It doesn’t matter how positive I try to be every night, I wake up in the morning with that great big black cloud above me.
Last night I was determined to be positive about everything. I did some meditation, which was great, I sorted out all my paperwork, read for a while, had a relaxing bath and actually felt like I could tackle things. I slept well too, then back to square one this morning.
I have two alarms clocks, which are set to loud and I didn’t hear either of them – or maybe I did and my sub-conscious ignored them. I woke as one of them finshed blaring music at me, feeling drugged and heavy and downwright depressed.
Fuck it.
What do I need to do to feel normal?
It was such a struggle to get going today again. It took all my willpower to force myself to get out of bed and stand under a cool shower to try to wake up. My black mood followed me around, sitting on my shoulder in the car, snapping at my heels in the weekly meeting, whispering in my ear to go and get another sandwich at lunchtime. I gave in and also bought some crisps too.
I can’t stop eating.
It’s like I want to eat myself to death.
Comfort food, I guess, although that description is a paradox. You eat to feel better, then feel absolutely shit cos you’ve eaten too much. At least I don’t make myself throw up afterwards – not yet anyway. Mind you, I hate being sick and am such a wimp, I couldn’t ever get my finger down my throat…
Tomorrow I’m going to give a talk to academics at the Maritime museum. For the hour or so I’m doing that I will feel good, I know I will. In control of my life, confident about the subject, people listening to me. then I will return to my hotel room and desperately want to share the experience with someone. I will try very hard not to share it with Facebook, where no-one gives a fuck anyway, but in the end I will type something on there, cos it will be so unbearable to not tell anyone. I will get a couple of ‘Likes’, maybe a comment or even two, I will put a jokey response on there in return…
It’s comfort typing. Makes me feel better for a while, then I feel shit because it’s not real.
But if it weren’t for those virtual friends I would have gone mad by now. Living a virtual life is keeping me sane-ish.
Thank you virtual friends, there are a few of you who are extra special and never judge me and for that I am very grateful. I get pleasure from seeing your lives through the pages of Facebook and knowing that you are all OK.
And to you Bill, a special virtual hug on the way. You probably won’t get to read this yet, but I hope you are home from hospital soon. Miss you (virtually that is…) xxx
Barbara Murray Art 