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?