Limbo

At the moment all I seem to be doing is waiting.

I’m waiting to hear from the talking therapy my GP referred me to a few weeks ago.
I’m waiting for my (ex) other half to start talking to me again.
I’m waiting for my life to change, not sure into what.

After our row last week my now ex hasn’t acnowledged my presence in the house in any way.
The first morning after I made two cups of coffee like I always do, but he ignored it and made himself another one.
The full cup sat there on the kitchen table for hours, as a painful physical statement of “I want to forget all about you”.
I threw it away in the end.

It’s small things like this that really get to me, reminders of something that has been lost.
Reminds me of when you first get together with someone, the little gestures and things that are sweet, surprising and delightful.
Someone wiping a breadcrum from your face, slicing you some fruit, or holding the umbrella for you.
They cheer you up and make you feel special.
Like a cup of coffee in the morning.

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A house haunted by the living

First I was going to call this post “the World’s End”, but decided not to – nothing has really ended in that way, and it might have come across a tad overdramatic. An era in my life has ended for sure, but it never was my whole world. Perhaps it should have been.

My partner and I just split up couple of days ago. What makes this very unfortunate situation is that we have to share this house for the next 6 months, and we are not talking to each other.
Not in a menacing sulky- kind of way, just like the house was occupied by melancholy ghosts who were just barely aware of each other.

Our cheerful toddler runs amok like he always does, thankfully blissfully unaware of what is going on, with a  big grin on his face  and pretending to be a dinosaur.
Me and his dad laugh from separate sides of the livingroom, but we don’t share the laughter.
I feel the worst for him, even though he is too young to understand I’m already worrying how he will feel when dad is not living in the house anymore.

 I honestly didn’t expect things to end up like this, even though we have had a rocky relationship since our boy was born.On hindsight I think I had a touch of post-natal depression, which to my other half is just a thing you can ‘snap out of’.

And me not being able to snap out of anything has irritated him beyond belief and it all erupted in most spectacular way this past weekend when horrible things were said and done, and bridges ended up being burned for good.

The gorgeous Black Dog by Levi Pinfold. Absolutely breathtaking illustrations.

Absolutely breathtaking illustrations.

Dead arm makes me think.

I woke up one morning to find that I had slept on my right arm, which had in turn fallen asleep. I took hold of it, shook it about in order to wake it up. Then I let go. It fell straight down and punched me on the nose, making me laugh. My arm was not a part of me and had a mind of its own.

This monday I had a panic attack at home, thankfully my little man was snoozing away on his nap. All of a sudden I couldn’t swallow and my throat felt like it was closing up and I thought I wouldn’t soon be able to breathe.

It was quite obvious what this was, so I managed to calm down very quickly, but my heart pounded for a good while afterwards.
Similar feeling to the time when I fainted in a party, the horrible helplessness of not being in control of yourself.

It seems that every time I come back to the same root problem, the fear of losing control. I never thought of myself as a control freak, just someone who has got a very clear idea how things should be done.

This might be one of the reasons behind this state of mind I am in now, something as mundane as sharing a living space with another person and trying to fit their ways of living around your own is stressing me out.
I am not finding this easy, on the contrary it is getting harder and harder to adjust to other people as years go by. Almost like somehow I am not myself until everyone else is away and the present moment belongs to me only.

This raises the question is it the real you what you are on the inside, or how others perceive you?

At which point my head starts to hurt and if I was the kind of person who shares photos of cute cats this would be the moment. I chose a vintage slot machine instead.

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Mum, mine.

My mum lost all her hair because of cancer treatment she was going through. She looked like a tiny little pixie, vulnerable and fragile.
But she also looked very beautiful without her hair, there was something strangely feminine and timeless in the way she looked.
I felt bad saying it to her over and over again, fearing she might take it as a plain attempt to cheer her up rather than being the truth.
She denied it of course, called herself Gollum and ran past mirrors without a glance.

She is well again, has gained confidence and her hair has grown back, in a sweet mixture of grey and white.

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“Begin at the beginning”, the King said gravely.

Welcome. This blog is just about me: I am 37, a mum to a little boy, self-employed designer, and I got issues.  It’s a situation totally of my own making.

Ever since I was a teenager I thought I was prone to depression (some quirks in mental instability run in the family), and with the dawn of the internet and the glorious practise of googling symptoms reinforced this idea in my head.
Which is exactly what you can do with any ailment known to man, google it and you got it.

Anxiety disorder never even crossed my mind, but now after seeing my GP a week and a bit ago and being told that is what I had it does seem that it fits perfectly to everything I have been experiencing.

I have always hated confrontation and fights, probably due to the fact that I am not very quick to think on my feet at all. So, I always lose an argument. Now it has turned into not being able to say anything at all, add to that a generic sense of worry and dread over everything, including mundane things like missing the train or the shampoo bottles left on the windowsill and you got a nice little bundle of trouble with palpitations and sweaty hands.

I haven’t yet had a proper diagnosis; I am not on drugs or therapy so floating in a nice state of limbo at present, whilst waiting for some test results to come through.

This blog is about me trying to make sense of the situation, I thought it might be interesting to write whilst all this madness is going round in my head, rather than to try to catch it once it has ceased. Which it will, sooner or later.