Can’t think of a title 

Someone got me good the other day, real good. In my therapy group one member brought up a subject (referring specifically to me) that’s been brought up loads of times in the past. One that I’ve spoken about myself. Maybe it was because of who said it, though I can’t figure out why. Maybe it was the immediate circumstances, or the topic that led to it, or my state of mind. I don’t know. Whatever it was doesn’t matter right now. What matters is how the fuck do I deal with it. 

It was a challenge, in every sense of the word. I can’t hear myself someplace at the back of my mind shouting ‘it’s what I need’ I got quite upset, for a moment and steered away to avoid crying, it’s bonkers that that’s still a big problem. But that’s another story, or is it. Although I felt and was very calm, I did my best to stay present and keep listening while people continued to critique me. My voice wavered just before I almost cried. My chest was tight with emotions and my vision narrowed. I’m sure that it was written all over my face and I could feel the sympathy eminating from others, couldn’t meet their eyes, only the eyes of the facilitator, and the person who raised the original point. They did not look back at me. 

As I write I’m making more connections between them and my mother, which would go a long way to describing why it hit me so hard. Right now I want to hit them, hard. 

I’m terrified of having been institutionalised, by the backwards thinking self serving government, by my actually severely ill but despirate for attention so will make herself ill mother, by schools, society, the whole fucking lot. But mostly by my parents, both of them are equally responsible, just as I am not responsible for what happened to me as a child. Nor for what happened to my siblings either. 

I have worked so fucking hard to not be them. And every time I think maybe I’ve made it, I realise that no I haven’t. I’ve just hit another wall. I am not responsible for then, but I am responsible for now. 

I am responsible for shaking off that bullshit they saddled me with, that’s kept me down and behind my whole damn life. I have to stop being like them, stop being scared of not being ill, stop being scare to take chances. I am not sick. But I am damaged, and that I need to repair. I can’t tell my sister that the only reason I don’t end my life is because I don’t want to hurt her. She’ll probably, hopefully, never read this but if you do, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t  couldn’t protect us all, I’m sorry you got hurt. And I’m sorry our brother got hurt. I failed. I failed to protect you, and now you don’t need me. I have no purpose. And I really need to find my purpose or I can’t go on. I’m trying to come to terms with the idea that it make take me time to realise what the fuck it is. Trying to get comfortable with the idea of just being okay to soldier on and be patient while I figure that out. And with trying to figure out if I actually want to keep living. Coz right now, it doesn’t appeal. 

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Why so difficult?

If you’re a Farscape fan that question will be familiar to you, if you remember the episode. In it are a couple of bumbling characters that ask that, a lot, and it annoyed me loads. Though mainly because an arsehole ex and their sex pest flatmate took to saying it, Fucking Loads, after seeing the episode in question. Urgh, I wanted to punch the pair of them (and not just because of that!)

Recently its been popping into my head periodically. Life is difficult, its always been difficult. I perhaps naively thought that things would ease off the further I got with my therapy and self improvement. But no, it just changes into a different flavour of difficult. People are still fucking horrible, the government still lies cheats and steals from those that need help, age insists on proceeding and making its presence known by affecting the health of both oneself and loved ones. Habits and patterns are hard to break, and even with the greatest will and honest desire it can be tortuous to move away from unhealthy behaviours and thoughts. A huge desire to be different doesn’t automatically make one different. Old worn in behaviours, things that depress, anger, agitate and even harm remain strong and can after years of work still override new, healthier, choices.

If things were difficult before my word they’re sure as fuck difficult now. When you’re exhausted, you’re vulnerable, you’re tired of fighting, tired of feeling like a worthless piece of shit. Thats when those old habits just come sweeping in, wiping away any positive feelings. Making it so very hard to practice ones newer more caring actions, the things you know have the power to improve mood, self caring self loving self affirming actions that can stop a depressive slump in its tracks. Or blocking that pathway that allows you to recognise and appreciate the positive things and achievements.

Why, why is the self destructing bullshit so fucking strong despite all the hard work and determination to move into a ‘better’ way of living. Why does depression come along and remove all impetus to do that one thing that would make things feel less awful, or at the least stop things from getting worse. But no, depression loves itself and encourages everything that feeds it. Anger feeds it, ill health feeds it, relentless outside forces feed it. Repeating old patters, despite so much effort to change….  but why? It really cant only be because even though life has been hellish, its what i’ve always known and therefore a ‘safe’ if extremely painful place to be. It cant be just because I was conditioned to hate and disrespect myself. So why is it so hard to see, recognise and be proud of my achievements. Why do I cling onto things that make my chest tight with stress, my jaw hurt and migraines aplenty. Things that I fixate on because I feel powerless to deal with them. Other things that I cant deal with because I haven’t had a good nights sleep in over 30 years (slight exaggeration, I’ve had about 3 or 4 good nights since around 1984) There are things i can do to help, that will ease off some of the stress, that will help me to cope. There are ways of thinking that would improve my mood and make it easier to handle those lovely little surprises life likes to throw our way. Small things. Big things. Easy things. Except they’re not easy when you’re wired to suffer. Its not easy to feel the contentment of success, or love and friendship, or reached goals. And with the literal years of therapy and commitment to becoming my own person, its still fucking difficult to just be a human being let alone a productive and happy one.

How many times can life kick me down before I just stop getting up again? And will I ever discover my raison d’etre? Because without that all this hard work is utterly worthless. I would really like to be making long blog posts about happy things, about things that I have succeeded in, about goals that I’ve reached or surpassed. Its not like those things dont exist, they do, but i’m stuck dwelling on the things that didnt work out. The stuff that I wish I could stop doing, things I wish I could forget, feelings I dont want to feel anymore. It just wont go away. Where is my peace? where is my reward for steering away from what I could have become? Where is that thing I dreamed of as a child, a life where I wasnt constantly afraid, angry, depressed and desperate for it all to simply stop. I still dont have a reason to keep going. I dont know why I am putting so much effort into changing myself. I dont understand why its all so fucking relentlessly difficult. Nor why I find it so hard to not be a miserable negative wanker.

Representation & My Search For the 13th Doctor of Bass Players

Pondering Fandoms

gui5

I keep talking about music, in life and in this blog, because it’s what’s on my mind. I podcast about music, listen to as much music as I can (for the podcast and because I feel like I have 20 years’ worth to catch up on) and I love the fact that I’m practicing my bass at least every second day to stay sane not just because I “should”. So, with that in mind I wasn’t expecting thoughts about representation relating to Doctor Who and the new, upcoming female Doctor to necessarily enter into the equation because of music. I thought I had made up my mind and come to a fair point of neutrality even if I couldn’t quite understand why the gender of the Doctor was that important to these people. Wasn’t the most important concern whether she was the best actress for the job? (Spoiler: yes…

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Flotation required 

I have a feeling I’ve not experienced in years. An overpowering sensation of emptiness that literally hurts. It’s horrible, not just because of what it is but also what it represents. It’s the past, the former me that moved on from this hell and learned to embrace my own company. Somebody who has spent years and tonnes of spoons letting go of that, who’s been thankful and even pleased at my progress here. 

But now it’s suddenly back. This chest crushing, heart stabbing, headache producing longing for something that’s missing. Something that never was, never will be….something that is – other – In the past this would happen when I felt lonely, lost, abandoned or generally sad. It was a longing for things to either change drastically, or to return to how they were just minutes before. I’d often find myself standing at a windows watching a guest walk away as they begin their journey home, and I would be left behind, alone and hating my own company. Feeling like my chest was going to cave in. Or likewise if I was having a bad week and I needed comfort, that pain would come. 

Now, I know I’m horribly stuck with my life. Despirately wanting an epiphany, needed an answer to the big question. In that respect I am longing for the other, wanting things to change. So maybe it makes sense that this pain has returned after so long away. I’m not so bother by they why, it more the connections and memories it brings with it. That awful feeling of being dragged backwards into old emotions and drowning in them, wondering why I can’t swim up for air. 

Crawling ( Opening old wounds)

For a bit of background… I detested Linkin Park when they appeared on the scene. I was a hardcore music snob and hated all the new (short haired) nu and rap metal. I only bought Hybrid Theory this year thanks to a podcast called Thrash it Out, thanks guys! Now I’m annoyed at myself because this album is ABSOLUTELY my kind of music.

I’ve been listening to it obsessively over the last week or two.
I had a meltdown recently, you may have noticed. And I have been VERY depressed, withdrawn, unable to focus, spending hours just laying in bed staring at the wall. Not doing anything I didn’t have to do, with a couple of exceptions in attempts to perk myself up.

I did have a very lovely time with my occasional bitch (don’t look at me, they chose that title!) which gave me some much needed relief. A ‘sleep’ later and I’m back down in the clingy shit filled pit trying with all my energy to just get through one day and pushing myself into something I’d be content to withdraw from. Something that forces me to interact with other people and I do deliberately partly for that very reason.

anyway, I digress. Back to Hybrid Theory. I’m listening to it right now, for the 13 billionth time. I should stop and pick something else, less depressive music. But I can’t. I’m stuck. I’m inside myself screaming to get out and I can’t. I need to get out of my own head. It’s somewhat of a cliché but music saved my life. Music, dancing, going to clubs was the only way I was able to connect to and/or express the lifetime of feelings I had repressed. Over the years, cutting whilst listening to something that has connected emotionally has become a valid and useful coping mechanism. The pain became a way to release pent up rage and pain, partly because as a young child extreme pain was the only time I would cry in front of my abuser so it became a thing. It has developed into blood letting, the more blood the better, which mean lots more shallower wounds OR three deep ones. Usually it works like the valve on a pressure cooker, letting me pick up again and carry on, until the next build up. Usually. Sometimes I need to repeat the process, try the other option. Or it just doesnt work. If that happens I’m way more prone to becoming suicidal, if I’m not already.

desperate to do something, trying not to put myself into danger, I decided to cut into some old scars that had long faded. Something that would be seen but that I can also pass off as body mod stuff and thus not feel self-conscious or spend the next couple of months exclusively in long sleeves. Listening to Linkin Park on repeat, a decent amount of blood flowed.

It didnt work. No connection. Not a single fucking tear. The only thing I felt was a manic joy at the blood and endorphins. No emotional release.

It’s also really fucking depressing that this album came out 17 years ago, covering things around mental health and abuse and stuff. (There is a reason I called them the Little Angry Ones when they appeared!) So, recently Chester lost the fight with mental health problems, after all this time he still couldn’t make it. I’m really struggling with thoughts about my future, I can’t picture anything other than failure. And if he can’t continue after such a long time how am I going to manage. In my mind I have ‘failed’ so many times. I can’t see/feel any successes and thus can’t see the point in continuing now especially as in a years time I’ll likely be a total fuckup, again. Logically I could argue against that, even show proof to the contrary. But my abusive depressed brain would not be able to see or recognise anything other that what it keeps telling me. Which is that I may as well give up.

I’m okay.

Kinda, for now. I think. Thank you to those that got in touch. It helped me to get help. I’m processing things better cognitively, emotionally I’m not so sure about. Maybe I am, I certainly feel awful. Whether that’s because I’m actually dealing with stuff or its the same old bullshit wallowing I can’t tell. 

I spent a few days staying with friends, got some sleep, did loads of gardening and started to settle down. So I came home, to see if I could cope. Did not sleep the first night, took a pill to knock me out the next. Now its just the same tired old routine of shitty sleep and shittier dreams. I want to get out of here, really don’t feel like I can keep asking people if I can stay at theirs (despite assurances to the contrary) so am feeling trapped again. 

On the plus side there was a new boiler fitted today, at last. I’d have a bath of I could be bothered. I’d really like one. Maybe I’ll manage to do some dishes at least. 

Though right now all I can do is feel horribly rejected. I told (by text) a family member about my meltdown and asked if there was a family history of breast cancer as I had my appointment coming up. And later, with prompting and support from a friend, also asked the same family if they be able to come with me to the doctor for moral support. No response to either message. I hadn’t wanted to asked them to accompany me precisely because I didn’t want the possible rejection. But as I want to get past my issues with such things I sent the request. Had they at least said something, anything, I wouldn’t feel so fucked off and upset. And now I’m going to have to deal with the situation and that’s making me even more stressed. I wish I hadn’t asked. As it was I did the doctors appointment alone, looking after myself like I always have. Same old shit. 

Doctor thinks the lump is some sort of fibroma type thing, or something like that. Been referred for imaging to make sure. Probably won’t ask anyone to come with me as I cannot cope with another lot of non answers. I’m half not concerned and half fucking worried. My cousin just died from cancer (not breast) and I think someone in the family did die from it. Though I don’t know for sure which is why I asked. We’re it not for those things I wouldn’t be worried. I also upped the dose on my antidepressants, don’t know if it will help but it might.

We’re it also not for the fact that the family rallied around my cousin when they were sick but can’t even answer a fucking text for me… So. Many. Issues. Past traumas, current stresses and repeated let downs resulting in me looking after myself. I need and want to find people that I CAN turn to for help. Ain’t nothing I can do right now though, that would involve pushing myself way beyond my current capacity. 

fake it till you make it…?

Is this really a viable option?

sometimes, I guess. Though I’m not sure its good for all situations. Its essentially what I’ve been doing for years, if not my whole life. /Though certainly with more conscious awareness in the last 10-15 years. But is this attitude not harmful? Even potentially dangerous? I know its gotten me into a few ‘scrapes’ in the past and could well do so again if things continue, as is. I get it, theres definitely benefits and a possible ego/confidence boost to putting oneself into the place one wants to be (or at least where you think you want to be) and just jumping in at the deep end. I’ve done things that I definitely wanted to do, but my motivations were misunderstood. Had I gone into the same situation, lets say my former career as a vehicle/plant mechanic, with a diferent motivation. Once that was clearer to me and more ‘honest’ then maybe things would have worked out very differently. Maybe I wouldnt have had a meltdown, maybe now I’d be running my own garage now, with my pink overalls and misogyny free atmosphere. Maybe not. But my underlying emotional state, driving me to do something I’d wanted to do for 15years or more, might have (almost certainly had) a huge effect on the way things played out. I did not have the skills nessescary, the self confidence or belief in my entitlement to be there, the ability to self care and manage stresses in a safe and healthy way. To say it all went horribly wrong, thats accurate.

With the right skillset though it might have worked out the way I imagined it would when I started on that path. So faking it did not work, and nearly killed me in the process. It conpletely wrecked what little confidence I had, and led to a path of recovery that is now in its 9th year. This in itself is no bad thing, but…. its been 8+ years of physical and emotional challenges beyond anything I ever envisoined for myself. And I had a pretty shitty upbringing!

Why am I rambling about this stuff? I kinda dont know. I have been increaslingly unsettled the last few weeks, struggling to care for myself, creeping further into self harm territory. All the time, trying to tell the world that somnething is very wrong. But my autonatic habit of not showing pain (weakness) not being able to communicate (not knowing how to access internal stuff) and being so pigheadedly stubborn about being seen as self sufficient (not asking for help) really has not been any fucking help in processing whatever IT is. Today I’ve been pushed over the edge.

The last few days Ive been fatigued, lightheaded & nauseus, my knees are week and I’m physically unstable. i can barely sleep, have been over eating and consuming foods that I shouldnt. been filling my time up so much that I dont have any real relaxation periods. spending money like its going out of fashion and withdrawing whilst keeping a facade of okayness and funcionality. basically most of the things that are absolute warning signs that shit is not okay. And today I slipped over into having serious RAM issues in my brain, a growing feeling of panic and strong paranoia. Which has forced me back into my house, because even though its not a safe space for me anymore, its still safer than outside. Especially when I start disassociating. This is breaking point, this is where things could get dangerous if I cant mend it very soon. I’m scared, and maybe I’m scared because I dont know what the fuck is happenening, or going to happen. I’m definitely scared that my career choice will implode, as it has done before, twice. I definitely dont like the unpredictable and fluctuating nature of whats to come. Maybe I’m an idiot and am just going to fuck it all up, again. Maybe I am not cut out to be a fucking human being. Maybe i’m just overthinking it all and creating anxiety about stuff that doesnt need to be. Maybe I”m not in control.

Before my hyatus writing stuff down used to help me process it, work out what the issue was and hopfully give me a starting point on where I could start with the healing. So I thought I’d give it a try again today. I hope it helps, but so far I’m not feeling any better. I may well take myself down to the crisis service as I dont feel safe around myself. If I can manage to leave the house that is. I genuionly dont knwo whats going on right now and its fucking terrifying.