Here, again

 And I don't know why I let myself believe things could be different, and I don't know why I can't let go of that idea, and I don't know how this can have been going on for so long and I don't know why it matters so much to me after everything else that has happened and, most importantly, I don't know how to stop it. I'm back to just trying to live in the moment, to just do the next thing and not think too hard about the future or why I'm doing any of these things. And listening to lots and lots of podcasts to try and drown out the sounds of my own thoughts. 

Impossible Futures

 I saw a glimpse of a possible future once, and for a while I was happy. 

And then when I realised that was just a fantasy my heart broke all over again but I still can't let it go. The fantasies have always been more compelling than reality - how could they not be? - and this one seemed so close, so modest, so achievable. But that's all it is, a fantasy, and I have to try and face reality again without it. 

No wonder I can't stop crying.

And I can't just turn off the feelings, and I probably could try and do things differently, but maybe it will be enough to just cling on to this one truth, that all it ever was was an impossible future, like so many others I don't mourn because I never believe in them. 

I don't know how long I can keep doing this to myself

 I have an idea in my head of what my life should be like. It's fuzzy, sure, and probably a bit unrealistic, and I know not every day will be perfect, but it's there, it's what I'm supposed to be working towards. And I keep falling back into the same ruts. I try and break free from the negative thinking but reality keeps hitting me in the face. I try and do something different and old instincts take over. I promise myself I'll stop wanting something I can't have and I end up hiding in the toilets crying time and time again. I'm sure every thing I'm writing here I've already expressed before in a blog post, probably more than once. 

I don't know if I lay on the kitchen floor crying over a man, or over my lack of creativity; if it was caused by a blood sugar drop, fluctuating hormones or my own ingrained thought patterns. It largely doesn't matter. Nothing matters. It's hard to believe change is possible when you keep making the same mistakes. When you keep ending up at the same place. But I don't have to believe. I just have to keep repeating the mantra "This Too Shall Pass" and go sleep it off and hope tomorrow is easier. 

"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. 

Yes, it's been a while, no I'm not going to address that

 It's the hope that gets you.

Maybe this time it will be different. This new drug/dose combo will be sufficient for you to make and maintain the lifestyle changes, and you'll feel great. You'll actually keep up the new habits this time. Ok, the last diet didn't work, but this one will for sure. You're a new, better person now! You're not going to keep making the same mistakes!

After everything you've been through, surely you've learnt some perspective. You know this won't last forever, so it will be easier to handle. You managed last time you made a phone call, so another will be just fine. You're forty-one now, for gods' sake, you can handle a little disappointment. 

But it's not just about you. Oh no.

Maybe you read the signs wrong. Maybe they didn't notice you were flirting. Maybe there's still a chance. Surely that couldn't happen here. Surely now people will demand change. Surely someone will do something to stop it.

And then you find yourself at the bottom of a pit again. Just like before. Habits slip. Health deteriorates. Thoughts stuck in cycles oh so familiar from oh so many years before. It feels like the end of the world. You freeze up. Everything upset is a killer blow. Nothing ever happens. The world keeps getting worse and worse. 

And once you climb back out, you look down into the pit and think, "Well that can't happen again. What can I do to stop it?" 

And you do it.

And you hope.

A big ball of "meh"

[Warning - the following should be taken with a pinch of salt as I'm depressed and missed my meds last night.]

Yesterday I had vague plans about writing here about my game, but then I kind of screwed up and lost all enthusiasm for it, and for writing. I don't really know what I'm doing here - I think this whinging on the internet is similar to when I hung around in the maths department crying: a pathetic attempt to get people to notice me and maybe help or at least pay attention to me. I should stop. Even if I somehow managed to come up with a blog people actually wanted to read and enjoyed I'm not sure that's any better. It's all ultimately about attention-seeking and I really should be concentrating on surviving.

Not that I know why that's so hard. It's not like my parents have died, or I get random abuse shouted at me whenever I step outside. But everything seems to require so much effort and I'm tired all the time and I don't know what to do about any of it but just keep on plodding on. I've pretty much given up hoping things will improve. Maybe they will or maybe they won't. I have to cope either way.

Doctor's appointment tomorrow and I have no clue what to say. Don't know if meds are helping or not. Don't really know what I want them to help with. People have suggested counselling and it may be worth a go, but I keep failing to enquire about it because I'm shy and don't know what to say, even via email. And if I go, well....I'm shy and I won't know what to say. I just feel like giving up. I failed to get the comics I wanted today because the shop hadn't put them out yet, or they hadn't come yet, or they'd sold out already - I don't know because I'm too shy to ask. The idea that I might be able to get a job is just laughable but I have to try because, well, I "have" to. I "have" to do housework, which I don't want to do, because it needs to be done. I have to go fetch my son and feed him and find him things to do, because I have at least some shred of responsibility in me and I'm not quite prepared to wallow in self-pity to the extent of letting him suffer. I'm not sure what else I can do, though. I don't really want to do anything. I have nothing to aim for, no clue of what I might enjoy. I have a new D&D book I don't feel like reading right now and even a Cadbury's Creme Egg I don't feel like eating. I don't want to have to be strong and supportive because other people need me, and I don't want to keep saying I'll be ok when I feel anything but, and I don't want to keep making excuses for my feelings because "I'm depressed" or "it's the meds" or whatever the reason is doesn't matter: it doesn't change how I feel right now.

Rambling, yes, crying, just about, coping? Fat chance. But I'll live. Or at least, I'll continue to exist. It doesn't feel like living, but maybe tomorrow it will.

Time to stop caring and do another blog post

It probably won't be any good. Not least because I drank too much cider last night and am feeling rather ill this morning. Despite having got up at half seven, I'm only just starting to wake up now, at gone ten. Was a good night though, usual suspects plus one for booze and games. I don't think I did or said anything stupid, which is always a bonus, and hopefully didn't bore people too much. I do talk utter garbage when I've been drinking.

Nearly Christmas and shopping for presents is just about done. Need to get a few more for the boy, have given up trying to think of something else for SO. Another week of school and then trying to arrange times to visit friends and family for catching up and exchanging presents. I'm deliberately trying not to stress about it all too much and mostly succeeding. That'll be the apathy showing through then.

Back on antidepressants after visit to doctor. Last few weeks have just been getting worse and worse: even when I've not been actually reduced to tears, I've just been sitting around bored and unable to motivate myself to do anything. Just a general feeling of despair that this (housework, tv, game being highlight of the week) is going to be the rest of my life, along with the usual lack of confidence in myself to do anything better. Oh and the crush thing. Breaking my heart on a daily basis. No amount of telling myself not to be stupid will make it go away, but that doesn't stop me from trying. Bah. Stupid emotions. Making life complicated. Suppose I can only hope that the meds help enough for me to find motivation to do things and slowly sort stuff out. Of course, with me being depressed, hope is pretty hard to find, but I'm trying to keep things in perspective.

So there, a blog post. Sure I had more to say. Will probably regret saying what I have. But this time I'm not going to delete it, I'm going to publish it. Like so.

[Short-short story] Incubus

He haunts my dreams. I don't recall for how long. Just that at some point, he's always been there. Handsome, with urbane wit and a sly smile, I fell for him instantly. Hard. There was no seduction involved and none needed; the attraction was too strong to be resisted and with the conversation-less ease that exists only in dreams, I went from seeing him, to being in his arms, to being in his bed. I was his.

Each night he returns. The dreams started getting longer, wilder, more intense, and I started waking up exhausted. I'd think about him more and more during the day, ignoring more and more of my life to lose myself in my fantasies. Thoughts of him lay heavy on my mind and I longed to see him again, welcoming each night as a chance to return to his embrace.

Now he haunts my days as well. I barely need to close my eyes to see his face, his voice answers unspoken thoughts, and I can almost feel his touch as if he were right beside me even now. And as much as I long to be with him, to feel his soft skin against mine, I know I need to find a way to escape.

Because I'm starting to get afraid. He's more arrogant, more demanding, crueler. As he pushes his way into my waking life, he becomes more confident, more eager, hungrier. I don't know what he wants and I daren't ask, but I have worked out what he's using me for and I'm scared that the right thing to do is to stop him. Scared because I don't think I can. I don't think I have the strength to tear myself away, to ignore him and push him away. To forget.

I love him so very very much.

Time for an update?

I don't know what to say though. Same old s**t. Plodding on. Ups and downs. Downs seem to outnumbering the ups though. Which is possibly why I don't feel like saying much. I know most of my thoughts are illogical and I can just about cling on to the hope things will improve and I won't always feel this way. I know the things I should be doing and thinking and sometimes I even manage them. That doesn't stop now hurting any less though.

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too tired/drunk for proper sentences

Daddy away - larp. s'good.

Lately been...funny mood. Up, down, stressed, apathetic. Some of it hormones, some of it the depression...maybe some of medicine, who knows? Some things getting easier though. Managed to talk to people on phone. Managed to write emails to people I know and people I didn't. Didn't punch wall or pounce on people I shouldn't. All improvements I guess.

Last night I got to play a bit of D&D 4th ed - SO running a Primal only game, me playing druid. Despite only three of us, we did quite well in the mindless fights he threw at us. Made a change from the stress of GMing and could be quite fun if it keeps on going.

Tonight was feeling...blah. Put Terror to bed. Missing Daddy, missing Other - person I shouldn't miss but I do. Stupid feelings. Friend(s) came round and slowly cheered me up - wine and Resident Evil (the film) were involved. I may have done the drunk rambling at them - hope i wasn't too boring.

This update was purely because it's been a while and I'm not quite asleep. Not sure why I bothered. I should go sleep now. Have to get Terror to school in morning and do work and survive four days without my Beloved. Hope s/he has good time though - deserves 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.

Stupid feelings

So when the person I'm supposed to go to when I'm upset is away and busy, who do I turn to then? The person I want to talk to or the person who will actually want to talk to me? I'll settle for neither. I'll try and not be all attention-seeking and update my Facebook/Gmail status/Twitter with depressive, angsty statements (does that count as passive-aggressive behaviour? It's certainly a dumb thing to do.) I'll try and get some work done or failing that read or play games or something to try and distract myself from this stupid stupid mood I've gotten myself into.

I don't know whether I'm going to cry or not. I've been doing that a lot lately, but I'm still plucking up the courage to go make another doctor's appointment. Should just get it over and done with I suppose.

Tried a bit more of that MoodGYM I started trying a while back. I stopped for quite a while because I reached some exercises I was having difficulty doing. Not too suprisingly I failed to do any more today, mostly because the first involved asking other people how's they'd feel/react in a similar situation to something that upset me. So not only could I not think of a recent situation which triggered bad feelings in me, I don't have anyone else to ask right now. So then I wound up feeling even worse.

Apparently I'm still doing well at actually getting things done. Well, I will have been if I managed housework/writing today and don't let the Terror play computer games all afternoon like yesterday. So I should be proud of myself for that at least. But I'm not. I'm just all choked up with these feelings I can't control, thoughts that I know I shouldn't be thinking and the only way I know to make it all go away is to wait. And eventually I'll find someone else to obsess over, but there might be a brief respite in between. Maybe I'll get some different drugs and I'll be able to focus on work more, and won't feel like bursting into tears every half hour.  Maybe I'll eventually finish this damned thesis and maybe I'll even get a  job I can stand doing in the end and everything will turn out ok.

But right now, life sucks. And it shouldn't.

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Wait, what social anxiety?

I seem to be getting better at this going into shops thing. Sunday I rushed into town to get a last minute surprise present for Daddy - who turned 30 on Monday, shhh! Don't tell anyone - and after staring in desperation at the bottles of sherry in Oddbins admitted to the shopkeeper I didn't have a clue and he pointed out the only sweet sherry they had in. We also discussed the possibility of port, but unfortunately the only bottle of that they had in appeared to be leaking, so that ruled that out. Still, I bought the sherry (a sweet oloroso) and it was much appreciated.

Today, I finally caved and decided we should "waste our money on cough medicine", despite the doctor's advice. Daddy has been struggling with a cough for some weeks now, and it's worn him out utterly. His reluctance to take things easy to start with probably didn't help. Last weekend I did manage to persuade him to spend most of the days in bed and he's only been working part-time this week and crashing out in the afternoons. Having done a little research, I went to the local pharmacy and asked for cough medicine. Explained a bit, chatted and decided to get the strongest non-drowsy dry cough syrup. We'll have to wait and see whether it actually helps or not.

So it appears the trick is to be too tired or stressed to worry about saying the right thing. Whether this works as well on the telephone as in person, only time will tell. Although I still have to resort to being rude to cold callers: "Sorry, I'm not interested," hang up before they have time to start talking again. I feel a bit mean as they're only doing their job, but if they're paid on commission then they're just wasting their time on me. So maybe I'm doing them a favour....

In other news, I'm being tired and irritable all the time, although this might be due solely to having more to do while Daddy has not been well. Work is also not going well. Social life (such as it is) is full of tension and other tired and irritable people. The Terror is still pushing although that might be because he's tired and irritable too. Solution - spiking the water with laudanum.

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.

Deja Vu

I've been here before.

I don't mean "here" physically (although of course I have, as it's my bedroom) or virtually (although of course i have, as this is my blog), nor do I mean it in some creepy past life sense. No, I mean mentally - I have been in this state of mind before.

So naturally I know it will pass. Maybe I'll just pick myself up and move on, or my beloved will make me laugh and everything will seem better. Maybe my son will be extra cute. Maybe a friend will offer me hugs (real or virtual) and I'll remember it's just not worth beating myself up about. Whatever happens, I'll feel better soon and try and get on with life as best I can.

Of course, I also know this will happen again. All my good intentions will slip and I'll spiral back down into a vicious circle of sloth and self-loathing. I'll not do any work and then worry about not doing any work. I'll let the housework build again to the point where I start getting stressed about it. I'll sit and mope over some guy who's better off without me anyway instead of reveling in the love I have (and boy what a love that is). I'll become so convinced that I'm a terrible mother that it will become a self-fulfilling prophecy as I become incapable of looking after my son because I am too wrapped-up in my own misery.

I think this is what I find so depressing about it - no matter how hard I try I always fail to snap out of it for good. And I know this belief that my behaviour is inevitable is one of the biggest barriers to changing it once and for all. And I don't want my life to be like this, not least because the two people I love the most are the ones who suffer the most. But I can't find it in myself to believe there is anything anyone can do to help.

This afternoon I'm seeing a doctor again after too long. I daren't hope that good things will come of it. But it seems the only thing to do.

And this is why I love my SO

Adele: hugs
Why does my brain hate me? Stoopid brain. :(
Paul: ? Wassup, gorgeous girl?
10:43 AM Adele: Stupid crush. Crush bad.
Paul: Who you crushing on? hugs
Adele: [name removed]
Paul: I can see that. He's great.
Adele: ....
10:44 AM You'renot helping!
:p
Paul: :D Sorry. Ummm... His penmanship is atrocious, and he dresses in the manner of a male prostitute?
Adele: :D
I love you!

In other news, I'm taking a break from attempting to clean the bathroom. It's...a bit cleaner. Next I'll try to get the floor a bit less grubby. Then I've got the washing up to do, and that's today's housework done!

Then I might have to do yesterday's....

Hmmm..

Last post didn't really live up to it's title did it? That was partly because I was constantly interrupted by the Terror wanting help with his games and then I cut it short because it was lunch time. So let me ramble some more.

First of all, I'd better admit that I'm well aware that my own assessment of myself may be coloured by a depressive illness and the negative filters associated with it. I agree with my SO and my GP and not with the psychiatrist who apparently is the expert that I do in fact seem to suffer from clinical depression and some form of social anxiety which may be the root of it. I know that this means I'm likely to forget positive memories and concentrate solely on the bad stuff and I'm in the habit of not trusting my own critical facilities on many issues, not least of all "me". Having said that, while it's easy to recognise a thought or statement issuing from within me as possibly unduly biased, it's a lot harder to replace it with something more balanced. Not least because I'm the only one with inside knowledge to what goes on in my brain and thus have a slightly different perspective on my actions to everyone else.

So...what is it I really wanted to say about "ennui and the death of ambitions"? There's these lines from the Del Amitri song "When You Were Young" which keep preying on my mind: "Look into the mirror/Do you recognise someone?/Is it who you always hoped you would become/When you were young?" I guess we all fantasize about how things are going to turn out - what we're going to be when we grow up, etc - but I've spent so much time doing so it was really only a few years ago I realised I was always looking to the future and not paying attention to now. This is my life, it's not going to start at some point, it's happening right now and...I've missed a chunk of it. And despite not even being thirty yet I can't help but feel I've missed the best part, I've done nothing so far and it's too late. It doesn't help when you start seeing people younger than you achieving wonderful things. And yes, a large part of my unhappiness is this bitter envy I feel towards many, many talented and creative people. I used to want to be a writer but I've pretty much given up writing because I'm too lazy to stick at it and even when I do manage to hack out something it's always mediocre at best and I'm so disillusioned I just don't see the point in trying harder. A similar thing is happening with my academic work.

Of course, a lot of this laziness dates back to school when I didn't really need to try very hard at all. When you're clever and everyone tells you so you just assume you don't need to work, and often you don't. It comes easily, why try harder? If you complain that you're bored, your mistakes and faults are pointed out or you end up lumped with even more boring work, so you just learn to drift by, getting top grades with only as much effort as you feel like putting in. So when things got harder (around GCSE time) the doubts set in and you begin to think you're not so smart after all. And because everyone expects you to do well, it really doesn't mean much when you do. Or worse, you don't do as well as expected. You should have worked harder. Same thing right the way through university as well - sure everyone said they were proud and pleased that I got a First, but if I hadn't they would have been disappointed as everyone (me included) knew I was capable of it. So here I am struggling to write-up, determined to keep going only because if I give up now I'll have wasted a lot of people's time, money and effort. I have no faith in myself anymore. I know I'm lazy and bursts of writing like this are only possible occasionally and only when I let myself write instead of trying to communicate exact ideas - not any use for a thesis. But other people, more optimistic people, people in a better position to judge maybe, believe I can do it. And maybe I will. But you know what? Even if I do manage it, even if I do hack out a hundred pages or so that somehow pass muster, even if I do actually turn up for my viva and manage to say something - yeah, sure I'll be happy, I'll celebrate and I'll be a tiny bit proud. But it won't last long. I'll still feel as though I don't deserve it. Because I'm not as good as I want to be. Because I didn't work as hard as I should have. And because I was expected to be able to do it. The very best I've ever managed to do is live up to people's (including my own) expectations of me. Mostly though I fail to even do that. Talk about running to stand still.

In other areas of my life I ought to be happier. I have a wonderful, loving man who wants to marry me and an adorable healthy son. But I don't feel like a good mother, despite everyone telling me I'm doing fine. I don't like playing with my son, I'm too selfish to be a parent really. (You can't deny I'm self-obsessed, given the length of this post!) And while I spent much of my life pining after the wrong man and believing I'd be happier in a relationship with someone I love, I discovered the obsessive crushes didn't stop once I'd settled down. And that led me to almost ruin the best relationship I've ever had, and I badly hurt the person I profess to love. So I have a hard time believing I'm a nice person, despite what other people might think, and can't help but feel they'd both be better off without me. As that isn't a realistic option, I keep having to pull myself back together and try and become the person they deserve. But, frankly, I don't want to. I fail to get out of bed in the mornings because I don't want to have to go through the motions of yet another day pretending to be someone I'm not. I try and suppress all thoughts about what I want to do precisely because they don't involve my family and my family has to come first. I had ambitions but they were unrealistic and now I can't afford to think about the future too much because even the present is causing me problems and I can't imagine it getting better.

I think I've rambled enough. Time to get on and do some work. Which I don't want to do anymore, but I have to, because I have nothing else to do.

While writing this I listened to: Hangnail - Nickelback, Reject - Green Day, We're Not Going To Take It - Donots Welcome Table - Dan Zanes with The Blind Boys of Alabama, Lucy - The Divine Comedy, Seven Days - Sting, Black Night - Deep Purple, Catch the Sun - Doves, Be My Downfall - Del Amitri, Come Together - Robin Williams feat. Bobby McFerrin, Whisper - Evanescence, Don't Pay the Ferryman - Chris de Burgh, Eyes of a Child - Michael McDonald

..and what have you done?

Sunday: Despite my best efforts to remian calm and not panic about packing to go away for a measly five days I broke down and Daddy had to do it all again. Good start. Drive was as dull as expected and the Terror behaved reasonably well. Of course he was up late all through the week with the excitement as much as anything else.

Monday: Christmas Eve and um, yeah. Got up late, had brunch at the Ferry Cafe and dozed most of afternoon I think. It was a very lazy week really. Went to Great Grannie's in the evening just to say merry Christmas and exchange presents with her and G'dad. She gave us stollen, so that was a highlight of the week (if not month!).

Christmas Day: Much happy present unwrapping. Santa and everyone else got beaten to Best Present by a friend of Nana's who'd found a fantastic ten-pin bowling game - it's got a snack mechanism to load the pins and little figure with spring-loaded bowling action and it rocks! Daddy was pleased to punch with his presents from me thankfully, and the wonderful man not only got me The Goonies and Hot Fuzz on DVD, but a roleplaying book on sale I'd been meaning to get for a while (The Book of Eldritch Might) and V for Vendetta! He is simply amazing and far too good for me.
Afternoon was spent playing with the Terror's toys and watching all the good stuff on TV. And M*A*S*H* while Eastenders was on. Doctor Who was pretty good as always, and kept the whole family quiet and entertained. So all in all, not a bad day.

Boxing Day: Apparently there was a morning. Daddy and the Terror had big long walk and much fun playing on the beach throwing stones into the sea. I got woken up at 1pm, just in time for lunch and then we went to the Panto (Aladdin). Wasn't sure how the little one would take it but he was very good and sat watching for lots of it. He talked about it quite a bit afterwards so it must have made an impression.

Thursday: We actually made it into town and bought a new game for the Wii (which we had taken down to show Nana but neglected to bring any games for - oops!) - Mario Party 8. S'ok, not that I had much chance to have a go. Another ok and very lazy day, with much cider and more Christmas pudding and brandy butter. So that was ok.

Friday: Somehow managed to pack and exhausting drive back for Daddy. Probably should have been helping settle the Terror instead of writing this but thought I'd get it down before I forgot even more.

I've been oversleeping and while the drugs are possibly slightly to blame it's also been sheer laziness on my part. Must try much harder. Down to the 20mg dosage now so not too suprised that the depressed feelings have been getting worse. Missing ACL already, which is just plain daft. Finally got myself out of bed this morning by repeating over and over to myself "Suffering is caused by our selfish desire for happiness". Maybe if I can get that mantra going every time I think of him or anything else that distracts me from my duty that might help. It gives me something to focus on that doesn't have a soppy fairy tale happy ending anyway.

At some point this weekend we need to visit Durham to see the over half of the family and friends. Just seems to be non-stop at this time of year.