I am trying to take care of myself, in the same way that I take care of others. I am trying to love myself, in the same way that I love others. I am trying to believe in, and be be proud of myself, in the same way that I believe in and am proud of others.
It is so easy for me to applaud another, or soothe another, or comfort another. It is so easy for me to look at another person and understand every reason why they are how they are. It is so easy for me to raise my hand to stem their worries, fears, and doubts.
But when I look at myself, I find it difficult. It can be so hard to function. Sometimes it’s cos I’m ill. Sometimes it’s cos I’m depressed. And sometimes I just really don’t have time to care for myself. I can be for other people what they cannot be for themselves, but I cannot be what I need. I spend my days caring and loving others, and yet, when I come home, I have none left for myself. Continue reading
Sometimes I’m like a bath that has been left just that little too long. Not hot enough to burn, not cold enough to not bother, just lukewarm enough to be slightly uncomfortable and confusing.
Do I stay in? Do I get out? Am I enjoying this? Am I not? Most the time you either accept this weird temperature, or you actually try to do something about it; whether that’s getting out, or turning on the hot water tap and waiting for the bath to warm up.
Well sometimes, I’m that lukewarm bath. Sometimes, I don’t feel anything at either end of the spectrum, I’m just…where I am. I’m not happy, proud, excited, joyous, content. I’m also not angry, sad, upset, or annoyed. I’m not really anything, I’m just sitting in a very weird in between. Continue reading
I’ve come to realise that underneath everything, I am a very angry and irritable person. I’m quick to fire up and very slow to burn out. I’m a seether, a grudger, a hater of all things. Would you have guessed?
One of my friends once told me that when I get angry she knows it’s real, she knows that something must have really pissed me off, because according to her, I don’t get angry. But I’ve mentioned it before that I would rather hold it inside me than let anything come out, and that I would rather suffer than anybody else. Unfortunately for me, I think that just makes me an even angrier person. It has no where to go, so it grows and shrinks, grows and shrinks, and then just fucks up everything. Continue reading
MUSINGS OF A CARER
There’s a client I’ve been seeing intermittently for the last 2 months. Ever since I met her, she’s been trying to hook me up with ‘the fish man’ who regularly visits, because, as I quote, ‘you have a lovely figure and bouncy hair, why wouldn’t he want to’. It doesn’t matter that he’s married with children and I have a partner, the only thing that has even slightly deterred her from trying to match-make is that fact that I hate fish. Apparently that’s the only thing that makes us incompatible.
MUSINGS OF A CARER
Today I had to google what a ‘Tall Boy’ was. No it is not a vivid sexual fantasy of a never married-little-old lady (and if that was the case, why on earth was she handing me 2 towels… *shiver*). Thanks to google, I discovered that a Tall Boy is in fact a chest of drawers. And so the generational knowledge gap between me and my clients once again becomes glaringly apparent.
Who really knows.
I’m not one of those people who likes conflict. I hate it. It drives me mad. It stresses me out. If anything, conflict is one of the biggest triggers to me tumbling into a downwards spiral. I’ve always been one of those people who would rather sit down, talk, and find a compromise, than get into a full blown argument with someone. To me, that’s always been the better option.
I’m not going to say it’s healthy. In the long run, it’s probably quite the opposite. I’d rather not show anyone just exactly how they’ve hurt me, or how angry I am, so it just ends up bottled. It grows and grows, and eventually explodes, or at least, implodes, into something not good at all. I’m an internal combustor, a nuclear bomb that only collapses inwards rather than shatters outwards. Continue reading
Depression sucks. Like really sucks. And when you hit a low spot it can feel like the whole world is crashing in around you, flying unerringly towards the void that is opening up in your chest. I was pretty good for a while. Probably a little while too long. And as the old saying goes ‘what goes up must come down’. No, I don’t go through my okay periods constantly thinking ‘when is this going to end’ (not every time anyway), but I can’t help but always feel like there is some sort of inevitability whenever I do end up crashing head first down the rabbit hole. It reaches a point when you start to become aware of every tiny little thing, every little flux in thought and feeling, and you begin to wonder if this is the one that finally pushes you over that edge. Sometimes I describe it as a cartoon cliff, where you run out and you don’t realise you’re over that cliff until you look down, and it’s too late by then. Other times you can see it getting closer and you’re doing everything in your power to stop the impending edge but there’s always something that sidelines you and you almost willingly take that final step off the precipice. I don’t know which one is worse to be honest. Continue reading