260. The H word.

Life is literally crumbling around me. I have no strength or fight left.

I want to give up. I don’t want to be here anymore. My arms are raw and sore, my love for zopiclone is unsustainable, and all other interventions are failing me, and I stink!

I’ve been asked would I go into hospital. I’ve said yes. I wish C could come with me though.

There really isn’t much else to say.

Loopy x

213. Little white lies.

I couldn’t sleep, that part was true. I’m totally dependant on pills now. Audio books and zopiclone are the perfect combination, but without the zopiclone (or a prescribed alternatuve) my eyes remain open and my thoughts attack me.

“Did you do anything?” asked a caring NHS voice this morning. “No” I replied but in truth yesterday I was a little self destructive. I once again put straightening irons against my skin, until the flesh was white and leathery. The edges blistered immediately and now I’m dealing with the aftermath. I don’t really know why I did it.

In the evening myself and OH treated ourselves to a “Subway”; the chicken teriyaki on Italian herb and cheeses went down easily. Then the guilt took hold and I followed the ritual of drinking tea (to fill my gut with liquid), sneaking off to the bathroom, expelling some of the guilt, and washing my hands and around my mouth thoroughly with soap.

I don’t know why I lied this morning. I guess I felt like the truth would let him down. The truth would label me attention seeking. The truth would prove that I’m pathetic.

Loopy x.

210. Clothes shopping.

As I trecked through outlets I could sense the feeling rise. That knot in my gut that comes with, just kill me now. I’ve always hated shopping. There are some practical reasons (can’t easily read labels, don’t like crowds, always feel like I’m being stared at) why I hate it, but it’s more than that.

I’m going back to work however, and the trainers and hoodies that have become my mainstay, don’t exactly ooze professionalism.

Firstly, i’ve never understood the lighting in dressing rooms. Can we have 10,000 lumens please, but not above your head. Oh no; these should form a strip along each mirror edge so that your necessary squinting masks how groteques you look in that ensamble.

What if you’re in the hunt for something a little sexy. Satin maybe that’s sleek and contours every curve, something for your hubbies eyes only.

This lighting just won’t do. I need those tea candles and a bottle of merlot, that give even Jabba the hut come hither eyes and a sultry demure.

NOPE full beams please, so that you look like your morbidly obese gran, who has a grimace indicating that she may have just pooped herself, and her skin a little ragged, because they didn’t have fancy creams in her day. They used wire wool to exfoliate!!

And what’s with sizes anyway??? They should just rip off all the labels and have rows of super skinny, kinda skinny but could lose a few lbs, a little excess baggage and finally; sorry love,we’re going to need more material!!!!

I pulled on a pair of size 10 trousers, too big; “oh my,! well I have been working out

Size 8 winning!!!!, but oh dear you”re obviously a few inches shy of 6 ft 4 glamoererous. Let’s try it in a short, shall we? They were clearly expecting dwarfism. Outlets nowadays have to be so careful, politically correct and inclusive

They cater for all body types, but only if you arrive at the crack of dawn just as shelves are being stocked to scoop up that 1 solidary item thats in your size.

“Oh store assistant, can I have these all in a regular 8 please (they can be tailired later)” I mean come on, I’m gorgeous, I’m glamerous, I’m positively glowing……….

10 minutes later, I’d pulled of some moves that Beth Tweddle and Michelle Kwan would be proud off. “Oh store assistant, I’m…………….I’m STUCK!!!!!!!….and I fear only a large tub of petroleum jelly shall set me free!!

I shall have to delve deep into the reccesses of my wardrobe, as I left the stores defeated, deflated and with just a little less self esteem than I’d arrived with.

And to think, people actually do this for fun????

Loopy x

197. BJJ and kickboxing.

I’ve had endless conversations with my psychologist and my CPN about finding hobbies again. Endless conversations about improving my social circle and I’ve always come back with, ‘I don’t know what I like, or indeed used to like.

I don’t care much for girly chats about fashion, shopping, manicures and the latest trends in dieting. I feel ugly in groups of women and judged.

I’m a Tom boy, through and through, and I’ve been thinking lately about the judo I used to do at uni and the lovely support worker who brought in pads and gloves for me to use in hospital. I’ve been googling local clubs lately and trying to muster up the courage to go.

I changed my outfit like 4 times, brushed my teeth 5 times, kept scolding the reflection in my mirror but I did it. I managed to go out of my comfort zone and try a new class.

The BJJ and kick boxing, that I’ve just attended, may be the answer to venting all the angst and rage that I used to vent with “Wilson”

Loopy x

195. The letter.

At the midpoint of my psychology journey with K, I was informed that she writes a letter to her patients at the end of therapy. I should have been given this in our last session togethar but she admitted not being in the right frame of mind to complete it, and thus it would be posted to me.

Since our ending, I have been waiting desperately for that letter, and today it arrived.

At first read, I was angry with her. It seemed to me, to be to clinical in nature, and the lecturer in me couldn’t help but get annoyed by the typos and grammatical errors. Had she rushed it? At first read I couldn’t find the optimism, kudos and words of encouragemt that I had hoped for from K. At first read, my failings, stupid behaviours and inadequicies jumped from the pages, mocking me. I almost ripped it up and threw it in the bin.

I’ve since been to the gym, and upon returning home, I’ve given it a 2nd read. The letter is indeed a truthful representation of our journey together, and under careful scrutiny it does contain some kudos.

What I’ve learned from this letter and my expectations of it; is that there were some issues around transference that we never dealt with. In short I was expecting a letter from a “friend”; but I received one from a “therapist”

I really miss K, and I suspect this feeling will last for some time yet. She was awesome. I will keep the letter and remind myself to focus on the positives contained within it.

Loopy x

164. Searching for sun rays.

I’m struggling to be positive. My forecast calls for rain, but today I guess I found some sun rays. There was a tsunami in my bathroom, that brought me smiles and laughter. No one tells you just how much splashing little hands can do. Nor do they tell you that a cheeky smile through mounds of suds is enough to fill your heart with joy.

I’ve been trying really hard with little man. I’ve surrendered to his constant calls for attention, his constant gÅ•abbing of my hands and he’s paying me back with love.

2 months ago, I would have sworn he hated me, but I know now that he doesn’t. I’m constantly doubting my abilities to care for him, constantly beating myself up for failing him, but he loves me. He Loves ME!!

Hang on to that..

Loopy x

162. Taking me by the hand.

I’ve reached a new level of pathetic. I’ve had a phone call today on behalf of our health visitor. They’ve found a spot for myself and little man at a toddler group and they’re going to meet me outside. They’re practically taking me by the hand and I’m dreading it. Politeness made me agree to it, but every ounce of me is hoping something will come up and they’ll have to cancel on me.

I really don’t want to go. To top it off I was handed a “you’re a crap mum, let us intervene” leaflet yesterday. I guess I’m not the only one who’s realised I’m failing Little man.

Please, just let me hide away for a while.

Loopy x