So, well today’s the day.
I was, as expected, a nervous wreck this morning.
Last night as I looked out the front door window and looked at the pub across the road I thought I saw grey outlines of the people who so often sit there to dine, moving as they chatted. Of course the pub was closed and dark, I got a shiver and thought I could write a novel about it, so I did, I started the first few lines, then I went to bed, and had to stop my imagination from going on a killing spree of my few calm brain cells and giving me nightmares. I did.
It didn’t help that I woke up from one of those shitty, shitty dreams that feel like they’re so real and someone that has hurt me so much and doesn’t even know it (because she couldn’t care less) hurt me again, and again, in my dream. Argh I am so over that! I wish my brain registered the fact and told my heart!

Then off to drop off baby girl to school, off to drive husband to work so I could have the car, gaze at wonderful wind turbines, their design so elegant, their movement so calming, come back home, remember I need to go to supermarket, get those things, look at nice young couple with baby and think “That’s how it should have been for me and my first baby” but it never was, and never will be, never was for any of my babies, in fact, always tragedy and drama to season all my three newborns, not to mention the one that never made it.
Feeling so emotional that I had to avoid everyone’s gaze, because all I would’ve needed was someone to utter a kind word or smile with feeling and I would have broken down wailing like an idiot.

I did pick up an old man’s walking stick though and that stabilised me somewhat.

Kept telling myself stop thinking of what you’ll say, what you’ll do, they will guide you, they will know, but no my brain wouldn’t stop, and so happy happy moments with me gazing at something nice, then trying not to cry, then thinking, thinking, then telling myself not to think. What a headcase.

Then at home, sorry doggy can’t take you out just now, it’ll be the garden for you, it’s sunny and nice anyway. Then think hey! I can do what my anxious friend used to do, and get very acquainted with the area, and even look up the guy I will be seeing. A man, not sure how I feel about that, I guess women make me nervous more but men can be very dodgy. Then I look again at the letter and at the internet (he won an aware for excellency at work, bless him) and I see this guy is not a psychiatrist. He is a psychiatric nurse. So what this means is (I guess?) I won’t have to say much of anything at all! He won’t diagnose me, will he (I am on the internet trying to find out, but I’m guessing he cannot diagnose anybody), so, I have no idea, so that means I don’t need to think about where the hell to start.

It also means (but I knew, I knew it was so, why did I dismiss this from my mind?) that this is not the beginning of a long conversation with a guiding professional, it is only one more stepping stone. Good? Bad? Who knows. But certainly not as anguishing, and not as reassuring either. It just is. A lot of that lately.

I am angry, at my friends, my relatives, my parents, my past lovers. Angry because the life that I should have had, given a constant flow of kindness, should have been very different. And the truth is, it’s the same for everyone.

Everyone when they are born are all potential, in truth, anybody who’s ever had a child will tell you that all of what they see when they are teenagers, they saw the buds of when they were babies. So if you don’t start off respecting that spirit, however difficult, or awkward, and loving it, when they are babies, there is no hope in hell they will cope when they are adults.

I am angry because I carried on believing for so long, and some remote part inside of me still wants to believe, in the goodness of people. That deep inside we love more than we hate. I don’t think I was that difficult, really. Not really. Not difficult enough to elicit such anger from so many people. I don’t really think I was “just being a bitch”.

Well, that’s the point I guess. That’s what I want to find out. Am I someone who is usually very nice and kind and loving and then flips and becomes “just a bitch?” just because whatever, I am a bad person? And then spend days, weeks, years cursing myself for causing that pain to others and myself? Or is there a defined demon, something I can fight. Something I can call by name and say “ah yes, you are bladiblah. Now, fuck off.” (Like my friend K. did TWICE, once with a wasp and once with a bumble bee, and off they fucked! True story!).

But there are more steps to take before I get on the path that should give me my answers it seems. Just a little bit further.

I wonder if the man I will see today would accept that as my statement of intention.

“Why are you here?”
“I want to find out if I am Bipolar, BPD or Bitch”.

And now I will play the Witcher 3.


One thought on “Anticlimax

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