Grrr.

Feb. 3rd, 2016 06:26 pm
gemsybobsy: (floyd)
I keep yelling about this stuff in snippets on Facebook but it feels pointless. It doesn't get me anywhere. But nothing's getting me anywhere anyway, I'm really just existing at the moment. I'm not living. I'm just working and stressing. For nothing. I spent the whole of January with butterflies in my stomach, and feel on the brink of tears AT ALL TIMES. I thought maybe typing it all out properly would sort it out in my head/get it all out...

I'm so sick of working as hard as I do and getting nowhere. No savings, not enough holiday, no sick pay... the only blip of calm I feel is when the rent has gone out of my account after two weeks of begging people to put the money in there, but then of course, hey, the account's back to £0, and next week the tax will go out, and so begins another month of scraping enough £s in just to make it through each direct debit in turn.

I'm angry that I have to pay out so many living expenses to live alone, yet wouldn't save any money even if I moved into a shared house. If I got a 'proper job' I'd have to get a degree first otherwise I can't afford to keep living alone. And I don't get any help from the government at all, not even tax credits are available to me anymore because I earn 'too much'. I'm constantly struggling and can't commit to anything - gigs are rare unless I'm playing them, holidays cause me real fear, I couldn't even buy myself anything with my Christmas money, just in case, and now that's been swallowed up.

I'm sick of seeing other dog walkers/petsitting people doing so much better than me when I was the first and nobody wanted to know back then. I see these new businesses popping up, shiny vans, loads of dogs, all accredited trainers, have a team of walkers, have paddocks and premises. When I told people in 2006 what I was offering I was repeatedly laughed at. 'Why would I get a dog and pay someone else to walk it?!' And I know I'm not entitled to success on a plate, but I never sat around and expected it to happen for me. I started this working my arse off for people who promised they'd pay for me to do training courses and who didn't do that, and they still took half my money, so I had to start doing the cleaning to make ends meet, and ten years later - the ends still don't fucking meet.

The stress makes me overeat, which makes me gain weight, and I get acid reflux/silent reflux (DIAGNOSED BY A CONSULTANT with a laryngoscope, TWICE, in 2008 and again in 2013) as a result. This is affecting my voice when speaking, and more annoyingly - seeing as I am that bird off of that synthpop band - when singing. I KNOW IT'S AS A RESULT OF WEIGHT GAIN, because in 2008 and in 2013, when a camera went down my effing nose and looked at my vocal folds and saw irritation from acid, I was the size I am now. When I was 30lbs lighter than this, when we started the band and recorded our first album, I didn't have the voice problem. My voice feels tight, tense, it's easily fatigued and I have to really work to control my pitching and avoid squeaking, and I can barely make it through a gig without it almost giving up completely and aching, hurting and feeling sore as hell. I find it really hard to even talk every single day. I'll be having a conversation and my voice will just go. I'll have to clear my throat to get a sound out. And 'ahemming' all the time makes it WORSE. I can never be arsed to explain all this so I just say, 'My voice still sucks because of the reflux.' Then everyone goes, 'But your voice is really good.' That's not what I meeean. I explain. They say, 'You're not fat though.' ARGH I know I might look okay or whatever but that's not the point. My extra weight makes my reflux worse, simple fact. They give me that look as if I'm talking bollocks. So I get wound up with that as well. I'M NOT THICK. I am talking complete sense. I didn't get this from Dr Google. So I feel the pressure to lose the weight, to prove it. So I feel stressed. So I overeat. And then I stress because I'm still not losing the weight. So I overeat. I'M SO SICK OF MYSELF.

And on top of all of that, all music now stresses me out. I can never get computers/recording equipment to work. EVER. I have written two songs, EVER. Neither of them are even half-finished. The very idea of sitting down and creating anything fills me with actual dread. So I don't bother. Might as well sell it all. And then spend the proceeds on sodding gas and electric. Every evening and weekend flies past in a blur of eating, refreshing Facebook, feeling like I'm missing out of everything cool that ever happens, and crying.

And then there's the fact that my dog won't hang out with me at home anymore, because the fridge, which is now unplugged, made a stupid cracking noise occasionally, and because he can only hear it when it's quiet, he thinks the noise happens BECAUSE I sit on the sofa or lie in bed. So he skulks downstairs unless I make him stay in here. And if I do he stares anxiously at me until I get annoyed and tell him to bugger off. And then I cry because I MISS MY CUDDLY DOODLE DOG. :'(

I know last time I felt this messed up, I changed my life and it was scary and awesome. But this time I have no idea what I want. I just feel trapped in this bumbling existence. Bit of money comes in, instantly gone. Cupboard full of groceries, instantly binged on. Bit of energy, instantly gone. I feel a tiny bit of positivity and it's instantly covered in a ton of negativity.

We're going on tour in a couple of weeks. WITH FADERHEAD. Like, it's a dream to be asked to do something like that. But all I can focus on is how exhausted I feel, how broke I am, how out of shape I am going to look on stage, and how my voice is NOT going to cope. I was supposed to be on top form for this. FFS. I feel so angry at myself. I can't look forward to anything, I feel like I can't go out and socialise because I always feel anxious or miserable. When I do see people I feel like I can't talk about any of this anymore because I feel like they're sick of hearing about it, nobody can suggest anything to me, and I want to keep this image that I'm in control, I got my life sorted, etc, etc... I think that's why I turn to food so often; it's something that gives me a little bit of luxury and relaxation in a world of stress, and it's letting that craving take control of me, instead of me having to control ALL THE THINGS all the time. Argh.

I spent the whole of the last decade sorting out my life, getting it how I wanted it. But it's not good enough. Spent the whole of last year sorting out my brain, and getting over depression and stress, but it's all right outside the door and I'm back wading through it, with concrete boots, just not wanting to get up and even bother.

I think this is why I don't write journal entries anymore. I'll just be saying the same stuff again and again.
gemsybobsy: (amy)
I started writing this at the beginning of last week because I thought getting back into writing my journal would help a bit. Hmmm, we'll see! I am having a tough time mentally. DO NOT WANT! I have had depression and anxiety problems on and off since I was 17; it's something I can live and deal with and I've always stayed as positive as I can about it. I know when it's going to kick off and I take a break, see my doctor and look after myself. I have been taking antidepressants on and off all those years; the last type I had for 7 years continuously, and I am now at a point where I am a bit more emotionally settled so I have been gradually coming off them. My own decision, and made with my doctor's advice. So, yay me! It's all positive!!! This is a massive step though because, biologically, my brain has been relying on the pills for YEARS so it's going to screw up my brain chemistry for a while and make me feel like shite. And that 'shite' is a bit like depression itself and I'm scared it's going to come back.

It's always bugged me that you can publicly complain about headaches and earaches and norovirus and even poo problems and menstrual cramps, but if you mention a feeling brought on by a mental illness you're just 'being miserable' or 'feeling a bit down'... or, generally, you get the feeling that it's a taboo subject and something you should keep to yourself. And of course, it is an illness, not just me having a 'touch of the blues' or 'being down about myself'. I joke about 'being a bit emo today' because it's funny to me (i.e. a massive understatement) and I do like to make light of everything because, really, life is fucking hilarious. But this depression thing is NOT just me being 'sad about stuff' or even being 'sad for no reason'. It is actually my brain being an actual, physical twat, and conjuring up thoughts that really aren't part of my character, and if I dwell on them it makes me cry and panic, and that is what makes me sad. And everyone KNOWS that I would prefer to laugh and have fun. We all do. 'Depressed' is an emotion that everyone feels from time to time. 'Depression' is an illness that I just happen to have.

It's NOT my personality type.

I'm ridiculously silly, I laugh at everything including myself, I'm overly self-conscious at times and I'm sociable but introverted to the point of possibly having 'secret schizoid' tendencies. I'm NOT a miserable, negative or completely insular person. So when I talk about something I'm feeling, I'm usually worried about what my brain is doing and I'm turning to my friends. I would never go into detail about the thoughts themselves, because ew, but... yeah. I'm seeking attention, but not in that LOOK AT ME! sort of way. It's more like, 'O guise, plz halp, my brain's being a bellend.'

I have always hated people who use their illnesses/life situations as an excuse to be a c*nt. Having depression doesn't give me 'points' that I can use to claim I'm sadder and worse-off than everyone else. Equally, non-depression-suffering people don't get more points than me because they can cope with daily life better than me. I'm sick of feeling guilty because I'm moaning on Facebook about being ugly while some bloke on the telly can smile after a freak meteor wiped out his entire life. 'You should think yourself lucky,' my loved ones will say. That is not how it works. Depression makes you have horrible thoughts and it makes you emotionally unsteady. Too emotional, or too detached. One day I can laugh at my car being written off, the next day I can have a panic attack because I splodged my mascara. There aren't any winners.

Which brings me to this. You can't 'inspire' somebody with depression to think about other people who have similar and/or worse lives than us in the hope that it will help us to 'get over ourselves'. IT WILL NEVER HELP. When the hell did a dollop of guilt ever help anyone?! We all KNOW that there's no reason for us to be emotionally buggered up. It defies logic. I don't know how to explain my brain. So if I'm visibly tired, sad or deflated and people ask what's up, I can only keep to sociable conversation and relate my emo-ness to 'daily struggles', and therefore come out with 'light-hearted' things like, 'Oh, my brain says I fail at life so I'm crying because I couldn't brush my fringe straight, and I have to go to work and I have no money, and I hate all the things.' Then in return I get things like:

'But nobody likes going to work. But we all have to do it!' (brilliant)

'Oh, but we all feel like that from time to time. I felt sad all day yesterday for instance but I got over it.' (well done)

'It could be worse; look on the bright side.' (ooh I'd never thought of that but I will start doing so as of... now)

'At least you've got a roof over your head, eh? The western world, eh? Kids today, eh? Have everything on a plate and they still whinge' (... helpful)

'Doesn't it make you feel lucky that you're not in the middle of that warzone/you're not that child with cancer/that man who's lost his wife/have all your limbs/are not dead?' (oh, thank you. Thank you so damn much for now i have seen the light and the error of my ways, I will tell my brain to only produce rays of sunshine from now on)

DON'T YOU SEE
NO
NO NO NOPE
NO IT DOESN'T MAKE ME FEEL LUCKY
IT MAKES ME FEEL BAD
BAD BAD BAD BAD BAD BAD
SO STOP SAYING IT

just clearing that up
gemsybobsy: (space)
Suddenly very cold; gas fire keeps going out so I've got the electric one on the go. Thanks to the energy meter in front of me I can see the bill going up.

I have had an incredible weekend (two fantastic gigs), but I feel so flat, and I felt flat the whole time. I hope it didn't come across on stage. I'm so frustrated with myself; I thought I was finally over this. I know I'm introverted and I need breaks from being sociable. But I know things are bad when it gets to feeling like that all the time. I think that at heart I'm a social animal who doesn't often want to be sociable, so I'm miserable because I'm not sociable. It's like I'm pissed off at myself because I'm not who I should be, but because I am what I am, which is not good enough. It's pure apathy; I want to make something of myself, be creative, but I don't have the energy or motivation, frustrated but wallowing in it and feeling sorry for myself and just can't get over it, bored but won't do anything, lonely but don't want company. I had a dream I was pulling a car up a steep cliff face and couldn't get over the top. I'm not normally one for dream analysis...

I get angry at people but I can never say so because I would upset everyone. I get snarky when people find joy in things I don't know about (yeah whatever, shut up), or vent frustrations at things I might think they should be grateful for... And I know that it's me that's the problem, not them, and by directing my anger and frustration at everybody else, I'm actually making it all about me... Because, damnit, it's never all about me, and sometimes it bloody should be, I'm only visible if I kick off or if I haven't removed your lime-scale, but I'm not the one that's the issue, everyone else is at fault and they should all recognise that they all suck and I'm angry and envious that none of them has my stupid, ridiculous, self-centred, angry angry angry mind.

Despair, despair.

I want to eat an awful lot of crisps right now.
gemsybobsy: (study in pink)
So, last weekend, the night before I left for 'Murrrca, I think my drink got spiked. Jeannie, Dan, Anna, John and me went to see Harry Potter (cry forever) and then Jeannie, Dan and I went to the Dungeon. I was dancing most of the night, by our table, upon which was 39864 purple WKDs and my pint of lager, of which, throughout the night, I consumed four. I'm sure it was four, and only four. Might've even been three. I was Taking it Easy because I was travelling the next day. I was going nuts on the dance floor and generally drawing attention to myself as usual, and we had a great time. We sat outside in the garden for a while and chatted to people. There was some beef when Sarah and some of our other mates showed up, because two of the boys don't like each other. But other than that, all was fine and dandy, a standard all-round wicked Dungeony night. I remember all of it being normal, tipsy drunk and loving it. Soon it was time to go home, and from there, the rest of the night is a patchy blur. Jeannie and Dan went off to catch the night bus to Hythe, and I went on with Sarah to Junk in a cab, where we planned to meet the other mates who had left a bit earlier - not that I remember that beyond saying to Sarah, 'I might come with you, actually.' I remember going out past the cloakroom of the Dinge and saying thank you to the bouncers, then nothing until I got to Junk, where I remember paying to get in and Sarah gave her coat to the cloakroom attendant there. Then I remember running straight onto the dancefloor with the others, where I remained for about five minutes before heading off to the loo, definitely NOT feeling sick. I have a vague memory of finding the stairs a bit dark and tricky, then the next thing I know I'm waking up on the floor in a toilet cubicle and I'm being hideously sick. Then I must've passed out again because my next hazy memory is of being manhandled. I remember someone trying to rouse me by shaking me, and then grabbing me under the arms and hauling me up, and saying, 'Come on, you've got to go.' I could hear no music, and no people at all, so figured it was past closing time, and my friends must've gone. Then I remember sitting on concrete, and fumbling around in my bag, and a policeman was chuckling and he said to somebody else, 'It's okay, we'll take her home.' Then I was in a car, and my artificial eye was missing, and people were repeating my name, and 'Are you going to be sick?' and a plastic bag was shoved into my hands, and they said, 'What's your address?' and repeated my name again and again and I just wanted them to shut up but I couldn't talk, I just couldn't talk, but I must've done because they knew my name and I got home and if I wasn't speaking the ambulance that followed me and the police car home would've taken me to hospital, right?

I then remember knocking on our front door and telling the dogs to shut up and trying to shout because I knew it would take a lot for Anna to hear me but I couldn't shout, I remember trying to explain to her what had happened and I was embarrassed because I'd wasted the policeman's time and I was angry that this had happened to me at all, and I just couldn't speak, but Anna said I was wailing, 'I've lost my eye,' and she said that I collapsed against the wall and she and the copper had to help me up and walk me through the door, and there was laughing again and a voice telling me not to drink so much next time, and then I woke up in bed and it was morning and I was still in all my clothes apart from my boots; Anna said she had taken them off, and the first thing I did was laugh, because 'Lmao, I got too drunk again, this is getting to be a habit, lol lol... oh shit my phone is missing, oh lol, lost my eye lol that's hilaire that must've been a shock, no wonder they called an ambulance, oh man I really can't be without my phone! But at least I didn't get attacked, lol lol, right I have to go and borrow a phone, pack, print tickets and get on an aeroplane, lol yeah I must've got spiked lol lol, but I have no time for visiting the police and the clubs and stuff...' I rushed around that day on pure adrenaline and I wasn't hungover in the slightest, but I was shaking and having trouble getting the in out sentences right the in words order.

But then I was on an aeroplane and in America and eating amazing food and visiting brilliant places with wonderful people and watching Soundgarden and I forgot about it all. I guess I had to get it out now because I'm lying here in my own rubbish, squeaky bed for the first time since that night and I'm unable to sleep and I know I should be angry and upset but I'm just not. Oh, sertraline. Anna was shocked because she knows me and knows that while I do sometimes go overboard with drinking, the only result of it is the usual dehydration fail in the morning. I never lose my memory, at all, I never slur my words, I never throw up. So I don't know. Maybe it was just nerves or a bug or something.

Snippets.

Feb. 5th, 2011 03:16 am
gemsybobsy: (amy)
Re: Things looking up.



Went to the doc's again today, had US scan of biliary tree two weeks ago and was all clear. Pain's been fine since then. Joked about how it must've all been in my head. Doc told me off. Got me thinking about my mentals, and how I really should work on sorting this out. Realised how frankly I was talking about my headbeef in conversation elsewhere and not in my own diary, what is with that? So I dun copypasta. It is... ridiculous. It's stream-of-consciousness-ish, this is a couple of months' worth of posts but I just put them altogetherwhateverforever. Sorry. If you'd rather I put this crap under a filter in future, please speak up, dear flist. <3

Under a cut, 'cause it is very long, and may be a bit much for a weekend. )
__________________

TL;DR:

Banging.

Feb. 4th, 2011 11:39 am
gemsybobsy: (devy)
Rocking out to some dirty banging Grendel in my car because I don't have the enthusiasm to get out. Just saw my doctor and have to carry on taking pills. I remember why I don't like cooking that much - my hands have smelled like garlic since Monday. I do wish Bentley the Deutscher Schaferhund would stop barking and carrying on every time I stop the car. You won't get a walk until your behaviour improves, young man. I also wish I didn't keep forgetting my wellies.

Need to start making more of an effort to make efforts. Everything always feels like a struggle.

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