Today I have been mostly worrying.
I feel scared sometimes. I'm afraid that I'm making it up and I'm not really pregnant. Or I am really pregnant and the baby isn't going to survive. Or I'm pregnant with 3 babies, but they're actually aliens. Or boys. Or boy aliens. (I want a daughter! I have sisters, I can cope with girls. Boys scare me).
There's so little external evidence. It's too early for a bump. My bust might be bigger, but that might just look like Christmas weight gain or a particularly effective bra. I don't feel sick, just tired. My stomach muscles are periodically unhappy. Yesterday, whenever I stood up from my office chair, my stomach muscles hurt, as if they'd been awkwardly scrunched. Today, I'd made an effort to sit properly and things are better, but I suspect I need a better chair to work in. Mine doesn't go high enough or allow me to adjust the angle of the seat.
Tomorrow I have blood tests. On Friday I see a midwife. I'm not sure to what extent she (or I suppose he, but I've never met a male midwife) will be my midwife. There's a team. Or I might end up being looked after by a specialist midwife once the haematology clinic* see me.
There are many things that could go wrong. Many points from step 0: get pregnant, step 1: stay pregnant, step 1a: grow a healthy baby, step 2: give birth. Not to mention beyond the birth, when we get sent home with a live little person and we have to look after it.
I try to confine my thinking to possible risks and sensible solutions. I tell myself to turn the worries to prayers. Sometimes I do. More than that, I need to stop worrying, trust God. That has never been an easy thing to do, no matter how often the Bible tells me to. But I am powerless. Beyond putting sensible food into my body and making sure it gets enough rest and exercise, my baby's development is out of my hands now. Mysterious and mundane, foetal development will happen, or, sad possibility, cease, with no conscious input from me. The knitting together in my womb is not carried out by my hands.
*A blood clot, nearly 4 years now, means I need anti-coagulants. I'm 'high risk', technically. No super fluffy midwife-led birthing unit for me, never mind a home birth. This makes me a little sad. I think Rob is relieved.
Showing posts with label sad. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sad. Show all posts
Tuesday, January 07, 2014
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
on tears
Thanks for all the lovely comments, thoughts, virtual hugs and prayers. I'm doing OK. The dissertation's going a little better (I actually wrote something yesterday). I'm still feeling a bit mixed up and confused over stuff, but I'm plodding through it.
I've noticed in the last year or so I cry more than I used to. I didn't use to cry much. Maybe once a year, at most, if I got really upset or angry about something. When I was depressed, last year, I couldn't cry for months and months. I wanted to, but the tears wouldn't come. There was one weekend that broke that. I want away with my church for a regional weekend away over the August Bank Holiday. There was one seminar on that weekend (on singleness) which had me bawling by the end and I then spent rather a lot of the worship times of the next few meetings howling with sobs. Somehow lots of dammed up emotions and tears came out that weekend and I felt much better, if exhausted at the end of it. That made some difference to my ability to cry, but not as much it seems, as Rob.
I've noticed since I've been going out with Rob that I'm much more likely to cry when I'm upset than I was before. That's not as negative as it sounds. Yes, I have cried about him a few times, but more often I'm crying on his shoulder rather than at him. The former is because he's so important to me that something going wrong between us makes me very upset and the latter is because I can be vulnerable with him. I feel safe to cry in front of him and know that he'll comfort me. I know he doesn't like it when I cry and he doesn't always understand why I'm crying about something. (Sometimes, neither do I). But he'll always hug me and tell me he loves me and that it's going to be all right, and I feel comforted and safe and loved.
I love you, my Rob. Even, or perhaps especially, through my tears.
I've noticed in the last year or so I cry more than I used to. I didn't use to cry much. Maybe once a year, at most, if I got really upset or angry about something. When I was depressed, last year, I couldn't cry for months and months. I wanted to, but the tears wouldn't come. There was one weekend that broke that. I want away with my church for a regional weekend away over the August Bank Holiday. There was one seminar on that weekend (on singleness) which had me bawling by the end and I then spent rather a lot of the worship times of the next few meetings howling with sobs. Somehow lots of dammed up emotions and tears came out that weekend and I felt much better, if exhausted at the end of it. That made some difference to my ability to cry, but not as much it seems, as Rob.
I've noticed since I've been going out with Rob that I'm much more likely to cry when I'm upset than I was before. That's not as negative as it sounds. Yes, I have cried about him a few times, but more often I'm crying on his shoulder rather than at him. The former is because he's so important to me that something going wrong between us makes me very upset and the latter is because I can be vulnerable with him. I feel safe to cry in front of him and know that he'll comfort me. I know he doesn't like it when I cry and he doesn't always understand why I'm crying about something. (Sometimes, neither do I). But he'll always hug me and tell me he loves me and that it's going to be all right, and I feel comforted and safe and loved.
I love you, my Rob. Even, or perhaps especially, through my tears.
Thursday, November 05, 2009
should be happy. Am not.
In so many ways, life is great at the moment. I'm getting ready to marry the man I love. My family are mostly all well and happy, my sisters are newly married, one's just had a lovely baby. But I'm not really happy.
I'm panicking about finishing my MA. I'm not sure I want to do it anymore. My dissertation seems irrelevant and too hard. I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up. The plan I had of a PhD and research seems impossible now. If I can't do the MA, how can I do anything else? I lost the habit of reading while I was depressed and so far it's not really come back. Reading makes me anxious. I read faster and faster until I get to the point where I can't read any faster and it's too stressful and I give up. For someone who used to read constantly and have several novels on the go at any one time, this is weird and uncharacteristic. It feels like I've lost a large part of my identity.
Identity is probably the biggest thing that's making me feel unsettled. Everything is changing. I'm not sure who I am now, or who I'm going to be. I just turned 30. I'm working part time in a job that pays the bills, but isn't something I want to do long term. What job should I be doing? My potential academic career seems to be over before it started. I'm going to be a wife soon. I want to be a mother. Will that be satisfying? What will I do?
I'm seeing a counsellor again, which is useful in helping me tease some of these things apart, but oh so painful. Everything gets stirred up and I feel so much worse after our sessions. I don't want to confront all this stuff. I just want to curl up in bed with knitting and chocolate and stay warm and safe and away from the scary world. I thought this was just a simple problem of getting over the psychological barrier of panic I get when I try to read. I thought I'd dealt with this stuff in getting over my depression last year. It seems not. There's more to be sorted and more to understand. I know these things take time, I know I shouldn't be so hard on myself and expect everything to get sorted overnight. But oh mouse, I am so tired of swimming in this pool of tears.
I am being looked after. Rob's love and acceptance and hugs are wonderful. I just want to feel sorted and not confused anymore.
Prayers, kind words and hugs much appreciated.
I'm panicking about finishing my MA. I'm not sure I want to do it anymore. My dissertation seems irrelevant and too hard. I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up. The plan I had of a PhD and research seems impossible now. If I can't do the MA, how can I do anything else? I lost the habit of reading while I was depressed and so far it's not really come back. Reading makes me anxious. I read faster and faster until I get to the point where I can't read any faster and it's too stressful and I give up. For someone who used to read constantly and have several novels on the go at any one time, this is weird and uncharacteristic. It feels like I've lost a large part of my identity.
Identity is probably the biggest thing that's making me feel unsettled. Everything is changing. I'm not sure who I am now, or who I'm going to be. I just turned 30. I'm working part time in a job that pays the bills, but isn't something I want to do long term. What job should I be doing? My potential academic career seems to be over before it started. I'm going to be a wife soon. I want to be a mother. Will that be satisfying? What will I do?
I'm seeing a counsellor again, which is useful in helping me tease some of these things apart, but oh so painful. Everything gets stirred up and I feel so much worse after our sessions. I don't want to confront all this stuff. I just want to curl up in bed with knitting and chocolate and stay warm and safe and away from the scary world. I thought this was just a simple problem of getting over the psychological barrier of panic I get when I try to read. I thought I'd dealt with this stuff in getting over my depression last year. It seems not. There's more to be sorted and more to understand. I know these things take time, I know I shouldn't be so hard on myself and expect everything to get sorted overnight. But oh mouse, I am so tired of swimming in this pool of tears.
I am being looked after. Rob's love and acceptance and hugs are wonderful. I just want to feel sorted and not confused anymore.
Prayers, kind words and hugs much appreciated.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
drifting
I feel like I'm drifting along through life at the moment. I'm not planning anything, it's just happening. I'm not sure that's a good thing. I'm drifting through work. It's OK, but I don't want to do it forever. I don't know what I do what to do though and I'm not particularly doing anything to work it out.
My course is drifting. It is officially on hold, but if I want to finish it, I need to get back into the habit of studying, starting by teaching myself how to read properly again. And if I'm going to finish my dissertation, ever, I probably need a plan of how that's going to happen.
My weight's drifting upwards, gradually, but inexorably and I don't seem to be able to muster the will power to do anything about it for more than half a day at a time.
I don't feel able to plan. I'm living week to week, financially, never quite sure how much work I'm going to do and therefore how much money I'll earn. I'm just about OK, but it's easy to imagine sudden emergencies for which there's no slack.
There's no end goal, no time line. I don't know what I'm doing. I'm fighting wars on several fronts at once, trying to deal with stuff the last year has brought to the surface. It feels like there are too many things for one person to deal with all at once. Plus there are plenty of other people around who need looking after.
Oh dear, I seem to have made myself sad. :o( What on earth am I doing in this mess and how do I find my way out of it?
My course is drifting. It is officially on hold, but if I want to finish it, I need to get back into the habit of studying, starting by teaching myself how to read properly again. And if I'm going to finish my dissertation, ever, I probably need a plan of how that's going to happen.
My weight's drifting upwards, gradually, but inexorably and I don't seem to be able to muster the will power to do anything about it for more than half a day at a time.
I don't feel able to plan. I'm living week to week, financially, never quite sure how much work I'm going to do and therefore how much money I'll earn. I'm just about OK, but it's easy to imagine sudden emergencies for which there's no slack.
There's no end goal, no time line. I don't know what I'm doing. I'm fighting wars on several fronts at once, trying to deal with stuff the last year has brought to the surface. It feels like there are too many things for one person to deal with all at once. Plus there are plenty of other people around who need looking after.
Oh dear, I seem to have made myself sad. :o( What on earth am I doing in this mess and how do I find my way out of it?
Saturday, January 24, 2009
learning to read
I don't remember learning how to read. I just did. I remember reading Spot books to myself before I went to school and I remember coming home from school with my first reading book ("The big red lorry went up the hill..."). I've always been a book worm, always the one tucked away in a corner, lost in a book. I read voraciously, anything and everything, had the usual phase of finding a book I loved and then seeking out everything by the same author. I think when I went to secondary school, my first method of assessing the school library was to find out how many P G Wodehouse books they had that I hadn't already read.
I carried on reading. I didn't plan to take English Literature A-Level, but when I picked it up a month into sixth form, I discovered I'd read more over the summer than people who had planned to take it, which made me wonder why I hadn't thought of it in the first place. I loved English and the lessons kept me sane through my A-levels. They were discursive and thought-provoking in a way that Maths, Physics and Chemistry just weren't.
I read less during my Physics degree. There just wasn't time in term, but I did still read lots in the holidays. I wrote some poems then too, even got elected JCR Poet Laureate for a year.
Jump forward a few years, and I started studying with the Open University while working. At first, just for fun, but as I started to find my feet and get into the course, studying literature become something I loved doing and was good at, something I wanted to pursue more seriously.
But something changed as I studied. By my third year of OU, a sort of panic was beginning to set in whenever I had to read for study, especially text books. I'd look at a page and find myself speeding up, getting faster and faster and more panicky, wondering how much I much I was taking in. I rarely read anything that wasn't for my course, and when I did, I felt guilty about it. I dismissed the panic as pressure of time. After all, I was also working full time and studying had to get squeezed in between working and the rest of life. I'd work in short bursts, often relying on the pressure of an approaching deadline to get myself motivated to write.
When I left work to start my MA, I initially enjoyed the freedom to read. My course texts were varied and interesting, especially the 20th century ones. I tried reading Ulysses in one day (didn't make it, but got quite a good way through), read in the library, at home, in bed, at work while waiting for videos to process. It was fun. But the panic was still there, especially when I sat down to write an essay. I sailed closer and closer to the wind with my deadlines, producing things at the very last minute, and always conscious that they weren't as good as I wanted them to be.
By the time I got really ill, books just weren't working anymore. Although I did read (and love) Bleak House during a week in bed, that was probably the last time I managed to read something complex. A few weeks after that, I couldn't read, couldn't think coherently, couldn't do anything much. Somehow, over the summer, I managed to read and write enough to produce an essay on The Water Babies, a review and a dissertation proposal. I'm not entirely sure how. As my ability to concentrate came back, I read a bit - mostly detective stories, old favourites, the odd bit of fantasy fiction and not too taxing comic fiction. I'm not sure how I'd define it. Not quite chick lit. The sort of novels with tragi-comic families and adolescent heroines. Lots of Kate Atkinson. I didn't feel up to tackling anything big, say, Pat Barker's Regeneration Trilogy, which I've wanted to complete reading since I studied The Ghost Road in my OU course, or Thomas Pynchon's Against the Day, which has been sat on my to-read pile since I found it second-hand, or Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell which I've been halfway through for over a year. There are lots of books I've started and failed to finish - Nights at the Circus, Lud-in-the-Mist, A Confederacy of Dunces, all of which sat by my bed for months, waiting for me to feel up to reading them again.
I still don't. There are signs of hope. I read Coraline in one go on a train journey at the beginning of January. I'm slowly working my way through Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, when I'm not feeling too sad to read it. But I haven't yet approached anything relevant to my MA, or even re-read my dissertation proposal, or properly read the marker's comments. I'm scared. Scared that I'll never re-capture my love of reading. Scared that some part of my identity is gone forever. Scared of pushing myself too hard and becoming ill again. I know I need to retrain my brain to concentrate and that I can't go straight back to tackling big serious books again, but I don't quite know where to start. I'm also not very motivated to get back to my dissertation. The topic is too close to my heart. There are too many aspects of it that are important to me, that I want to get right and say something worth saying and thought-provoking about, and yet I'm also sick of it because I've been living with those same issues for the past three years and I'd really rather do something else, that mattered less. I don't know whether to give it up; pick another dissertation topic (if I can) or just plough on through the difficulties. I feel like I could do with a reading coach. My supervisor, I suppose, might fulfill that role, but I'm scared of her. And I'm not good at asking for help.
I don't really know what to do. Pray, and live and try to do what I can. And ask God to help me conquer my fears.
I carried on reading. I didn't plan to take English Literature A-Level, but when I picked it up a month into sixth form, I discovered I'd read more over the summer than people who had planned to take it, which made me wonder why I hadn't thought of it in the first place. I loved English and the lessons kept me sane through my A-levels. They were discursive and thought-provoking in a way that Maths, Physics and Chemistry just weren't.
I read less during my Physics degree. There just wasn't time in term, but I did still read lots in the holidays. I wrote some poems then too, even got elected JCR Poet Laureate for a year.
Jump forward a few years, and I started studying with the Open University while working. At first, just for fun, but as I started to find my feet and get into the course, studying literature become something I loved doing and was good at, something I wanted to pursue more seriously.
But something changed as I studied. By my third year of OU, a sort of panic was beginning to set in whenever I had to read for study, especially text books. I'd look at a page and find myself speeding up, getting faster and faster and more panicky, wondering how much I much I was taking in. I rarely read anything that wasn't for my course, and when I did, I felt guilty about it. I dismissed the panic as pressure of time. After all, I was also working full time and studying had to get squeezed in between working and the rest of life. I'd work in short bursts, often relying on the pressure of an approaching deadline to get myself motivated to write.
When I left work to start my MA, I initially enjoyed the freedom to read. My course texts were varied and interesting, especially the 20th century ones. I tried reading Ulysses in one day (didn't make it, but got quite a good way through), read in the library, at home, in bed, at work while waiting for videos to process. It was fun. But the panic was still there, especially when I sat down to write an essay. I sailed closer and closer to the wind with my deadlines, producing things at the very last minute, and always conscious that they weren't as good as I wanted them to be.
By the time I got really ill, books just weren't working anymore. Although I did read (and love) Bleak House during a week in bed, that was probably the last time I managed to read something complex. A few weeks after that, I couldn't read, couldn't think coherently, couldn't do anything much. Somehow, over the summer, I managed to read and write enough to produce an essay on The Water Babies, a review and a dissertation proposal. I'm not entirely sure how. As my ability to concentrate came back, I read a bit - mostly detective stories, old favourites, the odd bit of fantasy fiction and not too taxing comic fiction. I'm not sure how I'd define it. Not quite chick lit. The sort of novels with tragi-comic families and adolescent heroines. Lots of Kate Atkinson. I didn't feel up to tackling anything big, say, Pat Barker's Regeneration Trilogy, which I've wanted to complete reading since I studied The Ghost Road in my OU course, or Thomas Pynchon's Against the Day, which has been sat on my to-read pile since I found it second-hand, or Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell which I've been halfway through for over a year. There are lots of books I've started and failed to finish - Nights at the Circus, Lud-in-the-Mist, A Confederacy of Dunces, all of which sat by my bed for months, waiting for me to feel up to reading them again.
I still don't. There are signs of hope. I read Coraline in one go on a train journey at the beginning of January. I'm slowly working my way through Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, when I'm not feeling too sad to read it. But I haven't yet approached anything relevant to my MA, or even re-read my dissertation proposal, or properly read the marker's comments. I'm scared. Scared that I'll never re-capture my love of reading. Scared that some part of my identity is gone forever. Scared of pushing myself too hard and becoming ill again. I know I need to retrain my brain to concentrate and that I can't go straight back to tackling big serious books again, but I don't quite know where to start. I'm also not very motivated to get back to my dissertation. The topic is too close to my heart. There are too many aspects of it that are important to me, that I want to get right and say something worth saying and thought-provoking about, and yet I'm also sick of it because I've been living with those same issues for the past three years and I'd really rather do something else, that mattered less. I don't know whether to give it up; pick another dissertation topic (if I can) or just plough on through the difficulties. I feel like I could do with a reading coach. My supervisor, I suppose, might fulfill that role, but I'm scared of her. And I'm not good at asking for help.
I don't really know what to do. Pray, and live and try to do what I can. And ask God to help me conquer my fears.
Thursday, January 08, 2009
today's things
I wish I listened to myself more.
It's easy to feel better for a few days, decide I'm fine, do lots of things and then find myself back to collapsing in a heap again.
Which is what happened. I did a whole day at work yesterday, which wore me out and I've been tired and low all day as a result.
I am feeling very single today and not in a good way. It didn't help that I was all alone last night AND there was a power cut and I got to eat my dinner by candle light. All alone. :-( I didn't even have a friendly housemate to share the fun with. And I read more of Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close which made me want to cry*. And it would have been lovely to have someone to give me a hug and make it better. I did have a chat on facebook with an old friend, which was a good thing too. Not as good as a hug, but friendly.
I am not doing at all well on the eating front. Not really trying. It's not like I haven't got a pretty good reason to lose weight (HP's wedding in August) I just can't get myself convinced I can do it. I need to kick comfort eating for a start. I know this. I've got a strategy for doing it. I need to convince myself I can do it, with God's help. And that I want to.
Am I stopping myself finding a man? What's wrong with me? I'm still trying to deal with one of the strategies I think I've been using to keep myself safe from the prospect of a relationship. (The pig and her hook. I'm not going to explain more than that.) I want to be in a relationship, but I seem to be too scared or too afraid of hard work or too something, (I don't know what, on a bad day too weird and ugly, on a good day I know that's not true) to actually make that a reality. I say there are no men. Is that really true? Do I need to look harder? Be less picky? Chill out and stop scaring them away? Arrrgh!
Today, insects seem to be waking up. There was a fly buzzing round the room this afternoon, which was pretty annoying. When I got home, there was a small winged thing crawling around on my computer. I think it might actually have crawled inside the keyboard. Grr.
It's been a bad day. I hope tomorrow is better. I'm doing another long day at work, but I need to leave in time to get home and then get to the station to catch a train to Oxford. I'm off to a Gaudy (college reunion) and catching up with some old friends. I'm planning to go to Emmanuel Church on Sunday morning. Look out for me if you're there!
*Which is, I suppose, progress in a way. I used to be a little proud of never crying at films or books, but after having had several months of being unable to cry, broken by a weekend of howling, I'm beginning to think I was actually very cut off from my emotions and that I'm now able to be touched by other people's sadness, even fictional sadness, is a good thing.
It's easy to feel better for a few days, decide I'm fine, do lots of things and then find myself back to collapsing in a heap again.
Which is what happened. I did a whole day at work yesterday, which wore me out and I've been tired and low all day as a result.
I am feeling very single today and not in a good way. It didn't help that I was all alone last night AND there was a power cut and I got to eat my dinner by candle light. All alone. :-( I didn't even have a friendly housemate to share the fun with. And I read more of Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close which made me want to cry*. And it would have been lovely to have someone to give me a hug and make it better. I did have a chat on facebook with an old friend, which was a good thing too. Not as good as a hug, but friendly.
I am not doing at all well on the eating front. Not really trying. It's not like I haven't got a pretty good reason to lose weight (HP's wedding in August) I just can't get myself convinced I can do it. I need to kick comfort eating for a start. I know this. I've got a strategy for doing it. I need to convince myself I can do it, with God's help. And that I want to.
Am I stopping myself finding a man? What's wrong with me? I'm still trying to deal with one of the strategies I think I've been using to keep myself safe from the prospect of a relationship. (The pig and her hook. I'm not going to explain more than that.) I want to be in a relationship, but I seem to be too scared or too afraid of hard work or too something, (I don't know what, on a bad day too weird and ugly, on a good day I know that's not true) to actually make that a reality. I say there are no men. Is that really true? Do I need to look harder? Be less picky? Chill out and stop scaring them away? Arrrgh!
Today, insects seem to be waking up. There was a fly buzzing round the room this afternoon, which was pretty annoying. When I got home, there was a small winged thing crawling around on my computer. I think it might actually have crawled inside the keyboard. Grr.
It's been a bad day. I hope tomorrow is better. I'm doing another long day at work, but I need to leave in time to get home and then get to the station to catch a train to Oxford. I'm off to a Gaudy (college reunion) and catching up with some old friends. I'm planning to go to Emmanuel Church on Sunday morning. Look out for me if you're there!
*Which is, I suppose, progress in a way. I used to be a little proud of never crying at films or books, but after having had several months of being unable to cry, broken by a weekend of howling, I'm beginning to think I was actually very cut off from my emotions and that I'm now able to be touched by other people's sadness, even fictional sadness, is a good thing.
Thursday, December 04, 2008
almost midnight
I should be asleep. I'm sitting in bed, blogging. I was trying to be asleep, but too worked up about stuff to relax.
It's been another rollercoaster of a week. Yes, I know it's not over yet. But my working week is over.
I wish I were different. I wish the world were less screwed up. I wish people didn't hurt each other.
I'm going to lie in bed and read Psalms to get some perspective.
It's been another rollercoaster of a week. Yes, I know it's not over yet. But my working week is over.
I wish I were different. I wish the world were less screwed up. I wish people didn't hurt each other.
I'm going to lie in bed and read Psalms to get some perspective.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
...and zonk!
I think yesterday's wooziness was caused by tiredness. Today I am just as tired and about to have an afternoon nap.
I'm frustrated with getting so tired. I've worked three mornings this week. I did have a relatively late night on Monday, but in theory I've had enough sleep and mostly it was good sleep. I'm tired of being tired. I don't know what to do differently. Most fresh air and exercise? Different food? Go to bed even earlier?
Grrrr.
I'm frustrated with getting so tired. I've worked three mornings this week. I did have a relatively late night on Monday, but in theory I've had enough sleep and mostly it was good sleep. I'm tired of being tired. I don't know what to do differently. Most fresh air and exercise? Different food? Go to bed even earlier?
Grrrr.
Wednesday, October 01, 2008
words don't work
I'm having one of those days.
Words aren't working. Books don't work, it's like something's broken in my reading system. Talking to God seems pointless, I can't make the words express how I feel. I'm a word-junkie, I live for books. How can they seem so pointless, so empty?
The most meaningful thing I did all day was to lie on a bench, looking up at the sky and listening to the wind in the trees. I can't describe the feeling of the roar of the wind in the trees. It's more an image, a drawing, a scribbling on the atmosphere.
I give up on words. Today, they don't do anything for me.
I want a hug, a kiss, a squeeze, a shoulder to cry on.
Words aren't working. Books don't work, it's like something's broken in my reading system. Talking to God seems pointless, I can't make the words express how I feel. I'm a word-junkie, I live for books. How can they seem so pointless, so empty?
The most meaningful thing I did all day was to lie on a bench, looking up at the sky and listening to the wind in the trees. I can't describe the feeling of the roar of the wind in the trees. It's more an image, a drawing, a scribbling on the atmosphere.
I give up on words. Today, they don't do anything for me.
I want a hug, a kiss, a squeeze, a shoulder to cry on.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
I don't know what to say
I am alive. I am breathing. I am sad. I am trying not to worry.
I'm going out for a stomp in the woods.
I'm going out for a stomp in the woods.
Friday, September 12, 2008
Friday, achey
It's been a strange week. I'm sure it must be Saturday already? I'm very very tired and achey, think I'm going down with something. :-(
Still, on the positive side, there have been lots of fun times with friends and family this week. I'm getting lots of sleep. I've hardly had to cook for myself all week. (Actually I mostly like cooking, but I've not had the energy for it much lately). I have filled in forms and registered with agencies. I'm not quite completely broke, yet. I have lots of lovely friends, here in Cambridge and elsewhere in the world.
Can I go back to sleep now?
Still, on the positive side, there have been lots of fun times with friends and family this week. I'm getting lots of sleep. I've hardly had to cook for myself all week. (Actually I mostly like cooking, but I've not had the energy for it much lately). I have filled in forms and registered with agencies. I'm not quite completely broke, yet. I have lots of lovely friends, here in Cambridge and elsewhere in the world.
Can I go back to sleep now?
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
I don't like wednesdays
Or they don't like me. Wednesday always seems to bring a dip in energy. Today I'm tired and tense. I didn't sleep very well last night or the night before. Last week, Wednesday was my worst day. Maybe my body objects to working more than two days in a row? I had two good getting up and going to the library days on Monday and Tuesday and now I'm flopping.
What have I done? I went for a walk in the woods, had a snooze, had some lunch. Maybe I'll venture out now.
What have I done? I went for a walk in the woods, had a snooze, had some lunch. Maybe I'll venture out now.
Monday, July 14, 2008
Wednesday, July 02, 2008
I wish I knew how it would feel to be free
It's a bad day. I'm sitting in the library, staring at a computer screen, staring at my notes, my hands, my books, wondering what the point is. Today my brain feels fuzzy, my throat hurts. I feel unreal, as if everything I can see is an illusion, a mirage my hands would slip through if I tried to grasp it.
When will this end? When will I feel real again? When will the sun shine?
When will this end? When will I feel real again? When will the sun shine?
Monday, May 12, 2008
powered by prayer and prozac
Hello. I'm not dead, still alive. And the above is true, though when I say powered, I mean just about OK if a bit tired on a good day and hanging in there but exhausted and tearful on a bad day.
To fill you in. I had a fluey illness in late March, which wiped me out pretty completely. I've not really had much energy since then, I've been tired and feeling like I'm made of lead and fairly low. I first went to the doctors a couple of weeks after I first got ill because my cough symptoms were taking a long time to go and I knew something wasn't right. The doctor I saw then listened to my chest, told me I was fine and not to worry. So I went away. But although the cough went away, the tiredness and fuzziness and downness didn't. So I went back again a couple of weeks ago, saw a different doctor, told her how I felt, physically and mentally and she listened. A few weeks and some bloodtests later, we're beginning to make progress. It looks like the illness I had in March was glandular fever which would explain how much it wiped me out then and how tired I am now. I'm on antidepressants, as of a few days ago, so it'll be a while before they kick in. I'm applying to delay my uni essays until August since I haven't been able to do much work. On a bad day, I can barely read. I'm asking for help wherever I can, and getting it. Most of all, I've got lots of lovely friends around who are looking out for me and praying for me and being encouraging.
I'm still very up and down. I had a tiring weekend, with lots of walking and standing around on Saturday for Debs' MA graduation, singing in the worship band at church yesterday. I didn't sleep very well last night and woke up early, as usual. I think today may be a sitting on the settee not doing very much sort of day. It's going to take time to get better. Still, having admitted that life isn't OK right now and asked for help, there's a certain feeling of relief that I'm not on my own and I don't have to bottle stuff up inside and deal with it all by myself anymore.
I don't really know what's going to happen next. There's a PhD studentship I want to apply for, but the deadline is Friday and right now I'm not in the best frame of mind for selling myself as a wonderful research prospect. I can't even think coherently about my MA dissertation, yet alone a potential PhD one.
All I can do is keep on breathing.
To fill you in. I had a fluey illness in late March, which wiped me out pretty completely. I've not really had much energy since then, I've been tired and feeling like I'm made of lead and fairly low. I first went to the doctors a couple of weeks after I first got ill because my cough symptoms were taking a long time to go and I knew something wasn't right. The doctor I saw then listened to my chest, told me I was fine and not to worry. So I went away. But although the cough went away, the tiredness and fuzziness and downness didn't. So I went back again a couple of weeks ago, saw a different doctor, told her how I felt, physically and mentally and she listened. A few weeks and some bloodtests later, we're beginning to make progress. It looks like the illness I had in March was glandular fever which would explain how much it wiped me out then and how tired I am now. I'm on antidepressants, as of a few days ago, so it'll be a while before they kick in. I'm applying to delay my uni essays until August since I haven't been able to do much work. On a bad day, I can barely read. I'm asking for help wherever I can, and getting it. Most of all, I've got lots of lovely friends around who are looking out for me and praying for me and being encouraging.
I'm still very up and down. I had a tiring weekend, with lots of walking and standing around on Saturday for Debs' MA graduation, singing in the worship band at church yesterday. I didn't sleep very well last night and woke up early, as usual. I think today may be a sitting on the settee not doing very much sort of day. It's going to take time to get better. Still, having admitted that life isn't OK right now and asked for help, there's a certain feeling of relief that I'm not on my own and I don't have to bottle stuff up inside and deal with it all by myself anymore.
I don't really know what's going to happen next. There's a PhD studentship I want to apply for, but the deadline is Friday and right now I'm not in the best frame of mind for selling myself as a wonderful research prospect. I can't even think coherently about my MA dissertation, yet alone a potential PhD one.
All I can do is keep on breathing.
Monday, April 28, 2008
clipped wings
The blog's been intermittent for a while now, hasn't it? It's probably going to stay that way. I hesitate to declare it dead. It may yet revive. But posts will continue to be light, until I feel a little better about life. I could use it to document how I feel, but that might become a little monotonous and I'm not a great sharer of my privacy.
If you want to say hello and don't already know where to find me, my email address is in my profile. Prayers and hellos gratefully received.
If you want to say hello and don't already know where to find me, my email address is in my profile. Prayers and hellos gratefully received.
Thursday, April 24, 2008
eating surrealists for breakfast
This morning, I seem to have lost all logic. My brain is working slowly and with a high degree of nonsense. This makes half-listening to the radio rather entertaining. If you half listen to Women's Hour with a fuzzy brain, they could be talking about anything, flying fish, lobsters, sheep. At the moment they're talking about women in the army, but I can't make it make sense. It's a sort of stream of sounds with the occasional noun which sticks out. You know the bit in Mrs Dalloway when the birds are speaking Greek? Today, that makes total sense to me.
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
the internet cannot tell you who you are
Having a down and grumpy day, for no particular reason. So I'm sitting here playing with blogs and facebook and email and somehow expecting that to make me happier. And it doesn't. So I shall turn off the computer and go away and find something to do that might. Preferably something NOT involving food.
Thursday, March 06, 2008
frustration
Life is mostly OK at the moment, but I'm frustrated by the fact that my back STILL hurts. After about 6 weeks. It's not as horribly painful as it was in the first couple of weeks, but I'm still not sleeping well and sitting is painful, which doesn't help my work get done.
On the positive side, I have a physio appointment on Monday morning, which is much sooner than I expected. And I do have some stuff to take at night which is supposed to deaden the nerve activity, though it hasn't noticably kicked in yet.
Patience, Bekki, patience.
On the positive side, I have a physio appointment on Monday morning, which is much sooner than I expected. And I do have some stuff to take at night which is supposed to deaden the nerve activity, though it hasn't noticably kicked in yet.
Patience, Bekki, patience.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
this must be thursday
It's not been a good day so far. The bad day actually began last night when I came to unlock my bike and discovered the lock was stuck. In a very silly, but impossible way. There was little point trying to fix it in the dark, so I left it until this morning. Today, I woke up later than I intended, managed to break a necklace and send beads all over the floor and in the process of clearing it up, knocked a vase of flowers over and spilt water all over the floor. When trying to throw the flowers in the green bin, I discovered the keys to the back door were at work because I'd discovered them in my pocket yesterday, not recognised them and decided someone at work must have put them in my coat pocket by mistake. (Seemed logical at the time, but rather less so now.)
I have now freed the bike, using nail clippers and tidied up the mess, but the whole business has left me feeling stressed and frustrated and unsettled before I've even done anything. And it's windy and raining, so I'm staying in the warm until the rain goes away, hoping nothing else breaks.
I have now freed the bike, using nail clippers and tidied up the mess, but the whole business has left me feeling stressed and frustrated and unsettled before I've even done anything. And it's windy and raining, so I'm staying in the warm until the rain goes away, hoping nothing else breaks.
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