annanotbob2's Diaryland Diary


Jan 3rd

I'm really, really, really tired after a day which involved several panic attacks. Gonna get it down though, have to remember how I made it through or it all flows away.

I signed up to do a month of "Yoga with Adrien" on youtube so got up at stupid o'fucking clock and did 45 minutes of that with the dog whimpering at the door. I won't do it again, I don't think - I'm doing enough. Too hard, and I don't like doing poses I don't know without someone to tell me if I'm all wrong. Breakfast then off to the recovery centre for the art group. Dog in her bed in the car for walk after with Sister-In-Law.

Art group was really busy, full in fact, just one chair left for me, between two people I didn't know, very noisy, lots of conversations going at once. In no time I was whirly, sweaty, palpitations, blah blah blah. I thought I was dying till I remembered it was probably a panic attack and took myself to the room next door with my paints and an illustrated book about Paul Klee that had been on the table. It took me ages to regain my equilibrium - I kept doing breathing, and being there - you know - what can I feel with my body? The chair, the air, etc. What can I hear? All that kind of thing, but it didn't really stop till I admitted to myself that it was worry about SIL.

What was she going to be like? Had she been avoiding me? Was I forcing myself on her? Once I sussed that, I was able to ask myself what was the worst that could happen and the answer was her not wanting to see me any more, which would make me sad, but wouldn't kill me, and anyway I knew it was almost certainly not going to be the case and then, finally, I was OK and settled down and did a copy of a Klee painting on paper that was too thin and buckled when wet but never mind. A couple of people I knew came in to see how I was and chat and reassure me it was OK to not be able to cope with the group.

I went to the deli to pick up some lunch before going to SIL's as I felt very aware that I'd always let her provide lunch, and had another wobbler while waiting for my order to be made up. I talked myself round a bit faster that time and when I got to SIL's it was all absolutely fine, same as it's always been. She said she'd over-stretched herself during the holidays, been far busier than she liked and she'd found it all very stressful, especially without my brother (her husband) and Sam, her much loved niece. Glad to be out the other side. She was just as she is, scatty, friendly, caring, hadn't looked at her phone for days, hadn't had whatsapp turned on at all - that's how I phone her as I have no signal at home.

So we had lunch then set off for the woods with the dogs. I had to tell her how upset I'd been but was careful to explain it in terms of me and my mental health, drifting back into irrational thinking - there's a name I can't remember for all those mad thoughts, like thinking everyone will hate you when they find out what you're really like. She's a retired educational psychologist so she knows what I'm on about and was concerned that I'd been struggling with it, but didn't feel responsible in any way - which she's not - I should know she's crap with the phone by now and I should know that she's my sister and she loves me. She mentioned a bit later that she's only seen her actual sister once since September - ach it was all a product of my unwell, exhausted mind. I'd let it be a focus of all my angst and felt totally crap, but hey, I managed it all right in the end. I made myself text her on Wednesday, being just friendly and normal although I didn't feel it. Today I was measured and honest, not wild and accusatory, which was what I felt like. Now we're all good and she doesn't really know that we weren't and how close I came to... I dunno, something awful. Phew. I am quite a well-behaved mental person.

So we walked in the woods, three miles, and the dogs frolicked and chased about and wore each other out.

On the way home I went to the Post Office as I've been harbouring a package that needed posting to Chile. Por una amiga. I'd wrapped it up and stuck it down with this reel of sellotape that was god knows how old - I couldn't find my current one. By the time I got to the PO, the edges were coming unstuck and I knew it wouldn't make it all the way over there without falling apart so I bought a new reel. But. When you don't have scissors, you bite the sellotape into pieces, don't you? And when you have false teeth, this is fucking ambitious, more so when you have a dog on a lead that you're trying to hold onto while she's trying to lick a toddler in a buggy. It all went mad, I got great long strands of tape all tangled up, stuck in my hair, the dog's lead all round my legs, tight, I was too hot with my outdoor coat on in this over-heated place and I lost it, I really fucking lost it. Then the guy couldn't find Chile on his computer programme and he started getting agitated and there was a big queue forming behind me and the toddler was crying by now as she wanted Shirley to leave her alone... but I persevered because the parcel Was Going To Get Posted and now I think it might have been better to come home and rewrap it as it's a right fucking mess with miles of tape wound round and round, but it's done and I didn't cry till I was outside. So yay, go me.

Got home, got into a big fight with Bloke, went to bed, got up, made a bit of half-arsed peace, watched telly, blogged, going to bed now, busy day tomorrow.

I am grateful for: having done the recovery programme so I can recognise shit and know how to deal with it, even if I can't stop it happening; woods to walk in; dogs to walk with; fish pie, made by Bloke for dinner; early night now.

Night night xxx

11:26 p.m. - 03.01.20


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