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Sunday, 24 October 2010

I disappeared for a few days again

Rather completely from twitter, email and LJ et al. Put this down to Point 6 on the Sparky self-destruction cycle. Not exactly surprisingly, Spirit Day, while wonderful and heartening, wasn’t something I could deal with and after turning my twit-pic purple and taking one look at my twitter feed my brain went *schlup* and I stepped away from the computer. I stepped back, schlupped again and crawled away and into a big friendly bottle (mental note: Alcohol response to Triggers? BAD bad bad habit, must be stopping that. That’s certainly borrowing problems for the future)




But yes, I kept my space and my distance which means *gasp* I may have finally learned my lesson. Maybe? I don’t know. Things are still all kinds of fugly and if you see me disappear suddenly for a few days, weeks, whatever then it’s probably because I’m protecting myself and will be back when I feel I can.


I did wear a purple tie, but it was somewhat coincidental. I wore it because it happened to be left out the night before and in the morning you’re lucky if I can figure out how to put one foot in front og the other, let alone make choices about clothing colour. Left work as soon as humanly possible and crawled into bed. The world can be screwed up, I have a big warm bed and I’m not leaving it, you cannot make me.

In the squickness – my… stuff.. I don’t know what do you even call this? Mood swings, massive raging, breaking things, insomnia and crippling nightmares, collapsing into near or actual tears for no noticeable reason and this constant dread spiced with random panic attacks and the odd spells of disturbing staring into space… I don’t know, this Do-not-want-ness continues and isn’t going away though it is coming and going in waves. Something has broken and it isn’t fixed, and this is annoying.

A good and sensible friend has suggested that I need to seek help – as in real help of a professional nature. And friend with Magnificent Breast, while extremely helpful (well, I’m told it’s helpful but dragging all the blah into the open like that isn’t great for me in many ways) has insisted time and again that she isn’t a professional therapist with a strong hint that maybe I should seek one. Which is… blaargle? Not something I’m especially comfortable for, doubtless, many silly silly silly silly reasons not least of which an arrogant and prejudiced idea that “oh, no, not ME. Never ME. That’s for other people!”

Good and Sensible friend has also reminded me that it has been freaking ages since I had any kind of holiday. I think I need one. But don’t know whether I want to book and arrange a holiday while I’m still full of Do-Not-Want-Ness and, anyway, winter holidays are so not my thing. I don’t know, I need a thunking.

In terms of actual reality outside the Bad Brain of Badness. Beloved is still a saint, managing to to be a source of infinite comfort, a pillar to lean on and a stern policeman to step in an intervene when I am doing the silly, self-destructive things. Hmmm I need to get him a uniform.

Work is actually getting better. Though SPs are as clueless as ever about so much, one thing they DO understand, and seem to understand very very well, are the words “hey, I’m on the edge of a breakdown”. Perhaps a trifle dramatic but I’m not entirely sure how much of an exageration it is or, indeed, if “on the edge of” should be better said as “in the middle of.” In general ingrained professionalism gets me through work… I take a moment in an empty office or in the bathrooms to have minor emotional moments, then can build it all back up again and return to business as normal. I am double checking my work and asking SPs to check some of my cases at random – but my work remains exemplary, if I do say so myself.

But yes, the pressure on me has dropped a lot at work, in fact, it hasn’t relaxed like this for as along as I can remember, especially with the lack of travelling and much reduced call outs. Kudos to the SPs, they’ve got a lot wrong on the past – but they are being very careful and respectful here.

Family is… family. I’m feeling a little adrift because I’ve gone from our standard state of speaking to 101 vaguely related people a week to heavily screening my calls (excessively really, I doubt most of them are calling about anything related to Uncle Fail. But also because I’m not 100% comfortable with the idea of any of my family learning just how much trouble I’m having at the moment, because it so will not help). It’s been more peaceful but in a way it’s like knowing there’s a poisonous spider in the room you can’t see – just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean it’s not crawling around waiting to bite you.

Had a standard awkward and “why are we even bothering to discuss this” discussion with mother. She feels torn because she feels she’s being asked to choose between me and her brother…

which, well, firstly I would have thought that if it were a choice between the homophobic brother you don’6t like anyway and the gay son who has put up with his shit for years, well, yeah. Hard choice?

But still, I’m not asking anyone to make the choice, I’m not announcing anyone in the family must shun him in order to stay close to me, I’m not asking anyone to defend me and I’m certainly not asking anyone to apologise for me (and cut that shit out right now!)

And I realise mum gets a lot of flack for having raised a son who is ZOMG gay and there are no few people who view this as a great big failing on her part, but I really really really need her not to make that my issue or require me to handhold her through it again or be treated to a litany of the ways my sexuality has complicated her life. Nor do I need to know what steps she’s taking to reduce her embarrassment/awkwardness/whatever other thing she’s feeling that will make my head ache if I’m told about it. Honestly, now is not the time to revisit the whole “do you have to be out to everyone?!” and the “why shouldn’t we make up fake straight biographies for you?” because I so beyond do not need it.

Oh and the game/tool of exploring all my scars with Beloved is… interesting and sorta kinky fun, since it involves stripping naked and lots of close body examination which leads to much fun and kinkiness… but at the same time involves telling the story of each one, remembering each one and seeing how damn many there are, I forgot half of these things. I’m kind of dodging between freaking at them all on the one hand and shrugging and saying “y’know what, all these scars and my sexy husband loves it anyway” on the other.

So, yeah. Are things good? No. Are things better? Maybe? I’m not sure, the badness continues but I think we’re navigating it better than we were. I have a feeling I’m being slightly paranoid now which isn’t helping matters, but I think I’m still going to hide under the bed a little and prepare for the worst until I’m sure that I can deal a bit better than I am doing

Which means a little more hermitting, a lot more cooking and a lot lot lot of being very very damn careful

-Oh, it also means I’m slooow with comments and flist and email and Twitter. I know I’m never exactly SPEEDY with these things, but I promise I’m not ignoring anything, I’m just taking it as and when I can. I will get back to everything (well, obviously not my general twitter feed for obvious reasons) but it may take me a while

Oh the second – yeah I have notifications turned on in email and LJ so when I saw I had like a squillion LJ messages I deleted them assuming they were all comment notifications and only a second later realised that I had a lot of PMs to get back to – mea maxima culpa. I’m not ignoring you, I’m just fool enough to delete messages without reading them *headdesk*