Work and mind state
Yesterday I was faced with the prospect of a horrible piece of typing work; to be conducted in a busy, noisy pub in leicester square on premier night, with no powerpoint to plug my laptop into so she was goin to conk out any minute. I was extremely worried about this. It was rather straining, particularyh when all the laptops i could lay my paws on lost all their charge and I had to default to pen and paper. It was a tiring niht and I didn't really enjoy the journey back on the nightbus. A merry drunk was playing with helium balloons, and it interrupted my reading, particularly when the immovable object of a man sat in front of me started issuing death threats to said cheerful drunk (played, it just occurs to me, by William H. Macy). Got home, typed like bastard, v tired, difficulty sleeping because of back pain from lugging laptop around.
Today was much better. I painted the papier mache skull baubles i have made which was relaxing and could pass for folk art.
But then I had to go and see my new doctor (uni practice kicked me out on the grounds i wasn't at uni). Had extremely grumpy receptionist, just like previous times, and waited 15 minutes after appt before i got to go in. (spent time reading monosyllabic greeting! magazine,. Real life article on female wrestler who gets paid fr one on one seshions. that would be fantastic.)
Saw doctor. Has the air of a NY jew. Didn't have my notes so I had to explain the whole sorry story, and did it poorly. He clearly disapproved of the fact i'd been on 40/50 mg of citalopram for 4 years, but it wasn't clear whether he thought i should have been weaned off it or not prexcribed it in the first place. I do hope he's not a 'just buck yourself up' type. I'm sure he's not - can anyone be, these days? Anyway thoroughly demonstrated how fucking well adjusted I am by tearing up when describing the meat of my issues (death, hospitals, funeral directors, raveyards. I mean graveyards, although i don't feel too good about raves either, fucking e'd up neon fests.) and trying to explain what CBT did and did not do for me. He offered me another CBT session. I said i'd think about it. i feel bad for taking up two lots of sessions when i've been seen and they did help. I just.. let it slip. it's hard to face ones fears every other night. So much easier to leave the light on and read till i drop unconscious. Or to push it away and out rather than draging it into the light of day.
I like to think of myself as brave. When, at night, i ge thte feeling something unspecified is stalking me in the darkness, i walk deliberately slowly to p[rove to myslf i'm not scared/letting it bother me. But when I feel that churning in my gut and that sense of utter dread inevitability, all i can do is scream and thrash and beg someone to save me from it, but i know noone can or will. And by then i've lost it. Rationality out the window with copin strategies. I have to just get some light and count or read frantically to stop me feeeling.
looking at my previous jubilant post i feel the urge to laugh hollowly.
but i'm not that scared all the time. Just more often now i don't have a lot in my life. Just my craft, the occasional job. No writing coming in right now, i'm applying for things though. And today reminded me that i'm going to have to leave my pills. will it be hard without them, i wonder? i will miss remembering all my dreams.
Today was much better. I painted the papier mache skull baubles i have made which was relaxing and could pass for folk art.
But then I had to go and see my new doctor (uni practice kicked me out on the grounds i wasn't at uni). Had extremely grumpy receptionist, just like previous times, and waited 15 minutes after appt before i got to go in. (spent time reading monosyllabic greeting! magazine,. Real life article on female wrestler who gets paid fr one on one seshions. that would be fantastic.)
Saw doctor. Has the air of a NY jew. Didn't have my notes so I had to explain the whole sorry story, and did it poorly. He clearly disapproved of the fact i'd been on 40/50 mg of citalopram for 4 years, but it wasn't clear whether he thought i should have been weaned off it or not prexcribed it in the first place. I do hope he's not a 'just buck yourself up' type. I'm sure he's not - can anyone be, these days? Anyway thoroughly demonstrated how fucking well adjusted I am by tearing up when describing the meat of my issues (death, hospitals, funeral directors, raveyards. I mean graveyards, although i don't feel too good about raves either, fucking e'd up neon fests.) and trying to explain what CBT did and did not do for me. He offered me another CBT session. I said i'd think about it. i feel bad for taking up two lots of sessions when i've been seen and they did help. I just.. let it slip. it's hard to face ones fears every other night. So much easier to leave the light on and read till i drop unconscious. Or to push it away and out rather than draging it into the light of day.
I like to think of myself as brave. When, at night, i ge thte feeling something unspecified is stalking me in the darkness, i walk deliberately slowly to p[rove to myslf i'm not scared/letting it bother me. But when I feel that churning in my gut and that sense of utter dread inevitability, all i can do is scream and thrash and beg someone to save me from it, but i know noone can or will. And by then i've lost it. Rationality out the window with copin strategies. I have to just get some light and count or read frantically to stop me feeeling.
looking at my previous jubilant post i feel the urge to laugh hollowly.
but i'm not that scared all the time. Just more often now i don't have a lot in my life. Just my craft, the occasional job. No writing coming in right now, i'm applying for things though. And today reminded me that i'm going to have to leave my pills. will it be hard without them, i wonder? i will miss remembering all my dreams.