Tag Archives: daryl

Mind over (nothing) matter(s)

Late night blog about feelings, I bet you totally want to keep reading now.

So here I am, lying in bed next to my absolutely gorgeous, snoozing fiancé, thinking about stuff instead of getting some rest. As I have previously mentioned, some days are really great, and once you get a reminder of normalcy, feeling anxious and sad again seems all the more awful. Thursday and Friday were so good, I felt energetic, productive, and didn’t have constant doubtful thoughts. Then something snapped on Saturday, and whilst driving with Nick (sleepy husband), had to pull over and switch, not without first having a cry in the middle of a suburban street. Thankfully he hugged me instead of driving away in embarrassment which I am very grateful for. Since then I have been back to my old self, and I just really hate it.

It’s frustrating to have a terrible sleeping pattern, to either eat everything in the house or nothing all day, to want to cry and then scream and then nap in the middle of the day. It’s irritating to know that you know hygiene is a necessity in modern-day society, and the apartment really needs cleaning, and you do have friends and people who are there for you, but instead your brain makes you feel like it’s fine, it doesn’t smell that bed in here, you’re hair doesn’t look that greasy, who cares, nobody wants to be around you anyway. That’s definitely something I hate, feeling like I have nobody to talk to, especially now, when it’s 11 at night and my brain won’t let me sleep. People that are paid to listen to me don’t count. As a side note, I do want to specify that my sleeping beauty listens to me and is always there, but I have to let him rest sometimes, so that’s why I’m turning to you WordPress. This post is a true reflection of the dysfunction.

Maybe eventually I’ll have good days every day, not twice then they disappear. Before that happened I was wondering if really I felt that bad, and if I was fine now, but to see the contrast, it’s like a very very….not fine line at all. Completely black and white. Here I’ll show you with a trusty old paint illustration.

anxiety

^ This one here is happiness. When I am happy, it’s like overwhelming, hyper, vomiting rainbows happiness. And yes I used ROYGBIV to remember the colours of the rainbow.

The image on the right is every other day where I don’t want to leave the house, and I’m in a box of wanting absolutely nothing to do with anything.

I hope my beautiful piece of 90’s paintwork illustrates accurately to you, my humble readers, what it’s like to be so used to feeling like nope that you forget how great rainbows are. Although I do appreciate that my cartoon makes it look like I take drugs and then have really bad come downs or withdrawals, but alas that is not the case. The kind of medication I take certainly does not make me puke colours (I wish). Only copious alcohol consumption and a packet of skittles does that.

So fingers crossed that tomorrow can at least be marginally better than the last three days, specifically no crying in the middle of roads. Or at all. An average, eventless day would be very welcome. I’ll think of something a bit more upbeat to report back with, maybe we can talk about The Walking Dead, because it’s getting crayyyyyyyyyyyy.

Goodnight people who care x

 

 

 

All original content posted is copyright of Helen Neretlis, A Dose of Dysfunction, 2014.

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I wrote this yesterday but forgot to post it

First item on the agenda, I am so very muchly looking forward to cold weather. I cannot deal with the heat, I melt like the wicked witch of the west. Even slightly cool days are exciting for me, I get to start wearing jeans and cute jackets and scarfs and beanies again, oh beanies, I’ve missed your warm, woollen presence on my head.

Second item, old people are very interesting. I visited my nanna today (Nanny), and she is the type of grandparent that loves to talk, she is delightful and sweet and cute as a button. So she was telling us about her childhood, how she would have to get up before school and milk the cows at the age of 8. How she got bucked off a pony and landed in some rocks and broke her tailbone. And she imitated her Greek mother, always hilarious. Sometimes I forgot that older people have really great stories that it’s worth asking about and taking time to listen to. I can’t even compare a part of my childhood to hers, getting up to do chores before school, and not just sweeping the house, but milking cows and doing work around the farm. Then her mother would make milk, and butter, and cream. Her father would kill pigs and they’d make sausages, and use one of the bedrooms to hang them up. Grandparents, share with us your wisdom and funny stories.

Third item, I’m in a weird mood today. Half motivated, half listening to Fall Out Boy and thinking every lyric is speaking to me, am I 15 again? I have decided that since I’m a fatty (I’m not, just none of my clothes fit anymore, weird) I’m going to go through my giant, stuffed, unorganized wardrobe and get rid of things because…I’m not going to wear the 10 pairs of pants I own that won’t go over my thighs anymore. Yeah me, organization, logic, woo.

Other words that describe my last few days:

Franco sucks. Walking Dead. Wedding. Board Games. Wine.

 

 

Bleeeeeeergh

 

All original content posted is copyright of Helen Neretlis, A Dose of Dysfunction, 2014

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