Struggling already

 I knew this "blog every day" thing would be a challenge, I just didn't expect to run out of ideas four days in. There's still a couple of short story ideas spinning around my head but I can't quite get them in focus enough to write them down. 

Today generally has been a bit of a blur - took the dog for a six month check-up at vet and was filled with anxiety all the way there. He's an old dog now, and I know he desperately needs dental work doing but it isn't currently causing him noticable issues, so I keep putting it off. And it's a long walk for him, too much time for my brain to get worked up about having to interact with strangers. I made it without tears but on the way I was worried I wouldn't. So anxiety over that, and having sent off work to be reviewed, and having a meeting tomorrow about that work...I have other projects to work on but I couldn't focus enough on them either to get much done. 

I managed a short run this evening, having completed Couch to 5K previously I'm cycling through the "Beyond Couch to 5K" runs, and then just felt sad and cried a bit in the shower. It's hard not to feel like I'm wasting my life because I waste so many days but also because I don't know what I should be doing with my days, or rather, because how I wish I was spending my days just doesn't seem to be possible most of the time. As always, John Green has some wise words on a related subject, and I think I better stop there before I start crying again.

[Fiction] The Demon in the Ladies

"I really should have forseen this," Breesha thought to herself as she stared, dismayed, at the small fiend perched on the toilet seat. And she really should have.

The invitation to attend the Theoretical Infernal Engineering Foundation's Fifth Congress was last-minute, and therefore so was her acceptance. Her work bordered only lightly on that of the TIEF, but she found it interesting from an academic point of view, and her background in aetheretics made her one of the few from her own research group who would be able to follow the engineers' arcane jargon. Yes, she occasionally found their gung-ho enthusiasm for new theories and methods a little too uncautious at times, and yes, they often understated the "theoretical" nature of their work, trying to claim real-world applications with minimal evidence that their technical assumptions hold even in part. But the same could be said of all demonologists, to be frank, and they weren't such a bad bunch to spend time with. So she jumped at the chance of kicking back for a day or two and maybe even learning something.

But the problem with being a demonologist, even a strictly observational one, is that it is hard to leave the demons at work.

Not literally, obviously, except for that one time the containment field failed, and many, many, backups and safeguards have been put in place since then. But rather, previous interactions with demons is the highest predictor of encountering another demon, a still currently unexplained fact that means this sort of situation was an occupational hazard for demonologists. 

Breesha dumped her backpack on the floor, took off her glasses and sighed as she cleaned them methodically on her shirt tail. "Right then," she said out loud as she put them back on, "what manner of beastie are you then?"

The fiend turned to look at her as she spoke, but sadly did not helpfully supply an answer. It just continued to chew on the end of the toilet paper as it stared at her with large, doleful eyes. She tentatively moved closer, bending over to almost eye-level with it as she mentally ran through the basic checklist of Spina's taxonomy. 

"Definitely an imp of some kind," she mused. "Not entirely obvious by size alone, you do get some quite small devils. Probably an emotional manifestation: personal, judging by size of spines and tail. Quite young too." Without thinking, she stood straight and went to grab her backpack and the imp startled, jumping away and clambering onto the stall divider, perching preciariously on top. 

"Ah crud, Anxiety." Breesha paused, but the lack of screams or otherwise from the neighbouring stall confirmed her suspicion they were alone. Avoiding any more sudden movements, she fished out her multi-rune from her bag and quickly thumbed across the smooth stone until her friend Elske's symbol came up and she squeezed the stone tightly as she raised it to her lips and whispered, "got an anxiety manifest in the hotel loos, not sure if I have the right gear with me."

Now Hilda, Hilda would have known what to do. Breesha felt her loss exquisitely, the pain sudddenly sharper than it had been in months. But before she could become lost in those feelings, she heard Elske's gentle voice in her head, "tell reception, they should be able to help?"

Of course, that was an eminantly sensible and practical suggestion, but Breesha bristled at the idea that she couldn't handle this herself. She was a professional after all. Not a professional demon hunter exactly, but still.

The Anxiety Imp crept along the top of the divider until it reached the front of the stalls and peered down at the floor as if in preperation of a jump. Breesha whispered back into her multi-rune, "it could be gone by time they get here, might just try and contain it." Before Elske could respond with any further rational advice, she shoved the stone back into her bag and pulled out the over-sized shawl she kept in there "for emergencies". She has never been entirely clear what type of emergency would require a large knitted wrap, but could definitely say this wasn't what she had in mind. 

Gently lowering her bag to the ground so as to not make any noise which may startle the creature, she unfolded the shawl, stretching it between her hands, and crept closer to the Imp.  It was still gazing downwards and didn't appear to be taking any notice of her, so she was both surprised and frustrated when, just as she was about to jump up and attempt to envelope it with the shawl, it suddenly glanced at her, yelped, and jumped a stunning four feet horizontally to the open window and disappeared through it.

"Why didn't I close the window first?" Breesha wailed out loud as she scrambled towards it, attempting to stand on tiptoes and pull herself up to the narrow recess in order to look out. The tiles were too smooth and the window too high up - the reason she had overlooked it in the first place. "No way I would fit through it anyway," she grumbled and she ran back towards the door, snatching her bag up on the way.

She barely saw the confused looks from other TIEF attendees and brushed off one "Ah, Dr Faragher-" without even noticing who was speaking. She beelined for the entrance, and once outside, made her way round the side of the building to where the toilets would have been, hoping beyond hope the Imp had not already gone far. This hope was quickly shattered when she rounded the first corner and spotted the distinctive small shape vanishing into the tree line of the hotel's vast gardens. She sighed, hoisted her bag further up her back, and set off at a light jog, waving apologetically at the gardener who shouted at pointed angrily towards the "Keep Off The Lawn" sign. 

Once she reached the wooded area, Breesha quickly realised she'd lost all trace of the demon. She slowed and then stopped and listened carefully. It was surprisingly quiet here, despite still being in the city centre and only meters away from the bustling hotel. But the trees deadened outside sounds, and there were few birds singing at the moment. That, in itself, may be a sign that the imp was nearby. For a while, all she could hear was the sound of her own heart thumping. Then, a rustle. As she turned her head to try and pinpoint the origin of the sound, she heard a quiet gurgling snicker from above. Moving ever so slowly, she turned around and looked up into the trees. The imp was sitting mere feet away watching her closely. It stuck out its tongue and blew a raspberry at her.

"Oh, that's it!" she snapped, and threw her bag down. Apparently so startled it froze instead of flinching away, the imp just stared at her as she leapt at the tree and scrambled up the branches before pulling herself into a seated position alongside it. She then held out a hand in a conciliatory manner and said softly, "My name is Breesha. I don't want to hurt you, just send you back home." It tilted its head at her, like an inquisitive puppy, then looked down at her hand. Gingerly, it placed its own clawed hand into hers, and hissed and clicked something in its own language she would have been able to translate if she hadn't left her multi-rune in her bag on the ground. 

Patiently she waited until the demon felt comfortable enough to climb onto her, and she clung on tight to it as she jumped down, winding herself slightly but managing not to break anything or sprain her ankle too badly. She murmered comforting sounds at it as she fished out her multi-rune and quickly swiped to the shortcut for banishing rites and squeezed. The necessary arcane symbols shimmered in the air in front of her; she found a stick and copied them into the ground as best she could, one-handed as the imp still clung to her front. She unpeeled its arms from around her and held it firmly in the centre of the improvised circle as she incanted. Finishing off the rite with one drop of blood, easily drawn from her fingertip by the stick, she whispered "Goodbye" to it as it faded from this plane of reality, trying not to notice the look of betrayal on its face. 

She sat on the floor of the woods, in complete quiet, and wondered why she felt sad. As tears started to well up in her eyes, she fought them back, and hurriedly gathered her things and started to walk in what she hoped was the way out. In no mood to go back to the Congress, she resolved to go home, sending Elske a quick update on the way. However, spotting some yellow flowers, she picked one, and headed instead to the cemetary, to place it on Hilda's grave and tell her the whole the story. 

"A named thing is a tamed thing"

 Limerence

I don't know when I first came across the word, but I was re-introduced to it recently and this time I read more and absorbed more and something finally clicked. 

I wasn't crazy.

Since about age thirteen or so, I've been plagued by persistent, all-consuming, crushes. They were torturous, heart-breaking. When I was younger, of course I knew I wasn't going to "grow out of it" - I was in love. Even when I knew there was no realistic chance of a relationship. It drove me mad. As I got older, I naively assumed they would stop when I finally fell "in love" properly, and was in a happy relationship.

They didn't. 

Which just added an extra layer of guilt to the already heady mix of emotions. Jess was, of course, very understanding, and I gradually learned to accept that I wasn't a terrible person for feeling these things that I had no control over. But not having control over feelings is one thing, not being able to control my fantasies, not being able to resist checking social media or looking at photos - those are definitely things I should be able to avoid doing, right? I'm just weak. Or selfish. I can't really overemphasise how much of a mindf**k it is to want something so much while simultaneously knowing it would be terrible in reality and probably ruin several people's lives.

Eventually, repeated desperate googling led me to discover there was a word for what I felt, a specific one, not "love" not simply a "crush" but something else. And more importantly, it wasn't just me. Other people felt this way. Enough that a word had been created specifically to describe this feeling that I'd so struggled to adequately explain to everyone before. 

Ok, it's not much of a relief to realise you're not the only idiot that keeps feeling this way, but it did mean I had a different way of framing my feelings. I wasn't repeatedly "falling in love". I was just "limerent". I wasn't betraying Jess in some deep emotional way, it was just brain chemistry. 

And brain chemistry can be fixed, right?

Unfortunately,  the blog title is a lie. Naming something and taming it are two whole different things. It's nice to think that just because I know it's essentially an addiction I'd be able to get a handle on it, but addictions are hard to break for a reason. And the most obvious thing to try, complete avoidance, just isn't always possible. Sure, for one person, maybe you can just cut them out of your life and hope you eventually stop thinking about them. Maybe. But if I don't know who the next object of infatuation will be? Do I avoid all people? Or even just avoid feelings of attraction? How is that supposed to work?

It can't, of couse. Unless maybe I became a hermit or so super-practiced at mindfulness that all emotions just wash over me without catching on. But I can set boundaries. I can keep plugging away at trying to improve my overall mental health. 

And, I suppose, I can try counselling and try actually being honest about how much this bothers me, insead of just shying away from the subject because I'm 41 and really should have grown out of this bby now.

---

(Title quote from Joanne Harris - Runemarks)

Vagueblogging

I had half a post written and more I wanted to say but I deleted it because it was going nowhere. And I think I mostly just want to acknowledge that I finally decided to be an adult today and Use My Words instead of speculating, fantasising, obsessing and worrying, despite the possibility of Consequences.

The outcome landed smack bang in the middle of what any reasonable person would expect: no Dreams Fulfilled but no Life Shattered either. 

Turns out honest communication can short-cut a lot of problems. Who knew?

I would say I wish I'd done this ages ago, but then maybe I actually wouldn't have ended up with another friend and a new hobby, so who's to say what I should or should not have done. But now I'm just hoping I can scratch out that one bit of my mental model of "what I want my life to look like" and free up some time and energy to do other things. Like find a counsellor, or any of the dozen other things I know I should be doing to try and rebuild my life in a hopefully less broken way than it was before. 

Life, and other complications

I think work is still going well. A couple of panics but no real complaints so far. I still feel a bit uncomfortable and not confident enough to take charge and suggest things that would make my life easier, but then I suppose I am technically a temp and who knows how long it'll last. Even if my immediate boss at least talks as if I'm going to stay (unless tempted away by better job). But it's good to have something to do, even if I'm tired for the rest of the day afterwards, and I'm managing not to eat too many cakes.

Slowly trying to make other changes to routine, but mostly everything seems rushed and panicky until suddenly I have nothing left to do that day. Falling asleep earlier in the evenings means I never seem to have much time to watch things, and I'm falling behind with reading too. Roleplaying has just stopped, but we still play board games so that's ok. I'm just getting scared about how fast this year is going by. Have a strange sense of unreality a lot of the time, but that could just be the tiredness I suppose. It does feel like I've wandered into someone else's life though. Especially when I catch myself happily chatting with boss at work or going to talk about volunteering at the local environment centre (although whether I'll really have the energy to....) or doing anything else that a few years ago would have seemed like an impossibility. Or when I stop and look at the Terror and think "That's my son. I'm his mother," and other such mind-boggling truths.

I really am beginning to suspect this "growing up" thing is just a myth.

I still end up shaking after making a phone call though. I still jump when the phone rings (at home and at work) and put off answering it as long as I dare. I still find myself being too shy to strike up conversations, even with people I know reasonably well. And, despite a lot of bravado online and in my head about sticking up for who I am and not being cowed by social expectations, I still can't bring myself to correct my bosses' assumption that my SO is male. And now it's got to the stage of being even more awkward to say anything without the whole "well why didn't you say something earlier?" response. Although possibly what I find worse is the knowledge that in their position I'd make exactly the same assumption.

Can We Make A Deal, World?

I tell you what - I promise to try my very best and actually get of my arse and do stuff without fear of failure if you promise to stop with the ableist bullshit, ok?

Time to Change has been running a campaign trying to get people to talk openly about mental health, so here's my little contribution.

I suffer from depression and anxiety. This is hardly a surprise to anyone who knows me, but I want to try and make clear what that actually means. I take anti-depressants, because I'm worse without them, but they don't make me "better". I get by with the help and support of my friends and family- especially my partner who makes sure I get fed and have someone to talk to, as my attempts to open up to a counsellor have always ended in failure. I'm not suicidal, I don't spend all day in bed, I manage to eat regularly (but not overeat), I manage to get out of the house most days, I can go into shops and answer the phone and talk to people in social situations. This doesn't mean I'm not ill though. Just because I'm lucky and my depression is very mild, doesn't mean it's not there, or that it's just a bad mood, or I'm over-reacting to a negative mind-set and I just need to pull myself together. I am ill. And, as I'm beginning to accept, I probably always will be.

This acceptance doesn't mean I'm giving up or going to spend the rest of my life wallowing in self-pity or am placing myself in a "victim" role or any of that nonsense you might be thinking. In fact, it's the complete opposite of giving up. I spent too much time as a teenager and young adult hoping that one day I would be "better", that I'd get over whatever was holding me back and everything would be ok. Even once I'd realised that wasn't going to happen by itself, I looked to doctors to help me, to cure me, to make this horrible mental illness go away. And they couldn't. At that point I nearly did give up.

But accepting that I had a chronic illness, that I had a disability was just the first step to learning how to live with it. Hoping for a cure for my depression and social anxiety is about as much help as hoping for a cure for my myopia. But instead of trying to deny I'm short-sighted or struggle on without any help, I buy glasses and wear them and get on with life. Mental illnesses are not so easy to cope with, of course, but I have learned (with help from both professionals and other sufferers) how to catch those negative thoughts and realise they're not true, how to set myself achievable targets and get myself moving each day, and how to occasionally give myself a break. I've learned how to do that but it doesn't make it any easier. Unlike riding a bike, it doesn't really get easier with practice and I doubt it'll ever become second nature for me.

So obviously I have bad days.I have relapses where it feels like the rest of my life is going to be like one of those bad days, because that's what depression does. And on those bad days I reach out and tell people I'm feeling bad and go fishing for sympathy and things like that because that's what I need to feel better, to get enough of a grip on myself to get past the bad moment and pick myself up again. And when one of my friends is in a similar bad place, I give them sympathy and love because that's what they need right then, not a lecture on how they can make things better. It's called a social support network, and it's one of the most important things a person can have. Sure, it might be better to teach a man how to fish, but a starvation victim who is too weak to hold a rod really just needs the damned fish. Learning to catch your own supper comes later, when you're strong enough.

But still. I've been a slump lately and I've done enough whinging and asking for sympathy, and I've been given it because I have friends who are great and understand. And now I need to learn how to fish. (Metaphorically, of course. I'm far too much of a softie to kill my own food.) So apologies for the self-pity and whinging, and I hope you can forgive me. As for the deal, I'm going to try and keep my end of it, so do you think you can uphold yours? Don't assume just because something works for you, it will work for everyone. And don't assume just because someone doesn't look unwell or disabled, they must be fine. Thanks.

Motivation

As in, I have none.

School holidays are always hard. As much as I love The Terror, he does sometimes live up to his name, and even when he doesn't I feel guilty about not doing more fun, exciting and educational things with him. All our spare time seems to be spent with me on laptop wasting time, him watching telly or playing games on Wii and when I finally manage to drag myself and him away from our addictions there is usually much whinging. Or he wants me to play with him and I can only handle small amounts of that, not having the energy or the imagination to keep up with a seven year old. While the weather has been great, and we have mostly been managing to get out for a bit every day, when it's too hot we really don't want to stay out long. And I get tired so easily I need to go home and do nothing for a bit.

So mostly the last two weeks have been not going outside enough and not doing enough exercise and eating far too much. Few days around my birthday (yes, I am officially Old now) were good, but exhausting.I have Stuff now, including more books to read than I'll get through in a reasonable time. And chocolate and whisky, which won't help with diet, but makes life a little more pleasurable. But now the time has come to try and get back to a routine and pick up my Wii Fit regime and look more seriously for work and I'm dreading it. Of course, there's only a couple of days and then another long weekend, one in which my SO will be away, so there's little chance I'll really be ready to do anything and I'm not sure what I should do anyway.

Which brings me back to the motivation thing. I occasionally think of things I could do (or "should do", but I'm trying to avoid that) but they just seem to big and scary that I can't even make a start. Trying to concentrate on smaller things that actually might be useful in and of themselves, instead of just the first step on a long journey, but even those seem to fall by the wayside or be too hard. Every day is a battle to actually get myself to do anything without just collapsing into tears from stress. Or sometimes just a battle to not collapse into tears full stop. And yet sometimes, when the pressure is off, I find myself just getting things done and being ok. But only sometimes. And while I occasionally think "I should mention this to the doctor" whenever I get there I either just forget or can't think of the words or am feeling more positive and think I'll be ok or feeling more negative and think that's just the way it's always going to be. I guess it isn't really my GP's job to help me get my act together but then I'm obviously depressed so maybe it is. But the community mental health team made it clear to me last time I was referred there that they considered me "well enough" to get by with self-help. Despite the self-help failing being the reason I was referred there. But that's the NHS for you - desperately underfunded and unable to cope with long-term "mild" mental health problems.

Now I've rambled for a bit and forgotten my point, if I had any. But I suppose I've managed to blog, which is one of the things I keep trying to do and failing. So that's a start.

That Was The Weekend That Was III

The last few days have mostly been lost to a low-lying fog of depression. Saturday was mostly good, with friend visiting for a few hours in morning and lunch out. SO had to go plot evil in Nottingham and, due to lateness of plotting, stayed overnight so it was just me and the boy for a bit. We coped, although I did get very bored once he was in bed. Realised I was still sucky at fighting in Oblivion and tried Black and White instead but got a bit bored. Despite the handholding, I felt I was still going much to slowly and didn't quite know what to do. Maybe I was just in wrong state of mind.

Sunday morning must have happened, and while waiting for SO to come back I started to read House of Suns. Reynolds fast became one of my favourite authors after reading Revelation Space a couple of years back, but it's been a while since I've read any of his stuff. Will try and do a proper review when I've finished it, so far it's being interesting with the usual Reynolds thing of far future civilizations, realistic physics and cunning tech.

Rest of Sunday I don't think went too well. I had a couple of naps and was mostly stressed. Some Carcassone in the evening helped lift both our moods, and today started off ok but it didn't take too long for apathy to kick in. Lack of suitable jobs to apply for meant less stress but more pessimism for future. Housework is hardly enthralling either, and again this afternoon I had a nap rather than do anything useful or even fun with my time. I managed to drag myself to school to pick up boy and started to wake up more on way home, but suddenly got a hit of agoraphobia and began to get jumpy whenever someone walked by. We were still on campus at this point, so my far-too-sensible six year old suggested we go see Daddy as he knows to tell Daddy when I'm "not feeling well". Hugs helped calm me down a bit, and we went home together. Got boy's school report which was mostly good (only problem is he talks too much and doesn't always pay attention - quelle surprise. So after going through it with him, we decided to "celebrate" by having a meal out, as it's been ages since we went to our usual pub meal. Probably didn't do my diet any good, though.

And then this evening I've been feeling pretty good. Silly moods. Watched University Challenge and then had to watch the Only Connect repeat on iPlayer as our digital TV reception is still only partial (after a few days of being non-existent). So, um, yeah. That's it.

The Big Day

Today's the day I've been dreading since, well, since I started a PhD. After the stress and general searing anxiety of the last few weeks, I suddenly hit a period of calm yesterday where it seemed like I'd gone through panic and out of the other side. Today I'm a bit more nervous, but nowhere near as bad as I feared. In two and a half hours I have to meet someone new and talk to them about my work.

I know I'll be fine. I might not do stunningly well, he might ask all the questions I don't want him to ask, and maybe I'll freeze up a bit at the start and have difficulty talking for a bit. But ultimately I'll survive, and I trust my supervisor's judgment enough to have confidence that my thesis is worth a pass. I expect there to be revisions, possibly more than I really want, but even that is something I can cope with. It was easy to establish this sang-froid once I realised I don't actually have a lot riding on this. Yes, it would be a disappointment (and not just to me) and frustrating should the last five years work turn out to be for naught. But I don't have a job or career depending on the outcome of this afternoon. And my self-esteem has already hit rock-bottom lately - I can't imagine it getting any worse. But it could get better. And getting through my viva should help with that.

Besides, however badly it goes, I have a night out with friends to look forward to. Unless I get arrested or hospitalised, and it's hard to see how it could go that badly....

First Ramblings of the New Year

And they will be rambly.

Didn't sleep. Not much at all. So much for saying to the doctor that it seemed to be settling down. Decided to stick with meds after all, see if there's any improvement but if this carries on I'll go from being permanently apathetic and uninterested in doing anything to permanently tired and unable to do anything. Not sure which is worse.

This year it has mostly been snowing. This satellite picture from yesterday illustrates the point perfectly. Put off going up to visit my family until this Sunday but I doubt we'll be able to make it even then. Christmas presents are going to be even later then. The Terror was late back to school as while they were officially open for first day of term, no-one turned up. Or not enough staff to have a full school day anyway. Been a nervous wait for me each morning, sending them off on a bike in the snow. But I've been generally nervous and tense and just trying to get things done even though the apathy is still largely there.

Failed to run my game on Wednesday due to dearth of ideas. Fortunately my beloved stepped in we finally had another session of hir Primal only 4th ed game, which was fun. Sure was nice to relax and be able to play again. Not sure what's happening next week - might take a vote or see who comes up with ideas first. I had a couple the following day, my creative juices are not totally frozen, just a bit slushy. Brain death today though, but then as I mentioned above I didn't really sleep. Until nearly getting up time of course, so everyone was running late.

Not sure what else I've done that's worthy of comment. We made a snowman of course. You have to do that at least once. Read Unseen Academicals - good, not his best but still good. Played Killer Bunnies and the Quest for the Magic Carrot for third and fourth time ever. I won the second time. It's a bit random and I can see why some people hate it for that, but I think it's fun. Maybe just because it involves killing bunnies. Meh, think that's it.

A Certain Lack of Direction

Or motivation. Or something anyway.

I've mostly been ok. Had a good birthday last Saturday - pleasant day with family, my mother came down to visit and looked after the Terror while we went out with a whole group of friends. Pub afterwards - all very enjoyable. Sunday was also good, and yesterday not too bad despite the occasional tantrum. We went to the National Rail Museum, which enteratained all three of us to some degree or other.

And today again was ok. Terror was excited about going back to school, I coped ok with appointment at bank and doing stuff around town. I wish I hadn't agreed to upgrading my account as I doubt we'll use any of the benefits and the increased interest rate doesn't quite pay for itself. But at least it's prompted me to reorganise finances, and ringing up to cancel will be another exercise in talking on the phone.

Still, I do feel occasionally....at a loose end. Not quite motivated to do housework (I did none today for example). Scared of things I should be looking forward to. Not sure of my ability to run a game even, despite everyone seeming to think it'll be ok. And while I had a pleasant evening (wine and Sleepy Hollow) now friends have gone home and it looks like I'll be in bed before my beloved returns from hir work "do", I can't help feeling just a little melancholy again. There's just always this fear hanging over me. A fear of not doing the job I set myself well enough. A fear of letting people down. A fear of not finding a place in this world for myself. A combination of the alcohol and depression talking no doubt - but it always seems to be there in the back of my mind. I just forget it occasionally. That and the other thing - the love I wish I could just accept and forgive myself for, knowing it too will pass. But as forgiving and accepting as my better half is, I know it pains hir so. So I hate that part of myself too.

Blogging when tired and tipsy is never a good thing, and yet as people keep insisting they want to know what the matter is, maybe I should tell them. It is simply this. I know I'm ill and I just have to keep going on. I have a lot to be thankful and happy for. Things won't be as bad as I fear. But these quiet moments just creep up on me and my heart sinks. That's all.

Breakdown

I suppose I have been under a bit more stress than usual. Various factors including Daddy's illness, pressure of work, the Terror being off school this last week and in a particularly stubborn frame of mind for some time before that....yes, ok, I've been trying my best but I was bound to break at some point or other.

I just wish it hadn't been in front of friends.

At least this time I only cried. And lost my temper a little. But at least I didn't physically hurt anyone, not even myself. That's an improvement, right?

Hopefully that's released some pressure which means I can keep going for a while longer. I suppose in the long run, I'll just have to learn that I'm not in fact omnipotent and can't do everything and that what I do is enough, even if it's not everything I wish it could be.

Apologies

I keep finding myself saying "I'm sorry." I think it's starting to get on people's nerves.

But I am sorry - for not being strong enough to keep going when I'm feeling low; for burdening everyone with my mood swings; for lying and saying "I'm ok" when I really don't feel it; for losing my temper when you don't deserve it; for interfering after saying I wouldn't; for not being there for you when you need me; for not being able to look after you when you're ill; for not knowing what to do or say to make you feel better; for not having the courage to do what needs to be done; and, most of all, for not being the person you deserve.

And now that's out of the way, I suppose I better get on with doing things I've been putting off.

Thesis Avoidance

I know I can do this. I know that my fears of not being able to do well enough are what is holding me back, and it is better to try and do something then to panic and do nothing. I know it doesn't have to be perfect first time, and even rough notes will do as a start. I know I just need to take deep breaths and calm down. I know if I just try and do a little bit, something will get done and I'll feel better. I know even small progress is some progress. I know people believe in me, that I have managed in the past when I though I couldn't.

I know all this.


So why am I still crying?

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.

Weekend + Birthday!

The Terror was packed off to Grandma and Granddad's for the weekend, where he apparently had a good time but can't tell us anything about it. Other family was also staying, so he got lots of clothes and toys and mostly behaved himself.

Warning: the following paragraphs contain larp-froth

His Daddy and I were off larping on the North Yorkshire Moors. It was my first small event, and as I'd bought kit and got a new occupational skill at the Gathering, I was fully expecting to die. I didn't, and more miraculously, hardly anyone else did either. With monsters throwing off Mass Diseases left right and centre we burnt through our healing pretty fast and several of us ran out of power half way through Saturday afternoon. Rhiann certainly didn't like having to tell people she couldn't do anything when they brought people with Fatals to her. Then spent rest of day and night wandering around physician-ing and feeling pretty useless - doubly so after being hit and brought back to a Debilitated state which meant I could pretty much nothing. Sunday big battle was also fairly lethal,still can't believe everyone made it out alive.

Overall I think I enjoyed myself. Still had the beginning of event blues where I feel useless, nervous, left out etc, and didn't do as much healing as I should have done, but obviously it was sufficient and no-one complained (to my face anyway). Only the one anxiety/panic attack which I quickly got under control - strangely not at the most terrifying moments while actually under attack, but during a bit of a lull while I was trying to heal Seraphim and lost count while people were shouting and I realised I was running out of power. I screwed up several times and really ought to revise the healing/damage rules before going to events, maybe I'd feel more confident then but never mind.

And I got to drink Kopparberg perry and Moniack mead - what more could a girl want?

Today was a bit of a mad dash as it's the Terror's fifth birthday. 5! Can't quite believe it, but he's at school and everything so I suppose it must be true. He had a small present to open this morning and take to school - a WALL-E plushie which came home with the head pulled off, hopefully Daddy can fix it....I spent the day tidying, baking a cake and setting up his main present: "Dungeon of Doom" from the ELC, which they apparently no longer sell so we got it just in time. It's from the same range the Tower of Doom but smaller and cheaper. He was impressed at least. The cake wasn't a huge success and as we went out for tea with Nana, we were too full to try any this evening anyway. Now the excitement's over, I'm left wondering where we're going to fit the bike he got from Nana, whether we're actually going to get round to organising some sort of party for him and his friends, and what to do now. Other than go to bed, which seems to be the best bet, despite it not being even nine yet.

Tomorrow it's back to trying to fit in both work and housework with not feeling too depressed. Ah well.