Today on and off the waterworks have been in action. The only appropriate place they showed up was my psychology appointment this afternoon. I thought I was doing pretty good all in all this week so far. Then an off the cuff remark made about a song I was listening to made me tear up. It really cut me to the quick, my brother's incredulity at a song that I liked and even though a daft pop song made me feel better about me. And not many things make it feel okay to be me.
Of course me being me I couldn't express any of this to him for fear he may think me silly. So I just let it lie. After that I did okay. I even had a laugh here and there and talked a little on Twitter. I pottered around, made dinner and watched some television. I guess watching Joan Rivers frank documentary on More4 started chipping away at me.
My empathy went into overdrive as I felt so sorry for all the pain and loneliness she'd experienced. I couldn't relate to all of it. Most definitely not losing a husband to suicide but I could really see her heart was on her sleeve and I felt a kinship as daft as that may seem. So I got up and decided to go get into my PJ's, shake off the moroseness and get some hamster high as I call it.
Although in this case it was a gerbil high I was after. I wandered into my brother's room to see the girls and watch them scurry about. It never fails to make me smile. I had to go the extra hog though and I stuck my hand int he tank. I love it when they come sit on me. And Venus did just that, nuzzling in and playing about. While she was sitting on my palm, Luna ran underneath my forearm and I thought was sniffing me till I felt her bite down. She didn't break the skin but it definitely smarted. So shaking it off I tried earning some affection with a treat. Again though she came straight up to my hand and bit me.
I was getting paranoid by this stage so let it be for a few moments and after I saw she was okay with my brother tried again. Yet straight away she bit down.
That was it for me. I was heartbroken and if I think about it now while typing I'm sure I'll start crying again.
Coming back to the Joan Rivers thing again, what I could really understand was the need to be loved. That's all I've ever really wanted. To be liked. Loved by someone. To fit in and be part of the crowd. I never have been though no matter how hard I tried. And I tried desperately in high school. Oh it's painful to think about now about how I would twist myself for them all, pathetic really. No matter what I've ever done, I've never felt it was good enough. Not for my parents, friends, the world in general and most of all for me.
My pets have always existed outside of the harsh rules that I set for myself. They have truly been the most joyful part of my life. I feel contentment with them that I don't ever experience outside of our time together. Whether they do or they don't I've always felt such unconditional love from them. I feel wholly myself when I'm holding them and I feel at peace. My heart swells with joy that I can't even begin to explain.
And tonight when Luna kept biting me I felt so dejected. It was like having all that joy ripped away. I had been rejected. Like I was back in high school and the bullies where right that I was a lost cause. No one ever will or ever could love me. I have nothing to offer and I'm so wholly abhorrent that even sweet furry little gerbils are disgusted by my presence. My brother has told me not to take it personally and I know it's her nature, females are always more aggressive but there's a part of me that's just so sad and can't let it go. I just want to hold her and love her but she doesn't want me. And this will keep me up all night now. I know I won't sleep and right now I'm not sure if I can stop crying. I just wonder if there's ever going to be a day where I don't feel so alone and outcast.
Wednesday, 24 August 2011
Tuesday, 23 August 2011
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.
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.
Wednesday, 17 August 2011
Moth Dance
So here it is. Almost 4am and still no sleep. And probably none anytime soon. The bulb has went in my bedside lamp so I've had to turn on the light. This is far too bright to sleep with on.Yet I'm still not comfortable enough here to sleep without a light. I need a safety blanket. Especially considering the batshit insane things than roll around inside my noggin. Switching on the light in the kitchen and the bathroom scares me. Sometimes outright panics me, especially at night. Particularly when I'm alone. I have this strange sense of dread when the flickering occurs, like Pinhead from Hellraiser or the overused scary chick with black hair from japanese horror flicks will come crawling out at me. I kid you not these thoughts actually pass through my skull.
What is it about the space inbetween light and dark that unnerves me so?
I guess it's possibilities that immobilise me. My head always has a field day reaching for the million and one answers to "What could go wrong here?" No matter how outlandish, they arise and frightfully so.
I'm sure it all has its roots in my parents overprotective ways. I could never go anywhere without it being a military operation. I went to a Take That concert in Manchester when in highschool and I was grilled for about 2 weeks before going by my dad. I had to promise to take a note of the bus number plate, the name of the driver, where we were parked etc and I had to absolutely without question call him the moment I arrived.
It was like that with everything. Even just going to my cousins birthday party when she turned 18 I had to constantly call and check in. And if I couldn't for whatever reason I would panic like you would not believe.
All my nights out where consumed with the fear of not being able to do as I'd been asked. I'd worry about facing my angry father and just couldn't have any fun.
I'm 30 now and don't live at home but I still call to check in if I'm out. If I didn't my poor Mum would bear the brunt of his unecessary worry.
So the what ifs have played a massive role in my life, they were the seeds from which my anxiety and panic grew to the point where I'm now ruled by them.
So now even the flickering of a striplight floods my neurons with numerous and ever ghastly outcomes before it's all laid to rest when the light bursts out and sends calm across the land again.
Well not calm really. Takes a while to come down after but at least reason prevails, if nothing else does.
What is it about the space inbetween light and dark that unnerves me so?
I guess it's possibilities that immobilise me. My head always has a field day reaching for the million and one answers to "What could go wrong here?" No matter how outlandish, they arise and frightfully so.
I'm sure it all has its roots in my parents overprotective ways. I could never go anywhere without it being a military operation. I went to a Take That concert in Manchester when in highschool and I was grilled for about 2 weeks before going by my dad. I had to promise to take a note of the bus number plate, the name of the driver, where we were parked etc and I had to absolutely without question call him the moment I arrived.
It was like that with everything. Even just going to my cousins birthday party when she turned 18 I had to constantly call and check in. And if I couldn't for whatever reason I would panic like you would not believe.
All my nights out where consumed with the fear of not being able to do as I'd been asked. I'd worry about facing my angry father and just couldn't have any fun.
I'm 30 now and don't live at home but I still call to check in if I'm out. If I didn't my poor Mum would bear the brunt of his unecessary worry.
So the what ifs have played a massive role in my life, they were the seeds from which my anxiety and panic grew to the point where I'm now ruled by them.
So now even the flickering of a striplight floods my neurons with numerous and ever ghastly outcomes before it's all laid to rest when the light bursts out and sends calm across the land again.
Well not calm really. Takes a while to come down after but at least reason prevails, if nothing else does.
Zombism 101
Today is one of those days, I don't feel awful and I don't feel great. Most of me is in some nebulous parallel universe while a bit of the brain and the body stayed behind to keep up appearances. Like the less interesting version of Invasion of the Bodysnatchers.
It's just all rather blah. And I'm sat here thinking about all the things I should be doing and I can't muster the energy to give two hoots about.
For all I know there are new and fuzzy lifeforms forming on top of my dishes and cutlery but I'd prefer that it stayed out of sight and mind. Actually I'd prefer it if someone swung by and took care of it so i wouldn't have to. I don't want to worry about it. And i can't really be bothered to do anything about it.
I can't be bothered to do a lot of things when I feel this way. Washing and getting dressed are two of them. In the past fortnight I've probably taken one shower and a sponge bath of sorts.
My mood has been wavering but overall I'm not dramatically depressed but I'm not happy either. I'm in a strange inner space between the two.
Everyone can see I'm on autopilot, it's no secret. I make as much effort as is required of me to get by and no more. I don't even feel like it's my life anymore. It's really quite surreal.
I'm jut not engaged with anything or anyone at this point in time. Frankly I could simulataneously win the Euromillions and a Nobel Peace Prize and I doubt you'd get so much as a raised eyebrow from me.
I am firmly in neutral. I don't want to be. I really can't afford to be. But those are the facts.
Saturday I crashed hard. It started okay. I managed to have an almost jokey spirit. Somewhere around 4pm though it all came tumbling down. And like humpty dumpty there was no putting the pieces back together again. My mind must have known there was no going back so enter hibernation I did. On and off till about 2am. Then my brother came into the room and we caught up on that night's Penn and Teller: Fool Us, though I was still half asleep.
I still managed to eventually nod back off somewhere around 4am and refused to get out of bed before 13:30. Which of course is totally the opposite of what I should be doing. At least according to any doctor I've ever seen. Sometimes though you just get tired of fighting it and you just don't have the energy. it's also a fine balancing act to know when to keep pushing forward and when to retreat. Going full steam ahead all day every day inevitably brings on a meltdown. Then again perhaps it's because I allow myself the weekends to wallow that maintaining is so hard, perhaps it would get easier if I just did get out every day regardless of how I felt. It's all just a roll of the dice at the end of the day and you're bound to get it as much wrong as you do right.
It's just all rather blah. And I'm sat here thinking about all the things I should be doing and I can't muster the energy to give two hoots about.
For all I know there are new and fuzzy lifeforms forming on top of my dishes and cutlery but I'd prefer that it stayed out of sight and mind. Actually I'd prefer it if someone swung by and took care of it so i wouldn't have to. I don't want to worry about it. And i can't really be bothered to do anything about it.
I can't be bothered to do a lot of things when I feel this way. Washing and getting dressed are two of them. In the past fortnight I've probably taken one shower and a sponge bath of sorts.
My mood has been wavering but overall I'm not dramatically depressed but I'm not happy either. I'm in a strange inner space between the two.
Everyone can see I'm on autopilot, it's no secret. I make as much effort as is required of me to get by and no more. I don't even feel like it's my life anymore. It's really quite surreal.
I'm jut not engaged with anything or anyone at this point in time. Frankly I could simulataneously win the Euromillions and a Nobel Peace Prize and I doubt you'd get so much as a raised eyebrow from me.
I am firmly in neutral. I don't want to be. I really can't afford to be. But those are the facts.
Saturday I crashed hard. It started okay. I managed to have an almost jokey spirit. Somewhere around 4pm though it all came tumbling down. And like humpty dumpty there was no putting the pieces back together again. My mind must have known there was no going back so enter hibernation I did. On and off till about 2am. Then my brother came into the room and we caught up on that night's Penn and Teller: Fool Us, though I was still half asleep.
I still managed to eventually nod back off somewhere around 4am and refused to get out of bed before 13:30. Which of course is totally the opposite of what I should be doing. At least according to any doctor I've ever seen. Sometimes though you just get tired of fighting it and you just don't have the energy. it's also a fine balancing act to know when to keep pushing forward and when to retreat. Going full steam ahead all day every day inevitably brings on a meltdown. Then again perhaps it's because I allow myself the weekends to wallow that maintaining is so hard, perhaps it would get easier if I just did get out every day regardless of how I felt. It's all just a roll of the dice at the end of the day and you're bound to get it as much wrong as you do right.
Tuesday, 5 July 2011
Frustration, frustration, frustration.
Today I am mostly feeling angry. Punch the wall angry. Swearing at inanimate objects that have slighted you by being inanimate angry. It's coarsing through every fibre of my being as we speak. I can feel the adrenaline from it prickling every nerve. I'm twitching and overflowing with the electricity and impulsivity of it. And I want to scream an ineloquent string of offensive words at the world out the nearest window. I want to punch and kick every single item in this flat. I want to vent all my frustrations at everyone I see and argue with everyone that dares to give me eye contact. I want to rip off the clothes that I'm wearing and pull out all my hair. I want to scratch, gouge, bite and hit every inch of me. I want to call people I know and be awful to them, just scream profanities at them and tell them all the ways in which they've let me down or have burdened me. Because I feel suffocated by this life, by who I am and since I can't control me, perhaps they can control who they are around me. I'm sick and tired of trying to mould myself into a band-aid for everyone's ailments. I'm sick of being patient, sick of listening. I don't want to do it anymore. It doesn't matter who it is, eventually everyone in my life dumps all their woes and frustrations on me. I'm the one that has to calm them down, hug it out and make them feel better. Because that's the role I've built for myself and that's what I do with everyone. I weed my way in, beseeching them to use me as their own personal agony aunt. Even with my support worker. Constantly talks about her kids and her life and if I didn't feel shitty enough about myself tells me that I have to remember there's always someone worse off out there and at least I'm not like the parents in the paper who's son was just murdered. That's a real problem. And then to confuse matters further when I told her it wasn't exactly news to me that I wasn't the hardest done by on the planet she replied with but maybe you are the worst off perhaps there is no one that has it harder than you. Talk about mixed messages. I don't exactly lack clarity on my particular situation. But knowing something and doing them are completely two different things and I've always found the execution the hardest part.
At the end of the day the part I'm struggling with the most is the idea of "change" and whether or not its possible. everything when it comes to the anxiety and depression is so much about denial and distraction. Very little is to do with dealing with anything, resolving anything, understanding anything. Is change even possible? Not from the people I know in my ife it seems, not from me for sure. At the moment it's all keep busy, go to the gym, take classes at night, hang out with friends. All in an effort to fill up the space in your head, to keep you so focused on everything else there's no time to wander into that old familiar room in your mind. I hate being busy though. I really despise it. What does it achieve? It leaves me drained and dreading the start of the next week. So at the weekends I get sucked back down the drain because I don't have the energy left to keep the smoke and mirrors going. I have to live it. And its still there, still as strong. So it uses me as a punching bag, keeping me awake, taunting me, extracting every ounce of self respect and worth I have. Every last drop of energy is evaporated. I'm trying to care about me, the flat, something...anything really but I can't. I don't have anything to anchor on to at this point. I'm going through the motions. I only manage to keep the flat tidy if someone is coming to visit or stay. I'm still not putting any energy into looking after myself, everytime I do I become so self-concious it leads to a day long series of panic attacks. My mind just goes into over drive on me. Every glance, every laugh is all at my expense and that little voice upstairs wallows gleefully in the cess pit that it has created. After all who am I to think that I can pull of normality. It's ridiculous to think that I could look anything less than profoundly hideous and a laughably shambolic impersonation of a real person. And it is so crystal clear to every other member of the public that they can't help but glare with derision and pity. I just want to reach inside of me and rip all the cowardice, the malice and uncertainty out. I want to gut myself like a fish. Make everything nice and clean. But I can't and I don't do any of it. All I do is push things down a little deeper and top it off with food. And I follow along ever so passively and accomodatingly to the people at the CMHT doing what I'm told even if i don't want to. for instance the fitness classes. I am too much of a chicken to outright say no I don't want to that, that this week I'll be going to two which are the closest to the flat. I never stand up for myself or the people that I care about. I can never make my voice heard. and its not that there isn't a voice. Its not like I don't have opinions and probably snooty ones at that. I do. I can be perfectly obnoxious in my own right. That part of me though remains hidden away from 99% of people, ironically only the people I know best get to see the worst parts of my character. Even with them though I'd twist myself out of shape to do what I think I have to for them. Especially my brother and my best friend. They didn't ask me to do this. My brother constantly tells me he doesn't want me or need me to do this but I can't for the life of me turn off that need to make myself useful, to fit in and to stay quiet because only the people that are important get to speak. Only the people that matter get to need. Only the people that are relevant get to decide. My job is to serve. My job is to do whatever is required, whether I'm able or willing to. My job is to stop being selfish and always put other people first. Such a crazy idea to build a prison for yourself and yet resent other people for forcing you to it. But I do. There's a part of me that really resents other people and it burns as bright as the part that loathes myself. And I know I'm never going to be free of it.
Change is an abstract idea and thats all at then end of the day. All we have are different grades of the same. Which is what really sparked off this latest explosion. My parents 36th wedding anniversay. 36 years of misery, resentment, verbal abuse, mistrust and not one ounce of change. And look at me I'll be 31 this year and I still react to them in the same way I always have, deference. Which is how I react to everyone. I lower myself. I can't be in a room with anyone no matter how much younger or older and not feel those panicked twinges of inferiority. Nearly thirteen years since I left high school and I still wake up in that same stomach churning, indigestion inducing state of anxiety. The world is just one large day at school. And everyone else are the nameless, faceless bullies that are just waiting to drag me down. Over a decade and I can't shake the way I look at the world. It's not as if I'm oblivious to the fact that there are good people in the world. I have my best friend, my brother, other friends and people I've become very close to on sites like Twitter. So why can't I shake it. Why can't I give myself and other people a chance? And why do I keep on blaming everyone else for something that only I am causing. I need to learn to be friends with people without injecting myself so deeply into their lives. Its not that I don't like helping it's just that I can't, not now at least. It's too much. I need a bit of peace and quiet to focus on myself, to try and figure out what I'm supposed to be doing and I can't do that if I'm constantly running after everyone else. I need to learn distance, boundaries. I need to learn that people won't automatically abandon me if I'm not at their beck and call 24/7. I wonder if I'll ever learn to cut myself any slack. I wonder if I'll ever make any meaningful progress, instead of just making the same old mistakes over and over. I'd really like a little change. I really hope I'm wrong and that its a possibility.
At the end of the day the part I'm struggling with the most is the idea of "change" and whether or not its possible. everything when it comes to the anxiety and depression is so much about denial and distraction. Very little is to do with dealing with anything, resolving anything, understanding anything. Is change even possible? Not from the people I know in my ife it seems, not from me for sure. At the moment it's all keep busy, go to the gym, take classes at night, hang out with friends. All in an effort to fill up the space in your head, to keep you so focused on everything else there's no time to wander into that old familiar room in your mind. I hate being busy though. I really despise it. What does it achieve? It leaves me drained and dreading the start of the next week. So at the weekends I get sucked back down the drain because I don't have the energy left to keep the smoke and mirrors going. I have to live it. And its still there, still as strong. So it uses me as a punching bag, keeping me awake, taunting me, extracting every ounce of self respect and worth I have. Every last drop of energy is evaporated. I'm trying to care about me, the flat, something...anything really but I can't. I don't have anything to anchor on to at this point. I'm going through the motions. I only manage to keep the flat tidy if someone is coming to visit or stay. I'm still not putting any energy into looking after myself, everytime I do I become so self-concious it leads to a day long series of panic attacks. My mind just goes into over drive on me. Every glance, every laugh is all at my expense and that little voice upstairs wallows gleefully in the cess pit that it has created. After all who am I to think that I can pull of normality. It's ridiculous to think that I could look anything less than profoundly hideous and a laughably shambolic impersonation of a real person. And it is so crystal clear to every other member of the public that they can't help but glare with derision and pity. I just want to reach inside of me and rip all the cowardice, the malice and uncertainty out. I want to gut myself like a fish. Make everything nice and clean. But I can't and I don't do any of it. All I do is push things down a little deeper and top it off with food. And I follow along ever so passively and accomodatingly to the people at the CMHT doing what I'm told even if i don't want to. for instance the fitness classes. I am too much of a chicken to outright say no I don't want to that, that this week I'll be going to two which are the closest to the flat. I never stand up for myself or the people that I care about. I can never make my voice heard. and its not that there isn't a voice. Its not like I don't have opinions and probably snooty ones at that. I do. I can be perfectly obnoxious in my own right. That part of me though remains hidden away from 99% of people, ironically only the people I know best get to see the worst parts of my character. Even with them though I'd twist myself out of shape to do what I think I have to for them. Especially my brother and my best friend. They didn't ask me to do this. My brother constantly tells me he doesn't want me or need me to do this but I can't for the life of me turn off that need to make myself useful, to fit in and to stay quiet because only the people that are important get to speak. Only the people that matter get to need. Only the people that are relevant get to decide. My job is to serve. My job is to do whatever is required, whether I'm able or willing to. My job is to stop being selfish and always put other people first. Such a crazy idea to build a prison for yourself and yet resent other people for forcing you to it. But I do. There's a part of me that really resents other people and it burns as bright as the part that loathes myself. And I know I'm never going to be free of it.
Change is an abstract idea and thats all at then end of the day. All we have are different grades of the same. Which is what really sparked off this latest explosion. My parents 36th wedding anniversay. 36 years of misery, resentment, verbal abuse, mistrust and not one ounce of change. And look at me I'll be 31 this year and I still react to them in the same way I always have, deference. Which is how I react to everyone. I lower myself. I can't be in a room with anyone no matter how much younger or older and not feel those panicked twinges of inferiority. Nearly thirteen years since I left high school and I still wake up in that same stomach churning, indigestion inducing state of anxiety. The world is just one large day at school. And everyone else are the nameless, faceless bullies that are just waiting to drag me down. Over a decade and I can't shake the way I look at the world. It's not as if I'm oblivious to the fact that there are good people in the world. I have my best friend, my brother, other friends and people I've become very close to on sites like Twitter. So why can't I shake it. Why can't I give myself and other people a chance? And why do I keep on blaming everyone else for something that only I am causing. I need to learn to be friends with people without injecting myself so deeply into their lives. Its not that I don't like helping it's just that I can't, not now at least. It's too much. I need a bit of peace and quiet to focus on myself, to try and figure out what I'm supposed to be doing and I can't do that if I'm constantly running after everyone else. I need to learn distance, boundaries. I need to learn that people won't automatically abandon me if I'm not at their beck and call 24/7. I wonder if I'll ever learn to cut myself any slack. I wonder if I'll ever make any meaningful progress, instead of just making the same old mistakes over and over. I'd really like a little change. I really hope I'm wrong and that its a possibility.
Monday, 6 June 2011
Sunday Brain Strain
The last few days my head has been swirling with all sorts of nonsense so I'm going to try and exorcise them from my grey matter. The usual negative diatribe of course was front and centre. And one or two issues from earlier in the week keep gnawing at me. Like the frustration I felt finally getting to the bank after 3 cancelled appointments to find out none of what my homemaker promised we could do could be done. And I ended up no further along and £50 lighter. The thing that I have been ruminating over the most however is my last meeting with my SW. It was a little strange. We didn't do anything apart from drive about. That's not the strange part however. It was that she was chatting away to me about her home life and actually acknowledged their had been a role reversal.
Usually she talks a lot about her kids etc. And I figured she must do this with everyone of her clients, must be her way of connecting with them and giving them examples that they're not alone. Apparently not though. Apparently I have the great honour of being her sounding board. And I have to be honest I'm not great at it. I think its because after almost 2 years seeing her I'm still pretty much all but mute and I guess there is just a lot of dead air to fill. I've mentioned before the way she treats me bothers me somewhat. She treats me more like a daughter a lot of the time than a client. And I find that hard to deal with. I don't even have the energy or ability to be there for the people I already care about a lot and its just added another one to the pile. Yay for more guilt. It means that I absolutely dont want to let her down and wouldn't dream of telling my Psychologist when things get uncomfortable for me.
And it also means I feel unable to tell her to her face if things are getting uncomfortable and I wish I could. She keeps telling me that it won't hurt her feelings but I don't believe her. And I especially couldn't have done it that days as she was particularly worried about one of her kids. Whom apparently was verging into my territory. She was obvioulsy worried but she had the strangest attitude toward it considering her line of work. She was adamant that despite the incident that occurred she wansnt going to go down the path of talking to the GP or other MH professionals about it. She didn't want her kid to go down the same route as me and she asked when my problems has started. And it was obvious that her kid being like me was her worst nightmare. And I still don't know how I feel about that. I guess I'm mad. I'd like to think I have some positive qualities despite my problems. Not that I'd be able to admit any but I do hope that there's something of worth in me. And I'm mad too that if there is a problem she'd rather pretend everything was okay instead of maybe getting her kid help. It makes me wonder what stock any of these people at the CMHT actually put in their work. If they don't believe in it, how can I?
Usually she talks a lot about her kids etc. And I figured she must do this with everyone of her clients, must be her way of connecting with them and giving them examples that they're not alone. Apparently not though. Apparently I have the great honour of being her sounding board. And I have to be honest I'm not great at it. I think its because after almost 2 years seeing her I'm still pretty much all but mute and I guess there is just a lot of dead air to fill. I've mentioned before the way she treats me bothers me somewhat. She treats me more like a daughter a lot of the time than a client. And I find that hard to deal with. I don't even have the energy or ability to be there for the people I already care about a lot and its just added another one to the pile. Yay for more guilt. It means that I absolutely dont want to let her down and wouldn't dream of telling my Psychologist when things get uncomfortable for me.
And it also means I feel unable to tell her to her face if things are getting uncomfortable and I wish I could. She keeps telling me that it won't hurt her feelings but I don't believe her. And I especially couldn't have done it that days as she was particularly worried about one of her kids. Whom apparently was verging into my territory. She was obvioulsy worried but she had the strangest attitude toward it considering her line of work. She was adamant that despite the incident that occurred she wansnt going to go down the path of talking to the GP or other MH professionals about it. She didn't want her kid to go down the same route as me and she asked when my problems has started. And it was obvious that her kid being like me was her worst nightmare. And I still don't know how I feel about that. I guess I'm mad. I'd like to think I have some positive qualities despite my problems. Not that I'd be able to admit any but I do hope that there's something of worth in me. And I'm mad too that if there is a problem she'd rather pretend everything was okay instead of maybe getting her kid help. It makes me wonder what stock any of these people at the CMHT actually put in their work. If they don't believe in it, how can I?
Wednesday, 25 May 2011
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.
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.
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