Today's Truth

Friday afternoon
New post eh? Well I've clicked on it, that's a start . . . Now where to really start?

Ok, firstly, I'm having difficulty thinking, about anything. I've seen my doctor and she thinks this is a result of increasing my dose of Fluoxetine (Prozac) . . . I explained to her that I used to write lists of things to do, bills to pay, just stuff to keep my head above water. Now I sit down to write a list and I stare at the page, or doodle. I used to keep account of money spent; having to budget very closely where every pound goes and  . . . again, I sit down to do this and I can't remember back as far as yesterday to think what has been spent, or how, or where . . . She didn't seem concerned when I told her about this and said they would like to keep it at this level until I've completed the CBT (exposure therapy for phobia) and then reduce. I can see the logic of this, in that my anxiety and "OCDness" is massively reduced and so is my phobia, yes I've noticed that too. I can understand how this will make the therapy less frightening and such . . . But, I dont like not being able to think, or obsess. It's a big part of who I am. And what if I face the exposure therapy and the object of my phobia at this level, only to return to my anxious, obsessive, phobic self once the pills are stopped . . . anyway we'll see, but, for now, I am struggling to think and I'm struggling to do.

 . . . I'm not blaming this lack of focus entirely for my lack of fight . . . But those glimpses of the awful reality of this addiction are few and far between, and with little, or no, impact. So, although I'm sure this state of mind is ideal for facing one's worst fears . . . It's not so good for keeping up with day to day demands  (keeping ALL the socks paired and the loo bleached) or obsessing of any sort . . . Or getting a grip of any sort.

It's freezing cold, I'll tell you that. Freezing cold, wet and windy and freezing cold.
And Christmas is creeping up on me, well, on us all, I suppose . . . everyday, it's a day closer. Really.
And much as I would like, at this moment to fast forward to the new year, rather than face the stress and expense of Christmas  . . . The new year, itself, will bring with it a new problem, more about that later.

It's Saturday morning now. I had a "moment" at half four this morning . . . I lay on the sofa (that's where I sleep at the minute) with these questions going through my mind  . . .  How will I ever stop this? How long will I exist if I don't stop this? What if Hamper G's Dad is homeless on his release from prison?  (17th Jan) in this freezing cold? How can I not help? What if he OD's? Why did he not tell me that he tried to hang himself in prison almost three years ago (at the beginning of his sentence) Why? What if? What will it take? Silent hot tears were falling and I didn't even know I was crying . . . A voice came through the dark from the other sofa  "I love you Mama" . . . what made her say that, right then in her sleep? and why can't I do this? Please, why are three beautiful children not enough to keep me out of this darkness?

There is so much stuff I should be doing . . . And I'm not, I'm just stuck. Real stuck.

And now it's Saturday afternoon. Geekster's Dad has been round for coffee and to arrange to pick Geekster up tonight . . . I see that man looking at me with sadness in his eyes, asking himself where did she go? He might well ask.

Stropster will be in from work in a minute wanting lunch, he's still mad with me, in a
way . . . Rightly so.

This is some of the top layer. The very top layer of a few things, but you knew that.

I was up at half seven this morning to get Stropster up for work and as I made the coffee I accidentally knocked a brand new jar of coffee from the worktop and it smashed on the tiles. I scooped up three sponns to make my coffe with hot milk . . . picked up a large shard of glass and held on to it like it might save me . . . Fortunately, I then imagined the kids finding the mess and walked away from it all, back to the sofa with my coffee . . . So, to some extent, the kids keep me out of the worst of the darkness.

And now Geekster has just phoned me from town to ask what shoe size I am . . . as he's found some fluffy leopard slippers at half price in New Look and he's getting me them for Christmas . . . That boy makes me cry. And now I'm crying again.

I'm not going to read over this or try to improve anything . . . It's today's truth.
Love and thanks to you who read here.