Tag Archives: depression

Dragonfly Days

Dragonfly Days

Today I am not asleep.  I’m very proud of this fact.  And I’ve done tons and it’s only midday!  Fatigue is horrible and it has been ruling my days, but I’m battling it now,  it’s official.

I took the kids into school, tramped up town, saw my GP, picked up my prescription, bought fleaing and worming tabs for the furry beasties I care for, nit treatment for the kids in case they bring further small insecty pets home, arranged to go into the Help the Aged charity shop (locally known as Help the Hagged which is very un PC I think) for two hours tomorrow and ate a bacon butty from Greggs.  Exciting stuff, if you live a quiet life that is.  Which I do.

Less staring at the walls, more action!  I had a chat with a friend the other day and we both decided that it would be good to do more stuff so we’d have more news to share.  She mentioned she was going to do pole dancing lessons.  I don’t think I could teach poles to dance, so I’m passing on that particular activity.  I mean, they don’t do much do they? Perhaps I’ve just talked to them in the wrong tone of voice in the past.  Lampposts just ignore me.

So, I’m just going to go into a charity shop and amble around.  That’s brave for me at least.  I’m also going to challenge my cash till phobia.  I once worked in a co-op for extra cash when I was a teenager and the cash till was possessed or something.  It just beeped and threw out random numbers, and I gave the wrong change a lot.  That job didn’t last very long and I’ve avoided any job in retail ever since because I’ve worried they’ll make me use a till again.  I’m facing my fears.  Hopefully this will open up more job opportunities for me.

Oh and I’ve made a couple of dragonflies recently, both are custom make for customers.  I’m rather proud of them.  When I get down I lose my creativity and my lust for life – so I’m working hard to get past that too.  Making things make me happy.  I feel like I’m achieving something if I have something actually in my hands that I’ve put together.  Here’s a couple of pics, I do love dragonflies, I think they’re beautiful insects.

Wirework and scalemaille dragonfly.  Doesn't fly very well unless you lob it across a room though.

Wirework and scalemaille dragonfly. Doesn’t fly very well unless you lob it across a room though.

This is made from copper wire, upcycled wire from wine bottles, cultured pearls from an old necklace and an old battered locket.  Again, this refuses to fly but will hover if held with a piece of string.

This is made from copper wire, upcycled wire from wine bottles, cultured pearls from an old necklace and an old battered locket. Again, this refuses to fly but will hover if held with a piece of string. 

So that’s me today.  You could say I’m a bit like the dragonflies above – the right shape and size, but not actually doing what dragonflies are supposed to do…ie, flying.  But I’ll get there. I’m just stretching my wings a little today.  Flight will have to wait for a while, but I’m getting there. Hope that makes sense, in my head it does anyway.

 

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And So….

And So….

Unlikely to become famous or influential….ie can be written about for cheap laughs with no adverse consequences.

Kay: Unlikely to become famous or influential….ie can be written about for cheap laughs with no adverse consequences.

And so it continues, being on the Brink of Bedlam that is….literally.  I’ve been a bit up and down recently and not in a good ‘Let’s have a laugh mucking about on a see-saw’ kind of way either.  I’m rather prone to depression and have been suffering a little recently so,

‘Hi-ho, Hi-Ho

It’s off to the GP I go!’  *sing in a 7 Dwarves cheerful fashion*

I think a change of meds and a change of lifestyle will help.  I also think writing down my goals, plans and thoughts will make me feel more positive and braver as a result.  I can face challenges and I can come out of this a better person.

And so…Plan A – go to my lovely friendly danish gp and ask for a change of meds.  I still trust her even though she said, and I quote: ‘I stab everyone’ before she gave me my flu jab.

Plan B – Go to my local charity shop and see if they’ll let me help out.  This will give me work experience, enable me to have conversations with people instead of pets and there’s a 6ft transvestite who works there who I think might be nice.  I see him/her in the mornings walking down the hill and he/she always smiles and looks friendly.  He/She’s always impeccably dressed and I’m always curious about people who dare to be different.

Plan C – Visit the job centre and stare hopefully at the computers.  I shall ask the computers to tell me about local jobs and I will absolutely not swear at the screens when they tell me there’s loads of jobs out there…..in Hertfordshire, or at the North Pole and only for people who can speak Japanese and can drive their own car etc etc.

Plan D – Raid google for local groups I can get to.  I can’t knit, but I’m planning on finding out about the local Knit and Natter posse.  I’m hoping they will have a space in their heart for someone who has only ever knitted 6 inch squares from scraps that are then sewn into patchwork style blankets.  I did this about 30 years ago with Guides and I was never very good at it, but as long as they have coffee and biscuits there I’ll be fine.  I’ll just clatter the knitting needles together a bit and have awkward conversations with OAPs – anything is better than sitting in this bl**dy house on my own any more.

Plan E – Tidy the house.  This will make me happier.  Falling over stuff may be funny in slapstick comedies, but I’m going to break my neck if I don’t move the bookalanche at the top of the stairs.  Gawd they’re slippery if you get a load of the shiny backed ones in a sliding stack and stand on them.

Plan F – Eat sensibly.  I have to feed the kids properly so I do organise one decent meal a day so that’s good at least.  During the day though, I have been known to massacre a jar of Nutella with a teaspoon, and just drink tea, which is stupid.  Plus if you drink too much tea, you spend all day thinking that you need the loo…again.

Plan G – Stop sleeping all the time!  I have heard it said that the hallmark of depression is sleeplessness or insommnia.  For me, it is the opposite.  I can’t keep my eyes open.  After having dropped the kids off at school I have been known to sleep for hours and hours because I feel there is no point being awake.  This is no way to live.  For the sake of my kids, my husband, my dog and my cat, changes must be made.

Plan H – Be positive and be confident.  It’s all alright really and I’m alright really.  I should stop telling myself that it’s not and that I’m not.

Plan I – Do the above.  Write about the little victories. Seize the day, or the knitting needles, or the new meds, or the pile of washing.  Seize it all.  Get my life back . And write more. Because writing means I’m mentally putting myself ‘out there’ again which is a therapy of sorts for me, and because I love the written word as much as I hate housework: and I mean that with a passion.

And so…..wish me luck  🙂

 

 

Penguins and Manic Depression

Penguins and Manic Depression

I bet you never thought you’d see those two topics in one title, well now you have!  I guess I should explain why.  This is a very difficult subject for me as it concerns my last penguin charity campaign, it also might explain why I took so long to post the final blog….it was because I couldn’t bear to think about it anymore.

Many people seem to think that depression is simply being low, feeling like you’re at the bottom of a pit that you can’t get out of, not wanting to go places, to see anyone.  But manic depression isn’t always like that, it can manifest itself very differently.  You can feel as high as a kite and as if you can conquer the world too believe it or not.  I know this because I’ve been like that.

My depression occurs naturally in that I’m extremely insecure and lack confidence in almost everything I undertake.  The best way I can explain it is that when I’m down it seems like everything is wrong all the time.  Nothing that I do is good enough, I lose my concentration, I get scared of doing everyday simple tasks, I want to sleep all the time and I think everyone dislikes me and that I am unlovable.  Which is frankly rubbish.  I know I’m ok, maybe I’m not amazing, but I’m ok.  I can say that now because at the moment I’m doing alright. That’s one way depression pulls me in pieces at least.

Over the last few years I’ve had to take a lot of medication to get my Ulcerative Colitis under control; the most debilitating and effective drug has been Prednisolone which is a kind of steroid.  Without it, I wonder if I’d even be here today, so it is amazing stuff really – but it does have side effects, one of which is mania.  On high doses it can affect people an awful lot.  This time, my natural predisposition to depression took on another form because of the steroids.

I honestly felt like my computer and I could take on the world! This was fabulous for me, I had so many bright ideas, so many plans, so many things I wanted to do.  I chattered mindlessly to family and friends about my current Penguin Amnesty campaign and how I was going to do it, about how I planned to film the vlog, about contacts and fund raising and how much could be done so easily.  My brain was a whirlwind.  I just couldn’t understand why my mum always changed the subject and looked at me sideways every now and then.

It was only after I came off the steroids that I landed back on planet earth and thought quite literally ‘Oh my god, what have I done?’.  I had a house full of penguins, parcels to send , a vlog to film, a lot of work to do…..and of course a house to run and a family to feed. Make no mistake, I panicked.  In all truth, my sister and my mum started coming around to the house to help me keep everything together as without the steroids and my high anymore, I lost the will to move.  The whole house descended into even more chaos than usual and I felt powerless to do anything about it.  Without my supportive family and my very patient, understanding husband I don’t know what I would have done.

But, I decided that I had started so I would finish, that I was a woman of my word and I was going to finish this penguin malarkey, even if meant staying up nearly half the night parcelling the black and white birdies – which is quite literally what I did one evening/morning.  I was not going to let people down.  You had all been kind enough to listen to my insane penguin ramblings and you’d donated money, time and merchandise.  I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself if I hadn’t completed the campaign. So I did, and it all worked out really quite well and I eventually found my feet and a stable none-manic way of thinking again. Phew.

So, if I’m not as enthusiastic about penguins as I was, and if I sound rather embarrassed when someone says something about it being a great project, it’s because it’s simply something I’d rather not remember – because, to be blunt, I was very slightly crackers at the time.   I mean, I’m normally the type to go off at a tangent, it’s the way I work…..but that level of obsession is extreme even for me.

Writing this is basically a bit of therapy for me, hopefully I’ll never go back to either forms of depression, whether it be the manic type or the really fed up type.     My current colitis meds are working really well and I hope I can avoid steroids in the future, but if I start banging on about penguins again, just give me a nudge will you?

Depression is a very strange thing, the human mind is so very complex and can screw up in such weird and wonderful ways.  I say ‘wonderful’ with my tongue in my cheek, as the penguin campaign did actually turn out to be something that made people happy in the end, I hope at least.

Right, so that’s confession time over for me, I shall waddle off and make tea now. If anyone else has any experience of this sort of thing I’d love to hear from you, it’s not the sort of thing people talk about and it’s a shame.  The more awareness the better.  Thanks for letting me bend your ear and if the ups and downs of life drive you a bit mad sometimes, you’re not on your own.

Riding a Bike

Riding a Bike

I don’t think I’ve ever gone this long without blogging, I’m wondering if I can still string a sentence together to be honest. Well that’s one sentence down and I’m still here so I guess I still have the knack.  Now, that’s two. Now that’s three.  You catch my drift.  I’ll stop it now.

So! Anyway, I’m still mucking about on the keyboard.  vjdagbhjagbrhabv  See, just like that.  They say lots of things are ‘like riding a bike’ and I’m hoping that blogging is like that too, although less energetic and without all the sweating and silly tight shorts.  I guess I’m back on the bike now, one foot poised on a pedal, the other balancing me on the gravel – holding the handlebars tightly, nudging the brake with my thumb.  Ready…..Steady….Go!

I’ve raced through the summer hols one way or another.  The days seem to have blurred past me for sure. Both kids have been equal parts angels and demons, and I’ve had more than my fair share of chocolate milk on the carpet and honey on the sofa, but I guess that’s just how it goes.  They’ve also made biscuits, gone on bike rides, watched too much telly, been cute and refused to tidy their bedrooms.  Same old, same old.

As for me I suspect I’ve been a walking nightmare.  My steroids have made me a right miserable git, as opposed to the usual bundle of energy that I usually turn into. Ah well.  Hopefully I’ll get off them soon, and in the meantime it’s a great excuse to eat too much and blame the chipmunk cheeks on the medication rather than too many pieces of cake.  Thanks so much for all your lovely supportive messages on my ‘Arse’ post, they meant more than you know. T’is true!

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx  There’s loads of kisses for you all.  I’ve gone all over-affectionate now.  *blushes bright red*

News from the Brink of Bedlam household. Erm…..(scratches head).  Sausage has decided to shout ‘Bogies!’ all the time, at the telly, at me, at his toys.  It is officially an adjective at this house, eg ‘Bogey-pants!’ ‘Bogey-head!’ to name a few.  Everything has gone rather ‘Bogeyesque’.  I suppose I should be pleased he is using the english language in a creative way, but it just winds me up something chronic.

Darlek is refusing to wear anything remotely feminine and turns her nose up at anything pink, frilly or with kittens on and is embracing the tomboy image, which I can’t say I mind too much.  A recent trip to Tesco led to the acquisition of three boys T’shirts that have Mario on and other boyish icons that I can’t bring to mind (Moshi Monsters or summat), and a pair of jungle army camouflauge style pants. If anyone would like to tell me how to spell ‘camoflauge’ I’d greatly appreciate it.  I’ve messed around with the spell check and the red line obstinately refuses to go away.

Horace has broken the puter in the front room, so we can no longer record telly or play Spotify, which is nice.  I have the decomposing corpse of the puter lying in the corner of the room.  I almost feel sorry for it with all its wires and innards lying there open to the elements.  Horace keeps prodding it with a screwdriver, but it doesn’t seem to help much.  I swear I can hear it whimpering every now and then.  It had a terminal virus apparently.  We should probably have a puter funeral.

Well, that’s enough posting/riding the bike for now.  I still have the penguin project pending, it’s been so delayed and I’m so sorry.  I’ve just felt utterly incapable of doing anything apart from feeding, cleaning, exercising the kids and hoovering very occasionally.  The goddam black dog has been a proper nuisance.  He will be found a new home shortly.

Reet, I’m off to bed.  The kids will no doubt wake early and demand breakfast and CBeebies at some stupid hour, so self preservation tells me to shurrup and go sleep.  Good night and wishing you all health, happiness and above all sanity throughout the remainder of the summer holidays.  If you could wish me the same in return I’ll be very grateful. ;O)

Arse!

Arse!

I’m still here hanging around like a bad smell! For those of you who are Twitter addicts you might have noticed I’ve been a little absent recently, only a couple of days I know, but considering how much time I usually spend online it’s a noticeable change of behaviour for me.  Listening to someone winge is never fun and if I can’t say anything positive then it’s best I say nothing at all.  So I’ve saved it for here instead. This is my personal diary as well as my official ‘blog’ and I suppose if I record this now, I’m hoping I’ll look back on it later and think ‘there, I got over that and everything’s better now.’  I hope.

I don’t owe anyone an explanation, and I suppose most people won’t be interested really, but I’ve always felt blogging is therapy as well as fun, so I’m venting just a little today.  Feel free to skip to a more positive post I’ll no doubt post later in the week.

Had a lovely walk in the sunshine today, along the canal bank with the kids running around whacking each other with massive fronds of Rosebay Willowherb.  Sis and her two kids were fabulous company and we chatted about everything and anything and put the world to rights a little.

It was a reasonable sized walk and by the half way point one of my hips was hurting a little which made me limp slightly.  My Ulcerative Colitis means I get arthritis pains as well as tummy pains unfortunately you see. By the time we were within half an hour of getting back to the car both my hips were killing me and when Sausage started badgering me to run around I realised I didn’t want to chase him because it hurt too much.

I love walking and I love the outdoors, fresh air is something I crave and open skies are my solace when all else fails.  I can’t believe this stupid condition is even affecting my ability to walk.  I had a flare up like this before I was diagnosed and I can remember my doctor basically implying that it was all in my head, when I insisted it was all in my hips and my joints.  Idiot.  At least now I know what’s causing this, but it doesn’t make it any easier to deal with.  I don’t drive, I walk everywhere, I have two active children, I just don’t want to have to deal with this.

I’m on a fairly high dose of steroids at the moment and have been on them for approximately half of this last year.  Every time I stop taking them I start bleeding horribly.  Recently I reduced my dose and started with the awful bleeding etc so couldn’t get off the steroids at all and had to go back to a high dose.  So I suppose I’m officially steroid dependent.   I’m also taking an immuno-suppressant drug which doesn’t seem to be working (despite the dose being upped already) so I need another colonsocopy and then most likely they’ll up the dose yet again.   So I have the double whammy of another tube up my arse episode to look forward to, even more meds and if I can’t get off these steroids my weight gain will continue (half a stone in the last two months) and I can look forward to a lovely MoonFace.  Pretty, on a moon – not on me.

I’ve even looked into surgery recently.  I’m on 140 tablets a week ranging from anti-inflammatories, enemas, immuno-suppressants, anti-depressants, calcium supplements, iron supplements (I’m anaemic due to blood loss and not being able to digest my food properly), steroids and I’m sick of living like this.  I feel constantly tired and my joints ache when I’m flaring.  I’m also scared shitless of what’s ahead.  I have the option of a higher dose of immuno- suppressants, and then a couple of other drugs to try – if the local NHS or whatever will fund the last one which is debatable.  I can’t stay on steroids and I can’t continue bleeding like I have been.  I feel very much like if having my colon out is at the end of the road, then I’d rather face it sooner than later, because the thought of all that hell in the meantime is quietly terrifying.

Call me a wimp and a pessimist, but I just feel like the next few years are going to be a constant round of visits to GP’s, consultants, the hospital, the loo and I don’t want this.  This is why I’ve been looking into surgery which basically means the old ‘crapping-in-a-bag’ scenario, putting it very bluntly. But if that meant I’d be well again, then why the hell not. The thing is, from what I’ve read, it’s major surgery and all hell can break loose with that too – so I guess I’ll just have to continue coping with my shitty colon.  So that makes me sad.  I’m not naturally an aggressive person, but it makes me want to punch pillows and smash plates – neither of which I will do because it’s all rather pointless (and expensive, I love my Denby plates).  There is no cowards way out of this.  Bugger.

Tons of people deal with terrible things on a day to day basis and I’m under no illusion as to how minor this is compared to some.  But it still drives me mad, especially when I literally can’t run after my 4 year old on a sunny Wednesday afternoon and play jumping on shadows because my fekking legs hurt due to some stupid misbehaving inflamed tummy.  Please note, if either of my kids or nephews had fallen in the canal, I’d happily (well, not that happily maybe)  have run and jumped in after them, hurty hips or no hurty hips. I’m not incapable, just uncomfortable.

So that’s why I’m rather quiet.  I’m taking stock of where I’m up to and evaluating what’s important at the moment.  I’ll be fine in a week I reckon, by that time I’ll have gathered together a bit more ‘oomph!’ and will be back on form. Promise.

Apart from anything else I’m just writing about this as part of my telling people about Ulcerative Colitis mission – not that anyone will have read past the first paragraph after my introduction, lol!    If you met me on the street you would never know anything was the matter with me you know, it’s a completely invisible disease.  And it’s not Irritable Bowel Syndrome and just a case of watching what I eat and farting too much, which is what so many people seem to think this disease is.  Irritable Bowel Disease, Ulcerative Colitis, is your own immune system attacking itself so badly that it causes ulcers and wounds on your insides that often refuse to heal causing cramps that can rival labour pains, terrible blood loss , loss of bowel control in some cases and countless trips to the loo (when I was admitted to hospital last time I was literally crapping mostly pure blood ten times a day) and had to have intravenous steroids to stop my bowel bursting in a worse case scenario.  It also causes inflammation in your joints such as arthritis.

I can’t just stop eating spicy food or fibre and everything will be fine because food isn’t the cause of this, although it can aggravate it – unfortunately I have no idea if anything I eat causes a flare because I’ve not spotted a pattern as yet. Stress can aggravate it too, although with a busy family life and a chaotic lifestyle there’s not much I can do to control that.  In many ways it’s just a case of my immune system just going bonkers, it’s not something I’m doing that is causing this, it’s in my genetics or something.  It’s a complete pain in the arse, but its my arse and my arse alone – so no-one else can deal with this apart from me, much as I wish I could run away from my own arse and leave someone else to cope with it. Not gonna happen.

‘An Arse! An Arse!  My kingdom for a New Arse!’  (made up Shakespeare quote, Richard III)  

Stresses & Strains.

Stresses & Strains

I suppose this is an introspective post.  There’s an hour until I start the rainy school run, so I thought I’d ponder on paper so to speak.  (I know this isn’t paper, but it’s as near as dammit).

My Ulcerative Colitis has flared horribly, and I had to make an emergency trip to the docs last night as requested by NHSDirect.  It was either that or go to A & E.  The thing is, I’m convinced it is all stress induced, and as a result blame myself a lot, which causes more stress because I’m stressed that I can’t control my stress.

So….how do you control stress when, as a parent, you’re jugging two lively kids, school runs, long days, interrupted nights and a huge lack of organisation? Can it be done?!!  I’m already on anti-depressants, which I admit has helped a little, but there still must be something going wrong, surely.

I once mentioned to someone about how busy I was, and how wound up I was about everything.  They asked me what exactly did I have to do in the time period I was talking about, and strangely I had quite a small list.  (This was a long time ago before kids, marriage and responsibility)  They commented that they thought I was busier in my head than in actual life.  Unfortunately I think this still applies.

It seems impossible for my brain to calm down, it’s constantly doing whirlygigs and looking for things to think about, plans to make, things I’ve forgotten, things I need to do, places I should go, people I need to catch up with…and the list continues.

Take today for example, I’m desperately trying to take it easy for the sake of my health, and have completed the grand total of four tasks – unload and load diswasher, tidy kitchen and front room a little and load and unload the washing machine and plan tea.  Yet I still feel like I’ve done loads, in that my head feels cramped, I’m fairly tired and I’m dreading the school walk / slog in the rain.

It makes me feel as if I’m lazy, but I can’t be surely.  Never in all my life have I been called lazy.  ‘Conscientious’ has always been the term used, in school reports and in work places.  Yet, even on good days, the house is apalling and I mean piles of washing everywhere, toys scattered on the living room floor, kitchen floor dusty and with yoghurt pot tops stuck to it.  Sounds disgusting doesn’t it.  I just don’t have the motivation, or the skills to co-ordinate everything.  I miss dental appointments (2 this week), double book myself, lose letters from school, forget nursery payments. You name it, I’ve mucked it up.  That was why we had such a trauma over Sausage’s school place, I just put off sorting it. Simple as.

I just take too much on, but can’t seem to stop it. This eve I have a proper recipe planned for tea which will take time and effort.  This blog, which I have fought tooth and nail to keep on with, takes time, effort and commitment too, and stresses me on occassion too.  But to give up these things that I love, would stress me less and cause me to die of boredom. I can’t win!

People suggest yoga (I nearly typed Yoda then, too much Star Wars in this house!), but I always have the kids with me when it’s on.  Even when I sit and watch TV, I have an internal clock with an alarm that says that ‘In 15 minutes you need to go blog, or clean something.’  I try to cook to relax myself, because it’s productive, but usually end up swearing under my breath and making bizarre things the kids won’t eat.

The only time I really relax is when I’m outside or asleep, but even then I’m thinking I should be inside, doing something useful.  (not when I’m asleep obviously).

Life for me is a series of tasks to be completed, a mental checklist.  But it’s a huge list, and I constantly attempt everything in a back to front manner.  I’m too skittish and get confused with what I should do, how to do it, when to fit things in.   All in all, I find myself a pain in the ass, and no doubt other people are constantly frustrated by me.  Almost as much as I frustrate myself.

Summarised – I am the equivalent of a huge, incomplete, spidergram (you know those charts you do when you brainstorm things?  Obviously this spidergram is completed with the use of half eaten luminous coloured crayons, green biro, or felt tips that are running out, written on a crumpled piece of paper with a picture of mickey mouse on the back that the kids have half coloured in and got bored of.  It’s a rubbish spidergram and it doesn’t work properly.

I need to be more like a flow chart, that’s it! Clean cut and completed on a puter printed out on a piece of paper, neatly shaded in colour codes.  It should be titled ‘Daily Life!’ and be on a clean, clear, plain sheet of paper.  Laminated preferably.

As it is I’m almost resigned to being a complete and utter muck up, I make life difficult for myself for the hell of it, and suffer as a consequence.  I don’t know if I’m the cause of this fecking disease, and feel hopeless as a result.  If it’s stress, how do I stop it.  If I can’t I worry that I’ll just shout ‘You’re a goddam failure’ at myself for the rest of my life, bleed terribly all the time, spend hours on the loo and rattle with tablets. (currently on 19 tabs a day at present).  A year ago I was drug free and fine, what the eff is going on. *sad face*

(apologies if this doesn’t make sense much, I’m just annoyed, frustrated and venting)

It’d be interesting to know. Are you a flow chart, a pie chart, a spidergram or a list? Are you colour coded? Would you be on plain paper, scrumpled old colouring book paper, concertina style paper prised out of a photocopier? I’m curious.

Drama Queen!

Drama Queen!

Just a quick post because I’m cross eyed tired.

So anyway, I’ve decided I’m a drama queen and I should go and find a Drama Country to go and rule.

I’m writing this down so I can read back on this when I’m feeling shaky and remember to keep a grip on things, because they really aren’t that bad.

So here’s the situation.  Circumstances last night led to me having yet another wobbly do with quite a bit of irrational sobbing.  Get this….

Me: ‘I just can’t take it any more, I think I’m falling in pieces and it’s all too much for me!’   (wipes tears and snot on a tissue, throws it on the side and switches the kettle on because that’s what I always do in times of crisis)

Horace: ‘I know it seems bad, but it’ll be ok’

Me: ‘I just feel so tired, and I can’t be bothered to do anything and it just feels……(puts head in hands for added emphasis) like everything is just too hard.’ *insert whiney voice*

Horace: ‘We all have days like this you know, I have them too’

Me: ‘I think I might be having a breakdown because I’m just not normal you know, I’m thinking stuff that just isn’t normal.  Walking home the other day I was so close to just curling up in a ball under a tree in a patch of sun, and I just imagined I was a fox or something.  I just wanted to sleeeeep’  *gets even whinier*

Horace: ‘Honestly, I think it’s all a bit much too sometimes, I do understand.  Mind you I’ve never thought of being a fox before but…..’

Me: *scrabbles in cupboard for a cup and a teabag* ‘ I just can’t take it!  And I’m just falling in pieces and my hair is crap, and I’m getting podgy again, and will you love me if I’m wrinkly?  Do you still think I’m pretty.  I don’t smile anymore! It’s just all awful!’

Me: *Turns away from Horace for dramatic effect* Sobs pitifully and ridiculously.

Me: *Turns back and stirs tea bag carefully, mashing it on the side of the cup* *sighs like the world is ending*

It went on like this for ages I think.  Pathetic really.  It’s weird, when I’m in that head state it all seems so important and so urgent and like the world really is falling in around my ears.  Now I have a little perspective and I can look back at that situation, it’s down right comical.  Foxes?!!!  I mean, where the hell does that fit in?  My poor harassed Horace puts up with a lot.

So there you go.  I just thought I should write something to prove I’m actually human, rather than some kind of toy addict.  (That’s the kids, not me to be honest).  Anyway, right now I am sane, am not a fox and am looking forward to a sunny day tomorrow.  I just hope these stupid stressy episodes stop bothering me, it’s like I quite literally fall in a hole (a fox hole maybe) and I just have to claw my way out again.

And as I invariably say….so there you go! I’ll get me coat.