Last orders

Feeling emotional, just done the first group of a support program for low level drinkers (non dependant) I hadn’t expected to be doing this today, didn’t even know about it until a few hours ago. But the service is disorganised and no doubt over subscribed, just like all the other services are. And an hour before I was due to start I got told that the email link hadn’t been sent to my key worker therfore I’d have to wait till next week. 5 mins before I get a text saying the emails been sent. After checking and refreshing several times I check my old email, just in case and of course, it’s gone there instead. Like I said, disorganised.

Anyway, I don’t remember if I said already but I’d come to realise that I need to go dry again. The years long experiment has been running and the results are in, I can’t do controlled drinking that isn’t problematic while my life and brain are a mess. So I gonna stop again. I don’t want to, I don’t want to think about the possibility that this is who I am forever, that I will never be able to drink in peace without having the possibility of derailing hanging over me. It’s sad. But, I’m not enjoying drinking these days most of the time and I don’t want it to get like it was before. So I’ll be grieving and saying goodbye. Haven’t made a full plan, currently trying to keep to a limit and aiming for reduction. Basically what I did last time, slowly reduce with an aim to stop. I’m gonna have to pick what to have as a last drink, again! I remember my last drink from last time, it was lovely and I was happy with it. I want my last drink to be a good one again. Though right now I can’t think about that, I’m just sad.

Part of me, the abusive bit, wants to be nasty and shame me for “failing” but I didn’t fail. I need to keep hold of that thought. Shit happened, life changed, I changed, I also slipped back into old patterns. A big reason for that was the loss of support systems, and while I am responsible for my actions it’s not my fault that things went downhill in terms of support, the pandemic, bereavements, the government etc. So I didn’t fail, especially when I actually caught things now instead of allowing it to get bad again.

I can’t congratulate myself just yet, I’m just sad. And stressed, always stressed. There’s a bunch of things I could update on but not today, this is a sad post for sad me.

Not sure yet if this is going to be a quick reduction, it might all be over in a month, maybe not. But if you want one last drink with me better get them orders in now.

How low can you go?

I don’t know. But every time I think I’m near rock bottom the ground opens up and I fall further

CW: mention of suicidal ideation, substance abuse, mention of medical/hospital

Paranoia is threatening to take over, has been for a couple of days. Its a bad sign and one that says there’s something rattling around my head bothering me, soemthing that needs resolving or talking out or something. But, I don’t yet know what it is specifically that’s bothering me. It’s quite likely that I am ‘simply’ overwhelmed by the huge amount of things that have been assailing me recently. Stuff that I want and need to write about but haven’t had the capacity to do so. It really has been so difficult lately and honestly keeps on getting worse. Every time something shit happens and I get knocked back down, another thing will happen, then another and another.

Two A&E trips in two weeks, relapse, withdrawal, so SO close to suicide, leak on top of leak on top of leak on top of floor needing ripping up etc, falling out with people, sick to death of others projecting their issues onto me, being housebound and alone with injuries, unable to cope with the clearing efforts, made more difficult by having half the contents of the front room cluttering up the rest of the flat for months now and still weeks until I can’t put it back. Damaged art and items from the first leak, neighbour deliberately flooding my bathroom daily because they don’t give a shit about their effect on others, being left behind or unable to partake in activities, despirately needing a holiday and seeing near everyone around me doing just that, the gym fucking me around, ongoing anxiety around family cutting me out or just not giving a shit, massive costs of hotel which the landlord should have paid for plus private psychiatry therapy plus release bs plus all the hugely expensive take aways because I’ve been simply unable to stand much less cook. Or clean for that matter so the house is making my skin crawl. Concern that my new mattress which should have been a good thing not only has delivery issues but might avtually be a bad fit and may even have aggravated the coccyx injury causing my second hospital trip, though this one wasn’t in an ambulance at least. The new anti depressants are working but not working, either they are only effective up to a point and no further orr I’ve continued to decline, now at max dosage and the psych was taking about combining medications, yikes. Also, I read hisady report to the gp and not only did he continuously misgender me GRRRRR but also did what the other psych did and wrote a report that does not accurately reflect what actually got discussed. Once again making it sound like the meds increase was something I begged for (it was his suggestion I was reluctant) but implied that I was hesitant to seek out therapeutic treatment which is fucking bullshit, like I the person that has spent half my life I therapy somehow wanted to rely on just medication and not bother with working through things. It’s like these people just aren’t LISTENING to me and re making up reports according to their own prejudices and assumptions. And that makes me fucking mad. Plus STOP MIGENDERING ME ITS FUCKING TRAUMATISING. The nightmares have been endless and draining, I’m just not getting a break, often triggered by my therapy and the things I’m discussing that I’ve never before gives a voice to (FFS do I really come across as someone who doesn’t believe and engage with therapy??) and my subconscious slowly working through family stuff. I think my father is effectively dead to me now, which is a new revelation revealed in dream form. And that’s just some of the things that’s been bothering me at a time when I am so chronically overloaded and stressed that I literally cannot cope with simple things, and each new issue has the potential to break me and send me into a depressive spin. Rendering me incapable of doing anything more than staring at the ceiling while the TV blasts noise to drown out the noise in my head.

It’s no surprise then that I’m reaching paranoia levels of stress and anxiety. I just wish I could figure out which thing in NEED to focus my dwindling spoons on in order to prevent a full on psychotic break

Stepping off

CW; Drug use. Abuse. Sexual assault. suicidal ideation

This is a hard one to write and post, I know I say that a lot, but I do try to push myself to publish things that make me uncomfortable. Not in a narcissistic way more of an opening up and learning to do the opposite of what I was taught thing. Not keeping secrets, not brushing stuff under the rug, not avoiding the hard stuff, not lying (by ommision or directly) So I try to be open, and vulnerable, and honest no matter how bad it makes me look. As long as I can cope with doing so, even when I fear I can’t. Saying all that is also a way of me procrastinating and not getting to the fucking point.

I can’t remember how much of the last few months I’ve managed to update, not much I suspect. But it has been A LOT. I could start listing things but that feels to me like setting up mitigating circumstances as a way to justify my actions. So I won’t, though I may try to do another post soon.

So I think I’ve talked a little about how I began drinking again a few years back, in an ongoing experiment to see if I can control it. And I can, when the world isn’t in a pandemic and I’m spiralling. I referred myself to addiction support, essentially for a refresher and top up. Knowing that I was also ‘at risk’ of picking up the crack again. It was just a, matter of getting ahold of some. I hoped that 1) I’d be accepted, which I was despite my fears! And 2) that help would come before the coke did. It didn’t.

I’m still waiting to be put onto a waiting list for a support group. No idea of timescales. With external forces constantly ramping up, no relief, just never ending stress. I never stopped looking for a way to buy crack or coke, heroin if I could, and I calmly stepped off the wagon and waded into a week long bender. It was wonderful, mostly. Apart from the chest infection, the pain and fibro flares, and the expense. But it was nice to start. Addict brain thought that a week of getting wasted, not communicating with anyone because how could I without saying what I was doing, making myself ill and poorer etc etc would be enough to satisfy the urge and I could put it down and walk away. If course that was a lie, I knew it was, I’ve been there before and despite (I think) 12 years mostly sober (I had that lapse a while back) it only took a couple of days for me to get back to the despirate addict cravings and behaviour I was at when I stopped. We pick up where we left off. And all I’ve done is reawoken sensations I’ve not experienced for over a decade.

And now that I had a contact, despite my lie that I would not give them any more of my money. It only took a week to succumb and justify buying more. Another big but only 1 day binge. Could have spread it out but I thought if I push it well beyond the pleasant I’d be more inclined to stop. It’s another deceit, I know that once the body recovered from the pain of the injuries the brain would take over and suppress any ill feelings towards doing more and getting another fix. And fuck me do I want another one.

I fucked up. I knew what I was doing. I didn’t care. I still don’t care in many respects. The main deterrent is that I RESENT making some dealer rich on my pain. I’m not sure if the new happy pills have plateaued or if I’m getting worse. I keep finding myself wishing that the gynae clinic had said that the new growth was a terminal cancer. Then I’d be able to just give up. I’ve imagined going out with a big drug binge, might as well have some enjoyment out of it. Basically what I’m trying to say is that my brain is in ‘wish I was dead’ mode so calmly stepping off the sobriety wagon doesn’t feel like a big deal. I have no future plans or dreams, I don’t want and have never wanted to be here. And therapy is going to bring up things that will fuck with my head and health. Going back to pushing myself into uncomfortable conversations, I need to verbalise the sexual abuse and multiple rapes, which started under the watch of my mother. I can kinda write about it now, speaking it out loud is something I’ve not done before beyond saying “stuff happened” but I HAVE to say those things or I’m wasting time and money on avoiding it. The dread of doing that has definitely pushed me towards picking up the pipe again, ironically it may be about to get me kicked out of therapy. I’ll find out the answer to that next week.

I tried to tell one friend what I’d done after the first episode, I think they misunderstood as they didn’t react much. I was took weak to push the matter and clarify, especially as we’d recently had an heated exchange about my drinking. But, in the effort declared above, I have been telling people because I don’t want to keep it secret, that made things so much worse last time, I kept it secret for years. I’m not doing that now. The people I’ve spoken to have been wonderful, they know my history and either supported me through rehab or have their own experiences with drug dependency. And they’ve been so good to me. So supportive, so understanding. I know that would fade if I keep using, which I could do to ‘prove’ that I don’t deserve their friendship and thus I may as well throw my worthless body into the gutter.

But not just yet. With encouragement I have deleted and blocked the dealers number. I don’t get the feeling that they’re a pusher so I shouldn’t get calls or messages from a different number. And now I’m back to square one, clucking, itching, thinking about it over and over. Picking and scratching my skin, hurting what’s already hurt. And sharing my shame with the world.

I fucked up. And I’d do it again if I could. My shame is here for everyone to see. I understand if people are disappointed or angry, I am too. I don’t need concern trolling or lectures. I know what needs to happen, I just have to make it happen. And that’s where I may fall down. Addict brain and suicide brain are a powerful combination. At least I’m not keeping it hidden.

Its David Tennant time

Cw: Self harm, suicidal ideation

I don’t want to go. And if you don’t get it you havent watched enough doctor who. (Enough = possibly too much podcasts talking about Who)

Feeling anxious. And nervous, and in a lot of pain. Not been sleeping much, and pushed myself hard so now experiencing a big fibro flare up. Its been such a hard time. I reached my limit with the local mental health care and their incompetence. They have cost me so much and done so little. Dropping me without discussion, warning, medication or aftercare. Didn’t even tell the gp. Who of course refused to issue medication without a discharge notice. Im getting ahead of myself.

I’ve not updated much for some time, I’ve just not been able to despite wanting and needing to. When it’s a mission to sit up in the morning and stare at the wall for hours, wishing I could do something, anything, then writing is pretty low down on my spoons allocation. No matter how much I may Want to, wishing it would happen just doesn’t work sadly. If wishes worked like that my life would have been very different! Wishing is what happens when I’m weak and feeble, when I’m too tired or too depressed. I got to the point where the depression was sapping all motivation from me. I’d spend all day watching TV (if i managed to get out of bed) or staring at the ceiling. Suicidal and thinking about how to die but just not having the energy or push to literally get up and do anything about it. I wanted to cut, to be able to feel something other than misery and self hate but again that required moving. I could see the sharps bag barely 3 feet from me and yet still too far away. The cold weather didn’t help, wrapped up in multiple layers hiding under several blankets. Getting so low that I couldn’t reach out to friends, occasionally meme bombing then withdrawing again. I would manage my weekly lunch with R, the only irl human contact after stopping going to my class because of apathy and anxiety. Even that was a struggle and at least once I didn’t go, would not answer the phone to ANYONE stopped messaging people. Proper withdrawal. I got bribed into tentatively reconnecting by R, concerned, turning at mine with a puppy! The pupper was not for me to keep, sad face, but it was a good way to get me to engage.

I can’t untangle the memories and timeline, don’t know if I was already in touch with the home treatment team at that point. I don’t even remember how I got referred to them. It might have been because I wasn’t going to class. Or could have been a random call from the network coordinator at Mind or maybe even the doctor. Anything else would have required me reaching out and asking for help and that was unlikely. But then I wasn’t answering phone calls either so *shrug* who knows?! I do remember that I knew I needed some medical help, some pharmaceutical assistance to kick my brain out of apathy and towards maybe doing something proactive. I was trying, have been trying so hard for so long to keep going, to motivate myself and drive through towards making it through 2020 and whatever madness this year will bring alongside the fallout from the hell of last year. So maybe I had had a moment of clarity and spoons and had contacted someone for help? I don’t know. I do remember speaking to a psychiatrist and explaining that yes I do need antidepressants. No trauma and ptsd don’t respond to medication but depression often does. And the depression was getting so bad that I would just lay in bed all day and not because of fibromyalgia.

Basically things were bad, real bad. I did start new antidepressants, the side effects were awful and I kept wanting to stop but the HTT would talk me into keeping going. The were around to keep an eye on me, make sure I coped okay with new meds and mainly to ensure I didn’t just get well enough to be able to act on the suicidal urges and that be the end of it. I do remember that much. They were as disorganised and incompetent as always. Made lots of mistakes. Tried to blame me for all of them. One day instead of coming to visit me as arranged they phoned to tell me I was being discharged, without discussing it with me, without any care or provisions. Literally leaving me to cope without support or my new medication and without linking me on to other services. Such as the drink and drug addition service. Instead 2 different members of staff had actively encouraged me to get drunk when they should have been referring me on to the addiction place, given I was/am drinking more and going out trying to buy crack. Fighting to not start smoking tobacco again. Getting crack is harder down here when you’re street crawling and are not known to the local dealers and I’m being wary of super dodgy looking peeps, but I never stop looking out for potential sellers. After being dumped by HTT, having to reduce the meds myself so I did have a sudden stop, not being able to move much for days, when I did make it out and wasn’t able to get cash from the machine and feeling so very lost. I walked home, it took a long time, I sat by the river crying, was going to get upmand walk into it but then realised I’d likely not be able to get over the fence at the bit I was by. Eventually I got back, not because I wanted to be home but because I wanted my blades. Bought alcohol and ice cream. Ate it all and got drunk and cut myself. And it helped, kinda. But I was so angry at how shit the so called mental health care is. I should really have been admitted into the unit but I certainly wasn’t going to turn up at casualty after the last 2 times. I did even try calling the crisis line, it was of course, fucking shiiiiiiiiit. No help at all.

Again not sure exactly of timeliness, I know my gp had randomly called me about something but then referred me back to the HTT. I had a go at the HTT, they again blamed me for their failures. After days of them saying they would sort out medication the following day, and me lying to their doctor by speaking the truth and separately having a crisis about how I’m not a good or nice person, I just do good things in the hope that it will make people like me. I got the medication re-prescribed and let them fuck off. They didn’t visit me again or check to see if I was okay or still alive for several days. Such good care.

After weeks of dealing with their shit, asking over and over to speak to a psychiatrist about the medication and its side effects,of them not doing their jobs, of them encouraging me to sink back into addiction, of them not showing up, messing up medication, blaming me for their shit etc and then dumping me. S came to the rescue and offered me a respite at hers for a while, it took quite a lot of organising, making sure everyone was going to be as covid safe as possible, and I wasn’t entirely sure I would mentally be able to cope. But… I definitely needed to get away and needed someone around and needed proper meals regularly. And just to know, by demonstration, that some people do give a shit. I hate that the burden of care has fallen squarely on my friends. I pay national insurance like everyone else, and I’m not getting what I’m paying for. To the extent that I have now done what I hate and exactly what the government wants and booked a private psychiatrist. Depending on how many appointments I need and how much I’ll have to pay to get prescriptions filled etc, its going to eat up my holiday fund. Though its not like I’m going anywhere for a while. So *shrug* .

I’ve spent the last couple of weeks staying with a friend, trying to recuperate some spoons, and actually getting some things sorted. Getting a couple of things in place for when I get back. Like a psychiatrist. Also have applied to move gp surgery, got new internet sorted, answered a few emails I’d been avoiding, asked if I could have counselling twice a week (I cant), referred myself to the addiction service, tried (but failed) to sort out buying parts for a new computer, tried (failed) to sleep and rest, did a bunch of crochet, restarted the new medication, and had proper food 3 times a day almost every day (except when it was down to me to manage) With the help and support of S and her family I’ve gotten so much done, more than I could ever have dreamed of had I been at home. Which is of course great. And maybe it’ll be enough to kick-start my motivation. In theory I have a new support worker, correction, I DO have a new support worker, but she’s not done anything supportive yet. And its down to me to chase her, and anyone who’s experiencing depression thats almost impossible without someone poking me and supporting me. And not just via text or phone, don’t get me wrong thats great and I massively appreciate it, I’d be lost without that stuff. But, I function better with in person help and support. Call it a result of my upbringing, call it codependent, call it whatever you fucking want. It works for me. And yeah its ‘ironic’ for a fiercely independent person who’s lived alone for 20 years. Except it isn’t ironic at all. Basic psychology will explain that one.

Whatever. Im getting distracted. This is one of those posts thats taken days to write. Its been hard, and draining and I’ve just not wanted to accept the reality of whats happening in a couple of hours. I go home. And I don’t want to. Its been good here. And I know when I go back ill start drinking alcohol again, and will probably so depressed that I’m back to doing ABSOLUTELY NOTHING, that the food that I’ve ordered will likely sit in the fridge until I throw it away, rotten and sad. That ill most likely sink back into the darkness. I’m already heading that way, depression is cranking up the vice on my chest, my eye’s twitching, my jaw is clenched…all the usual suspects. I think I did well not to get depressed a couple days ago although the anxiety had already started. Avoiding thinking about it made me able to appreciate the time up until last night, when I packed my bag (one of my bags, because I can’t travel light) and had a rushed feeling to get the doctor application done while I still had help.

Trying to think of upsides to going home. I’ll have my proper vape again and not the emergency replacement I had to buy when I got here and realised I’d left mine behind. I won’t feel like I’m in anyones way anymore. Or feel like I’m being judged for being lazy or a failure (I don’t think they were judging me but experience and paranoia are a bitch, the only one being judgy was me) And I won’t feel awkward moving around the house at night trying to wake others when I cant sleep. And the stairs, I won’t miss the stairs. But aside from the stairs, and actual disability all the other things are more, ummmm ethereal isn’t really the right word but words are hard and its the closest I can recall right now. I love S for everything they’ve done to help and support me and am so very grateful to them and their family for sharing their home with me and cooking me meals and well everything. I thank you for the period of peace you gave me. I feel bad and ungrateful by being depressed and knowing that what I’m going back into has the potential to break me and possibly making it seem like I’m throwing away all the help they have given. I’m not going to try justifying what comes next. If you get angry at that then you don’t understand depression or trauma and well, for once I’m not feeling defensive about my shitty behaviour.

It is what it is. Im an arsehole who learned a long time ago that acting nice get better results. I certainly don’t deserve good things. But maybe I could stop trying to punish myself for the things I never did.

No spoons

Want to write a bit post updating on the good and bad of the last few weeks. But I’m just too exhausted.

Had a complete meltdown the other day because its all too fucking much. This disability benefits form has been hell, and that’s with help. But it’s nearly done. It has to be because I’m out of time.

Them I can catch up with super urgent things

Then take lots of medication and try to sleep for 2 days. Hoping this fibro flare settles

Then try to drag myself back into my shitty life

Wooooo *sarcasm*

AAAAAAAAAGH

What a fucking day. Started off rough with disturbed sleep and weird dreams. Jumped in and actually dealt with some emails I’ve been ignoring and a letter I’m trying to write. Counselling was tearful and unsettling. Spent rest of the day on the verge of tears. Yet somehow managed to do another email and a bit more on the letter. Doctor was supposed to phone before counselling but didn’t, she called much later apparently tried to call at the right time but got the answerphone. I didn’t even get a voicemail notification until several hours after that… Useful, well done giffgaff 😏 I’m FIIIIIIINALY getting a referral for an MRI that should have been done a year ago but it took a very good healthcare worker to push the doctor to do it. AND getting a referral for sterilisation, at last, it’s only taken 25 YEARS for someone to agree. I didn’t even get to discuss the reoccurunce of being run-down yet again. But compared to the previous issues that can wait for another appointment. I joined a zoom social thing, late because the doctor phoned me just before it started. And did my normal of not saying anything, I couldn’t get my voice heard today, after therapy and the doctor it was too difficult. Then the damn phone ran again… Now I hate phone calls, unexpected ones more so. Or was bad news from my support worker including that we’re going to have to redo an application that got lost in the system 😦 and was I okay to do that, well not today. I rejoin the social and sit there crocheting and trying to ask a question and failing. Then the fucking phone rings, AGAIN. This time it’s the aforementioned health care worker that pushed the doctor letting me know that she’d spoken to them. We previously spoke only yesterday, this is how good she is! Between yesterday afternoon and this morning she’d spoken to my surgery and made them aware of the need for other investigations. And the doctor mentioned she’d been in touch so I pushed for the MRI THAT SHE SHOULD HAVE REFERRED ME FOR A FUCKING YEAR AGO. Anyway, I finally found the right person who listened to me and immediately said Oh no this ain’t right! Oh and the doctor claimed that the psychiatrist is definitely going to get in touch with me, ateast that’s what he told her 2 weeks ago. Hmmmmm not convinced.

And so back to my social, where I continue to fail to ask one question. Stayed on for chair aerobics, it’s the most I could manage. And I feel so low today. There no enjoyment or satisfaction. Only stress and a sense that there’s so much to do that I’ll never be able to relax. Went and hung up the laundry and was trying to do some tidying when the phone rang yet again. Have I mention just how much I hate phone calls? I think I have muddled the order of these last two calls but never mind. My new network coordinator at Mind called, the Mental Health charity that dumped me in the shit back in March and didn’t contact me again until last week after being asked to do so by another charity. Side note, there’s a lot of charities involved here…. Where’s the state sponsored care? You know, the stuff that my NI contributions pay for?? Increase the NI rate and stop destroying the NHS Boris, you utter dick.

Ummmm, I got distracted. Ooh yeah I am going to a in real life face to face but outdoor and safely distanced social tomorrow… If I don’t have a panic attack in the morning. And I still have endless emails but managed to do a couple more. I even tried to make a call to my bank, but I got put on hold so gave up. Then joined a music jam, one I’d not tried before. Ended up singing solo on cam…. Never done that before. I want to push myself to sing solo publicly, the shame around that is something I might post about one day. But after an initial anxiety I just did it, which is how I end up doing most things. Despite that and the other lovely stuff others were singing I still feel FUCKING STRESSED. Looking out the window afterwards thinking about what to DO next and I noticed it’s raining and I suddenly NEEDED to get outside. My feelings of being trapped are really bad right now. I rushed to get into appropriate clothing, realised that the laundry was still hung outside, bugger. Not too wet though. Thought about getting food for the crows but the nausea was too great. So out I went. Deliberately the hardest route so I could get my heart rate up and burn off some of the AAAAAAAAAGH from today. Am now sat in the rain after my second bout of exercise today and I’m still fucking stressed. Though the music is helping. I need to go dancing. I was imagening myself out dancing during aerobics earlier. Its gotta happen soon. Maybe I’ll join one of the shitty parties that keep happening (if only I wasn’t aging and wanting my bed at night)

As I was getting ready to come out I picked up some money intending to try and acquire some crack, I had another drink the other day, it did fuck all for me barely even tasted good. I want oblivion. I cannot cope. Everything is too much. I put the money back. At the moment there’s still just enough rage at making dealers rich off my suffering and my money. There’s a bit of concern about letting people down/missing classes etc but I know that once I enter into that side of the mirror I’ll just brush it aside. The beautiful release is all that matters in the moment. I know it wouldn’t stay beautiful for long, I’ve been there, I know the routine. But right now. I’d take it.

I expect people would think I’d be proud of myself for putting the money back. I’m not. I have little to no joy or pleasure or satisfaction in anything. Its a thing I did out of rage and pain not because I am “strong” or doing the right thing. Yes the right thing was coming out for a walk, the right thing was putting the money back, the right thing was putting on music and not something else. Praise won’t get me where I need to be, or where I want to be. Don’t do it. It’s getting dark and cold I will have to go home soon, I am wishing I’d brought some money so I could at least buy alcohol. I don’t want to go back there.

Remind me to have a rant about my abelist gym manager. I’ve got a fight on my hands there.

And one day I will open those emails from my uncles about the memorial…

What family?

Ive been mourning the loss of the only remaining member of my family who until recently could do no wrong. I know thats an impossible position to put another person in, its unfair and not realistic. Its the kind of pov that leads to mistakes and endless bad decisions, like relentlessly supporting someone whos obviously an evil piece of shit or who clearly did the crime and is denying it. Those things are not relevant here (I hope!) I’m just giving examples. Ive seen it happen so many times, where people will defend someone to the ends of the earth because they dont/wont see the nastier bits. But even when it happens with “good” people, seeing them as infallible, as can do no wrong… its putting a lot onto them to never fuck up, to not make mistakes, to never have their own bad habits. And thats a lot of pressure for someone to live up to.

People who have known me for a long time may remember that there were two people in my family that i loved unconditionally. My paternal grandmother, deceased, and my sister. Everyone else fell into either I hate them or its complicated. Which these days i see as a more reaslistic version of all relationships, they’re complicated. Back then, when things were more black and white, yes or no, on or off. When there weren’t many shades of grey that i could see when it came to people and interpersonal relationships. Before i could begin to understand the complexity of human behaviour and emotion. Before i was able to process that you could BOTH love someone and hate their behaviour, and that you could BOTH care deeply for someone and reject their actions if they were hurting you (or themselves or anyone else) I had all those complicated feelings but I couldnt process them, so things became more binary in an attempt to manage what i couldn’t fully understand. After many, many, years of therapy, self reflection, experience and maturation. I do have a way better understanding of those things, and my emotions around such stuff, even if I’m not able to fully manage them. And while it’s inevitably allowed me to grow and change my behaviours, notably those most destructive and violent ones. It’s put me in a frustrating place of bring able to (eventually) understand the logistics of what’s happening but still being tasked with the burden of emotional reaction. Which often makes me more frustrated or upset. Often it was easier when I didn’t understand. When things were simply one thing, or they weren’t. I just have to remember how insanely painful and dangerous that was back then to be able to attempt an uncomfortable acquiescence with that understanding now. It does generally stop, or at least reduce, me acting in reaction to issues. Reducing perpetuation of nonsense, stopping escalation and/or extreme behaviour on my part, because I’ve already made up my simple binary mind and being perched atop an emotional volcano I’d be off, exploding all over the place.

But I’m kinda digressing. It’s good that I’ve done the work to process the background to what caused those eruptions. It means that I am less likely to lash out, less likely to hurt myself or someone else. The thing I’m struggling with now, aside from the feelings of loss and anger, is the frustration of curiosity. I like knowing the how’s and why’s, the science of stuff. Understanding helps me to emotionally process. So when I don’t understand why it makes me kinda crazy. I can become consumed with needing to know why. And it’s nuts. And fucking annoying. One plus for you lot is that I am better controlled and spend less time and energy shouting But Whyyyyyy?? And it means that I am less likely to pester (harass) someone for explanations, or more likely to sulk in silence expecting them to explain but not doing anything about it, winding myself up and finally the volcano erupts and I fuck everything up. Now I am more likely/able to step back and wait. Which I hope it helps the other person to deal with their shit in peace without me stressing them out. I used to get so stressed and angry with my brother for doing the pestering unthinking thing, it did help me to realise how much of a strain it is to put so much pressure onto someone else. The strain of having to fulfil somebody else’s expectations. We grew up with that from mother and it fucked me up, getting it from him too triggered a mass of rage and hurt. The difference between us is that I was able/willing to see what was happening and start to notice those things in me and then do something proactive about it. (I believe he could see it at times but lacked the skills or will to deal with it)

I used to say, a long long time ago, when I first started ‘proper’ therapy that I was doing it to prove a point and demonstrate by example to my entire family that its possible to do. Possible to try. Possible to not be an arsehole. Possible to stop the chain of abuse. Possible to take responsibility, and show that it won’t kill you to do so. Lofty self aggrandizing I know but there is some humility in there. I genuinely wanted them to see that we could be better. And I hoped that by doing it myself they might at least think about it for themselves. Maybe it worked. These days I don’t care about being seen as the shining example. I’ve learned enough to know that I’m far from being that. But I do know that I am responsible for not putting pressure onto others to be perfect, to fit into whatever expectations I have of them.

No matter how much I am hurting because of their behaviour. Them not fulfilling my idea of them is not reason to lash out. Nothing much is good reason to lash out (there are exceptions) or to lay on the emotional blackmail etc. So I have to deal with this separate from them. Whatever they’re dealing with is their business and they’ve chosen to do so without me. It hurts. That hurt is mine to hold and process.

I began writing this some time ago, was never sure I’d post it. Sometimes things just need to be written and that’s enough. Sometimes things need to be written but can’t be shared, for numerous reasons. Since “penning” the above stuff a family member has died. And I’m mourning them as well as the loss of siblingship. And am preemptively mourning the potential separation of all family. Because maybe I really would be better off just fucking walking away and never bothering again. Yes they’ll whisper about me and think whatever fucking bullshit they want. And yes they may forever haunt me in my dreams. But I’m so done with them being weird fucked up messes that consistently let me down, don’t tell me what’s going on, and whisper whatever bullshit they’re already whispering anyway.

I am in no place emotionally or spirituality to deal with it anymore. And now that it’s been made expressly clear that I’m not invited to my grandmother’s cremation, even though I never asked to go, even though all I asked for was a date by which I could send a farewell letter. My uncle had to make it clear that the cremation was a them thing only. Wow. Like I didn’t even know I was asking for a kick in the head but apparently I need to be more careful about SHOWING ANY FUCKING SIGNS OF AFFECTION EVER. I’m clearly not dealing with this well. I’m suicidal and not self caring. I’m barely sleeping and once again withdrawing into myself. Not leaving the house, not calling people. Proving that I really am actually alone.

It must be hurtful for my friends when I say that. That’s how I feel though. I’ve not seen a friendly face in so very long. I’ve not had a hug since March and that was breaking the 2 meter distancing rule. Since then things have continued to spiral downwards, they just keep getting worse. I’m losing my shit, and my family, all alone over here on my misery island. And I’m being just as shit as them by not talking. At least I’m not congratulating myself for being the most attentive/caring/self-sacrificing best child bullshit that I expect is going on with certain people. But there I go again, imposing my expectations. I’ll just be over here alone with my rage and pain.

Flowers for a smile

I had one day of not being stressed after finishing the form. That night i had an anxiety dream so potent that my hand was shaking when i woke up. And theres no obvious pressing stress other than the never-ending. And of course the corona virus, and people in my area becomming complacent. Or just being fucking morons to begin with.
And ive not been sleeping properly since, even for me my sleep is bad. I’m kinda braindead today. Though i also woke up feeling as though i have a cold. Or the hayfever, plus pain everywhere, and almost zero spoons. Its been an involuntary duvet and painkillers day.
Though thanks to the enforced rest I have completed a crochet project. Some legwarmers, actually finished ahead of summer, miraculously! Now onto the next project, a hat. Although getting additional matching yarns is going to be a pain. Might have to relent and buy some more. Speaking of which, ive been spending waaaaay too much money. A bad sign of an impending mental break. Or maybe just a pandemic inspired blip.

Starting to come to terms with the endless cooking and cleaning. It’s not so bad when there’s not much else to do that’s demanding my energy and time. I mean, theres LOADS needs doing, and plenty demanding my attention. But its not a government beurocratic piece of shit form. Im less resentful of the endless cycle of cooking and cleaning. Most days thats all i get done, and its an achievement when i do. So its actually a relief when everything is cancelled and im not expected to be anywhere. I can get on top of basic daily tasks…to an extent.
I am however pissed off at the lack of medical care. My botox has been rescheduled to October…! And im supposed to have a rescheduled appointment next week but no word yet on if its going ahead, but nothing to worry about, delaying could mean i end up having to have emergency spinal surgery. Nothing serious. *rolls eyes so hard*

Now that the world has slowed to MY pace its almost bearable. Sometimes i get things done! I’ve still got a very long way to go but it nearly feels like I could achieve something. As long as I don’t get super-stressed again. I’m nowhere near relaxed, just thinking about the possibility of maybe being stressed again is making my heart do erratic things and I’m feeling sick… Definitely got a way to go before I am fully functional. Though with the slow down ive been pondering what to study, when I’m well enough of course. So many options and things I want to learn. Obviously I’ll wait until Im improved AND the world has healed somewhat. Im not going to jump into a student contract when everything is so unsure. And im going to need a lot of money before i consider many things. But its nice to have moments where i feel like i might be capable of being more than the mess i am.

Ive just thought, id like to add a picture of some lovely flowers somebody sent me but theyre at the other end of the flat and im in pain. Maybe I’ll come back and add a photo later. But for now, they’re a mix of red, pink and white tulips and something else i dont know the name of. Any they’re beautiful, trust me.

Wish I didn’t care

On a mad cap trip home over night. Heading back to get my monthly massage and use the gym. I can’t go 6 weeks without the gym, I’m bloody paying for it and I need to maintain the small amount of work I have done. Hopefully too I’ll actually have a letter with a appointment from the referral that my crap gp didn’t do a month ago. And then I can start the process of getting it moved to a convenient time. I very much doubt there’ll be a response to my latest complaint as they’ve ignored my previous ones. I need to report them to the next level up to make sure they’re registering those complaints and not just shredding them.

Right now I’m sat on a train thankful that storm Dennis hasnt resulted in my journey being cancelled or switched to buses. Being distracted regularly by the sights of burst rivers, and flooded fields & city centres. I’m very, very tired, short tempered, in a fair bit of pain and rather depressed. Sleep is, as always, difficult. My back is agony every morning and waking me up. I’d try sleeping on the floor if it weren’t for the fibro and allodenia (yeah I know that’s misspelled, fuck off. See…I’m tetchy) writing that stuff about Canada put me in full contact with all of that anxiety at once and I had a dreadful evening which sleeping didn’t help, though I thought it would. Maybe it did help by stopping it from worsening but I didn’t feel any better in the morning. In fact I felt more down than I had in a while and I still feel low.
I’ve redone the calculations on the Canada trip as is and it’s still coming up as doable but tighter than a overdone locknut. If I went for a private room at Jasper and just one other city (gotta get to an airport) it would still be tight, in fact it’d mean a very short stay there, no chance to do any touristy things and very little likelyhood of seeing friends. It would all be spent on a 8-9day stay plus travel days. Which I don’t like the sound of. So I’m back to square one again working out what to do. And whether I should just go south instead and get some sun and warmth, do Canada another year. Though it’ll be a couple of years at least until I can afford any more trips. More if things continue the way they have been. After a brief period of feeling like maybe I can sort my life out I’m back to feeling hopeless and wondering what the fucking point is.

I wonder how much of it is down to my sister being evasive and me not dealing with it well. I don’t know why and that’s the biggest thing for me, if she’d at least tell me then I could understand it and deal with that, I don’t deal well with not knowing when there’s a chance that I could know. Like with someone else promising to help me then ghosting me, not even responding to me asking them to just say if they’re not able to help. Being ignored is the problem, being neglected, whatever the reason. Whether people’s intentions are good, if they mean to do well but are unable to follow through, if they’re being triggered somehow by my behaviour, if they’ve realised they actually don’t have the time or spoons or there’s some other conflict. JUST FUCKING TELL ME. Especially when I have asked. Even when I’ve given them easy outs and they still don’t fucking talk to me. I am fucked off with the lack of communication. I get that people don’t or can’t communicate well, fuck knows I was THE WORST at it not too long ago (okay 10 years and more but that’s not that long unless you’re under the age of 20 odd) but seriously, when I have explained that I just need to know , when I have asked and the answers I received contradict what’s happening, when I get no straight answer. It does my head in.

It would be a lie to say I don’t care why my sister doesn’t want to see me, I obviously do care. But to be less stressed by it I want to know why. It’s difficult for me to just walk away and leave it. I’m going to, but all the possibilities will continue to run through my mind, all the what ifs and maybes. Driving myself mad imagining all the horrible ways I’ve behaved to make them not want to be around me. All the horrendous things I’ve done to piss people off. I’m now crying on a very busy train, in part because of the underlying depression, exhaustion and back pain, in part at the thought of how much of a bad person ive been. How much I have failed, how much I’ve treated others badly. Wondering what I’ve done to make people, in particular my sister, reject me.

My sisters lack of enthusiasm at meeting me, the non responses to most of my messages. Then I get confused when she does respond and sounds interested, but non committal. Leaving it to me to chase her, which I hate doing as I hate pestering people in case I annoy them. And I get passive aggressive which is an old and not often utilised trait for me now. It’s a bad reaction and a shameful one.
If she doesn’t want to see me I wish she’d say, especially after last time and the letter I wrote. Where I asked her to tell me if there was anything and we met up and though I didn’t offload everything on my chest (I’m trying to not do that too) it did seem as though things were okay. But were they really? Is she just super busy and never wants to spend the little free time she has seeing anyone, I get that, I really do! but please tell me so that I’m not pestering or putting any pressure on. Was she covering something up? Something too personal or awkward to share? Was she… actually you know what I’m just fucking winding myself up again. I’ve been through this. I tried to get a resolution. I failed.

She knows I’m in town for a while. I’m not going to contact her again. In fact I’m just not going to contact her again for a while as I cannot take any more rejection whether it’s ill perceived or intentional. I’d love to see the kids, didn’t get to last time, but never mind. And I’m going to have to deal with my friend constantly asking me if I’ve seen her yet and the bemused looks when I say no. Their family is very different and she doesn’t understand not only why but that other families just don’t all want to talk to each other and spend every Christmas and birthday together… it doesn’t compute in her mind. I will continue to send birthday / Xmas gifts to the kids, when my health permits me to. The blanket extension is on hold as I want to know if they want them extended. Though I could always use the bits for a different blanket for someone else. I need to pack up as I’m changing trains in a few minutes (and my battery is running low) brb

If it were possible to visit a universe where I was dead there would be the freedom of nobody knowing who I am (because if I’m dead then I cannot be me) and it would be fascinating to see the differences and similarities and to see what I could achieve there or if I’d just fail all over again. That latter thing can easily be tested by me moving to somewhere I’ve never been and no one in my close family has. Nobody would know me and I could just be me, whoever that is. But I’d be curious to see how the world I know would be different if I weren’t in it. That fascinating idea moves into a worry that actually my suspicions would be confirmed by seeing that everyone is just fine without me. For years not wanting to hurt my sister has been a way of getting away from strong suicidal feelings. It’s brought up resentment and anger, upset and guilt. I’ve hated a therapist for using it against me to break me out of an intense want to die, to stop me planning anything. But my not wanting to upset her/abandon her is extremely self centred and narcissistic. As if somehow me being alive has some sort of positive effect on anyone’s life. It doesn’t. It just has some not-shit effects such as people not being temporarily sad. That’s it. I’ve done nothing particularly “great” that requires my continued existence. It’s does not matter if I keep going. I do not matter.
Don’t worry I’m not going to do anything now, I’ve made a promise to look after my friends animals and I’m not going to intentionally let them down. Maybe the remaining month will give me time to refocus and find something to bother for. Maybe it’ll just give me time to wrap things up.

Oops I did it again

And I’d do it again and again. But I’m going to make it difficult for myself.

I am ashamed, and I should be, also not ashamed, which is good because shame can ruin anyone. So I am going to try to make sense of things (which could take a long time) and to use this to motivate me in a positive direction.

So obviously I have been increasingly anxious with a building drive towards self destruction. Generously assisted by the appalling mental health care being provided. I Still am grabbing for a reason to bother existing, I had something when I got back from Egypt but that only lasted 2 days before begin destroyed. And thus I have to go into ptsd related therapy yadda yadda. Which means that I have to CHOOSE to put myself through a long time of unpredictable and horrendous emotional turmoil before I can even think about reawakening that terminated dream. At the same time as doing the hours/days/months of work required in the flat. Just so that I can move out. I am keeping that bit somewhat secret from a friend as they don’t want me to move and are currently very unstable themselves, which feels horrible. But, it’s time to start over and get away from the awful neighbours who both the landlord and police refuse to do anything about. They have genuinely been making my life worse, to the point where just the thought of being at “home” can bring on a panic attack. As it is right now. Hence the valium and extended time away (though am now on my way back there, my chest is getting tighter and tighter)And once I’m more emotionally stable then I can go back to the pain clinic, or chronic fatigue clinic, to help me get back into a more stable physicality. And I desperately want to be going to the gym regularly, which I need mental and physical stability for…. AAAAAAGGH. ITS ALL CONNECTED. ITS ALL FUCKING DIFFICULT. I’M SO DAMN TIRED OF IT ALL.

On the plus side… I’ve been off tobacco for a couple of weeks!* Which would go some way towards explaining stress levels, sugar madness and food cravings.

And yes, I am incapable of doing one difficult thing at a time.

I am going to take a break from writing this as I’m getting too upset and stressed.

It’s been a few days, this isn’t going to get any easier and as I am collapsed spoonless, desperately needing sleep and incapable of switching off. Nothing new there , I might as well try to get this done.

I could also faff and delay this indefinitely. I do feel I need to give context, in part for understanding and forgiveness from you, but mainly because this blog is very much here to help me understand myself.

I am trying to understand why I am fighting so hard for something I am not enjoying. Why I still have needs and wants that stem from 30+ year old shit.

And why I need to understand the intricacies of myself to be able to make tiny steps forward. Would it be easier to make changes if I understood less. I’ve seen people struggle with that in therapy groups and have seen them sometimes find peace with things anyway. Is my drive for “understanding” actually a drive for vocabulary? Much of this stuff comes naturally, through intensive experience during childhood. But having the words to describe is something else.

Does understanding make it easier to change or easier to punish myself when I don’t change?

Does it make it better or worse when I choose to do something that I know is “bad”?

And that is finally getting close to what I’m doing here now.

I do know that I learn a lot from bad and painful experiences. And that I, and only I, have the power to act based on those things.

So when I in full consciousness choose to do something harmful I need to understand why. I also sink into a pit of self hatred, anger and confusion.

Which then leads back to trying to understand my self, and thus a circle is created.

I am trying to NOT do a lot of things. It feels as though that’s all my life is. Making choices to not do something. Making some choices for my benefit, based primarily on a drive to Not continue with behaviours I dislike. Deciding to do something harmful based on Not wanting to care for myself. Choosing to do things that are not in my benefit because I do Not want the potential for more unwanted experiences, such as staying awake because I’m scared of sleep and nightmares.

There are times when I am calm and calculating, this is when I should be worried. When I should be checking myself and stopping. But I’ve switched off that bit and not only is it nice to not be feeling horrendously anxious, but I just don’t care. It’s so nice to not care for a while.

This is also when I’m likely to make bad choices. When I am going into self destruct mode and doing what I can to fuck it all up.

And still, I’ve not said the thing I need to say. Because it’s HARD.

Also because it’s hard I am here to say it.

I bought and smoked crack.

I’m making it public in part to make it harder for me to do again but also because I HATED the secrecy around the addiction. The lies, the omissions of detail, the denial. It all fed the addiction. Had I felt able to talk about what was going on then I might have avoided the severity of consequences. Had I been able to tell my friends ‘I did a bad thing’ then I might have been able to fight the drives effectively. Rather than telling myself that I had things under control despite the overwhelming evidence to the contrary.

So did I do it to escape the overwhelming stress and anxiety? Or to derail my efforts to improve my quality of life?

There are so many answers and potentials to both those questions. It would be a whole other essay to explore them.

Following my minor meltdown and decision to extend my break away. Of course the stresses didn’t magically disappear. And I am loathe to medicate myself out of that, as I’ve explained it doesn’t really help and creates its own problems.

The reduction in antidepressants is certainly a factor. An increase in self destructive behaviour a natural and expected result.

The overwhelming pressure of feeling pinned into a life and home I despise and that is detrimental to my health.

Barely managed emotional reactions to things not going as hoped (as is typical with BPD) that lead to strong drives to lash out, punish, hurt and destroy. Primarily affecting myself as I try very hard not to hurt others.

So many factors came into play that I’m not sure I’ll ever truly understand. Maybe one day I can be at peace with it.

Now I am ashamed. I can see the expressions on people’s faces as they read this.

I’m angry, not so much that I did it but that I choose to do so knowing what could happen.

I’m scared partly because it was better than I anticipated. Giving a false sense that I could maybe “get away” with doing it again. And the chain of shit that would result.

I’m terrified of how fucking quickly I went back into addict mindset. Checking every little white crumb just in case it was a fallen bit of crack. For days. Willing to conceal, manipulate and lie. Tempted to steal to be able to pay for stuff ostensibly telling myself it’d be for other things but knowing really that it would go to fund some scum dealers expensive lifestyle. All that stuff returned almost instantly after just one small rock and lasted days.

The only positive is that I went into it consciously because not doing so would have made it much harder to deal with after.

The two people who I have spoken to about this have both said that it’s good that I reached out to someone inbetween buying and smoking. That long tearful conversation with M did help. I talked through a lot of options and feelings, made no promises to do the right thing and gave myself some space to make that (bad) choice.

Though having relieved some of the pressure I was not going into it in a bad head self hate state. Angry at everything and everyone, believing that the only option was to punish myself by feeding the addiction.

This is also why I actually mostly enjoyed it. And why I have to keep talking about it now so that I don’t screw up the little bit of progress made before I smoked that shit.

As it’s very difficult to find someone to talk to about this that isn’t a concerned friend, another addict or someone trying to give unasked for advice. I am putting it here. My shame, for all the world to see.

I am worried about falling down that horrendous gutter again. Mostly for the sheer monetary expense, wasted on temporary relief. The emotional expense of choosing to go back to one of the places I’ve hated most in my life (and that’s saying a lot) the physical expense of what it does to the body and mind and the social expense of closing down my already narrow lifestyle to one where I cut out everyone that ever cared about me so that they can’t see what’s happening.

I don’t want advice or sympathy, that’ll only make me angry. I do want empathy and understanding, a space to be open and honest and a chance to talk openly in the hopes that maybe I can understand and not do this again.

* I chose to buy some tobacco a couple days aafter getting back, mainly bexause it gives a low spoon distraction from hell