Friday, April 27, 2007

Day 247

Today is my last day of being 29. No more twenties for me. I find myself tippy-tappy-typing on my Mum's new computer (they have finally arrived at the age of broadband - thank God) as I am at the Retirement Village for 30 year old celebrations.

It's been a hell of a few weeks since moving and my dearest Mama finally threw in the towel and came to rescue me on Wednesday afternoon when I gave up. Yet again. Being "big and brave" is short-lived, I keep seeming to find out - to my cost.

So, I thought I would do a quick run down of events, not covered in my last post, all in the name of posterity. The events, they shall be in the form of a list, for lists - I love.

1) I got a cold the day before I moved. So slobbered and sneezed my way through roughly ten boxes of tissues. And all over a million boxes. God bless Day Nurse. Combined with Diazepam and anti-depressants, it works a treat.

2) I got the broken window replaced to the tune of £75 the day I left the old place. Expensive bloody piece of glass. Must have been diamond filled putty he used to keep it in there.

3) I went to a party. All my friends of old have crept out from under their stones, just as I decide to leave. It was a fabulous evening and we got caught smoking, just like we did about ten years ago. It was just what we needed I think, all pissed (apart from me), snans babies, just like the good old days (not that I don't love their babies). I thought "God, it's nice to have my mates back", they said: "God it's just like having the old Rozza back". Must have been all that competitive shrieking I did while playing the quizz. I do get a bit over excited at such things. I think I need a stage.

4) I had to fill out all the forms for Housing Benefit AGAIN. More forms - they are evil those people sitting behind desks, and they have no souls. 20 pages of "How sick are you, really?" questions later and I began to think there was nothing wrong with me at all. I await their decision with baited (and Diazepam smelling) breath. Just because you had it once, don't mean you're gonna get it again.

5) Went to horrible Job Centre, but you know about that. And then decided I had made a terrible mistake in moving. I keep forgetting it wasn't my choice.

6) Had a stressful meeting with my amazing Friday Counsellor. The first, I think. I wanted to go in there and be all positive, but with the move, I could think of nothing positive and came out of there thinking I was a horrible person for not taking an interest in my friends' lives. I thought it was the depression that made me quiet, and my brain less able to focus - she challeneged that it might just be me. I was gutted. Am I a shit friend, do I pay no attention to other's worries? Ms Friday, I think the opposite, I am so scared that they all hate me, that I try in every way I can to show them that I am there.

I am finding the, as I perceive, self motivated counselling tough to swallow. I want someone to tell me what to do, especially when I feel like I haven't a clue what I'm doing, or if my thoughts or actions are normal. I also want some concrete tools and tricks of the trade to get me over this rather large hump, what I don't want is someone trying to make me work it out myself. Isn't that what got me into all this mess in the first place?

7) As a result of the above had two great appointments at the Mental Centre, (I am twisted) one with my CPN the other with the Psychologist. They are full of advice there. Yeah, I cried as I mentioned before. But at least it comes out somewhere. Although I couldn't stop weeping for about five days afterwards...

8) I pee'd on my coat. Accidentally. In the lovely John Lewis toilets. I then had to stuff the offending article in my bag, wrapped in an entire loo roll. I then forgot that it was in there (the bag) and now my bag smells like wee. Now I smell like wee because my bag does. That's what happens when you hit 30. Bladder weakness. Ho-hum.

9) I was planning to have a 30th birthday soiree at my new place, but then everyone I wanted to be there had other engagements they had to be at. That, in my head, translated to: "She isn't worth being around for". So I spent the next few days weeping about that, and singing "Nobody loves me, everybody hates me, I think I'll go eat worms..." I couldn't tell them how important this birthday has become. Less about being 30, more about being alive. Not that the latter holds such high priority. To this day, I am alive for others only.

10) Trashed the "wedding" theme for the birthday party. Thought I might terrify eveyone.

11) Slept - a lot. "Another form needs filling, Oh, look there's my bed".

12) Cried.

13) I gave the keys back for the old place. That was much more emotional that I had thought, and took me quite by surprise. I didn't want to leave my safe little nest, even though I hated it most of the time, and I sure as hell didn't want to taint the new place (that was way to good for me) with tears and self mutilation - so where the hell was I supposed to go? Oh, I know, no man's land which is where I am residing now.

14) I had visitors at my new house. I haven't had visitors in about six years. No joke. Mainly because I lived with a crazy drunkard who was wholly abusive to anyone who came within two feet of our house, or me, and then I had an anti social boyfriend, who just didn't like people. Then I got sick and I assume people thought it was contageous. So, last week I had numerous visitors, including the pixie baby, who decided she liked being held upside down.

Visitors mean you have to get up, washed and dressed before you do anything else, it also means that your house has to look presentable, in at least one area (usually the area beside the kettle and biscuits). This is very tiring as it means you have to be on top of everything all the time. It also makes you feel a bit exposed when you are used to hiding behind closed blinds all day, every day.

"It's good for me." Repeat until you believe it.

15) A man kept coming to my (new) front door demanding £1.50 for cleaning the stairs. £1.50 x 52 = a lot. I can do it for free. But no, no, they have an arrangement already in place in my block. He also wanted the money from before I lived there, when the flat was empty. And then he tried to tell me jokes. I forgot to roll my eyes and dribble at that point so he would leave me alone. Note to self: "Do that next time, you fool."

So that little lot brings me to where I am now, smewhere in between neither here, nor there. I have a horrible haircut and look like a potato wearing a wig, and everything is troubling and unsettling. I need to nap pretty much all day long and my eyes look like piss holes in the snow. Sound familiar? Yes, I am where I was six months ago. Rolling around in a weird body that belongs to someone else.

Tomorrow I must be joyful, and be happy to be 30. I must also pretend that I love the fuss and the attention, when all I want to do is crawl into a hole. I am not trying to sound ungrateful or insinscere and I know that I am a damn sight better off than most of the rest of the world. But, and that is a massive but, I can't see it, or feel it. I don't understand why I am here and the only reason I am is because I know my Mum would be cross if I wasn't. I would be sitting up there on my cloud (or perhaps loafing around downstairs) and she would be here, being all cross and shoutey.

They will tell me there are all sorts of reasons that I deserve to live, that I deserve to have a nice birthday, and a nice place to live. I can't see it yet, but as my psychologist said: "If you pretend long enough, you might actually start believing it".

I spend a lot of time thinking that I sound like the most self-indulgent, pitty-filled person known to man, but believe me it doesn't feel I have any choice in the matter. My head just says, categorically, "You are shite, deserve nothing and will get nothing, not ever".

It's all quite annoying.

I just remembered, I am supposed to stop smoking at 30. Bloody hell.

Sunday, April 22, 2007

Day 240 - Friday 20th April 2007

I used to have this doll. She had a rather over sized head that was attached to her body by a long thread. The thread was wound up tight inside her keeping her head and body together, when you pulled them apart she said “Uh! I lost my head for a moment” and “Oooh, there goes my body”. Her voice was strangulated and bizarrely American so “body” sounds more like “b-a-a-w-d-e-e-e”. I have no idea where we got her from; I have however, over the past few weeks, wondered what ever happened to her as I similarly wonder the same about myself.

I may feel like I am invisible at the moment, but today, just call me Penelope.

That is what I told a toothless man on the number 5 bus today on my way back from counselling with my therapist at the Mental Centre. He interrupted my private crying session, asking my name, where I was going, what I was going to do when I got there. Yeah, I was on a bus and therefore fair game with an empty seat beside me, but I just wanted to cry and not be interrupted by a lonely soul looking for a new friend. He obviously didn’t see the tears sliding down my face or maybe his “social inadequacies” forgave him the right to care? So, I became Penelope - more Keith less Cruz, at his suggestion.

It is on days like today, when the chips are farther down than the stupid proverb itself, that I feel I have the “right” to feel shitty and the right not to talk when someone else wants me to.

I moved, um, I don’t know how long ago now and I guess I am settling into something, be it the new house or the new way of life – I’m not sure. It’s grim at times. Like when I have to go to horrific Job Centres where you are lined up like offensive crims, ignored and generally treated like shit. Other times I can find small pleasures in getting 2 meters of oilcloth for my kitchen table from John Lewis. I love john Lewis – especially the convenience of their lavatories.

I’m struggling with writing today, as you can probably tell with this disjointed melange – but as the pressure to write again has been on my mind a lot over the past few weeks – I think it’s high time to break me old procrastination cherry (and not for the first time).

Having some down time, being without internet connection is a pitiful excuse for lack of blogging and I have been feeling guilty about that – what with all this Why-fi, thread less, cordless, open-up-your-laptop-in-a-park internet connection - not having home internet connection is a poor excuse (but one I like to use frequently). I have a responsibility to myself and to her (the naggy blog) to keep up, but it’s hard to allow yourself to indulge in the things you love to do when you feel shite.

I assume that people must think that when you are home all day you must spend hours doing things you like doing, but nothing could be further from the truth – as far as I am concerned anyway. I get so broiled up in trying to un pack boxes and straighten things out, trying to make things look the part, make me look the part, for all to see (I have visitors now you know). No time to sit down and breathe - no time to take the time to have five minutes to sort things out in my head. No, no. No, there isn’t. Hush now. God, it’s all so noisy.

Oh the tears, how they do slide down my face today.

Now, that’s a start isn’t it? Do you know there has actually been dust flying out of my keyboard throughout this little bonding session of ours? Probably because all this baby has been used for over the past week or so, is watching DVD’s to aid sleep. Right then, back to work.

[Posted from my long standing friend, and new neighbour's kitchen before a trip to Ikea - 22/04/07.)

Wednesday, April 04, 2007

Day 224

The day has finally come. And I am all over the shop. Standing in my near naked lounge with an old hat on my head - not quite knowing where to put it. I am moving today.

Yesterday I broke a window in my flat - the old one (flat that is), by accident and slept amongst the boxes last night, waiting for it to fall in on my head.

I won't be sad to leave here because of all the misery I now associate with these four walls, but equally I am terrified of what lies ahead.

So as Jack says, pretty much every day in his line of work: "I'm going dark". I wish it was for some other reason than that I have no internet at my new place yet, but it's not.

I shall see you again, dear diary, as long as the window pane doesn't get me first.

Sunday, April 01, 2007

Day 221

There is a man, in my back garden, wearing a black bin bag with holes cut out for his arms, standing with about six bananas and a potted plant on a table in front of him.

And I am still pa(ni)cking. Well, I'm not, I'm sleeping when I should be pa(ni)cking. Two and a half days to go...