Oh for god’s sake.

I shouldn’t be weighing myself (I was keeping the scales for my friend, I forgot to give them to her), but I have, and I’ve now dropped below the 8 stone mark, the lightest I have been in my adult life.  Despite being my little eating disordered self, I am not jumping for joy.  This is not deliberate; I have completely and utterly lost my appetite due to immense emotional stress over the past few months which have forced me to rethink my life.  The last thing I ate was at 11am yesterday.  

My friend Sarah came around bearing bread, which I’ll get around to eating when food feels more appetising than the cat’s litter tray.  Although I tried to entertain her by making my belly talk to her.  WHAT DOES IT SAY?  “Hello…Sarah…”

edit!  Sarah’s bread is bloody delicious!  I am eating it all!

Last week I almost fainted from lack of food and had to be physically steadied.  I need to get a grip and force myself to eat.  I have yet to get to bed.  I couldn’t face my bed, the pillows. Because if I sleep, then I have to wake up. I’ve spent the past seven hours crying on and off as four years of my life hurtle towards me in equal amounts of joy and agony, that I am losing, and although I am trying to do what I know in my gut is best, healthiest, happiest for everyone in the long term, to not lose everything, in the short term, in the now, I feel profoundly alone, stockpiling all my affections to try and get rid of that horrible feeling, and full of rage and grief and sadness and self abasement for not being strong enough, good enough as a person, trying hard enough, for letting people down and wishing so very violently that things had been different, with less endless crap to wade through,  so that the purest thing of all wasn’t stifled and changed, so I was less restless, disconnected, and knowing that I could keep trying, but it wouldn’t work, and I would always end up back in the same place, with the same grief which would hurt more and more, still 23, still with no clue who she’s meant to be (and now I am crying again).  

My head is killing me and feels gigantic and swollen.  I’ll lie down soon.  I want a bath, want to clean my flat, want to feel semi-human again.  I had a dental appointment at 11am that I can’t be bothered to go to.  I’ll get back to looking after myself properly.  I’m a big girl, I can do it.  I can stand on my own two feet but sometimes like everyone else I stumble to the ground and it is hard to get up.  I do look like a lady of the sorrows right now with my cried out skin and bombed eyes.

I’m not mentally unwell at the moment, not more so than usual.  People have been questioning whether I might be slightly manic due to my lack of sleep and lack of eating.  I don’t think I am. It is pure stress.  I am a bit more impulsive than usual but this is a culmination of, everything, to be honest, and kind of losing my rag a bit and knowing that I need to shake myself out of a coma before I become a dead dear at twenty five just staring, paralysed.   I’m not depressed.  I am incredibly, incredibly sad in a human way (nothing I want to discuss).  

I will feel better, just not right now.  Instead of doing my usual dusting myself off in that English way I have being an Irish person in England, I’m just allowing myself to bawl.

Ah, sweet self pity, eh.  I’d like to thump myself on the head.

Anyway, enough ranting.  

I am also stressed beyond belief.  My DLA didn’t go into my account- I am on zero benefits.  I have no money.  I went to sort out Income Support yesterday but everything else has been messed up.  It feels like nothing I’m doing in my life, in all respects, has an iota of positive impact.  That I make people miserable and even the benefits office seem to have some sort of vendetta against me and are determined to see me scavenge in the bins of the slightly better off than the underclass like me, which, at times like this, is exactly what I feel like. Right now jumping off something high seems attractive because I’m so sick of it all.  I could jump and wrap a letter from the DWP around my neck like an attractive bib with the word, “THANKS” scrawled on it.

Now I have to wait for the fuckers to open their phone lines.  At least the DLA people are somewhat more helpful than Income Support as they seem accostumed to old dears rather than rambling young whippersnappers like me.

Yes, Radio 4 listeners.  FEEL THE TEDIUM OF MY LIFE!

13 Responses

  1. Don’t let the bastards grind you down.

  2. Take care. Have a bath. Enjoy the bread.
    Just mind yourself…

  3. Hey you-

    Now it is most definitely your turn, im all for a lovely big email.

    Take care lovely,

    S xx

  4. Erg, Seaneen, I am worried about you! That’s a lot of weight to have lost in a relatively short time. Eat some food!!!!

  5. All-in-all, considering everything that you’re dealing with at the mo, I’d be suprised, and concerned, if you weren’t feeling a little like that. It’s right to boil and rage and scream at the callous, indifferant or obstinant paper hatted gnomes along the garden path. It is proper, and it is honest. Being a bit shouty might not help with the beurocrasy and you’d undoubtedly feel guilty if you actually did yell in someones face but it is still a valid and correct way to feel. As true and good and wholesome as a chip butty and a cup of tea. And totally not your fault.

    Be Lucky and keep strong,

    and thanks.

  6. Hi Seaneen,

    I skipped my dental yesterday also, just wasn’t feeling upto it. You kind of have to be in a properly decent state to cope with having someone scratch around your mouth.

    Anyway, that’s by the by.

    I’m so sorry you are having such a rough time, though maybe I shouldn’t be sorry. Maybe we’re too quick nowadays to avoid these emotions that at least, if felt and experienced in the now, can be processed and gotton rid of.

    I’m still sorry though.

    Louise x

  7. ^ wot Dai said.

    As of Tues, I had my benefits cut off. Am planning to appeal but, sweet zombie Jesus, it’s stressful. If you’re not already mad, you will be by the time the department for work and pensions have finished with you. Next time they send me a form I’m not going to bother filling it in. I’m just going to shit in the envelope and send it back to them. If that doesn’t convince them I have mental health problems, what will?

  8. “I’m not depressed. I am incredibly, incredibly sad in a human way (nothing I want to discuss)”

    — Sorry to hear that Seaneen, please try and motivate yourself enough to eat. As for DWP they’re a bunch of imcompetent tossers. Having to deal with them isn’t going to help your mood. Can your CPN help??

    Thinking of you

    Crazy Nurse

  9. Not much I can add Seaneen, except it’s somehow ironic, at least to me, that after having a play broadcast about you, no less, plus all the other great and important work you have done raising the profile of the mentally interesting, you find yourself up shit street financially. Dunno if you still have your donations button, but will check in a minute. Be ultra-kind to yourself, and honey, please eat. Love, Zoe

  10. Seaneen, I very much hope your CPN will help with this.

    Your CPN should phone them and say “Seaneen is having suicidal thoughts due to the benefits situation amongst other problems she has in her life currently. She last tried to kill herself in the latter part of 2008. This is dragging her under and needs to be resolved as a matter of urgency.”

    They would have to sit up and listen to that.

    I too have often thought to leave letters from the benefits office near me if I were to take my own life, because they have sometimes played a big role in deteriorating my already crumbling mental health in the past.

  11. Hi I am sure its a way to stop people claiming benefits by making everything so difficult and complicated in the hope they will find it easier to get a job. They do not know the serious problems that people have and that most people with mental health would love to be able to go to work and use their education and knowledge to support them selves.
    Just keep going and wade through the deep soggy chest high thick mud of the bureaucratic system.

  12. Stupid D.W.P.I work for the FUCKERS and still they wont give me DLA.Like bod saysI think they do it just to make our lives that little bit more miserable.
    I’m new to this site but already Seaneen I have found your style of writing very uplifting and knowing there are other people out there,and one as talented as you,has helped me through the rough patch I’m currently going through.Hang in there.

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