Oh Hell…

I had a long blog typed, but can’t be arsed. Paul is a thorn in my side, and frankly is talking a load of shit and most of it is the pot calling the kettle black.

If he’s going to complain and bitch, he should at least make sure he’s not doing worse first.

If he wants the garage key back, he can phone me and ask for it. He knows not to get his solicitor to write to mine, because I tend not to get those messages. He’s wasting his money, but that’s his call. I’ve already told him this, but he seems content to keep paying his solicitor to chase mine when he’s been told more than once that mine has a huge caseload, and isn’t going to speed up anything just for Paul and his snotty solicitor (OK, so it’s her secretary that was snotty to me on the phone, but you get the idea).

If he wants to complain about not being able to put stuff in the garage, he shouldn’t tell me that everything is in there so that I believe it’s OK for me to keep the key, as he won’t need it.

If he wants to complain about me not speaking till the end of Beltring and then after, he should replay in his mind the conversation where I told him that I wanted to speak, but the Bear stopped me saying that Paul probably didn’t want to speak to me. I spoke to Paul on the Tuesday when we got there, but got scowled at, and then blanked, so there you go. I made an attempt. He should also remember telling me that he didn’t want to speak to me anyway, and the strained “hi” was the only word he said he could possibly say to me there, and that was on the last night of the show. He managed to talk to me fine when it was wasting my phone credit however.

If he wants to complain about the content of any of my conversations at Beltring, let him. He’s probably referring to the conversation where I said I had quadrupled the number of times I’d had sex at Beltring, because in 7 years, he only managed to do it once (with me at least). I wasn’t aware he was in earshot or I would have said nothing, and Bear and I were very circumspect about our physical contact with each other at Beltring so as not to rub Paul’s nose in it, unlike some people who were busy eating a “model’s” face off in front of me. (She’s not a model. She’s just a wannabe)

If he wants to complain about me spending time under canvas with the Bear, he shouldn’t spend a “long time” in his tent with some bird at Beltring and shouldn’t have a “fat brunette” (direct quote from a friend of mine who was there, and someone else asked if she was his mother…) in his tent at his latest off road meet. He also shouldn’t have women (single, married… It seems he’s not fussy) round the house all the time, or be round seeing other women most nights he’s free. At least I’m sticking to one bloke, not shagging my way through the entire male population of my local area. I have nothing to prove.

If he wants to play coy about his sex life, let him, because people speak to me. They actually like me, and tell me things without prompting or me digging for information. I’ve heard enough about his sex life to keep me wondering WHY I would still take him back. Since leaving Paul, I’ve begun to think he needs to start looking at his friends and working out why, if they’re his friends, they tell me all this stuff. Also, if they’re his friends, why am I being told they’d rather have me around than him? Some have even said they only put up with him because of me, and I’m not just talking about my friends in Wales either. If he shut up about trains and work, not forgetting how much better he is at everything than everyone else, people might actually like him rather than him being the butt of jokes. For some reason, I’d like to try to re-educate him, but that’s because I’m a nice person, and it’s not nice to think he classes some people as friends, and they are just laughing behind his back. I did my share of that however, but I have a right, since husbands and wives make fun of each other occasionally.

If he wants to complain about the Bear, he can go right ahead. It’s no skin off Bear’s nose. He didn’t run off with me though and we had a perfectly good relationship forming while I still lived with Paul. That relationship with Bear was fine as it was. I didn’t need to (or want to) leave home, because I was happy with the way things were (I left purely because of the violence, not the Bear), and besides, leaving meant I had nowhere to go as Bear lives with his family. Paul should also remember that HE was the one that said I could get it elsewhere and that it was OK for me to have a relationship with the Bear.

If he wants to keep deluding himself that he is not at fault for me leaving, let him. He said he had been for counselling to deal with his temper problems, and if that were the case, his counsellor would have got him to admit his problem and the results of it (bruises and a nearly broken neck for me…). He would be able to face facts rather than living in an airy-fairy land.

If he wants to threaten me with a restraining order ten days after I had stopped speaking to him, let him try. I will respond with a libel suit for him calling me a stalker when I had left it to him to contact me and apologised for being keen about speaking to him.

If he wants to complain that one minute he’s the “Spawn of Satan” and the next minute I love him and want to continue the marriage, perhaps he has a lot to learn about love. (look it up petal… www.dictionary.com). I do still love him, but he’s got a nasty habit of doing things to hurt me, so he shouldn’t be too surprised that I call him names sometimes.

If he wants to compare our situation with that of my previous relationship, he should remember that D never lifted a finger to me, just to the furniture. He should also remember that I binned D because of his temper (a possible similarity there…) and D stayed in the house for a couple of weeks after, but I left Paul in a hurry. If it had been planned, I wouldn’t be sitting here working out how and when to fetch the remainder of my belongings. I’d have cleared the house of everything of mine when I went.

If he wants to accuse me of stealing paperwork, he’s more than welcome to send an impartial representative round here to search for it. No paperwork was thrown out or stolen by either the Bear or myself. It was put on shelves or beside his computer, if he cares to actually look for it. If he’s referring to the V5 for one of the vehicles, then I’ve not seen that since last August. He’d filled it out in his name for a vehicle that was supposed to be mine, and it was sat next to his computer monitor on a pile of other papers

If he wants to make accusations, comments and threats, he should not be such a coward and learn to say it to me directly rather than backstabbing me via his blog. (Yep, I just called you out Paul. Be a man and bring it on. If you raise a hand to me one more time, you’ll be locked up quicker than I can say: “mince”). He had the chance to air his grievances at Beltring, and since then, but he’s just whined in print on his blog.

If he wants to keep being the victim in everything, that’s his choice, not a way he HAS to live.

So why do I care? Well, it’s hard not to after being with him so long. He says he wants a settled life. Perhaps that’s all I want too. I’d love to have a settled life, but while I have all this mental garbage kicking around in my head, I’m not going to get one.
I think I’ll go get on with sewing. I have lots to do and can’t spend my entire life wrapped up in issues that Paul keeps dragging up. He wants a settled life, but then claims stalking and harassment and threatens restraining orders. He wants a settled life, but goads my best mate by accusing her of “help(ing) her (my) screaming inner demons” when all she’s done is comfort me, talk to me and actually encouraged me to try to sort out my marriage when he beat me black and blue. I was willing to sort it for the record. Paul didn’t seem interested. He wants a settled life, but while there is the possibility that I might decide to stop playing nice and go back to the police and continue the process started in Andover (The police wanted to follow it up then, but I was being too nice for my own good), then he’s not going to get one. He wants a settled life, but just opened himself up to prosecution for libel.

If he wants a settled life, he’s going to have to learn to play nice and stop blaming everyone else for something that’s entirely his fault. I would like a settled life, but ain’t going to get it while he’s being like this. We both want a settled life, so why not give each other what we both seem to need: explanations, answers, communication and above all understanding. I’m ready to listen, but it’s never been one of his strong points.

At the moment it seems to me that I am his only true friend (not counting his relatives), as I still like and love the Paul I married. Sadly that Paul has been covered by the violent wife-beater he became. He still dons his shining armour to help damsels in distress, but that’s only to play “hero” to those people he chooses to help. He neglected and beat the person who was closest to him and needed his help the most, and still I feel the need to want to help him get back to being the Paul I know is still under that violent, self-serving, shallow façade. Even if our marriage is ending through divorce, perhaps my help will stop him repeating his mistakes, someone else getting hurt, and him having to go through his life always looking for something and never getting it because of what he becomes. Ultimately he is the one who will suffer if he doesn’t accept the help being offered, not just by me as a friend, but by professional bodies more trained to deal with the problems he has.

Yep, I’ve gone from being annoyed at his recent escapades and comments to compassion, but I would hate to see him become a broken man for want of a little compassion and a little acceptance by Paul that he needs to take a good look at the way his life is heading if he doesn’t do something about it. I don’t know if the Paul I fell in love with is the “real” Paul, or whether that is the one that ultimately drove me away from him. I know which I would prefer, as the Paul I fell in love with was caring, considerate and generally a very nice person to be around. He was like that with me for so long that I put up with the nasty side for the remainder of our marriage together in the hope that one day the Paul I married would be dominant once again. Maybe he will, but by then I think it will be too late to salvage anything more than just a casual friendship from the ruins of our marriage.

Same shit, different day

Well, his blog is complaining of me being a stalker, threatening restraining orders etc.

I have not spoken to him, contacted him or made any attempt to get him to contact me since I last spoke to him via text message on the 7th August. My last text was an apology for being too keen and leaving him to contact me if he wants. That was 11 days ago. 10 days before his blog entry. I sent 20 text messages and received 9 in response over a period between the 22nd July and the last message on the 7th August. That's a period of 16 days and several of those texts covered two conversations on two different days. I phoned him on the 22nd July and he ASKED me to call him back because he was busy. I checked by text that he was happy still for me to contact him, as I wondered if I was doing the right thing and whether he wanted to speak to me.

I had the reply text of "I'm free now" so I called him. He had his get-out clause right there at the start. We spoke and things seemed OK as far as I could tell. OK, so I got a bit happy that we could actually speak to one another without biting each other's heads off. I phoned one night when he was just home, and I apologised and text the apology as well, asking if he was free for a chat to contact me. He didn't contact me so I didn't push it.

I tried phoning him the night I overdosed on my temazepam. He was driving to his parents and ASKED me to phone him back at half eight. By then I was unconscious so apologised the next day by text for not phoning. I was told at that point he was looking out for number one, I hadn't overdosed because I was still alive and that he didn't care about what I thought or felt, as he had apparently cared for the last 7 years according to him. I think I missed some of that, as for the last couple of years it seemed like he couldn't care less when he didn't feel like it.

The last phone call was on the 6th August. We spoke for a while, but I felt like he was making he right noises in the right places. I tried getting him to understand how I felt and that to have closure, there's a lot of answers that are missing.

I realised that he wasn't that interested the next day when I thought about the conversation again. I sent a text telling him what I thought and that I would leave contact up to him. He responded that he felt like I had been stalking him, and I apologised and once again left it to him to contact me.

I sent one e-mail in all that time just to explain that I may not be able to phone him again as speaking to him had left me with more confusion than it solved. I was able to speak to him as it happens, and it was a very polite, light-hearted mail, not stalkerish in any way.

I thought that was the end of it, but it's taken him ten days to come back and paint me as a crazed stalker and to play the victim. He's very good at playing the victim.

He's complained about the garage not being emptied and him not being able to put stuff in because I have the key. I was told the garage needed cleared as he had put ALL my stuff in it, and I had to speak to the neighbours to get access to the garage. Now it seems that all my things aren't in the garage and he needs the key to put it in. I didn't want to bother the neighbours every time I wanted in to the garage and have to arrange with them every time I wanted to try getting there. I have to be free with money, the Bear has to be free and the neighbours have to be in. All of those things have to be there for me to get into the garage if I don't have a key. I'm dealing with the neighbours and they told me it was OK for me to have the key.

As for his love life... It's not speculation, it's fact. He's slept with someone else's wife. He's messed with someone else's girlfriend. I wonder what Simon and Jamie would say if they knew what Paul had been up to with their respective other halves. It's pathetic when you put those together with his whiny complaint in the divorce about me saying I wanted to have sex with another man. To be honest sex with ANY man would have been good. Sex with my husband would have been exactly what I wanted, but he OFFERED to let me have an affair. I ASKED him six months after the offer was first made and after it had been discussed again, if an affair with the Bear would be acceptable. He said it would be fine. He SANCTIONED my affair with the Bear. According to Paul, sexually he was "dysfunctional" as a husband, and so I could have a substitute.

He's a liar, a cheat and a vicious bastard. I have no sympathy for him any more. I have my answer: He may have cared once, but I wasn't deviant enough for his twisted tastes that's left at least one woman with bruises following a night in the house with him. He stopped caring years ago and was too much of a coward to say so. He knew I am entitled to a fair chunk of settlement money from the divorce, and perhaps that's why he kept me around for so long, thinking that if I left for another man, he could weasel out of the settlement.

He ASKED ME to drop my financial claims against him for the same consideration on his side.

Sadly I left because he's violent, so the blame is entirely his. He has made his bed, he can lie in it, unless of course he has to sell it to pay the settlement and pay his solicitor.

Home again…

Slightly earlier than planned. Well, a lot earlier than planned. I was supposed to be staying in Wales till Tuesday, but it’s Thursday now and I came home yesterday.

I thought I would be all right, staying with two of my best friends in a nice peaceful place, but it seems that I can’t cope very well with being away from home yet. I went on Sunday, and by Tuesday afternoon I had to phone the Emergency Duty Team of my mental health clinic. That at least gave me a coping mechanism to stop me doing anything really drastic.

I was doing OK till we went to a market town and I managed to get separated from my friends. I started getting quite anxious about being on my own, and then started feeling very hemmed in by all the other people there. I managed to get back to my friends, but was still not feeling very happy about being in a crowd. I stuck to the clearer bits while they mooched the stalls. The bit that really made me decide to phone someone was when we were coming home and a hearse passed us going the other way. My thought was that it would be nice to be the one in the box, not to have to face anything any more, to have everything stop: no more painful memories or feelings that hurt and confuse me, just an end to everything.

I spoke to the EDT for some time and that calmed me enough to stop me wanting to be the one in the box, but I still wasn’t doing very well. I thought I could cope with it and get through the mess in my head, but I couldn’t. I spoke to my friend at length about why I was feeling the way I was, talking about Paul and my feelings for him that were confusing me. She was very understanding about it all and let me ramble on, asking a few questions here and there to clarify some things, but generally sitting being a sympathetic ear. She’s not happy with Paul after I finally told her everything that had gone on, but she understands my feelings for him, and the fact that I care.

I spoke to my friend for a long time, trying to explain why I was anxious, upset and generally feeling very uneasy and in mental pain. I thought talking with her would help, but I think it made it a little worse, just because I was having to admit all of these things to someone who knows me very well. She asked what I wanted to do about it all, and my only response was that I felt like digging my nails into my elbow and peeling the skin off my arm… She phoned the local EDT and made me speak to them for a while. The guy there was very helpful and calmed me down by talking about things from an outsiders point of view, although he said if I was feeling in the slightest like I would self-harm or try doing worse, I should hand myself in to the nearest Accident and Emergency. My friends hid my meds too, just in case…

The Bear came and got me yesterday because I wanted to come home. I felt bad having to leave just short of a week early, but my friends understood. Everyone’s been very understanding that I’ve spoken to about this, and it makes me feel worse sometimes that I’m having to put people out so much by them having to cope with me while I’m not rational, or having to come and fetch me because I’m too unstable to be out my house for very long.

I went to my clinic today and spoke to one of the duty nurses there about things, and she’s going to speak to my regular counsellor. Apparently he’s just a Clinical Nurse Specialist… I thought he was a proper doctor type thing, but apparently not. The nurse I spoke to today decided I would probably benefit from speaking to one of their mental health consultants, so that’s going to be set up for me. In the mean time, I just have to do what I can to keep myself from doing silly things, and hand myself in if I feel like I’m going to harm myself in any way, before I do it rather than after the fact. I’ve also been given leaflets to read about sleeping and relaxation to help me through the stressful times as well as a soothing thing, which was described as like putting cream on a cut, but it’s like a soothing thing for the mind.

I do feel a bit frustrated because I’m so good at helping others but can’t do it for myself. I make the wrong decisions when it comes to me, and I get into situations mentally that I shouldn’t. There’s no rational reason for some of the things I think or do, but I can’t seem to stop myself. It’s like wanting to speak to Paul: I phoned and text him too much, and annoyed or upset him, so I’ve had to decide to leave it to him to contact me when he feels he wants to. There are a lot of issues that need to be resolved, but the truth may never be told, because circumstance means that there’s a lot that can’t be said.

All I would really like is for my husband to care. I’ve seen him care for others, and he talked about caring about me, but he mostly left me alone to deal with things. I’m not sure if that’s because he didn’t really care, or because he didn’t know how to deal with the situations. Perhaps some of the things were too close to home, like me not being able to solve my problems the way I can solve other people’s issues. Perhaps too his idea of caring differs from mine. I don’t know.

I suppose it will take time to sort out what’s making me feel like I can’t go on or that I want to hurt myself. There must be a reason behind what I’m doing, and it may not be a terribly logical one, but I’m starting to feel like I’m clutching at straws sometimes. I thought that speaking to Paul might help, but I don’t know if he wanted to talk, or if he was just doing it because he didn’t know how to tell me to get lost.

The only things I am certain of now are that my family loves me, my pets love me, the Bear loves me very much, cares a great deal and wants to help any way he can, and finally, if I do end up doing something really pointless, I want to be buried in the dress I wore when I married Paul. The rest is just confusion. I am going to get help. I’ve been for help. I’ve asked for help and I’ve had lots of people talk to me and offer support. I have to try and carry on, and not have to wear my wedding dress again for quite some time to come.

Final thought for today: Love hurts, but you can’t control who you fall in love with.

Well, that was yesterday and now it’s Friday…

Today has been better. I managed to go down to the newsagents to get milk and to the florists to spoil myself with some oriental lilies. I did it all on my own too, and I’ve been sewing this afternoon.

It’s a brighter day, but I feel the storm clouds looming on the horizon. It’s strange that I can sense it coming, but feel powerless to halt the approach. I shall carry on till the storm hits, then try to weather it the best I can. I don’t know when it will happen; I only know that it is coming, like my headaches before a thunderstorm.

The Bear is strictly controlling my medicines. He leaves me two days supply and hates the fact that I cannot be trusted with my own medicines. I don’t even have any asprin in the house in case of headaches. If I get one, I will just have to put up with it. He was advised to take anything sharp out the house, but that’s not possible given that I sew and cook. He reasons that if I want to hurt myself, I will find a way to do it. I’m hoping that if it gets that bad, I will realise it and will hand myself in before doing any damage.

For now though, I have medieval costume to make: a dress for my friend, one for a little girl, a couple of shirts, a pair of braes, two monks habits and a dress for myself. I’m most of the way through my friend’s dress and have the other two dresses cut ready to be sewn. Once they’re done I’ll get on with the rest of it, although I have to source material for the monastic stuff before I can get on with that. One of my friends wants to be a friar, so he can swear and ogle the wenches. I told him to read Nietzsche because he’s overweight, then he could be a deep fat friar… Get it? Oh, never mind…

I know, my jokes aren’t up to much these days. I do my best though…

Thought for today: The past is the father of the present. What happened to us before dictates what we are in the now. We have some small influence over things, but the mind will take us on paths of its own devising to places we may not like, but ultimately have to pass through to journey on into the future.

Tired

I'm tired. It's half midnight as I start writing this and I really could do with some kip. Sadly although I'm tired, I'm not sleepy. I will have to take one of my sleeping tablets for that to happen.

I'm currently in Wales visiting friends. They've long since gone to bed leaving me here on the net just mooching around. I wasn't originally going to come, because I need to see the doc and get some more meds, but I can probably get them here from the local doctor on a temporary resident thing. I'm also a little anxious because I'm away from home again, and that sort of thing has my nerves a bit on edge lately. I have my little teddy bear with me though, so I at least have something to keep me a little sane. My Bear is at his place and will be feeding and watering the animals while I'm not home, so they're being looked after while I'm away.

It's funny really... When I'm home I can think of loads to say, but being away from home has me all clammed up. Ah well, short post for a change... Things will get back to normal once I get home.

Thought for today: I need a hug...

The Procrastinator Strikes Back…

A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away…

OK, so it was earlier and in Birmingham… Stop being picky…

Anyway, I’m procrastinating again. I started sorting through all the stuff I hadn’t sorted through previously and am now sitting looking at a floor full of mess… Well, a few empty boxes and a couple of boxes of stuff that need to find a home. I could do with a loft space, but then I’d just fill it up and nothing would ever come down again till I moved house, same as every other loft/attic in the universe. When I get my own place, if it has a loft, I will make sure it is turned into accessible storage space for me to put things and still get at them. Meanwhile I will just have to find spaces to put things out the way, although the storage problems will be alleviated once I get my bed back and can store stuff under it, unlike my current bed with no storage space at all under it.

I’ve also managed to launder all my christening gowns, and have just a couple left to iron, then I’ll sort out either storage or sale of them. Once I’m a bit more organised, I shall be back to making them, since I now have a lot of my material back and have even organised it, as I said before. My next plan is to work out where to put some of the hangy-up stuff that I’ve retrieved from the garage. There’s a picture of cats and a couple of cross-stitch pictures, one done by my mum for my first marriage, and the other, which used to live above our bed, a cross-stitch heart that was given to Paul and me for a wedding present nearly 7 years ago now by friends from Germany. I think those ones will end up in the bedroom with the other cross-stitch pics and the cats may well end up in the toilet, since that’s where all my quirky stuff seems to end up.

There’s loads more in the garage to be sorted through, and I suspect a local charity shop may end up with a sizable donation in the not too distant future. There’s a lot of furniture in there that I don’t really have room for (although I could do with some of it) and a load of books that I was going to give to charity anyway as I was sorting through the house. I did have plans to be ruthless with myself and throw a whole lot out, but my sudden departure sort of put a stop to me doing that, and subsequent developments meant that Paul had to do it. I did offer to help, but I was turned down (well, the offer wasn’t taken up or mentioned afterwards). There’s still stuff of mine in the house according to Paul, but we will have to arrange to sort that out when he’s not busy, Bear’s not busy and I’m not skint.

I have been talking to Paul by text and phone calls, but sadly I was a little too over-eager and he felt a bit like I was stalking him. I think I was just pleased to be speaking to him again and overdid things a bit, so I have apologised for that and left it to him to contact me if he wants. We used to speak every day, even if it was just about his work or him being bored at work, and I hadn’t spoken to him for 9 months. I’ve written mails and texts and not sent them in the past and thought about phoning him, but didn’t. It was just nice to be able to speak to him again, even though he wasn’t being very communicative sometimes, especially on the phone, about how he is and how he’s getting on. I still care for him, and as have said, am still in love with the man I married, however I am now in a more realistic frame of mind, and have realised that he’s having more fun now I’m not there, and doesn’t need me or want me back as his partner. I’ve also realised that being away from him has softened my temperament, made me more open and communicative with people, and has started me on the road to being able to like myself and appreciate my own skills.

I’m very grateful as well to everyone who has supported me in the past and who are still offering their support, especially those who have had their own problems to deal with but have still made the time for me. I apologise if I was stubborn and annoying, selfish or seemed not to be listening at the time. I’m really glad that you lot persisted and stuck around (although it might just be morbid curiosity at what I’m going to do next that keeps you around… you know, like a bad film that you just can’t stop watching because you can’t believe it’s just that bad…) and I am blessed to have the friends I do. I’ve made about a handful of acquaintances around here, but so far no real friends. I think I’ve been leaving that while I’m in the state of mind I’m in at the moment, because I’m still agoraphobic at times (sometimes even going down to the hall to check the mail is a little too much for me and the street door is always locked so I know I’m safe, but just can’t face it) and the only time I go outside is onto the balcony at the back to smoke. I won’t smoke in the house because I dislike the smell of it, and I plan to give up once I’ve got myself sorted. It costs too much for a start, but it is my one bad habit, and I don’t think I need the stress of giving up cigarettes on top of the rest of the stress about divorce, money, my mental state and all the rest of it. At least it gets me out the house when I’m having one of those days where I can hardly even get out of bed, and having to go outside doesn’t half cut down my consumption of them, because half the time it’s raining, and I can’t be bothered getting wet…

Well, it’s now later in the day and I am still procrastinating about the stuff in the living room. Instead of tidying I have gone down to see the neighbours about the break-in at the garage last night, bought some more milk, entertained the Bear who turned up just as I came out the shop with the milk (we’ve been sat chatting for a while about photographs and stuff) and I just made food for both of us. We had scampi with sliced tinned potatoes fried with onion, garlic, parsley, crab sticks and a little salt and pepper. It was a very nice experiment in “Shit, what do I cook. I don’t have much in and the freezer just threw a wobbly and is defrosting and it looks like the stuff at the back may be only fit for the bin” but it seemed to work well. I must write it down somewhere… I was going to do savoury pancakes, but the mince was a funny shade of grey and I don’t have any eggs. The mince was the first indication that the freezer wasn’t working, and the soft bacon covered in big ice crystals was the second. Fortunately it only seems to be the back that’s affected, so the scampi and crabsticks were fine.

Ooooh… Someone is about to hate me… (Yes Angel, that would be you. Do try to keep from getting too green) I’M GOING ON THE QE2!!! Did I mention that before? I’m sure I did somewhere… My sister is putting in the chit for my cruise today. It’s not the one I’d hoped for, but it’s STILL A CRUISE ON THE QE2!!! HA! Suck on that one Bitch!!!! I’ll send you a postcard to make sure you’re jealous… Ten days of absolute luxury, swanning round in posh clothes, mingling with millionaires and famous people with fabulous food and lashings of ginger beer! Well, that might be a bit Enid Blyton, but apparently it’s rather nice with rum in it…

So that will be me getting four holidays this year… I had the fortnight at Beltring last month, I’m away for a weekend with one of my mates in a few weeks (I’m letting him pay for the hotel, although I might buy him an ice cream at the beach) I’m off on my CRUISE on the QE2 (did I mention that one? I’m sure I did at some point…) and the family (mummy, daddy and us two little sisters) have been invited to spend a few days round Christmas in Germany with friends.

Well, that was yesterday. The living room is looking much tidier, although not as clean as I like it I still have a load of tubs of sewing things to find homes for yet, as well as some books to sort through. I really need to sift through all my photos at some point as well and chuck out the rubbish ones, and then be ruthless with myself about the stuff I already have in my house. I’m just a little short of storage space, although I plan to rearrange things so I make the most of the shelves and things I’ve got already. I still think I need a bigger house…

Ah well, I’m going to Wales to help my mate with a load of sewing… I may manage to get online while I’m there if I can squeeze her off the computer or I’ll use her lappy or something. It wasn’t really planned so I’ve just been packing and need to finish this off for the Bear to post.

Another holiday! Wheeeeeee! That makes 5 this year, although I’m going to be sewing during this one. It’s still a break at the end of the day…

Another day…

Another blog to bore the pants off you good people who are daft enough to want to read this stuff…

Well, what can I say? I hope the Bear managed to put that pic on my last blog entry and I hope you all liked it. I was pleased as punch when I saw little B in her gown, and she seemed to like it too. Cute as a button, ain’t she?

As you may or may not be able to tell, things are a little more upbeat here in the one-bedroom flat at the furthest edge of the universe from any excitement. There’s little or nothing going on here as per usual, but I’m having a very cheerful day. My pessimistic side doesn’t expect it to last, so enjoy it while you can, people.

So far today I have done about the sum total of nothing other than the usual daily chores that fall to those who live on their own and don’t have someone else to make the tea occasionally. I should really be doing some work, but it’s kinda late and I don’t like disturbing my downstairs neighbour with my sewing machines after about 8 in the evening. I could be cutting out some cushion covers that I have to make for my florist friend downstairs, but meh, I’m feeling idle.

Well, I just had a great chat with my mate in Wales, which was an absolute scream. I relayed the events with the temazepam in a completely comic fashion and we were both in stitches (my description of me wandering around like a zombie trying to do stuff while the Bear was trying to get me to lie down in bed before I fell down had her practically beating the carpet… She knows me well enough to understand the why) and it was really good to talk to her. I have also been asked to be Matron of Honour at her wedding blessing next year, which I’m really pleased about, although I’m going to be making the dresses I think. Oh well, at least it might keep me out of mischief.

I’ve also got to get to the doctors sooner rather than later. My other doctor has basically told me to go away since I don’t live in their catchment area, so I have to register at another practice, which is a pain in the butt frankly. I’m a bit short of my antidepressants since they only gave me a normal month’s supply, but then said I had to double the dose, so that’s not good. That might be what’s causing my current permanent grin. I’m certainly too bloody chirpy by half today with all that’s been going on recently, so I shall see what the doc thinks once I can get in to see one. Don’t hold your breath…

Meanwhile, back at the ranch…

Men… Who’d have them? I phoned Paul earlier and he was just home, so I apologised and said I wouldn’t disturb and that was that. I sent a text after a suitable period of time apologising again, saying I thought it was later than it was, and if he was free for a chat to let me know. Nothing… Not a word from him. Mind you, I don’t really expect it to be honest, because he’s still Mr Grumpy-Chops about me not phoning him on Sunday. I was only going to say out of courtesy that we have plans to go down tomorrow hopefully to start sorting out my crap in the garage and that we would hopefully not be there by the time he got home unless he wanted me to hang around for any reason. Well, you never know… Anyway, I shall contact him tomorrow if we are on our way down, just to let him know, and I’ll probably take a couple of things of his that I have here back to him as well, because I’m nice like that. The only problem there would be that I can’t post a mug through his letterbox and I was going to ask the neighbours if I could keep the garage keys till I can get everything sorted and shifted, just to make it easier since they’re not always there. That means I wouldn’t be able to leave any of his things in the garage for him either… I’m also presuming there must be some mail in the house for me as well, so it would be nice to find out what’s still going there and get it redirected.

Call me stupid (I can hear the chorus already, so don’t you lot start…) but I wouldn’t mind seeing him and speaking to him anyway…

Well, that was Tuesday and now it’s Thursday. Still a bit too chipper to be anything approaching sane, but it’s all good. It’s better than being a miserable cow anyway. Well, apart from anything else I turned my living room into something resembling the wake of a tornado. I’ve been sorting through boxes of material, paperwork and goodness knows what else. I found old cards from my birthdays, old letters from my first husband when we were courting (and god, were they sweet. He’s a lovely bloke, and it was nice to take a wee stroll down memory lane again) and I found about a million photographs, most of which I had forgotten about with several pics of various exes over the years. Isn’t it strange to look back at people you’ve gone out with and think, “Oh my god, did I ever go out with that?” or “Wow… Well, I can see why I fancied the arse off him!” My first husband had long hair back then, and now has it short. If you’re reading this, keep it short Baby Dragon, because it suits you a lot better but you’re still cute! Oh, and you’re still a few sandwiches short of a picnic for marrying me in the first place… hehehe Love you really Baby Dragon!

One of my exes, PN, was a very, very, VERY gorgeous bloke, and I still think on my time with him with fondness. We didn’t always get on too well, but I remember going sailing, playing golf (badly on my part) and knocking about with his little brother and sister a lot. We had fun… I’ve always kept a photo of him in my wallet for no really good reason other than to show off what a gorgeous bloke I went out with when I was many years younger and for an occasional smile at fond memories. I found loads of photos of him today, and they really brought a smile to my face remembering having the photos taken or taking them of him.

So many photos and so many memories… I really need to sort them out at some point, but it’s something I’ll get to in the end. Will probably need about twenty albums to put them all in if I don’t junk some of the more obscure or pointless ones.

I still have some boxes to sort through, but I’m on strike for the time being. Can’t be bothered… Or rather don’t want to spoil my good mood with some of the things in there… I was getting a bit emotional yesterday finding some of the things that have been thrown into the garage for me to have or just because Paul doesn’t want them any more, but I’m going to have to face the rest of it sooner or later. There’s still loads to fetch and I have no idea where it’s all going to go in my wee flat. I think a lot of it will end up going to charity shops just because I don’t have space. I need a bigger house!

On that note, I’ve actually been looking at house prices round here, just out of interest really. It looks like, if I get a decent enough job and a regular income, I may well be able to afford a fairly decent house, especially if I have a sizable enough deposit to put down. I was speaking to Paul last night on the phone about homes and suchlike and telling him that my wee flat still doesn’t feel enough like home. That’s probably because it’s not actually mine, just rented from someone else, so it would be nice to be able to have my own house. I’d probably need three bedrooms: one for me, one for guests and one as a sewing room, and there’s a few on the market at the moment that aren’t too expensive. We’ll see what I can afford once I’m thinking about it seriously though. I’d still like to live around here, purely because there’s the rag market in the city centre, and it’s fairly easy to get to from here. I know, I’m obsessed with my material and sewing, but maybe one day I will make my fortune at it! Yeah… Stop laughing…

First thing on the agenda though is to get my medical problems sorted. Until that happens, I can’t get a job, and if I don’t have a job, I can’t buy a house… You all still owe me a quid though, so if you’d actually manage to send the cash through, I might be able to afford a house on the proceeds… I’ll invite you all to the housewarming party as long as you bring your own booze. I’m Scottish. Live with the inbred stinginess.

Tomorrow I will be doing some very special laundry… I got my gowns back! I now have five very creased and slightly musty-smelling christening gowns awaiting my care and attention, so tomorrow will be silk wash in the machine, hang on hangars to dry, then out with the iron and into suit bags to keep them pristine. I’ve a couple of finishing touches to put on a couple and then I’ll be hoping to sell them. If anyone wants a christening gown, you know where to find me!

On another note, I’ve also offered to do up window displays for the florist downstairs. He has some mannequins that I can make stuff for, and then when the display gets changed, I can launder and sell the bits I’ve made. Plus I get free advertising by having my stuff in his window as well! With any luck, nice window displays will increase his trade too, so everyone wins. With Christmas season coming up (yeah, I know, we’re just in August, but the retail trade starts early) I may have to make some festive bits and pieces for him, and he occasionally does teddies for arrangements for new baby arrivals, so I may be able to make some toys and baby bits for him too. We shall see. I’m just trying to keep out of mischief here, and doing some sewing should be good therapy for me. Now I have a lot of my sewing things back, life should be a lot easier on that score anyway. It’s bliss having my material (well a lot of it anyway, as I know there are some bits still missing) back, and I’ve just organised it into colours (reds, blues, greens, golds, white oddments, white gown material and black dress fabric) so that might make life a little easier when looking for things. I have all my patterns too, so watch this space for progress reports…

Anyway, it’s getting late, I need a cuppa and a painkiller (I’ve just started a headache, probably from lack of sleep) and I think I’m going to lie down in bed and try to get my creative mind working on a dress design… I spotted some material while sorting through, and I’d really like to make a spectacular christening gown with it. All I have to do now is design it so it doesn’t turn out being too overdone… I’ll keep you posted.

I think I need a scanner… That way I could scan in designs for you lovely people to get bored with as well as my wittering on about nothing in particular. Now the Bear has worked out technology to a point where he can post pics for me on here… Well, let’s just say that you’ve been warned…

A short while later…

The Bear just turned up and didn’t even make me a cup of tea… I had to do it. Lazy sod… Anyway, I’ll get him to post this for me.

For the record guys, my husband will be my ex husband as soon as my solicitor can get everything done around all the other work he’s got going on. I doubt Paul will be the bloke I married ever again and that’s just something I’ll have to deal with and learn to live with. I’ll love the man I married as much as I ever did, but the Paul that’s there now just isn’t that man.

I love you guys too for the record, especially the crazy Canadian lady and her evil twin who is not in full control of his faculties. Larry, please keep that pair in line for the sake of everyone’s sanity! And Puss, don’t let the kids drive you too nuts. Bear sends his love too (except to Sims… I think it’s more a sort of manly handshake thing going on there… I hope…)

Sod it…

I’ve had enough of vague and not getting understood. I’ll be blunt.

I’m still in love with my husband. He’s not my ex, because the divorce hasn’t gone through, and my solicitor is being a bit slow due to his caseload. I still love him as much as I did on the day I married him, and possibly even more than that, because we were together for quite a while in the grand scheme of things. People probably think I’m completely insane for loving Paul the way I do, but it’s not something I can magically switch off. I can’t suddenly stop having feelings for the man just because I had to leave him.

Note I said HAD to leave. I didn’t want to leave. I only left because I was afraid the past might repeat itself with regards the violence. If he’d promised not to do it again and kept that promise, I might still be living there. If he’d gone and got help for his problems before November, I might still have been there. He says he’s been to see someone about his temper, and I really hope he has, but that doesn’t make things easier for me. It means that the Paul I’m in love with is still there minus the bit I had to leave for.

It’s sad to think that Paul is probably the only person I have really ever fallen completely and utterly in love with. I still love my first husband to bits, but it’s a different kind of love. He will always be one of my best friends even if we don’t speak that often. Paul is different: loving Paul hurts even now. I was jealous at Beltring because he was all over a girl and they were practically eating each other’s faces off less than 12 feet in front of me, knowing I was there and couldn’t help but see them. That stabbed like a knife. I was jealous when he said he was off to help another one of his female friends, driving down to her house to pick her up, take her back home with him, spend some time chilling, watching DVDs, chatting, sorting some of her problems and then the next day taking her to London to hand her over to her boyfriend. He did all that because she has problems: she’s anorexic, bulimic, depressive and agoraphobic. A very noble thing for him to have done, but it makes me very hurt to think he can do all these things for other people, but doesn’t care about helping me. I just told him in a text message that if the situation was reversed and he needed me, I’d be there for him. I’d want to help him, give him the answers he needs, and generally get him through it in the most painless way possible.

Perhaps I am asking too much. Perhaps he doesn’t care. Perhaps he hasn’t cared for a long time, since I stopped being the thin dolly-bird for him to show off. Someone described me as Paul’s “Trophy wife” and perhaps that’s got an element of truth in it. It does feel like he didn’t want me when I put on weight, some of which was down to my thyroid condition and the following bout of vertigo. I started losing the weight though, going to a slimming club to try to get back to the size I was when I met Paul back on the 2nd July 2000. Strange that I can remember the date so clearly. I also know that our seventh wedding anniversary falls in less than two weeks, and I will probably be sat here miserable, thinking back on the good times, and missing him so much it hurts. I do that a lot anyway, but knowing it is the anniversary of the day I married the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with, to grow old and die with, makes it so much harder to bear.

Foolishly, given the chance, I’d probably go back to him or at least have a very hard time deciding whether to or not. If I did I’d lose friends and my family wouldn’t be happy about it. I’d lose the Bear, who has been so caring and considerate and who has helped me get this far so I have a roof over my head, a little money to keep body and soul together in the way of benefits, and he tries to stop me doing silly things to myself. At the moment he has taken all the medicines out of the house with the exception of the ones I need to take today because the other night I just wanted to escape reality for a while and took more of my sleeping tablets than I should. I wasn’t trying to kill myself, just trying to have a break from the hurt and the nightmares that even come while I’m awake. I wasn’t after attention or pity: I just wanted a break from feeling like my whole life is in ruins and the only person who could help sort out some of the pieces doesn’t want to know.

I self harm as a way of diverting my mind from the pain inside to the pain I’m inflicting, but last time it didn’t work. I cut myself with scissors: that didn’t hurt, so I tried a kitchen knife. That didn’t hurt either, so I tried a serrated steak knife, and even that didn’t hurt. That’s when I took the sleeping tablets. If I couldn’t divert the pain, then I could at least try to escape from it. I do see a counsellor, but to be honest, it’s not helping as far as I can tell. I’ve been seeing him every month since March, and as far as I can see, things have just got worse, although I can probably put some of that down to having seen Paul at Beltring, and to the things he did while there. He said he didn’t do it on purpose, that he wasn’t French-kissing the girl in front of me for any malicious reason. He said “it just happened”. Part of me wants to believe it, not to have to think that the man I love so much would do something to hurt me so badly, but the other part of me thinks he did it to show me what I was missing, to make me jealous, to make me upset and to hurt me badly enough that I couldn’t enjoy the party. I left early for the record, because the pain inside was too bad to bear.

We spoke by text yesterday. I’m not going to go into the details of that. Suffice to say I probably said more than I should about my feelings for him, which is probably why I’m no longer bothered about hiding them on here. He did say that I was being out of character though, and to be honest, I am different to the way I was towards the end of the time I was living with him. People have commented on the difference in me. A very good friend was even nice enough to tell me about one of the problems I have with my personality, and that means I can now do something about it. He was very reticent about telling me, but I’m really glad he did, because it now means I can hopefully solve it and it won’t be a problem any more. Paul did tell me about it, but didn’t go into detail, so I couldn’t quite grasp what the problem was. Part of me wishes we could have sorted out the problems before I felt I had to leave. I know I had things he disliked about me, and me him, but if we’d communicated, perhaps neither of us would have had to go through all this mess.

It is a mess, isn’t it? The Bear and I had a bit of a heated discussion last night (not an argument, I was just a bit upset and he played Devil’s advocate as well as sitting on Paul’s side of things to get me to see things from other points of view) and I know he didn’t agree with some of the things I said to Paul on the texts, but understood why I had sent them. He made the point that maybe I was hurting Paul with some of the things I was saying, perhaps dragging up things for him that he would prefer to be left, and perhaps I did. I don’t know really, but I know I don’t want to hurt him, just have him understand what’s in my head. I sent a text this morning apologising if I’d upset him, but I’ve had no reply to that text or the last two sent yesterday, and doubt one will be forthcoming.

I suppose at some point I will have to face the fact that Paul is either honestly not interested or he’s pulling away from me because he’s facing the same nightmares as I am. Bear was absolutely livid at Paul though, because I phoned Paul after taking the sleeping tablets and he said he was busy and could I phone him at half eight. Apparently I was slurring my words and very slow because the tablets were taking effect: Bear was sat across from me when I made the call and heard me. I only have vague recollections of the next bit because I was fairly out of it. By half seven I had basically passed out, so didn’t make the phone call, and Paul was angry that I hadn’t phoned when I said I would. Bear couldn’t understand why Paul hadn’t noticed something was up when I spoke to him in the first place, although I did say he was driving at the time, so probably not concentrating that much although according to Bear it should have been fairly apparent to anyone, even if they were busy, that something was definitely wrong with me, and Bear also asked why Paul didn’t phone me when I didn’t call at the appointed time, as he was waiting to eat. My answer to that is probably because he doesn’t want there to be any record of him contacting me by phone, or he can’t be bothered paying for a phone call to me.

The bit of my mind that hates me wonders if it makes him feel good having me chasing after him and telling him that I still love him. When I told the Bear that I’d been sending texts and said roughly what had been said, he threw his hands up and looked exasperated, because to his mind, I have handed Paul ammunition to use against me, things that he can use to hurt me and stuff he can read to his friends and laugh over because it will be seen as pathetic. He will get slaps on the back from his manly mates at having someone so pathetically infatuated with him, and it will all be a grand joke. Oh well, if he does, he does. If that’s what makes him happy, then so be it.

Bear has also told me off on several occasions for making excuses for why Paul did what he did, and for his actions even now. I do make excuses for him, like him being tired, working long hours, being too busy to reply, being too busy driving to notice anything amiss the other night and a myriad of other little excuses I make for him every day. I should stop really, as sometimes there is no excuse.

Recently I had a friend on the phone very distraught after something had happened in his personal life. He was told in no uncertain terms to come to my house for a bit of tea and sympathy and to see if there was anything I could do to help him. This was while I was clinging onto my own sanity by a thread, but that didn’t matter: my friend needed someone to help, and I helped. My parents were here at the time, and I had already put the contingency plan into action for sleeping arrangements, but my parents decided to head down to my sister’s overnight rather than during the day because the weather was so hot, so that helped with the bed spaces. My friend stayed over and we had a lovely couple of walks along the canal as well as a nice lunch out (I paid my share: I insisted despite him being a pain in the butt about wanting to pay for everything) and by the time he went home, his head wasn’t quite so messed up. He’d had a couple of days to think and someone to bounce thoughts off (with a bit of help from the Bear too, although the pair of them ended up licking land rovers and my mate now wants a land rover with armour. Don’t ask… It’s a bloke thing…) and went home feeling happier and with a plan.

I was tired: I was busy with having parents here: I was on the verge of a complete mental breakdown. None of these stopped me wanting to help my friend because he was so upset and needed to talk. None of these things would stop me speaking to Paul if he needed to either. The only thing that stopped me phoning when I was supposed to was about 90mg of Temazepam. For the record, it’s only because I’ve been prescribed them for far longer than you’re supposed to be that saved me from being dragged into hospital. My body is sort of used to processing them now, so there were slightly less nasty effects than there would have been otherwise. The Bear had to stay here all night watching me according to the NHS Direct nurse, and was told if there was ANYTHING that seemed wrong, he had to phone an ambulance.

Anyway, I’m still here, getting thinner (lost about 8lbs in a couple of weeks… Not great, but nothing to get too worked up about) and I’m back in touch with someone I’m very pleased to be speaking to. She’s an absolutely brilliant person (although she’ll probably kill me when she gets the letter I’m writing her… The paper will probably send her blind!) and I’ve missed talking to her. I best stop waffling on now as the Bear has to go, and I have asked him to post this for me. I’ve also asked him to post a pic of me with my cousin’s baby in her Christening gown, but heaven only knows if he’ll be able to work out how to do it… We shall see. If so, I hope you like the pic. If he ends up putting something on here that he shouldn’t, PLEASE phone me so I can slap his paw for being rude!

Normal service will be resumed as soon as the Bear stops being rude and works out how to use technology…

31 July 08

Well, you all owe me a quid. My psychiatrist thought the nervous breakdown was a bad idea. I can be rich and miserable… Mail donations to the usual address and any suggestions should be written on the back of a used five pound note (or ten dollars, depending on your country of choice).

I had a text or three from my crazy Canadian lady yesterday, which made me feel a little better after a really pretty shitty day (and by the way, I love you too, you crazy Canuk). I have come to the conclusion that I need the internet just so I can talk to the friends that don’t have my address or phone number (and those who do have them but don’t use them… or those that do use them and then have their letters delayed or lost by the absolutely abysmal postal service working across the pond in either direction). I may head into town soon and see what the various offers are on for cheap internet thingies to plug into my computer and plug me back into the world. I may just have to go into the library more often to keep up with my mail at least (35 at last count and I only checked them on Monday) and try to keep up with the blogging without having to do it through a third party (Bear will probably be the poor sucker who has to post this for me).

I’m trying so hard to keep cheerful because I know what will happen if I don’t. I don’t think people are really interested in the shite in my head, and I’m not into people thinking I’m looking for sympathy because of my illness. I’m just planning to ramble on for a bit just in case some poor sap really feels the need to read this stuff…

My mother tried to tell me I’m not ill. Bless her, she’s trying to understand, but those who haven’t been there don’t really know what really goes on with mental illness. It’s a very strange thing, and sadly, the easy cures don’t work. The simple things that my mum thinks will solve everything won’t work because of the way the mind works, or doesn’t when you have mental problems.

It used to be a real stigma to have a mental illness, and so many things were classed as mental illnesses too, including things like promiscuity or getting pregnant before marriage and many other things that are now socially acceptable. Mental illness is now socially acceptable, and depression is now possibly the biggest excuse for days missed from work than anything else with the exception of stress. The thing is, half of these people are possibly just swinging the lead, being a wee bit miserable and the easy diagnosis is depression. They’re treated with a variety of different medications, most of which have no chance of working, because there’s nothing actually wrong with the patient in the fist place. The doctor would probably be as well giving them a sugar cube and a pat on the head, because that’s going to have about the same effect as the tablets. They’re mostly a placebo effect, albeit an expensive one for the local Primary Care Trust to dish out as an NHS medication.

I know I have a real problem. It’s maybe not as severe as some cases (although I have considered handing myself in to the local hospital recently because I couldn’t trust myself not to do something REALLY stupid, but fortunately I was saved that by the parents putting in an appearance and staving off the stupidity), but it still makes life very difficult for me. For some people, depression is just not being able to get up and not seeing a light at the end of the tunnel, glass half full and all that jazz, and for others depression takes a more sinister twist and they end up under trains, in rivers or going to sleep and not waking up again courtesy of large quantities of pharmaceuticals washed down with a good helping of the alcohol of their choice. For the record, co-codamol is NOT a good choice of medication, as lots of it makes you itch. It’s a tested theory, so trust me on this one (not a recent test. This one was a few months ago when things maybe weren’t quite so naff, but still naff enough for me to do something that could nearly have saved you all reading this crap…)

After speaking to a few people about such things, the general consensus is also that while self harm makes you feel better in the short term, there are still scars around many years later (unless of course you are one of the ones being scraped off trains or fished out of rivers) so it’s generally held to be a bad move. The problem is that while the rational mind can process this information, agree and nod sagely, the irrational mind is sat there thinking “What a load of crap. I want to do it and sod the rational side. That side is no fun anyway, and I’d never go partying with it. Rational is for LOSERS!” The irrational brain sees the rational side as a nerd to be mocked and contradicted at every turn while the rational side of the head tries to make itself heard. Think of it as bungee jumping: while the rational side is thinking, “This bit of elastic doesn’t really look that strong. Is this really a good idea?” the irrational side is thinking “WHEEEEEEEEEE!” as it has already thrown itself (including the poor sod that it’s inhabiting) off the ledge, bridge or platform. It is loud, obnoxious and drowns out the rational until it shuts up and slinks back to it’s room in a sulk, refusing to come out again till the irrational side has done the equivalent of a sixteen-pints-and-pass-out-at-the-party move, when it’s safe to re-emerge. By that point I’m usually looking for the box of elastoplast (or band-aids for you weirdos across the pond).

I have a new one, just in case anyone was interested. Rational slipped out for a cigarette earlier and left irrational in charge… It’s a bit like asking someone called Torquemada to work in an old people’s home…

It’s odd, being able to make fun of myself and my illness, making light of what could be (and sometimes is) a very serious condition of mine. It’s life threatening sometimes, and definitely not good for my health given that I don’t sleep well, don’t eat properly, and certainly don’t look after myself with any degree of care. I have weird nightmares that wake me at all hours of the night when I don’t take my sleeping tablets, but given that they are highly addictive things, I try not to take them too often. I have to put up with the sleeplessness just so I don’t get hooked on the bloody things, and I have to take all my other meds every day otherwise I go back to square one of them, and let me tell you, that ain’t pretty. The warning on my anti-depressants says that for the fist month, the tablets can INCREASE all the symptoms of depression, including the suicide/self-harm thing. Great medicine, isn’t it? Anyway, I persisted with it, and the doc just doubled my dose, as with the recent events it seems the bloody things aren’t working any more, or are doing so at a lesser efficiency, or have gone back to increasing, rather than decreasing the symptoms. I thought about having an eating disorder just to have the full set, but I can’t be arsed with the whole fingers-down-throat crap. Mind you, recently (for that read “from last Friday till yesterday”) my body decided it didn’t like food anyway and anything put in came out again fairly swiftly, so my food intake for five days was two small slices of chicken and a digestive biscuit. I did manage to keep drinking, so I kept the fluid levels up anyway.

Just for a laugh as well, because of the meds I have to take, I have to take another med to stop my stomach having too much acid in it, because gastric reflux all day, every day, is not fun. I ran out of that a bit ago though, so I couldn’t experiment to see if it would stop me throwing up anything put in my stomach.. I have another one to top up my thyroxin levels too, but I’ll have to take that every day for the rest of my life anyway. I can live with that one though, because it means I don’t get the symptoms of an underactive thyroid (although they’re sending me for more blood tests to check the meds are keeping up, as they’re not sure they are at the mo). I try to be good at taking my meds as well, because if you don’t take them, they don’t work properly. I want to get better. I really don’t want to get stuck like this for the rest of my life. Mind you, if the rational side keeps slipping out for breaks, that might not be too long…

Well, I just deleted a whole paragraph because I started waffling on about things that are best left alone for the time being. Bah humbug… I’d love to witter on about things and get them off my chest, however a) they’re pretty private things, b) they might bother someone reading this because of them being personal and c) they’re probably not all that interesting to those on the outside of the situation anyway. Oh, not forgetting d) (which I have already had from one friend tonight) which is that if I publicly say my thoughts, more people might threaten to come and give me a slap or shout at me, so I’ll pass, if it’s all the same to everyone else… I shall go back to the analysis of mental illness and in particular, depression.

Before I start, I would like to add that one of my neighbours is a complete waste of fresh air. I have been accused of phoning the police on him for whatever (which I categorically can state that I didn’t) and have had a load of abuse about my personal circumstances thrown at me. The last time he did that (last Friday) my rational side decided to have a break, leaving my irrational side in charge. Elastoplast time again… I should get shares in the company… Fortunately tonight my rational side is in full command of the situation and I told him in no uncertain terms that it was not me who called the police, although he didn’t believe a word of it. I don’t really care if he does or not to be honest, as I know that I didn’t, and the other people around here know I didn’t (including the guy who actually did phone them). I’m certainly not happy with the situation, as I came here to get some peace and quiet to perhaps get my head back together again, and instead I get some idiot trying to make things worse.

So… back to the plot (or lack of plot, as it feels like on occasion)…

My shrink has decided that I need to make a decision concerning something I feel I need to do, or not, as the case may be. My problem is that doing that thing could have four possible outcomes, only one of which would be a “good” one in the grand scheme of things (depending on your point of view). Not doing said thing will just leave me in the same place as I am now, but with a regret that I didn’t do the thing that I’m dithering about. The three outcomes of the doing things that aren’t so “good” would still settle some things and perhaps get my head back on track just a bit sooner, but I’m having problems working out whether I can cope with it. Sorry if all that’s a bit vague, but I can’t speak about it, because I have to make my own mind up about what I want to do… It would be nice to get opinions, but it has to be my own decision.

Well, it’s now getting a bit late here and the Bear has turned up with his flash drive, so I am going to slouch off back to reality and ask the nice man to post this for me… I so need the internet…