Tuesday, January 23, 2007

Day 156

Silence is golden? Well, at the moment I’m not sure…

Today is day two of only speaking to my mum once a day. I usually speak to her several times a day, and on bad days, it feels like cables and wires connect us, all day long.

My counselling appointment on Friday morning brought about this happy little sojourn down independence alley.

Last week was hermit like. Sleeping all day long, my days punctuated with phone calls. The shrieking phones (that seemed to be) constantly ringing, were driving me insane so, I buried my head further under the duvet and several pillows for a few days.

Alarms were/are another annoyance. Every part of me screams when they go off. I have two, set 15-30mins apart because I switch them off and go back to sleep - the trick of having two is supposed to make me wake up when the second one goes off, but I just end up burying them under the pillows together, in my half awake, stressed out and irritated state. I was interested by my recent practice of: “I’ll just close my eyes for five more minutes…” knowing full well I could have overslept for several of my appointments last week. I didn’t care. I didn’t care if I slept through everything last week.

It is a strange position to be in when people calling to check you are OK irritates you. You feel guilty and responsible. I feel responsible for making people worry about me in this state, but also feel guilty that they worry; that their days are punctuated with time consuming checks on me. Mum is the main caller but also the only one of a few, that I would speak to, we had a call code so I would know it was her and I would pick up. However, I had begun to feel as though her calls were “checking up calls” [She isn’t checking up on me though is she? She’s just making sure I’m not dead.] where I felt obliged to report back on my achievements of the day (usually none) and then we would get into the “you need something in your day” conversations. Afterwards I’d slope back off to bed and bury myself all over again. And so it went on…

After having the weirdest appointment with my counsellor to date, we decided (she suggested I agreed) that it might be an idea to limit calls to once a day. Ironically these were the days that my phone provider cut my phone off. I felt like calling them to tell them that they’d just cut off a suicidal person’s one mode of contact, but no, don’t be silly, of course I didn’t.

My counsellor often attributes this ‘sudden death’ when questions on productivity arise to “gifted child syndrome” (or words to that effect). It makes me want to giggle when she says “gifted child.” “Me, gifted? a) Hilarious, b) not so and c) even if it was true, isn’t that too easy – the theory that someone who is gifted shuts down when external expectations come with their ‘gift’? I recognise the fact that when I am good at something, and am asked (what seems like constantly) why I don’t use my gifts, I shut down. But “gifted child syndrome” or whatever she called it, she’s talking about kids that can tell you the square route of 976558.01 at aged four. Or can spell and know the meaning of “hypotenuse” at two. Surely?

We also talked about stress. I hate the word stress, but alarm bells began to ring for my Friday counsellor when I visibly recoiled and said ‘no’ to any form of relaxation therapy. Stress; adj – middle management buzzword.

Everyone I know says “I’m soooooo stressed out”, it is akin to “I’m soooooo depressed.” In my newly refurbished head this translates as: “Fuck off, you have no idea,” (apparently I am now the only one who is allowed to have these “conditions”). Well, I actually only think I have depression, and only because I am told that a lot, and because I tell it to myself, a lot, hoping I begin to believe it and don’t stab myself in the brain because my head won’t shut up instead. I digress. And so it appears that I am now, apparently, “middle management”.

Crap, I just want to call my mum.


Blogger MasterQ said...

People are talking to you which means you're talking to them, and that's good. I don't talk to anyone except my therapist because I'm afraid of the guilty feelings I'd get by making them feel responsible for me when it isn't their responsibility and they have their own shit to worry about without me adding to it. So I watch a lot of movies and read a lot, and only talk to my therapist and my dad.

3:27 am  

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