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.

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.

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.

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