annanotbob2's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Just take the pills I think what's driving me so crazy about this upcoming medical is that what's required is to tell my story and I've been getting the focus all wrong. I've either been looking at it in too much close up: Question - How am I doing? Answer - Rubbish, you're still sitting up in bed like you have been for hours. But I'm not usually like this, am I? That leads me to thinking about what 'usually' is and why I'm not like that now, and off I go remembering all the shit, either through a lens of 'it's all my fault (bad decisions, laziness, inadequacy, over-reaching)' or 'it all just happened (poor me)'. Neither of these are much good. They're too subjective, too emotive, and both plunge me into turmoil. Guilt vs victimhood? Nah, neither thanks. The truth (well, this evening's truth), is that I've only been in a real state for a few days, but part of the horror is that it always seems timeless when I'm in it. I know that I've been capable of all sorts of things very recently, have indeed done plenty and achieved much, but I can't believe it with my feelings. I can't connect with that person - reading blog posts written when I felt good is just harrowing as all I can feel is grief for the loss of that Action Notbob. Bub there is a part that does know this will pass and I'm using that part now to write it down. It's quite a juggling act, with the old inner critic - the part that looks at my use of language has to be silenced or I'd never get it finished, whereas I need the bit that sits on my emotions or I won't even get started. Anyway, I realise that the story I need to tell is just these last few months, maybe this last year (OK, maybe a two sentence summary of my life to this starting point), whatever, when I look at it like that I can see that I've been doing brilliantly actually, but having to move house was the straw that has temporarily broken this camel's back (partly because I've not been looking after ED properly since I started to seriously search for a flat - the only time I have forced myself up there I was useless, just a quivering mass of anxiety, so I can't help feeling distressed about that). I just need a bit more time (and a clear run ahead, universe, ya hear me?). I also managed to COMPLETELY FORGET that the doc gave me new tranquilisers, or anti-anxiety pills, or something - they're trying to stop prescribing valium, boo hoo - what is going on that I've let myself drift so far into the pit when there was a lifeline all the time? So I took two today, just to be on the safe side, which was actually too much but gave a nice downery buzz leading to me washing the fucking floor for the first time. Bloke had come round and started doing the washing up, which inspired me. I have to say, kudos to Bloke. It was good to have a few hours being awake and not giving a shit. It seems to have given my mind a bit of time to catch up. Yesterday I went for dinner at Sis's. She'd been giving her pregnant daughter's partner cooking lessons and invited her whole family round to eat the results. There were eight of us round the table; I was in the middle of one of the sides, surrounded, but in a good way. I wasn't really able to join in (it had all gone a bit 'radio voices'), but they just take that in their stride and I did manage to throw in a few open-ended questions. Sis is similar to Bloke in that they don't do listening but like to show their care in practical ways, which both have done these last couple of days, and which I truly appreciate. So that's me, right here, right now. Grateful for: kindness; central heating; radio; return of d'land; almost spring. sweet dreams xxx 10:32 p.m. - 05.03.12 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
||||||