Crack in the Facade

Yesterday I had an odd day.

I woke feeling rested for the first time in a couple of weeks. I showered, dressed, sorted out the fur and feathers and even caught the train I was aiming for. The sun was shining.

Not long after the train had pulled away from the platform I felt the sting of a tear in my eye. I willed it away becasue I couldn't figure out why it felt like it was needed. There were no sad movies to be seen, no songs of regret pumping through my headphones. I was listening to Sander van Doorn to continue the positive mood I was in.

The tears pricked until they spilled over and started to run down my cheeks. I descreetly wiped them away.

I looked in my bag for a tissue. Sniffing season hasn't yet started so I don't have any. Damn.

I used my sleeve. Very twelve year old.

Then the nose started to go.

The train was packed and I was sat in the fixed seat that faces another. The lady sat in the seat opposite was watching me with interest but she made no move to offer a tissue or even an encouraging smile. Our knees where touching, maybe she felt that was comfort enough.

I could feel choking coming on as we sat at a station with the door open. I jumped for my seat, over the person between me and the aisle and out onto the platform. A large suck of air, pushed the lump in my throat back down.

I walked along the platform, expecting the doors to close, but they didn't. I found a seat a couple of carriages away from where I'd started and resumed my trip into work, feeling slightly confused but more composed.

The tears started again. That reprieve had been short.

What was going on to cause this...breakdown?

I thought about Cara. I thought about my job situation, my home life, my loneliness, sickness, the things I do because I'm on my own, things I don't do because I'm on my own. The last few years in general and how I've been breathing through the stress, the pain and worry for nearly four years, with little or no physical support.

Yes, I acknowledge there have been good times in there, but I can tell you that rough and tough times FAR outweighed good.

Whilst I have regular contact with many folks online (both here and aboard), no amount of wishful thoughts, air hugs and kisses and kindly, supportive words in a message will ever make up for an actual hug and a jolly good chat over a glass of wine.

I know there are some that ask how I fit everything I do into my life. I make it fit to prevent myself doing myself harm. Yes I mean that. Given too much time to think I eventually come back to 'why bother?'

Yesterday when I broke, the doctor wanted me to go to the hospital for evalution and assitance for my nervous or mental breakdown. I managed to convince her that I wouldn't self harm and I mean it. I think it, I know there are people out there that would, but not I. When thinking about how, I come around to who'd find me, who'd have to deal with my lack of will, who have to tell what family I have left that still speaks to me (family weirdness) and ultimately who'd have to do the washing up. So it always come back to thinking of others.

I acknowledge that I need help, professional help. I also need to make lifestyle changes and I need to have someone in my life that can call me when they want too and vice versa. Someone that I can exchange hugs with. Someone that isn't going to tell me to 'get over it' and most of all I need a human in my life that isn't surprised when they see me cry and even better if they can say, 'You're beautiful', when I do.

This won't solve the problem, but it with sure as hell will make putting together IKEA shelves easier.

St David's Day

Today would have been my 14th wedding anniversary, but seeing as I’m divorced now, it’s just St David’s Day. It’ll still evoke special memories in me, they’ll just be a little more wistful.

Instead of flowers, dinner and an amazing night of snugly ohing and ahing, I went to see the doctors.

I’ve been putting it off, knowing that I was getting worse and knowing that I’d inevitably walk out with a prescription for mind altering drugs and a suggestion to see a counsellor. I was right. But I know I’ve reached a point where I need the help.

These are a few things I know to watch;
Anger. It’s much worse than it’s been in a very long while. Frankly, I want to tell everyone to just f*ck off then go and hide in a hole.
Sleep. I sleep like a cat, but wake up tired after my dreams have been invaded by nastiness. No frolicking in lush green meadows with the man of my dreams at the moment.
Motivation. I’m sorry you want me to do what? I can’t be arsed to get showered or dressed at the weekend let alone leave the house if I don’t HAVE to.
Motorbike. I’m avoiding it. I very nearly sold it at a loss the other day.
Food. I starving all the time, but don’t want to eat. Once I start eating I can’t stop.
Concentration. How many times did I wash my face in the shower this morning because I’d forgotten I just done it?
Writing. I haven't done any for ages unless I'm complaining or griping about something. I'm not really a miserable git, but I'm sure some think I am. Consider this exhibit A.

Of course there are still those that ask me for help, even though I’ve attempted to retreat into the pit of despair that is my life at present. I’ve stopped going out even though I have a couple of fellas trying to court (I use that word because date seems odd). I’m wrong at the moment. I’m up for a bit, then down as low as can be.

Dr Rosemary says I need to be less stoic, ‘it’s a very British mentality’.

I freaking out about how the bills are going to be paid. I need to get a housemate, but despite a lovely spare room and over 100 views on the advert I’ve had no enquiries. My mental health is slipping into disrepair along with my kidneys.

I’ve been here before and I survived. Actually I’ve been here a couple of times in the last few years. I bounce back, but as a friend said the other day, ‘I’m just not sure how many bounces I have left in me’.

I can’t help thinking; while Africa was a great adventure, I would have been better staying at home.

I can’t help thinking; if I’d never have left my husband, I’d be financially OK?

I can’t help thinking; what’s going to happen to me, am I going to die alone, broke and eaten by cats?

I can’t help thinking; would anyone really miss me?

RIP Indian Chilli

It was all over the news yesterday. The Indian Chilli had to be demolished. Overnight the building had started to shift causing a huge crack to appear between it and the building next door. The whole row of shops was evacated.

The owner of the building is blaming the city council for undermining his property during works to the community centre next door, but this may be because he doesn’t have building insurance. D’oh!

Being a local and a regular diner I had to see what was going on. I took some pictures with my mobile during the day, then went back later with my other camera to take some after shots.

As I sat on the wall taking 'after' pictures, a couple of builder types sat down next to me and asked why I was so interested in a heap of rubble. I explained that they did a really good Butter Chicken and Sag Aloo, and that I had purchased poppadums only the night before.

‘I won’t tell you what it was like out the back then.’ He said.


- Just an itsy bitsy crack between the white building doing an impression of the Leaning Tower of Pisa.

- Not feeling so much like a famous landmark now!