Sigh

When does the sadness stop?  It seems to be taking forever.  

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Response to self

You are not alone.  You’re not sinking into a pit of depression and despair, you’re having a bad week.  A bad month. Whatever.  This is not forever.

The only person how can change how you feel is you, so stop wallowing in self pity and get on with life.  Your inner self hating voice is an idiot.  Turn her off.  She knows nothing.  Stop listening to her and start listening to those around you.  If you can’t hear those around you it’s because you’ve turned them off and shut yourself in a cocoon.  Unravel yourself, remind people you’re alive and listen to them.

This is not how it has to be.  You get to choose your life.  If this isn’t what you want, then don’t accept it and do something about it.  Leave the house, answer the phone, respond to messages, start living again.

We are going to get you through this.  Have a little trust, a bit of hope and all the courage you can muster, because tomorrow, I’m going to help you start winning at life again. 

Ready?

Love

Not A. Mess

Letter to myself

Dear me,

I’m tired of trying.  I’m tired of everything being so hard.  

I’m angry that I’m feeling like this and I don’t know how to change it.

I’m sad.  I’m sad about nothing.  I’m sad about everything.  Mostly I’m sad because I’ve forgotten what happiness feels like.

I’m worried that it’s going to be like this forever.  I’m worried that this is how it is now.

I’m lonely.  There’s only me fighting this battle and there’s no back up.  

I’m bitter that other people manage this.  I’m bitter that everyone else is doing great things and I’m sat in the car crying.  

I’m hurt that those that should care don’t.  I’m hurt that there’s no one reliable left.

I’m anxious about doing everything.  I’m so anxious I’ve stopped communicating with people I know altogether, and I’m sad because no one has noticed.

I’m frustrated that I can’t snap out of this.  I’m frustrated that it’s hard, and I’m trying my best, and it’s still hard.

I’m failing.  Failing at everything there is to fail at, and all the things there isn’t.  

I’m wrong.  This is not how I should be.  It’s not who I am.  It’s not what I want to be like.

I’m malfunctioning at life and I don’t know where the restart button is.  

I’m overwhelmed with life.  I’m overwhelmed by inner voice thwt keeps telling me I’m not doing it right, that I need to try harder, that I’m not good enough. 

I’m obsessed with social media which makes me feel bad.  I’m obsessed with my diet and the numbers on the scale.  I’m obsessed with how I’m stuck in a place I don’t want to be and I can’t get out of it.

I’m scared of what happens next.

Please help me.

A. Mess

Broken

I had a meltdown the other day, and I haven’t been able to pick myself up from it.  It all started because I’m on a diet and lost weight.  Which should be a good thing right, but when I saw that the numbers on the scale, I immediately thought ‘but imagine what it would read if you had worked harder at the gym’ and ‘you had a wine on Wednesday, that was cheating’.  It quickly descending into chasm of self hatred littered with ‘you Don’t deserve this’.  

I told a friend about it who didn’t get why I wouldn’t be happy.  That just made me feel worse.  Does thwt mean I’m incapable of happiness?  Should I just give up on life now if I’m never going to be happy?  I managed to function enough to get to the gym, where I promptly launched into a full scale sobbing mess in the car park.

How broken must I be, if I don’t know how to be happy?  If I don’t know what success or pride feels like?   I attempted to try and find a memory of success, something I could try and replicate, which was terrible, because I couldn’t find one, so I just confirmed that I’m failing at life.  

Since then, I’ve basically been a miserable mess.  I’m grumpy and angry at work.  I spend my commute crying in the car.  I go to the gym and feel like a failure because I’m not working hard enough, I come home and eat, and feel like a failure at that because all I want is chocolate, and I don’t want to eat any more vegetables.  Then there is the weighing.

I weigh myself approximately every half an hour.   Today the scales have been rising, but I’ve stuck to my plan.  Does that mean I’m failing?  It thwt wine from a week ago catching up with me?  I definitely need to work harder at the gym.  And eat more vegetables.  What happens if it continues to rise?  I may as well just eat chocolate and then at least I’ll die of a satisfied heart attack.

So here I am.  Broken.  Failing.  Despairing.  And the worst bit of that….? I’m telling the internet because there’s no one else who cares.  

The mundane

My job can be really tough. I work with children who have cancer. I meet them at diagnosis and am with them through end of treatment, survivorship, relapse, late effects and death. Some days be really really shit.

Today, three separate children were given weeks to live. And I had to sit with parents when they were told their children were going to die. I had to give advice to them about whether to tell their children they were going to die. How to tell brothers and sisters. Answering questions about why them, why now.

Holding the hands of children as poison is pumped into their bodies. Paying guess who to pass the time whilst a strangers blood is channelled into them to keep them alive.

These children are going to die whether I’m there or not. These families are going to through this atrocity whether I am there to hold their hand or not.

So I’d rather be there. I’d rather I was holding their hand than nobody was.

But when three lives are about to be taken away, I can’t help thinking that life can be pretty fucking cruel, and really, my melodrama is entirely insignificant.

21st century hopelessness

It is odd that in 2015, where the entire world is at your fingertips, in an age of non-stop information sharing, where one can sit in a room and talk to 150 friends virtually, that it is possible to feel entirely and hopelessly alone.

Admittedly, I’m slowly transforming into a crazy cat lady who spends her days looking at memories of days gone by in her pyjamas, minus the cats. I am not making any increased effort to stop being hopeless, or isolated. So I’ve really got no one but myself to blame, but I can complain and whine about it and still be to blame. My blog, and it can write whatever I want.

Thing is, I think hopelessness and loneliness are different. I don’t feel especially lonely. As I write this I have four chat bubbles pinging away indicating that there are four people in the world that want to talk to me. That four more than many people, so I should be grateful for that. Which I am. Sort of. But what I actually want is people to engage with face to face. Real people in real time. Not that the bubbles aren’t real, these are all people I know and see in real life, not some strangers I acquired off the internet, but they’re not really here.

Chances are they’re all sat at home in their pyjamas talking to four people who aren’t really there either. Only they’re probably aren’t over analysing the situation. Maybe they are. Maybe we there all over thinkers and all too socially incompetent to speak to one another about it. Unlikely.

So how does one stop being alone? Meet someone. Well we’ve established that is comparable to scaling Everest, so that’s out. Meet new friends? Ah yes, but how does one do that at nearly 30. Can’t just go to the park and share an affection for the roundabout before inviting them back for tea. You have to join something, or go somewhere where you present yourself to a group of people already bonded and attempt to get accepted. I am no good at this. I am ok at the presentation and the subsequent viva of questions. I’m polite enough and just witty enough without being offensive to get past round one. But the problem is, getting to the presentation part. Whilst other people are fumbling over their words and trying to think of appropriate jokes whilst with the new group, I am stood outside the door, filled with panic and dread. Actually I’m not even at the door, I probably got as far as the driveway and then carried on walking.

I am the awkward kid at the back of the room, desperate to join in the party games, but terrified of rejection, so watches from afar because being alone but with the potential to be accepted is significantly better than being alone and rejected. However you look at it, all the options involve being alone.

It’s all quite hopeless really.