annanotbob2's Diaryland Diary


Day 147

Today has been really fucking hard and I don't know why.

I did the writing group - the zoom aspect was OK, the three regulars turned up, we all wrote, but I had nothing to say so we finished five minutes early and I panicked and just had to go. I think the writing bit was OK. We started with writing about our names, which they didn't look impressed with as an idea, but then all came up with interesting, different stuff and their faces changed. I remembered and wrote about the most excruciating thing that happened with my name. I was sixteen, my boyfriend, Danny, had just dumped me, but both he and I and a load of our mates had tickets to see Johnny Winter, so we all went. There was a girl called Hannah who'd always been after Danny and at the gig she got the DJ to play a song and dedicated it to him. The DJ dropped the H from her name and said, "This is for Danny, from 'annah - she'll always love you!" NOOOOO! I was livid, as was she, but I didn't give a fuck about her. I would not then nor ever do such a thing when I'd been dumped, Jesus.

Then I gave them two minutes to make a list of events connected with the beach, any beach, beaches in general, choose one and ten minutes to write it up. That was good too - we're all very different and came at it from wildly different perspectives. But we'd finished then and I was knackered.

I'd forgotten about Friday art and should have said I was too tired, but I'm too foolish for that so I sat and tried to improve the Gauguin painting I did the other day:01D4B805-45A9-43B6-99DE-F859663D0F52

I need to sort out the faces but I'm scared I'll make them worse.

Bed, doze (aka play on phone), beach, swim:E7E27240-83D7-47A4-8ADB-AF4CCD80BB87

It was really fucking hot all day and it still is, oppressively so now, as the humidity has shot up, storm on its way I hope. I was so fucking tired I could hardly drag myself up the beach to the car. But I did, and followed it with a yoga nidra (deep relaxation) live streamed from the Natural Health Centre, which kept making me cry - every time I started to really loosen up, big, convulsive sobs would come, but only briefly, then I'd stop, and round and round, again and again. I did get into it in the end and fell into a good place, at which point I'd have gone to bed if I had more sense, but as you see, here I am at almost 1 am, moaning about being tired.

I feel really distressed about Son. New tenants have moved into the upstairs flat and the guy beats the woman. He definitely did once so Son called the police, and he's not sure what's happening now but there's shouting and bangs and thumps. When Son was less than a year old his father beat the shit out of me, broken bones. Son was in the next room and heard it all but didn't have any language, so he doesn't remember it but the violence now triggers him. He says he didn't know what trigger meant until this. Bang - straight into a bad place. He's dealing with it - he's a 12 stepper so has support and strategies, but it's the last fucking straw. I hate it. And it was all so long ago - 1985 - 35 years ago. Me and his dad have managed to arrive at a place of civility, even affection - his was the hug after Sam's funeral that broke me - but this violent assault was real and had consequences, not just for me but for all my children too.


1:00 a.m. - 08.08.20


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