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Archive for August, 2008

Impending Radio Silence

I’m hopping off back to “Zion” for at least a week (eeesh, the problem with trying to keep this blog anonymous is that it makes everything sound like I’m some secret service operative talking in code).

I’ll try and post if I can, but the simple fact that they don’t have Internet access may make that a wee bit difficult.

Woo! *dances round the room, first in celebration, then in panic as she realises she has to work out what she should pack, given the wildly variable summer we’ve been having*

Oh, and boo-hiss to railway engineering works, as a journey that should be 2 hours on a direct train will be 4 hours via the wonderful concrete horror that is Milton Keynes… (apologies to anyone who lives there, I’m sure some bits of it are nice… just not the bits I’ve seen)

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In, Out, In, Out, Shake It All About…

Sorry guys, I’ve had the Hokey Cokey song going through my head all day, so I feel you should share in my suffering… </evilness>

Moving house is never easy, even when you don’t have a house. I move into my new place – a room in a catered University hall of residence – in about a month. This is a step backwards in the “independent living” stakes, but hopefully a step that will help me keep healthy and sociable. And getting paid to live there (as a requirement of my new part-time job) doesn’t do any harm either….

So, this raises a whole heap of problems. Like… what on earth am I going to do with a roll and a half of bog roll? Do I really need more than one frying pan, when most of my meals will be provided for me? And trying to consume my stock of frozen oven chips, on the grounds that if I don’t eat them, some drunk Fresher with sticky fingers will do it for me…

Also a whole heap of possible things to buy. I’ve already succumbed to a rag-rug and new duvet cover, and a mesh for cooking things on (rather than cooking things in the accumulated grease and grime of the communal baking tray). The rest will have to wait until I’ve actually moved, since adding further to the mountain belongings needing transported across the city doesn’t seem a good idea. My aim for this year to is make it feel and look like a home, rather than somewhere where I merely temporarilly sleep and work. So I’m aiming for some woven hampers to store things in instead of souless black crates, some (larger) picture frames, and something tall and decretive to put on the hearth and hide the horrid grating where they blocked up the old fireplace (yes, my hall is old enough to have had fireplaces…). A beanbag or two wouldn’t go amiss, either, if I can stuff them in somewhere.

I lived there for two years, in my first and second year. My room this coming year will only be three doors down from the one I had a year ago! I guess it will be strange to return – like going back to school would be, but I’m looking forward to it now. Some people I knew from before will still be there, which helps, and meeting new people is quite fun.

Trouble is, I’m stuck in a rut now. Half my stuff is packed, the other half is still in use. My room’s a tip, having been turned upside down and round and round in the packing process, and I’m caught in between the stages of half-moved-out and not-yet-moved in.

Oh well.

More time to eat those chips…

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Loneliness, how to combat

Apologies for the gloomy undertones of recent entries. Mirtazzy is kicking in again now, and I would be fine, were I not in that sort of mixed, irritable mood that means we might be in for a thunderstorm/heavy rain. Weird, but true: I don’t have a suitable scientific explanation, but think it might be the change in the light that puts me on edge. I’ve baffled a few people by successfully predicting storms that way.

The loneliness is staying put, which is making me suspect it may be “proper” loneliness rather than depressive loneliness.

I finally emerged from the cocoon of my sheets at about 4pm, to be baffled by some bloke from Sky who wanted to give me a free Sky+ box. He was equally baffled when I pointed out that I don’t have a TV, let along a working Sky dish, and would have no use for it…

Decided to have a hot bath – how cliched – to tackle the loneliness and Mirtazzy-dreams that were still wrapped around me. I won’t describe the dreams, suffice to say they’d probably be a 15 or 18 certificate if they were released on DVD(!) And I don’t mean for sexual content…

That helped with some physical aches and pains, but not the mental ones.

Then I got this text:

Wd u like 2 go out for a couple of hours after church? If it’s nice we cd go 4 a walk (and have a drink n sticky bun!)

Sounds like heaven. Don’t want to get too mushy over such a ridiculously small thing, but knowing someone thought of me has brightened me up no end.

How blessed I am!

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“Home”sickness

My body is here, but my mind is not. It keeps slipping back to a middling-large house in the countryside, filled to the gills with family, friends, and a cat.

I keep wondering… what are they doing now? How are they? Who do they have over at the moment?

I know that all I have to do to return is to ring them up and ask.

“We want you to feel you always have a home here”, they said. “Come down any time… well, when we’re here ourselves!”, they said.

To be honest, I’m so lonely at the moment that it is increasingly difficult not to make that ‘phone call. The contrast between the echoingly empty campuses and busy days in “Zion” is growing. People to see, children to look after, hungry hordes to feed. But there, not here.

And yet here is the paradox: if it were home, I would call this homesickness.

But it is not home.

Home is here, or with my parents.

Not there.

However much I might wish it was.

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Why I’m Switching GP… (well, partly)

A transcript of today’s appointment:

*I walk in the door and sit down*

Him: Hello.

Me: Hi.

*a few minutes pass while he continues filling in a rather lengthly form, then he puts that aside and pulls up my records*

Him: Laura…

Me: No.

*confused look from my GP*

Me: Did you just say “Laura”?

Him: Yes.

Me: Well, I’m not Laura…

*another confused look. He turns back to his computer screen*

Him: Chouette?

Me: Yes!

*He pulls up my records on the screen*

Him: You saw R (my MHP) this week.

Me: No…

Him: …last week?

Me: No…

*looks more closely at screen*

Him: 4th August?

Me: Yes!

<cut some uninteresting stuff about my wanting another prescription of Mirtazapine, he offering to put it up to 30mg, and my refusing>

*I take the proffered green slip, thank him, and move towards the door, then stop in my tracks*

Me: There’s just one problem…

Him: ?

Me, baffled: This isn’t my address.

Him: Then you must have moved.

*I’m slightly taken aback by his assuredness, and double check the address just in case I had moved and had somehow forgotten about it(!)*

Me: No. I’ve never even heard of it…

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I Don’t Know

So, I booked an appointment with my GP. 7.5mg of Mirtazzy seems to be suiting me, but hopefully it’ll be back up to the full 15mg on Tuesday. It gave me a wonderful feeling, and I want to return to that. I’m been realising over the past few days how much I miss that. A kinda “I can do it” feeling.

I need all the help I can get, from feelings or otherwise. With no CBT, I’m going to have to rely on the Mirtazzy to keep me well. It’s worked like nothing else has done before. For five or six years, I ducked the issue, and tried exercising, eating a better diet, going for long walks to destress, meditation… and perhaps those things helped to keep me afloat for that long. But I still got depressed, I just didn’t like to admit it, because there seemed to be no reason for it. And then came the suicidal thoughts, and the suicidal behaviour, and… well, you know the rest. I wound up on Mirtazzy, and it’s hopefully going to turn my life around.

But I still detest taking it. At the end of the day, I guess I’m taking it for other people. These other people have wormed their way into my life when I wasn’t looking. Regardless, I’ve been putting a strain on those other people – they worry about me, they pray for me, they look searchingly at my face to see if I seem up or down today, they listen to my voice on the phone and comment on my mood. I’m already plenty obsessed with the rising and falling of my mood myself, but that’s understandable – it’s the one thing I need to get a hold on if I’m to get anywhere in the future. When other people become obsessed with it, that’s the point at which I feel I’m being a drain on them.

And that feeling really really sucks.

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Sometimes There Is Such a Thing As Too Much Choice

Hoping to fufil a long-cherished plan to “get active” (whatever that is) and “beat the blues with exercise” (cos being hot and sweaty feels great, huh?), I dusted off my old swimming costume, tried it on to check it still fitted, and logged onto the website of my local pools to check out their timetables.

Simple, yes?

Well then it got hellish complicated. My head is swimming (no pun intended) with all the options available to me.

There are two pools: Pool A and B. Pool B is 5p cheaper than Pool A, or 40p cheaper during off-peak hours, but only if I submit a passport photo and proof of address in return for a pass (which costs nothing, but allows me to pay the cheaper fare). It’s also a substantial walk away, whereas Pool A is right by the uni.

So, now you’ve got that straight, choose between a “Social Swim” or a “Wellbeing Swim”. Or a “Wellbeing Female Only Swim” (and there was me thinking females were the social sex). Or a “Lane Swim”. But the Lane Swim only happens at Pool A, and the Ladies Swim only at Pool B. And at Pool A the Social Swims are at a depth of 1.2m, and the Lane Swims at 2.0m (in different pools, I should add!). No shallow end or deep end business, it seems. I like to do lane swimming, but having not swum for three years or so, I know I probably now don’t have the stamina to do it without ever standing up. So maybe lengths of the social pool is the way forward… if the social swimmers don’t keep getting in my way like they often did back home. Hmmmm…

It seemed so much more simple when I was living in a rural area. You turned up, paid your money, changed, and dived in (or not). Yes, they ran lanes in the early morning, a family fun time on a sunday afternoon, a ladies night one day a week, and aqua aerobics one lunchtime a week, but I swear most of it was “General Swimming”.

And I’m still trying to work out what makes a swim a “Wellbeing” swim, as opposed to your average non “Wellbeing” kind of swim…

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