Inside Out - Part 1

Well, it's been three months since I started seeing a counsellor (again).  It's been a tough and somewhat confusing few months.  There have been so many ups and downs I'm not entirely sure whether I'm coming or going.  It's pretty stressful.

One of the things we have identified is that I'm not really sure who I am just now.  So much of my identity is tied up in work and Guiding, that I've sort of lost the joy, the spontaneity, the excitement and the confidence to just be me, whoever that may be.

The past month has been really overwhelming.  This week's counselling session was the first where I really felt that there wasn't an obvious solution, and it was hard.  I spent a lot of time repeating 'I just don't know.  I just. Don't. Know.'  I wish I knew what it was that I didn't know.  I just didn't know.

So today, my car was booked in for its annual service. At 8am.  Because that seemed like a good idea at the time (UURGH!)  Of course, my alarm clock batteries died, so I woke up at 8.30am and panicked.  I really wanted to cancel the service, to get back into bed, and to beat myself up for not even being able to get up in time to take my stupid car for a stupid service. 

But something in my brain told me to stop being an idiot, to get dressed and to just take the car for its stupid appointment. Just put on some jeans and a hoody.  Then walk down the stairs.  Then get in the car.  Then drive to the garage.  Then explain to the lady at the desk why I'm there.  Once that's done, I'd have a few hours to spare and I could be productive.  There's a McDonald's next to the garage, I could just sit in there and do some life-admin. Easy (HA!).

I got as far as McDonalds, bought an unsurprisingly disappointing breakfast and decided to read a book for a while.  A couple of hours and two large cups of tea later, I got a phone call.  They couldn't service my car today because they'd over-booked.  It was nearly 11am and I'd wasted perfectly good lying in bed doing nothing time in bloody McDonalds.  I did later apologise to the lady who called me for being a bit rude (I may have used the words useless and incompetent, but I really didn't mean them - I was mostly just angry at myself for oversleeping).

Regardless, I was angry.  And I knew I was angry, which made me sort of happy (because I recognised I was angry and I acknowledged it - that's a pretty new thing).  Then I got all confused again, and wanted to run away and hide under a blanket on my sofa.  But then I got frustrated because I didn't really want to hide, I wanted to be able to do the things that normal people do at the weekend without completely overthinking and freaking out.  And then I freaked out and got angry at myself.

Eventually, I found myself at a local shopping park.  Somehow, in the confused mess that is my head, the tiny part of my brain we call my subconscious decided to be spontaneous and decided I was going to go to the cinema.

In the past I-don't-know-how-long, I have been to the cinema exactly once to see a film that I actually wanted to see (I'm not including the two times in the past 18 months that I have been with Brownies - if I were to voluntarily go to the cinema, Penguins of Madagascar would not have been my first choice of film...).  Going to the cinema is one of the many things on my list of 'I really want to do but I'm completely overwhelmed so I won't' (along with clothes shopping and generally being in public spaces on my own).  There have been so many films over the past few years that I've really wanted to see, but either argued that 'it's cheaper to buy it on DVD', or 'what if I do it wrong?' (HOW DO YOU DO GOING TO THE CINEMA 'WRONG' STUPID-HEAD?!!)

To give you an idea of how completely overwhelming going to the cinema is, here is a list of the things going round my head in the (literally) fifteen minutes it took me to get from my car into the cinema screen:

1.  Get out of the car.  Just get out of the car.
2.  Did I lock the car?  (*goes back and checks car is locked*)
3.  There are lots of small children around.  Maybe this is a family showing.  Maybe I should just go home.
4.  Just buy the bloody ticket you stupid idiot.
5.  That lady is dressed up in fancy dress and is smiling at me.  Oh god, what if she speaks to me.
6.  Phew, the small child distracted her. 
7.  Can I buy tickets at the machine?  Yes, good.
8.  Why won't it let me buy tickets for the midday viewing?
9.  Oh, wait, I already selected the midday viewing.  Phew.  No-one saw.
10.  Am I too late for the midday viewing?  No, seven minutes, I can do this.
11.  Oh crap, since when did you need to select a seat?!
12.  Where am I going to sit?!
13.  I need to sit in the middle otherwise I'm blind and won't see the film.  To get to the middle I need to pass other groups of people.   Where is the least populated area in the cinema?
14.  Why are there so many small children? 
15.  I'll just pick this seat here, there's no-one either side, maybe I won't be in the way if I sit there.
16.  This machine is stupid, why does it ask so many questions?  And why did it just spit my ticket out on the floor?  That's unhelpful.
17.  Right, seat H15.  H15.  Screen 3, H15.  Show the man the ticket.  No, idiot, that's your receipt.  Why is there so much paper?
18.  Do I have time to pee?  What if I need to pee halfway through the film?  I can't just get up and pee.  I'll just go pee now, just incase.  But what if I need to pee again?  I always need to pee.
19.  How do I turn the stupid tap on?  Why am I so stupid, maybe I should just go home.  But I spent lots of money on this ticket, I just need to get on with it.  But there are lots of children everywhere, what if their parents realise I'm an adult, on my own, watching a kids film.  Oh, it's a motion-sensored tap.  Well that old lady clearly thinks I'm an idiot as well.  Good job Rosy.  Good job.
20.  Right, it's now or never.  I really want to see this film.  Just walk into screen 3.  H15.  If I look like I know what I'm doing, no-one is going to stop and ask what I'm doing here.  I belong here, I bought a ticket and everything.  I'll just wait for that family to go in.  And that one.  Just go in.  God Rosy, stop being a complete wuss, just go and sit in the bloody cinema. 
21.  Oh look, a map, that'll show me where I'm sitting, that's useful.
22.  Oh crap, there are loads of people here, and my seat's on the other side of the screen - I have to walk infront of everyone to get to my seat.
23.  Rosy, don't fall over the man in the wheelchair.  Don't look up, just keep walking.
24.  Where the hell are the letters?!  Why can't I see row H?  If I crouch down, I'm going to look stupid and people are going to notice me.  Oh, here's row H.
25.  H15.  Sit down.  Get juice and half eaten chocolate bar out of your bag.  Good.  Now, enjoy the film.
26.  Why hasn't it started yet?  Maybe I'm in the wrong screen.
27.  I'm the only person here on my own.  All of the other grown up people are here with small children.  What if they notice I'm here on my own and say something?
28.  I just want to watch the film.  What if they ask me to leave?  I'm not doing anything, but what if they think I'm weird and want me to leave.
29.  That child just asked why it is dark.  It is really dark.  Is it normally this dark?  Am I in the right screen?  Maybe they changed the screen and I missed the announcement.
30.  Oh thank god, the adverts are starting.  Just focus on the adverts.  It'll be ok.

No wonder I've not been to the cinema in a while.  I'm exhausted and the film hasn't even started.

I'll update you on the rest of the trip once I've recovered...

Every Path has its Puddle

A month ago, I wrote about April, a month when I used social media to try and boost my mood every day. It totally worked; at the end of April I felt completely in control and I was happy. I could focus, I was on top of everything, I was eating, and I was sleeping. I had proven to myself it was possible to be in control of how I feel, and that it was pretty easy to do.

So of course I managed to keep the #Positivity tweets going for all of two days into May before completely giving up. I don't know why, I just stopped.

And shortly after, probably around 5th May, I started to notice my mood had started to dip. Just a little bit, but I wasn't starting my day with a positive thought, and I was letting little things get to me. I tried really hard to fight it: I wrote to do lists; I did as little as possible at the weekends; I made lunch the night before; I bought fruit so I wouldn't fill up on chocolate... I tried all of the things, but gradually I've been sleeping less and less; I've added an extra bottle of wine to my weekly food shop (as an aside, I only average a bottle over a week - I'm still within my weekly recommended limits); I'm constantly tired; my limbs ache for no obvious reason; I'm constantly on the verge of tears; and somehow the words that I carefully formulate in my head before I speak are not the words that end up falling out of my mouth. I'm not being very positive.

In my office we have a jar, filled with positive quotes. Every day, someone will pick one, and earlier this week it was my turn. The jar was thrust in my face, so I'm not entirely sure I had much choice - maybe it was more obvious that I was having a bad day than I thought.

After jumbling the quotes for a while, I pulled out a little slip of paper, on which was written:

'Every path has its puddle'

That broke me. You know those moments when you don't know whether to laugh or cry? Well I laughed, and laughed and laughed until I didn't need to worry about crying, because that happened all by itself.

Once I'd recovered from laughing/ crying at the ridiculousness of this quote, I carried on with my day. Then I went home and lay on the floor (not unusual - if I lie on the floor I can't fall any further, therefore the floor is a safe place), and ranted a bit, until I realised the person I was ranting at had got bored at some point in the previous half hour and wandered off. Essentially, I was doing what a three year old does when they don't get their own way: lying on the floor, kicking and screaming until they either get what they want or they fall asleep.

I am twenty eight years old, and I have resorted to acting like a toddler who doesn't know any better. This is what the wonderful combination of both depression and anxiety does to me.

And you know what? I really really fucking hate it (sorry for the bad word dad). I hate that I get a bit of a glimpse of normality, and I feel confident and happy and ready to start getting on with my life, and then for absolutely no apparent reason, it feels like everything is just collapsing around my ears.

Maybe that quote that I thought was just a bit stupid has a point. Maybe my path is full of puddles. 

And after a month back in therapy, this shouldn't come as much of a surprise, but I have a sneaky suspicion I know what my puddles are:

1. I need to help. I haven't worked out yet why it is, but I can't just stand by and let someone else worry about it (whatever 'it' may be on any given occasion). I can't bear to think that someone might need help, with the knowledge that I might be able to make their lives a little bit easier. No matter that I might not have the time, or that they might just need to work it out for themselves. And that brings me on to my second puddle.

2. I can't say no. If someone is asking for help, regardless of what it is or whether it is going to require a lot of physical and emotional Rosy-time, I will give it. I am trying, really really hard to recognise when I'm doing it, but I just don't seem to notice a lot of the time, until suddenly I'm overwhelmed with things that don't need to be my responsibility. Leading nicely into point three...

3. The pressure I am under is self-inflicted. I still haven't worked out why, but as soon as someone has asked for help and I have failed to say no, I find myself under pressure to not only do the job, but to do it well. Maybe I'm looking for a little bit of recognition, although what for I just don't know, but it takes me on to my final point. 

4. I feel like I am invisible. My counsellor pointed out this week that I do a lot for other people, but she hasn't yet worked out what I do for me (I haven't told her yet that counselling is the thing I do for me). I spend a lot of time trying to fix problems, looking after other people's children, fighting inequalities, cooking dinner, cleaning (well, maybe not as much of that as I should), and going along with what other people want to do or want me to do. I have felt recently like Rosy has disappeared somewhere under the pile of other people's problems, to the point where I don't really know who the 'real' Rosy is any more.

I don't know how to change any of this - I was asked this week what it might be like to say no, and my whole body tensed up, completely involuntarily (if I hadn't been sitting in an uncomfortable chair I'd have curled up in a ball like a hedgehog). I don't want my friends to think I don't care, because I really really do.

But I also know that I need to tackle these issues - fill the potholes that make the puddles, if you like - before I can even start to work out where Rosy has gone. And I know that no-one else can do that for me. 

I can't keep lying on the floor, shouting into the carpet, hoping that something in the dirt that I've not hoovered for longer than I'm prepared to mention will throw me a solution. I need to pull up my big girl pants, put on my wellies, and grab a spade. If I don't start digging, those holes are just going to get bigger, until they are (as one of my colleagues described them) 'Vicar of Dibley sized puddles', and the real Rosy will just drown.

I don't want to drown please.