Its 10:30 and I am still in bed. My first thought on waking was, “I want to die.” For one reason or another, very few of my 19974 days have begun with any other thought.
I don’t think I really want to die (although there have been times in my life that I have really wanted to). Actually, I would like to live before I die. It just feels like nothing delightful will ever happen again in my life. Logically I know that as long as I am here there is potential for excitement and for fulfilment. It’s just that my life has been so unceasingly difficult and joyless for so long, years, that I am hanging onto hope by a thread.
I am inspired to begin this blog after coming across one this morning by “Evil Barbie”. She is a 46 year old, lovely, blonde, clever, highly creative actress . . . She writes about the daily events in her life and shares her thoughts on the things that are important to her. I like the way she includes the mundane parts of her day – the cleaning, the clothing she wears that day, the TV she watches - amongst the more sensational. Evil Barbie is fascinating and completely the opposite of me.
Of course, Evil Barbie’s life is nothing like “ordinary” but here’s the thing . . . No-one’s life is ordinary. Just different. Totally, amazingly, uniquely different. Everyone’s life is fascinating. Everyone’s everyday life should be documented. What an awesome, wonderful kaleidoscope LIFE is when we view all of our individual lives together. We owe it to each other to blog.[1] We also owe it to ourselves. I like the idea that when I am dead, my thoughts, through this blog, will be in the ether forever. A not entirely unmarked life. [2] I also hope that it will make me accountable, pushing me to do what I can finally to achieve a fulfilling and happy life, instead of going under. Staying in bed playing Solitaire won’t cut it.
I think we need a lot more of the mundane realities. We all know that the media have a vested interest in bombarding us with selective images of the lives of celebrities (this is what you should be), even those showing them looking the worse for wear or on their own because their latest relationship has broken down (this young rich skinny model with her phenomenally expensive designer handbag is just like you). Adverts show us supposedly ordinary people in their immaculate show homes. We then feel dissatisfied, depressed even, because we don’t look like that (and for a number of reasons, never could). Our lives aren’t active and exciting. Our homes are chaotic. Our family’s at war (or non-existent). Our job’s a bore (if we have one, that is). I think we need to know that that is what life, real life, is like for everyone, regardless of the symmetry of their face and body, or their wealth or fame . . . long periods of banality interspersed with brief moments of adventure, ages of uncertainty interspersed with flashes of clarity, instances of hilarity interspersed with aeons of dread.
I think there is potential for happiness in the mundane. I used to enjoy doing housework. It gave me a great sense of satisfaction. But now I am incapable of doing it. Besides, J___ thinks he does everything better than me and he hates anything that’s systematic or organised, particularly my system and my organisation. No sooner do I tidy than he messes it up again. I wouldn’t like to accuse him of doing it consciously but if it isn’t, it must be subconscious which is almost as bad. J___ needs to be dominant but he is also genuinely uncomfortable with tidiness. I am, on the other hand, a perfectionist, or at least I was until my body gave up on me. [3] Untidiness makes me uncomfortable but because I am beholden to J___ (not to mention wary of his easily ignited rage), I feel I have to accept his preferences mutely. But it’s a conscious inner battle for me to feel that this is my home.
I have, as usual, been surfing the Net and playing Solitaire since waking at 6:30ish. Very apt. I am emotionally solitary despite being married.
J___ made me toast & marmalade for breakfast and a ham & tomato sandwich for lunch. He brought them up for me to eat in bed. He also brought me copious mugs of tea. I am very grateful to him for constantly feeding me and for never complaining about it. But don’t be deceived, thinking he has a hard time in having to care for me. I get what I’m given and he gets to be in control which is his heart’s desire. (I suspect that “Home is a Battlefield” will be a running thread through this blog.)
15:30 Spent the time since last session typing my About Me sections (plus a few games of Solitaire and checking out my favourite blog which I’ll elaborate on in a future entry). Decided that it was too late to shower so just had a good wash instead, cleaned my teeth, brushed my hair and tied it in a ponytail. You may think these too trivial to mention but every day I do any one is an accomplishment for me. I have gone three days at times without even being able to get out of bed let alone wash or brush my teeth. ME/CFS is crap. Anxiety and depression are crap.
17:30 Dressed in dark grey jeans and white t-shirt, had afternoon tea (cake & biscuits), held a couple of bits of wood for J___ while he nailed them to other bits of wood then prepared dinner (sausage casserole (packet sauce), mashed potato, frozen peas & corn & Aunt Bessie’s Yorkshire Puddings)[4]. I was knackered afterwards but that is a real achievement for me. Watched an Agatha Christie “Miss Marple” episode while eating dinner on a tray (spilt sauce down my clean t-shirt as usual) then played a few rounds of Solitaire and perused clothes and shoes on ebay before watching the penultimate “Waking the Dead”.
[1] I am reminded of Nella Last, the wartime housewife who began her diaries for the Mass Observation Archive. Her observations and life were so interesting that ITV made them into a Bafta winning drama. I like the fact that she was from Barrow, home of my great great grandparents and quite close to my own village.
[2] Everyone dislikes a boaster, a “show off”, those who “blow their own trumpet”. Self-important people should be “brought down a peg or two” so my instinct is to be self-deprecatory, to say that my life is a complete bore in which no one could possibly be interested and that my opinions are ignorant and not worth reading. Although that may be true (and one should be leery of self-fulfilling prophecies or, as it’s more popularly referred to now, the Law of Attraction), my equality as a human being is the authority for this blog and the fact of my creature hood its justification.
[3] There is a connection between childhood abuse, perfectionism and ME/CFS. A child abuse victim (emotional, physical or sexual) feels powerless in addition to shame and fear. As adults some try to feel in control and to compensate for their lack of self-worth by doing everything “right” and by striving for a flawless life in which they are highly respected. Abuse triggers the brain’s “Flight or Fight” (or Freeze) Response, mostly via the Sympathetic Nervous System and the Endocrine System. In nature any danger is usually over fairly quickly but for abused children the high levels of anxiety are continual and without solution. The brain becomes hard-wired to experience unrelenting anxiety, even after the initial source of it has departed. The “Flight or Fight” mechanism now cannot switch off and since no one and nothing can be perfect, the feelings of fear, powerlessness and shame do not abate. In fact their validity is affirmed as stress is added to stress (very often a result of subconsciously-motivated choices) in an ever-increasing cycle. Eventually all the overloaded and overworked organs and systems of the body break down.
[4] Carbs & obesity/diet and depression etc. – subjects for another day.
I don’t think I really want to die (although there have been times in my life that I have really wanted to). Actually, I would like to live before I die. It just feels like nothing delightful will ever happen again in my life. Logically I know that as long as I am here there is potential for excitement and for fulfilment. It’s just that my life has been so unceasingly difficult and joyless for so long, years, that I am hanging onto hope by a thread.
I am inspired to begin this blog after coming across one this morning by “Evil Barbie”. She is a 46 year old, lovely, blonde, clever, highly creative actress . . . She writes about the daily events in her life and shares her thoughts on the things that are important to her. I like the way she includes the mundane parts of her day – the cleaning, the clothing she wears that day, the TV she watches - amongst the more sensational. Evil Barbie is fascinating and completely the opposite of me.
Of course, Evil Barbie’s life is nothing like “ordinary” but here’s the thing . . . No-one’s life is ordinary. Just different. Totally, amazingly, uniquely different. Everyone’s life is fascinating. Everyone’s everyday life should be documented. What an awesome, wonderful kaleidoscope LIFE is when we view all of our individual lives together. We owe it to each other to blog.[1] We also owe it to ourselves. I like the idea that when I am dead, my thoughts, through this blog, will be in the ether forever. A not entirely unmarked life. [2] I also hope that it will make me accountable, pushing me to do what I can finally to achieve a fulfilling and happy life, instead of going under. Staying in bed playing Solitaire won’t cut it.
I think we need a lot more of the mundane realities. We all know that the media have a vested interest in bombarding us with selective images of the lives of celebrities (this is what you should be), even those showing them looking the worse for wear or on their own because their latest relationship has broken down (this young rich skinny model with her phenomenally expensive designer handbag is just like you). Adverts show us supposedly ordinary people in their immaculate show homes. We then feel dissatisfied, depressed even, because we don’t look like that (and for a number of reasons, never could). Our lives aren’t active and exciting. Our homes are chaotic. Our family’s at war (or non-existent). Our job’s a bore (if we have one, that is). I think we need to know that that is what life, real life, is like for everyone, regardless of the symmetry of their face and body, or their wealth or fame . . . long periods of banality interspersed with brief moments of adventure, ages of uncertainty interspersed with flashes of clarity, instances of hilarity interspersed with aeons of dread.
I think there is potential for happiness in the mundane. I used to enjoy doing housework. It gave me a great sense of satisfaction. But now I am incapable of doing it. Besides, J___ thinks he does everything better than me and he hates anything that’s systematic or organised, particularly my system and my organisation. No sooner do I tidy than he messes it up again. I wouldn’t like to accuse him of doing it consciously but if it isn’t, it must be subconscious which is almost as bad. J___ needs to be dominant but he is also genuinely uncomfortable with tidiness. I am, on the other hand, a perfectionist, or at least I was until my body gave up on me. [3] Untidiness makes me uncomfortable but because I am beholden to J___ (not to mention wary of his easily ignited rage), I feel I have to accept his preferences mutely. But it’s a conscious inner battle for me to feel that this is my home.
I have, as usual, been surfing the Net and playing Solitaire since waking at 6:30ish. Very apt. I am emotionally solitary despite being married.
J___ made me toast & marmalade for breakfast and a ham & tomato sandwich for lunch. He brought them up for me to eat in bed. He also brought me copious mugs of tea. I am very grateful to him for constantly feeding me and for never complaining about it. But don’t be deceived, thinking he has a hard time in having to care for me. I get what I’m given and he gets to be in control which is his heart’s desire. (I suspect that “Home is a Battlefield” will be a running thread through this blog.)
15:30 Spent the time since last session typing my About Me sections (plus a few games of Solitaire and checking out my favourite blog which I’ll elaborate on in a future entry). Decided that it was too late to shower so just had a good wash instead, cleaned my teeth, brushed my hair and tied it in a ponytail. You may think these too trivial to mention but every day I do any one is an accomplishment for me. I have gone three days at times without even being able to get out of bed let alone wash or brush my teeth. ME/CFS is crap. Anxiety and depression are crap.
17:30 Dressed in dark grey jeans and white t-shirt, had afternoon tea (cake & biscuits), held a couple of bits of wood for J___ while he nailed them to other bits of wood then prepared dinner (sausage casserole (packet sauce), mashed potato, frozen peas & corn & Aunt Bessie’s Yorkshire Puddings)[4]. I was knackered afterwards but that is a real achievement for me. Watched an Agatha Christie “Miss Marple” episode while eating dinner on a tray (spilt sauce down my clean t-shirt as usual) then played a few rounds of Solitaire and perused clothes and shoes on ebay before watching the penultimate “Waking the Dead”.
[1] I am reminded of Nella Last, the wartime housewife who began her diaries for the Mass Observation Archive. Her observations and life were so interesting that ITV made them into a Bafta winning drama. I like the fact that she was from Barrow, home of my great great grandparents and quite close to my own village.
[2] Everyone dislikes a boaster, a “show off”, those who “blow their own trumpet”. Self-important people should be “brought down a peg or two” so my instinct is to be self-deprecatory, to say that my life is a complete bore in which no one could possibly be interested and that my opinions are ignorant and not worth reading. Although that may be true (and one should be leery of self-fulfilling prophecies or, as it’s more popularly referred to now, the Law of Attraction), my equality as a human being is the authority for this blog and the fact of my creature hood its justification.
[3] There is a connection between childhood abuse, perfectionism and ME/CFS. A child abuse victim (emotional, physical or sexual) feels powerless in addition to shame and fear. As adults some try to feel in control and to compensate for their lack of self-worth by doing everything “right” and by striving for a flawless life in which they are highly respected. Abuse triggers the brain’s “Flight or Fight” (or Freeze) Response, mostly via the Sympathetic Nervous System and the Endocrine System. In nature any danger is usually over fairly quickly but for abused children the high levels of anxiety are continual and without solution. The brain becomes hard-wired to experience unrelenting anxiety, even after the initial source of it has departed. The “Flight or Fight” mechanism now cannot switch off and since no one and nothing can be perfect, the feelings of fear, powerlessness and shame do not abate. In fact their validity is affirmed as stress is added to stress (very often a result of subconsciously-motivated choices) in an ever-increasing cycle. Eventually all the overloaded and overworked organs and systems of the body break down.
[4] Carbs & obesity/diet and depression etc. – subjects for another day.
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