I’ve lost it again. I made the mistake of suppressing my emotions and forcing myself to be happy for others and as a result I have imploded. I don’t really know how it happened, or when it started but I know that I had to sleep all day yesterday and dreamt of awful things.

My partner couldn’t handle me so he left me in the house alone while he drank beer with his dad. I needed him and he left me… typical. So I slept. My body was worn out and I slept. I didn’t make him tea, or breakfast, or picked up his socks, scrubbed his kitchen floor or ironed his shirts. I slept. It was the best thing I could do for him, his alternative would be to not have me in his life at all to do any of these things.

He can’t seem to fend for himself anymore, he becomes a hopeless child eating dry crackers or nothing at all. Resenting me for not taking care of him when I need to be taken care of.

I’ve not felt so terrible in months, long before we got engaged, I was losing my grip on life and felt unwanted, as an unmarried spinster with no value at all to anybody. No decent wage to pay my way, a pathetic leech on his funds, I was ready to go and take my failure life with me to make his life better. I still feel a failure but at least I feel like a wanted failure with my solitaire diamond sparkling back at me from the third finger of my aging hand. He keeps me here now. I live for him now.

I can’t seem to clear my mind of the thoughts of what could’ve been, my silly hopes for my future that evaporated when I realised that I was incapable of achieving them, I was my own barrier to my success and I stood firmly planted in the ground, feet buried in cement when it was time to move forward. I failed myself and I make him suffer also. 

They should have told me that I’d never make it, that I wouldn’t survive but they just kept telling me I could conquer the world, but the realities burned up in the acid in my stomach along with my medicine and with any hope of getting better.

I imagine my wedding day, I see run mascara and an ugly bride walking down the aisle to a make believe life in a pure white dress made of newspaper, as worthless as the the woman wearing it. She doesn’t make it to the altar, she gets swallowed by the black cloud that has followed her for 20 years.

Dead End

I’m alone too often with my own thoughts, which isn’t good for me. 

I’m paid staff in a charity shop, with volunteers who don’t turn up half the time. So all I do is deal with people alone who treat me like the scum of the earth for a little bit of money.

I’m told I should be grateful, that I should feel like I’m doing something good, but I’m not and I don’t. I hate every second of it. Serving the general public is the most thankless aspect of my job and I hate being treated like I’m nothing.

This place reminds me of my life’s failures every day. How stupid I was for thinking I would one day be worth something.

I completed a 12 month training course last week at an attempt to prove to people that I had a brain and that it still worked, but again it only reminded me of what I don’t have. A goal or aim in life, a path to follow. I see no paths anymore, I think I used to, I can’t remember. There are no more routes to take, I stand on a square in the middle of the ocean waiting to be rescued but nobody’s coming and I can’t swim.

Not Again

I’m having a difficult time getting out of bed today. Watching movie after movie, I don’t want any of them to end but they do. The more movies end the closer and faster I get to returning to work after my mid-week two day break from my own personal hell.

Extraordinary lives fill my screen and flicker lights across the white walls. It’s like a cell not a bedroom, with a few dots of colour scattered, but mostly white, clinical. Imprisoned in it and left to watch subliminal messages telling me that my life is not good enough, forcing me to sob into the echoing emptiness. 

I wait for someone to report me to my doctor, tell them I’m sick again, keep me away from the place that breaks me down. There’s no one here to observe me. I live with the busiest man alive who doesn’t have a moment in his day to take in my deteriorating health and the distance I’m creating from him. I’m blank. Cooking and cleaning and reading books then falling asleep on the spot where I was frantically flicking through pages in search of answers that I will never find. He bowls through the door exhausted from working after midnight and thinks I’m asleep. This is our life. 

I can’t go to anyone and burden them with my sickness, they have worries of their own. I can’t even go out, I don’t get paid enough to afford the recreational activity of shopping or buying a hot meal. I can spend money when I need to and often I need to before the end of month. I’m sitting with my back pain recapping the agony of the first two days of the beginning of the week. Trying to see the end of a dramatic job that has no grand finale, it cycles around and around like a fairground ride until I’m sick and dizzy and can no longer stand let alone walk straight. Or see a straight line to the next ride, if I truly believe there is one.

Which I don’t.

I don’t believe there is an end to this anymore, that I’ll ever be happy again no matter what I do. I miss baths. They ended my days peacefully, I used to sit in them for hours, relaxing, crying, whatever I wanted to do in those moments of solitude, soothing my ageing muscles. Showers aren’t the same, they’re too quickly over, I can’t stand and calm myself down in a claustrophobic cubicle like I can in a tub, focusing my senses into a mindful state. We’ve lived here a year now, and in a year I’ve had no peace like that. It feels like a decade.

I’ve decided I’m leaving the house anyway. I’ll pay the consequences for it later.

I Thought Exercise Was Supposed To Make You Happier?

Two years ago, during the summer time, it was a major turning point for me, I was ripped to shreds at work by this half woman half demon type thing, who thought she could talk to me as she would to scold 6th graders who had just set off fireworks in the bathrooms or something similar. In my opinion I had done nothing of this calibre to provoke this attack. After this nightmare I crawled back inside myself and festered there for several months, but not before a little trip to the doctors for him to prescribe exercise. What? I wanted medication and he told me to join a gym.

According to him, exercise would make me feel happier. I’m gazing vacantly at the white wall of the shower rooms recalling this little bit of information, and wondering how it can be possible, seen as I’m not happy. I’m dressed in gym gear, glistening slightly and not really feeling it. To be perfectly honest I’ve just bounced around like a tub of jelly on a treadmill/cross trainer etc for forty five minutes and forgive me if I can’t crack a smile at how shitty I feel at the moment.

I got nothin’! I feel bloated, huge and I’m clearly not losing any weight. I’m stressed out from looking for a parking space, and at the thought of the rush hour traffic I’ll have to endure on the way home. I’m annoyed at how much this place costs to come here for an hour and fight for equipment. At which point am I meant to feel happy about this doc?

Even if it doesn’t work emotionally, it doesn’t seem to work physically either, I’m the same if not slightly bigger than when I started, not even toned or a better shape. So I’ll ask again, when is it supposed to get better? It seems like never. It’s not hurting me to do it but I expect a doctor to tell me something far more useful than join a gym, perhaps I’m too far gone to be saved by simple remedies. Who knows? The doctor clearly doesn’t.

Wasted Evening

I spent the night trying to install a blind in one of my spare rooms, a room I plan to move into at a later date to escape the sound of the road outside. It was going well, but DIY isn’t my speciality, and to cut short the details, the screws were cheap and rubbish. Yes. I blame the screws.  

I spent all night trying to get them back out once I’d made an error, I lost my temper and tried to rip it out of the wall. It would not budge! I became tired. Started crying from my pathetic useless-ness, asked for help and when I didn’t get any assistance, lost my temper again.

I’m now lying in the dark under a blanket trying to calm down.

It’s a mixture of things this evening I’m sure of it,

  1. I’m helping my mother move house this week and it’s tiring me out
  2. Work sucks right now, again tiring me out
  3. I’m having, what I can only describe as a powerful bout of depression/anxiety/stress, which is making all simple tasks almost impossible
  4. It’s also making me feel very invalid as a human
  5.  I’m not sleeping well

I could have ripped the skin from my face when I looked in the mirror after giving up on my task. I saw my imperfections, redness, peeling skin, and wished for a new face, a new body and a new brain. Why can’t I do it? Stupid. Stupid. Worthless. Stupid.

I already have an inferiority complex without moments like these, failure would be so understandable if it weren’t so simple a job to do, they even make the slits wide enough to allow for measurement errors, I shouldn’t have failed but I did and now there’s a bent up bracket, a blind-less window and my sleepless night pending.

What was the point??

Gas Mark 5 for 1 Hour & 50 Minutes (+ 40 Minutes)

Ready, set, GO!

Christmas Day 2016 started at 7:30am in the damp dark of middle England, with no time for a shower but just enough for a bowl of porridge and the opening of a handful of presents before the four hour long zig zag car journey to my family. With no make up on, and my product filled hair from the night before, I turn the key and ignite my anxiety. Here I go.

My Dad was two hours late and that pushed me back, my turkey sat on the drainer at home waiting to be wedged into a tiny oven, and I had visions of throwing it in the bin and giving up, my mood swings taking over at the disruption of my time frame. We sat doing nothing as we waited and waited for everyone to turn up.

 There were so many presents from so many people who shouldn’t have spent their hard earned money on me, and I spent the afternoon feeling guilt from not putting as much thought into my gifts for them. Booze, chocolate, toiletries, that was all I got for people. No care or concern unless the recipient was diabetic in which case they would unwrap bubble bath and soap. I have an obsession with Succulents and Cacti’s so my cousin bought me a tiny one inside a plastic dome for my keys how did they know I would love that?? 

The dinner was three hours late due to a butchers poor instruction on cooking times, my vegetables and yorkshires all ready and quickly cooling on the counter, I was feeling like a failure and tried my damned hardest to conceal it with a careless smile. Inside I could’ve shrivelled from failing at a simple task but I wouldn’t show it. I sat at my slate place setting with the candles flickering behind my orange juice filled wine glass and waited forty more minutes for my turkey to turn white. I would not be defeated by a chunk of meat!

At five thirty we finally sat down and my rushed, crazy Christmas Day was done, completed with a hefty plate of food. I kept my cool the whole day, I was impressed with myself for not breaking down over the lumpy gravy and burnt sweet potatoes (accidentally bought instead of parsnips). 

We finished the day watching Avengers: Age Of Ultron and eating chocolate fudge cake and ice cream on our laps in the living room. I’ve had more exciting Christmases before but they were all tiring, often uncomfortable and formal. This year I was sat in joggers and a big fluffy jumper. I’m not sure yet which I prefer…

Merry Christmas!

If a mind reader walked in on me while mentally telling my customers to ‘F’ off, I would have no customers by New Years. I resent today. Last day but one before I get to have a six day break from strangers and paperwork, I just cannot wait to leave work tomorrow evening, I think I may skip out of here ringing bells and trailing glitter. It’s not that I’m having a bad time, there’s barely anyone here, it’s just the anticipation is making me bitter and I feel like there are so many things I need to do at home to get ready for Christmas, that my time is wasted here standing around waiting for people to buy something. 

We don’t sell Christmas presents and only have a few decorations left but everyone has finished with all that now and they’re getting into the shopping big time which means no one is going to be coming here unless they’re walking by after buying their newspaper from the convenience store a few doors away.

I’m almost ready, I think… maybe… in other words I know that I’m forgetting something but I’m hoping that it’s nothing major, I think it’s because the turkey hasn’t arrived yet and I’m missing an integral part of Christmas dinner. The bird will arrive on Friday so I’m guessing that if there’s anything else I’ve forgotten that will pop in my head as soon as I see my turkey roasting in the oven, which of course is too late to do anything about it. 

I was told last night that I worry too much, but at Christmas there is so much to remember and so much to do, it wouldn’t shock me if I managed to push something off the memory list of less importance than turkey and presents.

Left on my list at the moment, in no particular order;

  • Wrap 5 remaining presents
  • Bake a cake for Christmas Eve get-together
  • Deliver cards
  • Food shopping
  • Buy one present for a neighbour we forgot
  • Collect bread rolls from bakery
  • Housework
  • Clean the car (it’s disgraceful)
  • Cook my first Christmas turkey and try not to panic!

Well I am panicking and I am worrying that when that day comes and the country closes down for the day that there is something I’m going to need that I’m not going to be able to get, something for the dinner or another present to feminine products or paracetamol, there is something I will need that I won’t have accounted for.

Oh well. 

Merry Christmas or Happy Holidays and thank you for reading.