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....

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.