Friday, February 29, 2008

You'd Better Hope And Pray, That You Make It Safe, Back To Your Own World

I’m angry and want to kill. Uncharacteristic, anarchic anger. Yesterday I nearly threw my laptop across the room because people weren’t doing what I wanted them to. If I had done, I would have lost everything as currently this, my laptop, is where I live. I live in words alone, a surface form blurring lines of fact and fiction(?).

I just kicked the laundry basket in the bathroom and stubbed my toe on the side of the bath as I fell. The anger was there in a virile second, a thundering rage from zero to one hundred. My insides are aching for something – what, I don’t know. The blood is pounding through my veins, making it hard for me to hear anything other than my insides thumping. I’m angry at The Recently Departed - a seemingly minute part to everything else that I am feeling - hardly worth mentioning really at all. Seeing his face back up on Love Online, claiming that he "...can’t big himself up", that he’s currently working in Florence - it all makes me roar. I yell at my screen, giving him the bird then picking up the laptop, stopping just short of it leaving flailing fists flying. I dare my date last night to email me and when he does I roar out loud at that too. The fact that he nearly fell asleep while talking to me last night made me boil. I should have walked out, but I didn’t, I just sat there smiling. He had nothing to talk about other than his work, which luckily was my forte. When I stopped yakking, there was silence and sighs from across the table and I still sat there; smiling.

Someone outside has their car stereo blasting out a bass line that makes me feel physically sick as it reverberates through my bones. I want to transport myself from my couch, through the drivers’ window and pull him through the shattered glass by his throat. This afternoon, I sat in my crumpled ball-gown, with mascara smudges pouring from dry eyes, listening to wide, manically-staring-music, rocking and rolling on my own, pounding my legs with hands that were searching for an invisible punch bag to the feisty, unapologetic songs.

I like her, that woman. She’s insane. If she’d been out last night it would have been much more fun. She would have walked out after Skinny Boy had picked the flesh out of the inside of his battered fish, laughing and shaking her head. There is surely something wrong with a thirty-one year old male whose hips and buttocks combined are about as thin as my ankle. I could imagine that ass undulating between proffered thighs and not a pretty picture made. I want to have angry sex. I want someone to pound and thrust himself upon me until I am screaming. I want someone to want me so badly that he’ll come from the edge of reason to make me his. I want someone who can stand in front of me without flinching, raging as hard as I can, right back in my face. Someone who won’t put up with my shit and accept that I will always want more.

She’s the bitch in the boardroom that comes out to play when she knows she’s right. She knows she’s right now when she thinks about someone capable of meeting her head on. She’s met him already. She laughs when she thinks about the toe to toe. She’s reckless and lacks the conformity her 'keen to please' counterpart requires. She is the one who would stand on the edge of the top of a building, step off and expect not to fall.

When she’s with me, there is no connection between head and body. She just opens her mouth and roars. She doesn’t over complicate things; bullets could bounce off her. She’s not afraid of her father. She would just tell the shrivelled man to fuck off. She would laugh at all those impossible suitors that tried and gave up. She would laugh her ass off at the drippy girl who stayed with the man that terrified her. She would have left her there with him to rot away along with his liver. She would never apologise for a sharp tongue or for missing an appointment; she would never grovel to anyone for anything. She would probably only trust one other. Him. If he’s really real, because she knows that he on the inside, is a match, an inexplicably complicated, chaotic perfect match.

She rolls her eyes while her weaker counterpart has to go piss. She taps her foot impatiently with arms folded across her chest, hard eyes and wordless mouth surveying her surroundings. She knows that she is stifled by the girl in the bathroom, she loathes her. Like Siobhan Fahey’s wild-eyed devil to Marcella Detroit’s angelica in Stay, coaxing herself back to the revelling chaotic.

The one in the bathroom cries quietly.

Slow Down Girl You're 'Bout to Hurt Somebody

I look like I was at my high school prom last night and didn't loose my virginity to my beau. Even though I'd been wearing his ring all trimester. Or like trailer trash Barbie who's been out all night looking down at mirrors through a rolled up note.

Alas neither is true which is a cunt because I worked my ass off last night out on a date. "Yes. Shut up." Chat, chat, chat. "Wow, really - you're so interesting. Me, no I do nothing, I just sit here and look pretty. You look tired, need to go home now?" Did I waste the pretty? Dunno. Slightly feeling that way this morning. And yes, that does mean I'm back on the sadomasochism, dating website. "Glutton for punishment? Yeah, I think so"

There's been the tinker, the tailor, the soldier, the sailor, the rich man, the poor man, the idiot and the heart-breaker. Plus the admin is excruciating. Replies, posts, pictures, being fun and interesting and oh-so-engaging. A good seeing to and a sound night's sleep would probably do me a power of good. But I'm not that girl am I?

Brings me right back to my appointment with Ms. Friday last week where I suddenly realised that I might not actually want to be in a relationship and all this weddings, babies, dream men stuff was just a big 'ole red herring. Would that be another of my fantasy islands blown up in a puff of analytical speculations(?)... cottage in the country - Boom! Husband and babies - Boom!

All that thinking and talking and concentrating. Christ almighty I thought this shit was supposed to be fun? Non? Tic-tic-tic-tic; boom!

Thursday, February 21, 2008

For Safety Purposes - Discard After Use

“What day is it?” Seriously. I have no idea. “Date? Fuck off, you are kidding me, right?” I feel like I have lost all the time since I was last up North - probably about three weeks, at an estimate. Time, and life has passed in a complete haze, making me feel entirely surreal, a bit sad and altogether, freaked out.

I lost a couple of days due to forgetting to take my medication, which was insane. I had always been lead to believe that the dosage of Venlafaxine that I am on (225mg) was a relatively low dose. “Ha” Is what I say to that. For two days straight I had a constant tingling/numbness in my lips. My whole left side was tingling and if I moved my head or eyes a millimetre, my head swam like I was a boat on choppy seas. I felt faint constantly and was terrified, in a kind of hysterical fashion, that I would faint all over the general public when I was out of the house. It just so happened that on those two days, all I was, was out of the house. I had offered to make my mates their anniversary dinner as they were very close to the expected birth of their second child and were utterly exhausted. And the following day was counselling and copious amounts of chores because I had spent most of the beginning of the week in bed, hiding. I was sitting in my Psychiatrists office, when she casually mentioned that I was actually on a high dose of Venlafaxine, i.e. not too much room for manoeuvre. I was banging on about wanting to kill myself at the time.

My energy is back, for the most part, which is great, but the doom is also still here. The slides back into gloom are rapid and unexpected and, as my sleep is still chronically interrupted, I have no energy to fight. That seems to be the general consensus of opinion between he and I. He knows when to arrive, when I am more liable to take note and there he is, standing in front of me, or hovering over my head, day and night; watching.

This morning, the minute I arose, I knew something was up, so I tried the old method of going back to bed after taking my medication, trying to sleep again so I could re-awaken and start the day again. It worked in so much that I managed to jump straight into clothes when I got up, second time around. And had a cup of tea. I think my period is due next week, sometime, so as yet, I am still unsure if this is my old friend the bogeyman, or if it is regular, lady-like, PMT. I don’t know why I say “lady-like” there is nothing lady-like about it. Puffing and muttering and moaning, interspersed with amazing anger, crashing lows and palpitations.

The sum total of my days achievements today have been: putting shopping away that I left, scattered on the kitchen floor yesterday, sorting through a box of old receipts destined for the shredder, contemplating my next furniture move in the lounge, doing some dishes and a load of laundry. Yesterday and the two days prior to that I was a maniac. I have been working through an almighty To Do List that I made, some weeks ago now, and it has kept me consumed for the best part of all weeks, when I have not been escaping under the duvet.

Yesterday I went to visit my new niece. Truth be told, I didn’t see much of her as she was permanently attached to her Mother’s bosom, plus my 'already' niece was decidedly distressed by the latest addition to the family, so much time was spent playing with her. I did see the tiny bundle for a few minutes face to face. She seemed so, very tiny, eyes still not quite open. Hard to believe that her big sister was even smaller when she was born. Small person creation and birth still blow me away, although I do seem to be getting closer to understanding the concept through the experience of my friends. At least there are happy kids about. I think I am still smarting from the “almost” pregnancy at the beginning of the year. Much more than I had given myself allowance for. I also saw my other friend, who up until yesterday had been noticeable by her absence. I was beginning to think that I had done something unconsciously to offend, or make bad between us because of the eerie silence that had fallen - and I was right, so the mood was a little more than tense, till we talked it through. I think everything is OK, for now. At least I hope it is, because I fear that my more than casual approach to life and in fact being “here”, may find me cutting people out and off, savagely and without a second thought.

The current mood is one of contagiousness. I feel like I am a draining lump on the butt of society. I wandered into TRD territory today, something I haven’t done since (Ha, I can remember the actual day) 1st Feb, when I called him up to double check he didn’t want a couple of pricey possessions that he had left at my house and got that: “This phone has been disconnected” tone. Call me crazy (“Ha, ha, yes very funny”), but I reckon the young man hast changeth-ed hist telephone numero. Probably to extricate him self of ex girlfriends, ex girlfriends that call. Anyway I found the anger that day and it has stayed with me since then. Until today, when I got a bit maudlin. Nothing to write home about, but good(?) to note that the time spent moping is getting less and the gut wrenching heart-stabbing pain, lessening by vast amounts. This has probably been aided and abetted by the return of the date doctor – Love Online. Yes, I’m doing it again. Excuse me while I laugh at myself for a moment. “Oh, who the fuck cares?” Not eye sir, not eye… And I wouldn't worry, O' Voice of Reason, they'll all run a mile when they find out I'm a r-e-c-o-v-e-r-i-n-g depressive. "For Safety Purposes - Discard After Use", tick.

"Feeling sorry for myself?" "No, no, no, nooo, noooo"

Friday, February 15, 2008

Fucking Amateurs

Someone was in my house today. I came home and found my front door wasn't locked properly. My heating was on. Things were moved in the kitchen and there were muddy footprints on the lino. For a moment I wondered if I had done all of this but because of my OCD-like tendencies, I know I double and triple check things before I leave the house. Always.

The only explanation was that the letting agents had been round to try to fix some of the problems I had reported at my last 'flat inspection'. I called them in a rage. "Has someone been in my house today?" They confirmed that someone had been here. Someone had been in my house when I was out and they hadn't even sorted the problem, because they didn't know what the problem was.

The same had happened yesterday when two men tried to let themselves into my house to take my Landlady's (2K +) fridge out of the flat to take to the dump. If I hadn't been here to stop them, that is exactly what would have happened. They also thought that my reported electrical fault was that I needed a light bulb replacing. I thought that one was hilarious. I can change a light bulb.

Fucking amateurs. I cannot abide slack work ethics.

I was at counselling this morning and saw my other best mate for lunch. My other mate (the one who recently split up with her boyfriend) is conspicuous by her absence. Tonight I have been teary. I think probably because I feel really weird about someone being in my home while I wasn't. It's like having been burgled, without having anything taken, and of course, my mind is going overtime about smelling gas, and wondering what else he looked at while he was here. Was he even a freakin' qualified Boiler Fixing Person? Fuckers.

My house smells weird. And my eyes hurt. And blokes are idiots. And I'm cold.

Thursday, February 14, 2008

Welcome To The World, Baby Girl

My Mum left today and my best friend became a Mama for the second time.

I am always surprised by the emotions that flash-flood through me when it comes to those little girls - I never thought it possible. A prouder (honorary) Auntie, I could not be. Suddenly I am smaller, and the world I inhabit, vast. It is humbling, very humbling indeed.

"Welcome to the world, baby girl, born on St. Valentine's Day" I cannot wait to meet you.

Wednesday, February 13, 2008

A Runcible Spoon?

My Mam is here for a few days and my best mate has been in labour for the last four. It is a veritable Ma-Fest and I am completely at sea.

Thursday, February 7, 2008

365 Days, Multiplied By Seven?

The conversation goes something like this:

Me: "I just broke a mirror"
Me, looking down at said broken thing, lying at my feet: "Oh, that will be seven years bad luck then"
Me, realising the irony: "Oh, Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ow"

(The "ow" was because my cheeks hurt from laughing so much) So much fun to be had, in your own head, before breakfast.

Monday, February 4, 2008

Stick A Pin In Me, I Doubt I'd Feel It

Today was weird. Weird because I simply don't know how else to word it. Maybe it was 'a half and half day'. Half good, half bad. Bugger it, you decide...

I was up and out by 9:30AM (hair washed and breakfast eaten), walking down to the doctors surgery to drop off my repeat prescription request, then I hopped into a cab to The Biscuit Centre for a follow up appointment with my psychiatrist. The appointment was fine, as usual. We only ever deal with my medication when I go to see her; she leaves all the “chit-chat” to Thursday and my CPN. I told her how shit I had been feeling, reeling off symptoms like a grocery shopping list. Palpitations, sleeping too much, looooow mood. Suicidal thoughts, bloody awful acid heartburn…yaddi, yaddi, yadda. I am now being booked in for an ECG. I wonder if they make this stuff up sometimes. But, flickery hearts make people worry.

Apart from that, "we" are waiting to see “if this all passes”. I am going back to see her in a week or so because I mentioned the ‘S’ word. Next, in a bid to keep out of my bed and try to make some human contact, (no talking required) I hoppety-popped into town. After getting off the bus, I stood in the middle of the street feeling slightly perplexed and wondering what to do next. I wandered into the big, shiny bookshop that was beside me. I think I wandered about there for much longer than I intended. Like an hour or so. And then I wandered out again. I stopped for a coffee. I picked up some paper, and then wander I could no more.

Back home I went and I think I was vertical for about an hour. Woo hoo! Then guess where I went…? FIVE hours later and I'm half sitting, half lying amongst newspapers and tea cups on my sofa, staring into space. Just got to stay awake for a few more hours and then I can go back to sleep. Flippant I may sound, but staying awake is as hard as it gets when the Demon of Darkness hits. My limbs are like lead and I have to hold onto walls to go to the toilet. The thought of doing anything makes me weep. Literally. Thirty, moi? Pah! I feel like fucking Ninety. "Please can I have the twenty-four hour energy deal back again?" Then at least I could bloody walk to the toilet.

On a positive note, yes, there is one in here somewhere, I bought the paper to make some work (of the artistic variety) that I have been thinking about for the past few months and I bought a map of the West of Scotland. I am going to find somewhere to live. Yes, I am. (“Give me a break, I’m trying to sound positive here”) Oh and because I don't eat, I can buy maps - incase you were wondering.

Maybe I’ll hang my map up tonight and stick a pin in it.

Sunday, February 3, 2008

Lost: Season Four - I've Seen This One Already

It’s 8:25PM and I’ve been awake for, maybe six hours today. The rest of my day has been spent in bed, as it was yesterday. I am lodged in somewhere between loneliness and despair. The (recent) past is too painful to think about and the future, unbearable. The last couple of weeks have been particularly hard, for what reason I am not entirely sure. We could debate that this sudden dip in mood could be to do with the recent ‘loss’, the work I have been doing with Thursday to explode all previous belief systems, or the surge in hormones with the arrival of the long awaited period. All I know is that I, again, find it easier sleeping (rather ironic really because, unless medicated, my sleep is full of horrific nightmares) and that yet again my bed and I have become constant companions. I am frustrated; I feel hopeless and am filled with a loneliness that is both physically painful and exhausting.

I find no pleasure or joy in my days, and the nights, well they seem to speak for themselves. I want to give up every day. I have contemplated completely giving up more than once this week, so far as to dream of a blade slowly trailing up the length of my forearm, from wrist to elbow. That peacefulness brings hollow comfort. I’ve tried shaking my head so much that my brain rattles in my skull in the hope that I can shake myself free from the trappings of my mind. I try constantly to get ___ out of my head, but he remains where he is. Nearly two months on and I still wish he would come home.

Did he make me give up? Was losing him enough to tip the scales to bring me back to this place that I loathe? I can’t let go of him, and I do and don’t want to at the same time. Part of me hopes that if I keep him alive in my mind he will come back. The other side can’t expel thoughts of him fast enough. Flashes of happy memories are enough to make my mind mentally vomit as if I had been shocked by something so horrific, that it naturally responds by physically ejecting them, immediately. The thought of ever letting anyone else in (hand over heart) I think, I will never allow it. Anyone who has ever felt the pain of great love lost, knows how painful it can be to unlock, locked hearts; even worse when those too get broken because of the utter disbelief that even with the extra protection that you had built up, they still managed to get through all of that and hurt you.

Why do we do this to each other? As human beings why do we live and love and move on when we get bored or careless? Why do we treat others with such little respect in doing so? It bothers me greatly how we as humans, have become as disposable as the lives in which we inhabit. A friend of mine has been recently trying to break things off with a bloke she has been seeing and I have found it so hard to be sympathetic with her in her plight. When she asks me if it is OK to break up with him via text, my insides scream. “Are you FUCKING KIDDING ME?” Has she not been with me while I cry inwardly with the pain of all that has just happened to me and the humiliation and indignation I have felt because of being unceremoniously dumped via email? It seems as though we become increasingly flippant in the ways in which we tell someone that we no longer require their services. Is that because of the ‘new’ ways in which we communicate? The text, the instant message, the Skype call, the email. We no longer have to get up and walk across a room to say something to a colleague. We no longer have to make the extra effort to be on time for appointments because we can always text someone to say “I’ll be ten minutes late!” We no longer have to make the awkward calls to cancel appointments that we have no real reason to get out of. We basically no longer have to be courteous or look others in the eye; we essentially, no longer have to be personally responsible – what would our grandparents think? Well, they would probably be very disapproving, if they weren't too busy playing Bingo on the Internet with the rest of the Silver Surfers to care.

All I ever wanted to know from ___ was “Why” Not the crappy email version of “Why” the 'Yeah, yeah, whatever. That makes no sense, but if that’s the bollocks excuse you want to give me then carry on…" No actually – don’t carry on. Sit me down, look me directly in the face and tell me why. Let me see some Goddamn compassion in your eyes; let me hear you stumble over your words – anything as long as I can see that I actually meant something to you at some point. Let me see how uncomfortable you feel and above all let me see if you are telling me the truth. Mind you, if I had had all of that, would I just have kicked you out with a swift tap to your bollocks, screaming at you to take your hypocritical sensitivity and "FUCK RIGHT OFF!"? Maybe there are no right or wrong ways to break someone’s heart, if that is what you are doing – I just know that I have no bleedin’ "closure" (stupid fucking word) so my mind makes up all possible reasons WHY be they delusional or otherwise. So, I don't know why, I don’t even know if he is alive, still breathing, married. I just bastarding…don’t know.

What it boils down to is that I miss him. I really thought the Universe had thrown me a bone in gorgeous packaging and something was going to go right for once. That me, I, was allowed to have someone in my life that was there just for me. Someone that loved me for me and wanted to be with me, with my many warts and all. The fact that I adored him back was an utter bonus. I thought he was “It”, “The One”. I'd never felt that before, and the trouble is, that I still feel the same way. I am sans him, and I still feel the same way.

I wonder if there is anything in my CBT For Dummies book that is winging it’s way to me, via Amazon, that can cure this little problem. Chance would be a fine thing and I wish it were that simple. I just don’t want to have lost the one good thing I had. The one truly good man that I had met, the man I had shared everything with. Mind you, if he’s reading this, he’ll be glad he got out when he did. And there it is, the thundering thwack of reality, the familiar sinking of my stomach as I remember his face, his mouth mouthing, “I love you” as he drove away.

I look for him everywhere. I can’t find him in my house or in the world I inhabit, just in the memories that floor me when I walk up and down the aisles of Somerfiled. When I sit in the cinema, remembering how he would hold my hand, when I remember laughing and dicking about in the kitchen. When I find the mouldy remnants of the fresh rosemary that has been shoved to the back of the cupboard after we cooked tiny chickens for tea, when I curl up on the sofa alone at night and when I look at the property pages for a cottage for two with a white picket fence. I miss the calming and hypnotic influence his voice had over me and the daily texts, the hundreds of daily texts, and pictures that he sent me, making me laugh out loud and swoon all at once; all that I miss, every minute of every day.

I should be grateful for what I have, I think to myself, I have a roof over my head, I have coppers in my pocket and a family that loves me. I am not starving and cold and completely alone in the world. I feel guilty that I think my problems are so huge. That in the scheme of things they are small, that I am small, insignificant in this world of ours… but I feel huge and painful and infected. I feel cancerous and germ filled, I feel like I am dying. I feel like I am dying slowly and painfully as if I had cancerous growths in my lungs and in my throat, that my skin is falling off in front of my very eyes and I can do nothing to stop it. No amount of candles and prayers can fix what I feel. No looking into the future will give me any inner peace or calm my feverish mind. I know, deep down, that I am my own cure and whatever life I have, will be as a result of MY hard work. MY not giving in. MY struggling through. Yes, I have had help, yes I have had support, but at the end of the day I am the reason that I am here. I decide when to put down the scissors and when to put the pills back in the jars. That’s me that does that. Just me.

I know I can get through all of this, the truth is; I just don’t want to have to. I want to go back in time and have my happy ending sitting in the chair across from me at breakfast, smiling. Smiling at me.