Alone and blogging

I haven't really been able to blog for a while in fact there is so much in my life that I haven't been able to manage. I know I may have put this before but to explain my 30 year marriage ended 15 weeks ago now. He left me by sending a text message and ran off with one of my best friends. And it hurts so much. Every day I just hope it will start getting easier - and to be honest in some ways it is. I no longer want him back. I realise that what he has done is so bad and has hurt so much there is no going back. But still I wake every morning with them in my head and I go to sleep the same and in between I have moments of OK, moments of better than OK and moments of utter hell.

I ache inside, I ache with loneliness. I feel it like a pain. I know it is too soon to even be thinking about starting another relationship but I so miss having someone around. After 30 years, even though they weren't all good I so miss waking up beside someone, having someone to talk to, discussing the rubbish on TV, eating with and so on and so on. Some days I really believe that one day there will be someone else for me but most days all I feel is a great be empty hole of the future of being alone, of coping alone. And I absolutely hate it.

Today is a bad day, a really bad day - lots and lots of crying already, up at 5am because I can't bear lying there thinking of them, thinking of what they have done. I can't ring my friends crying anymore - I have had enough of me so I know they have. I want it to stop -I want the days to be better, I want to feel like I can cope with boy and just make a life for myself alone and not keep feeling like this. I know many many people live alone and they do just fine, they are happy and able to live their life to the full. I have done so many things to try and make this go away but it just wont. I am at college one day a week, I volunteer, I have got the house much tidier and have really cleared the clutter, I cook and I clean and I do the garden and I cut wood - lots and lots of things. But I still have so many days like today when I just feel so empty, so alone and can't stop crying.

I know if I just make myself then I should be writing - that may be the savour to my life - if I can write everyday and really get into it I might stop feeling like this but trouble is my concentration span is hopeless, my confidence lower than usual and my avoidance huge.

I have started to do some jogging, maybe physical exercise will stop the pain and help me continue to loose weight and help me see a future for myself.

So here is my first blog for a while and yes it is just me feeling sorry for myself - as another blogger puts it a proper visit from the 'self pity' gnome. I don't know if it will help but I have to try, I have to try anything to stop myself feeling like this. I know somewhere inside I have the means to move on but some days I just can't summon it up.

If anyone is reading this 'I am sorry' but if it helps me at all I am not.

dix

About bonfires

Now I have always thought of my self as a fairly tolerant neighbour (others may tell you different) and just want every one to 'live and let live'. I know I am noisy sometimes and sometimes just want to be left alone to have a quiet life.

This morning I decided to have a lie in (don't worry I get to the bonfire bit soon). I love nothing more than relaxing in bed and listening to the birds and others getting on with their lives. It was 8 am and I knew I needed to get up but just thought, hey a few minutes longer.

Then the smell began, just a slight whiff at first, then it got stronger and stronger - a bloody bonfire. Well my first thought is always has a house or car caught alight - one of my neighbours did once have a garage go up in the middle of the night with lots of huge bangs where the gas tanks went up. But the smell got stronger and the air outside the window became dense with smog like smoke. Ah yes I know, the new house being built on the corner - the builders are burning stuff.

Trouble is the house next door to me has just had a huge extension and the builders did lots of burning then. And they always seem to light a fire when I have washing out, or are just about to put washing out and the day before has been drizzly and wet so I couldn't get anything dry. So I jumped out of bed, most unusual for me, and had to shut the bedroom window (something I hate doing in the summer) then came down the stairs mumbling about bonfires and bloody builders and having to shut the back door.

The smell has gone down somewhat, it is now mid morning. I have washing out just because I don't really have anywhere else to put it and I hate using the tumble dryer unless I have to. But the air still feels well, polluted and I hate it.

I love living near the sea because the air is so wonderful. It smells clean and full of sea air (if you know what I mean) and not full of car fumes and bonfires. I wonder about asking the builders to have fires later in the day but think this might make me look like an interfering neighbour (which from this blog I probably am), but also think well, it might be better to say what I feel as the solution might not bother them so much. Oh god I am running on but you see what I mean.

So I guess what I am saying is I hate bonfire smoke in the summer and am too 'lily livered' to do anything about it.

Dix

Ageing and Time

I remember when I was pregnant and when my children were very young that time really really dragged. I always seemed to be waiting for another time, or for visitors, or for the washing to dry, a TV programme to come on etc etc. It felt like each day went on forever and that my life would always be like that. I would wake up in the morning and find I had this everlasting space where I could take my time to get things done (or not), where the day stretched before me and the evening would slowly come.

I remember when I had a conversation with someone much older than me who said, 'enjoy love, it doesn't last - as you get older time starts to rush by and there is never enough'. I can't even remember who told me this but I remember not believing them. How could this be?

Now I am fifty and my life rushes by, I wake up in the morning always longing for a little longer in bed, even on the beautiful sunny mornings we have had recently. Then I get up and do the morning chores - I feed the animals and let the dog out for a wee, I empty the dishwasher and the washing machine and hang the washing out - rush to shower and wash my hair before hoping I have enough time to take the dog on the beach for a reasonable (or if I am lucky a long walk), before going to work, or out, or shopping, or hoping I can find time to do housework or reading or watch some daytime TV, or if I am really lucky maybe even do something creative.

And then the day is gone - I am home from work - often bloody tired - trying to find time to do the ironing and potter around the garden a bit, or sewing or reading etc, etc. And then I find myself longing for my bed (normally about now, and as I type this I am thinking if I go to bed early I might find it easier to get up in the morning).

And the day is gone, again.
And the week is gone, again.
And the month is gone, again.
And the year is gone, again.
And I find myself at 50 with time rushing past me uncontrollable and longing for a quiet time.

I suspect if I am still blogging at 60 or 70 or even 80+ then this might be a very different blog - it might be talking about how slow life is again. The days dragging forever, waiting to die (well I won't say that but that is how I might feel).

Dix

Begging on the telephone

Today has not been a good day for me - I feel grumpy - I have felt grumpy most of the day. Not really sure why - maybe because I have to go to work tonight - it is my last night though so that is something to look forward to (no more sleepness night walking miles up and down corridors, cleaning and caring). Maybe I am already a bit tired although I actually feel ok, my throat is still a bit iffy but otherwise I feel at last the grotty cold is starting to subside.

Then my day got worse. I ended up begging some snotty little boy on the phone to please deliver us some gas when all he did was basically read No off the screen. Now we do still owe the gas company a little (from monday £100) not a huge amount and all winter we have hugely economised with gas, often being cold, taking showers rather than baths and trying to make it last. It is now into the red (or black on my tank) and we really need a delivering. (Please bear in mind that we have paid them £50 per month, every month and it has been a bloody cold winter).

He would not move, he would not compromise, he would not even listen, he would not let me speak to his boss, he didn't empathise in anyway, in fact it was obvious he didn't give a crap. I was so angry and so upset I cried. I got off the phone and wept. How have I been reduced to this by an uncaring company and a little 'twat' on the phone.

So we turned off the heating, made plans to not have any baths in the near future and hope that the gas will keep going a little while longer. Gas heats our hot water and we cook on it. What else can we do?

By the way, according to little 'twat' Calor Gas has no system for helping people who are having difficulty paying large heating bills, according to 'little twat' they just have a debt recovery department. Well big thanks!!!

After calming down and feeling a bit silly for crying - I had a think.

You have to fight, in this country at this time, in our situation, you have to fight for everything. We are poor (that is ok most of the time - I don't need to buy stuff all the time and consumerism has its major faults) but it doesn't mean I can't be proud, I can't be intelligent, I can't try.

So we rang back and got the managing directors address - will it help? Who knows but if it doesn't I really am prepared to take it further - the press, the TV - well yeah - because we are not the only ones, we are not bad people, we are just in a bad situation. So here goes - a nice but firm letter to the MD asking for flexibility and compromise - a little help yeah.

I would rather hold my head up and try to fight than just be a bloody victim all the time. Will he care or help - watch this space.

Blogging and Poetry

I feel bad. I really want to keep up my blogging this year and yet it has been over 2 weeks since I last blogged. My excuse - I have been unwell - full of cold and tiredness. At the moment I feel like a 'sicknote' like I am always unwell, always tired and wanting to sleep huge amounts and full of aches and pains. Hopefully this is about to pass and I can look forward to spring time full of energy and renewed optimism.

I haven't been doing much creative, not even reading much but I have managed to un earth a good poet. I have an addiction, and yes it is an addiction, for buy books but especially little poetry books - self published and pamphlets, anything really. Some are good; some are absolutely brilliant; others no so - but all worth exploring and enjoying.

I purchased a little book of poetry by Keith Chandler called A different kind of smoke. It was in my local Oxfam shop and it is signed by the author (another thing I like to collect). So I took it home and have been doing some exploring inside its pages. I like it, I like it very much, some of the poetry has amazing imagery, some really makes me feel (all things I love about poetry). I know nothing about the author - he may be local, he may have written much more. I just checked the book was published in 2001 in Yorkshire (that is probably a big clue). Anyway I just want to show you two of his works here:

The "chicken girl"

they called you, those who tutted, clucked

but wouldn't "interfere" or help

the mother who, moustached retard.

couldn't cope, left you at home all day,

all night, with feathered foster aunts.

Among the dust, the dried sick smell

of chicken mash, the one square yard

of sky, fluff, yuk, hexagonal eyes

of wire, square yard of sluttish sand .........

Aged 10, tiny skull, hands bent back

at the wrist, "unable to communicate

except through head-jerking shrieks"

and, rarely, that self-crooning, sound

hat dustbath, or contentment makes .........

Perched on the social worker's lap

I see your, bright disc-membraned eye

(the other side blurred over, scarred

from unhealed fights) staring back

at the camera as at a bottle cap.

Bottom of the pecking order, you stab

and stab at the dry crust of my heart.

Keith Chandler

How amazing is this, it reminds me of Timothy Winters (Peter Porter) a kind of sad humour of child abuse.

Our Father

a shy stiff serious man. I think

of you as somehow on the brink

of being about to say more

than "good night", one hand on the door -

those warm soft things I try to say

to my son as, finally

tousling hair of kissing cheek,

I tuck him in against the dark.

When (packed off to boarding school)

your letters came, they were full

of news, money sometimes. No fuss

about how we felt. Or missing us.

We must talk more openly... What

made you uncomfortable like that?

Was it your father, hand on door,

dressed in the camouflage of war

not knowing what, or how, to say?

What are you afraid of? Why

can I never thing of you as "Dad"

but just "our Father"? It makes me sad

to stand here, to see you curled

drip-fed, cot-sided like a child,

to leave you in this nursery

of fear, as if with nothing to say.

Keith Chandler

This second piece has such a feel of my own father - who loved me but couldn't show it - as an adult I understood as a child it felt cold and unloved. That was the man he was. Not the same ending (my father died suddenly at 73) but the feeling is there.

Dix

21.20 to 21.50

There is something about the time 9.20 to 9.50 pm that makes me space out. Don't ask me why but during those times I just don't seem to be able to function.

I always have a really low point around 3 pm but at least I can stay awake and keep going but in the evening I just seems to phase out. Whether I am on the phone or watching TV or even out I always struggle at this time.

I watch TV programs and tend to fall asleep and then wake up 10 minutes before the end and wonder what the hell is going on. If I am out I find myself sitting quietly and willing myself to stay engaged with other people but if I am on the phone it is worse.

Last night I was on the phone to JC (she has just got an amazing essay result which is just brilliant) I love talking to JC and we often don't keep in touch enough. We were chatting but I could feel myself really struggling to stay focused, to stay on the conversation. But why? I was really interested, really wanted to speak to her but it just couldn't.

And I hate it. People must think I am being really rude. That I am not interested in what they are saying but it couldn't be further from the truth it is just that I have developed this trait - this time when I can't function properly and I can't seem to get out of it. Guess I ought to try and really make an effort to keep myself going at that time - stand up and walk about, that kinda thing.

I am out tonight - darts - and I am going to monitor the time and make sure I stay focused at that time, even if I have to slap myself.

So just to say - to friends and anyone who speaks to me between 9.20 and 9.50 I am so sorry and slap me or call me names if I phase out on you. It is rude and it isn't ok. I wouldn't except it so neither should you.

Dix

Sleep

Thursday night I did my first night shift for a while. I have done some research (on line of course) about how to manage staying awake all night better. Firstly I should try and get some sleep before I go to work - I tried this but I really wanted to sleep around 3 pm but had to pick Boy up from school then so tried going to bed around 5pm and just couldn't sleep.

Secondly it said as long as you replace REM sleep which for most people is around 3 hours a night then in one day you can be totally back to normal. So as I had an appointment on Friday I managed to get about 3 hours sleep during the day Friday and then went to bed last night just after 10pm and slept until 9.30 this morning. And I must admit it seemed to have worked. I don't really feel much different (bearing in mind I often feel tired all the time anyway).

I quite enjoyed doing the night - there is no one to bother me, no one to piss me off and I got through the work well. Yes it is tiring and lots and lots of bloody cleaning especially 5 toilets - and you do often miss the next day in bed but hey, it is working at the mo so as far as I am concerned it is a solution.

In the middle of the night I did think to myself why am I just a glorified cleaner with a good degree and lots of experience. But then I thought my choices and things can always get better.

And there is a bit of good news, there is a job that I can apply for online (and in the paper unfortunately but at least I can try and be better than the competition). I am already thinking about how to write my supporting statement (as I feel like this is where it can be lost or won) and the hours of this job although not a lot would help us no end. If I keep thinking positively than things can only get better - right?

Dix

Another sleepless night

I couldn't sleep again last night just hours and hours of restlessness surrounded by short hours of well, napping. By 5 am I got to that time when I am never sure whether to get up and just do something else or try and get some more sleep. I stayed in bed and haven't woken up until nearly 9 o'clock. I feel like I am wasting the days (although the weather is absolutely hideous so not sure what I can actually do with the day). Now I feel wasted, and low. I have that feeling that is imbedded inside of lowness - it will mean I am liable to cry at any moment and probably will.

I have decided to be a busy as possible today and then hopefully will sleep really well tonight. I have to as Friday night I work all night and have to stay awake.

Maybe it is having to stay awake one night a week that is doing this to me - I am not sure. Only one more month of one night a week then back to normal.

Lots of things going around in my head - and none of them constructive or creative.

But have started another book from my collection that feels like it is going to be a good read. That would mean the last 4 books I have read have been good (5 if you include my toilet book - Harold Pinter).

Deep felt sadness

I heard today that the husband of a friend has committed suicide. It is such sad news and has really rocked me. I knew that he had mental health problems and also they had marriage problems but you always hope that the 'darkness' will not be so bad that he feels the only option is death. It is at these time that I wish that I didn't understand but I do and seeing the terrible mess left behind I hope that will be enough to discourage 'bad thoughts' in the future. I feel the terrible pain of this children and wonder how this will affect them for the rest of their days - I understand my friends anger and sadness and guilt for what he has done and just hope they can all find a way forward, past funerals and paperwork, past recriminations and anger, past pain and tears and have a happy fulfulled and understanding future.

God be with them - God bless his soul.

Dix

A poem I love

Not Waving But Drowning

Nobody heard him, the dead man,
But still he lay moaning:
I was much further out than you thought
And not waving, but drowning.

Poor chap, he always loved larking
And now he's dead
It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way,
They said.

Oh, no, no, no, it was too cold always
(Still the dead one lay moaning)
I was much too far out all my life
And not waving but drowning.

Stevie Smith
(September 20th 1902 - March 7th 1971)

I remember the first time I heard/read this poem and it just 'blew me away' and it still has an amazing impact on me. Some might say it has become a 'cliche' poem but not for me. The words mean so much to me in many ways, some that I can't even explain. I always want to read it out loud and let the words wash over me, each line, each word making me feel, making me think. I hope this is what poetry is supposed to be like, I know that this poem will always be wonderful to me and always mean so much. I guess I have answered my own questions.

Hen-hen and the Tinsel

This is my Hen-hen, (that's what I call him anyway). I once read a book that said most cats of cat lovers have a least seven names (cute and nice names not bugger off flea bag type of names). I remember thinking that was rubbish but realised that both my cats have at least seven names and maybe more. Anyway every Christmas he can't wait for the tinsel to come out of the roof and to wallow in the box once the lid is removed. He loves tinsel and surprisingly never comes out of it covered in shining little slivers, whereas my home is always covered in the glittery slithers whenever I decorate my room.

Hen- hen is so far, the love of my life. I know sad 'cat women' type of comment but I truly love him. I have another cat and a dog and I love them too but not quite the same. I have lived with a cat for just about the last thirty years, and I have loved them all but really they have all preferred my husband and only tolerated this women who might feed them, let them in and out and occasionally be available if a cuddle is required. They were all female cats. But from the first moment I set eyes on Hen at the rescue centre it has just been true love. He climbed straight on my shoulder and curled around me. He still does this when I lie in bed and he curls around me on my pillow. Even though I can't sleep for his loud diesel like purring and his fur makes my face itch - I love him.

Sometimes I only have to think of him and he will come from where he is sleeping and sit with me, in fact he has just come into the study now and is staring at me - like he knows I am writing about him. He wakes me in the morning and lies beside me when I go to sleep.

He can be an absolute pain, like I am typing on a wireless keyboard because he has knackered the keyboard on my laptop where he jumped up, slightly lost his footing and slide back taking half the keyboard letters with him. And when he wants to go and is not allowed, will literally 'hola' at the back door in the loudest nagging sort of way. I don't give in. My cats don't go out after dark even though we live in a quiet cul-de-sac surrounded by fields. I have spent too many an early morning, 3am roaming about trying to quietly call my cats without waking the neighbours, only to find them sitting on the carport roof watching me and wandering what I am doing at that hour.

But whenever I am sad, or lonely or just having a little weep at some silly film he will always appear and cuddle up next to me. I know sometimes he sits on my lap and uses my skin as a gentle scratching post, but it is done with love. He sits with me all day when I am not well and stays with me constantly when the darkness comes. He is my white savour.

I love him, and wonder what I will do when it is his time to leave. I sometimes feel that he is someone who has come back to look after me. It is the weirdest feeling, like I know him and always have. Silly, I know but it is how I feel.

Sometimes I wonder what I would do if it was a choice between Hen-hen and 'Him' - what would I do? Hen-hen loves me for me, no judgement, just pure love and not because he has too. I look forward to going home to see Hen-hen, I look forward to going to bed for a cuddle with Hen-hen. He is my friend.

Oh dear have I really become this sad cat women - probably but I don't care.

A most peculiar dream

I had this dream a couple of nights ago and just can't make 'head nor tails' of it. Any ideas greatly appreciated?

I called it Ear Wax

I had this dream the other night.

It was strange.

I kept rubbing my ears because they felt odd. My hearing was muffled, like listening through water.

And as time went on (and in a dream time is always unreal and often controlled by the dreamer, often controlled by me) my world was becoming quieter and more distant and my ears were itching. So I began poking around in them and bringing out little balls of green grey ear wax. Each little piece rubbed between my fingers into squishy balls that left my ears feeling clearer but still muffled and slightly sore.

Eventually I just wanted to free my ears from their congestion and to hear fully again.

So I lay down on the settee on my side with my left ear exposed and really went for it. I raised my index finger on my left hand and dived into my ear. It went into my ear, initially exploring the outer cavity, peeling away the little wax balls but then delving deeper, my finger pushing through the flesh of my ear canal. The flesh began to separate and my finger squashed through into the inner ear. It felt like pushing through soft meat or warm plasticine or warm wax.

My finger went deeper and deeper until it nearly reached up to my knuckle. And just when I thought I couldn’t reach any further I felt something semi-solid, something slightly firmer just touching the end. I tried to press a little harder and just get a grip on what I could feel. Just delving a tad deeper to get a hold.

And suddenly I felt the object stick to my fingertip. I began to slowly extract my finger, keeping it as still as possible, hoping that the object would stay clinging to my fingertip and come out of my ear.

And it did.

Slowly and carefully it slid out of my ear canal and finally popped into my outer ear, filling it so much that momentarily it hurt, stretching my outer ear cone to extremes.

As the blockage was picked out of my ear the sound became suddenly loud and I was relieved to have removed the muffling.

I picked out the object and immediately felt the shape of it. It was square and about 3 mm thick, square or rather oblong – a strange rubbery rectangle. I took it out of my ear and placed it on the palm of my hand. It was bout 50mm long and 35mm wide.

It was strange. The top side felt slightly un-straight, definitely not parallel with the bottom being lower on the left side and slightly higher on the right.

But the oddest ting of all was the fact that it was a deep midnight blue. There was nothing pastel or uneven about the colour, it was strong, intense, complete. A slightly off kilt, midnight blue rectangle that has come out of my ear. It shone like wax or soap or even waxy soap and still felt warm but was cooling rapidly in my palm.

I remember that I wasn’t surprised or worried, just amazed and interested.

Why did I not question a midnight blue waxy block in my ear?

And what is the significance if there is any, or if you believe in dream interpretation of a dream like this?

My Liverpudlian Dream

I had this dream a couple of days ago and wrote it down. I am not at all sure what it means and would love some feedback. Is it just a story? Is it about creativity? Or is it about sex? (I know JC will think it is but hey maybe, maybe not).

I met a man who was from Liverpool, he lived in a house above an interesting looking shop or warehouse. He lived on the second and third floor and his lounge looked over an amazing square that was cobbled and had just a few people walking on it and the fronts of interesting shops and a pub with a swinging pub sign.

His flat/house had a long corridor from the front door (up a narrow long flight of stairs that was dark) apart from one very small oblong window right near the top. The window was high up near the ceiling.

In my dream I wondered why was I going into a strange house with a man I didn't know? These are questions that are nevered answered in a dream.

The man is dark haired with blue eyes and a pretty average face - a little Fred Flintstone looking if you know what I mean but he did have a friendly face. A kinda square and friendly face and he was definitely a Liverpudlian although I don't know if we were in Liverpool.

I can't remember the specific conversations we had but I know we talked about art and writing and being creative. I asked him lots of questions especially about the amazing art that covered his living room. I knew it was modern and bright and colourful and I really like it. In my memory it was like a 'Hockney swimming pool' but I can't remember the exact details. The whole room felt creative, he felt like a creative person but I don't remember what he said. Maybe he was a teacher - I'm not sure.

But what I do remember is that he told me to keep writing, to believe in my writing. He also told me I can paint if I want to. I just need to paint what I see and to keep trying until I am happy with my work.

When I woke up all I wanted to do was go back to sleep and return to the dream. It was a nice dream. It felt good.

Ten Minute Window

Garry wakes glancing at the alarm clock and realises he has time to stretch. He rolls over onto his back and pulls up the Navy Blue stripped duvet until only his head remains uncovered.

Garry stares at the ceiling. He closes his eyes tightly and watches the colours behind his eye lids. They change from blue to yellow; from yellow to green; from green to red which then merges into a rainbow kaleidoscope.

And slowly his mind wanders back to the distance dreams and happy memories of the night. And sleep.

Garry is returned to life by the manufactured sound of his mobile phone intimidating his favourite rock tune; the sound reminding him to move with its insistent five minute snooze function.

An Unverving Dream

Last night I had a really clear dream. I am not sure how I got to the point but I was in a church (this is a church that I know) although it was much nicer than in reality, much cleaner and more inviting. The Vicar was there. Again a man that I know, a local Father although not the Father of the Church I dreamed about. The Church in my dream is a mixture of the Church I used to attend (a lovely family church that holds good memories) and my local Church as a teenager, which does not hold good memories. The Church where both my parents had their funerals and are buried.

It was a strange dream. When I got to the Church the Vicar (as I called him) passed me a gift and a letter. The gift was a Kite, all wrapped up and new. I was very brightly coloured, red, yellow and white, still in its wrapping and with the card still stapled on the top. It felt strange to get a Kite in a Church and yet I didn't ask why I was being given a Kite. I have recently purchased a Kite and tried to fly it. (I was trying to fly it with a young man who will hopefully become part of my life as we are trying to Foster him), but don't know if this has meaning in the dream, I guess it does.

I never unwrapped the Kite in the Church just put in down beside me. But the letter felt more significant. It was a blue handwritten envelope, neat handwriting, large and clear. I opened the letter and read it.

I remember reading the letter, I remember the look of the words on the page but can't remember what it said, just that I felt very emotional, really happy but also very sad. The Vicar just touched my arm to give me comfort. At this point I looked up.

And there sitting in the Church a few feet away from me sat my Nanny Lou. My maternal grandmother. I have not seen her for 41 years, she died when I was seven and yet she was so clear and she was smiling at me. I could recognise every part of her face, her eyes, her hair, her skin, the shape of her body. It was so real and so beautiful. And it felt lovely and warm and comforting. Like she was there and loving me and holding me. Although I never got close to her. I can't really explain how it felt. Just that it seemed so really, so lovely, so comforting. And I looked straight at her with this letter in my hand and it was wonderful.

At this point I woke up (5.15am) and for a moment I felt happy and loved and comforted and in a wonderful place. I wanted to return to the dream and be back with my Nanny but I couldn't.

And as I lay in bed I suddenly began to feel strange. To feel drained and unhappy, as if the dream, far from being good was a pointer to something terrible that is going to happen. I can't explain why I feel like this. It was so odd to go from almost euphoria to utter misery in such a short space of time.

All day I have felt incredibly tired and drained (I have woken up to write this). I have lacked energy and sharpness and just felt like I am being told that something in the future (the near future) is not good. I have dreaded the day. I felt like I was looking for signals to tell me what was coming. I was often aware of the dream and the memory during the day. I found myself smiling at the memory of my Nanny and then shivering at the feeling that followed. A terrible contradiction. I know this is really OTT but it feels like I should be grateful to wake up tomorrow. That is how strong the feeling is. My body had ached today, I struggled to have any clarity of thought and absolutely no enthusiasm. I just want to go back to bed to sleep and yet am almost fearful to do so.

I like to dream. It has often helped me sort out problems and definitely helped me find ideas for my writing. But this was not nice. I very rarely have nightmares and even they have not left me with the feeling that I have carried today. This was not a nightmare, it was beautiful and yet it has left me feeling devastated. Even writing this is giving me butterflies inside.

I hope tonight will be better. I hope that I can sleep as normal.

Another hideous day over

Well I have got through another Wednesday. And yes it was pretty bad. It is very strange to have to work in a building with someone who will not respond with me in any way. When I am instructed, ney, ordered to stay down the other end of the building in order not to offend her. Well guess what (excuse me for this) bollocks!! I did speak to her, even though she didn't respond and I did try to just do my job as normal. But God was it difficult. All day I had this nagging tightness in my chest, like a heavy pain of anxiety that just sat there and 'plugged' at me all day. And then I got a headache, a guess it was a stress headache and now I am just thoroughly knackered. Oh well another one over. Next Wednesday will be the same, then the next should be ok, then two more to endure and hopefully it will be all over - until she returns. Of course the decision has been made for me I must leave, I must move on and find something I can do, enjoy, give me some flexibility and a reasonable wage. Hey easy then - not.

Today was my last session on CBT therapy and it went well - I have definitely started to feel better but the million dollar question is can I manage without my sessions. They have helped me understand much about myself and my illness and what has changed since I was last ill five years ago but they have also been an outlet, a place to release the stress of my work situation and without that next week and am concerned at how I will manage. I realise that the situation is not my fault - that you can't make people be kind and compassionate - you can't make people like you - only just get through life the best I can.

Never mind the weekend is nearly here and that is always a good thing. I can make it through the next two days and then rest and sleep and do lots of housework and tidy the garden and write letters and and and. Do I really want the weekend to come?

I really need to read a good book. I have finished a couple recently and haven't started to anything new and I need to. I must sort through my 'books to read' pile and pick one I fancy. Maybe something not too heavy and not too long. Maybe that is not the best reason to read a book but it is an ok reason because at least I am reading something.

Anyway my bed is calling. See ya.

More Spike and me

OBERON

The flowers in my garden

grow down.

Their colour is pain

Their fragrance sorrow.

Into my eyes grow their roots

feeling for tears

To nourish the black

hopeless rose

within me.

Nervous breakdown

Bournemouth

February 1967

Confused Brain


I hope this is going to be a better day
than it feels
I couldn't sleep for worry
Then I couldn't wake my mind.
Am I well at all
Or is it just my brain confusing me.

Hopeless person

October 2008

Dih

And this is me today (3)

I started the day really angry and frustrated. I am not sure why, maybe tiredness and the knowledge that I have no time to relax - just going from one thing to the other until falling into bed to non sleep from over tiredness. Never mind I have got Saturday off so maybe a sleep in or a long luxurious walk on the beach with the dog in the sunshine.



Anyway I was angry and upset, prone to tears and then the day went really well and now I feel, even though I still have loads to do that it has been a good day and I haven't wanted to eat rubbish and I haven't wanted to change my life etc. Anyway it is strange how what starts off bad turns out good. It's like going to a spouses work do - I really dread it and think I won't know anyone and I will feel fat and ugly and then I go with utter dread, thinking of excuses to call off and have a really good time and don't feel fat or stupid in fact often the opposite.



Not much time to write today - I am just about to take an hour for my fix of Neighbours and Home and Away (although both are slightly silly at the moment) before I am off to Weight Watchers to hopefully not be too downhearted if I have put on or not lost.



Oh well - will write again soon.



D