Implode, explode, shake it all about

CW. Medical. Dental. Anxiety. Mention of self harm, addiction alcohol and drugs. Mental health

It’s been a couple of years of increasing medical bullshit, absolutely exacerbated by government withdrawing funding from… everything meant to support public health, blaming it on covid. Following on from austerity measures and every other excuse they’ve used over the years to systematically destroy the NHS. Let the poor people dye out, kill off the disabled and mentally unwell. After all, we just need to not be poor/disabled/trans etc it’s as simple as that. We’re just not trying hard enough when we don’t all magically fall into line and pull a million pounds out of our arses. Which of course should get invested into their scams guaranteeing that they remain on top but they can at least say we tried. Unlike reality where they get richer by stealing and increasing wealth disparity, manipulating the press to ensure we know it’s our fault that it’s got nothing to do with thier greed, thieving or lying.
All of which has left a healthcare system in tatters as the government line their pockets while they privatise the NHS bit by bit, pushing ever closer to an Americanised system. Something that no doubt gives them massive hardons while they take their 15th holiday of the year in their 7th, absolutely unesscesary, house.

So, when the NHS GP is texting the day after bloods are taken asking you to make an appointment you know they’re worried. Particularly as it’s the second time in 2 weeks they’ve done that.
Thing is, they’ve treated me horrendously up till now, dismissed my pain, essentially told me to just not be [insert derogetory comment here] and sent me away. For months, no, years.

In the meantime I had gone somewhere else (a charity) and discussed a possible new medication for which kidney and liver function test were required. Had I not done that the gp would now not be urgently referring me to gastroenterology because the liver function is degrading. At least the gp didn’t strongly imply that I was lying about not drinking alcohol this time. Which they fucking did a month ago.

The call went along the lines of..

“These are the results of a heavy drinker”
“I don’t drink”
……. [conversion cut for brevity, it was essentially me saying the same thing over again]
“I was a heavy drinker” I said as they clearly were not believing me.
“Mmhmmm” I could almost hear them thinking Ha, I knew it, gotcha…
“but that was 15 years ago”
“oh. long pause it’s probably not from that then”
“yeah, probably not!”

When I went to the service who’d ordered the tests, not the gp who had decided to stick their nose in just so they could talk down to me about allegedly drinking too much. That doctor was good, immediately said there were many other potential causes, including one of my medications. Something that the gp would know but they chose violence that day. They, the good doc, immediately did a bunch of other tests and ordered a repeat of the kidney and liver function, the only one they could not do on site. And took the time to research an alternative medicine, which unsurprisingly the gp had zero interest in implementing. They’re still more concerned with blaming me and relinquishing themselves of any responsibility.

For years I’ve been asking for help with sugar addiction and ED. Everyone has completely ignored or dismissed my concern and requests for help. Even the recovery service dismiss it. If it’s not alcohol or “drugs” they don’t care. My inability to control it is NOT a matter of a lack of willpower. I’ve given up alcohol, crack, tobacco and vaping. Which are all hard to quit and I recognised I could not do it successfully without help. I’ve been battling with sugar for 15 years, and ED nearly my entire life. I can’t just quit food as much as id like to, then they’d lock me up in a psychiatric unit for self harming, though it’d be a way to get help. And sugar is SO FUCKING HARD to give up. Especially when it’s part of your ED which is triggered by poor mental health, which is triggered by lack of appropriate support, which is the result of “austerity measures” /covid /whatever BS the government wants to use as an excuse to cut funding to nessesary services.

All of which is obviously my fault, this is ALL self inflicted. Ignore the years of me begging for help. Ignore their complicity in this. Ignore the possibility of damages caused by all the medications doctors foist upon me without a single fuck given to resolving the issue instead of patching over the symptoms.
I’ve already lost a significant amount of eye focus due to antidepressants. And possible liver damage due to Proton pump inhibitors which I’ve been saying I want to stop taking for YEARS. The suspected gall stones, which have been dismissed as anxiety, indigestion and simply making it up, I have had to really push for months. And hey presto… Enlarged liver. Combined with the blood tests the doctor is worried enough to step in and ask me to make an appointment literally the day after being tested. But my absolute agony, my words, my testimony was never enough for them. EVERYONE has dismissed and denied my agony, I’ve even been threatened with a mental health section if I didn’t promise to behave. But it took a charity doing a routine check before issuing a new medication to actually get the attention required.

The government has completely destroyed the NHS, made it near impossible to get care. And that is fucking terrible, I will not get off my high horse about that. However that does not excuse Medical negligence, medical misogyny, discrimination and profiling. All of which are baked into the NHS, have always been there. The contempt with which anyone who doesn’t fit the cookie cutter expectation of a “healthy” person is treated. And the way that anyone with a history or even suspected history of mental health issues, substance dependancy, disability, criminal record or simply being poor and therefore unworthy of care. Because we all know poor people are entirely to blame for their circumstances. Throw in the racism, homophobia, transphobia, misogyny, abelism and all the other bullshit things that are so ingrained in the teaching that doctors internalise it all. It’s no wonder I’ve been treated like shit, it’s no wonder that it’s taken months of pushing against the ‘just take Gaviscon 3 times a day’ to get to an actual investigation of the pain.

My medical issues have definitely increased over the last couple of years. Amplified by the lack of help available, being actively refused help over and over. Everything laid at my feet as though I was to blame for the condition of the country. And, no surprise to me the worse things get, the worse they are. Each new issue, each degradation, each problem compounds into an overwhelming cluster of mental fuckery.

For so long I have asked, even begged for help and keep getting turned down, blamed, rejected etc. Doctors now care more about ticking BMI boxes (and using that to refuse treatment or shame you) over all the hard work I’ve been doing. I’ve been desperately working and it’s taken a whole year to get myself back to where I was pre covid2.0, but do any doctors care about that? No. It doesn’t feel like it. It’s still one look at me and declare I’m not fit enough, thin enough, whatever enough. And despite me doing my absolute best to improve, to rectify damages, to survive, things continue to break and degrade. And all they see is me whining about not feeling good, they see a fat person who had clearly self inflicted the thing, imagined it, is attention seeking, fucking deserves it.

The worse things get – >The worse I feel – > The worse things get – > The worse I feel

And round and round we go.

No matter how much I try, how much I ask for help, how much I explain that all the things are impacting everything else and I have nothing left to give. Only to recieve a lecture on how my health is affected by my mental health (something I’ve JUST said to them was happening) with the implication being that I’m imagining or being overly sensitive to my symptoms.
Doesn’t matter that I, who disguises all but the most intense pain is describing how fucking intense the new pain is, where it is, how it feels and moves etc. But get utterly dismissed by everyone. And now, not one person will give even a hint of an apology for treating me like that. Instead they just change their thinly veiled accusations to those of lying about alcohol intake.

If I had received the help I asked for years ago things definitely would not be this bad now. And that is absolutely not my fault. I have done the best I could in a shitty situation, yet still get blamed for things that I’ve been trying to deal with, without help, for years. And I know it’s shit for everyone who doesn’t have the money to go private, but that’s not my fault.
I’ve had a real hard time, and a horrible shock of my body is fucked. Like, why am I doing all this hard work when it’s still just going to keep breaking and it’s feels like I’m never going to get the help needed. The fuck head tories are winning, people are literally dying because of them. And it’s all our fault for being poor.

I am so full of anger, at the world, at our government, at society in general, even at friends. And very much at myself.
Am trying not to fall into the trap of internalised self blame for all the health stuff, the way certain people have been laying it on me. Blaming me for being lazy scrounging benefit scum that sits around and does nothing all day. It’s like nobody sees all the hard work I have been doing, and fairly, a lot of people don’t. Even when it’s right in front of them. And it’s hard not to blame myself for everything, it’s often easier than being angry at others. That way brings fear, actually terror, of violence, humiation, rejection and a fear that they will prove my anxieties right. That I am just a dickhead who deserves to be in pain and misery all the time because I’ve never done a thing to deserve peace or happiness and a life without crippling anxiety.
In case you hadn’t guessed, I haven’t slept much the last few days because my anxiety is through the roof.
I yearn for the days when I can deal with day to day life and not have it overwhelm me, when I can handle surprises and unwanted news without it disabling me and triggering a fibro flare up.

In the last few months alone I’ve been diagnosed with, experiencing or suspect
Hiatus hernia
Enlarged and fatty liver possibly from medication
Gallstones, some of the worst pain I’ve ever experienced
Chronic migraine, like 3 months of non stop migraine
Trigger finger (more a real nuisance than anything serious but almost the preverbial straw)
Rotator cuffs injuries, most likely caused by the Tourette’s
Ankle is still recovering from that fall 2 years ago
Root canal, and of course it didn’t go simply because… why not. may still need referring on to specialist, but hopefully not.
Post covid asthma, which is under control now though I had hoped it would bugger off.
Eyesight damaged by medication, no recovery there.
Incontinence not responding to physio
Ever degrading mental health

All on top of the ever present
Body dysphoria
Depression, cPTSD etc
Disordered eating which will definitely be aggravating whatever is happening with the gallbladder and liver, bringing on the guilt and self blame
The other ankle, and other joint injuries, thankfully my broken butt seems pretty much healed now
Fibromyalgia
Menopause
IBS
Sugar addiction and Hoarding.

And it feels like I might have forgotten something. It feels like so so much. And seeing it written down, bloody hell no wonder its overwhelming. I had a meltdown with the newest things of the kidneys, liver and gallbladder. Not new issues just new labels or potential labels. My body is so broken. I treated it soooooooo badly for years and it barely blinked. After I start looking after it things just break, over and over. Am I not trying hard enough? Is me asking for help with the things I can’t figure out on my own not enough? It’s not like I’ve gotten the help needed in some areas. Nobody gives a fuck about the sugar addiction. Though I am willing to bet a lot of money that doctors will turn around and blame me when I rock up with diabetes, completely ignoring the decade of me asking for help.

It’s deeply worrying that the doctors are so concerned about the liver that I’ve been given an urgent hospital referral. I got given an appointment the day I got referred. It’s next week, that’s quick. It’s difficult to know whether to be pleased that something is finally happening and it’s possible for things to actually move efficiently still within the NHS. Or be angry that my pain was dismissed for so long and had they taken me seriously 6+ months ago maybe things wouldn’t be so bad now. It’s hard to hold space for both feelings, but both are valid.

All of these things have been preventing me from updating here, I keep wanting to and just don’t have the capacity to do so.
My spoons have been going into me trying to do good things for me and my health. Self care is exhausting! Therapy triply so.

Right now I’m having some illicit food which may cause problems, because I will never be able to fully control that until I have developed more coping mechanisms that do not involve food. As sweet as they are, sometimes a apple just doesn’t cut it. Expecially when the brain is in self harm/destruct mode. And I need to decide if I go sing publicly tonight, the amount of people and noise may be too much, overstimulating. I don’t want to go home but am being booted out of the coffee shop…!

Update, while I can

CW suicidal talk, mentions of drug and alcohol, medical discrimination

Things have been extremely crap, and then more stuff comes along and kicks me while I’m already overwhelmed. And just keeps kicking.
Had a ‘fun’ trip to A&E where I got a thinly veiled threat from the psychiatric liason to have me sectioned unless I promised to “stay safe” whatever that means. What a way to make me feel looked after and show you have my back, which the mental health services and NHS in general have demonstrated repeatedly they don’t. I was there because of gastritis, I’d called 111, they called an ambulance because I couldn’t breathe from the pain. They kept me there all night without much help, at least I found out what the cause was (and confirmed not a heart attack) but when I told them I was already taking the medication the doctor suggested, the doc said they needed to go away and think about what to do. Then never came back, obviously hadn’t read my medical records as they’d have seen I’d already been on that medication for years, and didn’t send a recommendation to my gp. I walked out after psych left, they clearly weren’t going to help, have been self managing and after a week spoke to a random gp to try figure out what to do.
That trip kept me up all night, and I was too wound up to rest when I got home. Even though I did get some sleep it wasn’t enough so bring on the fibro flare up.

My thoughtless carer, who knew I’d been in the hospital all night, was surprised that I didn’t look well… Honestly I wonder what goes on in that head because it sure as shit isn’t compassion, empathy or paying attention to things.

That night I managed to make it back out, in my grotty old pj’s, to see a show and I’m glad I spent those spoons (yes even though it contributed to the fibro flare) because it was AMAZING. And if you ever get the chance, go see For Black Boys Who Considered Suicide When The Hue Gets Too Heavy. Hopefully it’ll go on tour.

Then followed by a week of much pain, exhaustion and urgh.
Another contributor to that was having had to shift everything in my life to do my PIP renewal. The DWP always manage to send my benefits form at a time when I’m already overwhelmed with life and stressing the fuck out. Then all of that stuff, which is already breaking my head, has to take a back seat to the dehumanising and degrading process of being a ‘scrounger’ as deemed by government and most of society. Thanks to capitalism and a biased prejudiced press. The whole process knocks me back, undoing progress I’ve made towards being independent again, damaging my confidence and making me sick. The other option is homelessness and starving on the streets. Been there done that, thankfully mostly with sofa surfing though I’d rather not have to do it again. But the whole degrading and deliberately inacessable benefits process is a major stressor, and I will not be able to stop stressing until I have it in writing that I’m not being cut off. That could take months, and I can never rid myself of the fear of rejection and having to go to appeal, that being rejected so on to tribunal. That bullshit took one and a half years to sort out, getting into massive debt just to exist. I can’t be doing that again.

My care agency /carers are appalling fucking me around constantly, transphobic, do not give a shit about clients (like EVERY agency I’ve experienced) bunch of liars and thieves. So, back tracking to before the pip form, I had had yet enother shitty week with them and just couldn’t stand it anymore. Once again on the verge of cancelling the service thus leaving myself without any help whatsoever, I was drafting notes for a complaint to be sent to social services. That complaint is still undone as it got pushed aside, thanks DWP. But the following day I get a letter from the council with their decision for how much my contribution should be and, well, I don’t know how they came up with that amount but I don’t have that kind of money. I’d have to stop eating any food, cut off my internet, switch off all electrics and never leave the house to be able to pay. It’s insane and even if I did have that money just sitting around, I’d certainly not pay that much to be treated so badly. Fucking outrageous. So I’m appealing that, again another thing that has been delayed, but if upheld I’ll have to cancel care services anyway because I can’t afford it. Like so many people are being forced to do because councils are not allowing for cost of living rises, or other vital things within their “allowances”. What those are you’ll have to discuss with them because they certainly don’t tell us. But it’s another big stressor and has been occupying so much time. I’ve had to go through all of my expenses, twice. They want me to pay out to be able to send them proofs and such bullshit. And off course none of these things I can manage without help. Which comes in the form of an hour appointment once every 2-3 weeks, thus delaying everything even more.

And that help got stopped in the middle of all this because the support worker had reported me for being suicidal. I got transferred to another team who were PREJUDICED AND USELESS while I continue to lose my mind over the forms and complaints and lack of care from doctors etc. The first person who called me, out of the blue, from this team ASSUMED I WAS DRUNK AT 10AM didn’t even ask if I’d been drinking, just assumed I was drunk. Which explained why they were being so patronising, and they still didn’t do what they said they would.

After a lot of faffing and chasing I finally got my appointment with the ME/CFS clinic. I had to be re-referred and reassessed. And even though I am worse than I was when I had my previous assessment they chose to not take me on, offering instead “1 or 2 sessions to get me back to swimming ” and acting surprised that I didn’t think that was good enough. Especially when their reasons for doing so were “a change in medication” and “drug use”. Basically any old excuse to not give help, and PREJUDICED, again.
I made the mistake of being honest and telling them about my lapse last year. It’s not like I’m still coming down and tired from that. And I told them I’ve done all the ‘right things’ to prevent a full relapse, despite wanting to use again I haven’t. Even with all the shit going on. But, because of that I’ve been labelled as a drug user, a junkie, and treated as such. It had been so long I’d actually forgotten how bad the prejudice is against anyone who develops a drug or alcohol dependance. And the vast majority of those people do because they’re not recieving the support they need. And then we are regularly refused medical care, making things worse for most. And that attitude of refusing care because of minor drug use can and does drive people to use more. We internalise the bullshit and attitude that we are worthless good for nothing scum, and if we’re going to be treated badly for a small thing then might as well just go full tilt. The treatment won’t get any worse. In fact, it gets better. When someone is deep in the shit and actively using regularly we get treated better than someone who has a lapse after a decade of sobriety. Though I do need to clarify that the better treatment often comes from a place of pity, which isn’t great. Still preferable to disgust and arrogant dismissal. Which has brought up a lot of feelings I’ve not experienced in a long time. That refusal to give help because I’m not worthy of it, that’s what it comes down to. Worth. And I have none according to that clinic and many people in the mental health services. Hard not to internalise that.

Particularly when it comes on top of being refused help by the GP because I don’t fit into the disgraceful use of BMI categories. I go in desperate and barely holding myself together and the doctor does not truly listen to what I’m saying, dismisses or ignores my pleas and frank words about not being able to live in this body anymore. And what I get is the same old shit. Take this medication shut up and go away, spoken using different words but that’s the basic meaning every time. If I can meet the arbitrary boundary then, and only then, will she discuss surgery with me, not even a guarantee for a referral. A promise to discuss it, so it could be 2 years of working towards this desperate target only to be told no, again. When I say to her I won’t make it, because it’s a case of getting weight down to that point and maintain for a year before she’ll discuss it, she ‘misunderstands’ me. When I clarify I mean I CAN NOT LIVE LIKE THIS. Nothing. And of course because the doctor has tapped into a deeply rooted issue around childhood abuse whare I was told daily how fat I was (I was not but believed it) and the now returned body hate and disphoria after seeing that photo. Hence needing surgery ASAP. My mental state got even worse and I have since put on weight. Great, fucking thanks doctor. I was actually doing well before she did that. I’ve now regained half of what I’d burned off up until that point. Fucking fantastic. So not only has fat shaming denied me surgery that could save my life, it’s also done a lot of harm… Who’d have thunk it eh? Fat shaming not working? It’s almost like being a dick is more damaging than compassion and help. On top of that the constant misgendering and transphobia within the surgery is too much.
Had an appointment with a nurse which was told to me as my chance to voice any concerns or problems. I went in with a list of stuff, top of which was the transphobia. A couple of days later I look at my available records and not only is almost none of the things I’ve said on it but she’s misgendered me throughout. My blood is boiling just writing this. I literally had the conversation with her and as we were talking about me being misgendered she was misgendering me in the notes. And this is one of the better surgeries. I am on the verge of just withdrawing from all medical care, I need it but I also need to be respected and treated with dignity. Which is not happening in the vast majority of clinics. At this point they are causing further harm.

One of the people who called me from the new crisis ‘let’s cover our arses’ service. Who called me after I got fucked around by the support worker who refused help while I was under this other team. (the team that assumed I was drunk, said they’d call back and didn’t and literally only wanted to know how long they had until I killed myself. Her words not mine) this person offered to get a psychiatrist to write to the Tavistock on my behalf, to let them know how much I’m struggling. I hadn’t considered that an option but he offered it, so cool. A week later I get a call from the support working saying they discussed it and won’t do as it won’t make any difference. But delivered the news as though it had been my request and I shouldn’t have asked. I didn’t ask, I didn’t even consider it, it was not something I wanted, until it was offered to me. But now I’m being spoken to as if I’ve been a greedy dick asking for something out of bounds. Fuck you, it wasn’t my idea. And now I’m more frustrated because I am getting NOWHERE and can’t afford to go private, like my ignorant gp suggested I do. The fact that people are being forced to go private is an absolute disgrace, medical care is a human right and should not reinforce a class system, everyone suffers when there isn’t the same basic rights and access for all.

Around the same time my college placement ended, because I’m better now, obviously. Because that’s how neurodivegency and mental health works, it fits neatly into the time limit set. It was always going to be a sad thing but fuck did it come at the shittest time. I finished my counselling around the same time too and the combination set me back, a lot. The way placements are given out is unfair, others have indefinite access multiple times a week, I got one lesson a week for a set time. And then get told that it’s because they don’t want me to become institutionalised. What bullshit. What about instead of inconsistent blanket rules of x time limit for some but not for others, try working with people as individuals. They’re not making it fair for all because they don’t even give people the same limits. My skill at masking has clearly fucked me over (again) because they don’t listen to what I say, they look at me and make their decision from that.

I started a new college a couple of months ago, one for people with mental health and neuro divergent issues. It’s a nice idea, but it’s run by the local mental health services which makes me upset as their service overall is so bad, especially since all the cuts. Thanks tories. Cunts. Though the main staff seem cool, some of the tutors are not so great. I dropped out of one class because one tutor was a tool and I experienced transphobia, from student and the other tutor. So that made me feel greeeeeat.

I’m still recovering from covid2.0, am now on steroid inhaler as going cold water swimming sets off the asthma. Which mind you, was brought on by yet another useless medication that gave me tones of side effects and little benefit. Seems the asthma is here to stay because despite stopping that medication it’s still here, and worse since covid. And the fatigue, sigh. It’s been months and I’m still struggling to get back into even a basic routine. Of course all the other stuff is not helping and my lack of energy and poor mental health compounded things. But officially I don’t have CFS any more because being a junkie has magically cured me of that diagnosis. Horay.
The side eye on that one is fierce.

A few weeks back had an incident at my swimming group, someone else had something upset them but they acted in a way soooooo like mother that I had a trauma reaction and had to fight to not freak out or run screaming. I don’t think I handled it well, as well as I could but not well. I then had a full week of being stuck in trauma brain. Extreme anxiety, nightmares, insomnia, headaches the works. Despite my fear and awkwardness I tried to talk to them the next week and they declined. And so the trauma brain continued. I’ve tried again since then and it’s not worked out. I don’t want to go to the group anymore. The one thing I had remaining that was good for me and felt like a refuge from all the pain, is spoiled. After losing my college place it was the only thing I’d be motivated to do no matter what. I went today, nearly didn’t because my mind has been so on edge and I didn’t have the spoons to try having a chat again. (added on to that the tail end of a fibro flare up, fatigue, intense cramps. I struggled to get out of bed) didn’t think I was going to be able to swim, I was so cold but I did. Just a short one because cold, and then I saw them. I did not need that. And am trying not to spin out. Am torn between leaving the group and going alone and not wanting to feel like I’m A) running away B) being pushed out. It’s yet another thing adding to my stress levels. Not wonder I ended up with gastritis.

In the background is the ongoing saga of dealing with my grandmother’s house. I’ve had night terrors this last week, including over that. Parasomnias are soooooo much ‘fun’ and dreaming about a house I am deeply attached to filled with dead relatives, some of whom I had fraught relationship with at best. I woke up from that particular dream suicidal again, having been okay in that regard for a while it was… disappointing. And distressing. Yet the house is still an ongoing issue and as long as it is its going to keep pulling me back.

The psychiatric liason at A&E was taken aback by my frustration when she asked what’s being going on lately. I didn’t even list half of the stuff. And she just looked mildly offended and concerned, then moved on. Before making her thinly veiled threat to section me she did say she’d request I get an appointment with my chosen psychiatrist. That appointment letter has arrived. It’s just such a piss take that in order to get an appointment with him I have to end up in A&E, half my appointments come about that way because the service is so fucked I can’t get one if I ask. Prevention is better than cure is definitely not a phrase that describes the NHS attitude in most cases. Then people are chastised, shamed, descriminated against, pushed out or ignored and fall through the cracks. We then get blamed for the state we’re in even though we go to them literally begging for help and get turned away, repeatedly.

All of this, and more that I haven’t touched on, is getting to me, but of an understatement. I’m so permanently anxious that I’m now feeling paranoid constantly too. I have some medication that is for anxiety but it’s horrible, makes me so dopey and brain fogged I hate taking it. So rarely do, until I’m on the verge of insanity, then I get told off for not taking it sooner. But it makes me incapable, which makes me more anxious about all the things that are on my mind and demanding attention. So it’s a lose lose situation. But I might take it today, because I’m so anxious I feel nauseous and jumpy. I have to go out and interact with people, ones I don’t know and ones who have upset me. I don’t want to but I’m in a catch 22 situation of go out and make myself more anxious plus put myself at risk of a total meltdown but get out of the house, get something done and move around, which eases some of the pain (but aggravates other pain) Or, cancel stuff and stay home, spend the time trying to fix one of the many problems but not do the other things making me fall behind or have to cancel yet more stuff. Thus making me more anxious and feel under greater pressure.
I can’t win. The other option is take that medication, cancel everything, get nothing done, fall further behind on just existing and not deal with anything.

IT JUST NEVER ENDS. IT’S AN ENDLESS CYCLE OF DOING EVERYTHING I CAN TO DIG MYSELF OUT OF THE SHIT, MAKING SOME PROGRESS AND THEN GETTING SHAT ON AGAIN. While mental health services and doctors pat themselves on the back for a job weldone. It Never Stops. And people don’t seem, or want, to understand why I’m tired of life

The show can fuck off

CW: suicidal ideation, mental health issues, fatphobia, transphobia, medical problems

Walked out of dance today. Not because of post covid exhaustion, not because of joint pain or Fibromyalgia but because I just cannot mask anymore. And Bollywood is so much about high energy and big smiles and I JUST CAN’T.

If it was a full day of rehearsals where I could dance endlessly until there’s nothing left, process stuff that way, I could do it. But not this way.

It just felt like another stab to my tattered soul, being told to smile and be upbeat, again. Nobody will help me NOW when I need it, my GP either doesn’t understand or doesn’t care. I told her I won’t make it to her goal, I will die first. She offered me diet pills. Seriously. And she WILL NOT HELP ME BECAUSE I AM “TOO FAT” her version of help is diet pills. After I’ve said I will end my life. I should change doctor, again, but I just don’t have the spoons or will anymore. And the likelihood of finding a trans friendly one are slim to none. I can’t spent the next 2-3 years doctor hopping I can’t even face my mirror most days.

I am not going to make it to my first GIC appointment unless something changes NOW. I can’t do this, I can’t fucking pretend anymore, fuck pleasantries, it’s a massive achievement if I leave the house, and then I’m asleep by 6pm afterwards thanks to covid. I’m beyond exhausted, depressed and so out of spoons. And the NHS is failing me.

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*

Meh

I feel like shit. Periods are shit, especially when you haven’t had to deal with them for a while. Life is shit. The stress is endless. The few things that I’ve tried doing to make myself feel nice or comforted keep getting postponed or cancelled. Therapy is hard, families are shit. Too many people are dead. A very brief moment of positivity a few weeks ago has just emphasised how much needs to change still. And I don’t have the spoons to even consider the future without dispair.

I’m hanging in for a trip next week, get out of town for a couple of days. I’ve been trapped here for so long. And I’ve taken a risk and bought train tickets for Xmas. If anyone tries to stop me I may just stab them. I’ve sacrificed so much this year while others swan around going on holidays, taking trips, eating out, visiting multiple people, having parties and on. Giving little to no shits about others. While some of us are struggling to get basic needs met.

I’m done with the greed, selfishness and ignorance of people. I’m done with the government ripping this country apart and taking away hard fought for equalities, falling back on demonising the poor, disabled, sick, queer, trans, POC and whatever else they decide to pick on next. And if I thought it wasn’t possible to feel any worse about myself my disability benefit assessment has been sent, and I have only half the time I’m supposed to have because they dated it then waited a week before posting it. And of course its not available online so HAS to be filled in by hand, just one level of degrading shit forced upon disabled benifits applicants, and an obstacle that does not need to be there, it’s just there to make it harder for those that already struggle the most with a Goddamn paper form. We can’t have scum like me being able to use computer technology to help me read and fill in the form, that would be too much. Obviously I shouldn’t have chosen to be dislexic, I shouldn’t have chosen to have Tourette’s, I shouldn’t have chosen to have ptsd, I shouldn’t have chosen to develop long term illnesses, mental health problems, arthritis, Fibromyalgia, IBS, incontinence, carple tunnel, endometriosis or PCOS, I should just choose to be fit, healthy, wealthy and happy. Urgh. Just so done with the relentless messaging that I’m lazy worthless scum that has chosen a life of misery and that all I need to do is just decide to not be that.

I have zero patience remaining. Zero spoons. Zero shits left to give. The idea of fully retreating is pervasive now. Anxiety is so high again that the paranoia is back. The things I’m doing to keep myself sane are keeping me hanging on by a very thin tenuous thread. Who’d notice another number to the statistics.

Can’t

Things are utterly unbearable. After another night of no sleep. Loads of noise from parties and people shouting just for the fun of it. All services set up to deal with noise pollution refusing to do their jobs and laying the responsibility elsewhere. Meaning I go in circles getting increasingly frustrated and trying hard not to swear at them for being the absolute fucking jobsworths that they are.

I finally managed to get some sleep, well after sunrise. Maybe 2hours but it’s impossible to tell. But I am so tired, so wound up, so angry that I am very on edge, paranoid and ready to rip into anyone or anything that doesn’t go exactly right. I’ve spent months surviving on the very edge of my resources and I’m hanging by the thinnest frayed thread.

I have actually been doing lots to help myself. I’ve done more sorting / fixing / clearing than I have managed in years. Finally getting around to things that have tormented me for so very long. Yesterday I did A LOT, including emptying a suitcase that had been blocking up space since January (to be fair I was away for 6 weeks so not sure that bit should count) sorting the contenta into charity or keep. AND I put 80% of it into the charity bag without a second thought. And that bag is already out of my house and donated. It should feel good, it should feel like progress. But nothing feels good.

Being outside in an area where most people are refusing to take corona seriously is very stressful. I want, NEED, to get out of here but with the local clusters it’s a real risk. I actually went to a Costa for a coffee and decided to sit in, the first time I’ve done so since March. They DID NOT take my details for track and trace. I was given a QR code to register which didn’t work nor did the Web address they gave, I couldn’t even log into my account. When I told a staff member she shrugged and said it didn’t matter…. I won’t be going in there again. I did what I could, trying to not lose my shit with it all and not at all enjoying my coffee. And they’re not the only place not bothering with contact tracing. The lack of concern is shocking. The laziness and selfishness of it all. Just the same as the laziness and selfishness of the council and police to do their jobs. And the selfishness of people having more parties than ever.

I am so despirate to get out of here. Though being nowhere near ready to move, or even pack I cannot consider moving yet even though I have started getting invited to viewings. Though they’ve managed leave out a vital requirement of my move and thus the place seen was not suitable. Im in such a tight spot, I CANNOT relax here and cannot sleep or refresh. I’m running permanently on stress hormones and little else. If I did get offered a suitable place in the next couple of months I’d have a major battle to get packed up in time as well as sorting removals, decorating etc. I’d end up having to take way more stuff with me than I want to, which means a bigger move load and cost. And literally carrying all my problems with me. But it could take a couple of years to get a new place, which gives me time to keep sorting and clearing stuff. But means remaining in an environment that is physically and mentally detrimental, with no way to escape thanks to the pandemic. I do things to negate some of the external stresses, it is just enough to take the edge off and were I not in a mental hell I’d be able to handle it a lot better. But I can’t relax, I can’t unwind, I can’t blow off steam, I can’t get a goddamned hug and some reassurance. Words from friends are helpful but they simply don’t hit the bits of my psyche that need some physical feedback.

And, what if when I do eventually move its just as bad for noise? Will I be able to reset my stress levels and be able to tolerate it? Or will I just explode and immediately get so wound up that I end up in hospital either through my body imploding or me taking it out on myself and going into a steep dive. I am constantly having to force myself to stop clenching and tensing up. I don’t even have an appetite today which is fucking weird considering how tired I am. I only didn’t buy alcohol earlier because I was too anxious to go into any shop. What I wouldn’t give for some proper opiates. Yesterday I caught myself starring a the sheet of quetiapine and thinking of taking it all plus all the painkillers I have. I’ve not thought of doing that in years. After several failed attempts (my body just says No) that stopped even being a thing for me and I’ve been entirely comfortable having masses of paracetamol and codiene in the house for years knowing it was no longer and option for suicidal urges.

Am I so desperate now that its come back? I don’t think I can actually survive waiting another two years to get out of here. I have very limited choices. I’m working harder than ever to clear out hoarding stuff but it never feels like enough. And Im embarking on a new therapy which is already weighing so heavily. In theory it will help me to clear stuff out, I clear my head I clear my home. And in theory it’ll help me to manage stress, and anger and the dreams. But given my substantial experience and the base level of stress I’m going into this with, everything is going to get way worse before it gets better. And considering the predicament I’m already in, how the fuck am I going to cope? I don’t have a proper physical outlet, I don’t have anyone to comfort me with a hug or holding my hand, I have increasingly limited options when it comes to friends I can call on for urgent or even non urgent chats, I dont have a safe space OF ANY SORT. My family are effectively gone. Not that they have been very supportive during my life. Trying to verbalise the sensation of imprisonment and isolation is just not working. Add on the fear and anger that it seems others are not understanding or taking seriously. And the utter lack of spoons I have. People keep giving me ‘advice’ that makes me want to rip their head off. I don’t know what the fuck I have to do to get people to believe and understand how fucking desperate I am. Or for them to give a shit. Please please make it end, I can’t cope.

I can’t read through this so I don’t know if it even makes sense. I am half blind from tears washing suncream into my eyes. I have to pull myself together, I’ve a guest coming to stay, my neighbours cat will be with me for a few days. That will 1)force me to stay alive for a few days (though it I did die it can feast on my eyeballs) 2)hopefully let me de-stress a little bit with kitty cuddles

Out of mind

People are so goddamned selfish. Between the wankers round the corner from me that go out EVERY NIGHT and scream and shout, just because, for HOURS. Or the friends that are being complacent about corona, not thinking about others and putting me at risk…and then getting pissy with me for wanting to keep myself safer. Those that are incapable of or unwilling to exercise a bit of self restraint. Or the hipocrytes who complained about me going to a BLM protest but who are now going on holidays or gathering in groups of multiple households. Or the arseholes who still refuse to wear masks or distance despite it now being compulsory in shops etc. Or all the selfish pieces of shit who are behaving as though everything is fine now and expect everyone else to be the same way. And the ones who put zero thought or time in to consider those that are at risk and the ones who are chronically ill, and those living alone. Who by the way are often one and the same. The ones who are easily forgotten as they, we, are locked away out of sight. Out of mind.

People like me who have spent 10 years being almost constantly unwell one way or another, typically in multiple ways at once. And who really don’t want and can’t afford to pick up that virus. And who have spent nearly the entire year alone, without comfort or hugs or even just someone to sit next to and give a friendly nudge. Because I don’t want corona and I certainly don’t want to give it to anyone else.

It feels like the few of us who are being considerate are fucking wasting our time and energy. It’s a punch to the gut, spit in the face and kick you while you’re down attitude from everyone else who is not bothering with being careful anymore.

It’s not like anything has changed. There is no cure. There is no vaccine. HUNDREDS OF THOUSANDS have died just here, and the number of infected will never be known. But the government want you all slaving away at your risky low paid jobs so that they can keep bailing out their rich mates in the name of the economy. People are so desperate to ‘get back to normal’ that they’re happy to turn a blind eye to it. Now is a perfect time to tear down racist, sexist, homophobic, transphobic, elitist, narrow minded, fat cat, oppressive systems. But you’re all too busy booking your holidays and conveniently forgetting about your housebound friends. The ones who will keep maintaining some semblance of sanity and respect for others.

Or until we snap and go on a fucking rampage.

*HeadDesk*

Just spoke to my gp and she was surprised when I said that reception refuse to book me appointments by telephone despite her having told me to book that way. This very issue was one of the two things I spoke to her about just last week. The main thing I discussed with her last week. Somwthing that she apologised for and sounded surprised by. Saying that she would put a note on my records saying that I am to be allowed to book by phone for mental health appointments, at any time, whether there’s appointments available online or not (which there rarely are). I know that GPs ‘see’ a lot of people, that I can’t expect her to remember every single thing we discus. But… When it’s something we’ve discussed multiple times, something that she suggested, something that I complained about a week ago and something that she offer a ‘solution’ for. And now she’s once again clueless….

This is why I don’t trust her. Well, past of why. This is why they’re infuriating, stress inducing and incompetent. This is why I need a new gp.

Hopefully now that things are easing up I’ll be able to change surgery. Fingers crossed

I feel like I should be happy with this call, it’s for my GIC referral. But I just can’t help worrying that she’s somehow going to fuck it up.

Blisters..

After so much impotent rage at so many things, days upon days of being completely isolated save for a little bit of text chat, if that. Of being too tired to do anything, too afraid to leave the house at all. Occasionally going onto twitter and getting wound up, being filled with so much anger that i dont sleep making the next day harder. One day i went online to see that there was a protest in action at that moment. Id been offline for a couple of days (recovering from previous visits to the twitterverse) so I hadn’t known about it. But i looked up for more and found a list of upcoming ones round here. Id not been on a protest in nearly 20 years, growing anxieties and worsening physical issues had stopped me attending any. Which was a headfuck for someone who grew up going to protests, i dont even remember my first one i was so young, though I have been told about it, and seen news footage too. I’ll give mother that one, she did good in teaching us to stand up and be counted even if she couldnt do so herself. (Just like she told us not to be homophobic or rascist even though she was both those things, of course she didnt think that but this post is not me bitching about her for a change!) Though like i said Id been unable to attend any marches in a long time, existing anxiety being sent into overdrive when so called anarchists started turning peaceful protests into riots, just because, and police started kettling at every protest. Escalating peaceful actions into fear and anger then using that as an excuse to attack protesters. Plus my paranoia did not like that they were recording everyone who attends and keeping that information “for their records”. There is so much frustration and anxiety around protests that concerns for my own safety and privacy overwhelmed any urge to join one. Plus being unable to walk much discounted me from marches. For nearly 2 decades I have been mentally and physically silencing myself, feeling guilty for not being there and being part of the movement, for not standing up and being counted. And now with corona and being uncomfortable with leaving the house even to go to the park a lot of the time, ive been just not going outside. But seeing that BLM protest made me want to be there, made me want to stand up and be counted. Ive been struggling with my therapy sessions (see Blisters.) which led to me retreating even more, not getting out of bed for a couple of days after each session, on the day of the next scheduled protest i didnt wake up until the time it started. When I checked on it later, trying to get an idea of numbers i saw the #riots so i checked… Not, Even, A, Hint. It was the police roughing up a few protesters and 3 twats throwing what looked like water bottles some distance from any visable police officer. Once again the press was showing its true motivations with such utterly lazy and despicable journalism. That sealed it, I WAS GOING ON THE NEXT ONE. No amount of scaremongering would stop me, I would set alarms to make sure i got up. I would rest as much as I could. I would ensure I had my supports, medication, food, water, spare masks etc….just to make sure I was in the best possible state I could manage.  I had 2 days to prepare and panic about all the anxieties and wow was i anxious but the black lives matter protests are more important than my stupid life. And thats it in a nutshell. In those couple of days i put out messages and contacted people who i thought would be interested, if not already planning to attend. It would be nice to have a friend, to see someone, anyone, that I know, someone to talk to and lean on if needed. One person, let me say that again… ONE PERSON responded. Not only was there an overwhelming lack of care that i was going to be going from months spent solitary to a massive protest, me, the person who cant even go to the park when its busy. Me, the ambulatory mass of anxiety and panic attacks, was planning on voluntarily goung to a protest. Alone at this rate. Even without corona thats something that ive not been able to do for sooooo long. Disappointed in the deafening lack of enthusiasm for the protest, i was definitely going to be attending without emotional or physical support. Except for the person who offered text support and checked in with me a couple of times on the day (YAYYYY and thank you) And later another who lives in a different city checked in on me thinking i’d be home by that point. I know I slag people off a lot but sometimes my friends are the best. But, I was saddenened by so many people not doing anything.

Anyway, despite many things trying to stop me, despite nearly throwing up several times, despite pain and nerves, I made it there. Walking past the mounted police, which felt unnessescary, and a collection of sour faced metropolitan officers. There was actually a fairly small number visible at the site. They were all in their vans waiting around the corner, I know because I walked past them too. There were a lot of other people arriving, a lot, forcing the nerves out of my mind i kept moving forward. The place was packed when i arrived, and i nervously walked deeper in. I wanted to read the signs and get pictures. I couldn’t hear what was being spoken but a massive cheer went up and it sent shivers through me, in a good way, and a samba band was playing. I LOVE SAMBA, it made me a little sad because i was about to join a samba band then lockdown happened. But, it made me overall so much happier, it instantly relaxed me and calmed my nerves. That and the cheers washed away my fears and suddenly i was smiling behind my mask. I had made it!! And so many other people had come too, so many were there being counted by the helecopters filming us, and i was a part of it. Finally I had broken nearly 20 years of fear and anxiety. Instead of standing at the edge i wanted to get closer to the band and to see as many of the signs as possible. Walking carefully between people i felt tears welling up, i felt weirdly proud of all the people who had made it out, risking so much to have their voices counted. And that it was at least the 3rd protest here and there was no sign of things fizzling out. Long story short, after a while warching the people circling the band appeared close by to me and started to march. We walked and walked and walked, people chanted and sang and danced. Mostly at least trying to keep some physical distance and nearly all wearing masks, unlike nearly every other time ive left the house all this year. And, unsurprisingly, I hurt, so much. But the band kept me going. I needed to pull over and rest but when i thought about doung so realising that i would be there alone surrounded by hundereds if not thousands of people and would be without the band, without the music thay was keeping me calm. Panic rising I gave up on that idea, following the words of the infamous Dory… Just Keep Swimming. It felt like a “proper” protest, blocking roads, diverting traffic, onlookers joining in. Eventually the band stopped and I continued for a while, until i saw somewhere out of the way I could pull over and rest. Having been fairly near the front i decided to time how long it took the rest of the people to pass, to get a rough feeling of numbers. Over 35minutes! Not including the thinned out peoples at the end or those ahead of me. Unfortunately it took another couple of hours to get out of there and home but i didnt mind so much, i had my dalek and music and though i had a book i was too spent to read. I remembered to take some painkillers and just waited patiently, I had prepared well so I only had to stay calm and remeber what had just been achieved. I did laugh when Rage Against the Machine started playing on my randomised music!

There was a fight on the bus home later, the only violence i witnessed, but again, too spent to care. Eventually getting home, making sure i ate and going to bed. Exhaustion meant i slept okay for a nice change and id made sure i could rest for a couple of days having food accessible and downing plenty of painkillers. I experienced further disappointment when afterwards I got people complaining that the protest was irresponsible and going to cause a second wave in corona infections, I was so tired and proud and then this. I could do an entire post on how that’s such bullshit. About how it ties into the racist rhetoric that people are out there protesting. When primarily white middle class and rich people are blatantly breaking the rules and openly, VERY OPENLY getting away with it. When more black people are being penalised for lockdown violations, when they’re disproportionately going to be exposed to and die from corona virus but they dont have the choice to work from home because they’re doing all the jobs that middle class white people dont have to, like I said I could do a whole other post on this it goes so deep and is so pervasive. And, again, is why people are protesting. I was told that nows not the time, well that’s the same thing that is said time and again. Nows not the time. Now is not a good time. Because its never a good time, and those being abused are told that their needs are less important than xyz issues, that we’ll deal with it later after we’ve fixed ‘this’ issue and it gets said again and again until people run out of steam and resources, until it just “goes away”. It’s the language of abusers and fascists, it’s the language of those who don’t want to face their own complicity in the painful truth, its the language of people who dont want to think about how theyve gained from their privilege, those that have the privilege of not being angry, or because speaking out might risk their comfortable position. Its the language of those that just want things to remain the same, and not deal with difficult stuff that doesnt directly affect their everyday life. Hoping that it’ll get sorted out by someone else or simply fade away and sort itself out. We’ll it’s been several hundred years and the endemic racist system is still going strong. NOW IS THE TIME. And I am so angry and so disappointed in the complacency of people around me.

Oh and if I do come down with covid19 it is soooooo much more likely that I picked it up during a trip to sainsburys the day before where it was very busy, nobody was enforcing distancing, hardly anyone was voluntarily observing it and ONLY ONE OTHER PERSON WAS WEARING A MASK. If I got it anywhere its probably there, at sainsburys. Because at the march I saw more people with face coverings than at any other time this whole year, I know I’ve said that already but it bears repeating. Yes they got closer than they should but there was nobody leaning across my face, unlike in sainsbury. There was nobody trying to touch me to get my attention, unlike in sainsbury. So to see those comments on my Facebook, while my exhausted, bruised and blistered body was recoving from having done something that was a MASSIVE personal achievement… Im still not calmed down about it and it’s been nearly 3 weeks (I think, again, tired).

And yes I am blowing my own trumpet saying look how great I am for overcoming my personal troubles to go protest. Aren’t I fucking brilliant. Except I’m not. I am nothing. My life is nothing. My troubles are nothing against experiences of poc particularly black people. That’s my brief commentary on my one protest and the reason for it. Going back to those negative comments, it was extra insulting because those people know me and know that i am taking corona VERY seriously yet they jumped on to accuse me of creating a second spike, to accuse me of killing more people. I am being responsible and keeping myself isolated for 2 weeks, just in case. Which is rather laughable because I wasn’t likely to see anyone anyway. And if you’re getting butt-hurt about me saying that, ask yourself when exactly you were planning on meeting up with me…? As for me killing thousands more, how about you turn that hate towards all of the complacent wankers that are speading it, including our government that is more concerned with lining its own pockets than protecting us. Who are setting terrible examples and getting away with it. Or the people doing the fucking conga on VE day….those people were literally holding each other. Or the morons that A)think its okay to go to a farmers market when theres a deadly virus rampaging the world B)think its okay to hold a farmers market when theres a deadly virus rampaging the world. Or maybe all those middle class people driving off to their second homes in the countryside on the long weekend, when EVERYONE had been asked to stay home. yet they think that doesnt apply to them and they go off taking whatever germs they have with them. Or the leaders of our country just doing whatever they want, driving all over the place, while knowingly infected….. Yet people think its okay to blame the Black Lives Matter protesters for all the things other people have done. It hurts to see my friends saying those things.

And for those of you who cant go protest, i get it, i really do! Please dont feel bad, please dont beat yourself up with guilt or shame. There is no shame in how your body works, or doesnt, in whatever quirks, conditions and foibles it has. YOU ARE VALID! I got lucky in it being a day that i could walk and stand, that i could physically get up, get dressed, take meds, leave the house etc. I had prepared as much as i could, even then there was no guarantee and as much as i say not to be hard on yourself I know i would have been on myself had i not be able to make it out. I risked corona to go protest, i might end up dead because I went outside, though like i said picking up food in sainsbury supermarket the day before is much more likely to be a speading ground. I certainly wont be risking going into a supermarket again that isnt taking corona seriously. Also, its been over two weeks and I’m not sick yet….probably not gonna die just yet.