Welcome to the mad house

Hello and a warm welcome to my new followers. Thank you 

Things are bad for The Spoon right now, life is on a downer and dragging me with it. However I know this sensation well and I know it will end. Eventually 

I look forward to being more communicative, and hopefully a whole lot more bouncy…. 

For now I am crawling back into my nest and hope I can sleep and then work tomorrow, preferably minus the incredible grump that  accompanied every minute of the last 2 days! 


Fake Plastic Smiles

I got asked a while back by a BPD friend, how I managed. To them I seem calm, stable and able to cope with the instabilities that being borderline brings.

It was flattering, I do think I am better equipped to deal with life than they, and have less visible meltdowns than I used too, so maybe that’s why they came to me. I did my best to share my tools and encourage them to keep working at it.

But it wasn’t until today, a bad one for my mental health, that I realised that a lot of it is not necessarily coping, I just hide it better.
I have learned to reduce the effects and consequences, resisting where possible the awful urge to lash out at the world because I am hurting and nobody understands.

Nobody ever understands. At least that’s what it feels like.

And the only/first comments from people who do respond to attempts to communicate my pain invariably come not from those that might be able to help, but instead those that just want you to shut up because they are uncomfortable with emotions. They think they’re being nice by insisting that one cheers up.
Like it’s that fucking simple. Seriously. If I could just cheer up I would. FFS. Fucking shithead wankers.

I’ve been asking for help for days, even pushed myself to try again today despite the knock backs. Not one person has even responded. Is it any wonder I feel like I have no real friends.

I do have some friends but they’re generally unreliable and often incapable of understanding mental health, or any invisible health issue.

Thankfully there are a couple of people I can call to talk to. But being telephobic that is something that’s going to have to wait until I can muster up the strength to actually talk directly to another person about my emotions and demons. By that time I’ll probably be feeling loads better anyway, oh well.

Until then I must put on my fake plastic smile and keep pretending because if I don’t I know I’ll get trapped in a world of pain so dense that the self harm and suicidal wishes will resurface.

If you want a job done properly…

Do it yourself.

If you can

However, when forced to hand it over to someone else, watch as they mess it up, and then be expected to be grateful and not point out the glaring fuck-ups…..

Deep breaths and meditation are the most likely way to keep that fake smile up and not punch *them* in the head. Especially when they’ve not bother to consult, as clearly specified, before making any alterations.

Now that they’ve fucked up my project, blown the budget on things I neither asked for nor needed, and are getting shirty about my querying the changes they made WITHOUT CONSULTING ME. I am being put in a crappy position where I have to play nice and be ‘grateful’ for the fuckup because they put a lot of work into messing up my project.


I had hoped to blog about something more upbeat, like my project! Once I’ve had time to process the changes and work out a way to try rectifying the mess I will probably be proudly and loudly boasting about it.
Though for now, it’s to bed with this knackered body and broken spirits, to fantasise about restful sleep and pleasant dreams.

Pain in the….

Four days in a row I have ‘forgotten’ or missed completely at least one dose of my meds.

This is not good

I have concluded that I am subconsciously rebelling against the monotonous drudgery of chemical medication. I don’t want to be on any, to be honest I fucking hate it, but with the guidance of my pain clinic I am coming around to accepting that they do help (despite all the awful side effects)

My long term goal, my dream is to be medication free, and I haven’t given up on that. Though I did relent to my pain nurse at the clinic and agree to a compromise, so I gotta at least try, which I have been, even though it meant a MASSIVE increase, certainly for the time being. Which after half my life on some form of medication is so not the way I wanted to be headed.

These missed doses are, I believe, my own reservations and frustration coming out. And to be perfectly honest, I don’t blame myself. I just wish the consequences weren’t so drastic!

Probing happy memories

Last year I did that “happy jar” thing. Writing down good, pleasing and otherwise happy making events onto a piece of paper. Folding that paper and putting it into a jar.

The instructions were to then sit down with said jar, on NYE I think, and read through the notes, reliving and remembering all the good things that have happened through the year.

Well I got as far as placing quite a few notes into my jar, but didn’t follow up (NYE was a bad time, I was unwell, had tonsillitis, a fibro flare and deep depression) so the jar had remained untouched since then.

In the last few weeks I have found myself on many an occasion in need of an emotional pick up, at times this has coincided with me being at home and in close proximity to The Jar which makes itself visable and grabs my attention.
My arm reaches out, fingers slip into the jar in slow motion selecting one folded slip and gently grabbing onto it. Somewhere along the line my other arm and hand join in and cooperate to open that small piece of paper and present it to my eyes. Scrawled shapes dance and squirm, my brain struggles to understand until…. “Awwwww yeah 🙂 I remember, that was lovely/great/empowering/scary as fuck but a positive move!”

Not everything in there is true today, things that made me happy then may have sad or painful associations now. But they made me happy THEN and that’s what matters NOW I was and have been happy, it’s possible, it’s happened more than once and it can, and will, happen again.

More than that, there will also always be sadness of some form attached to many happy moments, be it loss or regret or confusion or anything else, but life (such as it is) continues, we (I) survive and other better memories will be made.
I’m not sure that makes sense, I’m trying to say that it’s okay. Things get good, things go bad, life keeps moving. Ups and downs, stumbles, crashes and missed opportunities will always be a feature, especially in a life marked by mental and other health issues.
But those things end, they (hopefully) fade and as much as they try to dominate and obliterate the precious happy moments they can’t, not really. Because they will always be there too, they can’t be undone.

So it’s good to remind myself, particularly in times of need, that there have been good times, I am capable of feelings other than doom & gloom, anxiety, paranoia, fear and desperate isolation. I CAN BE HAPPY! 😀

I’m not keeping a happy jar this year, I still have this one to empty. But it’s working well for me this way, I think maybe next year I’ll do another one, create a 2 year cycle of recording and remembering the big little things that make life worth living!