Believe it or not I’m starting episode 12 while I’m working out and watching My Shakespeare on Sky Arts. Joseph Fiennes has aged. He’s the image of Ralph gone. I wonder would Shakespeare appreciate my colloquial East Coast syntax?
Tomorrow is Mental Health Awareness Day. I’m feeling proud of the fact that I’m making those closest to me aware of my current fragility.
Juliet just stabbed herself. I don’t think I could do that. I wouldn’t want to make a mess. Cost everyone a fortune in Cillit Bang.
The Big Chill is one of my favourite movies. Probably my favourite. If you’ve never seen it, watch it. It’s older than me so it’s probably on Netflix. Maybe some day there’ll be a movie of my life on Netflix. Imagine! In The Big Chill, Chloe tells Michael that they “cleaned it up” (I’m not giving away the plot, not really, I want you to watch it) and I always felt annoyed that Alex would be so reckless in the lovely All American Mid-West home of Harold and Sarah. If you don’t care about yourself, at least care about a roll top bath. Some people, making a mess even when they’re dead.
So I’m home now. ElsaDaughter did a half day in school and I’m very proud of her. And relieved. It was lovely to see her with her friends.
I contacted my psych nurse just now having been out of their reach down here for the last week and bit and she told me the psychiatrist has said I don’t need them or their services and it’s better anyway in case I became dependent on them… Ok… She was nice and said if I found myself in a crisis to link in with them – they’re not immune to corporate speak either. So effectively, I’m cut off. I’m angry and panicked at this. I’m worried that I’ll end up back at square one. Or square fourteen or fifteen which were fourteen or fifteen times worse than square one. What do I do? I’m barely functioning. They don’t know about the weekend – I started to tell her but she kept interrupting me with jargon. I haven’t heard from the psych office or the psychology team I was supposed to be contacted by. So what do I do? I can’t limit myself to basic hygiene and nutrition for the rest of the year as my main daily objective. I want to get back to school and college and life but can I do that when I’m on a life long waiting list to get my life back?
I told My Lady, the Queen’s Mother and she sighed. She’s worn out. She thinks I’m fine and I should take it as a good sign because it obviously means I’m grand.
Course I am, not a bother.
Fuck it anyway. I thought the worst of this was over and here I am trying to keep myself away from the scissors. I want to throw up.
I feel so sick. Everyone expects me to be ok. I’m not ok.
This is when I start to miss Quarter Pounder. I swear that boy was like an addiction. He strung me out and dulled the real pain, but then he just added to it, the lying bastard. He’s someone else’s drug now. I’m almost clean.
Because I never lied to him. Ha.
And he treated you like dirt Dotty. Cop on.
He’s not the real issue. You need to come back to THAT incident. You can’t avoid it forever. Maybe later you can talk about how you lost your virginity. “Lost” is too passive. The manipulative built-like-a-brick prick took it. But anyway.
Fuck them all. I’m going for a run.
Sitting in my car sweating now, well at least I’m not freezing like I have been all day. My chest is doing that frozen burn thing it does when an unfit person runs. How have I gone from running marathons to struggling with a mile? Everything’s run out of steam, my running’s run out of steam.
The effort of trying to put the pieces of my so-called life (I loved that show, Jared Leto was an enigmatic prick in it I recall) back together are overwhelming. How can I catch up on college and school now? How? I couldn’t. I can’t. Is it too soon to even be thinking about it or do I give up on the notion of normality right now?
Drive home and have a cup of tea. Tea is the cure-all.
My Lady is in a snot with me. I don’t know why. I’m doing the absolute best I can and I can’t do any more. I’m trying so fucking hard to keep it together. I’m like Gary Barlow trying to stick the fragments of my Take That soul back together and not doing a very good job, clearly. Jason!
My lovely friend from school called in and saved me from a bad day escalating into sitting motionless in a squirming internal fury. I think I’ll call her Alicia Keys because she’s very musical and has a sexy swagger about her. I swear after a pot of tea and a long catch up I felt almost like a whole person. Boy, is it good to have good friends. It lifted my knotty heart to see her today and hear the news from the school I love.
Also, college are (I know it’s a collective noun, relax!) being truly dotey in their patience and kindness to me. I did my BA, MA and a year of a PhD in one Dublin university and I’ve started a PME in another Dublin university. The difference. Talk about real life experience as opposed to fuddy duddy academics in an Ivory Tower. I’m astounded at the humanity of the school of humanities which seemed to be distinctly lacking in another shall-not-be-named-recently-in-the-news-for-very-high-salaries university.
I’m feeling hopeful as I look forward to Who Do You Think You Are? When I think of all the shit my ancestors went through surely I’m strong enough to get through a few blue funks? Alicia Keys thinks I am anyway. Girl on Fire, in the right way again soon please God (that’s for the à la carte Catholics!)