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.
Monday, 26 September 2011
Monday, 19 September 2011
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.
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.
Friday, 16 September 2011
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.
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.
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.
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