I manage to read a few blogs here and there while my big sis is here with hubby and son.
I am trying a post from my old unsupported Lumia 800, but I may give up.
I spent the day focusing on unravelling my worry because I was somehow reading the calendar wrong and was under the misconception that my phone call with Talking Mental Health was today. I spent all of yesterday secretly worrying about whether I should postpone it, but how important it is and how a new appointment may be weeks from now, worrying whether to tell them or not and how much to tell them. Thinking about keeping my phone charged and coming back from the market we’re due to visit today in time, or whether I should take the call in the market… and then whether they’d received my new landline number and whether they’d just call me there, so that if I didn’t pick it up at home they would not try my mobile and I’d miss the call and be discharged and have to go through the GP again. All these thoughts were of course for nothing as then at one am I had a moment of lucidity and realised my stupid calendar tells me about the stuff that will happen soonest, even though that may be in a few days. The phone call is tomorrow, so I can now have a whole new day to sit and worry and plan and try to relax about.
I got up today partly to try and type on the laptop rather than the phone, partly to try and catch those fleeting GP appointments for my Propranolol. Because my brother-in-law has MS and gets supertoired in the afternoon we planned all these little things for the morning which is of course the only time they have appointments in Calow. Then I realised with my husband sittinghere close to me as he NEVER does in the morning that i would have the car tomorrow so i booked an appointment in the afternoon in Brimington. With a Dr Kath Markus and I have always had trouble with Katherines and all their shortened versions, and the last German doctor I saw terrified me into submission, but I booked it nonetheless. Plus she’s female. Good? Bad? I don’t even know anymore.
Life with my lovely very beloved guests and without Propranolol is going ok. The first few days my heart thumped and panted and ached constantly and I constantly was breathing out and keeping calm. The evening before yesterday my brother-in-law went into one of his malignant I-will-do-everything-I-can-to-upset-you: it’s not his fault, it’s his frayed nervous system the tiredness of despair ever present in his MS that’s talking. My sister berates herself for responding to it as she knows she shouldn’t, and I know I shouldn’t… but something clicked. My vpice changed. I became the archangel of chaos and evil and said, from the very very top of my almighty and self-righteous position and bat him down, and stopped him. I said how in my home I accept everything but I will not have you insult us, I will not allow you to attribute thoughts of wanting to cheat you or fool you because all we are trying to do is help you. I was a slow fury, my rage barely contained, my voice changing to contain it and yet express it. I could feel the dragon wings growing on my back (this is a real thing, it has to do with some Martial Arts breathings I once learnt, I will write more about them at some point), I barely kept them under check. He quietened, he went silent, I defused. I waited, then took his hand, and spent the rest of the evening just focusing on being calm.
The next morning I felt so bad. I am the strongest here, I should not have done that. My sister said no let him apologise. He felt bad too and apologised and told me all the things I already knew as to why he does it but he apologised nevertheless and I felt awful because I knew all those things and I hated that he needed to apologise to me. He was also apologising to my sister and that is fine, but to me? I am above such things, I should know better.
The thing is, my sense of justice and injustice is so strong that it is one of my major triggers. Treat me or rather judge me unfairly, and I will shoot out like a rocket launcher. Depending on who and how I will either metaphorically tear you down limb from limb and de-construct you and shred you to pieces, or fall into heaps of despair and desperation, self-loathing and the deepest darkest depression. Or do the former first and the latter afterwards.
Lately, even before I realised I could give an attempt of a name to what I was feeling and that others felt like me, I had been thinking well this is all that I am. I will n longer change that which I am. I don’t like it, and it doesn’t fit with the image of the perfect desirable me which I’d been working towards my whole life. But I will not be changing it anytime soon so I said to myself “suck it up. That is who you are.”
I of course realise that is why the people around me have been dwindling me, not just physically because of our constant moves but also morally, psychologically, social networky. It may simply be age and natural that the people around you become less and less. But those that are left are those who understand it, or accept it and love me regardless, or haven’t felt the brunt of it yet so they still think me manageable.
I have to cut this short as people are stirring and getting up. The gist of it. My long-time friend told me once loooong ago “You will never go insane” with such assuredness that I’ve clung on to it desperately on may occasions and would sometimes ask him, when I saw him: “Why did you say that? What makes you so sure?” and I always forget the answer, like in a bad dream. But i believe that one of the elements that holds me together, always coming back, form drug addiction of extreme actions induced by my states of mind is my being a bloody mean bitch. An angry, raging fury who will come down like an anvil on those whom I deem deserve it, for a s long as they deserve it, and the fact that that person is often me is actually good, not bad. Depression and fury at yourself are two very different things. I am very rarely depressed for long for that reason. Fury kicks in and tells me what the hell blah blah blah!!!
There. No time for more. Being a mean bitch saves lives.