January 28th 2018:
I have writer’s block. Or rather I have been trying to write since New Year and stuff just keeps getting in the way and turning my brain into a foggy moorland with bogs every few feet and… I am wearing flipflops. I have been beating myself up around every 5 minutes for not writing anything , as I promised myself I would do so and publish one blog a week. I feel that the segment of my brain marked creativity and self-indulgence has been sabotaged by a big metaphorical ball of wool tied in loads of knots that you can’t undo because they are too tight. There is alot and not alot going on at the same time. Why do I feel the need to write about myself and tell everyone how I feel? Maybe it will help someone to not feel alone. its definitely very cathartic for me and much cheaper than a month in The Betty Ford Clinic.
January 29th 2018:
Current count; 9 half written blog posts that I can’t finish, so I thought that maybe if I try to separate what is going on in my head maybe, just maybe, my head will rid itself of some of these thoughts. I make no secret of the fact that I have suffered from depression since my late teens, emphasised at particular times; before and after childbirth, during relationships past,when my business closed, . It comes and goes’ and it does go, but it’s always there, lurking somewhere in my head like a peaky blinder, ready to throw its cap at happiness and joy. I have had a lot of therapy and if I could afford to what have a session on the couch every week to unburden myself I would gladly do it, even for the lying down for an hour bit.
At the moment I want to be in bed..alot. I want to drink tea and watch morning telly, wrapped in a duvet of comfort and reassurance to buffer me from negativity. I am finding it difficult and I decided this morning that I need to try and sort this out before I end up in a B and B clutching a decree nisi and living on gin and pot noodles.
As long as I can remember I have had issues with self-esteem and self-worth, body image, and feeling inadequate. Feeling I don’t deserve to be happy..yes, that old cliche. Not all the time but when it hits, it is like a water bomb of angst. Now I am’ perry’ menopausal this has been amplified X 100. My moods are erratic, I am pushing people away, gravity is playing strange tricks with my physical self. I feel like I am a nightmare to live with because I crave support and love and a shoulder to cry on, I want to be lavished with attention and treated like a queen, given constant reassurance. But I also want my own space, to hot flush in peace. I am a big contradiction in a Matalan dressing gown.
I am coming to terms with ‘the change:; I will never again make beautiful little humans from scratch (even though I would no longer be physically capable of those hourly night feeds, eating rich tea biscuits for sustenance and watching Judge Judy on nighttime telly) and that my eldest child is leaving this year to go to university and is going to have fabulous adventures. The relentless struggle to get what our son is entitled to and the emotional energy and the heartbreak it entails fighting the system. Not being able to afford to shop in Waitrose, or wear my Chanel everyday because I don’t want to use it up, all the crap going on in the world, that pets don’t live longer, that lessening oestrogen equals expanding waistline, all these things and trillions more send me into the heart of the beast. But when I read back what I have just written I see it as very self-indulgent, Who am I to have these thoughts? There are people out there with no food and no homes and here am I wallowing in it… how very self indulgent..selfish even, but its all relative isn’t it?
3 days later and I return to this post with a lighter heart. I am feeling better today. The smog has lifted and for now I am at peace. I have been listening to an audible book about humans and our evolution. The neuroscience part of the book describes negative thoughts as velcro and positive ones as teflon. I can get my head around that! We have been made to act on negative thoughts. If you are a caveman and feel it is likely that you will be crushed by a big hairy mammoth it would not be a good plan to let that negative thought go, so the brain makes it stick so it can be acted upon. This is my interpretation so don’t quote me, I am not known for my logical thought processes. I love neuroscience.
When does ‘I don’t think I can cope’ become not coping?
I find it very, VERY hard to talk about my feelings. I have a stoical facade which I have worked on for many, many years. My issue is vulnerability. I have never been able to afford to be vulnerable. I internalise my feelings like a big kilner jar of emotions, many of which have no name, and then every so often they will sneak out and shout a bit. Once, when I was in my late 20s, Will came home to find me cutting all my hair off. I wasnt really aware of what I was doing, Archeytypal proper mad woman behaviour, I just wanted to feel better by looking better and for some reason thought a Joan of Arc Fringe would do the job. It was as a result of that I first sought medical advice and, along with trillions of others, was put on antidepressants. I have basically been on them ever since. I cold turkeyed myself off Seroxat because I didn’t want to be on it anymore. It made me feel like I was living in abit of a paralell universe. and I had 3 days of feeling like a wobbly jelly in slow motion. It was not nice at all. Seek advice kids. I am now on a medium dose much less addictive prescription. It costs me £8.50 a month, it’s a good job I don’t need any other regular medication, I’d have to switch to a cheaper moisturiser to fund it. Does it work? who knows? I think the placebo effect has alot to answer for but I don’t really feel like I would be ok without them. I need help to have any kind of equilibrium. All I want is a quiet life. Any conflict, arguments, drunk people,aggression etc., sends me spiralling. For this reason I also commit alot of time to trying to make everything ok, if I care about people I am the most loyal and selfless friend you could have , but there is not many people I let in past my cocoon of personal space. Since the age of 15 I have looked after myself. I have no idea how I have got to a pretty blessed situation such as I am in today. I scraped through my teens and early 20s in survival mode. I’m not just going to ‘let people in’ now am I? I’m messy, but it’s ok, I think all the best people are.
None of us get through life unscathed. The sky is always blue but sometimes the clouds block it out, they will pass (stolen directly from what I had on Netflix at the time).