The Secrecy of the Confessional

I don’t like surprises. They intimidate me, and require me to feel like I have to second-guess a person’s motives and intent – and, at the more extreme end of the scale, they can even feel like shocking violations (and apparently it’s not just me and my eccentricity/oddness/paranoia/whatever, so there).

It reasonably follows, therefore, that I don’t like secrets greatly either. I suppose we all have them from each other to a greater or lesser extent, but some can be big, and it is the covering up of those that I find problematic. I write a good bit about sexual abuse on this blog – that remained a perfect secret between me and Paedo for years, and is only known to a small few beyond that dubious duo even now. That’s big, and I hid it. I don’t like that I hid it. People should have known; particularly with other children exposed to the man as potential victims, it wasn’t really my secret to keep.

But before I go on an abuse-related, potentially self-vituperative tangent, let me hark back to where I wanted to go with this. Putting abuse and some of its related issues to one side, I have a pretty big secret. You know about it (yes, you do). A and my closest friend, Daniel, know about it. But my mother, one of the people to whom I’m closest in the world, doesn’t have a clue (if my investigations have been as smart as I think they have). Another close friend, Brian, is similarly oblivious. My wider family, Paedo and friends included, are also in the dark.

I am, of course, talking about this blog.

Now, on the one hand, you might say, “big deal. You throw (a few too many) words on a page once or twice a week, what does it matter whether they know or not?”

However, even though it is not today what it once was (I write less, less people visit – it happens), this blog is a major part of my life. I have an entire identity based on and built around it, and if I’m entirely honest, a lot of the issues I discuss here feed into my ‘real’ identity too. This blog is important to me; it is a life chronicle, a place to vent, a support network and an adjunctive form of psychotherapy all rolled up into one. There must be the best part of a million bloody words written here, and the site ranks highly on Google for many mentalist searches. For whatever reasons – reasons I don’t think I’ll ever entirely understand – some people seem to actually like it. It has won awards (!), for Christ’s sake, and has nearly 300,000 views (which, after two and a half years, is damn all compared to some big blogs – but which isn’t awful for a personal journal, particularly in such a niche interest arena). And how many (wo)man-hours must I have put into getting things to this point? I almost dread to think.

I’m not trying to self-aggrandise or gasconade here (not any more than normal, anyway..!); I’m simply trying to convey that the blog is a big deal in my life.

I chose the suffix ‘confessions of‘ for the site’s title quite deliberately. I know that the term, in the blogosphere at least, has become clichéd almost to the point of vulgarity, but the thing is, it is confessional for me.

Yet the confessional – a place to admit, possibly to seek redemption – is decidedly exclusionary. My mother, and a number of other pivotally important individuals in my life, haven’t the faintest idea that this even exists.

That feels incredibly fucked up to me. All children inevitably hide some things from their parents but they tend, in the grand scheme of things, to be relatively insignificant – that do you remember that night I was at “the cinema” with x and then “staying over at x‘s house” when I was 16? Yeah, I was actually at a club until 6am sort of thing that we all do – not things of key import, or things that have an enduring impact upon one’s psyche. Mum should know about a big issue in my life, and it feels so dirty and wrong and discriminatory that she does not.

Don’t worry, I’m not going to tell her or anything. There’s no point in ruining whatever years she has left in this world by her finding out about everything that is contained within these pages (my current obsessive mental intrusions – and I mean seriously obsessive, as in feeding into almost anything – is that she will suddenly die soon. I keep telling myself that her life expectancy can be reasonably estimated to be 80-something ((she’s 69)), given her relative health and our familial history, but reason never assuages my neurosis ((something I should well know from past experience)). Perhaps this latest manifestation of anxiety-driven batshitness is the reason for this very post). Yet, although the secrecy is necessary to spare her feelings – perhaps even her very sanity – it feels odd not to share some of the highs and lows with her. I remember when I won my first award for this blog; my first clumsy, elated instinct was to scream it at A, then to anyone on the internet that was willing to listen.

And I didn’t get to share that magical moment, and others like it, with my mother. It almost feels akin to her not seeing me going to school for the first day, or graduating from university, or having my first legal pint at the age of 18. OK, so these comparisons may sound a little bombastic, but I hope you know what I mean. My mother should (have) share(d) with me moments I considere(d) meaningful, yet in this shadowy part of my life, she has been utterly denied that opportunity.

Nevertheless, I know there are others out there that hide or have hidden their blogs and mentalist/internet alter egos from everyone in their real lives. I suppose in writing this entry I’m wondering how we can reconcile the openness and candour with which we speak on these blogs with the cladestineness that, ironically, said blogs represent in relation to certain personnel. What do you think about that? Is it a necessity for you, or do you like having a ‘secret’? And if you have managed to keep your blog private from ‘real life’ people, how have you managed it, logistically speaking? I’ve got myself in a few dangerous pickles in the past that could have revealed all to my Mum, so I know it’s not easy to keep schtum.

Just random thoughts, really.

I was going to write a ‘how things are’ scribble at this juncture of the post, but I can’t be arsed. I might try and do it tomorrow. I might not, however. Suffice to say, life is still shite but my death is unlikely to be imminent (day-long fantasies about long, sharp knives stabbing the living fuck out of my skull notwithstanding).



Don’t read this if you’re in a bad mood or have an aversion to pointless, inane, self-indulgent whining.

Breathing. Awake – awake almost all the time. Out of bed – somehow. Eating – just. Disillusioned. Hermitting. Ruminating, especially during the wee small hours, swathed as I am in darkness, both literal and figurative, about suicide – spent all last night thinking about the film The [Golden Gate] Bridge, and kept seeing my body flying off it. Too exhausted and fed up to do anything about it, not enough money to buy petrol never mind a flight to California (jumping from GGB causes a horrid death anyhow. There are better ways to go). Avoiding laptop as if it carried Ebola (I haven’t opened it since Thursday or Friday and this is being written on my phone) – I’m positively belligerent towards the poor, innocent thing right now, which is most unusual. Weepy – again, most unlike me. Obsessed with idea that my mother will die – it fills with me with a profoundly horrified dread and deep sorrow that I cannot quantify. Very worried about her on a more rational level due to an arthritis flare-up. Triggered and disturbed by a few things I’ve seen lately. Possibly experiencing tactile hallucinations, but not sure. No other obvious psychotic symptoms. IBS, migraines and knee pain strongly in evidence. Back and neck aren’t good either. Psychosomatic, I suppose. Same nett effect as if issues were organic, though. Intoxicated by the sounds of the wind and the rain – the only positive release and escapism other than reading. Yes, reading! Shockingly I can do this, for which I give my heartfelt and eternal thanks to God(s) in whom I don’t believe. Can’t write, as this spiel of complete shit attests. Lonely but paradoxically desperately desirous of no social interaction at all. Shut down FB – more particularly, not using Twitter or G+, which means things are bad. No idea what’s going on outside my tiny little house and really, honestly, truly don’t care. An aberration for a news and current affairs junkie, surely.

I’ve been at best ambivalent and at worst actively hostile about the future of this blog lately. I go through periods where I loathe it, then others where I remember how truly important to me it is, and how markedly therapeutic it has generally been. I was going to delete the whole thing on Friday night, then again on Saturday, but must have retained some semblance of sanity because I realised (admittedly with some advice from Twitter) that I wasn’t in the correct frame of mind to make a big decision like that.

But I might take a break. Might not. Can’t say. Can’t think straight, don’t care about much, in love with the idea of complete unconsciousness, too fatigued to be angry, useful, or remotely coherent or interesting company.

Odd sense of déjà vu.

Psychiatrist in morning. Logically know this is timely and necessary, realistically dreading the living fuck out of it. Mother’s house afterwards. Unfortunately some McFauls will be there. Cannot avoid them as I need to make sure mother is OK. Hopefully there will be no Paedo though. Christine next week some time. Have so far failed to contact Nexus about renewing therapy as I promised her I would, because I’m avoiding contact with anyone (other that A, in person, and mother, by text message), regardless of reason.

Sorry this is such an unmitigated pile of hot, steaming wankshit. Thought I ought to advise those of you that inexplicably give a damn about me that I do, in fact, still exist. Thanks for comments on recent posts, tweets if you’ve sent them (I haven’t checked, sorry) and whatnot. You do mean a lot to me, I hope you all do know that – I just can’t be part of this world right now.

Much love

Pan ❤ xxx


Mind's Book of the Year Award Review – and Thank You


I mentioned last night that I had written a review of a book for Mind, in respect of their 2011 Book of the Year Award. I just wanted to let those of you that haven’t seen it plastered over the social networking sites that the review is now online!

Check it out over on their blog. The book in question was a novel called Broken Places, by writer and teacher Wendy Perriam. It tells the story of librarian Eric Parkhill, and his struggle to find peace and contentment in the aftermath of a traumatic childhood – and it does it very, very well. See the review on Mind‘s blog for further details and opinion.

Also, please feel free to publicise the review (through Twitter, FB, G+, your own blogs, etc) – the book deserves the attention, in my view. You’re also very welcome to add comments to it. I’ll try for once and respond to them 😉

When I wrote yesterday I wondered why I had been afforded this wonderful opportunity on the basis of this silly blog, and I expressed my sincere thanks. To expand on that slightly, I should say that this journal is a major part of my life, mainly because of all the wonderful people I’ve had the good fortune to meet through it. As I said, ‘thank you’ seems wholly inadequate…but truly, every one of you that follows this blog or that interacts with me on the social networking sites – you really do mean a lot to me. I’m honoured, humbled and endlessly touched by your unwavering support and insight, and that applies to all of you, from the big organisations like Mind and Rethink, to the individuals that I know lurk here 🙂 Thank you all, very, very much.

Anyway, enough sentimentality. If you want to read more, head over to the review!


Pan ❤ xxx


Kid Fuckers Beware

One thing that I’ve always loved about blogging with WordPress is the statistics function. Despite my pathological aversion to mathematics in general, I’ve always been a bit of a stats nerd, though of course the facility provided here is simple enough that you don’t have to use SPSS to make sense of the data (which is simultaneously a relief and an intellectual misfortune).

My favourite part of this has always been the information provided about the keywords that are used to get here. Sometimes they make me glad that I’ve contributed something worthwhile and have been able to help people – for example…

  • DLA / ESA and mental health (plus more specific queries eg. ‘DLA and BPD’)
  • DLA changes
  • Does Venlafaxine 300mg work?
  • How does transference feel?
  • Fighting stigma
  • Other people with C-PTSD flashbacks
  • Ending psychotherapy
  • Complex PTSD vs BPD
  • I hate DBT / DBT is shit (yay!)
  • Missing a dose of Venlafaxine
  • Quetiapine and hypersomnia

…some bemuse me…

  • Arsecunt
  • Borderline bipolar historical women witches
  • What things are fluffy?
  • Imagine walking fown [sic] the wrong side of the road, you are stopped because it is considered J Walking
  • How to register kindel [sic] with bed serial
  • Cunts of joy
  • Nihilism as a disorder
  • Nail writer forum mentalism anthology
  • Going to confession[,] and narcissism

…some make me laugh out loud…

  • Fuck life, fuck career and fuck everything
  • Achievements in cunt
  • Talking settees and Quetiapine
  • Minor hallucinations of curtains

…I’m still, to my surprise, getting a hell of a lot of searches pertaining to Mental Nurse, even though I thought everyone realised that it (regrettably) died some months back…

…but, of late, and perhaps inevitably, some terms arriving here have disturbed me…

  • Jokes about the mentally ill
  • How to fuck kids / I want to fuck kids
  • Gape rape fun / I want to be gang raped
  • Confessions of sexual abuse wank
  • Fucking young girls
  • Kids wanking videos
  • Rape is innocuous
  • Suicide is funny
  • Children DO fuck[,] they want to
  • Teens fucking five year olds
  • How do you screw a kid?

Blah blah blah. You begin to get the idea. Most of the stuff about ‘fucking kids’ has come in light of my post, Why Do People Fuck Kids? I note with interest that none of our delightful web explorers arriving at said post via one of the above beautiful searches have deigned the title question worthy of an answer.

So. Did you arrive here wondering if it’s fun to mock the mentally ill, or under the belief that suicide is something that exists to entertain you and your mates down the pub on a Saturday evening? Do you believe that gang rape is only something that people fake for the sake of fetish-ish sexual gratification? Did you happen upon Confessions wondering how to go about raping your four year old cousin/neice/nephew/son/daughter/grandchild/neighbour/daughter or son’s friend/etc?

Perhaps you are unaware that mental illness is very, very real, and that it’s extremely debilitating – even life-threatening. Perhaps you are unaware that suicide is rarely a choice, but, rather, an all but inevitable consequence when a disturbed or ill person runs out of ways to cope with a pile of psychological spaghetti taking the place of their brain. Perhaps you don’t realise that real gang rapes do take place, all too frequently, and that they are extraordinarily traumatic and stark. Perhaps you don’t realise that no, children don’t want to fuck or be fucked – they might curiously experiment with their friends occasionally, but they are not physically or psychologically in any way ready to deal with the consequences of actual, real sexual activity. Perhaps you don’t know that children are legally (as well as ethically) incapable of consenting to sexual activity because their minds and bodies are not mature enough to understand such actions. Perhaps, therefore, you do not know that when you have sexual relations of any description with a child, you are committing an act of rape.

But I think, on all counts, you do realise what you’re searching for. I think that you just don’t care about the people on the other side of the coin. Do you?

Perhaps the least offensive of you are the ones that fantasise about gang rape. I say that because, yeah – some people have non-vanilla tastes in sex and sexual imagery, and that’s fine. But, what you really find fun is, and I repeat, a fantasy about gang rape. A real gang rape – one where the people force themselves upon you, distinctly against your will, despite your protestations for them to desist – is highly unlikely to match the heady heights of pleasure in a ‘set-up’ of several people ostensibly, but not really, ‘forcing’ themselves upon another. No, alas, far from it – no pleasure nor ecstasy comes from a real gang rape; just pain, degradation, shame and horror. So don’t let me inhibit your sexuality, by any means, but please do realise that the apparently blasé attitude you have exhibited in looking for this material has the power to offend and trigger.

To those of you that find mental illness and suicide funny – part of me wishes upon you a day of crippling, abyss-like depression…or perhaps some time with persecutory voices and visions, telling you to throw yourself off a cliff or kill your wife/husband and children. See how entertaining it is then, and how ‘cowardly’ suicide apparently is in those circumstances. Yet, on the other hand, having been at the brink like this, I’m not sure I’d wish such experiences on anyone. That you find this kind of thing amusing proves that even I’m a better person than you. Fuck you, you pathetic, bigoted pieces of fuckwittery.

As as for all you lot that want to know how to fuck kids, or what’s wrong with fucking kids, or whether kids enjoy being fucked, or who want to bring yourselves off over images of child pornography? Well, I think you padeophilic cuntfucks most of all know that you’re twisted little wankshafts who can’t get it up over someone your own fucking size, so ‘have’ to turn, in the most cowardly and offensive fashion imaginable, to the one of the most vulnerable demographics available, just to get your pathetic little rocks off. Well, be my guest and read this blog, and see what your delightful intentions feel like like from the other side.

But be careful, people thus searching. I’ve had a lot of real-life sticks and stones thrown at this blog over the last two-and-a-bit years, and have had to act accordingly. I almost never use the services that I engaged to fight said attacks, but for you, my paedophilic readers, I will make a happy and delighted exception.

I can trace the IP address of everyone that visits this blog, you see. As noted, I almost never, ever do – so normal visitors and searchers need not worry. The problem for you, paedophiles, is that IP addresses can be directly linked to search terms, rather than just hits. So I can single you out. What a shame that is!

And what a shame, too, that the data also tells me your rough location…and, crucially, your ISP. What a shame, all the more, that I have reported (and will continue to report) your nefarious online actions to your providing companies!

See how fun your paedophilic endeavours are when you have to answer for your actions in person. Enjoy 😀


(I should add here that I haven’t reported all dubious searches; “fuck children” could, simply, mean something along the lines of “I hate children,” and that the searcher would like to find like-minded people. But some of these terms are completely unambiguous, and those are the ones that have been reported. Of course, I am aware that if a paedophile was being clever, there are ways to hide or fake IPs, but it seemed a sensible thing to report these instances nevertheless. Finally, I don’t check the IP address of anyone searching for something non-suspect, nor any normal visitor, so don’t panic; I’m really not spying on the overwhelming majority of you, most of whom I know and love. The software installed is a hangover from when I thought my family were reading this blog, and has only become useful again in tracking these worthless motherfuckers, not the rest of you).


Shiny Things

Not to blow my own trumpet, because the relative popularity of Confessions continues to mystify and astonish me, but I’ve picked up a couple of awards since I started writing the bilge a few years ago. Sometimes I mention them, more often I don’t – but if you really care, if you’re fixated with the idea of self-flagellation by means of Pandorian self-aggrandising and narcissism, then be my guest and take a look at them.

Initially, pleased as I was when the lovely Little Miss Sunshine afforded me a ‘Liebster Blog Award‘, I wasn’t going to go with the meme and write this post – but then I thought, ‘what the hell?’

Liebster Blog Award

Liebster Blog Award

Firstly, thanks very much to Little Miss Sunshine for bestowing this upon me. As noted, I still find myself genuinely stunned that the crap I write is worthy of simply reading, never mind awarding – and since I really respect LMS’s writing, intelligence and determination, it’s really flattering coming from her. So this put a smile on my face. Thank you, lovely lady 🙂

Secondly, I have the pleasure of passing the award on to blogs that I enjoy. There are of course many such writings, but here are a few that stand out, for various reasons.

  • Conversations With My Head – bourach. Always bourach, one of my oldest online friends! Not because of some sort of Twitter-based nepotism, but because she is a great and evocative writer. Often, sadly, the reading is tragic and heart-wrenching – but it’s always intelligent, engaging, eloquent and even, when the tone is right, witty and entertaining. One of these days I’m going to Kent to meet her 🙂 A year ago, we’d probably have been planning to head the White Cliffs for a wee bit of a fall together – now, hark! We are both moderately sane. I have to hand it to bourach – my relative recovery has been, at least in part, down to medication. Her’s has been down to the very opposite – coming off medication! Not to mention therapy and working fucking hard to free herself of mentalism.
  • Living with Bipolar Disorder, DID and the Consequences of Childhood Abuse – this blog is articulately authored by tai0316. I’ve only fairly recently discovered this journal (as in, this year), but I am sooooo glad I did. I can empathise with so much of what tai writes about, and find her style – although she also frequently discusses tragic and painful issues – to be strong and smart. There are times when I wish I could give her a big hug – but as I said, she’s strong, and there equally as many times when I find a smile creep across my lips in delighted congratulations of her determination to fight her demons. tai also posts quite a lot of artistic collages, which are as expressive as they are insightful. She’s a gentle, intelligent, remarkable lady, and I’ve been so glad to make her acquaintance.
  • Living Life on the Borderline – the online home of outwardlyintrovert. I don’t want to sound patronising here, but I suppose I probably will, so I’ll just get on with it. Outwardly is in her late teens, yet writes with a cleverness and insight not always seen in people three or four times her age. There’s a theme emerging here – there’s trauma in outwardly’s history too. I hate that any of that happened (as I obviously do for all concerned), but I’m glad that she writes. I know that mentalism is a fucking inconvenient thing to have when you’re trying to study, to make something of your life – it sort-of destroyed my attempt at a Masters degree – but as you’ll see from her blog, outwardly has an excellent intellect, and an important characteristic that I’ve always lacked: wisdom.
  • Whisper on the Wind – written by Me. Not me me, but Me. OK? OK. I’m new to this blog (the blog itself isn’t that old, though), but again I’m very glad I came across it. I always hesitate to use the word ‘beautiful’ when it comes to writing, as it’s so often little more than self-referential or arse-licking hyperbole. In this case though, the word is, I feel, quite accurate. Yes, Me rants and raves like the rest of us, and such posts are always excellently expressed, but there are times when she becomes more introspective and philosophical, and on these occasions her prose and poetry is beguiling.
  • At Least My Cat Loves Me – Autumn Delusions. Another young blogger, whose prose I often read thinking, “fuck me, I wish I could write like that.” Engaging, entertaining, smart and often funny; though I don’t think AD realises that she has the capacity to amuse, let me assure you that she does. Now, unlike some of the others mentioned here, AD has some…what’s the diplomatic term?…sod it, mentalist issues that I haven’t been through (others that I have), and of course can’t ‘get’ from an insider’s perspective. AD, however, has a great capacity to promote understanding, and whilst her posts are often long – though I think I’ll be keeping the crown for the bloody longest, thanks very much – they never meander, and always keep you interested.

As well as being fab in their own rights, all of the above have been enormously supportive of me over the months/years, and I’d like to publicly thank them for that. It’s not whyI picked their blogs for this award, but it is hugely important to me, so thank you all.

Right, enough of the love-in gushing. I’m going back to being a bitch now. To echo Charlie Brooker’s immortal Newswipe parting gambit, go away.

I do love you people though. Not just the five above, though of course that includes them, but all of you.

Right, really. Enough of that. GO AWAY!!!

Night x

(Can’t be arsed proof-reading this, but I hope you don’t care because this isn’t about me; rather, it’s about bourach, tai, outwardly, Me and AD. Yeah!).

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Blog Carnival of Mental Health

Buenas días amigos

Just a quick note to let you know that Confessions of a Serial Insomniac will be hosting the Blog Carnival of Mental Health for the month of June. The theme is hope and despair; contributors are free to interpret this in any way they wish.

The Carnival, for the uninitiated, is basically a month-long version of This Week in Mentalists as seen weekly on the late Mental Nurse and now on <a href="The Madosphere. The only major difference (aside from the timeframe involved) is that bloggers volunteer their posts rather than have them chosen by editors. In short, it’s basically a voluntary round-up of posts written on a specific theme for a entire month.

You can contribute to this Carnival in two ways; either leave a link to your post in the comments of this entry, or email me with your post and/or URL.

Entries should be submitted by no later than midnight (British Summer Time) on 29 June. The Carnival will be published here by midnight on 30 June. Anyone interested is free contribute as long as their post is (a) related to mental health and (b) in some way related to the aforementioned theme.

If you have any queries, please give me a shout. Otherwise, happy blogging 🙂

Hasta luego

Pan ❤ xxx


Bye, lovelies! I’m leaving these shores first thing tomorrow morning and shan’t be back until late on Wednesday 1 June, so there may not be any posts here until after that.

That said, I do have a couple of entries planned, so if I have a few quiet moments and a wifi connection, I may go ahead and post them. But I’m making no promises. You know what I’m like, after all..! And yeah, apologies for the dearth of the therapy reviews. I will get there eventually, I promise!

So adieu, take care of your beautiful selves, and don’t do anything I would do 😉 Oh and, for the non-chosen amongst you, enjoy your Rapture-driven demise on the morrow, just as I will 😀


Pan ❤ xxxxx