It is, life gets better, although I still have to regularly battle against the same old demons, and that pisses me off so much.
It makes me sad that this page opened on my admin and showed me that most of the comments were from myself and then blahpolar.
I was thinking about her this morning. She managed to make me feel at home with her, comfortable, such an incredible feat… but she was in deep deep pain, and now she’s gone.
My husband said one of the millions of things he could say to trigger off my anxiety and/or my depression this morning. He said I was just moaning. And I was! I was moaning about how my hypermobility syndrome means that it is painful to walk four miles each day to and from my daughter’s school, that her own hypermobility meant we had to get her new, better shoes, that the stupid aggressive cows in the field meant we had to walk along the terribly trafficked, stinky, and very dangerous road instead of across the field, which my anxiety is not happy about.
I WAS just moaning.
I just didn’t appreciate him telling me that, not today, because yesterday I spent all day worrying about a client of mine (blooming FAO, I LOVE FAO and I am so proud to be working for them) who wanted to call me. All she did was that, ask me whether I could give her a call. But because it was after I’d just sent an invoice, I went into internal turmoil and panic. I suffer from social anxiety, so the cherry on top of all this was being asked to use the phone. I DETEST using the phone.
I told her no, I didn’t want to call, and asked whether there was a problem. I then corrected my invoice to make it a little less. I started thinking about our imminent move to Italy, and how I had left Italy because I associated Italy with worry, people telling me off, and so on… so I started worrying worrying, will I ever find a place I could call home? Asides form my children and my husband, my only home, the only home I ALWAYS feel safe in, is my dog. Wherever my dog is. I started to think back to all those people and places where I thought I’d found a home, including this one, Derbyshire, only to then be told without much ceremony “we were never as close as you thought we were”.
It was all in my head, all those people… all those places… and the thoughts start to tumble, and jumble, and I feel whirlwinds starting to suck me up, and then I stop them, and I say you know what? I DON’T moan! I don’t moan enough! I feel emotions a tad intensely, I can’t help that, and stuff has hurt me! I must be allowed to moan!
I spend the rest of the day just calming down. I took the bus to school today. I later apologised to my husband for my snarky remarks in response to his comment, helped by his choosing, for once, good words rather than reacting badly and making it worse. Then it dawns on me I’ll redo the invoice, I sent it. Then lovely FAO lady writes back and says:
I wanted to contact you yesterday to tell you that FAO translators normally are paid such and such. We think you charge too little. Would it be ok for you if we paid you our fees?”
I wanted to cry. People CAN be nice. And I’m an idiot fool, no, no longer do I think of myself as an idiot. I have been battered for too long into no longer believing that people are nice. Yesterday an old client, always super professional and proper, added me on Linkedin and said: “This time I’m not writing to ask anything, just to say hello and a hug”. Brought a smile to my face and then tears. I want people to be real with me, and I need to be real with them. I was thinking it was no longer possible.Maybe it still is.