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.