Passive Aggressive

This morning upon going out to the doctors, my boyfriend and I found a Christmas card that had been posted crudely through my letterbox. It hadn't come out the other side properly so I hadn't seen it before, but I remembered hearing someone come downstairs and post something through there the night before. Wondering what it could be, I opened it. The envelope wasn't addressed, it just said "Merry Xmas".

Inside, it said "Buy a fucking new bed. From [building name]".

Obviously it did actually have the name of my building, rather than some weird bracket thing. I just don't really feel like advertising my location on the internet for all and sundry. So anyway, I found this and immediately thought - hm, were the boyfriend and I especially noisy when he was there two nights ago? Both of us didn't remember being especially so - and if there was noise then the source was certainly not the bed. Unlike Kochanski (blast from the TV past here), I do not make noises like a creaky gate. Or indeed a bed.

This upset me. I already don't feel safe in the building and knowing that there's only one locked door between me and a threat is not helpful - previously of course I could count the door on our building too. Now I don't feel that I can. I don't feel bad about the noise; frankly, it's nothing compared to the constantly barking dog, the people that stamp up and down the stairs and the obnoxiously loud music played by the flat above me punctuated by blazing rows.

What gets me is the rudeness, and the fact that it feels like such a big threat to me. I called my housing support worker and spoke to her; she offered to send a formal letter to the rest of the building but I really don't want her to do that. It would make me feel even more unsafe. I have however promised that if a similar incident ever happens then I will tell her and she will do something about it. As it happens she's going to use it to help prove to the homelessness unit that I'm really in need of moving.

But when your housing advisor says to you "you know what, I think the best thing for you to do is to go to your boyfriend's"...you know that really, things aren't quite right. I am now at my boyfriend's and feel a good deal safer, not to mention warmer and less lonely, but the knowledge that eventually I will have to go back to that flat is like a ten-ton weight on my shoulders.

Before I move onto other things: I think the conclusion from the last post is that venting does indeed help. Especially where it feels like I'm doing it without an audience but with an audience all at the same time.

The past few days have been a bit up and down. I say a bit; quite considerably. Last night I went with some friends to see Tim Minchin which was beyond amazing - not only his performance, but also realising that I was able to sit in an arena with 10,000 people and not feel anxious. The only bit I had trouble with was the crushing crowd as everyone tried to get out at the end - which I think is perfectly normal, all things considered.

However, on Monday I got the bad news that if I moved out of here and into my friends' house, I would lose all of my housing eligibility. It's much more complex than that, but it does come down to 'would not be able to get social housing' - and whilst I love my friends dearly and would enjoy living with them, the location is not where I want to be permanently and so I don't think I'm prepared to move there what would be permanently. I've not made the final decision yet and won't properly do so until after Christmas, but I think I'm leaning towards staying here and working to make it better.

Alternatively I also have the potential option of going into fully supported housing (I have "remote" supported housing at the moment, as it were - my support worker comes over regularly and acts as my contact for everything that goes on with my housing so that I don't have to speak to random strangers all the time). It would be a move from temporary housing to temporary housing though, which the council aren't too keen on doing - plus spaces are quite thin on the ground there. However it would make me feel a lot safer, it's in the place I want to be living and it would give me much much better transport links to my friends' houses - which would I hope make me feel less isolated.

When I found out what the situation was on Monday, I told people and then literally just crawled into bed. I couldn't handle being awake anymore. This morning - er, afternoon really - I also had the same thing. At around half past two I got out of bed and have been moderately productive since, but I have had an underlying lowness for most of the past few days. Barring yesterday evening! Which I am clinging to the memory of because I felt so happy. To me, sharing in peoples' creations and enjoyment of them is basically a spiritual experience. Plus I spent hours laughing, which is always good for me and I should do things like that more often.

For now, time to resume attempting to be productive.

Order in Chaos

Right now there are so many things that I'm thinking about, that are burning up inside me and screaming to get out. I could write them all here; I'd be writing for a very long time. Beneath the tumult of thoughts and feelings I know that if I felt like I could talk to people about these things that maybe they wouldn't build up. I know that talking to people helps, that it helps to vent and come to a greater understanding of things by talking it out. Somehow though there's always a catch; I don't want to bother people, I think that the things I am complaining about are too petty, I think that I should just shut up and deal with things myself.

But I can't deal with things on my own. I just can't - and I shouldn't have to, and I know all of these things but that doesn't make it any the less hard to say 'hi, I need help' or 'I can't stop worrying about X, Y and Z'. Often I'll put up a negative tweet or Facebook status, but I'm so hyper-aware of what I'm doing all the time and I don't just see that I need to vent - instead I remember the time that one of my friends let me know that people had been getting annoyed when I complained about benefits/homelessness/mental health on my FB status. For what it's worth, that friend was completely well-meaning and didn't think that I was being out of order at all but that sometimes it was just easier to avoid confrontation. She totally understood the validity and depth of what I was feeling. It was one of those confusingly painful but good conversations.

Anyway. So you know what, maybe I can write everything at once, because if I can think it all at once then surely I can write it all out. It won't make sense and it'll be incoherent and all manner of other things. However, I have the advantage that by writing things here, I'm telling people and I'm not telling people. Because it's in the public domain - but as far as I know no one actually reads this. If I was posting on, say, Livejournal then I'd be aware that people might read it and who those people were. I'd temper things accordingly. Here, I won't. So, here I go: depositing the contents of my brain.

I have run out of money. The gas and electricity are both about to go into emergency credit and I won't be able to add to them until Tuesday. That might actually happen later because I only just got a new sick note yesterday, so if it doesn't arrive by Monday then they might stop my payment. I sent it off yesterday but the post is horrendous at the moment. Two things that I ordered haven't arrived yet. I really wanted that book and I need those jeans because I don't have enough clothes that fit anymore because I've put on so much weight. I'm not even losing weight by living off 12p packets of dehydrated pasta.

On top of that I have a cold, which is not only debilitating and downright miserable but it's stopped me from doing things I wanted to and had promised to do. I haven't seen anyone since Tuesday morning when my boyfriend went home after staying over. I couldn't go to the cinema with my friends today because I felt so sick, I couldn't go see my psychiatrist today because I felt so sick, and because in both cases I couldn't afford to go anywhere. I can't even afford to buy some damn lemsip so that I could get over this cold a bit sooner. I'm really ungrateful and lazy and totally useless. I have so much going for me but I keep ignoring it and just sitting here feeling awful. Why do I just sit here feeling awful and playing computer games when I could be fixing things. But what else could I be doing? It's not like I can go out and get a job and be 100% fine.

One day I want to go to my GP to get a sick note and not be asked "so you'll be going back to work soon" in a way that really isn't a question. I'm sorry I have a mental illness. It's not my fault. I'm sorry that the concept of work is so terrifying that it makes me freeze up and panic. I'm sorry that I am forced to rely on a welfare system that fundamentally does not care about my welfare or health, only about my ability to "function as a contributing member of society". I didn't make the appointment to get my sick note early enough because every time I called the surgery phone would be busy and I'd either get fed up or forget or worry that phoning would cost too much money.

Can I please, please just go FIVE minutes without thinking about money?

Can I have a life where I have some control over things, and when I do try and take back some control like with moving not have a hundred other things knock me over in my attempt to get up out of this hole I'm living in?

Can I please have just a single moment now and then to stop and appreciate all the amazing, beautiful, wonderful, caring and loving people who are in my life and are the reason I'm alive and can't I just love them back without being terrified that they'll leave me or unable to talk to them because I think they'll hate me just like I hate myself.

I don't want to stop being all the different things that I am, I just want them to stop rubbing up against each other so badly. Can't I be confident and intelligent and creative and loving and all the things that I want to be without feeling guilty and ashamed and embarrassed and ungrateful and ugly and wretched.

(It is too soon to know if this has helped or not. Because it kind of hurts. No not kind of. I feel heavy.)

A Well-Meaning Hiatus

Uncertain as I am that anyone even reads this, it comes to my attention that it's a good month and a bit since I last posted here. There is a single main reason for this to be honest, and it comes in the form of Nanowrimo. Yes, I took part in the challenge to write 50,000 words in 30 days. For me, this was huge for several reasons. Firstly, I have very little (often no) self confidence in my writing ability, but despite this I'm also subconsciously aware that it's one of those things that I'm not just good at - I'm really, really good at. It's my talent, the thing that  I just innately have a knack for. Secondly, I'm impatient and terrible at persevering. Projects don't generally get started by me let alone finished, so the idea of producing a novel out of nowhere was a bit terrifying.

I'll be honest; there were a lot of days where I got fed up and angry and frustrated. I started and hated the 5,000 words I'd written so I started again. Most days I made the required 1,667 words - but the weekends, where I was busy with LRP, would go by without a single word being written. However somehow every week I pulled the catching up out of nowhere and kept on track. The most I ever fell behind was 5,000 words and this was always done within a few days of the mark being missed. It became habit to me, sitting down and writing; I'd usually do about half of it when I first got up and then the rest after dinner. I enjoyed it some days, and was hyper critical on others.

Somehow through all that, at the end of the month I had 50,000 words. 50,007 to be exact; and I wasn't even halfway through the plot that had begun spinning around in my head. I haven't touched it since, which is only actually 9 days though it feels like a great deal longer. I know there's a lot of it that's pretty badly written - let's be honest, it's not even a first draft - but despite all my hang ups I've managed to come out of the other side feeling pretty good about what I wrote. When I finished, it didn't quite click with me what I'd done. I sat there slightly stunned. I think it was the next day or maybe the day after that I was telling someone about it and admitted, for the first time, that I was proud of myself. I started crying.

I don't remember ever being proud of myself before.

So much has happened and continues to happen since then, including a series of days where I've felt truly terrible because living on my own is just not something that I can cope with. My loneliness has become not just that but more of an acute, physical ache in the middle of my chest. It actually physically hurts. This, however, is something that I've taken control of and I'm getting out of. I'm absolutely terrified of course, but then who wouldn't be - moving house is a pretty big upheaval. But every time the friends that I'm moving in with do something else that's so incredibly kind and generous, I feel more and more certain that it's where I want to be.

I might have a bitch of a cold, I might be freezing in a small and lonely flat, I might be living off 12p packets of pasta from Tesco - but you know what, underneath all of that, I've never ever been happier.

Little Things...

...that make you want to scream.

A few weeks ago I was at the leisure centre going swimming. Having locked my bags up I made my way towards the poolside. On the door of one of the showers was a sign. I cannot remember what it said verbatim, but here's the gist:

"Dear Ladies. On X date there will be male workmen in this shower."

Fair enough, I understand this and am grateful for the warning. Obviously in an ideal world we'd have a female plumber to come and do this but they're not exactly ten a penny. However, this seemingly innocuous if a little saddening poster had another blow to give:

"Please ensure that you are appropriately covered up whilst they are at work."

Not 'we apologise for the inconvenience' (though it probably said that somewhere as well) - instead we get instructed to not be naked when there are workmen in. There are several levels on which this makes me angry. Firstly, that it makes it sound like the idea of nudity is something that we should not expose the poor, innocent male plumbers to. Secondly is the more disturbing and underlying notion of: we do not trust our contractors not to succumb to primal urges if you display your naked flesh. Thirdly and perhaps most irritatingly the tone seems to suggest that usually, women go parading their naked bodies around the changing room.

There are three individual shower cubicles and one shower room that contains six or so showers. I have seen women in the communal shower who are naked. This didn't bother me, though I personally don't have the confidence in my body to do that, it's nice to see that other women do. On the few rare occasions I have seen this not once have these women been at all lewd or indecent or indeed, parading their bare skin around. They are simply trying to wash the chlorine and whatever chemicals are used to sanitise the water in our public swimming pools from their skin. And who can blame them, really.

On occasions like this I kind of find myself wishing I wasn't so hyper-aware of inequality and discrimination, because not only am I left frustrated and annoyed I somehow find myself feeling like my irritation at what was intended to be a helpful sign left out of courtesy is unjustified and an overreaction.

Oh well.

Standing in a Crowd

As will no doubt be obvious; I am not good with crowds. They make me feel claustrophobic, paranoid, tiny and insignificant, and any manner of other negative things. The dichotomy of being someone who believes passionately in the awesomeness of humankind, whilst also being terrified of said humans, is not lost on me. It's something that every now and then I sit back and laugh at because whilst it makes total sense - the more weight and importance you place on something, the more you will worry and care about it - it is, frankly, also kind of ironic.

So when I booked to go to and be part of just that - a crowd - I was unsurprisingly nervous. The list of things I knew I had to cope with on that day was not small: travelling alone into central London, spending the day alone amongst part of a crowd, taking part in workshops where I could potentially be called upon and have everyone look at me, and above all that trying to have a good time when I know all these things are difficult. Nonetheless I booked and made my way to Feminism in London.

I should add that I wasn't without support entirely - despite knowing no one there, I felt very comfortable in the knowledge that the event organisers had done a great deal to make sure I'd have a good day. Prior to the event I emailed them to find out whether there would be any quieter spaces available that I could retreat to. Not only were there many but if I put down on my registration form what my needs were, they'd direct me to them as soon as I'd arrived (sadly I'd already registered by this point but it turned out there were so many safe spaces for me to retreat to that they could have pointed in every direction).

So when I got there, after a journey that all things considered wasn't too bad especially considering I had to take the tube at 9am on a Saturday morning, I found myself a seat near a door at the back of the main hall and watched the room fill up. And it did - there were a thousand feminists in that room in the end and despite that it still felt quite spacious and, for me, surprisingly comfortable. I wasn't completely at rest of course, but I don't ever expect to be. But there was something about the knowledge that the 999 other people in the room were women (and men) who thought the same things I did, who wanted the world to be the same way I do, made me feel far safer in that crowd than I ever have done.

And so whilst I could spend this blog post talking about the fantastic panels, about how terrifying the statistics on natural births were or about how stunningly awesome Finn Mackay was, for me the single best thing about FIL10 was the crowd. This is such a weird thing for me to be saying I know, but I came out of the day not feeling drained like I expected to but feeling energised. Yes, I struggled through the day and yes, the journey home was horrible and yes, I did have to sit up on my own in the gallery sometimes because it was too noisy downstairs. But despite all those things I stood with 999 other feminists giving a standing ovation to the final panel and I felt safe and at home.

To me, that's worth more than anything - and I can't put into words how grateful I am that the event was so beautiful as to give me that.

Post-Terror

After writing that last post (whenever it was that I wrote it) I went to my psych appointment and talked to Jill about it. It was one of the hardest sessions I've had - though I seem to always find myself saying that, I wonder if that's a sign that we're getting there - because we had to go quite in depth as to why I have these thoughts. It was actually really interesting to see how things that I experienced in my childhood that seemed perfectly innocuous - or if not completely innocuous, the sort of stuff that happens in your childhood and you learn from it.

So that was good, and since then I've not had too many - or indeed any that come to mind. I have however felt really out of it. The best way I can think of to describe it is that I'm feeling very meta about life - if that makes sense! I feel a bit removed from it. Boyfriend came over yesterday, and whilst I'd thought that would snap me out of it, it didn't straight away and this really threw me. This morning though and for most of today I've felt much better. I've even got loads of stuff done, including amongst other things being angry (hoorah, I managed it) at the government for potentially ruining my income for the next ever.

However a nice vent on the phone with my dad soon helped that along, and since then I've been a buzz of productivity. Unfortunately all I've got left is the kitchen, and for some reason I really hate washing up. There is so much to do as well, since I've been without hot water for so long.

Perhaps it's time to bite the bullet and just do some. It's only the washing up! It's not that scary!

Terror Moments

I keep having, recently, what I can only describe as "terror moments". It's moments where I start thinking about the Big Questions and I get stuck, sort of wrapped in this big blanket of fear. I don't know if anyone else gets these. I can be in a perfectly acceptable mood and getting on with things, then all of a sudden the thought pops into my head:

Is there life after death?
Do I just stop existing?
What made me?
What will happen when I'm just...not here.

And so on, with similar questions. It's kind of hard to write this out because talking about it is making me have one of those moments now. But I really want to get over these and I think there will come a point where I just have to face them, even if that isn't already.

I don't know if I can manage to carry on articulating this even. Maybe I will come back to it. Not losing this progress though so will post half a post. But my pulse has picked up and I've got that horrible knot of panic in my chest so I'm going to stop now.

I hope someone somewhere understands what I'm talking about.

Sticks and Stones

I'm sick of coming up against prejudice because I have a disability, or because I'm unemployed, or because I'm on benefits. I know people don't always mean to be disrespectful, but sometimes the remarks and quips like "oh, you're one of the people scrounging off my hard earned tax money are you?" really do hurt. Why? Because it implies that I like being like this. I'm not denying that there are people in the country today who are living like this out of laziness or because it's easy. I'm not. By making these jokes, even though they're jokes, you lump me in with people like that. I struggle as it is with the belief that I am not ill, that I am making this up, that I am in fact just lazy and worth nothing. By making those comments all you do is reinforce that belief that I am trying so, so hard to break down.

Not only that, but it means that the focus of my mind for the next while will be the state of my life as it is. I won't focus on the fact that I have a wonderful family, that my boyfriend is incredibly special, that for the first time in my life I have friends and actually believe that they care about me like I do about them. Instead I'll wake up and be overwhelmed by the knowledge that once again, I have nothing to do with my day. Or more accurately, I have nothing that I can do with my day. I'm not saying that I'm never lazy or that I couldn't try harder. I'm sure I could - but in order to actually properly heal, to truly get over the place that my heart and head have been in for the past decade or so, I need to do that at my own pace.

Please, when you want to make a joke, think about the fact that I'm already struggling with the knowledge that the coalition are revamping the benefits system; and if some MPs' attitude to those on disability benefits is anything to go by, I'm not going to do well out of this. Money is horrible. I live in a council flat - in an area where I feel unsafe, where I know that having a roof above my head is totally at the whim of someone else - where I am an hour away from my support network of my friends and boyfriend. I have £200 a month on which to look after myself. Of that, a good deal will go straight on bills. Once I've fed myself, paid bills and all the other sundries that an even barely tolerable life requires, I have no money left. Often I find myself using more than I have.

If that's taken away from me? I will have nothing. I will be forced to destroy the life I have made for myself here, the first beacon of hope that has been in my life, and move back to Norfolk with my parents. My independence, which is very precious to me as a shelf for my self-esteem, will be gone. I don't want to think about how much of this progress I would lose if the world crashed down like that. It makes my stomach churn and my hands shake.

Usually I try and use this blog to be optimistic. Or at the least to express confusion, rather than negativity. But right now? I'm just terrified. I'm sorry that I can't be more than that right now, but I suppose it's all the worse now that I feel like I've actually got something to lose.

Mask of a Thousand Faces

Hunched over, as if trying to curl into themselves, a girl bites nervously at her nails. Her eyes, watery, dart around restlessly as if trying to spot some hidden observer. One of her feet taps nervously and methodically; every now and then the movement is punctuated by a violent kick from each leg, as if she is trying to shake water from them. Her hands shake and she rocks gently, trying not to focus on anything at all.

A smiling, well-presented woman sits comfortably on the edge of a table. Nonchalantly, she swings her legs back and forth. She talks animatedly, perhaps a little too loudly, but with precise articulation. Impatient to be heard, she buts into the dialogue before the other speaker has finished, somehow carrying enough poise and charisma not to offend in the process.

Drone like, the automaton repeats the same motions again and again. Back and forth, it clicks at the keys and points and clicks round in circles. Time passes but not noticeably, as the monotony of the blank expression and unfeeling state continue endlessly.

--

I am many things, of which a great deal are paradoxes. I am confident, happy, cheerful. I am shy, terrified, sullen. I am rude and polite, loud and quiet, hard and soft, powerful and weak. All of these things are me, and I am all of these things. I may be some at times and others anon.

It is exceptionally difficult to reconcile such an infinite number of identities, and understand myself, and be comfortable with it. Sometimes it is like trying to be several people all at once. One day I would like to allow myself to be all of the me there is, however many I might comprise.

An awful lot has happened in the last couple of weeks. I'm a little overwhelmed by it all but also trying to settle into a rhythm of living. Which is difficult when life itself doesn't really have a rhythm at all. Most days I have nothing to do - I suppose I could say that my current "job" is to get better, but really that's about as helpful as saying I'm a lazy arse who's sponging off benefits. Sometimes the weeks go quickly and I feel like I've achieved nothing, and sometimes they go slowly and painfully. It's a very strange place to be because there's no real plan for how to get from where I am now to being able to work. It's that lack of direction that is most difficult. So in the interest of reminding myself how I am actually doing better in ways I just don't notice, here is a list of the things I have done/achieved in the last week.

1. I went swimming.
2. I have eaten a healthy breakfast each day and remembered to take every single medication I'm on at the same time.
3. Although I haven't had great nights' sleep, I have been going to bed by midnight and getting up around 9am every day.
4. I have sorted out all of my money problems to the best of my ability.
5. I have been keeping my flat tidy, not perfectly so, but it's not a tip.
6. I have been doing clothes washing.
7. I have only neglected to have a bath once or twice in the last few weeks.
8. I have written and run a 3-day LRP event.
9. I have acknowledged that it's okay for me to want to celebrate my birthday, and organised it.
10. I have survived being on my own for 90% of the time, and being away from my boyfriend.
11. I have made my parents proud of me.

I have to stop on that last one because it made me cry, but I think the ease with which I wrote all of those should prove a point to me. Enough said.

Home Sweet Home

It's purple, though with my terrible camera it's quite hard to tell. There's a new duvet cover, we got curtains up, and all sorts. I'm basically all moved in - the main gaps in my inventory now are a cooker, but I'll be making do with my microwave for a very long time because cookers are so expensive. I managed to plumb the washing machine in myself today. Never done that before, but it was quite simple. And yes there's all sorts going wrong here like yet another pipe is leaking (not badly) and it took them a while to fix the door but it's getting there. Money things are a bit arse over tit, but hopefully those will get sorted soon.

This is mostly a post to say hello, I'm alive, this is what I've been doing. Normal service will resume as soon as possible. Oh, and here is a gratuitous living room shot. Boyfriend did not come included with the flat.

Silencing Myself

Many people internalise a critical voice. For most people, this voice is the voice of someone from their past; a very demanding parent, an abuser, some sort of important figure from the person's life who has had such an influence that their voice is present and critical of all that they do. I have one of these, and it has very high standards that it expects me to meet, and critiques and analyses everything I experience and try. It has a black and white view of the world: I either succeed, or I do not. There is no try.

It would help me to have this voice go quiet, so that I can do things and be proud of them and not analyse everything I do with intrinsic scrutiny. Unfortunately, it's rather hard to silence yourself consciously without simply causing yourself to be all the louder. Because my critical voice inside me is me - or at the least the person that I think I should be - and so it's not only hugely difficult to shut it up but I also feel like I ought not to do it, like I should be trying to embrace and accept this part of me instead.

Because this has such a huge effect on how I deal with things, nay how I even exist from moment to moment, my psych is considering putting me onto a new form of treatment (on top of my psycho-dynamic therapy) - Mindfulness. Google it and you'll find that it's a meditation-based technique based on a Buddhist teaching. It looks interesting. It also looks like the sort of thing that I've tried in the past and failed, mostly out of trying to learn it myself from a few websites. But I'm excited about it, and we'll see how it goes.

Breaks and Guilt

After my pretty bad day on Monday, yesterday proved to be very profitable with the boyfriend and I going to the flat and finishing off all the decorating. Here is a gratuitous shot of the living room now that it is no longer salmon pink:

Isn't it lovely? The blue is awesome. It's a bit more slate blue when it dries fully, but it's really calming and cosy all at once. I am also very pleased with the horrible 70s stone in its new white form.

However, I am not actually here to blog about my flat, exciting though it is. I am here to blog about the pretty weird day I've been having. After speaking to my mum last night she advised me to take a couple of days off before the busy weekend (where we are driving up to Norfolk, filling a van with all my belongings and moving me in etc). So I'm trying to do that. Only I feel very guilty for having days off, because there's a bit of my head that says "well it's not like you go to work like everyone else, what have you got to be tired about" and so on. What that means is that I just don't relax very well.

This in turn creates a circle of guilt, because by not relaxing properly I am letting myself and those close to me down. (I'm aware that much of this may not be logical; I am trying to preserve the thoughts as they appear in my head because then you can see the place I have to work from). This makes me feel worse, relax less, and then we link round into the beginning again.

I've signed up for a study into the helpfulness or otherwise of online support groups for mental illness. It involves joining a forum and participating to get help and advice. I'm really not sure how to approach it, at the moment, and I keep getting thrown by the fact that I read threads where people have low self-esteem and think to myself "but people are awesome, all people - even those that have bad qualities are still really complex and interesting and worthy people, how can you not see how wonderful you are". A small voice in my head crops up at this point and wonders why I can't apply this point of view to myself.

Still, we'll see how it goes. If nothing else I will at least be able to tell myself that I contributed usefully to the study.

Low Days

I want to try and write something here to help articulate how I am feeling. Usually I'm able to do that. Today I just can't.

I'd even prefer feeling bad to not feeling anything.

Before & After

Before the Paint!

It was a violently horrible shade of vomit green. But this hideous monstrosity of interior design was to be my bedroom. Something had to be done; not least about the fleur de lis stencilling.

And lo, it was!

At the point of this photo it needs another coat, as the blasted fleur de lis are refusing to die the death they deserve. However, my bedroom is now a (much more gorgeous the the picture suggests) shade of damson. The picture actually makes it look brown which is a bit odd, though it is a kind of mocha purple. So the hallway, bathroom and kitchen are also now painted, though not finished - they need a 2nd coat. The living room has had the evil 70s brickwork painted over and the ceiling done. I considered tackling the walls in there this afternoon but having painted all day yesterday (with help), done the bathroom today (without help) as well as a few ceiling touch ups...I was too tired.

My back is not behaving and it makes me sad, as I dislike waking up and going to sleep in lots of pain. But soon I shall have my own safe haven and it will all be better. Next weekend, I move in properly. Hooray.

Six of Better, Half a Dozen of Worse

The money on my decorating card has now come through. Hooray.

On the downside, the DWP continue to be atrocious. I genuinely do not understand how they expect people to live when they are made of such complete and utter fail. So, a few weeks ago my medical certificate expired. I was in Wales at the time but as soon as I got back I saw my GP and sent off the replacement. Whilst I was sending that I decided to be helpful, and send off my new address too - thus saving both me and the DWP time and paper. The form I have to send certificates to them includes a bit for "any other things you need to update us on", so I figured it was the appropriate point to do so.

Over a week passes and I still have no money. I've accounted for slow postage and slow bank transfer but it should still be here by now. So I phone up, and talk to a very apologetic civil servant who explains that because I've changed my address I have to fill out a form (which they're posting to me today) and send that back to change my address. Fair enough, I understand the need to have the regular forms done. However...I don't get any money until I've done that. So I have now not been paid for 5 weeks. Let's be honest, I don't exactly get a lot of money when it does come through. But nothing for over a month? That's not on.

My parents have now had to bail me out twice, I've got debtors ringing me multiple times a day, and oh by the way my disability doesn't just magically disappear when bad things happen. Funnily enough, it tends to get worse.


Deep breaths. Now to go and get money from the council for housing and council tax benefit. Then I ought to start thinking about painting.

Nothing Ever Goes To Plan

So, I now have a flat with electricity, hot water, gas, a real front door (not a metal council security door) and all sorts of other exciting things. Like a hideously dirty floor that I spent hours scrubbing on hands and knees today.

I've even got £200 to spend on paint to redecorate it, on a card that I received today. Unfortunately that card takes 3-5 days to activate. Thus scuppering my plans of a decorating party this week.

Still, it will all work out, just in a different timescale to what I expected.

Of Flats, Furniture and Emulsion

It's undecorated. It's painfully orange. The flooring is broken in the living room. There are 6 different TV cables. It's got prepayment electricity and gas.

But...it's mine. For the forseeable future, anyway - a 6 month contract that will be renewed if I haven't managed to gain permanent housing. I've had a pretty overwhelming couple of days; and it's going to be an even busier fortnight as I decorate it and move in. It's also going to be a huge amount of work, but I plan on having a decorating party next week. Then we can blitz the whole thing and it'll all be done straight away: which would be awesome.

You know what, I'm just really happy, and I think I will leave it at that.

On "Alternative Medicine"

Let us begin, first of all, with a quote.

“By definition”, I begin, “Alternative Medicine”, I continue, "has either not been proved to work, or been proved not to work. You know what they call “alternative medicine” that’s been proved to work? Medicine."

“So you don’t believe In ANY Natural remedies?”

“On the contrary actually: before we came to tea, I took a natural remedy derived from the bark of a willow tree. A painkiller that’s virtually side-effect free. It’s got a weird name, darling, what was it again? Masprin? Basprin? Asprin! Which I paid about a buck for down at my local drugstore."

Amusing Tim Minchin beat poems aside, I agree with him. I use a lot of herbal remedies for things: I do, generally, prefer them to synthesised chemicals. But there is a big difference between synthesised chemicals and mass-processed natural remedies (e.g., the aspirin in the example). I do of course also take multiple types of prescription drugs (SSRIs, HBC pills, anti-inflammatories for my back) - and I am happy to take them. Granted, I will not take a medication unless I make myself familiar with exactly how my body is metabolising it and what it contains. But honestly? That's largely born out of curiosity, and being amazed by the body.

There are some parts of "Alternative Medicine" however that I don't agree with. Water, for example, does not "remember" the presence of some arnica from a long time ago. However, arnica IS very good for preventing and helping to heal bruises. So, topical applications of arnica, great. Arnica tablets? Well those don't actually contain arnica. If they did? They'd poison you. Because arnica is poisonous when taken internally. Those tablets? Don't really contain any arnica. At all.

From my POV, it's not just offensive to me because homeopathy has been scientifically proven to be about  as useful as a placebo, but because I like and use a lot of herbal/natural remedies. To me, homeopathy has created a bad rep for natural remedies because many people lump "Alternative Medicine" into the same pile, whether it works or not. So if I say to someone "why don't you use tea-tree oil as an antiseptic for that" rather than, say, Germolene or similar, I automatically generate an association with things that are just scientifically wrong.

As a disclaimer, I've nothing against the people who use homeopathy because it's worked for them. Granted I might believe that what has actually happened is that you've convinced yourself that you're healing whatever issue it is you've had, by taking the tablets, and your body has healed it accordingly (because the body's capacity to heal itself is pretty damn awesome). That doesn't, however, mean I'm going to rail against you personally for doing something that makes you feel better.

That would make me a little hypocrtitical, because I know that my preference for natural things (even though I happily use man-made products) is largely born out of the feeling that I want to be closer to the world and enrich my relationship with it by relying on it more, and giving back more. That is, essentially, just as flimsy a reason as someone taking those diluted arnica tablets because they don't bruise so much with them. In fact, it might even be flimsier.

However my love for natural things is partially a spiritual thing, so we'll save that particular topic for another post.

A Kind of To-Do List (And How I'll Go About It)

Part of my at-home therapy (things I am doing for myself) includes thinking of a list of things I would like to do for myself/to improve my life. These have been delayed for a long time because I've been homeless, and they've thus not been viable. However it now looks like I'm getting close to actually having somewhere to live, somewhere of my own, so it feels like there's more of a point to things. I was just going to make a list of things, but then figured that if I listed them here people might have suggestions of how to do particular things or other helpful/encouraging comments. So here's a list. I may add to it later.

1. Exercise

It's an obvious one but for some years now, since going on my SSRIs, I've been considerably overweight. I'm 5'4 and weigh a little over 14 stone. This puts my BMI at a rather worryingly high amount. I know that a lot of my mass is muscle; I've retained a lot of the muscles, especially in my legs, that I built up whilst dancing when I was younger. So I'm not too worried about getting right the way down to a normal BMI, because I know I'll always be a bit more. Nor am I obsessive about it. Don't get me wrong - I do think I'm fat and ugly, but I'm not obsessed by it even when it's really, really getting me down. What I hate is the fact that I'm 22 and have a beer belly. Seriously. It's quite horribly bad.

However the main reason for wanting to exercise is because all the women in my family have serious back problems. I've got this too, and lately (the past few years) it's gotten worse and worse. Basically, the core muscles in my back (your lower back, along the spine) don't work properly because the concave of my back is very slightly exaggerated. It all gets confused in the compensating, I think. So swimming is something I want to do because it is supposed to be really good for my back. I am also generally unfit and this will help it. Because I spend my weekends fighting, I plan to try and go swimming three days a week when I can. Of course this means finding a time when the pool is quiet enough that I won't flee in terror. And finding a swimming costume big enough. But on the upside, their disabled membership rates are really good.

2. Eat Better

Kind of related to the first one, I guess. I don't eat badly at the moment. What I am bad at is not making sure that I don't get a balanced diet; this is partly because I live in a house full of meat eaters, so there are not, say, pulses regularly cooked. I usually end up with vegetables + carbs in some form. Now for a start - this is damn boring. Veggie food is awesome, and does not purely consist of vegetables and pasta. Not eating enough pulses and varied vegetables means my vitamin/mineral intake is lacking.

Further to this, making myself eat is one of the things I am worst at with my depression. I think giving myself cooking as a creative outlet would help me with that, because I do enjoy cooking and (like the rest of my family) am pretty good at it. I would like to be better though, if only because my brother's a professional cook and he shows me up a lot! Plus cooking "properly" would encourage me to eat fewer pre-prepared meals and so on. It's a hell of a lot cheaper too.

But this of course is something that I can't do until I'm in my own flat. Though, I suppose I could start planning? I am not sure if this would make my frustration/impatience at not having my flat worse or better.

[Okay I just lost my impulse to write so I'll leave this entry here for now and come back to it when I'm feeling better.]

A Truth Universally Acknowledged

This blog may or may not end up being updated frequently, infrequently, or any point inbetween those two. It would be realistic to expect the middle of those three.

In said blogspace I shall be writing about various things. Mostly, myself, which will likely cover the topics of: mental health, live roleplaying, feminism, and any other number of things important to me. Sometimes I swear a lot or express opinions via CAPSLOCK RAGE!11[/Harry]. This will mostly occur when something has angered me in the news/something I've read/etc.

For now, let's leave it there and wait until I've got some actual substance to post about.