Apologies in advance as this is another whiney post. I am rankling at an injustice…. see what you think…..
The past two weeks have been full of homework. My darling little 5 year old son is trying to get his homework done…. 8 sides of workbook (takes at least half an hour a side), 8 spellings and reading out loud each day….. it’s not possible to keep up with so I went for a chat with the teacher.
Instead of trying to understand she reminded me “he has the choice to do it during golden time”…. right… the only time during the week for him to relax, play and be a kid. Then she proceeded to teach me how to do tens and units….. not my child how to do it, but me!!!! I left more than a tad frustrated, unheard and upset.
The next 48 hours I spent in bed apart from dropping and picking kids up from school, it’s just astounding how mental illness can just swipe your legs from under you.
Last week we missed church and bathtime so we could get the hw done; we’ll do the same this week…. I guess I was always destined to have smelly heathens as children, I just wasn’t expecting it to be caused by a teacher or so young!
On the plus side I’ve been going to dance classes again. I resemble an epileptic octopus, but a very happy and sweaty one!
How is everyone else? Any ideas what to do with the homework situation?
After so many years on the planet, I should know that after visiting the dump i am either suitable for gardening, mud skidding or a shower.
Instead im wearing cord trousers which dirt adores, a formerly WHITE jumper and half my garden whilst eating lunch out, shopping with my lovely sister, then to the school playground, son to dance class after which I hopefully have time to change before I go to dance myself.
I’ve wet wiped the mud and bits of tree off my face, arms and hands but the wet wipes did little on the long brown mud stain down my trousers…. oh well! I’m consoling myself imagining people think I’m a horse owner and own a stable of thoroughbred that I occasionally help out with…..
To my amusement as I was heaving the garden rubbish into the overflowing tip at the dump I realised what I’d forgotten when I was distracted during getting ready this morning, deodorant! Oh don’t worry its not that bad… I only forgot my left armpit!
Maybe I should just go back to bed now!!
On another note I’m going back to dance tonight after 8 years off! I’m terrified which may explain my left armpit and poor clothing choice. I’ll let you know how it goes….
An odd part of being in the world of mental health, that I still find unsettling, is the way I meet with a pleasant professional who chats with me for half an hour or so. Then I get on with my life, until a few months later a new diagnosis lands on my doorstep; no warning or conversation. Just a few words committing me to a new life sentence.
And yes I understand it’s potentially not a life sentence, it’s potentially treatable. But so far I’ve been in treatment for over 2 years and I still fulfil the diagnostic criteria. And the next ‘possible’ diagnosis explains a lot but it is a life sentence, which I could do without.
I feel the phrase “when life gives you lemons, make lemonade” is apt. Anyone fancy a glass?
I’ve been absent from my blog for a long time. In that time I’ve been hospitalised for 5 weeks, resigned from my job, become a trustee of a very worthwhile charity and started working out.
We had the most amazing summer and as September begins all of my prior commitments come flooding back to me and I find the word ‘blog’ on my daily to do list. It’s taken a lot for me to finally sit down and start to type, mainly the decision that my creative output is important, as important as other items on my to do list, such as put the recycling out or to take sandpit to the dump…. maybe it’s even more important yet until today it didn’t reach the top of my to do list.
I’m early for a dinner date with a good friend, as usual I am positively rude by showing up 20 minutes early; it makes people uncomfortable but I need to do it so I feel settled and ready to socialise. It also gives me time to go through my calendar, write in my notebook and to gather my thoughts…. today i gathered my thoughts enough to blog.
So welcome back and hello to any newcomers.
I began a new therapy course last week which sadly I’m not allowed to blog about…..and there was one helleva lot to blog about!!! I’ll leave that to your imagination and tell you what I learnt…. apart from that people with my diagnosis’s shouldn’t be put together in a confined room and left to our own devices!!!
Firstly I learnt that emotions rarely come as singles, but as a rush of overlaying emotions. Simple now I’ve heard that said but a revelation to my conscious mind nonetheless.
Secondly that part of borderline personality disorder is the hypo or hyper mentalising. For years therapists have explained to me that my diagnosis means I don’t mentalise (so hypo mentalise) yet I’ve never sat with that comfortably as i mentalise (hold in my mind other people’s thoughts and feelings) to a point that it becomes obsessional and to my detriment. To the point where I create whole back stories for people from a single glance. That’s hyper mentalising and that is also part of bpd but a part that I’ve not found referred to in any of the books I’ve read.
So two new things have slotted into place for me.
But what did I get from it? That I am not my diagnosis. I am complex and individual. And, today, I’m happy being just me. Welcome to you all.
Am I safe here? I whisper through the night’s chilled air.
You stir in your sleep, your eyes crease at the edge.
In your sleep you are puzzled; as puzzled as you are awake. Puzzled by me.
The fascination can never fade. I can never explain the fears, the magic, I envisage before I open myself wide.
Am I safe here? A question that will never be answered.
For each day you tell me, show me, prove to me, all that I am.
I know too well of this trust. So I unfailingly fall then pull away…… it hurts you as my eyes freeze, pull away and stare at the magic in which we live, but dare not look your way.
Am I safe here? Remains unanswered but your puzzled brow reassures me of your truth.
Not a poem as such but something that came to me one night.
Feel the fear and do it anyway;
Imaginary words, imaginary worlds.
A song for Issy Bradley, The Storyteller.
With the art of being normal
But the fault in our stars
Leads to Vita Brevis.
The power of NOW.
A poem constructed of the books in my bedroom. I found it fun to do and a totally new way of looking at my book spines.
Its sunlit colours decieve me not
I see its sharps and cuts and knives.
I go to grasp it by its stalk,
Pull back to find my blood.
I celebrate our secret love,
The red petals for my blood.
The secret thorns, my secret pain,
As roses scent’s arise.
How I wish id paid attention when grammar was taught at school…. although I have no recollection of those lessons at all. Aplologies for the gramatical errors!