This is a blog about depression. If you are easily offended or take offence to my very sarcastic humour, please do not read any further. Mental illness is not a joke; it is not something to point fun at and I fully understand that. BUT…when the going gets tough, sarcasm and humour is my defence and so I will be parading it around all over this blog.
If you need help, please get it. Whilst I hope this has a happy ending, I don’t know yet and given I’ve not been able to fix myself, I really don’t want others using this as a ‘How To Be Happy for Beginners v2.0’
Hello post 100! That’s 100 blog entries some of you’ve successfully survived! You deserve a medal but given my current finances, a virtual one will have to suffice.
I wake up at 0700 but hearing the house is still quiet, I tuck back under the duvet for another couple of hours. I’ve had a nightmare, I’m back at work and a huge pile of papers have been put on my desk. It’s then that I realise I am not ready to be back but I also can’t leave as there is so much work to do, I start panicking and the world feels like a black hole. Thankfully I wake up at this point. The dream is so vivid and real, it feels like I am really at the office.
Other than the nightmare, last night was the best night’s sleep I’ve had in months. I feel so refreshed. We have porridge with almond milk, blueberries and honey for breakfast before I get packed. It’s time to head back to reality and my cats. Sister and Brother-in-law have helped fix my bathroom light so that’s positive too!
A quick goodbye, including to Puppy BG and I am on the road. I’ve planned this afternoon, not that you’ll be surprised! I need to collect my prescription from the hospital.
The drive home is uneventful but once home, I can’t face going out again. I really do need my prescription but a combination of wanting to cry for no apparent reason and severe cramps means I’m currently curled up on the bathroom floor. Whilst curled up down there, I open the post, my insurance is charging me for a day care day. What! No! I can’t afford it, bugger. I call the hospital and apparently, it’s all been an admin error, I don’t owe £450, I owe £0. Well that’s a relief, not enough of a relief as to get me off the bathroom floor but a relief nonetheless. My cats are very curious to why their human is curled up and crying, they aren’t really sure what to do. Boy cat plays with my hair and Girl cat licks my leg, touching as that maybe, even my cats can’t help right now.
After some paracetamol, ibuprofen and codeine, I am up. I’m still teary with no real reason but this is better than the bathroom floor. Given my shock back to reality about finances and a friends wedding coming up, I look up how much the train would cost. I can get a megabus for a fraction of the cost of a tank of petrol or buying a train ticket direct from the train site. I’m getting serious on the penny counting now. Anything to get myself out of this hole. I also run through the weekend receipts. I was £2 within budget for this weekend, go me! Problem is, new lenses for my glasses are not going to cost £2. Bugger. I really am very blind so no glasses measn no leaving the flat – I won’t be able to see the door to let myself out! Thankfully, my other glasses are the same strength but are already a little wobbly. It would appear my possessions are taking on my mental state so everything is a bit wobbly. It’s times like this that I feel the universe is ganging up on me. Yes, really. I don’t mean it in an obnoxious way, it just feels like shit hunts me down and sticks itself to me more than others. If I could only find the ‘shit hunter’ signal off, maybe things would go my way a bit more? Any ideas?
Now I am in the upright position, I cut the cats nails, give them a good groom – for cats that aren’t meant to shed, they are doing a great job of leaving their fluff everywhere! – do a mini clean (only 22 tasks) and load the dishwasher. It’s really hot and I am due to have a massage in 30 minutes. I jump in the shower and finish just in time.
So, this excel spreadsheet of financial wisdom means cutting my massages down from 2 per month to once per month. One could argue it should be zero a month but as Colleague pointed out to me over coffee a few weeks ago, it’s the only nice thing I seem to do for myself. The problem is, I am oh so typically British. This means I am nervous to tell the masseuse I need to reduce them. I don’t know how to word it, I feel personally responsible for the loss of money he’ll now experience. I bottle out of saying anything and wonder if I cut out breakfast if I could still afford two massages a month. No Person C, that’s ridiculous. You may be obese but skipping meals is only going to lead to binging. So, instead, you are going to have to work out how to tell Masseuse G via text, the wimps way out.
The massage is very relaxing and I fall into bed and keep my fingers crossed for a night free of nightmares.