Procrastination and being pissed off about it, and everything else.

I am procrastinating. I have been procrastinating all day. And most of yesterday. If there was an Olympic medal for procrastination, you bet I’d be up there competing for gold. I’ve spent so much time training for it that I am a frigging EXPERT.

While procrastinating the other day, I came across this. Holy mother of all things holy, this has described my procrastinating brain better than anything else EVER has done. It’s amazing. And the follow up post is amazing too, and is what I am trying to achieve right now, only I am not, because I’m procrastinating. I have SO MUCH to do, and I am not doing any of it. And it’s happening AGAIN and I am driving myself up the fucking wall.

I wish that I could just be normal and get things done but I’m not. I am a hopper, my mind goes from thing to thing to thing and I can’t concentrate and then it’s too late and I think, “I’ll start tomorrow”. Only, tomorrow has things happening too, so like sleep I end up not being able to catch up and then have a breakdown. I don’t want to be like this and I am getting help not to be like this but I am STILL like this. What the hell is wrong with me? It’s so fucking rubbish. I need, like, a minder. I need someone to sit down with me and be all like, “you can do this!”, like having my own personal cheerleader or something. Because something is wrong with me and I am sort of trying to fix it, but not hard enough, because I can’t stick with it for long enough, and then the shame spiral starts. ARGH! And I am sitting here writing this instead of going to see my boyfriend and being in a warm house and going through songs to play tomorrow, so that I don’t have to play the same bloody songs as last time and be a boring samey DJ, but I am just not bothered.

Maybe that’s it. I’m not bothered. I mean, I AM, but it’s buried under so much other stuff that I sort of can’t bring myself to care, and then when I do, I panic because it’s SO BIG. And I am trying to break it down but it’s hard when you’ve never done it. My mentor was asking me all these questions, like when do I study the best, how do I study, how do I read, what are the optimum study times for me, and I was like, DUDE. LOLWTF? I DON’T KNOW. I don’t know because I procrastinate like an Olympian until the task itself becomes so frantic that I end up staying up for unreasonable amounts of time being like some sort of mad genius and doing it ALL in the smallest amount of time possible. Haha, how do I study. LIKE A TORNADO IS HOW I STUDY. I read frantically, skimming and magically managing to pull out relevant quotes and apply them to what I am talking about. But that’s not good or healthy and I can’t do that forever, only I feel like I need someone with me all the time to help me do this. Like my life at the moment. I just want a parent, really, I feel incapable and incompetent and my toddler part is way bigger than my parent part, or my adult part. I’m three years old and I WANT CAKE and I don’t want to work. Only, you know, that’s not helpful, and I don’t want to go from being toddler to a adult in crisis, pulling a (most probably) substandard essay out of my arse with 26 minutes to spare because I’ve become addicted to Nurse Jackie and cheese toasties and can’t just pull myself together enough to be productive.

Only I’m not just a toddler, because if I were I probably wouldn’t be saddled with all this guilt and feeling like I should be doing these things instead of pissing about doing highly unimportant things. And because I’m pissing about, the most important things (the boring and scary ones) get dropped in favour of dinner with friends or catch ups over tea and cake, which are also essential, but I need to get balance, and that is something that I am not very good at. Sometimes I am, sometimes I am brilliant – but now is not one of those times, and I am scared and that is making me edge closer to my ostrich mask.

Damn it. If it’s not one thing, it’s another. (Mostly this, to be honest. It always comes back to this.) I am so sick of being like this and just wish I could be normal. If I could be normal then I wouldn’t need therapy anymore and right now I hate therapy. It’s a financial and emotional drain. And I don’t feel connected to her right now, which is scary too. I don’t know what’s switched but I feel irritated and judged and I’m not exactly sure why…but it doesn’t feel great at the moment. I wanted to run out earlier because I started to feel really uncomfortable and that doesn’t normally happen. I normally feel safe and right now I don’t, and that sucks. I just want to not go back, ever, but that’s not possible. I mean, it is, but I won’t do it. I can feel myself not wanting to go though, my timekeeping is getting worse and worse, and it’s spilling over into other things as well. Again – why can’t I just be normal? Fuck therapy for making me have to even think about this shit. I don’t know what’s changed, but something has, and I don’t like it. I hate feeling so irritated, like I’m bubbling away beneath the surface. I feel like something’s going on that I don’t know about, and that’s what I hate the most. Knowing that I’m probably about to explode and not knowing why, or what will come out. I keep feeling mad at her and not really being able to figure out why. Been there, done that, got the fucking t-shirt. My god, this is so boring now. Broken record. Feel something, don’t know why, have to figure it out (by PAYING SOMEONE TO HELP ME WITH IT), instead of just knowing like a normal person. THE FUCKING INJUSTICE ARGH. *stomps off to eat cake*


A healing walk. With added sheep.

Last Saturday I went for a walk that I thought was going to be a bit of a disappointment. We’d originally decided to go to a forest about an hour away, but eventually ended up going somewhere much closer to home after totally misjudging timings and pesky early sunsets. I was gutted but decided that as long as I was outside it was ok, because it was a perfect autumnal day featuring all the classics: sunshine, blue skies and air chilly enough to make your nose a little bit scrunchy. What I’d really been craving, though, was to be in a forest, surrounded by trees and looking up at possibly my favourite scene – branches reaching out to the sky (I have sooooo many pictures of this and I love them all). I love feeling enveloped by a wood or forest, knowing that above me is a beautiful canopy that will stretch on and on as far as the eye can see. For example this, from the weekend before:


It makes me feel really safe, like I’m being swaddled by nature. Plus, there are deer and squirrels and hedgehogs and badgers and fungi and birds and bugs and all manner of amazing creatures which just make it even better, if you’re lucky enough to spot them. I’d been on a walk the weekend before to the local wood that I often go tramping around in (see above) and had wanted to go a bit further afield, to somewhere bigger and less familiar, with more colours and trees and, well, just more.

Despite my original reservations, it ended up being one of the best walks of my life. We started off, and it was pretty, but it’s always pretty because it’s a national park. After a short while we stumbled across a group of ponies – there were probably about 15 – 20 of them all together. This stopped us in our tracks because it was a surprise, and a very pleasant one too. While we had company we decided to sit down and have some lunch – fig and walnut bread with Sussex Black Bomber cheese and homemade courgette chutney, all from the farmer’s market that morning – but of course some of our newfound friends wanted in on that too, so there was a bit of OMG this pony is ABOUT TO EAT MY FAAAAACE. But it was all fine and ended up being hilarious rather than terrifying. Off on our way again, we saw a dead sheep, maybe a lamb, because it looked small. That made me sad because sheep are my favourites, but it was also cool in that gory carcass kind of way. (I was sort of hoping it would be old so I could take the skull but it was relatively recent and there was still the smell of death.) We later saw another one like it and I got angry because although it happens in nature, there are also some really rubbish and irresponsible people who don’t look after their dogs properly and that’s not nature, that’s just negligence.

We passed some derelict barns, so eerie because there was nobody around and we’d only seen about six people on the walk from the very beginning. It felt like a video game, like zombies might jump out at us at any moment. We carried on walking higher and higher, until we were almost at the top of the last hill. I saw this THING peeking above the hill behind me and didn’t know what it was, and then it twigged – (almost) full moon, rising. It was so beautiful and mesmerising, just like a sunrise but pale and so bright…and it was so big. It was honestly one of the most memorable moments of my life. I love the moon and frequently stop and marvel at its beauty but I don’t remember ever actually seeing moonrise from the beginning, so it was a very special moment. I kept having to turn my head back and forth like I was at Wimbledon, because over the other side of the sky was one of the most vibrant sunsets I had ever seen; so incredibly orange and pink, transitioning into pinks and purples, then purple and navy and finally black. And then we encountered more sheep, alive this time, who were a joy to see. I did my usual thing of talking to them like they are old friends, which I am sure they appreciated. Of course. On the way back home we walked overlooking the sea, and could see the lights of the city to the right, and the lights of the pier, and it was dark and it felt so nice to be seeing it from above, from somewhere quiet, rather than being right in it. Then, suddenly, fireworks started going off in the distance. Sporadic explosions of glitter in the sky, the perfect shimmery ending to such a lovely day. It made me connect with the world again in a way that I had forgotten was possible. I felt so alive with love and hope and joy and absolute awe at what had just unfolded before my eyes. I felt lucky, and so peaceful. It served as a reminder that it doesn’t matter where you are, there is always beauty somewhere. I was so close to home and yet it felt like I’d inhabited a completely different world for that short time, somewhere magical and away from all the bad things in my life at the moment. It also reminded me that you just need to go with things sometimes and be in the moment, that everything happens for a reason. I used to hate that saying because I took it to mean that things are willed by a higher power, or that we all have a certain fate that is laid out for us, and I’m an atheist so… In my eyes things just happen – a lot of the world is out of our control but we have control in the way we choose to deal with things and what we take from experiences. We can decide whether to ascribe reasons to that, I guess, and I do. I’d spent a short while thinking about how rubbish it was that I wouldn’t get to go to the forest, but if I had gone, none of the things I’d experienced would have happened. Maybe it would have been better, but I don’t know that, and I had an absolutely amazing time anyway. I look back sometimes on my life and think about certain times, even really hard ones, and they all serve a purpose. Some of them I don’t like and I wish had never happened but they still made me the person I am now. If I had broken up with my ex sooner rather than later and not wasted so much time with him, I would never have moved into the house share that ended up bringing me my group of friends. That in itself means that I wouldn’t have met one of my best friends, which just seems so weird, because we’re so close and she’s like a sister to me. Things like that, things that you can regret, can also bring you wonderful things. Not everything, but everything seems to serve a purpose one way or another when I look at it and that reassures me because whenever I have a crappy time now (like, NOW, almost all the bloody time) I can think – there is a reason for this. Or at least that something good, however small, will come of it. That doesn’t mean that I think things went ‘wrong’ early in the day so that I experienced what I did, though. It’s just about reflection and getting something from everything you do, I think. Although I do feel brain dead at the moment, so I am also likely to be talking shite and not explaining myself very well at all.

I took a few pictures during the walk- they can’t do it justice at all but they will serve as a reminder to what was a much-cherished day. Plus, you know. Sheep.



















Song for today: Hounds of Love by Kate Bush.

I need to figure out what is going on. I am not in placement today. I ended up staying up all night, partly sorting through things in my head (or attempting to – this involves crazy writing on paper), partly procrastinating through fear (is dissociative procrastination a Thing? Because it feels like one) and partly just feeling very anxious. I tried the breathing exercises that my mentor recommended to me but they didn’t really help. I felt too jittery, like one of those weird ball things that were popular in the early 90s (*Googles* – ah, a Bumble Ball, that’s it). Only internally, though. It has to hit new levels of anxiety for me to shake outwardly. Which it did on Tuesday, actually – in my exams and afterwards when I was explaining about the meeting anxiety to my mentor.

I feel like a failure. The worst thing is that I feel like I’ve totally fucked up. AGAIN. Part of my new ‘plan’ is that I’m to have a phased return back to placement, only working one shift a week, unless I feel able to do more. Last week I really enjoyed placement and decided to go back for two sessions this week. This was before I had the email asking to meet with me about the complaint I am making. The weekend was spent feeling hugely anxious about that alongside everything else that was already going on in the Kitchenaid of emotions (feeling abandoned by parents, loss of childhood, feeling disconnected from therapist but starting to establish that again, being a general Life Failure) and so I guess I am just completely overwhelmed with everything right now. So I was supposed to go in on Monday for a short shift, but I rang up and said I couldn’t come in. I had two clinical exams on Tuesday plus a meeting with my mentor and what with all this brain stuff, it felt like something had to go, and placement it was, being only scheduled to do one shift a week. So despite feeling guilt about cancelling, it really was the right thing to do and I could feel my anxiety ebb away when I made the decision. PLUS: I had a need (needed to quell the anxiety somewhat, so had to drop something), and I met it! Even if I feel shit about it: yay!

So, Monday was spent panicking (unfortunately – just because I wasn’t in placement doesn’t mean it wasn’t there), then I had therapy. Which was actually a really good session – I love it when we can talk about serious things but not in a way that feels like she is opening me up without an anaesthetic to perform major heart surgery. I like it when there is understanding and compassion but laughter too. It feels like I am still working hard but getting more back – being more able to accept the warmth, I guess, rather than feeling like I am about to die so that’s all I can focus on. But still, it’s therapy, so it brings up yet more stuff for me to process and think about/torture myself with. Tuesday was like Panic Central – I had two exams, one of which I failed (but am genuinely ok with it because they were silly mistakes due to nerves, my technique is apparently good), plus meeting with my mentor. This was really helpful, we are discussing strategies to help me – hah – try to overcome anxiety and try to deal with the overwhelm that is constantly threatening to devour my life. We had a long talk about which bits we need to deal with the most and she showed me some exercises to calm me down and ground me. Except, and I don’t know much about this, but I don’t know if you need to be in a certain place for them to work? I feel SO wound up right now that nothing is really helping. I feel like I need constant soothing and that is not happening and cannot happen, I can get sporadic bursts of connection with other people but I guess the key thing is I really need connection to remain constant right now and it is not. I cannot connect to myself, the world or other people on a deep enough level at the moment for it to stay and that is so scary and horrible. Wednesday was yesterday. Yesterday was awful, man. I wrote about it a bit…but yeah. I felt shaken and upset and like I couldn’t function. And yet I was so determined to go in today, so sure that it was the right decision. I love placement, and I love my course, I am good at what I do and it is interesting.

And this is where it gets so confusing, because on the one hand I think – dude, give yourself a BREAK. Even if I was not completely in bits about having to recount my horrible experience (which I still feel sick about and stupid, like I blame myself and it shouldn’t have happened, oscillating from NOT MY FAULT to OMG WHY DIDN’T I STOP IT), I still had two exams, I am still in the process of sorting through some really deep shit and I am coping with a LOT. But there are so many emotions. We have, in no particular order:

GUILT – an emotion I used to almost define myself by, feeling as though it was a constant, in the background, like the noise of seagulls at the beach. Now it’s not so bad, but has been triggered massively by all this. Guilt at not going to placement, feeling guilty because am I just being lazy or am I looking after myself? Looking after my patients by not forcing myself to go in on two hours sleep and therefore not caring for them properly? Guilt at being a bad student, which sets off the guilt about being a bad daughter (the two often go together). Guilt because I cannot get hold of the manager to explain why I am not in (somehow, that is obviously my fault) and that I apparently got the fucking days I was supposed to be in messed up because my placement mentor isn’t even in today. Guilt about being a bad client because all I want to do is speak to my therapist to connect with her but I am already up to two sessions a week and I spoke to her yesterday and so I can’t ask her to call today too, can I? (Stupid question, I can, but it depends if the guilt will let me.) Too needy, too much.

SO…I just sent a text to her. Which leads me nicely on to:

SHAME. I don’t even think I am writing about guilt and shame right but they feel different to me (and are, but I don’t know if I am feeling them right). I am ashamed that I now have to speak to someone I don’t know and explain why I am not in, that I have to justify myself when part of me feels there is no justification for just – and I shouldn’t say this because it’s bad but it’s how I feel about myself – being a stupid fucking cunt. I feel so ashamed that I need so much. Ashamed that because I do need so much, and because I need to work on recognising that need, I have had to essentially cut off contact with my family, because as well meaning as they are, they are also damaging. Shame for being so fucking shit, such a complete fucking dickhead, that I cannot just DO THIS, cannot just do this on my own. That I need help, that I have to ask for it.

Which again, segues nicely into:

ANGER. Why the fuck is this happening to me? Why am I SO fucked up? It all fucking sucks, I hate it. I hate my therapist for not being there for me the way I want her to, I hate my friends for not having to go through this, I hate everyone who ever had a happy fucking childhood, or even just people who had “good enough” parents, or stable enough early childhoods to not be this fucking damaged, so slighted by the tiniest thing. I hate myself for feeling so petty and vindictive, like a hissing cat, ready to scratch at a moment’s notice. I hate the person who I am complaining about for not respecting my boundaries and making me feel so shit, making me feel like yet another person has abused me. And I am so angry that yet again, like practically all abuses carried out against me, that it was possibly ambiguous, that it wasn’t obvious, that it was insidious, that I felt like something was wrong but felt unable to challenge it. That my boundaries are so fucked up that even when I lay them out clearly and someone does disrespect them, I don’t protect myself. That I can’t protect myself, because I don’t know how, I don’t have that reflex that kicks in, that innate DO NOT GO THERE, I just have frozen child.


GRIEF. Which I am not feeling right this second, but is definitely part of this Cake of Doom that is being thoroughly mixed in the Kitchenaid (damn, do I want a Kitchenaid). Grief that I did not get what I should have had. What I deserved. What I needed. What I NEED. And then I think: nothing is ever going to be enough to fill this hole. I did not get what I need and I never will; what I am getting is helping me heal but as amazing as she is, as brilliant as she can be, she is not enough, and will never be able to bridge that gap. Now I am starting to think that there will always be a gap – maybe not a canyon, as it is right now, maybe it will just be like a crack in the pavement, or even like kintsukuroi – a gap that will be a constant reminder that I am broken. A gap that has already given me so many strengths and insights but something that I would swap in a heartbeat just to have experienced unconditional love, unconditional acceptance, from the people that I should have received it from. Sometimes I can see it as beautiful, or worthwhile, but now there is just pain and loss and the feeling of being so broken. So ugly. So ugly that no wonder I did not get that, no wonder I am this way. And then it somehow comes down to me, and then I start feeling shame again, for being so repulsive that of course I am not worthy of love, how dare I even think I could be? And I am shaking writing this because in these moments that is what I am, that is what makes me, that is who I am, a being so awful that nobody could love me, even acknowledge me. And then I snap out of it for a split second and think: fuck. To feel like that? That is so fucking sad, and has to be for a reason. It cannot be just because she (…yep) is so unloveable, it has to be because there were experiences that made her think like that.

And yet…those thoughts are the hardest to stay with. It is easier, much much easier, to stay with the thoughts that I am just fundamentally wrong, that I am a stupid fucking worthless piece of shit. Not just because they are more familiar (and these days I actually find those words fairly shocking when said about myself, whereas in the past they were just my own brain seagulls) but also because it gives me some level of control, maybe. To face up to the fact that bad stuff happened is the hardest thing of all and something that I feel as though I am still experimenting with. Dipping a toe into the waters and then running away again.

Because, of course, this always comes back to music, I now have Hounds of Love by Kate Bush in my head (one of the songs that I ended up ‘getting’ this year). There is a line where she sings, “Take my shoes off, and throw them in the lake, and I’ll be two steps on the water”. Kate, when asked about this lyric, replied: “Because two steps is a progression. One step could possibly mean you go forward and then you come back again. I think ‘two steps’ suggests that you intend to go forward.” I think that I am still only on one step despite having the intentions of going forward. Because going forward is so difficult, and once you have gone you can’t go back. I already feel like that, but this is so layered and so deep and so messy, that I am taking such baby steps. I am scared, and every time I think I am making progress something like this happens and I feel right back where I started.

And now I feel like I want to discuss the song, because it relates to this so well, and I have wanted to discuss it so much. It hit me back in April, for the first time. I’ve always loved it, just because it is an amazing song, but I was starting to feel a bit (ok, a LOT) crazy back then, because I was starting to feel really attached in therapy and it was freaking me out, because – SURPRISE! – these were new feelings. Being attached to someone consistent? Imagine. So anyway, I was on the bus and suddenly…ALL the lyrics are relevant, but these ones were the starting point for recognition:

I found a fox 
Caught by dogs. 
He let me take him in my hands. 

His little heart, 
It beats so fast, 
And I’m ashamed of running away

From nothing real– 
I just can’t deal with this, 
But I’m still afraid to be there, 

Among your hounds of love, 
And feel your arms surround me. 
I’ve always been a coward, 
And never know what’s good for me.

(Which is interesting because I had a dream the other night where, for the first time ever, my therapist held me physically in a hug, and I was so uncomfortable at first but then just sort of relaxed into it and it was the best feeling ever. Now my feeling towards that feeling is back to good old SHAME!)

But ANYWAY, I do have a point, and I am getting to it. It feels like this is all brand new territory. That she is so scared of these hounds coming for her, that she plans throw her shoes off to get rid of her scent, and then take two steps on the water to confirm this, to let the water wash it away, just to be extra sure. And yet, towards the end of the song:

I don’t know what’s good for me. 
I don’t know what’s good for me. 
I need your love love love love love, yeah! 
Your love!

That ambivalence, and that recognition. I TOTES GET THAT OMG THAT IS ME! <— was my reaction. Plus “OMG how did I NOT get that, I have been listening to it for twelve years”.

A couple more quotes about the song, from here, in the comments:

KaTe says that when she was writing ‘Hounds of Love’ she came across a line about hounds and the whole idea of being chased by love as something terrifying. The imagery of being hunted by love made a marked impression on her.

KaTe: “When I was writing the song I sorta started coming across this line about hounds and I thought “hounds of love” and the whole idea of being chasing by this love that actually gonna… when it get you it just going to rip you to pieces, [raises voice] you know, and have your guts all over the floor! So this very sort of… being hunted by love, I liked the imagery, I thought it was really good.” 
Radio 1, Classic Albums interview: Hounds Of Love, aired January 26, 1992

This is all about love, I think: not feeling worthy of it, not feeling as though I should need it, but absolutely needing it, and craving it, and then admonishing myself for it when I do.  That Puritan denial. Every act of help is an act of love, of recognition that I am worthy of it, and when that happens, that challenges everything that I feel deep down about myself and makes me look at the reasons why that might be. Which, obviously I know in a cognitive way…but to feel it? That’s very difficult to stay with, and I’m not doing very well at it, either. How can you consistently bear such pain? I am finding that I can’t. And that is having such a massive impact on my life that I don’t know what to do, other than keep doing what I’m doing. I keep thinking of this quote by Søren Kierkegaard: “Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards.” I feel like I am doing so much understanding of life, of my life, of what happened, that there just isn’t any room to live. And I know that it shouldn’t be like that, but how do I make it any different? This is so big. It is overwhelming, and it is devouring me, and everything else in its path.


I have to get up at 6am tomorrow, so it stands to reason that I am starting yet another blog post where I feel I just want to vomit my emotions out into the ether. Vomit, heh. Hello, maladaptive coping mechanisms.

I am so not ok and I am so tired with not being ok. I am in receipt of so much support, so much – I am astounded by the level of it, I do not feel worthy, I feel as though it could disappear at any moment and therefore just the process of having to ask for it and then accept it is like a full-time job (because I haven’t got enough on my plate, right). I don’t DO help, I am my own helper and saboteur all in one and to have people take some of that pressure off me is extraordinary. But it is not enough, because my brain hates me and there is too much history; too much of the bad stuff that makes me who I am is still there and is still controlling everything, overriding the good and creating this whirlwind of stress.

My anxiety is overwhelming at the moment. Yesterday I met with my mentor at uni (FANTASTIC lady, she has already helped me so much) and explained to her about something that was making me anxious so that we could work on it (made a complaint, have a meeting on Friday, have anxiety as big as Brazil surrounding it). In the explanation of that I ended up shaking uncontrollably and feeling shit. And today I am just…I described it as static on a television, just hovering. I reached out – AGAIN – to my therapist who is seemingly tirelessly working with me through all this shit, and she called me and I cried down the phone and said how awful and helpless and lost I was feeling, and fifteen minutes later I was feeling a little better. But. It’s just never-ending, and all this having to reach out for help – which people are giving generously, willingly and without complaint – is pushing so many buttons.  It’s a fucking steep learning curve for me.  I, until this point in time:

1) denied that I ever had ANY NEEDS EVER, and therefore completely ignored them and didn’t recognise them (my therapist said it reminded her of the Puritans in Blackadder :) to which I replied, “emotionally, right? I’m hardly Amish” and then we both cracked up)

2) never previously asked for help to meet any of the pesky needs that slipped through the Net of Denial, or when I did, got made to feel like a nuisance or that I shouldn’t have them or that they were BAD and WRONG and therefore I was too.

So now, I’m a bit like a kid, who’s never had sugar, in a candy shop. I’m allowed nice things and it’s ok? DOES. NOT. COMPUTE. So now it goes like this: first, I realise I need a need met (BIG – HUGE!), which makes me anxious. Then I think – maybe I can get this met, or at least get help getting it met. So then I think about asking for help, which adds more anxiety. Then I DO IT (perhaps the most crucial step – I never really used to do this), but that creates more anxiety, until the person replies. And invariably, they say yes, but then that adds more anxiety because I feel bad that they are having to spend time on me and feel like maybe I don’t deserve it and that they will realise that themselves and take it away from me. Which is illogical and irrational but this IS illogical and irrational, and that’s why I don’t like it. I am used to intellectualising stuff, it’s a massive defence for me, and now I am just FEELING THINGS AND ARGH GODDAMN. Feeling so much. SO fucking much. I am sick of it.

And in a way I am functioning better than ever, weirdly, or not weirdly. You know, the whole ‘recognising needs’ thing. That’s pretty big. But it comes with so much anxiety attached to it, because this is new to me. Brand new, and I am not coping with that very well. Not only is it alien and weird and I am having to navigate my way around it and negotiate, instead of just not engaging at all, I am also having to deal with the fact that this…this isn’t normal. I mean, it’s not, is it? ‘Normal’ people, well-adjusted people, they can ask for things and not freak out about it, right, and not second-guess themselves and everything and everyone? In that sense I am so far from normal that it’s not funny, I just feel stupid and tiny and cheated. I feel cheated and wronged and angry that I am even in this place of being so pathetically grateful when someone shows me some compassion and helps me, allows me to hold their hand when I reach out for it. How fucked up is that? I am thirty, not three. And then I start to hate myself, because hating myself is at least familiar and easier than the growing realisation that I had a monumentally damaging and shit childhood and adolescence, and early 20s, when I dealt with it all by not dealing with it, numbing myself with drugs and a destructive, mutually abusive relationship. I feel like the only medals I could ever be rewarded (in a weird fantasy world where you get rewarded for LIFE) are ones that show just how much I have fucked up (LOSER OF THE YEAR AWARD, 10 YEARS RUNNING! CONGRATULATIONS!). I feel as though I have nothing to show for my meagre, pitiful existence so far and it is excruciating. I do not want to be here. I want to be anywhere but here.

On Friday I went to see a band I love (Mew, which will be another post, because oh-em-gee), and the music ended up being a catalyst for a wave of grief that was more like a tsunami. I ended up crying on my boyfriend afterwards, and almost all of Saturday, sporting the attractive cried-so-much-I-now-appear-to-have-no-eyes look, that you do when you gulp your way through sobs, bawling for everything that you never had or lost, shedding so much snot and yet being so totally bunged up (what is THAT about?) that you sound like someone flu-ridden. 

“You can run away
leave your books behind you
but you should look back twice
just to be on the safe side”

“In a big, big way
I am really small
I get off my feet
But I’m still distant”

YEP. Thank you, Mew. <3

from this: 

Right. Hot water bottle time. Then placement tomorrow. HOW MUCH do I want a duvet day. PLUS, because my life is SO GREAT, I moved my head earlier and now my neck is killing me. I MOVED MY HEAD. *adds onto the gargantuan My Life is SO UNFAIR list*