Saturday, 27 December 2008
This is the second rubber duck I have been bought, and I'm feeling a collection coming on. Pirate duck and Lulu Guiness Love-Hate duck are the beginning of something new...
I hope everyone else is bearing up ok, and I will provide duck pictures soon.
Friday, 19 December 2008
Preferably with a bottle of vodka, but some cereal and a fag might serve as a suitable replacement.
Dr. Bill Oddie tomorrow, and back to work on Monday. Eeeek.
I am much better than I was. I just hope I'm not tempting fate by trying to cram my placement in before March - I haven't got a choice though. Otherwise I have to find the money to support myself for 6 months and rejoin the course in September.
Hopefully that can still be a fallback plan if I right royally fuck it up.
Hmmm. That fag won't roll itself.
Monday, 15 December 2008
Rather, it is hurled at you repeatedly by "life" until you find yourself up to your neck in the stuff. Sometimes, if you're lucky, some kind soul will help you dig your way out, but to be honest what is the point?
Why do I constantly swim against an unforgiving tide, where every ounce of energy is sucked out of me, just to keep my head above water.
I'm not a survivor. If I was in a zombie scenario, I'd take that gun and shoot myself in the head. I don't have the physical or mental strength to keep fighting it. I also don't have the strength to end it. I meander on through life, not really going anywhere or acheiving anything, yet not I'm ill enough to be blissfully ignorant. Instead I'm tormented by my own failures, I'm bitter, cynical and unkind. If I'm in a bad mood, I reserve the right to take it out on anyone who dares to be cheerful.
I am not a nice person. I am not interesting or intelligent. I am not a beautiful unique snowflake. I am a nasty girl who holds grudges and wallows in self pity, and no amount of medication is going to change that.
I tell you what I want. I want a home that is mine, that isn't going to be taken away from me, and where people don't turn the heat up on the tumbledryer and shrink my favourite jumper. I want to curl up with a book in the evenings without my housemates piercing laughter or the sound of the latest Akon CD pumping through my head. I want to do what I like, and sometimes it would be nice to leave a coffee cup on the side without complaints. I want to interact with people that I like on my days off, instead of people I have to live with, and I want my housemate to stop shoving his latest culinary work of art under my nose. I want more space than my 9 x 7 foot room, and I want to do something in my life which I enjoy, and hiding under the duvet is not a very fulfilling hobby.
I want my Nan home for Christmas.
I want to know that if I have a baby, I won't relapse and have it taken away from me. I want to know that I could be a good mother, and I want to believe that just because the world is so materialistic, I don't have to be. Time to grow my own food, make my own living, and the space in which to do so.
Tuesday, 9 December 2008
AbsentUncle has taken over the selling of Nan's house, and is keen for her to go into residential care. I think that is the best route too. I think. I've done a bit of care home searching, hopefully we can get her into one near my Mum's in Basildon.
This is a huge relief, and I need to stop being a paranoid bitch, and finding elements of "ain't-I-the-martyr" in his voice. I'm really not a very nice person right now.
Right. Clear head, get uni over and done with, then shimmy over to the hospital to see Nan. Perfect. Sorted. Done.
What's life going to throw at me next?
Shall we have a poll, or just throw some random answers out there?
I'm voting on developing an allergy to yogurt, leaving me without my main safe food. Now there's an unthinkable disaster just waiting to happen. I might actually be more scared of this than I am of someone dying on top of me during sex. Yes. That freaks me out, ok?
Monday, 8 December 2008
This was a comment for the inspiring Seaneen (Secret Life of a Manic Depressive), but it reminded me of how my comments are often better written than my actual posts, as there is a much higher chance of someone reading them, and they are more focused on a subject or point. I thought I'd post this here as a reminder of how I would like my writing to be, as opposed to the usual distressed venting.
Oh, the joys of Christmas, the great eating festival. As an agnostic I find the whole event extremely annoying, but I try to pull on the Pagan and Norse parts of this time of year. My Christmas presents are also awful (”Make your own!” says counsellor. Huh? Really? From under the duvet?), and my Nan, who brought me up, is in hospital and barely recognises me. I’d give anything to skip the whole thing.
On the subject of privilege, your post pretty much reflects on how I beat myself around the head with the “Come on, it could be worse” baton. I, like you, have a roof over my head, and food in the cupboard. Things are tight, but when I’m well-ish, I can manage, and my Connexions PA helps me sort out the backlog from when I’m very unwell. To be honest though, we aren’t really living on our respective pitance. We are surviving. Shrink suggests I take up swimming again. He doesn’t understand that there is no money to spare, unless I give up eating altogether.
This is become rather a rambling comment, but f*ck it.
The worst part of Christmas? Visiting my Dad. Going out for a meal or two, and watching a month’s rent being blown on food and drink. Sometimes they tip more than I have to spend on food in a week. I’m proud to be independant, but sometimes I wish he could see how I live compared to him. I want him to appreciate how privileged he actually is, but also that I’d rather have more time when I am well, than any amount of money.
Cause and effect.
Insert another theory here, then remember that they are only that.
Boyfriend is unhappy. He is unhappy with uni, unsure about whether to continue, unconvinced that the next five months will be enough to gain a degree which will reflect the work he has done. I don't know what to say, except that I love him just as he is. Whatever he wants to do, I fully support him in that, and will sacrifice whatever we have to so that he can be happy. Making him happy is one of the few things that makes me happy, and if something makes him sad then I want to fight it, tooth and claw, for daring to hurt him.
Sometimes I wonder why I can't love myself as much as I love him. Why can't I apply the same way of thinking to me? My counsellor says this to me - it's a bit "inner child" centered for my liking but she has a point. If I met a 10 year old girl who had been beaten up by her classmates, I would want to protect her, help her, give her a big hug and let her cry on my shoulder. Yet, I spend most of my time hurling abuse at myself as a 10 year old for not standing up and fighting. For being weak, pathetic, a loser. For lying down and taking it.
I'm trying to be a bit nicer to my "inner child". I don't like that word. I don't know how else to describe her right now, but as much as I hate to admit it, that stage of my life is still a big part of how I am now. I can't just wallpaper over the cracks and pretend it never happened. I'm also concerned that me being so low may have put extra stress onto Boyfriend, as well as his workload.
Boyfriend's concern over his degree is making me think about mine. I love my work placements, although I do find the social situation of university and also in working as part of a nursing team quite stressful. I find it hard to let anyone get too close. The more they know, the more they have to use against you.
I just spoke to my Dad. There's a nice big puddle forming on my keyboard, and I'm so angry. I hate this. I had to tell him my Nan is ill, and that I might be leaving uni for a while to go and look after her. He says I shouldn't have to deal with it, but if I don't then who else will? I can't trust anyone to look after her properly, and she can't care for herself now. I can't afford to pay for a decent residential care home, and the current property market has made it almost impossible to sell her house.
I want to bury my head in the sand, but there's a distinct lack of beaches in Dagenham, and the idea of a small child finding my corpse in their sandpit makes me cringe and giggle simultaneously. F*cking morbid, eh?
Sunday, 7 December 2008
She was much more "with it" when I visited yesterday, seemed brighter but still quite confused. Apparently she threatened to hit my mum when I snuck out for a fag though, and between stifling giggles I had this big flashing DEMENTIA sign illuminating my tired brain with all the colours of the rainbow.
The second-to-last thing I want to do is go back to Bleakness-On-Sea and live in the ghost town of bungalows again. They haven't got a pub.
The last thing I want to do is leave Nan on her own.
I'm not even sure that I could look after her. It would just be until we could sell her house and get her into residential care, but with the current housing market, plus having to take a gap from uni, and then find a new place to live afterwards.... Fuck it. Mainly, I don't want to watch her deteriorate.
I've been restricting less this week, and I haven't purged in about a month. I say restricting less, I think it just seems like that because now I have a mini-binge once a day instead of thinly spreading out the calories.
I can't think straight.
Monday, 1 December 2008
I forgot what an excellent release they actually are. The council tax office couldn't talk to me and Connexions PA, because they're computer system was down. Therefore, Connexions PA wrote a very official letter, which basically boiled down to "stop harassing GG, you bastards". She is great, really. She helps me with all the forms and bills that I've been hiding under my bed for the last few months. Actually, there are a lot of things which have been building up since the fire. I just can't deal with it all.
She also agrees with my opinion that Shrink is hopeless. I've seen my medical records [advice: don't leave the projector on, Shrink. It puts all my notes onto your magnolia walls in large print easy to read letters. Yes, mentals can read too!], and they are very basic. They miss out a lot of key stuff, and if I left notes like that, I'd be in deep sh*t. Plus, even though I've been under his care for nearly a year, I first saw him 4 months ago. In this time he has never adjusted or even discussed my medication, contacted my GP, or arranged a referral to Psychotherapies or any other service, despite saying he would.
Basically, my medications are managed solely by my GP, who luckily has been on anti-depressants and is relatively knowledgeable, compared to your average Doc. Counsellor looks after my mind, checks out my suicidality [is that a word???], and makes sure I'm not slitting my wrists or starving myself to death. Connexions PA keeps my finances afloat and the bailiff-wolves at bay.
I'm pretty well at the moment. My drinking has increased, but so has my eating, I'm pretty clean and this evening I cooked. I've been to both my exams so far, and today I almost finished my Christmas shopping. I'm in a right muddle at the moment because the impulse-buy wrapping paper doesn't match the gift bags, but I've found the perfect one, so I'm going to pop into Poundland after I see Counsellor tomorrow, and negotiate an exchange.
The gift bags are gorgeous, and will hopefully make up for the budget pressies.
I found the perfect card for Boyfriend, and a gorgeous pressie for a friend of mine. I think she needs some cheering up at the moment, and she looked after me last week when I was down. She bought me a toy kitty-cat :)
I might go back and get a couple of bits I saw for my two nieces, I'd like to be able to get them something so if I'm careful with the food budget I should be able to get them a little pressie each.
I <3>Venlafaxine. Please, please don't desert me like Fluoxetine did.
At least most of the Christmas shopping is done now, I just need to work out what to buy for my step dad. Oh, and whether to make my own Christmas cards, or just buy them?
I'm tormenting myself over whether or not to look at some cheap studio flats, or just stay put until Boyfriend comes home in May. I think that's a better idea...
I have to talk to the council tax office again today, but the chances of me handling this calmly and rationally are pretty low. Cue GG effing and blinding down the phone at a quivering call centre employee.