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.

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.

Tug of War

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gale Force Frustration

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

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

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

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

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

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