Not my only love. But my first, and possibly my last. I am lucky, I shouldn’t forget that. I feel quite lonely at the moment but I’m not alone. I keep thinking everybody is better off without me but then I think my little sister would be hurt if I wasn’t there for her birthday this month. I have to thank CBT for this, in a way, it really helped, I can sometimes, when I focus, interrupt horribly thoughts with more rational, in the moment ones. They’re diversions, not things I am entirely committed to, but it helps. I just don’t want to break the people that I lean on.
Thank you for comments on my previous posts. They are lovely, and it highlights a strangeness when putting something into writing, rather than verbalising it People often focus on the form, rather than the message (a post about suicide being complimented- that is strange! Stranger still because for the most part I speak in the same manner that I write) But I appreciate and prefer this, especially as I’ve struggled to write lately. So thank you. I still feel quite uncomfortable writing here at the moment, but have done so just to bibble, so if things disappear, don’t be surprised or take it as a strop.
I slept most of the day. I took some Seroquel for assistance as I’d been nudging into two days of (intentional) no sleep and couldn’t get to sleep naturally or with Nytol. I could quite easily have stayed up, because not sleeping does help my mood, but for sense’s sake I thought I needed to sleep. For hours I was swaddled in dreamy numbness, which I liked. I understand why people are drugged. I haven’t really moved from the sofa this week but it’s preferable not to move just out of floatiness rather than any other reasons. It hasn’t been a bad day. Not a productive one but blankness is quite nice. I am going to do another list on my chalkboard and resist writing the self-abuse (a few choice words) I wanted to when I looked at it earlier.
Today is my consultation evening at Birkbeck College to see whether I can study their evening part time Access to Nursing (or possibly Social Care, because I can’t decide, and my decision making skills have buggered off, I will probably take a deep breath and decide on the door step. It will probably be Nursing, though) course there. I’m going to go along. Despite the fact I have wanted to write for a living pretty much forever, I do need a day job. subject to study psychology at degree level. Maybe educational psychology would be great. Ignore all this bullshit about people with mood disorders and bipolar disorder being brilliant writers; if you want to make a living out of it, you need to be consistent and my moods actively fuck me up in that respect. Sometimes I can write lots, and elegantly, sometimes I am incoherent, sometimes I can’t write and/or have no faith in myself, which you need, too. You have to be proactive and ballsy, and I am neither when I’m down. And then not being makes me feel even worse. That’s why all those famous moody artists and actors came from rich families. They had a fallback. Argh. I don’t feel like I can handle studying at the moment, or anything else, really, but I know if I don’t go and try I will hate myself for it.
I’m quite scared, so wish me luck. Also wish me luck that a personal budget will fund it- if not, then I shan’t be studying it, as I don’t have a grand and a half down the back of the sofa. Nor anything of value to sell.
When I think far into the future, everything goes kind of blank, so I need to think in the short term. And for tonight, Birkbeck! And possibly a wash and shave as my leg hair is getting so long it’s practically starting to dread and I mistook them for my cats.