annanotbob2's Diaryland Diary
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Brave
- I've gone straight to anger about Poolie dying, all kinds of furious thoughts jumping around in my head, but I won't commit them to the internet until I'm less likely to be irrational. But fuck, just fuck.
- Yesterday I went with an internet pal I'd never met before to the beach where all the local sea glass washes up.
We got along pretty well, both into knitting and walking dogs as well as picking up litter and weird stuff
Look at the size of some of that sea glass! And I loved the rusty curly bit of metal. - It was also good to visit the woman from the recovery group in the afternoon - all of this was before I knew that Paula had died - and be with someone I like, want to know better, and who had very low expectations of any social skills from me. She lives on top of the hill where a bridge over the bypass begins, so I thought I'd walk across it before driving off, to enjoy the view. I got less than half way over and had a total panic attack - it felt so insecure, my heart was pounding, rushing in my ears, dizzy, and I knew it would all collapse under my weight. But I couldn't turn round. It felt like walking a tightrope, as if I had to keep walking straight ahead without stopping or - well, there was no imagining the alternative, I just had to keep walking. And then I was on the other side of the fucking bridge, on my own, panting and crying and feeling like a grade A cunt, contemplating calling Bloke and asking him to come and fetch me and drive me back to my car. But I kept on walking, along the ridge, overlooking the river, the sunset, the bypass... and breathe, in and out... and knowing that I could call Bloke if I couldn't manage it, I crept back across and even took a photo in the middle:
so there were good things and bad things there. I haven't had a panic like that for ages, awful, awful. But I did talk myself back. I think a massive part of it was knowing I had a choice so I could do a step at a time, taking the pressure off. And I knew that I'd already done two brave things that day (socialising) and that I knew Paula would be leaving us soon, very soon, and it was high and windy and noisy, so to not give myself too much of a hard time.4. Today I went to an exhibition in the library of photos from a facebook page I'm on and met the photographer and artist who founded the page, and fucking chatted to them! Go me, I am Mrs Chit Chat, talk to anyone. I told the woman I had sold paintings in the mental health recovery centre, as part of the artists' open houses in the festival. Part boasty, part getting the mental health out there so I don't have to pretend to be normal. She was really cool. Then I walked along the beach as the sun went down and the starlings did their thing. They've swapped piers so now you can get closer, a bit immersive:
5.Trump can fuck right off with his stupid comments about our health service.
I am grateful for: my physical health; my phone's camera; the internet for bringing far off people so close into my life that I'm devastated when they die; art group tomorrow (shit, I forgot the hospice carers' art group again today); having strategies to deal with panic and to understand why and all that
Night night xxx
12:18 a.m. - 06.02.18
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