Barometers of Wellness

How familiar does your front door look to you? What about the pathway up to it, or the stairway? What about the street?

Mine is up three flights of stairs, with a communal main entrance to the street that is shared by 15 other flats. My street always looks much the same, but sometimes the stairs and corridors seem distorted in some way, or perhaps the wrong way around. I know when this starts to happen, that I'm probably not very well...

Many, many years ago I was probably abused in the end-of-garden wash-house of a neighbour. I don't have a clear memory if it - only a flashback; but what gives the game away is the position of that wash-house within its garden: it too, was the wrong way around - my logic being that the wash-house at the end of my garden was the right way round!

Whether these are at all connected I don't know - although it's certainly true to say I get a bit panicky when I think things are the wrong way around, so who knows?

Oh, and as you've probably already worked out - my stairwell's all distorted just now.

Scrabble and all that

Sometimes life feels a bit like a game of Scrabble. You rarely have all you need for the kinds of things you'd like; you have various things that seem heavy, but that can pay off generously if you just carry them for a while and use them when the circumstances are right; you're often completely dependent on the unconsious generosity of others; most of the time, you have to put up with far less than you'd otherwise choose; and, just occasionally, you have a big victory!

Right now, I don't have the letters to spell the words I feel I need to. Today has been quite good on the whole - work wasn't busy, but busy enough; and I've had a visit from a supporter this afternoon and beaten him twice at Scrabble. But, my life feels really - well, shall we say empty, for starters...?

I'm lucky: I have friends, I have caring relatives, I have work, I have a home, I have enough money to live a reasonable existence; and I have many other good things. But I don't have love - not the personal, individual love that seems to be enjoyed by many. I don't have anyone to love as I'd like to - and the result of that is that I often lust after others, and feel bad about it afterwards...

I never used to have the ability to cope with that kind of love - neither to give it, nor receive it. I like to think I could give it now; but I remain uncertain of my ability to receive it. Such uncertainly is the product of the abused young man within my ageing body: the body I almost unconsciously keep as unattractive to others as I can. My search for a suitor is therefore almost impossible - a search for someone so determined that he'd repeatedly refuse to be deterred by the barriers I place in his way...!

It's not my desire to have people play such games of course. But how else can I be sure they'll not also abuse me?

On the nightshift

Okay, so it's cabin fever...! But why is it, that so few people do daylight hours? Is it really any wonder they're all so depressed??

I had a couple of hours out with another friend last night - missing and riding on buses, getting pissed off by hooray henrys who seemed to think they were in an Oxbridge cricket pavillion, not our favourite local pub, and getting rained on - that sort of thing. But it was better than sitting in alone - a LOT better...!

I toyed with the idea of arranging a day out to Peebles or somewhere - bus ride, lunch, walk by the river/poke round the shops, nice pub for a couple of hours, sort of thing. But the weather was awful, so I decided not. Another friend had suggested a mid-afternoon outing to a gallery by then anyway - which is a poor substitute, but a generous offer, nonetheless. Shame it'll be almost dark by the time we get there. But, once more, a LOT better than sitting home alone. And tomorrow, I shall take great delight in returning to work!!

Symbolic beard-trimming

Some people blood-let - which in the distant past, has included me. Some people go out and get blind drunk, or stoned - ditto.

On this occasion, I trimmed my beard.

No kidding - it never seems to grow like other men's do anyway - it just gets long and thick, so you feel like you're going around with a thick straggly rug on your face. So, I took the hairdressing scissors to it and, hey presto, it feels good!

I guess I might just head for the barber's, in the morning. Exciting stuff, eh? Well, hardly. But, less messy than blood-letting.

Is it just me....

Is it just me, or do others experience life as I do? I don't mean special events life, I mean the everyday, routine life that I assume we've all got - if there's any difference, that is...

Christmas has been and gone. It wasn't exactly as originally planned, but it was okay. Return to work is the day after tomorrow, and that'll probably be fine too.

It's the in between time that I struggle with. I mean, what do you do, exactly? Okay, so I sent out a text message to a few friends earlier, and one of them came over for a couple of hours. As I say, I'm fine in company - I can do company.

I'm not so good at alone, though. Maybe that sounds daft, when you consider I've been alone most of my life - for years, I've lived alone; and mostly evaded close relationships. Hence, it's not exactly unfamiliar.

But, it's still difficult. For far too long now, I've comfort eaten when I feel the voids, and trawled the internet for people I know (or occasionally don't) to chat to. But it's not good. I'm now so overweight I'm really not enjoying life, as everything is so much effort; and fewer and fewer people (it seems) use the 'net in the ways they used to. And, if I'm not careful, I end up having one-way conversations. Monologues. Is it coincidental that rhymes with blogs, at all?

I've just watched Tom Brown's Schooldays on TV, and had a weep. It's not original, but it's a change.

But, is it just me? Am I the only one whom everybody thinks has a good life - but whose life is actually completely out of his control? And if I'm not - well, so what? I don't suppose it'll make much difference to how I feel just now.

So, answer the question if you want to - or not! I'll try and cheer up for tomorrow...!!

A Time to Weep?

Sometimes I wonder if life has brought me to a place where I'm really hard-hearted. Or if I'm actually just so deeply entrenched in denial, I'm not aware of the difference anymore...

One of my uncles seems to have lung cancer. Well - he's got an inoperable tunour the size of a fist, at the base of his right lung actually; and the reason it's inoperable is because there also appears to be infection elsewhere. My mother was at the hospital with him yesterday and they did some final diagnostic tests, but the writing's on the wall for all to see.

Now, I should explain that although as my mother's youngest brother he is technically my uncle; the two of us were always together as I was growing up, and we were often mistaken for brothers. We were each other's confidantes on family and various other matters. He made a great point of passing onto me what his older brothers had passed onto him: a love for, and a knowledge of the countryside, which has always been his greatest passion. In years, he is closer to me than my mother, or his older brothers; and as I'm an only child, he's always the nearest thing to a sibling I've had.

As the years have passed and my own life again has some order to it, my need for his support has lessened; but I've always taken comfort from the assumption that he'd always be there if I needed him. I've always known who I'd turn to in the event of any serious problems with my mother, for example.

Understandably, she's absolutely devastated - and probably all the more so as she offerred to help him break the news to their other siblings, and has had to witness them crying for the first time since their childhoods.

As yet though, I've not felt the need to cry. I feel very sad about it - and very unsettled; but for as much as I often cry over silly things, I've not shed many tears over late relations since my maternal grandmother died when I was in my late teens. Indeed, my counsellor remarked recently how he'd never heard me grieve for my father, and how he's left wondering if I've even begun that process. And, I don't know the answer to that, really...

I shed a few tears at the time of course, and I had several months of disturbed sleep, palpitations and other severe anxiety symptoms. And I often speak fondly of him and his ways - and take pride in perpetuating some of them. And occasionally I've wished we had a grave to visit or even a plaque: some quiet place where I could just go unannounced, and in secret, and maybe feel close to him (we had him cremated and my mother's grief was so apparent that no decision was ever made regarding any memorial). But actually grieve his passing? Maybe I'm just too pragmatic for my own good at times, for I'm not sure it would actually make a lot of difference to how I feel...

If and when my uncle leaves us, I'll have the opportunity of returning to those woodland paths and waterside tracks we tramped so often in our younger years. I expect I might weep then.

Lemon-scented Cillit Bang

Well, I made it - though it took me a good hour longer than I'd imagined it would. This is because the water stank. No, I don't mean the drains - I attack them all with Domestos on quite a frequent basis. I mean the water...

If you've ever wondered what the difference is between an irrational thought and an hallucination, this is probably as good an illustration as any: hallucinations make it appear real. It looks real, it sounds real - and in my case, it smells real. The only thing I have to suggest that it might not be real is logic. As in this case - for tap water doesn't usually smell - smelling isn't one of its known properties (although I have to say there is a bit of me that wonders whether the reason it doesn't smell is because we've all been brought up to believe that - and in actual fact, it might smell; but I digress).

For as long as I can remember, I've had problems with smells. Olfactory hallucinations, to give them their Sunday name. The mere sight of almost anything that is shit, or looks like shit, sick, piss, snot, blood, rotting food or flesh, or other types of bodily excrements other than my own; has me heaving up almost instantly. My eyes stream, I have coughing fits, I feel faint and see stars - it's pretty dramatic. I love dogs and I love walking; but if I see a dog squatting ahead, I need to turn around instantly, or cross the street and look the other way. And, even worse, if I see a dog owner clearing up after it, and/or carrying their little bag afterwards - well, the results are predictable indeed. Actually, I'm beginning to react right now just by visualising it...

Needless to say, I often can't use public toilets. For this reason I have a RADAR key somewhere as, because disabled loos tend to be kept locked except while in use, they're not so well patronised, shall we say; and there's more chance I can use them. That said, I can't remember last when I needed to, and I don't regularly carry my key with me these days.

Likewise, my kitchen often smells. Because there's no window, there's a electric ventilation thing in the ceiling that causes quite a considerable draught, and I therefore have to keep the door closed during the winter months; but during the summer it stays propped open, as it's just easier, that's all. It's not unusual for me to have to literally run out and hang my head out of the window...

One of the best quick-fixes I've found - which only works when there's just a smell and nothing to see that looks as though it could be the source, is replacing it with my own smell. Hence, a quick bowel movement tends to ease the toilet issue; and keeping some Dettox air freshener spray within arms reach of the kitchen door can help with the kitchen - even if I do have to wait for a while, to let the vapour dissipate enough to prevent me choking...

But when water smells, I have a bit of a problem - because of course, you can't clean supposedly clean water - at least, not if you want to use it to clean yourself with!

So, to cut a long story short, I had to grab the Cillit Bang and scrub every possible surface to replace the unpleasant smell with a pleasant one. So not only did I have my shower, shave and brush up; the bathroom did too - and for the first time in ages, the shower tiles are gleaming once more. Not a bad bonus, eh? I was quite pleased with myself, actually!

Then I made it to Sainsbury's (gosh, it was cold out there - no wonder we've got lying snow here this morning); got a few bits and pieces to keep me going ; watched the final of I'm a Celebrity, Get me Out of Here and settled down for the night, which passed without further incident.

Boulder-blocked pathways

It was late morning when I wrote my last post, and although the sunshine was becoming a little hazy, I did still hope to go out during the afternoon. Alas, that's not happened...

No - the foot isn't the main problem. It's a lot more complicated; and has all the characteristics of a huge boulder blocking the path ahead. This isn't a new phenomenon in life - in fact, it has happened on and off for years and thankfully, more off than on these days. But when it happens I'm just as stuck as I always was...

It's a bit like the old woman who swallowed the fly - in reverse. My revised goal is to go out to the local shops and get some food, as my fridge is now completely empty, bar half a carton on milk and a little margarine. Also, I've no bread, no cake (I had the last of it during today), no biscuits, no rice pudding, no chocolate or sweets. I have some basics such as rice and pasta - but nothing to liven it up with...

Only, you can't go out before getting dressed; and you can't really get dressed without getting washed and shaved - and there's my dilemma.

This is where the good folks that assess disability benefits claims and suchlike; some doctors and medical practitioners; politicians, definitely; family members and even some friends really don't get how mental illness can affect you on a day-to-day basis. The DWP's claim forms are really only interested in your physical ability to walk down the road and buy the goods - they just don't get that on a bad day, there's often not a cat's chance in hell of getting there anytime soon...

It's daft, isn't it? What can possibly be so hard about getting in the shower, having a shave and brushing your teeth and hair; I hear you saying? And the answer is - I haven't a clue. It is daft - but it's also real, and right now its preventing me from doing any of the other things I want and need to do.

I'm hoping that by writing it down here I might be able to even get around it in a small way, maybe just wash face, swill out with mouthwash and comb hair for now. It's dark, and although it'd just putting off the inevitable, at least I'd get some much-needed provisions in for the rest of the weekend.

It's quite simple really: I'm a bit depressed, and because I'm a bit depressed, my energy and motivation levels are poor, my view of myself is decreased, I'm finding it hard to concentrate, I'm more anxious than usual, I'm finding it quite hard to make conversation with people, I've lost any real interest in food, I'm craving intimacy: all of these are classic symptoms of my depression.

And I usually end up demonstrating my depression in one way or another. In the past, I'd have cut up or overdosed; nowadays I usually neglect myself or my immediate surroundings. It's one of the few outward signs actually - and of course, because only a few people ever come into my personal space, not many folk are ever aware of it. So - in the hope that it might help me move on a little, I'm describing it to you now. It's 7.15pm. 'Think I'll give myself until 8 o'clock; and I'll come back later and let you know the results!!

(Not) In the Mood

I didn't feel too clever earlier today - it's been a pretty busy week, and I probably overdid it at times. So I didn't go out. Apologies are due to my Salvation Army colleagues, as I was due to help collecting with their carolling efforts; but I expect they'll understand. A few months back, I was diagnosed with a painful foot condition called plantar faciitis, which would have meant I'd not have been able to do it for very long anyway - at least, not if I want to be able to walk for the rest of the week...

Having started to receive Christmas cards I'm thinking I ought to get round to writing some myself, but the truth is my heart's just not in it, as yet. I normally write a circular letter insert, and I just can't think what to put on it right now. These things are hard when you're not at your best.

I also had a stab at sewing my new S-badges onto my uniform. I can't do it for toffee though, so I soon gave up, and just used safety pins to hold them in place for now. I can see I shall have to speak nicely to friend with a sewing machine - she did offer, after all!