TIA PRICE TAROT

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Everything.

Posted by Tia Price on March 31, 2016 at 3:40 PM Comments comments (0)

I have everything, because I have you.

I only have to think of you , my merry three, our happy four, and my whole chest is luminous pink. Glowing. Igniting, a fanfare of love pouring out for all to see.

Walking along as though in some enchanted glade, as I think of my little ones and my loving partner.

Two boys laughing and playing being the best friends I long for them to be. Chums, compadres, partners in crime. Telling them in my mind as I rewind lovely memories of them in the day, how they will always have each other.

How I didn't, when I needed it, and how I want them to have it. Have each other, for always.

Even when they fight and bite and blame. When they think they hate each other because he did this and he said that. They will always have each other after it all.

I imagine them older, defending and protecting. With their secrets together.

I watch them sharing a joke I don't understand in the bath, laughing at some action or another that makes no sense to my adult mind, but cannot wipe the glorious, gormless adoring smile from my face as they play. As they build a bank of fun memories to remember and recount.

Together.

And my partner. My lovely, stupid, brilliant best friend who made these amazing creatures with me.

I had months where I mourned a little that we were not just we.

Now, I realise how beautiful and wonderful it is, that we are more. That we are a family.

My beautiful little family that has given me more love and happiness than at any other time in my life.

Real love. Real life. So incredibly real.

I am so grateful for all that I have.

I am so grateful that, because of this, these wondrous people, I have everything.

I have all I'll ever need.

Because I have them.

 

Thank you.

Felix.

Posted by Tia Price on September 2, 2015 at 4:30 PM Comments comments (0)


Felix.  My 'Lucky one'.

I'm watching you as you sleep and snuffle. Watching you as you rest and grow, before I too climb into my own bed.

Bottle emptied.

Nappy changed.

Contentment ensured.

I stroke your pudgy cheek and I feel tears build and fall and in my mind I'm telling you not to grow anymore.

Not to grow and get big. Not to let time pass and hit those milestones with hopeful flying colours.

I look at your two year old brother sleeping and I compare. They say it's a blink and you're older, and already I can see that's true. He is two, really he is two and a half. Chatting. Running. Climbing. Counting. Demanding and doing everything a little person with his own identity should do.... I miss that little baby who gave me gummy grins and surpassed the milestones with lightening speed. I am so proud of him. Now he is a little boy and before I know it so too will you be.

And I want you to, I want you to get big and brave and strong and talking and walking and being your own little being with a life and a destiny. Who will make friends and make mistakes and lose and love and fail and win.

Who will live..

I want that for you, and I'll guide you to it as over time I gradually let you go.

But, right now, sleeping porky little baby of mine, who unlike your brother is a mamas boy, I will love you in that all encompassing 'my baby' way. I'll try to put the phone down, check the emails less, stop doing laundry and cleaning.

I'll try to stop because that blink is happening right now.

I don't want to miss it, or forget you. Not savour it now and look back regretting.

You're perfect, my lovely little thing, never ever forget that.

Mama loves you.

Alopecia.

Posted by Tia Price on March 8, 2012 at 3:05 PM Comments comments (0)

People say ' Don't touch it, don't think about it..... don't cry'

They instruct and attempt to sympathise with something they can't understand.

'I don't know what i'd do if I had it'. I have it, I don't understand it and I don't quite know how to handle it. I don't know if i've accepted it.

They look and have that minor moment of mutual mire, they consider it, me, and coo for a beat or two, and then they can forget.

Then they can walk off or divert conversation to their own little problems, sighing inwardly with the relief that it isn't happening to them.

When they say 'don't cry, don't touch' I am screaming inside, I am baying and bawling and falling and mourning the loss of my identity, and no it isn't that important. The image I have of myself crying, clutching strands and strands of dissected, detached, desecrated golden copper. So many, my hands are overflowing with this stunning keratin that willfully dropped from my plucked and puckered scalp in response to my inner suffering and silent keening wail.

Alopecia, fucking Alopecia.

Alopecia Areata at this moment, if you want to know.

My life, up to now, was coated in this colour, this orange headed existence. This life as 'a Ginger'- the shunned, the mocked and the more often than not, a last kinky little desire of most men- Ginger pubes, red fuzz, flowing glorious copper hair, is being taken from me, when I was really happy with it.

Shine and lustre; envied, wanted and now laying or balled up on the splintered wooden floor, spilling across my feet dry and wet. Loose on my coat, loose on the pillow, the side, the carpet and pulled by my gentle and terrified hand.

I'm begging please don't take anymore, i'm pleading; i'm shaking and fracturing down the middle. Please Dear God, please don't take my hair. Please, please let it grow back, please give me strength to cope with this. Please Please.

I had two round holes,then I had three and I thought I spied regrowth and I was skipping triumphant thinking maybe it was coming back sooner than it should. Sooner than the text books and the websites and the friends of friends say.

Now i've found a fourth, and its big, its huge, the length of my thumb and the width of two. I'm brittle again.

Its part of who I am, its part of being me, its quintessential to what i've been and who I wanted to be. Yes I know i'll mould to whatever new identity and circumstance I have to accept and yes it'll give me variety... short black bob or long red or curly brown, wigs. But I could have had that all anyway with a full head of hair.

And yes, its a life lesson, one i'll never forget due to the uncertainty of where this condition will lead, if it will regrow, if it doesn't. Any itch I feel is pure terror, is that more falling? The stinging itch and the inevitable loose hair covering my clothing.

All the best have been red heads, all the most luscious ladies of history, the tarts and harlots. Jessica Rabbit, Lilleth, Scully, Nicole Kidman, The Little Mermaid, Venus, Aphrodite, Bodacia and Pippy Longstocking, even the obnoxious Hucknell and orphan Annie. You remember them, the sultry and stupid. They, well most of them, made me appreciate and love my stunning, dissappearing barnet.

One thing, the major thing that is the antithesis of feminist and does to some degree belittle the condition for men is this- Women need hair, to be women.

Women, woman, need to have hair be it long or short wavy or straight, dyed or natural, thick or thin. We need it, to curl and coiffe and perfume and preen.

God Help me, I need it and I need it to be mine not some second hand human hair or nylon cheapy. I need fingers to caress it lovingly, enviously. I need something to be grabbed and tugged in those throws of sticky passion and furious rage. I need it to stand out and be me as I always have been.

Be, essentially, that mad, bad red haired girl- 'I love them red head girls- that you never forget like her or not; because without it who am I? Without my luscious copper tendrils I'll look like I'm having chemo when there's nothing wrong with me.

I'll be bald, I'll be naked and vulnerable and someone else who gets a rash from the wigs because I'll still have the sensitive skin and freckles to remind me just what I've lost. I'll have the papery translucent skin and only that to declare what I was and just how beautiful I was, when I still claimed my crowing glory.

When I could claim femininity and such beautiful enviable hair.

Not now, with a comb over to hide it, and some stupid triangular shape I can't manage, now that I cut all the excess away because it looked so stupid and thin, left side heavy, right hand thin.

Please, give me my hair back, because I don't want to be someone else, I don't want to be anyone other than me.

Tia Price that once fat, now slimmer ginger woman.

Betrayel.

Posted by Tia Price on March 8, 2012 at 2:55 PM Comments comments (0)

You wore a t shirt I gave you in one.

You had me blowing bubbles over you in another.

In one other all that you wore I had bought for you.

Had my hair not fallen would you have stayed?

Had our baby not been created and murdered would you have remained here?

Would you have eventually responded to the many emails they sent you, had we not bonded?

Had I made my love plainer, louder, clearer earlier, would you have put up pictures?

You had motive, intention and desire, for something. The website says exactly what it is. After all, there are 15 million people looking for sex.

Apparently.

Why didn't you log in more, you had pictures to add, you had the byline of 'I want a chick who likes the same things as me'... I like the same things as you....'im on the road a lot' And you do so love swingers, one on one dating and fetish stuff dont you?

You didn't think we were going to work out?

At a time when you cried beneath a hanging basket in the summer outside a pub, you cried over your love and betrayel, and I said don't lie to me again. And I loved, I gave you all I had, all the attention, all my body and my love. And you put pictrures up for strangers to peruse and choose you.

Looking cool, suave, quirky, funny, like you. Like you. Looking like you, boy I loved. Boy I gave to. Boy I loved. There you were, on a page screaming out all that you wanted. On a page I found through your emails. Through your secrets.

Now I understand your need for privacy and walls around your phone calls.

With pictures of you, taken in my room, taken while I stood beside you, unaware. At the festivel I couldn't attend. Wearing my clothes and my love as a cloak to decieve me with.

Secrets. Pictures.

Cut me open, cut out the pain. Cut out all that is coursing so slowly, dully through me. Raw and sharp and harsh, cut me open, cut it out.

I thought we were perfect, I thought you were safe, I thought I was. I thought we were safe. And you destroyed us.

You destroyed spring and you ruined my memories of summer. Youve cut me open with this simple betrayal.

How can I believe what you call your love? How can I believe you with your secrets? How can I carry on without cutting myself open, to relieve the pain of the thousand rusty knives cutting me over and over inside. Where you cant see them.

Only the hot salt water falling from my eyes.

Ill bay and bawl and howl to the moon, ill crawl into a hole and wish for death, ill swallow whatever elixir will remove this devastation.

My dad likes you,

My dad, who never likes anyone likes you. Loves you. I love you, and youve betrayed me and hidden it and cut me open.

You broke through my walls, reserves barriers and protection, you broke through and now youve broken me and taken away everything. Youve defecated all over everything and youre sorry. Youve undermined everything, every word, every whisper, every kiss every laugh. Every moment that ive been so happy, that ive finally fallen in love.

My soul mate took it all away.

Youve taken it all away from me.

Wasn't I enough? Am I not enough?

Have you had enough?

Do you love me? How can you love me? How can you have done it? Why did you do it? Why didn't you love me enough not to do it?

My heart is broken.

All I can see is 4 pictures, of the boy I love so much, that id give anything for, 4 pictures, on a screen as I fall down deep inside myself into the knives.

4 pictures for everyone and not me. 4 pictures. 4 pictures. Of my love on a screen for everyone else but me. 4 pictures.

I can't eat. I cant breathe. I cant listen to the songs I love, the songs you gave me to herald the love you swore you felt, lies. I cant remember all I love so much. I cant think of you without agony. I cant masturbate. I cant live. I cant think of anything else. I cant remember anything without you in it. Because it was all that mattered. I cant talk to anyone about it, because I dont want them to hate you for it. I dont want them to know, I still want to protect you, I dont want them to know, because youre the most precious thing that hurt me so, and I cant have them hurt you for me. I cant have them look at you with disdain, because youre mine (are you?) and you dont deserve that.

And still, I cant be without, because I love you so much. I'll take knives, i'll take 4 pictures, ill take it all if I have you. I can heal, somehow someway I will heal and ill love you safely again.

I hope.


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