Category: Mental Health

Everybody’s Changing

On our recent holiday in North Devon we were winding our way down a country lane, music blaring when Everybody’s Changing by Keane came on the radio. I was instantly transported back to the hot summer of 2005 (bear with me, there really is a point to this).
 
In 2005 I was made redundant from a pretty decent job in Further Education. Two huge colleges were merging and they needed to shed some staff. They shoved a nice cheque in my back pocket and sent me off into the world. As it was summer I decided the best option would be to take a month off and work on my tan while I surveyed my options.
 
There then followed arguably the best month of our married life. For one hour each day I frantically cleaned the house and cooked delicious meals from scratch, dinner was on the table when he came home from work. He was delighted to be married to the perfect housewife and I would spend a happy 7 hours a day lolling in the garden listening to music. Perfection.
 
Alas all good things must come to an end and once the month was up I got a job in the NHS and the rest is history.
 
The point is dear reader (thanks by the way, this is almost certainly tedious mind drivel), I once again find myself on the cusp of change. I’ve had the most difficult, life changing year and I’ll soon be surveying my job options again.
 
We have Splodge now and I want to treasure every second of him before he suddenly grows into a gangly, grunting teen (he’s 2, I’m pretty sure I’m being dramatic). It probably really is time to decide what I want to do when I grow up. If I ever grow up. Do I want to grow up? Should I grow up?
 
If you’ve any ideas, answers on a postcard please!
 

On The Ropes

That’s week one of my holiday done and dusted. Frankly I’m feeling much better already after the confusion, chaos and anxiety of the last few weeks. I’ve felt the need to blog a small update just because I’ve had so much love on twitter since I came out as an anxiety ridden worry-wart.

(I’m sorry if this looks terrible but I’m on some wifi in a pub and I don’t have my technology at hand to pretty it up. I will when I get home I promise.)
I’m on holiday in North Devon, the sun is shining and though I’m still tender of heart and quick to anger or tears I’m feeling so much better. My old and new twitter friends have rallied around me in a way which is unbearably touching and beautiful. Always checking on me and cheering me when I’m low and most importantly giving me a talking to when I need one.
I can’t change how I’m feeling overnight and this recent schism will take a while to heal, but I’m definitely feeling on the right road now. It’s not often I get fully in the grip of a PTSD/anxiety attack and I hope it won’t happen again ever, or in reality for a little while yet.
I’m feeling stronger and more positive and more like the me I was. I’m going to care less about the people who hurt me because if they really cared about me they wouldn’t.

Birdhouse In Your Soul – PTSD and me

So we’ve figured out I’m a moody unfeminine weirdo with a penchant for angry, shouty rock music and I’ve been going through a dark patch. Well I thought it was time for a quick pre-holiday, enforced time away from blog update. I promise when I get back from hols the recipes and kiddie stuff will recommence.

I’m a very lovely person, I’m helpful and kind and friendly. My friends say I’m funny and sweet and I’ve got the dirtiest laugh in Manchester (fact), but my kindness makes me vulnerable which is a terrible thing.

Being nice has gotten me into heaps of trouble and scrapes in the past. Despite not being much of a looker I have managed to acquire a couple of stalkers. One of which terrifyingly used to follow me home and stand, staring outside my window for hours. In the end a couple of burly mates warned him off but he’d still loiter outside my office at work trying to see me. Creepy.

The scariest incident was dealing with an incredibly vulnerable man at work. I was calm, professional and lovely towards him. Never crossing boundaries just being helpful and sympathetic. He locked me in a room and sexually assaulted me. My screams alerted security and they kicked the door down before things got out of hand, but still the damage was done and eventually two years later I was diagnosed with PTSD.

In reality nobody died, things could’ve been a lot worse but still, my kindness is a weakness which gets taken advantage of. It’s hard because I like being kind. I like being the person people come to with their troubles and we bandy them about over a brew. I don’t want to harden my heart but I’m not sure how much my own vulnerable little heart can take.

It’s been stepped on recently and as much as I wish my friend (who did the stepping) all the love and luck in the world fixing their vulnerable, broken little heart, I kind of wish they’d thought of mine too. But mental illness makes lovely people selfish and hurtful. I just hope they find peace and when they do return to help me find my peace.