickeningly in love stage but I still have quite a few friends who live a solitary life.
One of my friends is single at the moment and he claims that life is terrible without human contact and he is desperately looking for someone to share his life. He's tried some dating sites and so forth but with little luck. He said that it's just difficult to know where to go to meet people.
This got me thinking. Place to meet people, human contact...Perhaps the answer is to apply to go on Deal or No Deal!
Now bear with me, that may seem like a mad statement but lets face it - you get to meet at least 21 other people on the first day alone and you may have already seen them on the tv (I'm not sure if you get to watch the programme just before going on it?).
It sounds as if they all get to spend time in the hotel so you would be with all the other people and you could go out for a drink - you all have the same reason for being there so you have at least one thing in common and each time you open your box in the game you may get a hug or a kiss from the player - so there's the human contact right there!
Plus, as one player leaves another enters so there will always be a supply of at least one new person per game. Out of all the contestants there, surely not all of them are married and even if they are they may have friends who are single and lonely and want to meet someone.
Also, to add to all this good stuff you may win a nice amount of money to go for meals etc with your new friend - if they are a contestant too they may have won a large amount of money too and so you may be able to rule out the whole golddigging worries. Even if you can't find anyone on the show, your face is being beamed out to millions of people in the UK, surely the TV time alone is enough to give you enough publicity to get your message out there.
All this and you get to meet the lovely Noel Edmonds! Really, what more could anyone ask?
Wednesday 21 January 2009
To sleep, perchance to stop obsessing...
Current biggest obsession: Scrubs (TV show)
I have had raging insomnia since I was about 14, possibly longer and I suspect that unless something drastically changes in my mind - I'm never going to be rid of it. It's like a stalker, constantly mocking me and shaking it's head as if to say 'If you didn't like me, you could get rid of me any time you want' - sort of like a crazy ex-boyfriend (don't worry, that never happened...or perhaps it did and I'm just too tired to remember).
I did briefly find a cure, my OCD medication makes me flake out - I don't so much as fall asleep as pass out - but due to the other meds I have had to take for my pain recently, I have had to come off my OCD medication. As a brief aside, I had completely forgotten how bad my OCD is until I came off the meds. How I had laughed at what I considered my silliness when I went onto the meds - now the checking, the constant worrying and the downright scary handwashing is back with a vengence.
Anyway, a few nights ago I spent most of the night staring at the TV, begging my mind to let my body sleep - sort of like a hostage situation. Parts of my body were saying:
Body: 'Please, we beg you, we'll do anything you want...'
Brain: 'Reeheally?' (Sort of a cross between Jim Carrey and Dr Cox from Scrubs)
Body 'Anything! Just let us rest!'
Brain: 'Even though you are sore, you'll still wash hands everytime I have a random worry??'
Body 'Erm...I guess so, the hands are pretty sore though...'
Brain: 'Silence!! I will have no quarrel! Do you accept the terms?'
Even though that isn't an entirely real scenario it wouldn't have helped even if my body agreed as my brain was in full party mode. I tried everything get some rest - trying to remember all of the cast of The Bill in the early days (I just want to point out that this was a dangerous move as the last time I did this I spent the night not being able to sleep and two days trying to remember the name of the geordie lady - it was Liz Wroughton), trying to count sheep - nothing helped. All that happened was that my brain alternated between singing 'Take me ridin' in my car car, take me ridin' in my car car' from the recent Audi car advert and a snippet of Scrubs that showed J.D and Turk singing 'A surgeon and a doc above it all' on a fire escape. All. Night.
I've done everything over the years to encourage sleep - lavender on my pillow, no caffiene ever, relaxation tapes. Incidentally, the last time I did a relaxation tape I was in a flat where my bed was right near the window with no headboard and right at the moment where the lady said 'Relax your head' I brought my head back to the pillow and rubbed the curtain resulting in the curtain rail falling and hitting me square in the face. That's perhaps a poor reason to abandon the tapes but I just got to thinking that perhaps relaxation tapes are just not for me.
I can't relax, it's just something I don't know how to do - I'm constantly fraught with one worry or another. When I smoked I spent most of my time worrying that if I stubbed out a cigarette and put it in the bin like a good citizen that the cigarette would spark back into life and would ignite an aerosol in the bin causing the bin to blow up as a pregnant lady with a pushchair with quadruplets walked by and I'd be responsible for their demise. Believe me, there's no surefire way to quit smoking than to have OCD. The above scenario never happened but it was certainly enough to make me worry incessantly.
People have asked me to try acupuncture for my insomnia. Now, I try not to be cynical about things, too much, but I just can't see how needles in my face etc can make me sleep. Unless I have a sort of reset button like you see at the back of some MP3 players to switch me into 'safe mode' or to reboot me entirely. Surely that wouldn't be good, like a phone when you restore factory settings, would I forget peoples contact info or memories that I have enjoyed?? Even if the acupuncture did work I would just worry that there would be a needle hole that would remain open and that some sort of infection would finish me off and that worry would probably keep me awake anyway.
I wouldn't care but when I do sleep, my dreams are totally kickass at times. Except for the zombie dreams - I am a huge zombie fan and this has led to some pretty interesting but terrifying dreams over the years. Freud apparently claimed that dreams are wish fulfilment - if that's true I am one sick little puppy. I'm fairly sure that I don't want to be devoured by a zombie, or anything else for that matter.
Perhaps one day my insomnia will go away or I will become more relaxed. In the meantime I'm going to avoid any catchy tv tunes and Scrubs...nah, cancel that last thought... :)
I have had raging insomnia since I was about 14, possibly longer and I suspect that unless something drastically changes in my mind - I'm never going to be rid of it. It's like a stalker, constantly mocking me and shaking it's head as if to say 'If you didn't like me, you could get rid of me any time you want' - sort of like a crazy ex-boyfriend (don't worry, that never happened...or perhaps it did and I'm just too tired to remember).
I did briefly find a cure, my OCD medication makes me flake out - I don't so much as fall asleep as pass out - but due to the other meds I have had to take for my pain recently, I have had to come off my OCD medication. As a brief aside, I had completely forgotten how bad my OCD is until I came off the meds. How I had laughed at what I considered my silliness when I went onto the meds - now the checking, the constant worrying and the downright scary handwashing is back with a vengence.
Anyway, a few nights ago I spent most of the night staring at the TV, begging my mind to let my body sleep - sort of like a hostage situation. Parts of my body were saying:
Body: 'Please, we beg you, we'll do anything you want...'
Brain: 'Reeheally?' (Sort of a cross between Jim Carrey and Dr Cox from Scrubs)
Body 'Anything! Just let us rest!'
Brain: 'Even though you are sore, you'll still wash hands everytime I have a random worry??'
Body 'Erm...I guess so, the hands are pretty sore though...'
Brain: 'Silence!! I will have no quarrel! Do you accept the terms?'
Even though that isn't an entirely real scenario it wouldn't have helped even if my body agreed as my brain was in full party mode. I tried everything get some rest - trying to remember all of the cast of The Bill in the early days (I just want to point out that this was a dangerous move as the last time I did this I spent the night not being able to sleep and two days trying to remember the name of the geordie lady - it was Liz Wroughton), trying to count sheep - nothing helped. All that happened was that my brain alternated between singing 'Take me ridin' in my car car, take me ridin' in my car car' from the recent Audi car advert and a snippet of Scrubs that showed J.D and Turk singing 'A surgeon and a doc above it all' on a fire escape. All. Night.
I've done everything over the years to encourage sleep - lavender on my pillow, no caffiene ever, relaxation tapes. Incidentally, the last time I did a relaxation tape I was in a flat where my bed was right near the window with no headboard and right at the moment where the lady said 'Relax your head' I brought my head back to the pillow and rubbed the curtain resulting in the curtain rail falling and hitting me square in the face. That's perhaps a poor reason to abandon the tapes but I just got to thinking that perhaps relaxation tapes are just not for me.
I can't relax, it's just something I don't know how to do - I'm constantly fraught with one worry or another. When I smoked I spent most of my time worrying that if I stubbed out a cigarette and put it in the bin like a good citizen that the cigarette would spark back into life and would ignite an aerosol in the bin causing the bin to blow up as a pregnant lady with a pushchair with quadruplets walked by and I'd be responsible for their demise. Believe me, there's no surefire way to quit smoking than to have OCD. The above scenario never happened but it was certainly enough to make me worry incessantly.
People have asked me to try acupuncture for my insomnia. Now, I try not to be cynical about things, too much, but I just can't see how needles in my face etc can make me sleep. Unless I have a sort of reset button like you see at the back of some MP3 players to switch me into 'safe mode' or to reboot me entirely. Surely that wouldn't be good, like a phone when you restore factory settings, would I forget peoples contact info or memories that I have enjoyed?? Even if the acupuncture did work I would just worry that there would be a needle hole that would remain open and that some sort of infection would finish me off and that worry would probably keep me awake anyway.
I wouldn't care but when I do sleep, my dreams are totally kickass at times. Except for the zombie dreams - I am a huge zombie fan and this has led to some pretty interesting but terrifying dreams over the years. Freud apparently claimed that dreams are wish fulfilment - if that's true I am one sick little puppy. I'm fairly sure that I don't want to be devoured by a zombie, or anything else for that matter.
Perhaps one day my insomnia will go away or I will become more relaxed. In the meantime I'm going to avoid any catchy tv tunes and Scrubs...nah, cancel that last thought... :)
My MRI and why can't hospitals be more like Scrubs...
I had to have an MRI this week and let me just say this, it wasn't at all what I had expected...
Firstly I had to sit in the waiting room and drink a bizarre cocktail of what tasted like blackcurrant gone wrong and aniseed - 1.5 litres of the stuff! Now don't worry, it is not the same for all conditions, apparently different MRI investigations require different potions as I found out. What I had was a contrast agent.
Anyway, as I sat in the waiting room drinking my mutant gunk, I was joined by two elderly gentlemen, one of whom was with his wife. Both men were drinking what appeared to be water but, judging by his reaction while gulping it down, it was obviously some kind of concoction too. Someone asked if they could have some of my drink but I had to decline with the comment 'I don't think that's allowed'.
The wierdest thing was that while we slugged our liquid down, we got chatting in some sort of amiable way, held together by our need to find answers - It was like being at a really strange cocktail party. It started as one guy was complaining about having to drink what we thought was water and I said 'Hey, it could be worse, you could be drinking this blackcurrant nonsense'.
The man to my left with his wife proceeded to explain that he had a cyst on his kidney that no one could find for eight years. He explained that now he can't eat eggs but that he still has them 'every day of my life'. At which point his wife interjected with 'No you don't, ooh you liar, you don't!' to which he replied 'Of course I do woman, I had some this morning for my breakfast!'. It became quite comical as everything that he said he was not allowed to have but he did have became a bickering match with his kindly wife who said 'You don't have that!!'.
Just as everything was starting to get more unreal I realised that I had finished the 1 litre of contrast agent and everyone hoorahed and said 'there you go, you've finished, stop moaning'. This relief was dissipated quickly as the nurse came back into the waiting room to give me the other 500ml. Now, I try not to moan, I really do try, but I just couldn't finish the whole lot - sat there in the strange pub like area with a mangled polite smile on my face due to the taste of the liquid - try as I might I could only manage 1.3l of the stuff and that was an almighty struggle.
By this point I felt sick and immensely sorry for myself when several things started to make me feel a bit less pity for myself and a bit more pity for the two gents beside me.
The guy on the left had just finished telling me the kidney cyst story and the pills he had had to take when the gent beside me piped up with 'When I had cancer, during chemo I had to take medication that was so toxic that I wasn't allowed to touch it as I swallowed it!'. I'm not sure how that works exactly but it sounded pretty horrific. At this point the guy on my left said 'That's pretty bad but I have a heart murmur too'. Sympathy seemed to shift in the room and I noticed some of the other waiting patients drawing forward, poised for the disease-off that was sure to follow...
The gent to my life swigged back his gunk disguised as water and said 'Well I have diabetes and when I had this stuff last time I had a blood sugar level of 2.2!'
They both looked at me as if I were either a referee or that I was going to come up with a disease so horrific that it would trump all theirs and leave them reeling.
I cleared my throat then said, possibly rather pathetically, 'erm...I've had a pain in my pelvis for 4 months and the MRI is hopefully going to find the cause'. Bang! like a game of poker it didn't seem as bad as their diseases and they went back to challenging each other.
Sadly I was removed from the room to have my scan before they got to the real climax of their apparent disease off. I was taken into a room and told to remove my clothes except for my pants and socks - mmm, attractive huh? Then to put on a gown that fastened at the back - is this for a purpose or just to make it a bit more embarrassing if it suddenly flies open?
I sort of imagined it would be like Scrubs, perhaps I just watch way too much tv or perhaps it's just that in real life things are never as funny as they are on the tv, but it was all very clinical and not jokey in the least - which is a shame as the only thing I wanted to take away the fear was a bit of a laugh.
They took me into the MRI room wehich actually seemed quite cheery and I gave them my CD. They can play you a CD while you have the scan and they put kicking headphones on you which makes you feel like a DJ (Well, it made me feel like I a DJ but I'm quite sad and have an overactive imagination).
My glasses and hair band was removed but I got to keep my engagement and wedding ring on as they were made of platinum and I was placed on a bed, poised to enter the enormous machine.
All I can say is that I am really glad I am not claustraphobic as there felt like there was only about 4 inches between my nose and the top of the scanner. I was basically in a tube. Now, I have many fears in life and I spend a great deal of my waking life worrying about a variety of horrible scenarios and just before the lady wheeled me into the MRI machine she said 'it may be a little warm in there after a while but it's fine as there is a fan at the top of the machine to keep you nice and cool'. To anyone else this would have been immensely comforting, but to me with my diseased mind I thought 'How close to me is the fan??? But my hair is now loose, what if it gets stuck in the fan!!!'. I then thought 'oh no, what if the fan is at the top of the tube and the bed gets pushed too far and my head gets sliced into pieces by the fan like a meat slicing machine!!!'. Let me tell you, Not Going To Happen!!!. After a mild 30 second panic attack in my head I managed to lie still in the machine with panels placed on my abdomen, presumably to aid the scan.
All I can say is that, it didn't seem like it always does on shows like House. I sort of expected a bang bang bang noise but to my panic soaked brain it sounded like the sound of a dot matrix printer or a photocopier of sorts. I spent probably 30 mins in the machine - most of which was divided between the fan worries, fears that I actually might be claustraphobic and then realising that I'm just not, listening to Nina Simone quietly singing 'I put a spell on you' and wondering if the printer noise was actually the photocopying of my body (As if they might scan me, take out the bad bits and then send the copy out as me and leave me in the tube forever...until the fan got me.
As it was, they pulled me out of the machine after about 30 mins and told me to get dressed and go home - not so much as a 'Mind how you go' or anything but with a 'Your doctor will get your results in about 2 weeks'.
So now I wait...
Firstly I had to sit in the waiting room and drink a bizarre cocktail of what tasted like blackcurrant gone wrong and aniseed - 1.5 litres of the stuff! Now don't worry, it is not the same for all conditions, apparently different MRI investigations require different potions as I found out. What I had was a contrast agent.
Anyway, as I sat in the waiting room drinking my mutant gunk, I was joined by two elderly gentlemen, one of whom was with his wife. Both men were drinking what appeared to be water but, judging by his reaction while gulping it down, it was obviously some kind of concoction too. Someone asked if they could have some of my drink but I had to decline with the comment 'I don't think that's allowed'.
The wierdest thing was that while we slugged our liquid down, we got chatting in some sort of amiable way, held together by our need to find answers - It was like being at a really strange cocktail party. It started as one guy was complaining about having to drink what we thought was water and I said 'Hey, it could be worse, you could be drinking this blackcurrant nonsense'.
The man to my left with his wife proceeded to explain that he had a cyst on his kidney that no one could find for eight years. He explained that now he can't eat eggs but that he still has them 'every day of my life'. At which point his wife interjected with 'No you don't, ooh you liar, you don't!' to which he replied 'Of course I do woman, I had some this morning for my breakfast!'. It became quite comical as everything that he said he was not allowed to have but he did have became a bickering match with his kindly wife who said 'You don't have that!!'.
Just as everything was starting to get more unreal I realised that I had finished the 1 litre of contrast agent and everyone hoorahed and said 'there you go, you've finished, stop moaning'. This relief was dissipated quickly as the nurse came back into the waiting room to give me the other 500ml. Now, I try not to moan, I really do try, but I just couldn't finish the whole lot - sat there in the strange pub like area with a mangled polite smile on my face due to the taste of the liquid - try as I might I could only manage 1.3l of the stuff and that was an almighty struggle.
By this point I felt sick and immensely sorry for myself when several things started to make me feel a bit less pity for myself and a bit more pity for the two gents beside me.
The guy on the left had just finished telling me the kidney cyst story and the pills he had had to take when the gent beside me piped up with 'When I had cancer, during chemo I had to take medication that was so toxic that I wasn't allowed to touch it as I swallowed it!'. I'm not sure how that works exactly but it sounded pretty horrific. At this point the guy on my left said 'That's pretty bad but I have a heart murmur too'. Sympathy seemed to shift in the room and I noticed some of the other waiting patients drawing forward, poised for the disease-off that was sure to follow...
The gent to my life swigged back his gunk disguised as water and said 'Well I have diabetes and when I had this stuff last time I had a blood sugar level of 2.2!'
They both looked at me as if I were either a referee or that I was going to come up with a disease so horrific that it would trump all theirs and leave them reeling.
I cleared my throat then said, possibly rather pathetically, 'erm...I've had a pain in my pelvis for 4 months and the MRI is hopefully going to find the cause'. Bang! like a game of poker it didn't seem as bad as their diseases and they went back to challenging each other.
Sadly I was removed from the room to have my scan before they got to the real climax of their apparent disease off. I was taken into a room and told to remove my clothes except for my pants and socks - mmm, attractive huh? Then to put on a gown that fastened at the back - is this for a purpose or just to make it a bit more embarrassing if it suddenly flies open?
I sort of imagined it would be like Scrubs, perhaps I just watch way too much tv or perhaps it's just that in real life things are never as funny as they are on the tv, but it was all very clinical and not jokey in the least - which is a shame as the only thing I wanted to take away the fear was a bit of a laugh.
They took me into the MRI room wehich actually seemed quite cheery and I gave them my CD. They can play you a CD while you have the scan and they put kicking headphones on you which makes you feel like a DJ (Well, it made me feel like I a DJ but I'm quite sad and have an overactive imagination).
My glasses and hair band was removed but I got to keep my engagement and wedding ring on as they were made of platinum and I was placed on a bed, poised to enter the enormous machine.
All I can say is that I am really glad I am not claustraphobic as there felt like there was only about 4 inches between my nose and the top of the scanner. I was basically in a tube. Now, I have many fears in life and I spend a great deal of my waking life worrying about a variety of horrible scenarios and just before the lady wheeled me into the MRI machine she said 'it may be a little warm in there after a while but it's fine as there is a fan at the top of the machine to keep you nice and cool'. To anyone else this would have been immensely comforting, but to me with my diseased mind I thought 'How close to me is the fan??? But my hair is now loose, what if it gets stuck in the fan!!!'. I then thought 'oh no, what if the fan is at the top of the tube and the bed gets pushed too far and my head gets sliced into pieces by the fan like a meat slicing machine!!!'. Let me tell you, Not Going To Happen!!!. After a mild 30 second panic attack in my head I managed to lie still in the machine with panels placed on my abdomen, presumably to aid the scan.
All I can say is that, it didn't seem like it always does on shows like House. I sort of expected a bang bang bang noise but to my panic soaked brain it sounded like the sound of a dot matrix printer or a photocopier of sorts. I spent probably 30 mins in the machine - most of which was divided between the fan worries, fears that I actually might be claustraphobic and then realising that I'm just not, listening to Nina Simone quietly singing 'I put a spell on you' and wondering if the printer noise was actually the photocopying of my body (As if they might scan me, take out the bad bits and then send the copy out as me and leave me in the tube forever...until the fan got me.
As it was, they pulled me out of the machine after about 30 mins and told me to get dressed and go home - not so much as a 'Mind how you go' or anything but with a 'Your doctor will get your results in about 2 weeks'.
So now I wait...
Friday 16 January 2009
Lets Face(book) it :)
Please allow me to introduce myself, my name is H and I have OCD. I have had OCD as long as I can remember but I was only formally diagnosed with it about 2 years ago. Phew! Glad that's out of the way!
I have been ill for a few months with abdomen pain and because of this I have spent those months sitting in my flat awaiting various parts of the NHS to examine parts of me that even I don't really want access to. Last week, for example, I had a colonoscopy which is by far and away the most horrendous test I have ever had to go through. Anyway, I will get to that in time, once I have stopped emotionally rocking back and forth in my head hugging my knees. I digress...
Lately, due to my lack of socialising in the real world I have been using Facebook as a way of pretending to myself that I have had the odd bit of human contact other than my husband and various medical staff. The one thing that occurred to me is that Facebook has started to make me sad, actually that's a tad unfair as it is not the fault of Facebook but the fault of all the wonderful people I know that are having great lives.
It seems that most of the women I know are either pregnant, travelling to exotic places, modelling or generally enjoying themselves. Now, while I think this is wonderful...for them...I can't help but feel that the world out there is rock and rolling as I am sat in my flat day after day. I haven't had a diagnosis for the pain that I have and so while I am waiting for the that I am living vicariously.
Whilst I was feeling envious, I wondered also if it is just me or is everyone envious of the photos of drinking games, spectacular locations and general tomfoolery posted by other people - the witty banter!
Now, I have a husband, a wonderful man whom I love with all my heart and we enjoy our lives but I can't help but feel like perhaps people are enjoying themselves more than me - I've become ridiculously competitive which is exactly what I don't want.
Then, aaah a panacea for the pain, I have become faintly obssessed with talk shows. One in particular - that's the terrible thing about OCD, sometimes you can become obssessed with things that you really don't want to be obsessed with and you can't get them out of your mind no matter what you try.
There is a particular talk show that I am very fond of, wholly due to the almost agressive and forthright attitude of the host (I'm not obsessed with the host, don't worry) and while I understand that certain problems probably need an audience of maybe your family, friends etc they perhaps don't need to be on national television. However, I can sort of see the point of this sometimes, although today I was watching the humiliation of a poor women who had been lied to repeatedly by her partner who was not exactly Brad Pitt. Now, whether you view it as entertainment or genuinely helping people - there are some pretty messed up family units out there and up until a few years ago I kind of understood what it was like to get into some tricky situations without really intending. When my husband said 'Does this stuff really happen to people?!?' I had to concede that, yes, it does - thankfully my talk show behaviour is well and truly finito but the people on these shows appear to suffer so many indignities.
Let's all get connected on Facebook and attempt to out-enjoy all the other happy people - it's not a complete solution but it's a start :)
I have been ill for a few months with abdomen pain and because of this I have spent those months sitting in my flat awaiting various parts of the NHS to examine parts of me that even I don't really want access to. Last week, for example, I had a colonoscopy which is by far and away the most horrendous test I have ever had to go through. Anyway, I will get to that in time, once I have stopped emotionally rocking back and forth in my head hugging my knees. I digress...
Lately, due to my lack of socialising in the real world I have been using Facebook as a way of pretending to myself that I have had the odd bit of human contact other than my husband and various medical staff. The one thing that occurred to me is that Facebook has started to make me sad, actually that's a tad unfair as it is not the fault of Facebook but the fault of all the wonderful people I know that are having great lives.
It seems that most of the women I know are either pregnant, travelling to exotic places, modelling or generally enjoying themselves. Now, while I think this is wonderful...for them...I can't help but feel that the world out there is rock and rolling as I am sat in my flat day after day. I haven't had a diagnosis for the pain that I have and so while I am waiting for the that I am living vicariously.
Whilst I was feeling envious, I wondered also if it is just me or is everyone envious of the photos of drinking games, spectacular locations and general tomfoolery posted by other people - the witty banter!
Now, I have a husband, a wonderful man whom I love with all my heart and we enjoy our lives but I can't help but feel like perhaps people are enjoying themselves more than me - I've become ridiculously competitive which is exactly what I don't want.
Then, aaah a panacea for the pain, I have become faintly obssessed with talk shows. One in particular - that's the terrible thing about OCD, sometimes you can become obssessed with things that you really don't want to be obsessed with and you can't get them out of your mind no matter what you try.
There is a particular talk show that I am very fond of, wholly due to the almost agressive and forthright attitude of the host (I'm not obsessed with the host, don't worry) and while I understand that certain problems probably need an audience of maybe your family, friends etc they perhaps don't need to be on national television. However, I can sort of see the point of this sometimes, although today I was watching the humiliation of a poor women who had been lied to repeatedly by her partner who was not exactly Brad Pitt. Now, whether you view it as entertainment or genuinely helping people - there are some pretty messed up family units out there and up until a few years ago I kind of understood what it was like to get into some tricky situations without really intending. When my husband said 'Does this stuff really happen to people?!?' I had to concede that, yes, it does - thankfully my talk show behaviour is well and truly finito but the people on these shows appear to suffer so many indignities.
Let's all get connected on Facebook and attempt to out-enjoy all the other happy people - it's not a complete solution but it's a start :)
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