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This week I have been pretty run down, in fact… I don’t think there has been a day for the last two weeks that I haven’t needed a nap or some extra caffeine to just get me to bedtime…
So it came as no surprise to me that I not only got food poisoning but it managed to keep me down for 48 hours…
in all this, my laptop has decided to forget all my passwords which is more upsetting.
Just been to the opticians because I’ve been getting headaches a lot recently (originally put down to my medication/dehydration but they’ve been starting behind the eyes.). Anyway, it turns out I should have gone to the opticians before as my prescription has changed a lot and now I need to wear glasses always.
So I spent out for some new ones, leaving myself £189 poorer but hopefully the prescription doesn’t change next year.
Oh, and apparently I need to go to the eye hospital because my optic nerves are a funny shape and stuff…
Read the rest of this entry »
Today there is no list of chores for me. This is disheartening. I’ve grown so accustomed over the last week to having a set list of jobs and not having to deviate that it’s hard to reconcile myself with this lack of direction. I know I’ll be OK, it’s just soothing to have a list.
Meanwhile, the ridiculously expensive vaccuum cleaner remains broken and with no money to repair or replace it I’ve begun to despair at whether I can keep myself busy if there’s no hoovering. Suggestions running through my mind include borrowing a cleaner from a friend for a day just to blitz the place but as Ian points out, there’s not terribly large amounts of point.
As for coping mechanisms, aside from lists – which I find soothing. I’ve recommenced my “3 good things that happened today” book. When you’re depressed and failing to see the good side of things, thinking about and forcing yourself to acknowledge three good things that happened that day (even if they are dumb) is a good way to cope. It’s also the best rebuttal to anyone who calls you negative. I mean, how many people do you know who always write down three good things about their day?
As for socialising, it’s coming easier to me. Today I’ve got a play date planned and going for coffee with the other mums is now a highlight of my week. (Previously it was a thing I did but had no opinion of either way)
Anyway, I’ll be going now… I need to babysit some kids. (Because being crazy isn’t enough if you have no small children to traumatise ;-P)
I finally got around to tackling the hallway today, knowing that it was going to severely annoy me otherwise. I’ve been on this “tidy until your brain works properly” thing and the hallway was the only thing that wasn’t being affected.
Well, not anymore. I picked up the coats and stuck them on the coat hooks and then promptly knocked over a bucket of sand. Not to be deterred by this I emptied the hoover and then broke it putting it back together again, turns out it’s a more logical creature than I expected and needs people to pay attention to how they took it apart. So I imposed upon the kindness of the painter who’s redecorating the flat that Yasmin used to live in to help me put the damned thing back together again.
The hoover still works. Better than before. So I thanked the man and at that stage the coat hooks decided to make a break for it. Reader, I tell you, those fucking coat hooks can suck it.
I calmed myself down from the rage induced coat hook murdering spree and remembered dimly something about things to make coat hooks work. So I calmly walked into the bedroom where these things were hiding from me. Like they saw my rage at the coat hooks and felt the sudden need to cower behind a pile of unsorted wedding gifts (what can I say, we don’t have tremendous amounts of storage and these things are bulky). Chastising them, I grabbed my screwdriver set which decided to argue amongst itself and in the course of me crossing the corridor fell apart no less than five times. Stupid modular screwdriver set.
So I fixed the coat hooks. On my own. And the sand has now gone. I think I need a butler.
As for my hands, well the groceries arrived and with them came a refill of my air freshener plug-in which is lavender and peach flavour. Anyway, it decided that I have very sexy hands and began to ooze all over them in a loving (I assume) way. I’ve washed my hands several times but they just smell like peaches and the laptop mouse is angry with me, it’s decided that it detests the smell of peaches and keeps just jumping around the screen for me.
So… uh… Today I’m feeling much more stable. I still feel down and it’s all thunderclouds and doom but it’s beginning to look like sunshine and rainbows might not be in the distant future (as they might be back soon).
I have some kind of odd reputation for not really doing chores, mostly because I’m pretty happy to coast by on the absolute minimum and leave it at that. Well, that and it’s almost impossible to motivate myself to do the chores unless I break it down into lists and do each item on the list.
I guess that’s pretty odd because most of my friends seem to just get on with it and I seem incapable of doing anything unless it’s written down on a piece of paper with checkboxes. Like just now I scrubbed the entire bathroom, where normally I’d spray chemicals at it and hose them off 10 minutes later, because it was on my list. And despite the fact that that much manual stuff has killed my ability to feel my fingers in my left hand (seriously, completely numb… typing this is pretty interesting) I don’t resent the task because it was on my list.
Don’t feel any happier because I did the chore either.
It won’t have slipped many people’s attention recently that I’ve not been terribly good at keeping myself under a tight leash emotionally. This is becoming even more apparent as I’ve started freaking out about little things like calling people and even occasionally about leaving the house. Taking Joseph to school and collecting him are both the highlights and the main lowlights of my day. I love the time I spend with him and I relish the ability to see my friends once I’m at school, it’s just the getting there.
I guess part of the reason I dread it so much is that I’m scared of the fact that I can’t answer the main question that I’ve been asking myself. This inability scares me. I always have an answer to most questions in life, indeed I have made it my biggest ambition to be able to answer most things. And for the large part I’m there. It’s just there’s one question I can’t answer and it’s utterly killing me.
“What are you depressed about?”
If I could answer that, I would be satisfied. It would certainly solve one of my problems and it would give me a stepping stone towards fixing myself. I don’t honestly think I am depressed over just one thing. I don’t know that I’m depressed even over many things. The fact is, I have a pretty sweet life. I have an Ian who I would die for (metaphorically, of course… unless someone threatens his life which is unlikely) and a Joseph who is the sweetest and kindest little man you could ever meet. I don’t particularly struggle for many things and I’ve never really wanted for anything.
Aside from a major anxiety issue at work, there is really nothing I can say is wrong with my life. So on the surface, I don’t think it’s really anything I’m depressed about. Perhaps it might be just the chemical imbalance in my brain reasserting itself and with the fact that I keep my feelings under control all the time, they might just want some time out of their leashes.
It’s just, could they please pick a better time to do this than when I want to be a functioning person?
I guess this return to blogging is an idea I’ve stolen from another friend (who shall remain nameless, she knows who she is) who’s started a blog of her own to help manage her depression. I’ll probably get better at updating and it won’t always be about my mentalness…
So my phone was refusing to make phone calls and it even started refusing to find signal. I’d tried begging and imploring it and in the end gave up and stole Ian’s spare phone because, goddamnit, why does he need two phones anyway? It’s going off to repair on Wednesday and I don’t need anyone’s numbers because they should all have backed up to google anyway.
Meanwhile, my group therapy ended and I’m now in the delightful limbo of having slipped through the cracks and possessing no idea on how to return to my psychologist for more treatment. Yay!
Joseph is doing super well at school, though! He’s learning to read quickly and has been given various word boxes and reading books to tackle. His writing is also coming along well, he loves spending time with Ian and I writing things out and will usually try and copy what we’ve written. Unfortunately, he also enjoys spending his time playing computer games so his sleep is suffering a little – that being said, he doesn’t always play games and more often than not is perfectly happy to play board games or the like instead.
Recently I’ve been finding it harder than ever to remember to do things. I’ve now finished my mindfulness therapy and they’ve tweaked my medication to make it easier for me to regulate my mood.
As for charity work, it’s going… just about. I never thought I’d say this but it’s pretty hard for me to keep it up half the time and I can only assume that I’m not the only one beginning to get annoyed with this…
Anyway, today I took a step in the right direction. I’ve tried to get my life back on track and now I have to sit back and see how that goes.
Right now, the living room is lit up with the ethereal glow of fairy lights – something that puts Ian in mind of christmas and makes me happy. When I was younger, I used to envy some of my friends because they were allowed to have fairy lights in their rooms and I wasn’t. It’s not that I was deprived, I wasn’t, it’s that my mum didn’t really see the point in me having a string of them just strung up around my room. A feeling that persists to this day – seriously, it’s like people have never wanted to have fairy lights strung up around their living rooms or something (no, I won’t take them down – they’re not a christmas decoration.).
My insomnia has returned, assuaged only by the lights strung up around me that tell me there is a softer side to things. I lie here, looking at my hand as I hold it up above my face and remember a more innocent time when I managed to convince myself that there were weird creatures in the dark that ate people’s feet if they dared to dangle them off the side of the bed. To this day, I don’t think I’ve ever dared test this theory, so tonight – in an uncharacteristic feat of daring – I let my leg dangle ever so slightly off the edge of the bed. Nothing came to eat me. Thus I conclude, younger me was wrong. (It’s a pity it took twenty years to figure that one out.)
Some small part ofme wonders what I’m attempting to achieve by posting this up – allowing the world to see one of the hidden things – whether I try to achieve some species of enlightenment when all I’ll possibly get is a weird look.
I once made it snow with an offhand comment.
There, now the rest of this post will seem completely rational.
I’m secretly worried about one of my friends, I haven’t seen or heard from her for a while now and I’m scared she’ll have done something dumb. However, I have no idea what to say to her so I’m waiting it out, hoping that the words will become clear to me. My impulse is to hope she makes first contact, a behaviour that I’ve found myself defaulting to a lot these past few weeks. I deeply miss some of my friends and hope that they might be in a position where I might be allowed to – here I find myself grasping a straws, hoping the words will continue to flood out of me even though I know they won’t – I hope they’ll allow me a few selfish moments of their company where I may sit there and ask how they are, share with them the wonders of wild flamingoes and the disappointments of my enmity with cheese and ham.
But being me, I’m too scared to ask them. I know I’m being ridiculous, that my desire is not unhealthy and should be encouraged. However, I also know that these are very busy people and that expecting them to have as much time as I seem to is unreasonable.
So I sit here, after Ian has gone to bed, typing on a computer that was never built for this purpose and wishing that my own were returned to me because I started a story on it and would rather like to resume my sadistic narrative. It’s an unhealthy desire, you see, I love writing and utterly adore creating stories – even if my character creation is incredibly dodgy – but not as much as I enjoy flinging these characters into weird situations and watching it unfold. Rationally, I know that it’s not terribly bad to do this and that a lot of “normal” people use this technique to vent their frustrations but it always felt like a guilty pleasure to me.
Of course, a small subset of you will wonder how the holiday in France went. Well, the answer to that is simple; I both enjoyed and resented it.
I enjoyed it because I love spending time with friends and family and it was so very very beautiful out there. Also, we got to see wild flamingoes and there was no end of pretty sights to be seen. Avignon was an experience all to itself, complete with the (weird) experience of paying 50 euro-cents to pee in a hole.
I disliked the abundance of cheese and ham, though to be honest I’m not sure what I would have done differently – they seemed to be a majority hit. I also disliked the severe lack of public transport and of my own method of travelling around, though I am incredibly grateful that I had a friend to help me get to places. I also somewhat resent the fact that Avignon charges money to go and see the bridge – a bridge that you can see a whole view of from the road that passes by it. I would have liked to go, but no way was I paying 5 euros for something I saw the entirety of from the dual carriageway. Honestly, unless they give paying members of the public a reacharound or something I cannot see how it begins to warrant that high a price for what is (essentially) half a bridge of (I’ll be nice here) visually agreeable masonry.
Oh, and my mentalism? Yeah, it’s being sorted… apparently, I might not be bored after all…
Tags: angst, dazed rambling, decadence, ericfail, ericwin, frustration, health, look at me not complaining, news, random, random thoughts, rare events, squee, travel, weakness, woes
Posted in General Activity, mentalism
In case it’s passed any of you by, I’ve been in France the last few days. Anyway, today we went to Avignon and had dinner in a restaurant where my homicidal tendencies surfaced after we were forced to ask for the bill no less than four times… that’s not my point.
The point I was trying to make was more along the lines of this:
Ever since I was a little girl I’ve always found driving in the dark in Europe kind of sad. I don’t even know why… I mean, driving around England in the dark is okay I never feel sad or even the slightest bit wistful but whenever I’m in Spain (or, in this case, France) I just find it so saddening.
There’s no real logic behind this, it just makes me feel that way.
