A life less complicated

I’m worried about J. I had no idea about the way he chooses to cope with his low periods and having had an uncle who died after a long struggle with alcoholism, I really am uncomfortable with it. The toll it’ll take on his health and the fact that I know he can’t really afford to buy as frequently as he does is a concern.

He can also be incredibly unkind when he is depressed and tired. I realise that I am hard work and that I can be similarly irritable and cutting. I guess I don’t like being on the receiving end.

I have thought about telling him that I am finding it all too difficult and walking away. And when I’m upset it seems like the only thing to do. But then I take time to reflect and look at it all objectively and then I am not scared and somehow find the strength to carry on.

I have thought long and hard about the situation and I know that the place he is in is a direct result of the move and not having the money to make the improvements he wants to. I think he feels people are judging him because he’s done what they may view as very little since he’s been there. If only they knew…

I know that I struggled and found the move unsettling. Waiting for the council to step in is agonising and soul destroying. I feel anxious and I’m not even the one who has to cope with it directly.

I must be honest and say I realise I am still suicidal. I think if J left the scene I would call it a day. For the complexity of our relationship, I know he loves me and the strength he has in carrying on does encourage me.

I quit volunteering at the school this week. I will write a letter to the deputy head explaining my reasons. I simply cannot cope. It sounds weak and feeble-minded, but there it is. I wasn’t getting much out of it and my music – which I do love – was beginning to suffer with lessons cancelled here and there. I think I’ll focus on my viola lessons with a view to joining the orchestra, perhaps after Christmas if they’ll have me.

I have become very worried about my state of mind. J’s move seems to have triggered a phase of what Dr. S would have called “rapid cycling”. I have little pockets of feeling OK, tempered with feeling incredibly low and unable to cope. The triggers for the low moods are usually conversations with J or things that have happened when I am with him.

This weekend, the trigger came in the form of a discussion about having children. I have never really given serious thought to whether or not I want to become a mother, mostly because I have never had a partner who wanted to entertain the idea. But J seemed different.

We went to the pub on Saturday and when we got back – I can’t quite remember how we got on to the subject – but he told me he had always wanted a daughter and then reflected that it was now probably too late. I immediately felt afraid. I had naively assumed from previous conversations that children might be on the cards and now perhaps that was not the case? He told me he was old.

I asked him whether he really thought it was too late and he said probably before asking if I wanted children. I said I thought so, but realised that it would be complicated. And then there was a discussion about having to stop my medication and the issues that might raise and the consideration of the hormonal changes and general fatigue.

I think deep down I had always known my chances of becoming a mother were pretty slim, but I held out a secret hope. To hear the difficulties stated out loud squashed my daydream and made me realise that on the balance of probability I was never going to have a child.

My initial reaction was to pack my things, tell J it was over, come home and take an overdose. I managed to fight the urge and stayed put, fighting off tears and a bad mood in order to get some sleep.

I made it to the next morning and felt a little better. Strong enough to raise it again with J. He hadn’t known that I felt so sad about potentially not having my own children and we reasoned through the practicalities again. He agreed it was easy for him to make the decision because he already has two children. Things didn’t look any better in the cold light of day.

I’m shaking slightly as I type and I’m trying not to cry. I don’t quite know what exactly bothers me about it all. I mean, I’ve always worried about bringing a child into my world. I’d be anxious and moody and I wouldn’t want anyone to grow up in an environment like that. And yet, feeling that someone does not want to have children with you is painful (at one stage he said “Go and have some, then”; well, with who??!). I am unsuitable as a mother because of my mental state and that really hurts.

I’m not sure I have the strength to keep going in this relationship.

I got news this morning that Great Uncle D died late last night. He had been a semi-vegetative state since his massive heart attack almost 20 years ago. His wife’s religious beliefs (she is a Jehovah’s Witness) meant that she refused to turn his breathing support off, even after it was abundantly clear he was never going to recover and was in fact suffering (sometimes he’d lie there and cry and cry). Now he is at peace.

I’m crying now so I’ll end here.

Changes

Last night I worried that I was becoming ill again. I hadn't felt so overwhelmed by things in a long, long time. I am trying to keep some perspective on the situation and am reminding myself that PMS is definitely involved here.

I am finding it really hard adjusting to the way my life has changed. I am often insanely tired and find myself canceling appointments in an effort to give myself some much needed breathing space. The trouble is, my viola lessons and volunteer work seem to be suffering the most and I seriously worry that people will think I'm flaky. The depressive's constant nightmare.

Just to make things really interesting, I have been dividing my time between my home and J's. All fine, except I grossly under-estimated the toll that ferrying my things back and forth and all the driving would take. I find myself often feeling stressed out and low. J asked whether this was all a bit too much for me. It is, slightly. But I'm not about to throw the towel in and walk away. I love him too much. Or am I just being stubborn and foolish? I can't tell anymore.

The most difficult aspect of the new relationship is adjusting to J's son. He is a sweet boy and I get the feeling he does like me (J swears he does). BUT...on the past two occasions I have noticed the little boy seems disappointed to see me and is then very angry and argumentative with his father. Added to this is the fact the child is afraid of the dark, so he sleeps in the bed with is father while I am on the sofa at the flat. I don't feel good about this.

I also worry about the amount I do for the two of them. I don't want R (or J for that matter!) to see me just as some kind of skivvy. ::sigh::

I spoke to J about spending more time alone with R. He agrees and will try to make sure that his days with his son are exclusive. While I understand totally, it makes me feel jealous and resentful and slightly left out. I feel I don't belong and then I get depressed and question whether I ought to be doing this at all.

But being so emotionally vulnerable isn't good. I don't want J to think I am too much hard work (he assures me this isn't the case, but has asked whether this might be too much for me). I don't know what the answer is. I don't want to be hard work, but I cannot lie about the way I feel.

I love him. Is it supposed to be this complicated? I remind myself that my past two relationships were less complicated and much less hard work, but then...I didn't love either of those people nearly as much.

This is just PMS and it will pass...

A friend in need

I'm not sure why I'm so fond of my neighbour or why I have so much time for her. I do know that she reminds me a great deal of my mother and that I admire her incredible strength. She also has two gorgeous, delightful children who're also my little friends.

Last Friday I'd debated whether or not I ought to stop in at Bonneygrove to discuss a starting date for my teaching assistant volunteer work. Eventually, I made up my mind to pop in on my way to my music lesson. I forgot to grab my mobile as I rushed out of the door.

I found E at the school reception looking stricken. She explained that something terrible had happened. She'd been out on home visits with a senior midwife. They'd gone into two homes and E was positive that she'd left her handbag behind at the first patient's home. The difficulty was that no-one would own up to having seen the bag which contained everything: driver's license, house and car keys, mobile phone, purse...the usual.

E was stranded and clearly distressed, so after tying up loose ends at the school, I took her to the local police station to report the theft. The police were very kind, but there was nothing much they could do (it was a case of it being E's word against the others'). They did help to get numbers and let her use their phones to cancel her credit and debit cards and her mobile phone. I was also permitted to ring my music teacher.

E was tearful (and fearful) the whole time about what her husband's reaction would be and when he phoned - we were still at the station - she was visibly tense.

Eventually, we drove back to my house and in time V arrived after collecting the children from school. He was in full flow. Very opinionated about what E should have done and stating how she had clearly behaved like a fool. He wanted to call his brother and some friends to go over and 'sort the bastards out'. He blamed E for being stupid enough to leave her bag behind. I told him to calm down; that this sort of thing happened everyday. We had some tea and the family went home.

I decided to lie down for a short while and had dozed for about 30 minutes when there was a loud banging and shrieking at the door. I jumped up, shaking and ran downstairs to see what the fuss was.

I opened the door to find E, V and the two children screaming and crying on my doorstep. V shouted "K! I am not a violent man!". His shirt was torn and he had three scratches on his chest. E thrust the children into my house and with my help closed and locked the front door. Then she broke down, hugging the children to her. Through her sobs, she managed to tell me that he's lost it. I noticed the children had a few scratches that were bleeding, so I went to fetch antiseptic ointment from the bathroom. All the time I could hear them wailing.

I tended the children's cuts and E was eventually calm enough to tell me what had happened: she'd been calling lock smiths for quotes, all the time being heckled by V. She'd managed to keep her cool. F and G were upstairs and V had gone up to discover F had spilt paint on the carpet. V had apparently flipped out. Grabbing the children, swearing and slapping them and throwing their pencils at them.

E heard the fuss and went upstairs to rescue her children. She tried to push V back to arms' length. He pushed her into the bath (little G told me this). She managed to get out and threw a bundle of clothes at him. He threw her on the bed and started choking her and that's when she began to fight back with all her might. She scratched and punched at him. He panicked and told G to run and get me. To let me know E was fighting. But E was already on her feet. She gathered up the children and ran to my house with V in pursuit.

G was very shocked. He was pale and trembling and kept saying that his father was going to throw all the toys away. He said he wanted to get 100 dogs to bite V. F sat staring on the sofa. Eventually she said "What we need is a nice, calm Daddy. Like Olivia's daddy".

In time, their tears stopped and I suggested a trip to McDonald's and then a park. E and then children had no shoes on, so I decided to venture over to their house to get some outdoor things. I didn't feel afraid of V at all. G said he wanted to come with me, so I took his little hand and off we went.

G spotted the squad car first. His little body tensed and he told me he was sorry and that he didn't want the police to take him away. I reassured him that he'd done nothing wrong and that he was to keep hold of my hand, no matter what.

We knocked at the door and it flew open. V looked pale as he told me that he'd called the police and that E was to be arrested. I started shaking at this point. I asked if I could come in and speak to the officers. I told G to run and get the shoes and coats.

I explained to the officers about E's student midwife status and how an arrest might spell disaster for her. They were apologetic but said their hands were tied. A few years ago, all E would have gotten was a slapped wrist but there had been incidents where this approach had led to people being killed so such complaints were now taken very seriously indeed. I felt myself start to cry. I wondered how on earth I was going to tell E.

G came back downstairs and I took him back over to my house. I asked E into the kitchen and broke the news as calmly as I could. We sat crying together as she recounted the mental and physical abuse. I knew V could be a bully, but I had no idea he'd a history of kicking her to the ground, slapping and choking her (one time, when she'd just come home from her three month scan after she'd learned she was carrying F).

We seemed to wait for ages and then finally, the police knocked at my door. They asked me to fetch clean clothes and shoes for E and she explained to the children that she had to go with the police officers. They thought it was concerning the stolen handbag and seemed to take it reasonably well. They were happy enough to stay with me.

V was very quiet and polite. He whimpered to me about E being violent and showed me an old scar (she'd scratched his arm) as proof. He sobbed that he wanted them to go to counseling. That he'd been a fool and that it was "...only a handbag". I asked him why he hadn't said that to her in the first place. It was all she needed to hear. And then I asked him for her shoes and a jacket and he explained where I could find a clean t-shirt in her room.

E was calm. She got changed. Hugged the children and me and left. All I knew was that she'd been taken to Hertford Police Station. It was 7.30pm.

The children settled in front of a DVD. They wanted to watch Toy Story 2. When that finished, I noticed F was cold and so decided to go back to their house for slippers and and such. V was helpful and when I mentioned the children hadn't eaten, he gave me some leftovers and cereal for them.

I made them supper and then we watched a Studio Ghibli film that J's friend L had lent me. They seemed to enjoy it but they were sleepy. I made them as comfy as I could but it was late and they really needed to be at home.

I asked whether they wanted to go home (at about 9.30pm), but they both said "No". SO, I made hot chocolate and we talked and laughed.

About an hour later, G said he'd like to go home to bed. They were scared, so I said I'd carry them. G got a piggy back and F was carried in my arms and I took them home and helped V put them to bed. F wanted to stay up and her refusal to go to bed prompted V to shoot me a frustrated look. I hugged her and said "No sweetheart. It's time for bed now" and she obediently went to get changed.

V took the opportunity to try to curry favour and sway my opinion. He was frighteningly believable. I am sure that in his own mind, he was the one who had been wronged. I wanted to tell him he was a fucking idiot and a coward for getting the police involved, but I kept my won counsel. He was worried about E and asked me to ring the police station. They told me she was waiting for the duty solicitor and it gave me great pleasure to pass the news on to V. I left my number with the sergeant and returned home to wait for news.

J rang. He was out with his friend C who badly needed a shoulder to cry on. J cheered me up a little. It helped to be able to offload on him. He's been on the receiving end of domestic violence and was supportive.

Midnight came and went and there was still no news. I rang at about 12.15am and was told that E's interview had just begun and that she'd be another two hours or so. I left a message. I wanted them to let her know I had called and that I would be there to pick her up when she was ready, no matter what time.

I finally got a call from the sergeant at 2.00am to say she'd be ready to leave in 20 minutes. I found her waiting outside the station in the cold morning air, looking for all the world like a frail, tiny 10 year old. The first question she asked when she got into the car was "Are my babies OK?". I reassured her and then she broke down. She said she'd been fingerprinted, had a DNA swab taken and her shoes removed. She said the cell was appalling and she hadn't been able to use the toilet. It broke my heart. I held her while she cried and then we set off for home.

I asked whether she wanted to stay with me, but she was insistent about going home. We talked a while and she seemed resolute about leaving V and soon as she was able to. I voiced my support to this idea. My own mother stayed with my father because she thought it would be best for us. I wish she would've found the strength to leave. Staying meant I saw my father descend into terrible madness, fight with my brother, hit me and my mother and eventually leave in the dead of night with just a few carrier bags full of his things, thus prompting my first breakdown. I wouldn't wish that on anyone.

Things have calmed down. Friends and family visited at the weekend and I stopped in yesterday. It seems V has convinced E that he will start counseling. She is wary, but has agreed to wait to see how things pan out. The Eyebrow reminded me that her leaving would need to be properly planned in any case.

I thought I was OK, especially as I had talked it all through with J. He let me cry about the memories it had dredged up. But today I feel dreadful. Really shaken and fragile. I don't want to go to my music lesson later on, but I've missed two lessons now and I start with ELLSO on Saturday morning, so...

September. And with the onset of a change in the season comes a change in my life. Wonderfully and unexpectedly, I've been able to make room for someone else and for the first time ever it doesn't feel forced, but rather the most natural thing in the world.

I met JRL at B2W and liked him immediately. He's quite funny and incredibly easy to talk to and beneath the "cor blimey guv'nor" exterior lies a man of some intellect. I've always found that attractive. Of course, this is Real Life, so things aren't perfect. He has two sons from previous relationships (he sees the youngest son, but the eldest was taken away by his mother when JRL first became ill and he hasn't seen him since) and is in the middle of a messy divorce. He also suffers from bipolar disorder and a strange form of epilepsy which causes night time convulsions. In my younger days, I would have run a mile and never entertained getting involved with someone like this. But after all I've been through, I know understand that life isn't perfect and people aren't either and I am lucky to feel so loved and valued by another human being.

JRL has a best friend who lives in Kent. A lovely man I get along with well. Sadly the same cannot be said of his wife who is nice and polite but who registers as "cold" on my 'People Radar'.

Progress on the recovery front has been good and steady and I am able to think about working without completely going to pieces. Feelings of tiredness and generally being off-colour still persist, but I am trying to take things in my stride and make sure I rest after particularly busy days.

My CRB check has been returned and I dropped in at Bonneygrove to let them know I'd like to volunteer on Tuesday and Thursday mornings. The secretary has promised to ring me.

The Big Day

Pearl’s birthday took a huge toll on me. It came as a bit of a surprise. There was no way to suspect I was going to feel so bad.

The day itself was predictably busy, but quite pleasant. All of the preparations were done in good time, but I forgot to leave my Perkin’s office key with him when I left. That meant rushing to get dressed at home, rushing back to his house to return the key and then rushing to collect Pearl.

The necessary junction off the A406 was shut (who closes a major junction on a busy Saturday afternoon??!), so I sat in traffic in scorching heat and warnings of “overheated clutch” for about 90 minutes, slowly inching towards my destination. Just to add to the fun, I’d forgotten my mobile phone, so there was no way to contact or be contacted by anyone. I was slightly hysterical when I eventually got there. The effects of three months solid preparation, plus sitting in the heat with no refreshment and worrying that we were going to be two hours late just got to me. And I was panicky about driving back because the road had been solid in both directions.

As it turned out, the return journey wasn’t as much of a nightmare and once we’d passed the Closed Junction, it didn’t actually take us very long.

Still, we were two hours late and the catering staff weren’t all that good at hiding the degree to which they felt put out.

Eventually relaxed and tried to enjoy the party, but was on pins and needles, feeling edgy all the time. Didn’t enjoy the food, although I am told it was delicious. There were mountains of leftovers and I ended up in the kitchen putting it into containers for people to take home.

Everyone seemed to have a wonderful time, especially Pearl who was so overwhelmed that she didn’t sleep at all that night.

I woke the next morning with what felt like a hangover (headache, nausea, slight aches and pains), which was odd. I know I cannot tolerate alcohol anymore, but hadn’t expected a few sips of Pimms, a glass of champagne and half a glass of wine to make me feel quite so bad. And that feeling, accompanied by a horrible depression and fatigue lasted a good ten days.

I suspect now that this was some sort of CFS-related backlash.

Health

Dr S maintained that although I have a slightly positive ANA result, there was no way she could diagnose Lupus or any other auto-immune problem. That said, she did agree that something is the matter and wants to see me again in six months.

The symptoms I had following the party were so startling that I went back to my GP. Dr T pulled the correspondence from Dr S up on screen. Dr S wrote something along the lines of “..this young lady suffers from depression, chronic pain and irritable bowel syndrome…”

I did get the feeling she felt my symptoms were best explained by my state of mind and it was upsetting to see what she’d written. And IBS? I told her I suffer nausea, hyperacidity and bloating. Nothing else. Is that enough to make a diagnosis of IBS?

Fortunately, Dr T was less keen to dismiss my symptoms as a by-product of my mental ill-health. She even asked whether I’d really let Dr S know how bad I felt or whether I had just smiled stoically. She seems to have the measure of me. In her opinion, my symptoms/problems are more likely to be attributable to ME/CFS and made a referral to a local group where I should be able to get more help. She also accepted that I may be experiencing the onset of an auto-immune disorder and wants to keep an eye on me.

Work

Struggled in to B2W yesterday. I really didn’t want to be there. All of the ‘comfort zone’ conversations just left me feeling as though I had no business being there. That I was unwanted and in the way. Wasting time.

Garth got me to explain Windows Explorer to a new lady while he settled a couple of others down to work. And then he and I had a long chat.

I told him I felt unwanted and useless and that I didn’t want to be alive at all*. He and Pauline thought that my reaction might be linked to a fear of success and having to get on, but I don’t think that’s true. I told him that I had approached a local school about volunteering help. All off my own back. Hardly the actions of someone who is afraid of getting on? I also explained about the ME symptoms.

We’ve agreed that I will be ‘exited’ from the programme. That’ll remove the burden on me to leave and get on and it’ll remove the burden on them to keep encouraging me to do it. It will also mean I’ll be able to lend a hand there in a volunteer capacity and get involved in support work that would be inappropriate for me to do as a client.

I still have to finish my PowerPoint tutorial. In fact, I need to re-do all of my handouts. The screenshots are outdated because B2W upgraded their systems while I was away and are now running Office 2003.

Garth and I will have a lunchtime meeting on Thursday to open discussions on his business idea and to try to formulate a plan of action. I’m still a bit hazy about what he needs me to do at this stage.

*As I explained to Dr G, I will go through the motions and do what is required, but I am sick with dread and fear and resentment and don’t know what to do with those emotions.

Why am I wasting my life in front of this PC? Because I have nothing better to do.

Violet the Viola

Violet the Viola
Originally uploaded by posie1970.

I had my first viola lesson last week and enjoyed it very much. R is a wonderfully patient teacher and she was absolutely right: I love the tone of the viola. That rich, C string...wow! Mum has christened the viola "Violet" and I happen to like that a lot.

Things have been bumpy. I'm not sleeping at all well, with predictable results. I am constantly anxious and sometimes seriously afraid and on the verge of full-scale panic. I told Dr G that I feel really uncomfortable with living.

Natasha has gone into summer mode. She's out for hours at a time and I'm worried sick.

Edit told me that Franci lists me as a part of the family now. There are eight family members: Mum, Dad, Mama, Gabriel/Mouki, Aunty Gabbie and Kim! How sweet is that I told her I was honoured to be adpoted as a part of her family.

I've had an upset tummy for the past couple of days. Despite that and the heat, I spent today with Mum. I went shopping for some cheap new vests and a skirt. Mission accomplished.

My mood has plummeted. Again. *sigh*

It's odd. When I feel better, it is absolutely effortless. I am never conscious of feeling well. Rather, I just enjoy being able to get on with everyday things, I feel more sociable, less lethargic. I feel better and it isn't a chore.

When things take a turn for the worse, everything requires huge effort. I'm often on the brink of tears (like today), although not always and my world is awash with negativity. I'm really struggling to maintain focus or interest in anything.

I'm trying not to let it spiral out of control, especially because I think PMS may be a major contributor to this particular episode.

I bought my viola on Wednesday. I have a 15.5" Romanian-made used 'Andreas Zeller' student's instrument. The complete outfit cost £160. Not bad. The store (Chas E. Foote's in Golden Square) did have a brand new Romanian viola in stock, but it was a 16" and it didn't feel quite as comfortable to hold. Actually, the entire instrument feels awkward to hold! But then, I've never tried this before and I haven't had any instruction in what I am supposed to be doing. The shop assistant was really nice. She suggested a shoulder rest and using one really did make holding the instrument much more comfortable. They didn't have any in stock (Wolf). I need to try to remember to call and order one this week.

For the first time in my life, someone suggested to me yesterday that perhaps I ought to try and accept I'm just not a hugely social person and stop giving myself a hard time about it. The someone was Tiff and it was a refreshing thing to hear. People have always tried to help by encouraging me to get out more, which - 85% of the time - only serves to compound the nightmare. The idea of accepting it (I've never looked forward to regular things such as joining a club or seeing a group of friends at the pub; I only ever feel comfortable when I'm meeting close friends - those I feel understand me - on familiar territory) and removing the expectation from myself was so refreshing! I must remember to tell her.