The good, the bad and the ugly.

Since my last past, there has been news.
Some good, some bad.

Good:
Number one daughter passed exams (Hurrah!), got into the college of her choice, and has made a good start, in good solid subjects. Younger childers have gone back to school and that seems to be going fine -- the highlight of number two daughter's life is that the school has installed a pasta bar for lunches.
Oh, to be 12 again.
And he who left me has said, in a round about way without really absolutely saying it but not not saying it, that he still loves me.

Bad:
I still can't walk.

*****

Its been a funny couple of weeks.

I'm off of the trazodone at the moment. I really couldn't take any more feeling sick I was so tired, and feeling like I couldn't use the top half of my brain.
It's a relief to have all my head back, but scary in a jumpy sort of way.

And apparently a sprain really is worse than a break, according to my doc. He says I could be limping like this for six months. Six months!

And today the electoral roll form dropped through the door, bearing the name of he who left me. That was a bit of a blow.

And I started therapy.

Footloose

Another week has passed, and I'm still limping.
I can just about get around, but it's a real trial, and it still hurts so much.
I always thought a sprain was a little namby-pamby thing that footballers made a fuss about for nothing, but it really hurts!
So most of the school holidays are being taken up with me in bed or sitting with my foot up, still waiting for the swelling to go down.

Texting and emailing he who left me is going ok.
We are still trying to sort out some of the mess we are in -- all the things that have caused hurt and misunderstanding really need to be addressed before we can even think about being friends.

My head is still not great.
I have had a couple of up patches -- very up -- but I landed safely from those.
Downs have been difficult. It's like someone pushing at the door and I'm trying really hard to keep it shut, but when I'm tired I know it's going to be too much.

My sleeping is bad -- up until 3 or 4 a.m. most nights, and then sleep until 10 or 11a.m.
I think maybe I'm nocturnal, like a bat.

I realised this week how bad my paranoia is, and that scares me.
I understand psychosis to be when one's reality differs from everybody else's, and mine certainly does that sometimes.
I think people are lying to me -- I am so sure I am right and nothing can convince me otherwise.
And yes, it could just be stubbornness rather than paranoia, but I had the most massive row with number one daughter because the dishcloth went missing and I was utterly utterly convinced she had hidden it from me with the deliberate intention of upsetting me.
Ok, so the cloth was found and the next day I could see that she hadn't done it, but at the time, I couldn't be told otherwise.
And that's just one silly example, and it scares me.
I have no psych lady anymore because I accused her of lying, and rather than seeing it as part of my problem she just said she wouldn't work with me.

So I have no psych lady, no psychiatrist, I can hardly walk and my mood is still up and down like a whore's drawers.

Apart from that, it's been a good week.

What a Difference a Week Makes

Its exactly a week since I last posted on here.

Its been a funny week.

Last Saturday and Sunday were pretty good, as far as I can remember. Church on Saturday, a birthday on Sunday. We ate cake and Chinese food.
Fine.

Then Monday it all went pear-shaped.

Its hazy in my head.

Psych lady phoned and spoke to number one daughter.
It didn't go well. Number one daughter spoke to the crisis team, briefly. They couldn't offer much advice.
I was getting more and more distressed, and I wanted to sleep.
I used up the secret supply of pills I had -- the ones I don't take when number one daughter hands them over.

I drank some vodka.

I really really really wanted to hurt myself.
I remember that clearly.
I wanted to cut myself.

And the pills weren't making me sleep and I was getting more and more agitated so I did what I thought was the most sensible thing I'd ever done in this situation.

I called a taxi and went to the hospital.

We arrived in A & E, and they asked what I'd taken. They asked if I'd spoken to the crisis team, and agreed that they were useless.
'Don't worry,' the nurse said. 'We wont send you home tonight.'
And they didn't.
I spent a quiet night on a medical assessment ward, and waited to see a psychiatrist.

'It's your choice,' she said. 'Clearly your meds aren't working, else you wouldn't be here. It's all your choice.'

She left, and I came home. Depressed, scared, rejected, insecure and wondering what the fuck I should do.

I did what she said, and stopped taking my meds.

By that evening I felt a bit better. I got out of bed, and typed up all the things I wanted to talk to psych lady about.
Off of meds, my mood was high. And I had some good arguments. I rushed downstairs to show daughter number one.

And I fell.

I remember wondering where the ground had gone, and then reaching out with my toes for something solid. The next thing I remember was hitting the ground and screaming.
Boy, did I scream.
I thought I'd broken my ankle -- it was massively swollen and hurt like nothing on earth.

I couldn't face calling an ambulance that night, so I slept on the sofa.
The next morning it was still swollen and hurting and I couldn't walk on it, so an ambulance had to be called and I ended up back in A & E.
X-rays were ok though, so we got to come home again.
Crutches on the bus was not as fun as it sounds. All in all, we were gone about 4 hours.

I made it back home and slept. I think later that night I ate supper on my bed with the kids, and then I slept right round to the next morning, Thursday.

Pretty much as soon as I'd woken up the phone rang.
Psych lady.
She had come round soon after I'd left in the ambulance, and my son had given her the notes I'd typed up.
She said she didn't think we could have a therapeutic relationship anymore.
She said she was reporting me to social services, for leaving my kids alone.

That was two days ago.
I'm still waiting for social services to descend, I'm still waiting to be able to walk.
My mood is ok -- thanks are due to he who left me, for talking to me and texting me and keeping me calm and giving me strength, and for talking a lot of sense which sometimes we both doubt that he can do.
Thank you.



It's been a rocky week.
But I'm back on meds and I'm trying to be optimistic -- at least I can pee in the bathroom again.

As if by magic...

... I'm back up again.

These mood swings are a fucker.

I'm not quite as high as I was before. The world doesn't seem quite so rosy.
But no alcohol, and meds only in their prescribed doses.
Its a big improvement on yesterday.

I don't know what caused the turnaround. It just sort of happens.

It's very confusing.

But I'm glad to be back.

Vodka and tears, on the rocks.

In the blink of an eye, I have hit the bottom.

I cant remember at the moment what put me here. Something about being refused benefits and psych lady lying to me.

I'm drunk.

I'm tired.

I don't want to be here any more.

At this moment, I want to kill myself.

You make me feel like dancing (the speed queen remix)

Just walked home from the supermarket in the rain, and got soaked.
It wasn't so bad -- it was good to see the sea.

I'm having a bit of a headrush at the moment.

I think it's a trade-off.

I need this level of meds to keep my mood from slipping again, but at this level I can so easily become... what? I don't know what they would call it. I don't think I'm bad enough to call it manic, but something certainly happens.

Its like my brain speeds up.
I read a lot more -- loads of books at the same time.
I buy a lot more books -- Jesus fuck, I've bought six books today alone, and I really can't afford it.
And make-up, and magazines, and stuff for the kids and the house and anything else I can find to spend money on. That all goes up.
I listen to more music, I want more sex.
Sleep is screwed -- very little at night, some in the day, sometimes hardly any.
I talk at a million miles an hour and I rarely finish a sentence.
At the moment I think I'm psychic, and I worry that I might have started hearing voices.
Last week I could hear Leo Sayer singing "you make me feel like dancing" in short bursts. Apart from the fact it was Leo Sayer, it wasn't as bad as it might sound.

So that's where I am at the moment.
No Leo Sayer (thank God), but some general all round speediness.
It's preferable to the alternative -- a high mood is much more fun (if that's the right word) than a low one is -- but it's still hard work.

Excuse me, I have a book to read.

Touchdown

Sunday morning, and finally I feel a bit calmer.

Yesterday was appalling. I took four Librium and I still couldn't talk in complete sentences. We went to church but that didn't help. I even sat in a quiet room and tried to do some sewing -- me! sewing! -- but I was just too agitated.

But this morning I feel a bit better.

* * *

I've been texting with he who left me for a few days or so now.
It's been going ok.
I'm not sure why that is. I have a feeling its all the drugs I'm on. Comfortably numb.
I worry when we're getting on ok though, that I'll forget all the things he did to hurt me, and that he'll just get away with it.

Maybe that's why I'm agitated -- all that injustice looming.

On the one hand my head says to me that if I can forget them that easily then they couldn't have been that bad, so maybe I should just drop it. But on the other hand I know what he did was awful. My children know it. He knows it. We can't ever really get on until we clear the air properly, because it's always going to be lurking there at the back of my mind.

There are too many things lurking there already.
I don't need anymore.

* * *

My nails look nice.

* * *

We're supposed to be going to a drive-in movie tonight.
I hope it doesn't rain.

Brain drain

Not much blogging from me lately -- my head is all over the place.

Friend's daughter is very negative. That's not a criticism, it's just the way she is. But I find that sort of person quite difficult. My mum is like it, and my brother. But generally I don't think I am, and my dad wasn't, when he was around. It makes me feel like it's my job to put everything right, which is simply an impossible task, so it leaves me feeling like a failure.

Texting with he who left is moving on apace. I'm still not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing. That's partly down to the way my head is at the moment -- I keep forgetting my point (if I ever had one) so it makes conceptualizing consequences almost impossible. It's definitely a chemical/brain thing going on -- whatever it is, it's the same thing that sorts out libido. That's going crazy at the moment, which is inconvenient to say the least.
Not to mention pointless.

Another seven hour drive starts in about 2 hours. That should be mind-numbing enough to sort out most things :-/

Monday's child

Number two daughter has just gone off to summer school. Suffice to say her first solo trip on a bus involved number one daughter running down to the seafront in her pyjamas.
I keep telling myself that it's all part of growing up.
Well, it is if you're daft as a hairbrush with the memory of a goldfish (God Bless number two daughter).

I've had a dodgy couple of days. Very jumpy, very tearful, but very hard to get going. It's not much fun. I've managed it with Librium and sleeping pills and diet coke, which is good. Six months ago it would have been completely unmanageable, so I'm definitely doing better.
It's a very strange feeling, this jumpiness. It's like someone standing just behind your shoulder but then every time you turn around to look at them, they've gone.
It's very disturbing.

Number one daughter had a birthday on Saturday and that was hard going.
She didn't know if it would be best to hear from her dad or not.
In the end it was not; he didn't send a card or anything, and she was very upset. The situation was made more difficult by the fact my friend's daughter (who is staying with us) lost her dad (my friend) six months ago.
No wonder I've been a bit wobbly.

Number one daughter is hard on herself -- she blames herself for the fact men leave and then never speak to her again, her dad and he who left me being the main players at the moment.
They both made a lot of promises to her personally which they never kept, and she finds that hard.
I keep telling her -- it was me they left, not her -- but those promises make it hard for her to believe me. Or moreover -- she accepts that they left me, but doesn't see why they had to then treat her the same way; she is not me.
I don't know the answer to that either.

Church on Saturday was ok but dull. No massive inspiration from the great beyond.
Still waiting for Him to send me the lottery numbers.
But maybe He did help me with the crossword.
It's the first time I've had a go at one since he who left me left, and I only have one clue to solve:
Fellow at location of an eruption?
I think the answer is something spot. Heatspot? Is that a word?
I don't know, but it's certainly an improvement.

Heat strokes

I drove for 7 hours yesterday and narrowly missed two major motorway accidents. I always find that sobering.

I was going to pick up a friend's daughter, who has come for a holiday. She's just 16, as is my eldest.
Strange to see signs of self-harm on her arms and to find it so shocking, and yet to accept it as everyday on myself.
I haven't decided if/when/how I should talk to her about it yet.

Still hot here.

£850 gas and electric bill. I'm paranoid about every light we leave on now, every tiny bit of fuel we might be wasting.

I'm very teary. Just want to cry all the time. It's definitely not pmt this time. It's just stress, I think. And heat and tiredness and just not sure what's going on-ness.

Today...

... was better.

Daughter number one and I went out for breakfast and then we went shopping, which always makes me smile.
I bought nail polish.
Buying polish for my newly grown nails is very fine.

I had a lot of caffeine today (Ooo! Starbucks freezy coffee is yummy in this heat!), and that seems to help at the moment. Of course, I might regret it tonight, but then I don't think my nights could get any more odd if they tried; last night I had to present written arguments to the judge as to why I felt it necessary to bring my toothbrush into court.

Some text with he who left me. I still don't know if it's a good idea.
The jury is still out on that one.
I hope they have their toothbrushes.

I'm having...

... a shit day.

Everything is going at a million miles an hour.
I can't get that dream out of my head.

He who left me says he just forgot I'd asked the question, but everything feels loaded to me. Everything feels as if it means so much.
I would take half a sleeping pill, but I'll fall asleep.
Although why I want to stay awake is beyond me.

It's days like this I want to be in hospital.
I want to be somewhere safe.
The whole world is so fucking scary. I can't do anything right.

I want it all to go away.

Haircut, Sir?

Hey

We were talking (texting) about the weather. That seemed to be going ok.
Then all I did was ask if he'd had a haircut -- on account of the heat, that's all.
And I could feel him clamming up.

I didn't mean anything by it; it was just a question, out of interest.
But it was too personal, so he changed the subject -- what did I think of the Davinci Code film?

I left the conversation.

Really, if all we can talk about is the weather, why do we bother?

* * *

Really bad dream this morning, about a friend of mine who died. It wasn't horrific, just sad.
I woke up crying.
I hate those.

* * *

Serious dose of caffeine in the morning does seem to help get things going. I had worked so hard on giving it up -- no coffee, no coke, no lucozade -- but now it seems that its a good idea. In moderation.
Isn't that always the way?

Breathing

I'd forgotten for a while there how to breathe.

Today I breathed again, and I feel human again
(I also had a huge caffeine input whereas I normally have none - this may have had something to do with my super-whizzy okey-dokey mode).

My neck doesn't hurt when I try and turn my head.
I did a project for my son on Armadillos in about 40 minutes. It's due in tomorrow and normally I'd just make him hand in some half-arsed effort that he'd thrown together himself. This time I did the paperwork but I still made him learn all the stuff -- did you know an armadillo can hold it's breath for six minutes? You do now.
I tidied up, and got rid of all the piles of crap that have been accumulating around the lounge. Yes, I just moved the piles to other rooms, but at least I don't have to look at them (except for the ones that are now in my room).

And I had a half decent text exchange with he who left me.
I wasn't expecting it.
I was, as I have been so many times before, ready to walk away.
I was sorry that I sent him a message on Friday, having realised that if I hadn't then he never would have contacted me. So I sent him a message to say as much. He said he was pleased I had texted.
Anyhow, the long and the short of it is that we exchanged messages without an argument ensuing.
I have to word them very carefully -- if the boys ego was any more fragile he'd be a... well, a boy. But I managed it and we got there.
The hardest bit is when he asked how we all are.

What can I say?

Number one daughter is defensive, friendless and won't go out without me. She hates men, swears shes going to be a lesbian and blames herself for letting him move in.
My son doesn't sleep. Last night I came out of the kitchen at midnight to see his legs dangling over the banister. I thought he'd hung himself. Turns out he'd been sitting there for ages, just listening to me. His ocd is getting worse, his food intake more bizarre. Now he says he cant eat anything until he's 'processed' it. This means inspecting it, literally, a grain of rice at a time. Dinner takes ages.
Number two daughter has just retreated into her own world. She stays in her room mainly, or collects snails in the yard. Usually the only person she talks to is herself. Today she came in crying because the kids on the bus had been bullying her.
And my cat is now incontinent.

We're fine, I said.

Where have you gone, Joe DiMaggio?

This (Sunday) was the worst day I've had in months.

Two sleeping pills and half a dozen Librium and I still spent most of it bouncing off the walls.
The rest was spent crying in bed.

I'm not stupid -- I know it's not a coincidence that yesterday was the first time I'd had contact with he who left me in a month. I know I shouldn't have done it.

But I thought if he still loved me (as he has always said he does) he would be pleased to hear from me. I thought he might be just a bit sorry for the mess he left me in. I thought he might want to find a way forward, so that we could be friends, or something.
I thought he might at least offer to pay back some of the money he owes me or take his fucking stuff away.

But no.
Yesterday ended on the usual 'shut up and fuck off' text, and today, nothing.

I know he's ill, and I know it's a big deal.

Actually, I don't know anything.
I guess cutting me out is what he always did. It just hurts more now because we've been so close.

Daughter number one is resisting the urge to say 'I told you so,' just about. Unfortunately I can't be so gentle on myself.

But this isn't the Andrew Daniell I fell in love with. That one was gentle, and sweet, and cared.
Or maybe he was just a better actor than this one is.
I don't know any more.

I feel like shit. I have a really bad urge to hurt myself, so I'm just going to take more pills, go to bed, and pray it goes away.

Mea Culpa

Well, I finally did it.

I sent him a text: I miss you. xx

We exchanged a few texts -- pleasantries, more or less.
He says he can't talk (text) right now because he's hyper, in a bad sort of way.
I never did really understand what that meant.

Do I feel better for it, or worse?
Hard to say at the moment.
I certainly feel something -- I cried a lot this afternoon.
He's ill -- he says they are doing tests. I want him to be well.
I feel like I want to hold him, and stroke his ears (he liked that) and tell him everything will be ok. But somewhere at the back of my head a little voice is asking who is going to hold me? Who is going to stroke my ears?
And how much more am I going to get hurt?

It's evening...

...that always seems to be the hardest.
I'm ok until about 5ish, and then I really feel it.
I took Librium every three hours tonight but I'm still wound up like a top. I haven't taken any Trazodone yet because I want to write, but it really is hard going.
Having the kids home all summer is going to be hard work if I'm as tense as this.
Number two daughter is on a Gifted and Talented summer school thing for the first week, which she is looking forward to. But number one daughter is already 'bored' so that's going to be a trial, especially if I can't leave the house.

I shall be counting the days until September.

I didn't realise the sunset would be so hard.
We used to walk down to the sea, to watch the sun go down, almost every night.
Now, as soon as I see the sky turning that pinky colour that means it's on it's way, I start feeling sick.
At the moment I don't think I'll ever be able to watch it again.

Event Horizon

We went to the psychic event. It was kind of an all day thing.
By the end of it we were all psychicked out.
It was pretty good - lots of messages, some insight, some stuff I already knew but was trying to ignore. Some rubbish. But it was ok, and it got me out of the house.

* * *
We finally got registered with an NHS dentist. Appointments in August.
I've never been so happy about the prospect of seeing a dentist.

* * *
I'm still sleeping 12 hours a day, and am sluggish for the other 12. It's not ideal.
The good news is that for the first time in my life I have spontaneously stopped biting my nails. Looks like all those side effects, the constant drowsiness and the total lack of life was worth it after all.

Blogs of note

Hey

Not much blogging of any note from me lately (ever?).
I've been really jumpy, and not able to concentrate much -- aside from the stories I've submitted.

I watched a new candy-floss tv programme last night, The Ghost Whisperer. Not for the beginningless talent of Jennifer Love Hewitt (although the guy from Prison Break was quite cute...), but just for interest's sake.
I ended up bawling my eyes out.
I think that getting a message from my dad affected me more than I realised.

That said, daughter number one and I are going to a psychic event this afternoon.
Watch this space.

* * *
Apart from the jumpiness, original pill plan seems to be working better. The nerves might just be pms, and if that's as bad as it gets then I've done well. Hell, if I get through a month without blood-letting, hair-pulling and howling at the moon, I've done well.

* * *
I still can't believe that he who left me never even said goodbye.

How come...

...I remember what he looks like when I'm dreaming, but not when I'm awake?

Moonshadow

Hey,
It's been a long day.

Number one daughter had a taster day at a college she hated.
She still stuck it out though.
She's tough like that.
But I'm worried about September. I want her to fit in somewhere, and to make friends.
I don't want her to end up like me.

I read a lot today, and wrote a lot, and had stomach cramps.
We haven't got any food so I need to get to a shop or get some delivered.
I need to hoover, and I don't remember the last time the house saw a duster.
Everything is a bit disorganised at the moment. Maybe it's just the end of term.

On the other hand, the full moon is in 4 hours and 15 minutes.
Maybe that's what it is.

I wish this blog had little mood and music icons that told the reader how I felt and what I was listening to.
If I had any sort of brain I'd add them to the template, but I don't know how.
Just for the record: hazy, and Cat Stevens.

Sunday Afternoon

Things are a bit brighter today.
Not the weather -- it's absolutely pouring down -- but in my head.

I got a message from my late father last night.
Nuts, I hear you cry. But in actual fact going to a Spiritualist Church is about the sanest thing in my life at the moment.
It was nice to hear from my dad.
I know it was my dad.
It wasn't a sentimental hugs and flowers message.
It was my dad; the funny rattling noise on the car needs to be checked out, and the thing doesn't run on air -- put some oil and water in it occasionally.
Thanks dad.

I'll be booking my car into a garage very soon.

Why do I do it?

Really, why do I do it?

I get all worried about him. I start imagining that something terrible has happened and he's upset or hurt or something. And I hate that, because I love him.

But no.
He's happily updating his little site with more jolly football banter and writing news.

He's absolutely fine.
He just doesn't give a fuck.

When will I learn?

All's fair.

Tonight I came the closest I've been to texting him.
I wanted to tell him I miss him, and I hope he's ok, and I love him.

I didn't do it, but the pain of this grief is unbearable.

I know it will pass, it always does.
But at the moment it is overwhelming.

* * *

I talked to psych lady about things that affect my mood -- the things that bring me crashing down.
Injustice is one of those things.

'Life isn't fair,' she said to me.

I know that.
But I still can't handle it.
That's why I'm being treated for a personality disorder and most everyone else isn't.

Oh so quiet

I'm on my own today, and it's spookily quiet.
Good quiet.

Having three kids around is a noisy business.

It's hard to admit, but I found it difficult being with he who left me when the kids were there. Things were always gentler, easier, when they were out or away.

We didn't have enough time on our own in the beginning, when things were really good, to really get things sorted and get a good base for when things got rockier, I think.
When people first meet, it's often before they have kids, or away from the kids, but we were always all together.

I found it difficult so I know he must have done -- and he said as much.

When he first left part of me thought that it was only temporary.
My kids are getting older -- one has already left school.
I thought when it was quieter, he would come back.

But I was kidding myself.

It was me he left, not them.

Raining again

Its raining here now, even though its still heatwave hot.
It smelt like there would be a thunderstorm earlier, but it hasn't come yet.

I saw psych lady today. I'm back on my pills as I was before -- two at night, and one in the morning. She said I'm markedly worse this time than when she saw me last, so we're going back to what works.
I didn't argue with her -- my paranoia has been worse too (people hiding things from me, deliberately trying to upset me etc).
We talked about the fact I'll sleep more in the day. As she said, its not like I have to be anywhere, and the most important thing is getting my mood straight.

We talked a bit about he who left me.
She asked me how I felt about him.
I told her I loved him, and then I started to cry.
I cried because I was angry at myself, for being so stupid, for believing that he could ever have loved me.
I must be very stupid, to have believed that.

And then the time was up.

Code Red

We went to see the Da Vinci Code tonight.
It was tedious. It suffered, as he who left me would say, from rinky-dink syndrome. It just never knew when to stop.
But then neither did the book.
The thing I thought was weird was that it was supposed to be about the Sacred Feminine -- about how woman was paramount in Christianity and in history -- and yet the whole film consisted of a series of men explaining what was going on to a dumb (albeit not blonde) and uncomprehending woman. What would we do without them, eh girls?

I asked my son if he understood it all.
'Yes,' he said, 'up to the point where they thought that man had committed the murder.'
That was about four minutes into the film...

* * *

The good news was that I walked there and back.
In the outside.
With people about.
I had some Librium help, and some supportive kids with me, and it was still tough. But I did it. Evening is the hardest time for me to go out, so I'm pleased.
I had to be home before the sunset -- I couldn't bear to see that -- but I went out, and I was pleased.

* * *

I know I go on and on about he who left me, but I'm still finding it so hard. I'm sure normal people don't find it this hard. I just can't seem to reconcile the fact I love him so much with the way he hurt me. I couldn't hurt someone who loved me like that.
Maybe the two things are, simply, irreconcilable, but at the moment I am stuck there.
Something else I should talk to psych lady about.

Person B

Imagine person A.
Person A forms a relationship with person B, knowing that person B suffers from depression.
Person A thinks they can handle it.
Person A cannot handle it, and gets out, shortly before person B commits suicide.
Person A then uses the fact he had a relationship with person B to have sex with person C.
Person A leaving may or may not have been the trigger for B's suicide. I can't remember, and it doesn't matter; it's just a story.

But what if person B didn't die? What if person B is stronger than that?

What if person A wrote that story, shortly before they left, and then person B read it.

How much do you think person B would hurt?

night swimming

Hey,

Today was hard work.

It was very hot, so I opened the patio doors, only to find out that one of them is busted and wouldn't shut. It took me and daughter number one forever to close it and when we'd managed that we found out it wouldn't lock.
I had visions of us sleeping in shifts so that someone could stand guard in the dining room all night.
But luckily we don't give up easily, and after much ado we got it locked. Not properly, but enough to stop someone wandering in.
That was scary.

And all the plaster is falling off the walls and all the fucking lights keep blowing and I'm just too fucking tired to deal with it.

Maybe it's pms, I don't know. But I feel crappy.
I feel so scared when something housey goes wrong and it's just me and the kids. Its a big responsibility.

And that BT advert is winding me up. Woman with two children meets man and everything works out hunky-dory.
Not in my life, it doesn't.

Sunshine, on a cloudy day.

It wasn't a cloudy day at all. It was hot.
But I felt a bit cloudy.

I had another dream last night, and it wasn't scary or horrible or anything.
It was unnervingly peaceful.
A bit sad I suppose, as I think about it now. I need to think about it some more, maybe write it down. It was one of those ones that feel like there is a message in there somewhere, if only I can find of it.

The house is falling to pieces. I really don't know what to do about that. At the moment my blood pressure is really high, which doesn't help things, as it makes me feel like I'm trying to run up a hill all the time, so doing DIY is the last thing on my mind.
Its not really stuff I can sort anyway -- it's the electrics and the damp that are the two biggest problems at the moment.
Those and the roof and the boilers and the floorboards and the windows and the cracks etc etc.

England went out of the World Cup.
I think I was actually quite pleased -- if nothing else the nation's beer consumption will go down by about four hundred per cent.
I was much more moved when Argentina went out. That made me cry.

Number one daughter and I went to church as usual tonight. We took some flowers for one of the elderly ladies there.
That was the highlight of my day.
I hope it cheered her up a bit too.

Mighty, Falling

Wow.
Today was a tour de force.

This morning I was doing ok, on the verge of something great.
By this evening I'm psychotic and on the verge of something bad.

How the mighty fall.

I do get paranoid. I know that.
For ages now I've thought that my next door neighbours were spying on me through the bathroom wall. It's not been too much of a problem -- I just keep a towel wrapped round me as much as I can, and make sure I have lots of bubbles in the bath.

I'd been a lot better recently -- I'd noticed that some days I hadn't even thought about it. Hadn't bothered making rude gestures at the wall.
Today I realised why -- it's been replaced by a new obsession. I think that all the cars and vans with those blacked out or mirrored windows are videoing me.
Then I read a great description of a guy with schizophrenia, and it could have been me.
That was a hard one to take.
I'm sure loads of people obsess about one thing or another, but still.

* *

Good news is that I submitted a story that I've been working on for a couple of days. I'm pleased with it. I hope it does good.

* * *

In the meantime I can feel my anger at he who left me bubbling up again. He doesn't bother texting or anything. No letters, no nothing. We went through such a lot, and right to the end he said he loved me, but hey, the World Cup is on. Or he's busy. Whatever.
That hurts like fuck.
So now I veer wildly between hurt and furious, and the only way I know how to deal with that is to wallop it with anger.
But bright girls are dangerous, and I could do so much damage.
I have to keep reminding myself that the only reason it still hurts is because I love him.

Brand New Day

Hey,

Sleep was hard to come by again last night, so I took a sleeping pill at 3am. Woke up at 7.30 and have been up ever since, but still muzzy.

It's sunny outside.

It's weird, the way I feel at the moment.
It's not bad - it's just weird. Like my head is on the verge of something big. Discovering the meaning of life, or reading all the books in the world and coming up with The Answer.
It will become frustrating, because it's completely unobtainable, but I'm not there yet. At the moment it still feels as though, if I strive hard enough, I'll get there.

Psych lady would say I'm setting myself up for another fall.
I should probably talk to her about that.

But at the moment, I have a book to read.

Sleep 2

I seem to have lost the knack again.

It's not really a problem -- I'm happy staying up writing and stuff -- but it just gets a bit lonely when most of my waking time is when everyone else is asleep.
I suppose that's what the internet is for - I should strike up a relationship with someone in Australia.

I don't think so.

I don't think I'll ever strike up a relationship again. After the last one ended I said 'never again,' it left me so lost and broken. But then this guy comes along and I really really thought it was different. Yeah, I know; If I had a penny for every woman who'd said that before me I'd be a very wealthy girly. But I really mean it!
I really thought this time was different.

It was - I loved him more, and it broke me more.

I'm not going there again.

I just need more nocturnal hobbies.

* * *

I watched a programme about Julie Burchill tonight. I don't know why, but that woman really winds me up.
And what is with her teeth?
Bitchy? Moi?

Strange days 2

Another weird one.

Lots of shopping. That's never a good sign.

And dreams that make me wake up crying, in spite of sleeping pills.

And every time I get worked up the bloody fire alarm goes off.

No wonder he left. It's a nut house.

The Darkest Night

Last night was a New Moon.
I read somewhere that the New Moon makes us feel raw and vulnerable.
I can believe that.

I stayed up late, writing, but when it finally came my sleep was long and dreamless. That was a relief.

I think I feel slightly better than I have done for the last few days. That might be because I am settling into taking three Trazodone at night and none in the morning. My Librium intake is down a bit, which is good.

I saw the sea today -- they are building a new beach.
Importing 34,000 tons of sand.
Funny to think of them building something 'natural'.

I want to write something analogous, about my pills and me and madness, about who the real me is, but my head is still mush.
So, [***insert profound real me analogy here***]
And have a good evening.

Forgive and Remember

There was an article in today's paper, about forgiving but not forgetting; about how forgiveness takes time, and how it is sometimes easier said than done. I can second that.
I've never been very good at on-the-spot forgiveness, sometimes it takes me a while (a while being a decade or more in some cases).
I can think of some instances where I'm not quite there yet, but no case where I have just categorically given up.
I used to think that this made me a bad person -- that if only I could forgive more easily I would be better for it.
So the article was reassuring.
I am not alone in my belief that some people do not deserve to be instantly forgiven.

Spin cycle

Yesterday didn't get any better, so I went to bed early.
Today isn't much better.
My mood is low, way low, and the washing machine got stuck on the spin cycle. It was on for four hours before anyone noticed.

On really bad ones I take sleeping pills during the day.
They don't make me sleep, they just numb it up a bit.

I don't know what's causing this.
The flash of how I used to be was tough -- remembering that I used to be normal, have a life and ambition and a purpose. I'd forgotten that I used to enjoy it, sometimes; being normal.

And the longer I go on missing him, the harder it gets. The fact he can just walk away, and not even think about me, gets harder every day instead of easier.

Yesterday I thought about killing myself again. Not in a really depressed howling sort of way. Just matter of fact. You know -- listing my options. And death was one of them. Hard to believe that everyone doesn't feel that way, but apparently they don't.

Maybe I was never that normal after all.

Crying

Rough day so far, with lots of tears.
I suppose after a high patch there always has to be a fall.

High patch has been as usual - change the world, become a different person overnight, and shop. Whilst all the while talking non-stop about seven different subjects at once.
No wonder I get tired and can't keep it up.

Even with sleeping pills I had a choppy night, with lots of disjointed dreams.
There was an unfamiliar place, unfriendly, and I wasn't quite sure what was going on. He was there, and all the time I felt like I was trying to keep up. Eventually I said I had to stop for a rest, and he carried on, with someone else.

Today I have been crying, and tidying -- my house is such a mess.

I still sleep with his shirt under my pillow.
I don't know if it smells of him anymore.
I can't remember.

Gifted and Talented 2

He did good.
They were the youngest group taking part, and they hadn't done quite as much work as they should have done, so all in all I think they did ok. He said he was pleased he did it, he learned a lot, and he would do it again given the chance. I think that's a result.
Unfortunately he doesn't do stress too well, and he did get really nervous, and so now he is sick in bed with a high temperature and stuff.
I wonder if they do stress management courses for 13 year olds?

* * *
I'm on 3 Trazodone at night, plus everything else, so I'm back to pretty heavyweight side effects: pains in my legs, headaches, sore throat, and a kind of 'banking' effect when I try to walk in a straight line. That's on top of not being able to get my words out and sleeping for 18 hours a day.
The hard thing is that I don't know if they are actually doing any good now.
Now I'm away from he who left me, I might be fine.
Or I might be a million times worse.
I've read about this sort of thing -- pills work so symptoms subside so patient thinks they are fine so they stop taking pills so it all comes back.
It's fun being mad.

* * *
I keep wanting to text him or email him, just to tell him that I love him and I miss him. Then I think of how much he lied to me and I don't think I can get over that.
I asked him outright once, if I was right to trust him, and he told me I was.

I must be the most gullible woman on the planet.

Does that make me a bad mother, to let someone near my kids when clearly I didn't know them at all? Things could have been so much worse than just my feelings being hurt, my finances being fucked, my kids being let down and my mind being blown. We got off lightly (!).
After three years, I really thought it would be ok.
But I didn't know anything.

I know I should have asked more, but he never wanted to tell me anything (hint hint, you stupid woman) and I hated asking. I think that's a bpd thing. But I should have done it anyway, for the kids' sake.

Note to self: read about 'trust issues.'

Gifted and Talented

My son has to do a presentation at 2 o'clock, as part of some competition for gifted and talented kids.
Not that he wasn't big headed beforehand...

He was so nervous this morning.
I'm keeping everything crossed for him.

The Longest Day

Today is the longest day of the year. It's been rainy, and windy, and much like any other.

I finished a story I've been writing.
It's about regret. And second chances.
It's probably rubbish.

I'm tired tonight - I should remember not to take any meds until I'm ready to get into bed. Otherwise it's like trying to type with sand in my head.
Tonight I will take a sleeping pill - I don't want to dream tonight.

I wonder...

... if he thinks about me at all?

There are things known...

... and there are things unknown
And in between are The Doors.

Number one daughter bought me a card with a picture of Jim Morrison on because I liked this quote on the back.
I think I've always been more scared of the doors than the other two.

I saw psych lady today. This was the first day she has seen me 'different.' She said the difference was unbelievable. For the first time I actually felt like we got somewhere. We have an agenda to work with. We talked about how the way I present to the world in a bad patch is actually the exact opposite of how I'm feeling - others might perceive me as hostile or angry, but in actual fact I'm terrified. I might say "fuck off" but what I desperately need is a hug. We talked about the fact I pick men who will ultimately make me feel more unlovable. We talked about the fact I need to 'reel it in a bit' as she said, as at the moment I'm going at 900 miles an hour and want to change the world.
She said I was bright enough to vary my meds and see what happens - try the 3rd Trazodone at night, or try going down to 2. See what works best.
It was a useful meeting. It doesn't mean I'm better - I'm still incredibly paranoid and unable to leave the house alone. Things are still not right - that's going to take a long time.
But if this was a physical illness they would have just moved me out of intensive care.

Bad Dream

I had a bad dream last night.

I dreamed I had been diagnosed with cancer.
He who left me stayed with me because of the cancer, because I had to go for medical appointments and I kept getting lost in the hospital.
He knew he would be able to leave when I was dead.

Bloody Mary and the Tudor rose wouldn't go away.

I wish I could afford an analyst.

Fathers Day

Today was a tougher day for all of us, I think, than we let on. It's years now since my kids have seen their father. They didn't mention him.
Number two daughter collected snails and wrote about a praying mantis. Son wrote cartoons on Powerpoint, and number one daughter tidied her room.
Wonders will never cease.

Morning Trazodone has got to go - I'm like a zombie afterwards, and I'm beginning to dread taking it. Something must have changed in my brain (chemically) because it used to have no noticeable effect at all. Either I will have to change to three together at night, or give it up altogether. I will talk to psych woman on Tuesday.

This made me smile: I gave number one daughter a set of tarot cards, years ago, because I liked the pictures and I thought she would want to learn how to do it if she saw me doing it. It only cost me £2.50 in a book clearance shop. She's never really shown much interest though, and so I was looking at her cards again. I've become very interested in Jung lately, and the cards are alchemical with similar themes to those which he explored, so I thought I'd look for an identical deck of my own.
They were £245 on amazon! Not even new!
Number one daughter has suddenly become a lot more interested ;-)

17th June...

... was a quiet and calm day.
A spiritual day.
I needed one of those.
I spent it with the kids, read, wrote, did some tarot, went to church and in the evening I watched Memoirs of a Geisha with number one daughter. I thought it was a beautiful film.

At the moment, I am not angry with him at all. I just wish he'd been honest with me. Lying to me must have been hard -- I hope it was hard -- No wonder he was so stressed. I wish he had been honest. I would still have loved him, no matter what, as I do now.

But I am circumspect: tomorrow I may be furious again.
By tomorrow, the world will have turned, and so might I.

P.S. The fire alarm woke us up and then went off another 4 times this morning. I turned off its electricity.

Decisions, decisions.

I couldn't write my blog yesterday - there was so much going on in my head that I didn't know where to start. So I did nothing.

Things feel very crossroads-y at the moment.
I feel like I could lose it altogether, and God knows how or where we would all end up. Or I could get a grip.
It's a really funny feeling, almost like having a choice, but not quite. It isn't that I can choose to be mad or not, more like I can choose to stop trying.
I wonder if that's how a personality disorder differs from a mental illness, such as schizophrenia or bipolar?
At some level, I have more control.
Certainly not when I'm in the middle of an episode - that is completely out of my control. Each time it has happened I say 'Never again,' and firmly believe it won't happen again, but it always does.
But now, when things are a bit calmer, it feels more like I could have some kind of influence.
Giving up is certainly the easier option. To not think, and worry, and tear myself apart over what I've done and what I'm going to do would be bliss. To not consider the consequences would be such a relief.
And twenty years ago, ten years ago even, that is the route I took. I didn't consider the consequences. It didn't worry me that some time later down the line I would have to pick it all up again if I ever wanted to have any life at all.
This time the consequences are much more of a deterrent to giving up. Getting a grip now, rather than in four or five years time, would make things so much easier for me, and the kids.
I just don't know if I can do it.
Trying and failing feels a bit like a double or nothing bet, and I never was much of a gambler. But I don't want to turn 40 and still be this miserable, so that only gives me a year to sort myself out.
I don't know what to do, or how to do it.
I don't know if I really do have that choice.
I don't know .

Just good friends

Hey.

Today I feel different. Again. It's a regular mood lucky-dip.

Today I just miss my best friend.

I miss laughing with him, talking to him, looking forward to his texts and phonecalls.
I miss him sticking his head round my door with coffee in the morning, and I miss him smiling at me.
I miss hearing his voice, and the way his hair curled behind his ears.
I miss the feel of him breathing when I slept with my head on his shoulder.
I just miss him.

I miss walking along the beach with my favourite boys.

I wish things had been different.
I wish I had been different.
I wish everything was different.

I wish he had loved me enough.

Alarm Bells

It's exactly a month since the fire alarm went off for no reason.
It did it again tonight.
Spooky.

In my blog then I said that I could feel things slipping, and that's how I feel at the moment.
I think it's a cyclical thing.
Something in me goes around, and comes around.

I talked to the doctor about ultra rapid cycling bipolar. They don't think my highs are high enough to be manic. I think if I told them the whole truth, about everything, they might think slightly differently. On the other hand, from what I have read there is no self-harm associated with bipolar in the way that there is with borderline, and that is definitely a problem for me.

But I can't really see what difference a label makes anyway, unless it's on a bottle of good champagne.

* * *

I write in a creative writing group online, and one of my pieces was up for criticism. Good, they said, but the character has no emotion. We have no idea how she feels, or what she thinks.

I guess I can only write about what I know.

The Right Stuff

Today I am trying to keep myself occupied. Lots of writing to be done, and some housey stuff, and just any stuff really.

I am tense.

I think: if I can write down what it is that is making me tense, then it will go, but there is so much to write. And once you write it down, it's just insignificant crap.

I need to come off some of these pills. My head is mush. I think it's the Trazodone that does it. And I need to look at my money. My bank statement terrifies me, but it needs to be done. And I need to buy flannels.
There is so much crap in my head.

I wonder where all the good stuff is hiding?

Maths Shmaths

Maths exam today.

It didn't go so well :-/

I was at home and there was the longest roll of thunder just as the exam was starting.

I hope that's not a bad omen, I thought.

It was.

She was very upset when she got out of the exam, got more upset on the way home, and was not doing so great by the time she got here.
We hugged.
We talked.
Its just maths, I said.
It doesn't matter, I said.
But it does, and I wanted to cry for her.
She tries so hard, and copes with so much, they should give her an A* and a medal just for turning up.

Bunny Boiling

That's the joy of a mood disorder - by the next day the world has turned.

Most women would have done what I did - and most of them a lot sooner than I did.
Some of them would have even taken a baseball bat to his PC, or left it out in the rain.
I didn't do either of those things, and I didn't boil his bunny either.

Get over yourself man.

(No) Hard Feelings

I'm not sure how I feel at the moment.

I know what I did has hurt him, but that wasn't why I did it, and I'm sorry for that. It had to be something powerful, else nothing would have changed. And what I did was better than some of the alternatives.

I didn't realise it would be so hard, doing something that hurts him.
I didn't realise it would hurt me so much too.

I can deal with him hating me - that's ok. That's what I wanted. It's a feeling I'm used to - I think everyone hates me anyway, so if they do in reality, it's ok.
And that way I know it's really over. Other people can just be told, I think, but we've already established that my head doesn't work quite like other peoples, and I kept thinking there must be something I could do to make it right. Intellectually I knew it was rubbish, but my heart kept telling me it would be ok. I couldn't go on like that.

I keep telling myself that this way is better, in the long run. But I'm not naturally good at hurting people, and at the moment it's hard going.

I have been told that my borderline-ness could be much worse - I'm not violent (except to myself sometimes), I don't have hundreds of relationships or move around the country continually. I've kept away from drugs and I don't smoke. I even think I'm an ok mother at times.
But my emotions are all over the place.
I don't know what I feel.
Sometimes that's why I want it all to go away; just so I don't have to feel anything anymore.

Tonight is one of those times.

Broken Glass

I broke a glass today.

I went back to bed.
Despite sleeping for nearly 12 hours last night, I slept another 4.
I feel crappy.

* * *
Daughter number one and I went to (Spiritualist) Church last night. We go most weeks, except haven't been for a while because I've been ill. It's a proper church - not all mumbo jumbo. It's very reassuring.
They told her again that she can see spirit, and that her power will grow. Apparently it starts as seeing little lights in the air, and develops from that. I like the idea that loved ones are around us, looking out for us.

I miss my dad.

This is an old picture of my dad, when he was in the Navy during the war. It was taken in Sydney, Australia, and he's the one second from the right. He's been dead for 5 years now.

Sleep

I woke up in the night wondering what the hell I'd done.
Why did I tell him?
I felt awful.

Then I reminded myself of all the things he did to me that were far worse.
I nearly lost my life.
I have a whole new bunch of scars.
My kids trust has been shattered, again.
I am penniless and alone.
I can't leave the house by myself.
I am taking up to 18 pills a day just to keep me going.
I have no idea if I'm going to be ok.

He broke countless promises to us. I broke one.

I went back to sleep.

Hate me, please.

Rough day.

I did the fatal thing and sent a text to him who left me.

I don't know what I wanted him to say really - sorry we haven't communicated for over a week? How are you?
Just something... human?

Instead I got the usual 'Not now.'
And this time I got the added joy of 'Email me next week.'

I've emailed him so much! I've written reams and reams!
I get three word replies.

I've said before this has to stop, and I realised the only way that it will happen is if I make it happen. Negative Control. But whilst he keeps saying he cares about me but treating me like this, it does my head in.
Is this the only kind of love I deserve?
If he hated me, it would make more sense.

So I told him about the stuff I read on his computer.

I think it's fair to say he hates me now.

Horror story

He who left me writes horror stories. And romantic comedy.

I think thats the only reason he was with me in the first place.
Like a supermarket - everything you want under one roof.

I believe I was just material for his stories. An experiment.

But now he has the footie to occupy him.
Ho hum.

Personality disordered

This morning I woke up and did a personality test

Actually I did two, and got different (but similar) results from them.

I can't say I can recognise myself completely in the analysis, but maybe that's because it took 2 minutes online and not 10 years at £100 an hour.

The thing that interested me most was the description of my shadow - the part of my unconscious that others see, most clearly when I am stressed or ill or tired:

• expressing intense negative emotions towards others
• being very sensitive to criticism
• becoming preoccupied with details, without any logical basis
• interpreting facts or events in a very subjective way

I shall read more Jung.

Not the best day...

... but not the worst either.

I got quite a lot of reading done, number one daughter's exam seemed to go ok, and number two daughter and son are doing well.

Low points were:

1. I couldn't remember the word for a moth (of which I have a really bad phobia) so I had shouted everything I could think of beginning with M (Mole! Mat! Mars! Man! Mop!) before someone realised what I was yelling about and came to rescue me, and
2. Still shocked by the moth incident, I carried a bowl of Frosties into the living room, sat down, and then poured them into my lap. Milk and cereal all over me. Grrrreat.

I think both of these are pill side effects. Inability to articulate words, and clumsiness.

It's fun, being me.

Knees of my Bees

This is my first attempt at posting a picture.

This is what all the fuss is about.

This is the picture I took for his mother's Christmas present.

This is he who left me.

Jung at Heart

Last week I read the Da Vinci Code.

Yesterday I was reading the bible.

Today I am reading Jung.

Tomorrow I might find the answer.

***
What was the question again?

Strange days

Yesterday went without a hitch.
Better than hitchless in fact - the CSA must really come into their own on 6/6/6 because they managed to get some money out of my ex. Crisis averted for a bit longer. Phew.

Today is a strange day.

I feel a growing sense of injustice, and that's not good.

Injustice and powerlessness are two things that really get to the core of me. I think I've read about the reasons for it in lots of places; something to do with being abused as a child - it doesn't matter what kind of abuse - physical, sexual, emotional, the result is the same.
So they are two things that really wind me up.

Having a bit more money suddenly increases my power - I'm not about to be thrown out on the street or have to eat the bread that the corner shop chucks out.

But my sense of injustice is growing.
He who left me got away with it all so lightly. He's not had to repay any of the money he cost me, he's not had to repair any of the damage he has done, he's not even had to explain things to the kids - I've had to do it all. He just walked away.

So, if he can break promises just like that, can I?

If he was talking to me, or communicating with me at all; if I felt any hint of him being sorry for what he has done, I think my need to even things up would be lessened. But there is nothing.
I am very calm, I'm not talking about a reckless spur-of the-moment revenge, but it really doesn't feel right to me that I'm the one who's paying for all this.

I don't want to get mad; I want to get even.

The Mark of the Beast

Not that I'm superstitious or anything, but today is the 6th of the 6th of the 6th.

Maybe all this bible reading has got to me.

Hmm.

But I will pray extra hard today for number one daughter's exam this morning, number two daughter's attempt at the 1500 metres in athletics (please Lord), and that I can get through at least one day without breaking anything.

Godliness

Another tough day. They do seem to be coming thick and fast at the moment, don't they?

I broke a plate that used to belong to my dad. Again, I kept completely calm. Its just a plate. These pills must be doing their thing - that would normally set me off.

No text from he who left me, although I know he's been about because he's updated his website with witty football quips.
Oh, how I laughed. Not.

Meanwhile, I'm trying to keep really busy. Housing Benefit woman came round to see me, to help me fill in the form because they make me cry. I'm also doing lots of researchy stuff, for something I'm writing. Reading bible-type stuff at the moment. It's quite interesting, although 2 Timothy 3:6-9 kind of sticks in my throat.

And the exams march on. I think she's doing great. I hope she's doing great. Put it this way - she's doing her best.
That's all I can ask, and I'm proud of her.

seesaw 2

One of those up and downy days.

Up - I cleaned the kitchen like a demon and now have the shiniest worktops in the world and nothing living under the microwave anymore.

Down - just immeasurable sadness. Sadness that I am alone again. The whole leaving me just before a family do is not the first time - sadness that people are ashamed of me. Sadness that I am 39 this month and I feel like my life is nearly over.
Sadness that it's just all gone wrong. Again.

And all that interspersed with the clumsy inarticulateness (if that's a word) that tells me something more than just moodiness is going on. Its not pms, although that doesn't help. Its much worse. The kids look at me, worried, when suddenly I cant stand up straight. I didn't get upset when I broke one of my favourite cups - number one daughter was revising, and I didn't want to disrupt that. But I wanted to throw it and all the matching ones across the room, then cry.

So I held it all together with Librium every three hours, and tried not to think about anything.

Anniversary

He who left me is at an Anniversary party today - his parents 50th.
I think it is one of the reasons he left - he thought that I would upset him or there would be an incident or something else that would interfere with his getting there.
Nothing could interfere with that.
There was, of course, never any question of me going, or of me meeting his parents at all. He made that very clear, right from the beginning.
That doesn't do a lot for a girl's ego.

Good luck to his parents on making it to 50 years of marriage. Not many people do that these days, I shouldn't think. I imagine sometimes they had to work quite hard at it. Ironic really then, that a couple who tried so hard at it would have a son who tried so little to make things work.

If I was still married, today would have been my wedding anniversary too.

Seesaw

Weird day today.

I'm still not very well at all, still coughing badly.

But in general my mood has been slightly better than before. Occasionally it has been *very* much better, and those times are fun but slightly scary. Then in a heartbeat it's way back down low again, and that is tiring.
Whilst it stays generally up I'm not going to do anything - the pills are certainly having their sedative effect now, as I can barely lift my fingers to type. But if things go down again I probably should have a long hard think about staying on all these meds.

In the meantime I will not get a tattoo or make any major decisions, I will sleep and read and write, and I will keep looking straight ahead.

Camping it up.

I realised tonight that I laughed today.

Really really laughed.

I wanted to buy a new top and I decided to try it on first, so number one daughter waited outside the changing cubicle. I liked it, but felt it could do with a little more room.
"Can you see if they've got it in a bigger size?" I shouted through the curtain.
"Mum," she called back, with an air of resignation, "the only thing bigger than that is a six man tent."
I know I'm not skinny, and I know the other women in the shop weren't either and they were probably mortally offended, but it made me laugh like I haven't laughed in ages.

And I'm sure it did me more good than all the pills in the world.

Wait a minute, Mr Postman.

Today was a day for post. With me doing the posting.

I finally sent the goodbye letter.
It was a work of art. Occasionally it had the potential to become a work of fiction, but I tried to pull myself back from that.
It was a bit long. I asked my daughter if there was an optimum length for a goodbye letter.
She said no, not really.
Phew.
Then she added - as long as it doesn't turn into a Rachel and Ross letter.
Huh?
Remember? - the episode where Rachel wrote Ross such a long letter of all the things he had to apologize for that he fell asleep before he got to the end of it?
Hmm.
I did a bit of editing and kept it down to three pages.

And the stuff I sent back to him arrived. I liked that.
The tracking facility called it a consignment. I liked that a lot.

I like the idea of getting him out of my life by post. It's very neat. It's not full of weepy hugs and tragic looks.
Its just 'How much does it weigh?' and 'When do you want it to arrive?'
Like having a baby, but different.
Anti-birth.

I wonder if I get to send him an anti-birthday card this time next year?

Doctor, doctor...

... I keep thinking I'm insane.

That's because you are.

***

Tough day.

I had to go for a medical, for social security purposes. I was dreading it - what if they say I'm ok to work? How will I get any money?
But he didn't say that. Within 4 minutes he said he'd sign me off for as long as he could. He said he was sorry for making me go down there. He said I shouldn't even think about working until I feel a lot better.
Which is exactly what I wanted to hear, before I went. But afterwards I cried.
It's hard to hear someone telling you you're not fit to work, because you're not right in the head.
In fact I think that's one of the hardest things I've ever heard.

I've never wanted to be better more in my life.

Peace at last

Suddenly it's gone quiet, in my head.

Funny how you don't notice how loud it really is until it stops.

But today I noticed the quiet.

Now that could just be because I am feeling slightly better, or it could be because finally I am on the right meds in the right amounts and getting some sleep, or it could be because saying goodbye was the right thing to do.

I don't care. I just like the quiet.

I started writing my goodbye letter today - my god, it's a bit of an epic. But as my old gran used to say - better out than in.

So long...

... but I finally did it.
I said goodbye to him.

Well, I told him that its coming. I think goodbye by text is so tacky, so I am writing him a letter.

I feel awful about it. I can't believe I will never talk to him, never see him again. I love him. But I think that eventually this is the best way for me to find some peace.

Luckily I am so stuffed full of benzodiazepines that the full whammy hasn't hit me yet. Better get writing.

Horse, dead.

How do you know when its time to say goodbye?

How do you know when you're just flogging the proverbial dead horse?

I'm so tired, mentally. Now I'm physically ill too. I feel like my body is just giving up.

We had another row. He lied to me and he just wont admit it, and that makes me so angry. It makes me want to hurt him back. And I know that when I am wound up I go at it like a Tasmanian Devil, but the repercussions on me are always worse.

I've seen the letter he wrote me, telling me he was leaving on 1st April. I can't admit I've seen it because it was on his PC. He says he made the decision on 17th April, when we had a row. He baited me into that row. I told him to stop it because I could see where it was going but he just went on and on - I think he was just looking for the excuse to leave. As it was I got so upset I took an overdose, and I am lucky to be alive.

I know he is not a nice man. He doesn't have a sympathetic bone in his body. He lies - he told me so many lies, made so many omissions. I did things for him because he said it would be making his fantasy come true. He cried and said he couldn't believe anyone would do that for him. He lied - according to his PC, I wasn't the first. I doubt I'll be the last.
He is also one of the angriest people I have ever met, even though he wont admit it. My anger has a childish quality to it - it is more like a tantrum, albeit a loud, ranty, dangerous, one. But when it is gone, it is gone. His is more of a deep seated seething darkness, and that scares me.

So why the fuck do I still love him?

I sent some of his stuff back. He'll get it on Wednesday. The rest is in the shed. Having him and his stuff out of my house helps.

Now I just have to get him out of my head.

Sick Puppy

I'm ill.

It wasn't just some strange nasty pill-related stress thingy. I'm really ill. So today I lost my voice and coughed a lot and stayed in bed.
It was actually quite cool, having a legitimate reason to stay in bed for a change.

The worst bit of the day was that he who left me and I have started trying to untangle the mess we made, via email. Its my own fault; I started it. I emailed him last night and said that the only way I can go on is to sort some of it, so that is what we are doing. And it is unpleasant and hurtful and probably destined to make things worse, but it has to be done.

I first knew there was something a bit odd about me when I was a kid; sent to my first psychiatrist at 15; first diagnosed with BPD at 28. But in between the episodes there was stability - I got a degree, I got married, I had 3 kids and a number of responsible jobs. This latest crisis is about the worst I ever got, and it only started when he moved in, so he must have been pushing some of my buttons. I want to know what they are.

I want to know what they are because on my good days I think that my life might not be over, and I might meet someone else, and I don't ever ever ever want this to happen again.

List 1

Because I forget, and no one else knows, I thought I should make a list. These are the things I blame him for:

• Telling me he loved me when it patently wasn't true because he left me
• Letting me buy this house, knowing I depended on money from him to pay the mortgage, and then leaving
• Driving me mad - I might have had slightly (ok very) off patches before, but not anything like this for 10 years
• Letting me move to a place where I don't know anyone
• Letting me spend a fortune on him - clothes, food, furniture, meals out, rail tickets, etc
• Making promises to my kids that he broke - everything from the fact he would be here to help with exams, to the fact he would just be here.
• Damaging my eldest daughter's (particularly, but also the other two) view of men.
• Telling me he wasn't like other men I'd met (I didn't realise he meant worse)
• Letting me trust him
• Letting me fall in love with him
• Letting me blame myself for all of the above.

This is a work in progress. No doubt I have forgotten some.

Today I feel...

...crap.

The sleepy feeling never wore off, my throat hurts so much I can hardly swallow and the glands in my neck are swollen.

And he who has left me made me cry *again* today. The much heralded email arrived (late) and it was about three lines long.

So after much texting around the subject I told him that I do blame him for a lot of my current situation (I missed out the bit where I tell him that's because its his fault).
But then he had to go to sleep, so nothing was resolved or even discussed.

I can't take any more, and my kids cant take any more. I want him to leave me alone.


Note: the departure of my sanity has also seen the departure of my ability to cook. I scoured all the recipe books I own (all four of them) for good vegetarian (cheap) food that my son will eat (he can be a bit fussy). And then when I came to cook I found we didn't actually have any food, so they ended up with something involving rice, tomatoes, eggs and potatoes. Yummy :-/ They even brought me their plates to prove that they had eaten it.

I shall look forward to finding it down the back of the sofa some time soon.

Little Voice

I woke up this morning and my voice has nearly gone.

I sound like someone who smokes at least 40 unfiltered Camels a day, and has done for the last 30 years.

I think it's a little too deep to be sexy, or even recognizable as female actually.

I think it's the pills.

I might sound like a tractor, but boy did I sleep.

Thank you God, and Eli Lily.

Whiplash Girlchild.

I went to the doctor.
I told him I wanted to sleep, and we talked about the Australian 'Deep Sleep' treatment that was banned. I can so see the appeal of that, and understand why they thought it might work. I feel like I need sleep. I keep thinking of the lyrics to Venus in Furs:

I am tired, I am weary
I could sleep for a thousand years.

So he gave me sleeping pills, and more mood stabilizers, and we keep our fingers crossed.

Rainy Days and Mondays.

Today is both, and windy too.
There seems to be more weather when you live by the sea.

I still felt crap this morning, so I made a docs appointment for this afternoon. I'm not sure what I'm going to say yet.
Something about the fact that psych woman keeps coming up with a different diagnosis every time she sees me - thats the bloody point! I'm never the same person for two days in a row, and mentally I'm exhausted by it. And that if he wants to take me off all the meds then thats fine with me. At the moment I just want everyone to leave me alone so I can stay in bed until it's over.
Oh, and by the way, I still spend a lot of time wishing I was dead.

This man thing is also doing my head in. I think the best thing for me is just to say its over. Done. Caput. I can't ever see how I can get over all the promises he made to me and broke, all the things I did for him even though he let me and my children down, all the times he hurt me.

But it's tough.

Bad Day

I've had a shit day, and I feel like shit.

It's not even anything I can really put my finger on, I just feel really really bad.

Not getting on with number 1 daughter is always a problem - that makes me very jumpy for a start. And I know that in actual fact I have been blessed with a truly easy teenager compared to most, but I still find it hard. I'm sure the feeling is mutual - when we are not getting on she feels crappy too, but finding a way out of these things is always tough.

And today I spoke to him on the phone, for the first time in three weeks.. The love of my life. He who has left me. This must honestly be the longest break-up in the history of mankind. I can't understand why he keeps it going. Three times now I have said I can't do it anymore and we should say goodbye, and three times he has said that we can find a way through it, a way to still be friends.
Somebody just put it out of it's fucking misery and kill it!

Thats the other thing that has been a problem today. A kind of serene acceptance of impending death. Not the mad ranty oh god I want to die kind, but quieter, calmer.
I have always believed that suic!de is only possible when you are in a certain place, mentally. I feel like I'm getting there. I know I have to see out the exams, and sort stuff, but it feels nearer somehow, and that brings a weird (scary) kind of peace.

I shall phone the doctor in the morning.

Exam stress

I had forgotten the joy of exam stress.

Except this time the exams are hers and the stress is mine.

'So you are going to do some work today?' I enquire, as sweetly as possible.
'I'm on it!' she barks back at me, not moving from where she is lying on my bed, sucking her thumb.

Tonight I asked again, pointing out that after the last exam she phoned me in a big panic, having referred to me as nothing but 'Stresshead' for days before hand.
'They're my exams,' she announced, 'and if I want to fail, I will.'
'Fine,' I pointed out, 'but you'll need to be thinking about where you're going to live, because you're not staying here.'

Oh, the joy of exams.

Just Saturday

Saturday afternoon, to be precise.

I had one hell of a dream last night, and it's left me feeling a bit off. A bet an analyst would have had a field day with it.

My girlfriend had left me (an old girlfriend, who did actually leave me, but 10+ years ago), but still loved me. She kissed me and held me, and I felt all this love and pain at the same time.
An old man, a TV personality, had died. I used to sit on the floor at his feet as he did his talk show. I was distraught. I couldn't believe I would never hear his voice again. A rather steely woman from a place I used to work tried to comfort me.
"It's ok," she said. "You're dead too." And to demonstrate she stabbed me through the leg with a knife, to show that it didn't hurt because I was dead.

I woke up crying, and with numb hands; a sign that I had been clenching my fists in my sleep. That hasn't happened for a while.

So today I am feeling a bit off.

Allergic...

... to the band aid on my leg.

Of all the bloody luck.

I had to buy some ridiculously expensive sticky thing from Boots, and then use two of them because of the size of the cut, and now it's itching like a demon and going all red and puffy.

I don't care if my leg falls off. It's staying on until I mend.

Please Lord, let me mend quick.
(P.s. and please could I have some sleep? Amen.)

All Grown Up.

My eldest daughter left school today.

Ok, so she still has to do the exams, but as far as the teaching and stuff goes, its over. Shirt signing and much hilarity and some crying (the kids, not me) and it's over.

I remember when she was about 3 months old, looking at her asleep in her cot and crying to my then psych "How will I ever get her to school? How will I walk through the playground? Go to parents' evenings? Have them 'round for tea'? I don't even like kids!"
And he put his arm round me and said "One day at a time, that's how we'll do it. One day at a time. And anyhow, it's a long way off yet."

And now it's over, and that's how we did it.

One day at a time.

What is an elephant?

I've been thing a lot about what psych woman said yesterday.

I don't think I do have an anger problem, per se.

I get angry - my kids know when I'm angry. When school bags, coats, half eaten lunches, three video games and a remote control car are scattered liberally around my kitchen, they know when I'm angry.
It comes - I let it out (this house is not a dumping ground for your crap! etc etc) - it goes. It's not really a problem.

Frustration is more of a problem. Is that the same thing? I'm not sure.
Things over which I have no control, no power, they are the things that upset me.
I have to be careful about watching the news when I'm in that sort of mood, or reading the papers. The Darfur episodes of ER are sometimes best avoided.
Incompetence upsets me. Talking to the CSA is therefore best avoided AT ALL TIMES. But that is really just frustration, again.

So I don't think I have an anger problem. I think psych woman has a bit of a problem; she sees me for an hour once every 2 to 3 weeks (NHS - she's busy busy). Each time she sees me, she makes a different judgment on the nature of my problem. Its like that story, about blind men judging the nature of an elephant from just feeling a part of it. She doesn't know me. So she just grabs a bit and hangs on.

Oblivion is not the answer.

Shit.

I knew it was slipping, didn't I?

And then I had a rough evening and it all went to buggery.

I hate being ignored. I know that makes me sound like the mad woman in Fatal Attraction, but I do hate it. It kind of flicks a switch in my head, and then god help anyone who stands in my way.
As it was, the only person in my way was me, hence the 15cm gash in my leg.

And I thought I was doing so well.

Psychiatric nurse was a mixed bag. She didn't shout at me this time, or tell me I'm not trying. She didn't tell me I have no emotions.
She did tell me that I should have been having blood tests for the meds I'm on, and that anyway she's going to talk to the psychiatrist about me coming off them, because she thinks it's just an anger issue, not a mental health issue.


I don't know what I feel at the moment. Not angry, I know that. Just kind of resigned. I feel like I want to lay on the beach as the tide comes in, and just let the water wash over me until it all goes away.
I told her that.
Oblivion is not the answer she said, wagging her finger at me.

OK, but couldn't I just try it for a while and see?

Down Time

I can feel it slipping at the moment.

Not in the great sweeping waves that sometimes hit me, but gently, gently sliding away.

My last relationship broke up exactly a month ago.
That was a strange one.
I think it was the instability of the relationship that helped bring on my latest crisis. The way I am was partly responsible for the instability - how could anyone be expected to commit to a nutjob like me?
At the moment we are still communicating - occasionally, by text or email. My days revolve around waiting for the next contact, which I know is really bad for me. The alternative, however, is scarier - being alone with myself.

I know I have children, but they don't really count in this equation. They cannot be there to support me. That is not their place.

I don't know anyone else - keeping friends is hard. Not because I am unpleasant or demanding, but because I always get a need to run away. So I moved to a new town, and I know no one.

So I wait for him.

On a lighter note, my eldest daughter (15) has been told she is not allowed to burn things (incense, candles, siblings) in her room. She finds the first of these particularly hard to avoid. Last night the urge got the better of her, and I'm sure she thought she had gotten away with it as her room is at the top of the house BUT the house is fitted with a smoke detection system, and we were suddenly treated to the sound of bells and claxons going off in every hallway. At first we thought there was a fire -
She had to confess.
She won't do that again :-)

Hat Trick?

That would be so cool.

Three good days in a row. But this one is very new at the moment. I'm not counting any chickens yet.

New day already, and sleep highly unlikely for some time to come. I'm on some pretty hefty medication (mood stabilizers, anti-depressants, tranquilizers) and the pharmacist assures me I should be sleeping like a baby (a sleepy baby), but it just doesn't happen.

From what I've read I share quite a lot in common with sufferers of bipolar disorder, with a few notable differences. Bipolar moods don't tend to change as quickly as mine do, although I am aware that ultra rapid cycling exists, when mood changes can be very sudden. Also, I don't get the mania associated with bipolar disorder, although there are some features of borderline which are similar. And self-harm is really only a problem with borderline.

Tomorrow is going to be tricky because I'm gearing up to a visit to the psychiatric nurse on Thursday. This is a problem as it is my belief that she dislikes me. As do my psychiatrist and my doctor. And most of the rest of the general population. Did I mention that this is also a problem?

I don't know why you are still reading - you probably dislike me too.

Another one.

Another quiet day. So far.

that's the scariest bit.

My day can be going along absolutely fine one minute, and then in the next the bottom has fallen out of my world. Real, true, devastating misery is all I can feel. It is so bleak I would do anything to get away from it. I yell, scream, fight, blame, run, not really comprehending anyone who is around me or what they say.

I have taken countless overdoses, and every time they ask me 'Did you want to kill yourself?' my answer is always the same:

"No. I just wanted it to go away."

I would do anything to make it go away. Usually, if I can make myself sleep - whether that is with alcohol, drugs, or just someone brave enough and calm enough to stay and stroke my head until sleep comes - then when I wake up, things are calmer.

Often I am in a kind of shock - the mental imagery of the violence I could commit against myself is quite hard to bear. Sometimes, in the worst of it, my memory is affected and I have very little recollection of what has happened.

Sometimes there is physical damage to repair, either to things around me, or to myself.

Always there is the growing awareness that those around me cannot take much more.

Quiet days...

...and silent nights.

I've been on my own for a while now.

It's not fun, but it's safest.

I suffer from a nasty little thing they call Borderline Personality Disorder. I am not an irresponsible teenager, who has ill-advised relationships and takes too many recreational drugs. I am a mother. Soon I will be forty.

And it is not fun.

You've all seen 'Girl, Interrupted' and think you know what it's about. You don't.

I can't be near people. I damage me, and I damage them.

So I am alone. Again.