Noisy tears, hushed anger

I am really quite angry today. I had an argument with one of my flatmates, F, yesterday, about a completely trivial issue – her street at home is planning a party for the Royal Wedding and she invited me and our other flatmate, A, to go for the weekend and join in. The problem I have is that the following weekend, my older sister is coming home for a visit (she moved out to Melbourne in January for work) and I want to go and see her –  she was mugged at knifepoint on a business-trip to Beijing last week and the whole family is quite shaken – all three of us kids are pretty gung-ho when it comes to travel – we’ve all done quite a bit of ‘0ff-the-beaten-track’ backpacking and aside from the scary time I got stuck on the wrong side of the Cambodia-Thailand border, it’s always been fine, until now. She’s fine, but shaken and needs some TLC. I have so much to do right now in terms of academics, and probably because it’s been such a long week (I’ve been in the hospital everyday either from 8am-6pm, and until 9pm on two days), I’m feeling really stressed out and worried about everything at the moment. I said I might not go to F’s for that weekend afterall as I need the time to get stuff done, and she completely over-reacted, and massively piled on the guilt – yes, it’s just a weekend, but I don’t have that many weekends until everything has to be done and handed in, and it’s my choice anyway. I know she’s excited about the street party, but I need to put my deadlines first, and if it’s a choice between seeing my sister and going to a royalist party, I know which I’m going to chose.

She tried to apologise when I started crying, and I accepted it but told her I needed some space for a bit, leading to her getting cross again and storming out. When I’m angry, I don’t want to be around people, I need to sort my head out, and I really don’t like people in my personal space.  I had plans to go for dinner for a friend’s 21st birthday, and after crying for a while, got ready, pulled myself together and had left before she came back. I was angry enough that quite frankly, I felt like seeing how much I could drink before I started to forget, which was not an intelligent idea as I’ve not drank alcohol for months. It feels quite churlish to say that actually, I had a lovely night with friends, drank too much wine, and it felt great, to get that ‘I don’t sodding care’ attitude that drinking gives me, when I’m already feeling grumpy and flippant. It felt great to feel a bit tipsy and slurred, to have a few of those silly conversations you only have when both people are a little bit disinhibited, and feeling that for once, the world slowed down a little. There’s been a lot of times in the last few months when I’ve really felt like saying, ‘shove it’ and going and drinking until I fall asleep – and I’ve never, ever given into it, partly because I don’t have time for hangovers, and also because I refuse usually to ’emotionally drink’ – as a daughter of an alcoholic, I’m all too aware of how slippery the slope it. Last night though, it felt great. Superficial, perhaps, but at least that’s something. And I know I should be ashamed of it, but I feel rebelliously defiant, which is probably not a good thing at all, but right now, I just do not care. No doubt I’ll change my tune in the next few days.

I’m hurt and angry – our other flatmate has ‘sided’ with F (it all seems so juvenile) and neither of them are really talking to me, and I don’t see what I’ve done to be honest – but everytime there’s even a hint of friction between us (which is very rare as usually, they are my best friends), A pulls out the ‘well, as you’re mentally ill, your judgement doesn’t count as much’ card, not overtly, but quite clearly there, and it (really trying not to swear here) completely annoys me. Just because I’ve got depression doesn’t invalidate me. I think I’m slipping again, and I’m getting that familiar feeling of feeling like I’m up against the world, alone, battling against all the med-school politics, and counselling, and placements, and everything else, and I could really do with them being allies at the moment, and not being ridiculous about a stupid party when no one actually cares about the royal wedding anyway. I could do with a few people onside, and at the moment, just feel let down and alone.

Sometimes, I just want to be selfish, and do what I want, or chose, and not have to worry about hurting people’s feelings. Sometimes, I want to be bloody difficult and stubborn, and bad-tempered. Sometimes, I don’t want to be the one sending a text asking if F is ok, I’d rather be throwing the mother of all hissy fits, stamping my feet, shouting at the top of my lungs, and preferably breaking some crockery, if we had any to spare. But being depressed sometimes feels like shackles about me – people in the know just put my moods down to the depression, not down to the fact they’ve actually acted unfairly and riled me up. I can’t win at the moment, I can’t win at all, and I’m so fed up of it. Depression – it tars me with its brush and pulls me down every single day. It clothes me in ire and drowns me in tempestuous waters. It just does not let go.

Sorry about the rant, I’m finishing some studying and am then going for a long run to get rid of some of my angry energy. Hope you’re having a less miffed day than I am.

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Why so downcast, oh my soul?

It’s Monday evening again and once more, I feel broken down and crowded out. It’s been a sad day from the start – in clinic, I met a lovely lady whose last state funded cycle of IVF has failed. She’s also at the upper age limit for adoption, so may never get her wish to be a mother. It’s things like this that make me grumpy anyway – for children in desperate need of parenting, does age really have such a huge impact on outcome? But, that’s a rant in itself, and now is not the place.

I went back to counselling and all I can say, is that I hope it’s going to get better at some point after things just seem to keep getting harder. The more I say, the more messed up I seem to get. And, yes, hiding all this stuff away for so long has done me no favours – but part of me thinks, if I am being open, honest, and a little self-centred, that I preferred being in denial and getting by, to being accepting and feeling like those parts of me are dying, all over again. I preferred blanking over certain events and emotions, to uncovering them and finding the stains are still there, and if anything, sinking deeper.

Every Hogmanay, there are stories of people who hop between countries and meridians, to greet the New Year in several times in different time-zones, and every year, I think that what they’re doing sounds so close to something Phillip Pullman or CS Lewis would come up with – a few adventurers seeing how long they can escape the coming of the new year for, a couple of thieves risking how much time they can steal before it finally hems them in again. At the moment, I feel like I’m caught in one of those stories – running and running and trying to stay in the light, above water, but as I look over my shoulder, the shadows are drawing in and the protection of the day is fading. How long can you run for, if you are running outside of time? How long can you outrun yourself?

I’m feeling lower and blanker again, exhausted again. I know I may be slipping and that recovery isn’t linear and straightforward, but likely to come in troughs and peaks – but at the moment, all I want is just one small peak, to get me through the next few months. I want to sleep easy and not wake up  constantly through the night thinking about all the things I must do if I am to complete the year. I want to stop feeling so unfixable, so beyond healing that I’m closer to dying completely than recovering. I want to know that the words I try to read to comfort myself, really are written on my heart in indelible ink. I want to know that someone is listening when I’m crying out with every inch of me for some release. I want to feel joy where joy should be felt, to feel at peace when my day is over. I want to get rid of this listless, under-the-skin feeling of jarring against the world around me.

I have a two week gap until my next session due to issues with my placement timetable, and for all L says that it’s best not to break, that it’s best to push through, I am so relieved. I have a full week where I don’t need to be sleeping off a session or losing sleep over the thought of the next. I have some time to get my bearings, process, and push back enough memories that I can function properly. That extra week feels like a lessening of the weight that I’ve got so used to carrying. It feels like a releasing of a taught rope that has had me in its grip. I know I have to go back, and face up – but right now, feeling drained and tearful and out of emotional control, I am relieved.

I love this song – I did it as part of a gospel triple in my choir. We’ve all felt a long way from home at some point. It’s on my pensieve (read: miserable) playlist that’s getting quite a lot of airtime at the moment.

 

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