cyanidecluster

I thought I’d imported LJ into this place shortly after the Russian takeover, but may not have done. Apparently it’s 10 years since I wrote anything  It might be. Who knows?

I’m drunk. I’m often drunk these days. Never before 9pm you understand but still. It's hot too.

Looking at my profile it's likely there's one woman and her cat/dog/spider are still linked to reading this. But if you see this please let me know you have. It helps I guess. This isn't the sort of thing I'm going to stick on facebook.

I've not actually spoken to anybody (literally communicated with anybody, bar the odd facebook interaction but I deleted that app 6 months ago)  that a) I don't work with, b) I'm not related to c) isn't a medical professional, for years. Last time I socialised with work colleagues was 2018. Last time I socialised with anybody I've known for longer than 3 years was 2015.

I'm scarily ok with that. The only thing I'm interested in is getting through each day so I can go to sleep. I don't like people, particularly don;t like  talking to people. I put on an act, monday to friday 9am to 5pm, which gets me paid, but beyond that I have nothing and want nothing. I still have Nic and Ruairi (6) and Jude (4), but if I didn't I would have left the planet aaaaaaaaaaaaages ago. It's less that she/they're enough to keep me here, and more that my wage pays the mortgage and I can't stand the idea of fucking up their lives. I mean I take Ruairi to school 4 days a week and collect him on a monday, and take Jude to/from nursery when Nic isn't at work. That's some help I guess.

Covid hasn't helped but is certainly not the cause. 

6 weeks before covid (Feb 2020) I chatted to my GP about needing help with anger management. I@m not depressed, I said, just angry. She suggested talking therapies again, and referred me for adult ASD assessment (but that's another story). 

March 2021 I finally got the courage to speak to talking therapies. And because I work for the same trust (not that I volunteered that up front) they saw me the next week. Via Zoom, you understand. Still grateful. Better than nothing.

Come the middle of May, seems I'd mentioned (in a totally dispassionate and matter of fact way) wanting to die once too often, and she referred me elsewhere. "You need to talk to somebody with more letters after their name that I have" she said.

24 June I had an assessment with mental health CTT. And 10 days ago got a letter saying - among other things - that they're going to treat me for EUPD. Or BPD.

....and I'm strangely relieved that somebody has - for the first time ever it seems - agreed with me that there is something fundamental other than "symptoms of anxiety/depression/whatever". I've always known I'm a nightmare to live with, but on the other hand always been told my brain is - emotionally - normal, which has caused such conflict because I've always believed "it can't be me that's to blame for x, y or z, I'm normal, therefore our interactions are normal, therefore the cause of this argument cannot possibly be just inside my brain.

No, I'm not pleased. Not happy. Not "oh they'll love this on OFMB". But in a way I don't care what it is. He could have told me I had Tom Jones syndrome (don't laugh - it's not unusual) and I'd have been grateful. Because I've lived my whole life wondering "why am I like this?" And knowing why is helpful.

And yeah it simultaneously feels like I've been slammed head first into a brick wall.

Just going to admit here - because I never have, to anybody who isn't a therapist - that it would be such a relief to kill myself. I know exactly how, just don't know where (My desire is not to ever be found).

(Typing that is strangely cathartic. And if nobody reads this it's still been helpful to write)

And I'm so fucking frustrated that I can't. 

And I won't, don't worry.

love to all :)

Sort of following on from my last proper entry,

I got sent home from work on Wednesday morning because I was stressed and/or anxious. Since "Strees & Anxiety" is the catch all term for Stress, anxiety, depression and most things inbetween, I suppose it's up to me to decide which applies to me.

The strange yet/and/or encouraging feature of what happened on Wednesday was that i'm not off sick, but am on leave. Moreover, my boss, and her boss, conspired to suggest in no uncertain terms that I should take some time off, otherwise I probably would end up off sick.

I'm told that I haven't done anything wrong, but that they have been aware of the fact personal issues are stressing me tremendously. This hasn't - I am told - had an effect on my performance, because - I'm told - I'm a perfectionist, but the effect of me managing to "keep everything together" is an increase in my stress levels, and so the cycle completes itself.

I admitted one of the things that stressed me was that I was so exhausted when I wasn't at work, that I wasn't able to adequately support Nic (who is unemployed again, uber depressed and basically very lonely between the hours of 9 and 5). I admitted that I hadn't had a weekend that wasn't spent at work or clearing a house, for the last 6 weeks. I admitted I was exhausted. Not sure whether professionally that's the right thing to do, in that it could be construed as not being able to cope, but anyway. I didn't mention running, but that's also been a stress factor.

I also admitted that I didn't feel I could take time off because of my workoad (part of the problem is I'm the only one who does my job), and was told not to be so silly because when it comes to it, needs must, and they would cope.

So I'm not back at work until wednesday next week, and have been told that if I don't feel like it I don't have to go in at all next week. It's surreal, being told to take holiday. Would never have happened to me in the private sector.

It's been lovely just being able to go out with Nic, just go for lunch, coffee, for a walk, whatever. Just having the energy to do fun things.

And now I'm reading through the history of Newcastle's Lunatic asylums. Loving having the energy to read again :)

I watched a documentary a few weeks back about Major Phil Packer, who was a soldier in the Afghan "war", until (a year or so I think) his jeep (or something) was blown up. He was left with a broken back/snapped spinal cord, which was meant to have left him in a wheelchair.

Only it didn't. Now the guy runs (well, walks) marathons for charity, and did the three peaks (Snowdon, Scarfell and Ben Nevis) earlier this year.

I forget how much money he's raised doing this, but there is a whole media machine behind it, playing up the story of the man left crippled who overcame his injuries to run marathons and climb mountains, you know the sort of story that the papers love.

I'd like to say before going any further that I fully agree that what he has done is nothing short of amazing, even miraculous, given his injuries.

It got me thinking though, about my own marathon(ish)-running endeavours...specifically about how if I wanted to I could probably raise a lot more money than I otherwise would, by making an issue of the fact I too have a disability. But then I've never wanted to make a big thing about it, never wanted to "play the disability card" probably because I've always wanted to be perceived to be as "normal" as possible. In part that's why I wanted to do the GNR in the first place, to prove to myself/anybody else who may give a damn) that I can do it.

In case you haven't got a fucking clue what I'm on about, I had a stroke when I was 6 (I'm now 27), and left with impaired mobility (and what is now abnormal physiology) on my left side. The list of thigs I was told I would never do is as long as your arm, but included such things as running, swimming, riding a bike etc... And I've done all those three things, because I decided I wanted to.

I was asked last year by somebody at work who does a lot of fndraising for the NSPCC (who I raised sponsorship for) whether I would like to have my photo taken and have a brief interview, to go in their next newsletter. I declined, for reasons previously mentioned.

I suppose what I'm rambling about is two-fold. Firstly it's about being stuck between wanting to raise money for a fucking good cause, and not wanting the attention, not mentioning the fact that perhaps what I'm doing is harder than it is for most people.

I think maybe more importantly I just want to actually be able to say to somebody/everybody that I actually find running difficult. I mean physically difficult - not just a question of fitness. And maybe the selfish, human part of me wants somebody to acknowledge how difficult it is (that's not a cue to anybody who happens to read to reply as such).

I dunno...maybe it's just watching that documentary got me thinking "am I doing something amazing here and not noticing it?" and then straight away afterwards, "no, you're being big-headed even thinking that."

Either way I just want to say I find running hard work.

(Thanks to Blur for the title)

Brit-pop is making me happy atm. Might be something to do with memories of being 13/14/15. That said, I was a very unhappy 13/14/15 year old, so maybe I just wish I wasn't getting old.

Anyhoo, I've decided to actually make use of this space on a (hopefully) regular basis, as something of a journal of my (second, perhaps annual) attempt to run 13.1 miles without dying. Also known as the Great North Run

Last year's failed attempt is documented here, for those of you that weren't paying attention :p

There's a bit of psychological stuff about running which may or may not get a look in, but basically I want to keep track of how far I've run, count up the total miles training, sort of thing, and just out of curiosity the nunber of calories burned during training (mapmyrun.com gives you loads of info like that).

Inevitably I'll be griping about being in pain as and when I get injured (given my track record - no pun intended - that's likely).

Not like anybody reads this shit anyway...

I'm never one for actually forwarding circular emails, but somebody just emailed me this, and I have to say it is quite beautiful.



Nic's comment was "So the Ukraine has somebody with actual talent, and what do we get? Susan Fucking Boyle."

few things:

• My keyboard is fucked. Sentenceskeependinguplikethis and then I have to gobackandfix themwith spaces
• I ran 9.81 miles today in 1:39:17. at 6mph. That means I'll be running the GNR in *counts* 132 minutes, or 2hrs 22 minutes. Only I won't, because my sister has guilt-tripped me into running with her. Which means I can take it easier ( run 6mph comfortably, or 10 minute miles, she is closer to 11 minute miles), but means I won't be beating her time by much. Bring on the last 1/2 mile sprint, say we.
• My right knee hurts. This apparently is because in my drive to fix my left shin (which has cost something in the region on £350) I forgot to stretch the rest of my muscles. Like my right Quads, which are now pulling very painfully on my right knee. I actually lay down fully on my stomach on the fishing deck next to the river while running, to do a quad stretch. I probably looked like I'd died or something.
• I have now run *counts* 35 miles in the last 11 days. I think that's pretty amazing, if I do say so myself.
• I am now surviving on 75mg of Venlafaxine per week. Again, I think that's pretty amazing. Just wish I could get off it totally. Will try to make it 10 days until my next one now.
• I am in love with Muse. Again. I have listened to nothing but Live Muse gigs in the last week. I want to have Matthew Bellamy's babies. And if that's not possible then I'd like to do extremely rude things to him. I also feel compelled to share this particular track/performance, forthose of you who haven't seen/heard it. Skip to 4:30if you get bored.

Thought I'd do my first dreamwidth blog (my first real blog in 6 months actually) about something important.

On Friday I took the first annual leave I've had since December 2007 (time flies), on account of the fact me and Nic got the train to London on Thursday night, to spend 3 days with my Sister in Clapham (and to see the Manics in Camden on Saturday night).

Did you know the video for A Design For Life was filmed in Camden Roundhouse? I didn't either until Saturday. But anyway.

After two days of walking round London in sweltering heat, I was grateful for the seating tickets. I think I might have died or my feet fallen off if we'd been standing. There were of course a few moments we both wanted to be jumping about with the rest of them, but for the most art we were happy.

Support band: something called the answering machine. Not bad, but I'll probably not be buying. Sounded a bit like bloc party, and seemed to really enjoy playing. Actually on further reflection I might look them up on itunes.

Support bands always get a raw deal though, as nobody pays to see them.

anyway, Cue the Manics, and Peeled Apples. Immediately I could tell something had changed. The music they were playing, and the lyrics James was singing...it seemed...meaningful, for the first time in years. And they played with such energy. That was the main impact - unbelievable energy, which (amazing as it is) didn't come through in the record. Such is live music though.

Jackie Collins and Me & Stephen Hawking were brilliant, but This Joke Sport Severed was the first highlight; the band were joined by a string quartet.

Meantime Nick is pretty quiet, not obviously in pain, but keeping his back militarily straight; James is bouncing around enough for the two of them. I was irked that I couldn't actually see Nick very well during Journal for Plague Lovers, as I wanted to assess whether or not his bass skills had improved (the bassline on that track is so good I'm convinced James played it on the album, and although I couldn't hear the bass with enough clarity to judge, I might have been better informed had I been able to see Nick's hands. Nevermind.

Facing Page: Top Left was done solo by James, while Sean seemed top fall asleep and Nicky hid on an orthopedic chair behind a speaker stack. Doors slowly closing seemed to miss the delicate piano in the intro (there were no extra band personnel for the first 12 tracks, save for the string quartet) but was otherwise majestic.

And then it's All is Vanity, and time to phone askygoneonfire . As always when you call people at gigs , I wasn't sure whether the call was answered, or whether I'd end up leaving a musical voicemail. Seemed to work though.

Williams Last Words was, strangely, the pinnacle of the gig. I'm not really a fan of the album track, basically because Nicky can't sing, and I think it's a bit of a sentimental damp squib compared with the power of the rest of the album.

But anyway. Nick steps up and explains that "this is the part where I ritually embarrass myself"


-----------------------------------

(LJ autosaves what you type, so you can pick up where you leave off, months later. Right? Well this is the part where, after reviewing the rest of the gig once, and navigating away to change settings, and losing it; then getting halfway through re-typing it, only to accidentally hit backspace and firefox to skip back so I lose it all AGAIN...this is the part where I get totally fucked off and leave it there.)

Second half set list was as follows though

Motorcycle Emptiness
Your Love Alone Is Not Enough
No Surface All Feeling
You Love Us
Tsunami
La Tristesse Durera
Faster
If You Tolerate This Your Children Will Be Next
Little Baby Nothing
Australia
You Stole The Sun From My Heart
Ocean Spray
Stop In the Name of Love into Motown Junk
Everything Must Go
A Design For Life