Jogging FAIL

I've got into the habit of going for a jog 2-3 times a week, which is good. Combined with half an hour or so of Wii Fit every day and trying not to snack too much (yay for antidepressants suppressing my appetite) this will hopefully do me some good, and allow me to fit back into half my clothes (the other half will hopefully not be too big).

Unfortunately, I've also got into the habit of starting to jog, going so far and then dropping down to a walk to catch my breath. And then continuing to walk, mind on other things until I realise I ought to start jogging again. And then I only manage a little bit more, so turn around and head for home, intending to jog most of the way. And my mind is still wandering and before I know it I've walked most of the way home.

So really, I've got into the habit of going for a walk 2-3 times a week, which while better than nothing is not quite what I intended.

Anxious

(Warning - long and rambly)

I seem to be a bundle of nerves today and I don't really know why. I guess I'm worried about something.

It could be any number of things. The Terror's misbehaviour has been increasing lately and I'm at a loss as to what else I can do to calm him down and make him listen to us. Daddy is therefore more stressed, and has some work worries about possible relocation as well as the usual traumatic process that is research. We're both on new meds, and overdue a doctor appointment to check up on our progress. I suppose it could be the drugs that are making me nervous - they certainly seem to have killed my appetite and I'm not sleeping as well, but I was oversleeping to start with. I have money worries - one of which admittedly is having too much money and the fear that I'm spending it when I know I'll have to pay it back. We screwed up a declaration of income for the Tax Credit Office and who knows what the outcome of that will be. I haven't heard from the computer shop re my laptop which leads me to suspect I wrote my phone number down wrong (I suppose they already think I'm an idiot, going in shouldn't be too embarrassing). I didn't do any work last week and now I've got a load of marking to do I can't quite face (partly because I'm so jittery).

There's the always present feeling that I'm not doing a good enough job bringing the Terror up, and the fear I'll forget something important for school. There's the guilt about having a wonderful man who's madly in love with me and yet that doesn't stop me feeling that I'm in love with someone else who isn't the slightly bit interested (and I know it won't last, but can't seem to cope all the same). There's other guilt as well, about the selfish things I've done in the past because I couldn't deal with my emotions sensibly and people got hurt. And the guilt about not staying in touch with friends, or talking to my family as much as I should. My mum has cancer again and while I rationalize that the prognosis is good and she will cope fantastically as she always does, it's still a bit too scary for me to fully accept. Mum's very sick and there's nothing I can do except try and be there for her. Other people have problems too, that I wish I could help with somehow but never can. I'm not sure why I think I can sort out other people's lives when I can barely manage my own, but I can't stop myself interfering and trying to fix things, probably because I feel at least partially responsible.

I don't seem to enjoy doing stuff as much as I used to, and whether that's the depression or the drugs or just a phase I don't know, but it makes doing anything difficult as I can't even use a reward as motivation. And yet somehow I have to keep going, struggling on and getting by as best I can. Trying my best to make other people happy, which at least makes me feel a bit better, and at least there's one person I can make happy just by being around. Well, two, I suppose. The Terror's moods never last that long really.

I'm a bit calmer now. Guess it does help to write it all out.

More drunken ramblings

Going to the pub with people is good. Going out to the pub and getting drunk is probably less good but if it takes your mind of Crush of the Week and you end up in a rambling comparison of the merits of different Doctors it can't be that bad. Especially if you remember to bring the marking home. And your pseudo-husband doesn't seem to mind so much that you went out and got drunk while he had a five-year-old to look after.

Coming home drunk from the pub and getting straight on teh intarwebs because pseudo-husband is tired and sleepy and you feel need to check Facebook and see hassle friends via GMail Chat because you're drunk and a bit lonely is probably less good.

Trying to search for info about BRCA1/BRCA2 mutations and the associated risk of breast/ovarian cancer while drunk and lonely is definitely not a good thing.

And blogging about it all so everyone will know in the morning when you're sober and less needy and lonely is probably the worst possible thing that you can do.

Drunken ramblings

I suppose for authenticity I should have kept the typos in the title. But I'm not quite that drunk. I'm drunk enough for fluidity of talking/typing, drunk enough not to care what shit spills out and drunk enough not to care if the punctuation and grammar is a bit off. Drunk enough not to care if it doesn't quite say what I mean. Not so drunk I don't realise that my thoughts are largely futile and alcohol-induced (and the depression, that always plays a big role).

Good evening (Bender's Game is awesome btw) finished with me rambling self-pityingly about my unemployability, while good friends of course tried their best to reassure me. I know what they say is at least partly true, and that they don't mean to belittle my difficulties. I still feel maybe they don't quite grasp how hard I find some things, but at the same time I accept my own view of my abilities is marred by the depression and general negativity that has haunted me all my life. Pessimistic bastard that I am. ("marred me all my life" - how fucking melodramatic. Ah well, I'm pissed. I talk in clichés at the best of times.) And I am willing to take it on trust that things will work out in the end. It's the only way I can approach life, to be honest, even though it goes against my better, cynical, nature.

Depression's a bitch. It makes you see only the bad, remember only the failures and predict only worse things in times to come. Even being aware of this filter isn't enough to disregard it entirely, especially with such long-running problems as mine - you know from past experiences that you've failed to do things, ergo you cannot do them. But as anyone with a smattering of economical awareness will know, past performance may not be indicative of future results. So there is hope. However slim. But there is hope. And even acknowledging that means I'm not as ill as I have been, and thus things have improved.

I guess this is an apology of sorts, for ending things on such a downer, as well as a demonstration (as much to myself as anything) that I can actually write, possibly even coherently, if only I stop the internal censor from getting in the way and trying to make things perfect. Now if only I could find a way to shut that censor up without having to drink two large glasses of wine first....