Last night I realised that it’s a mere 2 months, 61 days, 1464 hours, 87840 minutes (you get the idea) until I turn 30. And no as you may have guessed I’m not coping, not one bit. The thought of reaching the milestone just reminds me of what a waste I’ve made of my life so far and how little, if anything, I’ve achieved. Basically my life at the moment involves, sleeping, eating, sleeping, eating with occasional trips to the bunny hutch and dragging myself to work when I can sum up the energy to leave my bed. Instead of my previous ‘highs’ when I was on less meds I now go between rock bottom and less rock bottom, never any better than that. What is there to celebrate in that?
Last summer I wrote a blog “Time for a re-boot” of my manifesto for how I was going to improve everything in the year I had until the big 3-0. Have I achieved any of these? What do you think? To refresh our memories my goals were thus –
Diet - I eat like crap, I really do, there's no hiding it. I'd lost weight last year but have put 6 kilos of it back on since the start of this year comfort eating because I've been so damn miserable. Although this goal isn't about aesthetics, if I lose weight then great, this is about looking after my body. Ditto with exercising, when I worked at the library I was walking around all day every day whereas now I'm on my butt all day every day. And being brutally honest it makes me feel sluggish and quite gross really. So I intend to try walking home from work and (with Helen's er encouragement) get off my arse and do something at least one day of each weekend.
Learn a new craft. I love my photography, jewellery making, drawing, sewing and cross-stitching - surely adding another one on top of that can only make me happier?
Go to the places I keep threatening to go. If I had a £ for every time I said "I really want to go to The British Library/National Portrait Gallery/Tate Britain etc" I'd be able to afford that trip to America! Plus for the most part they're free, all it'll cost is a train fare and my time.
So beginning with the obvious one of diet that’s completely gone to pot. I’ve fallen off the wagon, dragged it down the ravine with me and ended up in a blazing heap at the bottom. Let’s just say I’ve managed a whole new world of fat. Comfort eating is my life at the moment, in a way I guess knowing how unhealthy it is is some kind of nice-tasting self-harm/slow suicide. When I last saw the psychiatrist he pretty much said that being less fat and lazy would help all my problems, I didn’t like to point out that eating is my alternative to cutting myself, far less messy and scar-prone. And how the hell am I supposed to get the energy up to go on some kind of route march when all I do in my spare time is sleep because I need it? I ache all the time which I assume is through lack of movement, and yes I feel disgusting and spend plenty of time fat-shaming myself to save trolls/the media time. If it helps at all I don’t go to the psychiatrist any more so I’m a teeny bit less of a drain on NHS resources! I saw a programme the other day featuring a lady with Borderline Personality Disorder and she complained of the same all-consuming exhaustion making her unable to get up and move, it’s a symptom of the condition that the exercise-Nazis tend to overlook. So I have in fact managed to get even fatter since last summer, maybe that can be listed as some form of achievement?
Learning a new craft hasn’t really taken off, more because I’ve been busy with projects from crafts I already know, so I can’t really call this one a failure as I’ve been being kept out of mischief with cross-stitching and invite-making for my party (more of that later).
Days out etc, that hasn’t really happened. I miss going to London so badly, I still haven’t made it to the portrait gallery or the library. Helen and I were supposed to go last week but then the Westminster attacks happened and Helen didn’t want to go (personally I would rather stand up to bullies but it’s understandable), funnily enough it proved my point that whenever I look forward to something it never happens. I’d been excitedly planning the trip for weeks. I know it’s pretty selfish to blame a terror attack on my bad luck with planned fun times but still, it does add up. I’ve been lucky enough to go to a few gigs (Deap Vally, Green Day and The Kaiser Chiefs, I had Pretty Reckless tickets too but then my laparoscopy happened and I couldn’t go – oh look more planned fun cancelled!) so I can count them as leaving the house at least! At least we’ve had a summer-full of crap on YouTube XD
So no as you may have guessed I’m not in a good place and in the words of My Chemical Romance “I’m not ok”. I feel like I’ve failed at life quite frankly, a waste of a human shell. This shell could have been given to someone who would do some good in the world, be an achiever, have a fully functioning brain, be attractive and intelligent. I’m attempting to make light of my birthday by planning a party, making invites as an excuse to get some drawing in. I want to have an Alice In Wonderland theme but don’t have the get up and go to make a start on the decorations or the party favours (despite buying a pack of 20 keyrings for an idea I had). I have the perfect image in my mind of photo props, decorations etc but no inclination to make it happen.
Story of my life really
Love Jen
XxxX
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