We've got a feline drill in my flat now...the lil alien keeps coming home with new injuries and making me pay more money to the cat fixers. He makes it almost impossible to buy gin for the children...
This sort of day...the one where it starts off with your coffee and your cereal and you are at your desk at work and suddenly you feel very very ill...this sort of day sucks...and I tweeted it like a hand out in the dark...and I got a reply from a photoblogger with a beautiful heart....
Before I put my hand out I had an Angel in my office. I had rising panic in my chest threatening to bubble over until I'd jump into not there. She caught me by my fingers and placed me back in safe just by saying a few words. Its like spun silver or a moonrise, breaaaaaaaaaaaathe now, breathe out and back in again...there now you're YOU and that's alright. You can be. BE...
and I stayed there all day and did things I was meant to, and well even. Then I did cry for just a few seconds but only because I could and that was ok too and then I was being me again and it was really really ok.
I found myself home again battling with the urge to buy ice cream because the anxiety attacks were so extreme I'm sugarless. Wandering off into the night and the trees in search of a treat: sweet bananas or cola bottles, lickable wallpaper or maybe even just a chocolate cigarette, pink slippersocks over jeans and my chocolate jacket that goes way past my knees over a pinkish top...coinciding pinkness...I look like candy wrapped in chocolate. Singing "I don't want to wait" by Paula Cole croakily along to my car radio.
In my looking for a something I wasn't sure of I found:
-Quince paste and bitter almond ice cream,
-"Rhum" liquer chocolate and
-a plastic tub of pitted dates.
The combination of which has made me feel remarkably more nauseous than my usual Lindt experience...murphy's law, sod's law, the law under which thou shalt not buy weird sweets from strange shops whilst under the influence of OCD. Or is that strange sweets from weird shops? Smile, it's vaguely funny now xo It has passed it's worst...I no longer wish to have my fingers jammed in a car door just to distract me from my brain... smile again, I can crack jokes because it's not grasping me by the throat, right now.
It started by feeling alone and then wondering if I deserved to be because I'm me and that doesn't quite cut it. It began this time because I had a lapse which isn't so frequent, the lapse of self where you're not sure if you can trust you to be nice and kind and a voice keeps saying you "might not" be who you think you actually are, you "may" be the person you really don't ever ever want to be, the inversed reflection of all you believe to be strong and true...balderdash really but who can tell the addled and very tired eyes that they are done weeping.
When I cry about this there is no end as there is no solution to the irrational. It keeps looping around and hurting me again until I lie exhausted in a chair with my dogs and expensive alien glued to my sides. The kind of tears that can be ever so laughably triggered by Rachel watching a prom video and ambling to Ross so sweetly and kissing him like sugar and their "Friends" grin. Ashamedly and quite hilariously I also find it brought on by Phoebe stating "see, he's her lobster" and there ends the seriousness that is my fucked up ailment in my silly head...
Incidentally, Quince paste and bitter almond ice cream is "lush", a word I hold up there with "Chillax" and the words "fully sick"...
Oh and despite today I'll get up again tomorrow and everything will be ok :)
IF YOU HAVE AN ANXIETY DISORDER , DEPRESSION OR JUST CRY SOMETIMES FEEL FREE TO EMAIL ME ANY TIME, I'LL ALWAYS REPLY AND I MIGHT BE ABLE TO RECOMMEND SOMEONE, SOMEWHERE OR JUST BE ME AND THAT MIGHT EVEN HELP XO HUGE LOVEbird xxx
This sort of day...the one where it starts off with your coffee and your cereal and you are at your desk at work and suddenly you feel very very ill...this sort of day sucks...and I tweeted it like a hand out in the dark...and I got a reply from a photoblogger with a beautiful heart....
Before I put my hand out I had an Angel in my office. I had rising panic in my chest threatening to bubble over until I'd jump into not there. She caught me by my fingers and placed me back in safe just by saying a few words. Its like spun silver or a moonrise, breaaaaaaaaaaaathe now, breathe out and back in again...there now you're YOU and that's alright. You can be. BE...
and I stayed there all day and did things I was meant to, and well even. Then I did cry for just a few seconds but only because I could and that was ok too and then I was being me again and it was really really ok.
I found myself home again battling with the urge to buy ice cream because the anxiety attacks were so extreme I'm sugarless. Wandering off into the night and the trees in search of a treat: sweet bananas or cola bottles, lickable wallpaper or maybe even just a chocolate cigarette, pink slippersocks over jeans and my chocolate jacket that goes way past my knees over a pinkish top...coinciding pinkness...I look like candy wrapped in chocolate. Singing "I don't want to wait" by Paula Cole croakily along to my car radio.
In my looking for a something I wasn't sure of I found:
-Quince paste and bitter almond ice cream,
-"Rhum" liquer chocolate and
-a plastic tub of pitted dates.
The combination of which has made me feel remarkably more nauseous than my usual Lindt experience...murphy's law, sod's law, the law under which thou shalt not buy weird sweets from strange shops whilst under the influence of OCD. Or is that strange sweets from weird shops? Smile, it's vaguely funny now xo It has passed it's worst...I no longer wish to have my fingers jammed in a car door just to distract me from my brain... smile again, I can crack jokes because it's not grasping me by the throat, right now.
It started by feeling alone and then wondering if I deserved to be because I'm me and that doesn't quite cut it. It began this time because I had a lapse which isn't so frequent, the lapse of self where you're not sure if you can trust you to be nice and kind and a voice keeps saying you "might not" be who you think you actually are, you "may" be the person you really don't ever ever want to be, the inversed reflection of all you believe to be strong and true...balderdash really but who can tell the addled and very tired eyes that they are done weeping.
When I cry about this there is no end as there is no solution to the irrational. It keeps looping around and hurting me again until I lie exhausted in a chair with my dogs and expensive alien glued to my sides. The kind of tears that can be ever so laughably triggered by Rachel watching a prom video and ambling to Ross so sweetly and kissing him like sugar and their "Friends" grin. Ashamedly and quite hilariously I also find it brought on by Phoebe stating "see, he's her lobster" and there ends the seriousness that is my fucked up ailment in my silly head...
Incidentally, Quince paste and bitter almond ice cream is "lush", a word I hold up there with "Chillax" and the words "fully sick"...
Oh and despite today I'll get up again tomorrow and everything will be ok :)
IF YOU HAVE AN ANXIETY DISORDER , DEPRESSION OR JUST CRY SOMETIMES FEEL FREE TO EMAIL ME ANY TIME, I'LL ALWAYS REPLY AND I MIGHT BE ABLE TO RECOMMEND SOMEONE, SOMEWHERE OR JUST BE ME AND THAT MIGHT EVEN HELP XO HUGE LOVEbird xxx
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