Make it Okay

Been in a funk since late Sunday night. And since there's no more to eat to push down what I'm feeling it's all bursting out. I was sobbing for about 30 minutes or something there. Real desperate screamy sobs that hollow you out. And I'm doing my best to control it because it'll probably be freaking out the neighbours never mind my brother. I feel so lonely tonight. So desperately lonely. And i just want someone to sit with me, hug me and tell me it's all going to be okay. But there's no one. And why's that? Because I've trained everyone to give me a wide berth when I'm feeling low. I go and skulk away in a corner and cry and sleep and shuffle about. Do I want to go through it alone? No. Will I ask anyone for anything or to sit with me when I feel this way? No. So there you have it. I'm between a rock and a hard place. If I asked my brother would come sit with me. If I asked my best friend would come sit with me. But I can't ask because I know they'd rather be doing other things and already have enough to worry about without carrying me from crisis to crisis. Even though I really want them to. And i really want my Mum and Dad to be here. I miss them so much, there are really no words. And people keep telling me that I have a bus pass I can go there anytime I feel like it. And yup I know I have free travel but it's a bit more complicated than that. I really can't bear being in that house. And it kills me to see them there. So I end up leaving feeling worse than when I arrived. And I don't know what to do with it.
And I really can't explain in words why it's so difficult to be there so other people definitely can't understand.

Didn't go into the day hospital either today., Couldn't face it. Not in this mood. I can't even cry around my best friend of 20 years so there's no way I could let myself be that vulnerable with people I'm not sure I can trust. If I lost it there in front of the group I don't think I'd go back. So here I am. Lost, lonely and really desperate for a bar of chocolate and a big old bear hug but I'll get none of that. I'll just keep wandering off into my room and crying inconsolably and pulling away from all and sundry because it's all i know how to do. I don't want to be a burden. I hate it enough that I can't control the crying. I wish I could have my bedroom sound proofed so I could sneak away and sob and leave my brother from being put out or worried. It's not my intention to worry anyone. It's also not my intention to be any one's problem. I just won't and can't do it. I already hate it enough when I have to ask my brother to go get things for me when I just can't get over the door. It shouldn't fall to him to pick up the pieces for me. Even today I got my Mum to call the hospital to say I wouldn't be in. In a staring contest with the phone I always blink first. I just sit and look at the digits and think of how I'll have to explain myself and I just can't bear it. Not looking forward to tomorrow when I come clean with the daft reason I couldn't make myself go in today. My brother already can't believe that something could get to me so much but it does. The simple truth is that no matter what I'm doing there's only two outcomes, win or lose. Doesn't matter if it's making, toast, dinner, a cup of tea or the art classes at the hospital. I either fail or I don't. That's the only options. There's no pride, just worry. Panic about being dreadful, standing out. I can't bear the idea of it. So the fact I'm struggling to do the work for my art class and may not finish an animation like everyone else, it crushed me. Crushes me still. I feel nauseated every time I think about going into the class. All I can see now is that I'm floundering. I doubt anyone else sees it that way. They're just getting along with their ideas or they're not. I don't think they could give two hoots either way. me on the other hand. All I can do is think about it. It's been twisting over and over and over in my head ever since I knew that people were going to see this. I've been obsessing about it. And even though I've told my key worker that I've been enjoying the classes that's only because up till now I seemed to have a direction and I thought I knew how to pull it off. I'm only happy or at ease  if I know that I'm on track.

This is why I just couldn't cope with doing those zumba classes with my SW. I was beyond terrible at it. I know it wasn't just me that was struggling with the moves but unlike other people I don't have a sense of humour about it. I can't see the funny side. I just saw that I was useless and that everyone else must have been looking at me wondering why I even bothered turning up. My stomach was churning the whole time and my eye's were burning from fighting back the tears. I just wanted it to be over. I felt humiliated. I felt weak. I came home, cried and went to bed early. I try to be honest in a round about sort of a way when people ask how I'm doing. Especially online friends. But I'm wondering if I should even stop doing that. Who does it serve really. Can anyone really be bothered to listen to me? It's not like anyone can help anyway, so why bother people with it. I do need to get better at least at telling them something and not just shutting down. It's inconsiderate. I just get to a place where I can't even have a light on never mind the phone or the laptop. I just wish I knew how to let go of the reigns. It would be so much easier if everything wasn't always at stake. If things don't go exactly how I believe they should it's a failure. My expectations are so skewed that I can never be anything but unhappy but I don't know how to change it. My brother and friend telling me that it was just a bit of fun and whether I did anything or not didn't matter as long as I enjoyed the class didn't make a jot of difference. I would tell anyone else the same thing. I'm not irrational I know that the way I behave in regards to me is ridiculous. I would never put these expectations on someone else but whatever I tell myself or whatever anyone else seems to tell me it never changes. There's always just right and wrong. And I'm always wrong.

Weary Weekend

I didn't get up till 5:30pm on Saturday. And that was as active as it got. I flounced onto the sofa and lay there in the dark, staring out into the distance for another 3 hours. except for a brief spat with my brother. Which was out of worry mostly. A short argument about cleaning because his depression really gets him angry and he tends to lash out about daft stuff. As we all do from time to time. Me being me though, he can't say anything to me and I mean anything without me taking it the wrong way. especially feeling the way I have. So I wandered sobbing back into my bedroom and I lay there. The howls were not under my control they never are. And I finally made a screaming noise that emanated from deep within me. A true howl of despair. he came and checked up on me and we straightened things out and as usual he gave me advice and told me things I should try to do and things I shouldn't do. Because he wants me to be happy and hates seeing me like this. Hates seeing me do this to myself. So after that I dragged my feet back out to the sofa and lay again in the dark. Just staring. I didn't check my phone, turn on the TV or use the laptop. I didn't want to do any of that. I just wanted to lay there and have the world wash over me. Call it my own special brand of passive resistance. I never try to fight the waves, I just let them take me and ride it out till I can come up for air again. I eventually shifted sometime after 9pm to eat two bowls of muesli and shuffle back into the living room. As it goes when Dave doesn't want me to cook for us I won't bother to make anything for myself. So I fought myself for a good hour. I was either going to eat nothing or everything, there's no in between. And when I noticed a Domino's voucher my fate was sealed. I ended up getting a large stuffed crust pizza, garlic bread and two boxes of cookies. Getting up to get the door for the delivery guy was the last bit of movement I did apart from the shuffle back to bed in the wee hours.

Sunday went much the same, apart from no takeaway and I at least turned on the TV. I've now went for a shower to try and shake myself into reality but it's not working. I'm still going to try and get a little art work done for tomorrow's OT class. Who knows whether I will or not. It's all up in the air. I've been sitting going through the distraction list and there's not a single thing on there that I can face doing. Time is fast approaching 1am and my brother will probably be coming in to sit and watch Night of Champions with me. It might give me a nudge, not sure.

Not That Friday Feeling

I feel like I have been swallowed up and spat out. Slept in late for day hospital so rolled back over and didn't bother with the gym either. Yet again all night on and off I was trapped in a neverending cycle of nightmares. The fear is overwhelming and I'm so on edge I'm jumping at the slightest thing. And the sleep paralysis is rearing its head. You know you're just not quite awake and that it's not real but it doesn't stop the panic from swelling. Especially when every feeling and noise is so vivid. Last night it felt like my body was shutting down bit by bit. I couldn't move anything and I could feel my heart pounding and I was fighting so hard when my mouth slammed shut and I could feel my airways giving in as I was trying to rapidly breathe in through my nose. I could feel the condensation build up on the pillow. And in the background all I could hear was a high pitched screeching and buzzing. And that's when my eyes started giving out. I swear I thought that this was it. I thought I was a goner, for good this time. The emotions and terror were violent in their intensity. I was fighting tooth and nail with every ounce of energy I had. And that's when I woke with a start, my heart in my throat as it thumped uncontrollably. Sweat was forming on my brow and the light was scorching my eyes as I gulped in the air around me and tried to calm myself down and reassure myself that I was finally awake, that this was real and what had just happened hadn't. In between watching TV, listening to music, trying visualtion that's how it went all night.Off an on, vivid, awful nightmares and bouts of sleep paralysis. The idea of sleeping tonight has me nauseated. I'm just plain scared stiff. I'm wandering about in a daze wiith acid rushing up to my throat as I worry and worry about what's going to come later. And everytime I talk about it out loud I start crying. I've decided after giving myself a decent amount of time to mope I shall get cracking on dinner, cleaning and I shall focus on better things like knitting, making cards. Just something a bit more relaxing, productive and hopefully calming. Then I think I'll snuggle up with Smudge again and think about what I'm doing for my animation for the hospital project for the mental health festival. Right now, I'm focusing on memory and how the depression really messes with it. Some days I can be fumbling for the simplest words. It can be such a struggle to convey anything. Frustration is something you definitely have to get used to.

Aunt Flo has got to go

Well it's that time of the month again. And once again I didn't realise and the bugger snuck up on me. Never been too responsible or reliable so I'm always caught off guard when my period arrives.
When it finally showed its face on Saturday the days before suddenly seemed to make much more sense. After my first enthusiastic week at the day hospital to say I've been floundering the last week would be an understatement. From Wednesday onwards it was particularly hard work. The panic I felt on Wednesday and the anger too was enormous. I was ranting quite loudly as I wandered down the stairs. Lack of sleep and this intense rage combined to make me a very unpleasant character that day. And everything seemed insurmountable. Especially thinking of meeting my support worker later that afternoon. I just couldn't be bothered and I felt my stomach churning as I reluctantly made my way to the hospital. I arrived a little late for the meeting and felt so ashamed and embarrassed the second I walked through the door. I avoided eye contact as best I could. It's uncomfortable for me at the best of times but when under a fog as I was that day it was damn near impossible. I'd meekly survey the room throughout the issues and worried I'd be called upon to introduce myself or god forbid proffer an opinion about anything they were discussing. I could feel the acid shooting up my oesophagus at the thought of it. Then my phone went off as the head psychiatrist was discussing an important point with the team. I was mortified and I was rushing, panicking and struggling with one hand in a sling trying to grab for my phone. I managed to put it on silent and couldn't lift my gaze from the floor afterward. It was awful. If I already didn't feel uneasy that really pushed me over the limit. what happened next was the discovery group which included public speaking. Hells bells. My worst nightmare. I've never been good at it. I always stutter from the nervousness and panic and on more than one occasion in the past have been laughed at. I wanted the world to swallow me whole and yet again could feel my stomach churning and my heart would leap into my mouth every time if was asked if someone else wanted to open their envelope and answer a question. I managed to escape with only halfheartedly mumbling an answer to one of the other patients questions about what language they'd like to learn. After the class finished we were free. It's a half day on a Wednesday and I knew I'd need to call my support worker to arrange to see her. But I didn't. I avoided it. And I stayed out at the day hospital instead. My support worker had found some people that might be able to help Mum and Dad with getting the central heating fixed. I'd gave them the number but they hadn't called. And my support worker wanted me to do it instead. I just couldn't though. I hate the phone at the best of times and it's a struggle to talk to people I know, trust and love. Talking to anyone else just doesn't happen. And the thought of her being disappointed or pushing me to call them made me queasy. So much so that I had been pleading with my parents all day on the phone to call and please just get an answer. I told them they didn't need to go through with it if they didn't want to but could they just call and see if they qualified so I'd have something to tell my support worker. I still didn't have an answer by 1pm so I made my way into town I was restless, anxious, emotional and confused. I didn't know what to do with myself. So I wandered to Tesco to see if my prescription was ready forgetting it wouldn't be till Friday. By this time tears were streaming down my face. I'd called my parents and they still hadn't gotten an answer. I was hysterical. I just couldn't see my support worker without an answer I just couldn't. But I wouldn't get one, they couldn't get a hold of anyone to talk to at all. So I tried to pull myself together and went to the bathroom, my IBS now totally out of control. I was bloated, sweating, sore, worried and distraught. I eventually made the text to my support worker though and sat in Tesco cafe to try and gather my thoughts and my composure. Eventually I met her at Tesco petrol station and hopped in the car, explaining why my arm was in a sling. Thankfully the heating didn't come up and we drove around for a few minutes and she dropped me off in the town. She asked me to consider buying myself some new clothes, underwear and a picture perhaps of Ichiro. My first real pet, my gerbil. Who lived almost to reach five years old. I loved him like no other but just like anything else in my life I'd let him down so badly and felt nothing but guilt and shame every time I thought about him or looked at his picture. He deserved better. The world deserves better than to have me in it. So instead I picked up something for my brother to eat. Gift for a friend and a new lampshade for my bedroom. I then wearily made my way home, barely holding on to the thin facade that was cracking with each step. I got back to the flat and had to get my brother to come downstairs to carry everything upstairs. Once I got in I started to take off my jacket and when my sleeve proved tricky I fractured entirely. I sobbed my heart out. I begged for the day just to be over. I couldn't bear anymore. I couldn't stop and the only thing I wanted to do was go to bed so I flung on some PJ's ignoring the shower that might have helped soothe my pain in some small way and crashed sweaty and exhausted into bed. I tossed and turned and at some point must have fallen asleep, to strange dreams and nightmares. Only waking at 20:30 when the nightmares were too frequent and taxing. I bounced off the walls as I wasn't quite fully conscious. And threw myself down onto the safety of the living room sofa. My brother being the sweetheart that he mostly is had been out and bought me chocolate and other things to try and pick me up. He also took out money for take out so I wouldn't need to attempt dinner. So there I stayed slumped and numb on the sofa, shovelling food into my mouth and trying not to think or feel. Sitting with my brother a little later watching some films lifted my spirits a little before I fell asleep again around 2am. The next day I tried to tell myself it would be different. I had to change my outlook, that today would be better and I tried. But when I left the hospital that afternoon and found out Mum couldn't make it to the bingo after all, I lost it. And once again I was erratic and emotional and couldn't pull myself out of this slump. Unlike Wednesday night nothing I did nor my brothers company helped. And on Friday after a very poor night's sleep I got up and just knew I couldn't go in to the hospital that afternoon. And I was too scared to call. Absolutely terrified, it was like a jolt of fear that would jump out at me and grab me by the throat every time I thought about it. And my movement that day was so lacklustre, so sluggish. You could tell that I just wasn't right. I had no energy and was totally lost. I didn't know what to do with myself. And everything was getting to me. I normally can't stand being in my bedroom at all but had to retreat there because I couldn't take the noise of the television as my brother played his video games. I tweeted a bit to try and talk myself out of this, to try and get a little perspective. I tried tidying. I tried playing with the gerbils. Or just sitting listening and trying to think of everything I had that I loved and should be grateful for but it didn't work. The hole, the deep dark chasm that had opened up was bottomless. I called my friend to try and cheer myself up and maybe go out to bingo and spend some time with her to try and get back on track but I wasn't even on the phone two minutes before I was inconsolable again and I just couldn't go out. I couldn't face the idea of being awake, of being me, of living this life. I wasn't good enough. I wasn't strong enough and nothing was ever going to be right no matter how hard I tried. So I wallowed and dragged my feet and cried and isolated myself. Later on I bought in yet more take away. That was all we had eaten all week. I'd done no shopping at all. My brother came in later on and sat with me and did his best to rally me and it helped a little but I still felt empty. So deeply hollow. Like someone had taken an ice cream scoop to me, there was nothing left. My parents arriving the next morning roused me a little and I eventually managed to pick up a little and took a shower just after they arrived and got dressed. And somehow the realisation as I got dressed that my monthly visitor had arrived opened the cell doors a little and a little light cracked through the bars. PMS, that must have been it. That's why I had been so inexplicably out of control and low for so many days. That's were my motivation and belief had gone to. It had been robbed from me. My own body had turned enemy and was doing its best to make things as hard as possible for me. Pumping me full of toxic hormones that only served to drag me down into the mire. And it does this every month. Every month I have to start from scratch after all the progress I have made previously is wiped out in a two week long onslaught. The week before it starts and the week during, I'm a mess. My support worker has seen how bad it can get and it can get bad. It doesn't happen every month but even every other month is too much. How can I battle biology? Going on the pill isn't an option because I'm allergic to progesterone. I've tried evening primrose and it doesn't help. I was going to the gym two times a week and that didn't help. What do I do. I can't be held to ransom like this. It's hard enough on a daily basis to talk myself into what I need to do when I have little to no belief in myself and don't believe I deserve happiness anyway. Whether its rational right now or not I'd give anything for a hysterectomy. To be free of it. I know that it wouldn't solve anything but I still wish for it when things get bad and I'm curled up in a ball on the sofa crying in pain and despair. People might think it extreme and what about kids you may ask? Well I don't want them. Never have. It's about the only thing I've ever really known. Ask me what I want on any given day of the week and I won't have a clue. I really don't. I mostly live my life in a state of perpetual limbo between what I think I should be doing and what I'm feeling. I want to be more social but I don't really. I want to be liked by people but it scares me they'd want to be friends because I don't want the responsibility. I hate not being able to leave the house but I hate being outdoors too. I never really live my life I just survive it. Everything is a task or a project that I have to get through. I never experience anything. When I'm outside i have my comfort blanket of my phone so I'll tweet which distracts me and keeps me separate from what's going on. And thinking about what I have to do that day zones me out, focuses me so it's the only thing I think about and the world ceases to exist. I'd walk past my own parents in the town because I'm not really there anyway. I'm in a another world entirely, my mind is in charge and my body is on autopilot. It's like being in a sensory deprivation tank. And if something does shock or shunt me into waking up it becomes a nightmare, the sensory overload sends me into a tailspin. I can feel the scream rising in my throat and the need to find cover sends me into a whirl. I need to run. I need to get away. I need to get safe.
As I sit here I'm not looking forward to going into the hospital in the morning. I'm terrified. The people have been nothing but warm and welcoming but as usual I'm the problem. Inferiority, shame, guilt and embarrassment are among the many things I'm feeling after the end of my first two weeks there. I felt pathetic in my first meeting with the psychiatrist. I felt that compared to everyone else I shouldn't be there, I was a joke a child and the psychiatrist did say something about growing up but I can't remember the context. I just feel like a spoiled brat. Someone who is too good to grow up and deal with all the other things that other people have to. The idea of being better fills me with dread. Being functional and still a failure, it paralyses me. And I hate the idea of getting close to anyone there because yet again I'll feel like I'll have fooled them with the facade of someone who pretends to care but doesn't. I'm just someone that can't face rejection and has to be liked. So i do things I don't want to do just so people won't abandon me and secretly bury the resentment that builds underneath. So more friends, more people that like me unwittingly is just another responsibility and another reminder of how deplorable I really am. And it's just more people I'll fail. Because I always fail the people I shouldn't. And I don't want to end up resenting people secretly when they've done nothing wrong and the only one putting pressure on me is me. I even started it on the thursday at dinner time and offered to buy cigarettes for one of the girls. She rightfully refused and you could tell was weirded out by such a gesture. I just can't help myself though. I'll stretch bend and break myself at first and then never be there for them again and avoid and let them down at every turn. While I sit stewing in my own juices and the shame and anger swirling together leadng me to simultaneously hate myself and hate the world. So I pull away again and isolate myself. It's a never ending cycle and I don't know how to break it and finally become me. Find out who I really am, what I want, what I really feel and feel okay to follow it through. Which is never going to happen with these monthly interruptions.

Black Swan

I'm not sure it was the best decision to watch this tonight considering how I've been feeling of late but I've been yearning to see it for so long I couldn't resist any longer.
I thought Natalie Portman portrayed Nina and her struggles beautifully. And the central theme of Swan Lake and the contest between purity and lust was hypnotic.
It also served as perhaps a heavy handed metaphor for the fracture in Nina's psyche. Though I've never been very good at much of anything I can relate to Nina's drive. Her need to be perfect, to be beautiful. And yet underneath undermining you at every little turn is that other little voice. The one that calls you unspeakable names, that laughs at you every step of the way. That whispers that you'll just never be good enough in the middle of the night. I can relate to that.
I can also relate to the idea of what Nina wanted was not what she needed. They are very different things in life. For me there's always the desire to turn away from the world. Burn all my bridges with loved ones, disappear and live on my own terms.
Those terms being, staying this little shut in who does nothing all day but tweet and watch TV. It's a nice, safe and comfortable world. Nothing is expected of me and I bear no responsibility for anyone else. Not even myself. For in this world, shameful as it is I'd have people waiting on me. I cannot tell you how domestic drudgery gets me down. Every time I stand over that stove or the sink I have a flash of me becoming my mother and I just rail against it. I've stopped pitching in around the house except for cooking occasionally. And yet I still find the time to get irrationally angry at my brother for not doing everything all the time and making me feel put upon. I get so mad at the idea of all the things I need to do in a day. It would be a cake walk for everyone else but it seems to take up all my time these appts and meetings and talking to friends. When I'm not at my appointments, the truth is I just want to be left alone, to sulk, or laze. Zone out and try and forget who and where I am. That part of me wants to stay up all night watching the latest TV shows and sleep the light of the day away. quiet and solitude, quiet and solitude. It's like a mantra that just cries out from every pore but every day I have to put ear plugs in, swallow hard against the ball of rage in my throat and do it all anyway. For example right now I should be sleeping but I can't. My petulant body is having a huff because I need sleep and have to be up early for the day hospital and I don't want to. I want to pull all the phones out of the wall and sleep for a week. And that's what I want. What I want is always in direct contradiction with what I need. With what's healthier. I can never make the good choice. I always take the candy from the stranger and each time think it'll be different. But every single time I give into that urge and the structure and the people and time almost ceases to exist. each time I just become this morose little barnacle clinging to the bedside, wishing away the sun and the people outside. And coming back from it is harder and harder every time I slip. It's always there though, gnawing away at you. Just take a day off. It'll be fine, it'll try to charm you into thinking. And it seems so appealing and you want so hard to give in and stop resisting but it never changes if you do. You get swallowed whole by the vortex every time.
 I've never thought of myself as impulsive, hysterically cautious has always been how I've viewed myself but that's starting to change. And I could see the self destructive tendencies in Nina that I had never admitted to in myself. The desire to break free but the fear and the uncertainty that come with that. The need to be perfect, to be good, to never be a burden. To always live up to expectation. Of course I've never been successful in any of those pursuits but it doesn't mean that the desire to be and do wasn't burning underneath. And just as these diametrically opposed states pulled Nina in twain I can feel them doing the same to me. The dark, jealous, self loathing, resentful side has such an alluring pull. It promises freedom. A life without constraints but it's a lie. Yet every time I hear the pied piper calling I follow blindly into the breach. The lust to be free of it all, to not care, to not worry is too seductive just like the dark swan princess of Swan Lake.

Fragile

Today on and off the waterworks have been in action. The only appropriate place they showed up was my psychology appointment this afternoon. I thought I was doing pretty good all in all this week so far. Then an off the cuff remark made about a song I was listening to made me tear up. It really cut me to the quick, my brother's incredulity at a song that I liked and even though a daft pop song made me feel better about me. And not many things make it feel okay to be me.
Of course me being me I couldn't express any of this to him for fear he may think me silly. So I just let it lie. After that I did okay. I even had a laugh here and there and talked a little on Twitter. I pottered around, made dinner and watched some television. I guess watching Joan Rivers frank documentary on More4 started chipping away at me.
My empathy went into overdrive as I felt so sorry for all the pain and loneliness she'd experienced. I couldn't relate to all of it. Most definitely not losing a husband to suicide but I could really see her heart was on her sleeve and I felt a kinship as daft as that may seem. So I got up and decided to go get into my PJ's, shake off the moroseness and get some hamster high as I call it.
Although in this case it was a gerbil high I was after. I wandered into my brother's room to see the girls and watch them scurry about. It never fails to make me smile. I had to go the extra hog though and I stuck my hand int he tank. I love it when they come sit on me. And Venus did just that, nuzzling in and playing about. While she was sitting on my palm, Luna ran underneath my forearm and I thought was sniffing me till I felt her bite down. She didn't break the skin but it definitely smarted. So shaking it off I tried earning some affection with a treat. Again though she came straight up to my hand and bit me.
I was getting paranoid by this stage so let it be for a few moments and after I saw she was okay with my brother tried again. Yet straight away she bit down.
That was it for me. I was heartbroken and if I think about it now while typing I'm sure I'll start crying again.
Coming back to the Joan Rivers thing again, what I could really understand was the need to be loved. That's all I've ever really wanted. To be liked. Loved by someone. To fit in and be part of the crowd. I never have been though no matter how hard I tried. And I tried desperately in high school. Oh it's painful to think about now about how I would twist myself for them all, pathetic really. No matter what I've ever done, I've never felt it was good enough. Not for my parents, friends, the world in general and most of all for me.
My pets have always existed outside of the harsh rules that I set for myself. They have truly been the most joyful part of my life. I feel contentment with them that I don't ever experience outside of our time together. Whether they do or they don't I've always felt such unconditional love from them. I feel wholly myself when I'm holding them and I feel at peace. My heart swells with joy that I can't even begin to explain.
And tonight when Luna kept biting me I felt so dejected. It was like having all that joy ripped away. I had been rejected. Like I was back in high school and the bullies where right that I was a lost cause. No one ever will or ever could love me. I have nothing to offer and I'm so wholly abhorrent that even sweet furry little gerbils are disgusted by my presence. My brother has told me not to take it personally and I know it's her nature, females are always more aggressive but there's a part of me that's just so sad and can't let it go. I just want to hold her and love her but she doesn't want me. And this will keep me up all night now. I know I won't sleep and right now I'm not sure if I can stop crying. I just wonder if there's ever going to be a day where I don't feel so alone and outcast.

Friday Feelings

Emotional. Anything family orientated has been setting me off this evening. A warm moment between father and son, to the horror and agony of watching Jaycee Lee Duggard's tale of captivity. We have a friend coming to stay tomorrow and while that's nice it means my parents won't be coming to stay. And I want to see them so desperately but I can't. I just can't step foot in that house again. And I can't express how much that shreds my heart to pieces. Especially when you hear your father on the phone expressing his sorrow for ruining your life. Which isn't the case, no matter what went down between us. I stand here today in this condition because of the choices I made. No one else.
And that's not to say I wasn't angry with my father for a long time. I was. It doesn't mean that anger was justified though. It simply blinded me to the truth of the situation. Which is my parents are two very broken people, who did their best for us. There was never any malice behind their actions, they didn't want to hurt us, they wanted to protect us. But we ended up hurt anyway and that's not something that can be erased.
But I don't want to spend my life focusing on the past and assigning blame because where will it get any of us. What I want is to have a real and honest relationship with my parents. My Mum and me are very close. She's easy to talk to and the week we spent together while my brother and father where away on holiday was great, laid back and fun.
It doesn't work that way with my Dad. There's so much distance between us. I never know what to say around him. There's just not that ease that's there between me and Mum. He keeps everything so bottled up, you're never sure what he's thinking or feeling at any given moment. And I have to be honest there's still a part of me that's just that scared little girl. He was never physical with us bar one or two regrettable situations, it was mostly verbal abuse and just a quiet distance. He was never really there with us. He's always seemed like he's somewhere else, you can just see it in his eyes. And work was hard, gruelling and demoralising at times, with a boss that loved to push his buttons. So he coped with it the only way he knew how, he'd go get a drink or he'd come home and zone out in front of the TV. Can't blame him for wanting an escape.
So there was always this quiet angst hanging in the air. We walked on egg shells at times when work was making him noticeably agitated. And even after years of redundancy he can still have a temper flare once in a blue moon.
So it can be hard to know when the best time to talk to him is. When will you get his full attention and make sure that he's not distracted or irritated and just not in the mood to talk.  And i guess I unjustifiably worry about his reaction to more personal topics. Especially those pertaining to my treatment. Currently keeping it to myself that I have to go for an ECG because of my anti-depressant. Its completely routine and I don't expect any problems but my Dad has always been a worrier and it would just set him off panicking about nothing. And there's a possibility he might tell me to quit taking my tablets. He has once before instructed my Mum to throw them out when I lived at home when he saw an unflattering piece on anti-depressants on television. He's never been very pro meds anyway. Well he's not very pro any kind of therapy but he'd never try to talk us out of what we think we need. He only wants to see us happy. And I know that and love that about him. I just wish I knew a way in. I don't want to look back in years to come and wish I'd taken more chances and tried harder. It'll kill me if we can't reach a better place, especially if god forbid something happened and he passed before his time. I know me. It'd eat away at me for the rest of my life. Because that's just who I am and I don't think that's ever going to change. Not significantly at least.

Moth Dance

So here it is. Almost 4am and still no sleep. And probably none anytime soon. The bulb has went in my bedside lamp so I've had to turn on the light. This is far too bright to sleep with on.Yet I'm still not comfortable enough here to sleep without a light. I need a safety blanket. Especially considering the batshit insane things than roll around inside my noggin. Switching on the light in the kitchen and the bathroom scares me. Sometimes outright panics me, especially at night. Particularly when I'm alone. I have this strange sense of dread when the flickering occurs, like Pinhead from Hellraiser or the overused scary chick with black hair from japanese horror flicks will come crawling out at me. I kid you not these thoughts actually pass through my skull.
What is it about the space inbetween light and dark that unnerves me so?
I guess it's possibilities that immobilise me. My head always has a field day reaching for the million and one answers to "What could go wrong here?" No matter how outlandish, they arise and frightfully so.
I'm sure it all has its roots in my parents overprotective ways. I could never go anywhere without it being a military operation. I went to a Take That concert in Manchester when in highschool and I was grilled for about 2 weeks before going by my dad. I had to promise to take a note of the bus number plate, the name of the driver, where we were parked etc and I had to absolutely without question call him the moment I arrived.
It was like that with everything. Even just going to my cousins birthday party when she turned 18 I had to constantly call and check in. And if I couldn't for whatever reason I would panic like you would not believe.
All my nights out where consumed with the fear of not being able to do as I'd been asked. I'd worry about facing my angry father and just couldn't have any fun.
I'm 30 now and don't live at home but I still call to check in if I'm out. If I didn't my poor Mum would bear the brunt of his unecessary worry.
So the what ifs have played a massive role in my life, they were the seeds from which my anxiety and panic grew to the point where I'm now ruled by them.
So now even the flickering of a striplight floods my neurons with numerous and ever ghastly outcomes before it's all laid to rest when the light bursts out and sends calm across the land again.
Well not calm really. Takes a while to come down after but at least reason prevails, if nothing else does.

Zombism 101

Today is one of those days, I don't feel awful and I don't feel great. Most of me is in some nebulous parallel universe while a bit of the brain and the body stayed behind to keep up appearances. Like the less interesting version of Invasion of the Bodysnatchers.

It's just all rather blah. And I'm sat here thinking about all the things I should be doing and I can't muster the energy to give two hoots about.

For all I know there are new and fuzzy lifeforms forming on top of my dishes and cutlery but I'd prefer that it stayed out of sight and mind. Actually I'd prefer it if someone swung by and took care of it so i wouldn't have to. I don't want to worry about it. And i can't really be bothered to do anything about it.

I can't be bothered to do a lot of things when I feel this way. Washing and getting dressed are two of them. In the past fortnight I've probably taken one shower and a sponge bath of sorts.

My mood has been wavering but overall I'm not dramatically depressed but I'm not happy either. I'm in a strange inner space between the two.

Everyone can see I'm on autopilot, it's no secret. I make as much effort as is required of me to get by and no more. I don't even feel like it's my life anymore. It's really quite surreal.

I'm jut not engaged with anything or anyone at this point in time. Frankly I could simulataneously win the Euromillions and a Nobel Peace Prize and I doubt you'd get so much as a raised eyebrow from me.
I am firmly in neutral. I don't want to be. I really can't afford to be. But those are the facts.

Saturday I crashed hard. It started okay. I managed to have an almost jokey spirit. Somewhere around 4pm though it all came tumbling down. And like humpty dumpty there was no putting the pieces back together again. My mind must have known there was no going back so enter hibernation I did. On and off till about 2am. Then my brother came into the room and we caught up on that night's Penn and Teller: Fool Us, though I was still half asleep.

I still managed to eventually nod back off somewhere around 4am and refused to get out of bed before 13:30. Which of course is totally the opposite of what I should be doing. At least according to any doctor I've ever seen. Sometimes though you just get tired of fighting it and you just don't have the energy. it's also a fine balancing act to know when to keep pushing forward and when to retreat. Going full steam ahead all day every day inevitably brings on a meltdown. Then again perhaps it's because I allow myself the weekends to wallow that maintaining is so hard, perhaps it would get easier if I just did get out every day regardless of how I felt. It's all just a roll of the dice at the end of the day and you're bound to get it as much wrong as you do right.

Frustration, frustration, frustration.

Today I am mostly feeling angry. Punch the wall angry. Swearing at inanimate objects that have slighted you by being inanimate angry. It's coarsing through every fibre of my being as we speak. I can feel the adrenaline from it prickling every nerve. I'm twitching and overflowing with the electricity and impulsivity of it.  And I want to scream an ineloquent string of offensive words at the world out the nearest window. I want to punch and kick every single item in this flat. I want to vent all my frustrations at everyone I see and argue with everyone that dares to give me eye contact. I want to rip off the clothes that I'm wearing and pull out all my hair. I want to scratch, gouge, bite and hit every inch of me. I want to call people I know and be awful to them, just scream profanities at them and tell them all the ways in which they've let me down or have burdened me. Because I feel suffocated by this life, by who I am and since I can't control me, perhaps they can control who they are around me. I'm sick and tired of trying to mould myself into a band-aid for everyone's ailments. I'm sick of being patient, sick of listening. I don't want to do it anymore. It doesn't matter who it is, eventually everyone in my life dumps all their woes and frustrations on me. I'm the one that has to calm them down, hug it out and make them feel better. Because that's the role I've built for myself and that's what I do with everyone. I weed my way in, beseeching them to use me as their own personal agony aunt. Even with my support worker. Constantly talks about her kids and her life and if I didn't feel shitty enough about myself tells me that I have to remember there's always someone worse off out there and at least I'm not like the parents in the paper who's son was just murdered. That's a real problem. And then to confuse matters further when I told her it wasn't exactly news to me that I wasn't the hardest done by on the planet she replied with but maybe you are the worst off perhaps there is no one that has it harder than you. Talk about mixed messages. I don't exactly lack clarity on my particular situation. But knowing something and doing them are completely two different things and I've always found the execution the hardest part.
At the end of the day the part I'm struggling with the most is the idea of "change" and whether or not its possible. everything when it comes to the anxiety and depression is so much about denial and distraction. Very little is to do with dealing with anything, resolving anything, understanding anything. Is change even possible? Not from the people I know in my ife it seems, not from me for sure. At the moment it's all keep busy, go to the gym, take classes at night, hang out with friends. All in an effort to fill up the space in your head, to keep you so focused on everything else there's no time to wander into that old familiar room in your mind. I hate being busy though. I really despise it. What does it achieve? It leaves me drained and dreading the start of the next week. So at the weekends I get sucked back down the drain because I don't have the energy left to keep the smoke and mirrors going. I have to live it. And its still there, still as strong. So it uses me as a punching bag, keeping me awake, taunting me, extracting every ounce of self respect and worth I have. Every last drop of energy is evaporated. I'm trying to care about me, the flat, something...anything really but I can't. I don't have anything to anchor on to at this point. I'm going through the motions. I only manage to keep the flat tidy if someone is coming to visit or stay. I'm still not putting any energy into looking after myself, everytime I do I become so self-concious it leads to a day long series of panic attacks. My mind just goes into over drive on me. Every glance, every laugh is all at my expense and that little voice upstairs wallows gleefully in the cess pit that it has created. After all who am I to think that I can pull of normality. It's ridiculous to think that I could look anything less than profoundly hideous and a laughably shambolic impersonation of a real person. And it is so crystal clear to every other member of the public that they can't help but glare with derision and pity. I just want to reach inside of me and rip all the cowardice, the malice and uncertainty out. I want to gut myself like a fish. Make everything nice and clean. But I can't and I don't do any of it. All I do is push things down a little deeper and top it off with food. And I follow along ever so passively and accomodatingly to the people at the CMHT doing what I'm told even if i don't want to. for instance the fitness classes. I am too much of a chicken to outright say no I don't want to that, that this week I'll be going to two which are the closest to the flat.  I never stand up for myself or the people that I care about. I can never make my voice heard. and its not that there isn't a voice. Its not like I don't have opinions and probably snooty ones at that. I do. I can be perfectly obnoxious in my own right. That part of me though remains hidden away from 99% of people, ironically only the people I know best get to see the worst parts of my character. Even with them though I'd twist myself out of shape to do what I think I have to for them. Especially my brother and my best friend. They didn't ask me to do this. My brother constantly tells me he doesn't want me or need me to do this but I can't for the life of me turn off that need to make myself useful, to fit in and to stay quiet because only the people that are important get to speak. Only the people that matter get to need. Only the people  that are relevant get to decide. My job is to serve. My job is to do whatever is required, whether I'm able or willing to. My job is to stop being selfish and always put other people first. Such a crazy idea to build a prison for yourself and yet resent other people for forcing you to it. But I do. There's a part of me that really resents other people and it burns as bright as the part that loathes myself. And I know I'm never going to be free of it.
Change is an abstract idea and thats all at then end of the day. All we have are different grades of the same. Which is what really sparked off this latest explosion. My parents 36th wedding anniversay. 36 years of misery, resentment, verbal abuse, mistrust and not one ounce of change. And look at me I'll be 31 this year and I still react to them in the same way I always have, deference. Which is how I react to everyone. I lower myself. I can't be in a room with anyone no matter how much younger or older and not feel those panicked twinges of inferiority. Nearly thirteen years since I left high school and I still wake up in that same stomach churning, indigestion inducing state of anxiety. The world is just one large day at school. And everyone else are the nameless, faceless bullies that are just waiting to drag me down. Over a decade and I can't shake the way I look at the world. It's not as if I'm oblivious to the fact that there are good people in the world. I have my best friend, my brother, other friends and people I've become very close to on sites like Twitter. So why can't I shake it. Why can't I give myself and other people a chance? And why do I keep on blaming everyone else for something that only I am causing. I need to learn to be friends with people without injecting myself so deeply into their lives. Its not that I don't like helping it's just that I can't, not now at least. It's too much. I need a bit of peace and quiet to focus on myself, to try and figure out what I'm supposed to be doing and I can't do that if I'm constantly running after everyone else. I need to learn distance, boundaries. I need to learn that people won't automatically abandon me if I'm not at their beck and call 24/7. I wonder if I'll ever learn to cut myself any slack. I wonder if I'll ever make any meaningful progress, instead of just making the same old mistakes over and over. I'd really like a little change. I really hope I'm wrong and that its a possibility.

Sunday Brain Strain

The last few days my head has been swirling with all sorts of nonsense so I'm going to try and exorcise them from my grey matter. The usual negative diatribe of course was front and centre. And one or two issues from earlier in the week keep gnawing at me. Like the frustration I felt finally getting to the bank after 3 cancelled appointments to find out none of what my homemaker promised we could do could be done. And I ended up no further along and £50 lighter. The thing that I have been ruminating over the most however is my last meeting with my SW. It was a little strange. We didn't do anything apart from drive about. That's not the strange part however. It was that she was chatting away to me about her home life and actually acknowledged their had been a role reversal.

Usually she talks a lot about her kids etc. And I figured she must do this with everyone of her clients, must be her way of connecting with them and giving them examples that they're not alone. Apparently not though. Apparently I have the great honour of being her sounding board. And I have to be honest I'm not great at it. I think its because after almost 2 years seeing her I'm still pretty much all but mute and I guess there is just a lot of dead air to fill. I've mentioned before the way she treats me bothers me somewhat. She treats me more like a daughter a lot of the time than a client. And I find that hard to deal with. I don't even have the energy or ability to be there for the people I already care about a lot and its just added another one to the pile. Yay for more guilt. It means that I absolutely dont want to let her down and wouldn't dream of telling my Psychologist when things get uncomfortable for me.

And it also means I feel unable to tell her to her face if things are getting uncomfortable and I wish I could. She keeps telling me that it won't hurt her feelings but I don't believe her. And I especially couldn't have done it that days as she was particularly worried about one of her kids. Whom apparently was verging into my territory. She was obvioulsy worried but she had the strangest attitude toward it considering her line of work. She was adamant that despite the incident that occurred she wansnt going to go down the path of talking to the GP or other MH professionals about it. She didn't want her kid to go down the same route as me and she asked when my problems has started. And it was obvious that her kid being like me was her worst nightmare. And I still don't know how I feel about that. I guess I'm mad. I'd like to think I have some positive qualities despite my problems. Not that I'd be able to admit any but I do hope that there's something of worth in me. And I'm mad too that if there is a problem she'd rather pretend everything was okay instead of maybe getting her kid help. It makes me wonder what stock any of these people at the CMHT actually put in their work. If they don't believe in it, how can I?

The Wedding

It was my cousin's wedding on Saturday there. I had been so looking forward to it. The idea of getting to spend some time with her was exciting. I was actually the only one looking forward to it. My brother, father and mother all didn't want to go. Probably because we don't exactly have a good relationship, actually any relationship with our Uncles, Aunts or Cousins. This was my Dad's side. His brother's daughter's wedding and they didn't see eye to eye. Well more to the point my Dad had fallen out with my Uncle a while back over things that came up after my Grandmother passed away and my Dad is the number one grudge holder on this planet. To be fair he was totally in the right on that occasion. But people deal with him by either quietly going along with things or avoiding him. I know this because that's what happened in the house when arguments flared. Though my Mum was never a vocal participant but that's not to say she didn't pull her fair share of nonsense. Neither one is a saint by any stretch of the imagination. They are who they are and I love them regardless. Cause lets be honest, none of us is perfect or totally good. We all can be thoughtless, unkind and a pain in the arse, it's the nature of being.

My Uncle and Aunt decided to deal with it by avoiding him, they never called, never wrote, though there would be the uncomfortable hello's in the town and asking about how we were all doing. i don't know if they cared or not. I had been raised to think that they didn't. And i have to be honest I have felt judged when talking to them especially when they ask what I'm doing, where I'm working. That one is always a kick in the nuts. Wish i could just say, nope still mental thanks. Took me half a day to build up the courage to come outdoors thanks. And I did feel like they were wondering where it all went wrong and thank god their kids didn't turn out like us as we would talk politely in the street.

So my Dad felt ostracised, he felt like he was the black sheep and he had been cut out. My Mum was worried for the same reason and panicked it would be uncomfortable and we would be ignored the whole evening. My brother just doesn't like big events and was also worried about what it would be like to have the family reunited in one place. So when the call came in on Tuesday the 17th May that Mum had the flu and was told by the GP she couldn't go to the wedding I expected them to bail on me. And it upset me because I knew I couldn't go alone. So I spoke to my Psychologist about it and braved talking to my Dad who promised to come. I knew if he did then my brother would too. So it was all set and I focused on getting in the bits and bobs we needed. I felt hugely guilty about my brother having to come but I needed all the support I could get to get through the day and I was still disgusted that I missed the hen night. He was really unhappy, really depressed and it did make me wonder whether I should just say okay lets not go then.

But the big day came and even though I hadn't slept I guzzled down some caffeine at 8am and showered and ironed all my clothes. I then headed out to the hairdresser where I got my hair cut so that I wouldn't look as much like the crazy bag lady my brother says I usually do. Which is true, normally I don't take care of my appearance at all. My clothes are tatty and hole ridden and my hair was just hanging there. I didn't and still don't own a hairdryer. I did my best though to buy something bright and feminine and appropriate for the occasion. I even bought makeup and took care of the facial hair that my PCOS causes. I didn't want to embarrass anyone and I didn't want to make a spectacle of myself.

I was on a roll. I got back to the house at 11am and got dressed and got my brother up. Sorted my makeup and pocketed everything we would need for the day. I then sat and relaxed with a cuppa till 1pm and then went downstairs to take out money before my Dad arrived in a taxi to pick us up. We got to the church about 30 minutes before the ceremony was due to begin and we sat at the back unsure of who was still going to be there and how welcome we all really were. As time ticked by and it became obvious that all the guests had arrived we realised that neither of my Dads two other brothers nor their families had been invited. Just goes to show just when you think you know it all you find out you're not the bad guy after all. At least then my Dad realised he and my Uncle had the mutual dislike of their two brothers in common.

The ceremony without a hitch despite the awful weather. And it was really nice to be a part of it even if it was a bit surreal as we didn't know anyone else in the church. None of us had met my Cousin's fiance at all before this and I wasn't familiar with her friends except from Facebook pics. so after the ceremony pictures were taken and we headed off to the reception, whereupon we were crammed into a small room with a makeshift bar no chairs and windows that were painted shut. To say it was a bit on the warm side was an understatement. It took about 2 hours for all the photos and the hall to be set up so there were lines of abandoned stilettos and barefoot women by the time we were beckoned in to sit.

Dad was extremely uncomfortable till the moment he left after dinner. But he was also proved wrong. Not only did my cousins Groom mention my Mum and hope for her swift recovery in his speech, they also bought her a beautiful bouquet of flowers. And my uncle made my dad promise to call him and get together. It was wonderful to see. I knew my dad would never not be annoyed by his older brother whom he regarded as a bit of a buffoon in some ways but at least he knew that his family still did care and things could be different. My brother and I decided to stay on and see the night through till the bride and groom left at midnight.

It wasn't too long after dad left though that  I started to feel that old fear rising. I felt hemmed in, claustrophobic surrounded by all these people who were of course miles better than me. So I'd make excuses and make my way to the bathroom and have a quiet sob before heading back out into the hubbub. After dinner we were ushered back into the tiny room and again the panic rose so my brother walked me down to the bathroom and waited while I tried to shake it off again. It went on like that for most of the evening. I felt like I was spoiling my brothers night who funnily enough was having a really good time. I decided to take a few drinks to see if they might help but it didn't really make much of a difference. eventually my Uncle dragged me up to dance and I was mortified and shaking and self conscious but i got through it and somehow managed to dance a few more times throughout the night.

I just couldn't figure out where all this anxiety and despair was coming from. I had been so looking forward to this night and yet again here I was folding like a cheap suit. I was in awe of my cousin and her bridesmaids as they danced the night away so carefree and so joyously. I felt so selfish sitting there so upset and close to tears for most of it. It was so painful watching all of this happening in front of me I guess. All these people, all these lives and I knew as hard as I ever try I'm never going to be close to being like any of them. That's not to say I resented them I didn't, I was really so happy for my cousin and all her friends. I felt like Alice walking through the looking glass. It was magical, a world I'd never known and probably never would again.

There were so many things I wanted to say to so many people that night but I just couldn't find the courage. I really regret it but I do appreciate the opportunity to see my family together again after such a long time. And even though it was a rough ride I did stick it out. I don't want to give myself any credit for that and have been fighting the urge to pull myself down but I am proud that i didn't run for the hills when things started getting uncomfortable which is my usual M.O.

Same old, same old

I really should blog more often. I do appreciate the help that my Twitter friends gave me when making the decision about whether or not to move but essentially this is supposed to be a private dumping ground for the toxic waste my mind so generously creates in plentiful gallons.

Yesterday was a bad one for my brother and me. We butted heads, both of us were crying and neither one of us has gotten much sleep. We're both more than a little lost right now. Struggling to find a routine or a purpose for ourselves. When I lived at home my routine essentially revolved around my Mum. If she was going out I would go out and I would help her with the shopping. It was my one way of contributing. She did everything for me. Cleaned my clothes, made sure I ate at least one meal a day and she motivated me to go out.

Now I'm here and everything is new and scary and I'm finding it hard to get over the doorstep. Which is not what I was hoping for. I was hoping I'd move here and be able to get the bus home every day or every other day and do all the things for my Mum that she did for me but I'm still failing her. And its twice as bad knowing she's at home with my Dad, currently bogged down with a virus and the flu as well as her mobility issues and he's still making her look after him. He does nothing. Just lays there and criticises and lays the blame for the condition of the house at her door. Such a crock of shit. We all helped it get that way and he decided not to fix anything that was broken along the way so the challenges just mounted.

I always want to do better by people but can never seem to make that wish become a reality so I beat myself up about it even more. I know where I'm going wrong and I know what I should be doing but for whatever reason, laziness, indifference, ineptitude I never seem to make the changes. Its just one long unbroken cycle. The same old sob story.

Three is a Magic Number

In more ways than one.

I won't be seeing my psychologist or support worker for the next three weeks.
My support worker is actually off on a four week holiday to visit her husband in Australia and my psychologist felt it best to give me some time to adjust to the flat and start sleeping before we met again.
I can't say that I'm all that bothered about not seeing my SW for a month. As some people on a closed Facebook group know she said something to me a few weeks ago that left me reeling.
She basically insinuated I was committing fraud by spending a weekend at my parents. Forget that I'd managed a week at the flat before heading home and that I haven't been back since. Apparently that wasn't good enough so they thought they'd put the frighteners on me. She also told me I was being selfish if I didn't move in (even though I had) because my brother can't live here if I'm not here and my parents wouldn't get any help.

Talk about putting the weight of the world on your shoulders.
I could tell she was trying to turn the screws on me and I also knew her saying this was coming from my psychologist was nonsense. My psychologist would never ever be as tactlessly blunt as what my SW can be. She has been pushing me toward moving out for a long time and I could tell she was both frustrated and baffled that not only was I not going at the speed she wanted but I also wasn't loving it.
She can't grasp my reaction to this move in the slightest. It's all black and white. Pro and con for her.

It was always the CMHT's belief not mine that my parents home environment was the driving force behind my anxiety and depression.
And I agree not having access to the basics like warm water, working shower and toilet might have had a negative influence on my mood but it was never the core of the problem.
I had to fight the urge pretty hard to pull away entirely from the CMHT and just return to my dark little box room.
I wanted so badly to show them that they couldn't manipulate me or tell me who or what I am and what I have the right to do.
But that was just the anger talking and if I did do that I knew that would be selfish. Its ok if I'm suffering at my own hands but not anybody else. I want better for them.

So all in all I'm looking forward to not having to deal with the appointments for the next few weeks and working at my own pace without interruption or coercion.
And to celebrate my brother and I are having a friend down to stay at the end of the week. Hopefully it'll help me relax and shut my brain off for even a few minutes. We're going to head to the cinema and will be probably watching a few scary flicks and foreign goodies in between playing games and good talks. I'm also looking forward to Thursday because we'll finally be able to move my hamster Smudge into the flat. I miss having my little fuzzball around. It's reassuring hearing him running in his wheel in the wee small hours. Will probably help me focus on something other than the usual argy bargy going on outside at the weekend here.

Numb Would Be Nice

Well that's always what I think when I hear characters in TV shows describe how depression makes them feel. They always seem to be living in an emotional vacuum. Detached from it all and running on automatic pilot. And I can't relate to that. It's never been that way for me. The closest thing I can relate to is bereavement. It's the same sort of boundless emptiness and like grief it plays by its own rules. There can be days where you'll feel almost functional, almost content. You can even smile or laugh. And you try so hard to hang on to that feeling. You take every little precaution. work every little technique. But somewhere deep down you know that it won't last. Something inevitably comes out of the blue and knocks you back on your ass. And its scary how fast you fall. You can be laughing it up with friends one second and the next you can almost taste the despair. There doesn't need to be a trigger. No one needs to say anything and nothing needs to happen. And you can feel it happening. The metamorphose is quicker than any other in nature. But instead of emerging from the cocoon, you instead get regression. Skipping back in evolution instead of forwards. Time moves forward, everything moves forward in life but you.

I guess that's where I'm at tonight. Today I didn't get out of bed till gone 5pm and I never bothered gettting dressed. Instead I lay on the couch and only moved when I forced myself to help my brother make dinner. After that I resumed my position and stared vacantly at the TV till I started to nod off around 9pm. I was looking, searching for any kind of distraction. Couldn't face Twitter or Facebook. Most definitely couldn't face talking to anyone on the phone. I couldn't find anything that would take me outside of my head. Or dull the ache. Its a gnawing, scratching ball of darkness, rooted deep within your stomach. And at its worst you can feel the branches shooting up your limbs wrapping itself around them and draining you of all your energy. Feeding into the perpetually hungry ball that can never be satiated. I don't even have enough left in me to continue to type. So I'll need to return to this later. I just hope it lets me sleep.

Well I got over somewhere around 5am I think. Tossed and turned and got up around 11. Still completely zapped of all life. Listless, tired, achey and completely disinterested in doing anything. The fact I've managed to type this much is frankly a miracle and will probably be the only thing I actually do today. I'm just taking a shot that getting this all out can make a difference and maybe I might find some drive to move or think or even just get out of these pajamas. There's still so much to do in the flat and I just can't seem to get any momentum going.

It's pretty much how I feel about this place all over. I can't find the will to care. People keep asking me if I'm excited and if I'm enjoying the freedom. But I don't feel either of those things. No excitement and I definitely don't feel free. That's not new though. I've always felt constrained by my need to help others. It's why my biggest wish even at 12 was to live alone in the middle of some secluded forest somewhere. It's not that other people are too demanding or that they use me. They don't. My family and friends are a great support to me. It's all down to how I feel. If someone cares about me I instantly feel the need to try and please and never let them down. Which is impossible so I'm always left feeling less than. And I just wonder what it would be like to not feel that.

Right now it's a tug of war. I'm piggy in the middle. I'm not sure I want to be in this flat at all but I know I can't go home even if I wanted to because it would mean my brother loses the freedom and happiness he's found here. And I know also that I can't go home because it would mean my parents definitely couldn't get the help I want them to get. Not that I believe the CMHT or the never around social worker when they say they will get help. Everything so far we've tried to do for them has fallen flat. And I'm frankly sick of getting my hopes up.

So for the moment I'm in a kind of limbo. My stomach twisted in knots. Not settled here and can't go home. So the anxiety is running high and I'm wondering what it's all for? And whether I'm even capable of getting better. Or if I even want to for that matter. I don't know what to do with my time here. It was easy at home. The only thing I needed to do to get through a day was plug myself into the PC and try to stop thinking. Now I'm here though there's all this impetus to "blossom" and do more. I don't know where to start and I don't know if I'm ready to.

Moving Toward Independence

When I met up with my support worker at our regular time on Wednesday this week. She informed me that the flat that the Community Mental Health Team had secured me was finally ready for a viewing. I have been very unsure all along in this whole process and I'm not sure I'm either ready nor able to move out. My brother would be coming with me, so I wouldn't be living alone but this was still not much of a comfort. The speed of the whole process has been daunting. Especially considering how reticent I have been toward the issue of moving out for many years. I thought my concession at the end of 2010 that I would at least talk to the housing officer for the CMHT was a big enough step. At least it was in my mind. Little did I know that it had already been decided before meeting JS for a total of 15 minutes in December that they had already procured a flat. This was only relayed to me later that Tuesday evening when my support worker called me at home. The panic I felt was overwhelming. She couldn't understand why I didn't sound excited or ask her any questions, including where it was. The simple reason being I was in shock.

Leading up to Christmas and New Years it was really eating away at me how quickly everything was moving & I didn't seem to have a lot of control over it. Everyone else was enthusiastic but me. I was too busy worrying about whether I could afford it and what would happen to my parents and this house without me here to push the issue. I felt like I was adrift at sea, I wasn't sleeping or oversleeping and I wasn't really leaving the house anymore unless it was to see my psychologist or support worker. The panic was surging through me and never seemed to equalise, I always seemed to be at defcon 1.

The toll it had taken on me was palpable, you could see it etched across my face. My support worker even told me that "I looked like absolute hell". And I did because it's how I felt. I was so fatigued all the time and my mood was yo-yoing and still is out of control. I had stopped making any effort with personal hygiene, going weeks without washing my hair and sometimes 2-4 weeks if I was in the house without washing. My limbs were leaden, it felt as if someone had turned up gravity just for me. I was physically sinking into the ground as my mood ebbed ever lower. I didn't even have the energy to talk, not with any enthusiasm about anything to anyone. Sentences were short and grunting. I'd become practically monosyllabic.

I tried with all my might after the New Year to try to reign in back in and look at it purely from a logical context. Weigh up the pros and cons. And I knew there were more pros. Especially when it came to my parents. The fact I and my brother still live at home, does financially cripple them. They are reliant upon benefits. My Dad did work for almost 40 years of his life before being made redundant. And for the privilege was left with the princely sum of £7000 for his trouble. My mother worked for over 20 before being crippled with arthritis and breathing problems. And they have nothing to show for it. They still have a mortgage to pay and because I live here they can't get housing benefit to help toward it and it also means they have to pay the full whack in council tax.

I can't think about what's best for me because unlike everyone else I don't think I deserve much and don't rank my needs very highly. Not that I don't resent myself and everyone else for that. I'm a contradiction in terms I know but it's just how my mind works. So the deciding factor was always going to be how it left everyone else. And so I slowly started to get a little comfortable with the idea. Trying to imagine what it would be like to have central heating, a working bathroom and a proper bedroom. All I have right now is a small box room with a divan jammed in than has mould growing up the walls And it was a nice idea that my parents could visit and enjoyt these little luxuries too while the social worker I'd arranged helped them out. I was still worried about the finances but I was promised by the CMHT that they would make sure that everything was taken care of and reassured me that everything would go at my pace, not theirs. Which made me feel like i could exhale again for the first time in over a month.

And then time seemed to pass without me obsessing about it or even hearing anything about it. The housing association couldn't find the keys. The previous tenant had taken them with them when moving out. And I've got to be honest I was more than a little happy for the stalling time, to give me room to move and breathe again. So I focused on other things, my overeating, my finances. Trying to get out more and become more social. The culmination of which was a trip to Glasgow to meet a fellow twitterer and go to a concert. None of which I'd ever done alone. I was doing okay. Apart from of course lashing myself senseless over my concert meeting. I'm never kind to myself when I meet new people and want them to like me. So my mood had dipped again. I had let go of basic needs again. My hair hasn't been washed since that night and its now almost a month later. I've given up on the crafts that I started. Stopped going out as much again bar two jaunts out by myself into town to meet my psychologist and support worker. And yet again my sleeping pattern is all over the place. I've spent weeks oversleeping massively, sometimes 20 hours. I wasn't getting up before 4pm. Yet now in the last week I can barely get a wink.

I was running on fumes when I met my support worker at the gym on Wednesday. My limbs were heavy and I was aching all over and developing a headache but I was trying to pull it back. I was determined to go and work out despite how I was feeling. So I made the short walk to the community centre. And despite feeling physically rubbish I thought I was doing okay mood wise. I didn't feel desperate or too anxious. That was until she told me I could finally see the flat. I think I thought that day was never really coming. I'd erased it from my mind. And suddenly all the pros and cons in the world didn't matter and my chest began to tighten. I tried to shake it off but it was obvious I wasn't doing a great job from how often she was asking if I was doing okay. I could barely make a peep and my focus was shot. I was trying to focus on what we were talking about but my mind was darting all over the place. And I suddenly became very aware of all the other people in the place. Especially the men, whom I'm particularly uncomfortable around at the best of times. So I couldn't help but glance at all these people and wonder how they did it. They all seemed so content.
They were definitely a darn sight more fit and healthy than me and I couldn't help but start undermining myself compared to all these perfect physical specimens. How ridiculous I must have looked to them, shuddering in with my parka on and wearing men's leisurewear because I can't get anything from the women's department at Tesco to fit comfortably. Everything was so sculpted and I wanted to hide my form, drown it out. So everything I was wearing was as baggy as I could get it. Which isn't very when you're my size.

As I walked for ten minutes on the treadmill I couldn't drown out the rhythmic thumping and breathing of the man running at high speed on the machine two rows down. Here I was and I could barely walk 3 miles per hour and he was running a marathon in front of my eyes. How did he shut out the world like that? He seemed to almost be in a trance. I somehow made it through the ten minute walk which had left my ankles screaming in pain. So i wiped down the machine trying hard to stare at the floor and not catch anyone's gaze and wandered down the quieter end with the upright bikes and the televisions. I thought riding the bike for 10 minutes with nothing to look at but the news would help me block everything out. But I was wrong, I could feel the panic starting to build in the pit of my stomach. That hard heavy weight vibrating out to all my extremities, I swallowed it back as hard as i could and focused on what I was doing, closing my eyes. I wasn't even talking to SW like I usually do when I'm out.

When I got off the bike I could feel my legs wanting to run as my head and face became hot with the building terror. I coughed and choked as it tried to make its escape and I didn't know what to do. SW asked me if I wanted to leave but I said no. In all my time in psychology I was always told never to give in to the panic, stick with it as long as you can because it will finally ebb away. So I wandered back up to the treadmills feeling far too insecure to wander into the jungle that was the weights, with all the huffing and puffing and traffic. I set the treadmill for 10 minutes again and stared solidly at the clock even though I was fidgeting uncontrollably and marathon man was still thumping away and as if to show off  he turned the speed up yet again and the treadmill made an awful screech as if it was begging for mercy. I was probably physically shaking my head by this point and breathing heavily. It's always a tell of mine when I'm agitated. I had managed two minutes so far and was rocking somewhat as I strolled on the machine. The final straw came when one of the men that had been using the weights stepped up on to the machine beside me and started running. My brain just cried out and I knew I couldn't take anymore I stopped the machine as quickly as I could and tried to keep myself composed to wipe it down and let SW know I was going outside for a breath of fresh air. But as I turned after finishing that sentence and was making my way to the door I started hyperventilating louder and louder and more uncontrollably and I could feel everyone's eye's focused upon me. People stopped what they were doing to look. I just kept my head down and marched past them all as I tried to swallow it back and regain some repose but i couldn't and was so glad to break through into the open air where I could let go and shake and cry and try to get it back together.

Even though in panic attack terms this was fairly minor it still leaves you drained, you can feel the energy rushing out of you and it can take almost 2 hours after one before the shaking and tension finally abate. SW had followed me out and we talked in the car and she tried to reassure me. And I do know that she wants what she thinks is best for me but its not necessarily what I think is best or what I think I deserve. I feel uncomfortable sometimes by how genuinely she seems to care for me. I'd be much happier with some professional distance because it only adds one more person to the pile that I'm worried about disappointing. And I do worry about disappointing her. And if anything I want to do this move as much for her as it is to improve my parents life. I've never really come into the equation. Not in my own mind anyway. I walked it off and made an appointment with her to meet her Thursday morning to view the flat with my brother. Who eventually couldn't come because he was trying to sort out important finances. Try as I might though that night I couldn't put it out of my head and even though I was exhausted from the panic attack and not sleeping I still didn't get a wink of sleep that night.

Thankfully I didn't need to tackle public transport this morning. I wasn't really in a place to do it. Dad had an appointment with his GP and gave me a lift in the taxi he took. I tried to calm my nerves in the short walk toward the flat but I couldn't help but feel unsure. I wanted to be hopeful and was trying to remind myself of all those pros that had been brought to my attention. I was a little early so amused myself by browsing Twitter on my phone and trying to be as inconspicuous as you can hanging around on a street corner. Eventually SW and then the housing association people showed and we made our way into the building. I was first struck by how how steep and narrow the stairs were and how my parents would never be able to climb them to come visit which made my heart sink.

It was the top flat and not the bottom one I had been expecting. As we made our way through the door I was struck by how dark it was and how tatty the decor had been left. Everything was untidy and in some cases dirty. But it was a very large space for a flat in these parts. It had one massive bedroom and one small. A small lounge, bathroom and kitchen. whoever had lived there had written their name on the bathroom wall in nail varnish and left behind a treadmill. Because I was looking for the place to be furnished as I don't own anything of my own I was told whatever remained here at the moment that wasn't broken or could be fixed had to stay and there was no money for redecoration. despite the double bed in the bedroom being threadbare on the base I was told I'd probably only get a replacement mattress. I wasn't really taking it all in though I have to be honest. I couldn't even begin to imagine myself here. I was too uncomfortable being around so many unfamiliar faces who were asking me constantly what I was thinking. I'm not sure I was thinking at all. I think my mind was on mute and my body was on autopilot.

As we stood in the current lounge and I stared at the gaudy furniture and awful palette of colours I was told that I was expected to give my answer today as to whether I'd be taking the flat. That was a punch in the gut and sure woke me from my walking stupor. I mumbled that if I could I'd like to talk to some people first and have my brother see the place as he was moving with me too. She stared down at her list and told me I could come back same time tomorrow with him but I must give them an answer. I think SW could see what a panic it was sending me in too. So in her own way she tried to get my thinking on track, reminding me of all the reasons I should take it and that if I didn't like it I could always go home. She said if I let this one go it could be 5 more years before i was offered anything else and meanwhile nothing could be done for my parents because they wouldn't be entitled to help with me at home. I felt bombarded. I know they were trying to help but I just wanted a little peace and was feeling a little nagged. So I was glad to get out of the building. I stood on the street for a moment as SW asked me if I wanted a lift and if I would come back tomorrow. I promised her I would and she told me not to stress about it but seriously think about taking it. At this point I was doing my best to hold back the tears that were forming and swallowing back against the lump forming in my throat.

I wandered off and around the corner after leaving them and tried to call my mother and brother for a little comfort but when they did finally answer i couldn't bring myself to say anything. I must have looked like a caged lion as I paced around at the bus stop waiting to get in to the town and see my family who were sorting out other matters. As I got on the bus and my mind recounted what had just happened I started quietly sobbing. So as to get some control back before seeing my family I got off the bus early and walked the rest of the way the breeze whipping against my wet face. Try as I might though when I eventually did see them I couldn't keep it in and was openly upset outside the social work department, I felt so mixed up and didn't know what to do. They calmed me down and left me in the waiting room as they took care of their own matters.

After which we went back into the next town overs centre and wandered around Morrison's before grabbing something to eat in the cafe.  felt better there with them and we even laughed and joked while eating our lunch despite all have rather rubbish days. But as time wore on I felt sapped and so opted to pay for a taxi home because the bus wasn't due for another hour yet. As we recounted what had happened to each of us to my father when we got back in I began to feel agitated and upset again and the hard lump and tears returned. So I grabbed some clean PJ's from the top of the dryer and went upstairs to try and get some sleep. Maybe then I'd find some rationale and the emotions would take second place. I'm not sure how long I was asleep but I was awoken at 5pm from a call from SW. She wanted to talk over the day with me and again hammered home all the reasons why I couldn't give up this opportunity and then she said "I don't mean this in a bad way but if you don't take this flat and try it's almost kind of selfish because your parents won't get help with housing or council tax" that did it for me I was lost in a spiral again but held it together long enough to talk her off the phone. I was complacent and agreed just so I could get some peace again. After the call finished I rolled over and went back to sleep because being awake was too confusing and painful.

I eventually gave up the ghost at 10pm and shuffled downstairs were I was told my best friend had been trying to get a hold of me. I wasn't really up to it but knew I should call her back in case it was anything serious. As soon as she answered and asked how I was doing, I crumpled. Muffled tear filled responses followed in the kitchen about how much stress i felt I was under and I had no idea what to do. In fact the fact that everyone had been so adamant today only made me want to withdraw and tell them no. She reassured me and told me if I needed back up tomorrow that I should call and she'd come. And she told me that she wanted what was best for me and she felt the move would be good for me because I could do what I want and feel more independent and I'd be close to her so would always have support. But she said that it didn't matter what she thought or anyone else, it's what I wanted at the end of the day and she'd be behind me 100%. That was two hours ago now and I'm none the wiser. I just knew I had to get this all out and down in plain English so maybe then I'd be free to look at things from a clearer perspective. And I welcome any opinions. Right now I'm a jumble and don't think I'll be sleeping tonight

Tug of War

Sundays have never been good days for me. Growing up there was always a 50/50 chance of an argument. Usually surrounding Sunday dinner. Now years later after these arguments have finally abated and the people involved have mellowed with time, it still leaves me cold. Whatever hour I wake, without fail, there's an impending sense of doom. Foreboding sitting heavily upon my chest. And I almost feel as if I can't catch breath because of it. My eyes dart around the room and I'll stare up toward the ceiling. I'll then glance over to the curtain and try to gauge what hour it is before rolling over and squinting at my mobile. Usually then I'll roll back over and close my eyes to try and force myself back to sleep. All without a sound.

And the quiet is key. I try hard most of the time to appear calm on the outside, no matter what's raging inside. That's not to say I don't ever lose control in front of people I don't want to. I've had my fair share of public panic attacks. The looks on people's faces really are priceless once you've screamed and cried uncontrollably in front of them. They edge a little farther away and stop talking to you directly, asking whoever's with you instead what the matter is and if you're okay. I hate those moments, especially when it's around people I care about. When you come too and realise what's happened, you see the colour has drained from their face, my mother is usually in tears trying to calm me and scared as hell because they don't know what's happening. Heck I don't know what's happening most of the time when I'm in a bad one. The worst one I ever had, I actually lost time. Total blackout. Almost fifteen minutes of my life gone. When I came too I was crouched down beside the radiator in the front hall and my Father was screaming at my mother that it their fault while my mother was yet again trying to console me.

So I try with all my might to keep things in check, no matter what I'm feeling no matter what is swimming around my head others can't know. Twitter actually helped with that. I found a place where i could open up and not feel as guilty. And I do feel guilty. I hate to make people worry. And I hate to feel like a burden. Or worse yet a complainer. And I feel that way every time I do open up. Especially compared to what everyone else has to deal with.

Of course there's that part of me that I explained in my first blog post that does cry out for attention. And that part likes whatever kind of attention it gets because it needs to feel special and wanted. These two extremes are constantly at loggerheads. And I'm caught in the middle. So I don't know what it's okay for me to feel and express and what isn't. I feel stretched between them and so mixed up that its affected how I deal with people. And that is I don't. It hasn't made me very good friend material. And it makes me want to withdraw. Because I'm comfortable with the quiet. And talking is hard. So very hard somedays. I try with my best friend to swallow the hard lump stuck in my throat and be there but its all very half-hearted. I can't but help thinking the whole time that I don't want to be on the phone. I can't listen to more problems because I'm all caught up in my own and they've got me drowning. And I hate the question, how are you? Because no one really wants to know. Who wants to know that the real answer everyday is not good? Terrible in fact. Who wants to hear that day in day out? So you sigh and you say I'm okay, I'm fine or some variation. Or some days you'll hint at how you're doing but never go into detail and switch the subject because it's tiring for you too. To have to think it and feel it and say it.

And that's why I prefer the PC because it doesn't judge & it doesn't demand anything of me. I can lose myself in TV shows, games or social networking sites if I've got the energy. It never really silences the constant grind of negative thoughts and whispers in your head but it helps. You can zone out and let time slip past till you can go to sleep again. Sweet sleep. Although I'm not sure why I call it sweet. The anxiety usually seeps over into your unconcious and nightmares are par for the course, so your already fractured sleep becomes all the more erratic.

Friends on the other hand, demand energy, empathy and a whole host of other things that most days I don't have a hope in hell of providing. And it makes me insecure because I don't want to be this shitty friend, who can't talk and be honest with people. And gets exasperated at taking a call. Who can't be there when they're needed. I want to be a good friend, a caring friend. Someone who looks forward to hearing from you. Someone who always says the right things and is there at the right time. So I constantly weigh myself against others in my friends lives and panic. Even my twitter friends. Just earlier tonight I saw a few of them talking and it was an arrow in the heart. And all those little voices couldn't have been happier. "See" they would say. "We told you that they don't really care about you" "Why would they" "What have you ever done for them" "There's no way you could be as funny or as interesting as the people they are talking to now and you know it" "They know it too". "They''ll get tired of you soon" "tired of your bullshit". "You're always going to be second best" "They don't need you, they never needed you".

I'm forgettable. I've always been forgettable. And I've always felt I needed some sort of schtick when it comes to friends. Something that I could be or do for them that no one else would or could. I was never good enough just on my own. I have to be caring, compassionate, always available, always willing to do things for them. And if I'm not all of these things then I'm not a good friend in my eyes. It has led to unhealthy habits. Like giving friends money that I tell them never to pay back. After all what are friends for? I do my best to buy them gifts, pushing myself to my financial limits to do it. If they ask me to do anything for them, I automatically say yes. I don't even think about it. Doesn't matter if it's terrifying, costly or immoral. I'm so terrified of letting them down. I worry that they'll leave me the instant that I can't be of use to them. These compulsions aren't limited only to friends, it's the same way with charities. It also feeds into my insecurities so whenever I see a chugger or big issue seller if I've got money on me it goes to them. If I don't have the money I feel sick to my stomach, so deeply ashamed I'll go out of my way to avoid them.

But then there are the moments were that other little voice takes over and the resentment builds and I'll find myself a snarling beast. Mad at the world. Wondering why no one ever does anything for her? Why does she always have to come to the rescue? And it gets angry at everyone who can't see through the veil and see how much its suffering. And a part of it wants them to suffer too. It just wants to spread its poison far and wide, till everyone feels just how it does. And they'll never make the mistake of ignoring her again.

It's like having an angel and a devil boxing inside your head for control and while they're throwing punches you're just left confused and lost inbetween. So you withdraw because you're never sure how you're going to feel or act at any given moment and they jostle for command of the helm. But I don't want it to be that way. I don't want to be a timid mouse like creature one minute and a swearing, rage filled banshee the next. I want to be a more even tempered and candid person. Someone who's not afraid to speak up and doesn't agree willy nilly with people despite not agreeing with them or wanting to participat in what they're doing. Because that only leads to ammunition from the darker half who'll explode at the randomest of moments and woe betide anyone caught in her path. I want to want to be a part of people's lives and not feel insecure because I'm not being held up on a pedestal 24/7 and freaking out because they shock horror! talk to other people. I don't like being jealous or afraid.

What I'd really like to do this year is take the plunge and commit myself to people more. Make some phonecalls, write some emails and text from time to time instead of being incommunicado and thinking the occassional tweet makes up for it. And then on days like this when I'm feeling down I wonder if I can. If I ever will. The quiet quicks in and even though I read things I'd love to respond to, I can't. And if someone phones I'll try hard to converse but it gets me by the throat. Sitting in the pit of my stomach it wraps its tendrils around my vocal chords so no matter how hard I try I can't make a sound. It just sucks you in, like a black hole, nothing escapes its event horizon. It simply won't let you communicate. It just thrusts you into the vacuum of space and you wait for the end to come because you can't scream.

Gale Force Frustration

For the last two days, the weather all over Scotland has been less than pleasant. And because we live atop a high hill, we get it slightly worse still than those in the town centre. Everything has been rattling and booming and banging. Which led Dad into panicking that the living room window would shatter. You see, some ever so helpful teen yobs, thought it was a cracking laugh to batter it senseless with snowballs when winter was upon us. The poor old thing couldn't take it and a semi circular sheet of glass was cracked out of it. It's just one of the many things that need fixing in the house and probably the lowest on the urgency list. I tried and failed to secure us grants, loans or any sort of help to put things right and make it easier on Mum who is disabled. There's one final option that any rational sort would think would be the first go to. And that is housing insurance. There are many things wrong in the house, some structural and dangerous. But for whatever reason I cannot persuade my father to contact them.

And I cannot tell you how much this bemuses me and frustrates me. Lately I've been oversleeping with the depression and didn't get up until 5pm yesterday. So I stagger downstairs, bleary eyed and limbs like lead weights. Still yawning, despite sleeping over 12hrs and achy all over. I'm not sat down two minutes before Dad starts badgering Mum (who's disabled remember) to get a bin bag taped over the broken window. he then starts in about how he'd do it but she's never got gear ready for him. She fires back that he has the flu & shouldn't go out because it could get into his chest. So when I see Mum putting on her parka, I bark at her to sit down. I told her I'd go out with my brother to do it. So I slip my feet into my trainers and I button up my parka over my PJ's. Put a dishcloth in my pocket along with the tape and we take the bag two handed out doors.

Obviously, it was a  fools errand from the get go. Whilst the wind is tipping over bins and what remained of the garden fence, our struggle with the bin bag was irritating to say the least. No matter what we did, no matter how we tried, this black plastic bag was not going anywhere near this window. So my brother started ranting about how stupid it all was and I agreed. And I told him, I've tried to get Dad to see sense and look into the housing insurance. When I do though, I get no back up from anyone else. Which is the part that confuses me the most. I know I'm not the only one unhappy and ashamed about the living conditions in here but I seem to be the only one who seems motivated to do anything about it.

I know that Dad feels guilty about the past and his part in the house's current condition. He's not the only one to blame though. And he shouldn't let embarrassment or pride keep him from having the essentials that every human being should have access to. I just can't stop worrying that if we don't do something soon, something awful will happen to one of us. The bathroom floor is unstable and the porch is falling down. Someone could get hurt. And I know he doesn't want to have people in here judging us and looking down on us but we have to grin and bear it. For the future and safety of every member of this household.

If I am to be moving out. Which is a great possibility now the Community Mental Health Team have secured me a flat. I want to be able to sleep soundly at night knowing my loved one's are safe and warm. Right now they're neither. I want them to have access to warm water, a shower and to not to have to worry about how cold it gets in winter because they'll have central heating. I love them all dearly but this refusal to face up to the situation and actually try to make a difference boggles me sometimes. If we try and fail at least we did something. And that's all I'm asking is that they try. They deserve to have nice things and not feel ashamed of how they live. They should be able to have friends over and not worry that someone will show up at the door unexpectedly, revealing their shameful secret.

I can only hope that the Social Worker that I arranged for the family can help them once I'm gone. They should have more money coming in without me here and be entitled to benefits such as Housing and Council Tax, which my and my brothers presence exempts them from. I'm taking a leap of faith in moving out. My psychologist wouldn't be happy to know that I'm doing it more for them than me. I don't care though, if I can do one good thing for them no matter what I have to do I'll do it. Of course getting a job just yet is impossible but I hope living with my brother will be a stepping stone, so that I can care for them as well as they have cared for me.