Paralysis and an Update

Wello there (I was meant to type, “Well, hello there”, but “wello” seems to convey both the meaning and tone).  I’m typing this on a second hand Macbook kindly donated by a reader and online friend, Nicola.  I’m only sitting on the other side of the room, near the optimistically opened window in a bid to escape this hideously oppressive heat, but I am hoping that the ability to write, “on the go” as it were, and have a change of scene, even if it’s the same room, different chair, might shake me out of my paralysis.  Oh, I have been struggling to write.   I have been struggling to write in general and struggling with this blog.  Do you care?  Should I care?  Nope!  But ah well, I’m going to say why anyway.

I haven’t been writing for many reasons.  One is that, true to cliches, I have been “Keeping Busy” and have purposely been filling my time with other people.  Therefore I haven’t had a minute to myself and it’s not polite to bawdily declare in the midst of genial conversation, “Excuse me for a moment, I’m going to fire up my PC that sounds like a hoover and write on the internet about my mental problems”.  As ignorant (occasionally purposely so) as I am to in regards to the nuances of social etiquette, I do realise that such things could be considered rude.

I have been writing elsewhere- there will be another BBC Ouch article from me on the website soon, and I also wrote this on managing mentalism and relationships for the sexy and very highly recommended One in Four magazine.

I hope you enjoy it.  The advice is sound, but here I am, your melancholy hypocrite, as my four year relationship ended quite soon after I wrote that article and partly due to the stuff I wrote about.  Who am I to advise anyone on their relationships?  I guess we did have an excellent four years, however.  I don’t regret any of it, I hope he doesn’t either, and that’s more than a lot of people can say.

And therein lies another reason I have been finding it difficult, and a bit painful, to write in here.  This will sound ridiculous.

After the Radio 4 play was broadcast- and I am very proud of it- a lot of quite sudden attention was focused on this blog, and on myself.  The initial attention was rather overwhelming, in the same glorious and grateful sense that it was when this blog started gathering readers, when I had never promoted it, and expected it to wilt in the corner of the internet. With people watching you, it is harder to let go, if you understand what I mean.  It should have spurred me on, but I was afraid.  A lot of people have said lovely things about my writing, and it paralysed me, because I thought, “I’m Not Good Enough”.  I think I need a dose of self belief.  And to Get The Hell Over It, whatever, “It” is.  I have wanted to be a writer my entire life.  It’s just a bit odd occasionally to be writing about such a personal subject as mental illness.  I enjoy it, am fascinated by it, but am wary of being defined by it, and also in general, if you’ll even believe this, given the narcissistic medium, a bit crap with this kind of thing.  Because, arf, arf, it’s not like I’m doing much with my life, is it?  And christ knows, I need encouragement.

WAHH WAHH WAHH, talking as if anyone cares.  Yeah, it is pretty revolting.  Sorry.  It is a strange self importance born out of lack of self esteem.  And I KNOW this is only a blog, but for me, with my joblessness and unemployability due to being still, after all this time, too unwell for even a part time position, it’s a kind of touchstone that makes me feel that, in some way, I’m using this experience for something when it might otherwise drive me mad.  It isn’t a burden, it keeps me linked in with myself, and I like writing it.  But must get onto fiction aghain

People e-mailed me telling me that I gave them hope for their relationship.  And then I ended our relationship, and I failed Rob (he will disagree, for he is kind, but I feel as though I failed him, and that I should have tried harder, although our relationship itself was wonderful, as he is, and ended on the best of terms imaginable, and it was the right thing to do), and, ridiculously, I feel a little bit like I let people down.  I don’t want to be an “example”- if I want to be anything, I guess advocate is the closest- but when you subject yourself to scrutiny, put yourself in that position, and then it ends, it’s hard.  I felt embarrassed, sad, isolated, because I know my readers and some friends questioned my decision and who could I talk to?  Of course my relationships and my personal life are my own business, but it has been extremely difficult to write here since.    I am very, very aware of how ridiculous it is, so please, don’t feel as though you need to scoff at me.  I also receive a lot of emails that I adore to read, that I appreciate, but that I struggle to respond to, because so many ask for help I can’t give, am not qualified to give.  I feel, once again, like a hypocrite, because my life is not together, and nor is my mind.  I have felt overwhelmed by much, not just this.  It is sometimes difficult to accept for anyone you can do any good in the world, for even one person, and I am in a position where I could cause much harm without meaning to, and I’m scared sometimes.

There is also the fact that I don’t publicly want to talk about such things, which is tricky on a blog as personal as this.  And almost for the duration of writing here, I’ve been with Rob. There’s photos, stories, comments, conversations.  He reads this, has been such a huge part of my life, and I guess, it doesn’t feel the same anymore. Of course life goes on, for everyone, and it could be amazing, but that part of my life- being Rob’s girlfriend- is no longer, and I find it quite painful even logging on here right now, and I haven’t read many entries back for over a month for that reason.

So I have been quiet, and, at times, bittersweet and sad, which doesn’t lend itself to much discussion, really.  Depression might be a public rage, an inertia, a some-sort-of-force I can articulate, because in its nothingness it brings to you conclusions, hurtling despair, to the end, or to the beginning again, but sadness.  Sadness is so private, it is the still silhouette of a city beneath the mornings of mist and fog.  It is harder for me to talk about, and I have little wish to.

Another reason I haven’t been writing much is that mentally, I am actually doing mostly okay at the moment so have no great insights, nor anger, nor much else to talk about other than, “Well, I’m alive”.  Today hasn’t been great.  As long as I keep busy and keep my mind occupied, I can, to some extent, duck, dive and be limbre and tip toed, dodging the rocks my mind so delights in throwing at me.  The second I stop to catch my breath- SMACK! I am flat on my back dreaming imaginative ways to kill myself and fighting the urge the scream, “WHY AM I SO SHIT AND WHY DOES EVERYONE HATE ME?” and other such self-pityist nonsense. (Along with the thought, felt with deep and utter certainty, “No-one would miss me, I am not needed, and I’m not particularly wanted”.  Sigh, why bother with these thoughts, especially on such lovely days!) Alas, in summer, it seems to be my natural and dangerous disposition and I have to fight viciously to avoid succumbing to it.  Summer is my furious season.  Bloody weird SAD or something.  If I make it to October without falling into a deep suicidal depression, then this year will be my greatest victory.  Fingers crossed!  I can’t be arsed ending up in the Drayton Crisis Centre, even though sometimes it’s tempting because they have a cook who does nice meals, and I can’t be bothered cooking half the time.   I could fake psychosis (no I couldn’t, it’s incredibly difficult to fake psychosis) and go get a week’s free dinner.  Nom.  Or not.

Generally, though, I’m okay, with no major crisis to report beyond my underlying mentalism and human melancholy because times are a changing. “Okay” for me, as you know, is quite far removed from “okay” in general given my rapid cycling and general instability, but okay for me it is. My appetite has returned, to some irritation from me.  Although I was a bit worried I had lost the will to eat, now it has been recovered, I have put on a startling amount of weight in a short time as my body clings to anything I give it.  I look bloated and hideous.  So I’m missing my indifference to food a little bit.  Well, quite a lot.

I’m sleeping (albeit less than I should be), getting out of the house, paying my bills, taking my medication, forgetting CPN appointments (whoops),  keeping the cats alive and, well, that’s about it!  I’ve been getting out of bed when I would rather not, and am actively dragging myself forward.  My flat is a total and utter state but I will clean it.  I’ve been reading, a little, which is a good thing for me (my shot, faulty brain killed that particular avenue of pleasure for me.  I can only concentrate on short magazines), I have only had a few crying fits, my moods dip into bleakness but I manage and am living my life, as we so often find ourselves doing by accident.

I’m still by the window.  It’s much cooler now, and I can hear bikes rattling past, people crowding around the taxi depot.  I need a bath, and I need to clean the flat.  I need to be disciplined in writing, and to take medication and maybe have some cereal. I need to go to the laundrette.  Banal things that I need to do.  I am okay.  And hello there and thanks for your comments and emails in the meantime.  I shall be refering to the post where I asked for ideas, and maybe use it as a series of tasks to shake me out of my stasis.

OH!  In a recent previous entry someone mentioned doing a week in photos.  Here then are some photos I’ve taken in June, and the end of May (where two of my loveliest friends got married, hurrah), mostly social snapshot stuff, nothing arty nor particularly interesting really… It was my friend’s birthday (no photos on Mac however, boo!), I went up to Newcastle to see my sisters (Michelle is now 27!  Paula is 26!) and didn’t understand half of what she said!  I had my friend staying, and another one (an old friend, recently caught up with, weird but healing.  To be honest, I need all the friends I can get right now so am embracing new/old-new friendships too) visiting London, so!

MICHELLE!

Me and Jenna kissing Tony…

My sisters Paula and Michelle and Michelle’s boyfriend, Leigh, pointing at ducks.