The last day I blogged was Monday afternoon, when Angel was supposed to be sleeping and failing at it. When she got up and T got home from work, I had a last final few things to get ready then we went out to get me to the hotel. I was very anxious, I didn't want to get out of the car but I somehow found the will to move and because of parking, went in alone and got myself sorted even though I'd never been there before and didn't know at all what to expect. The receptionist was lovely and she pointed me in the right direction to my room.
It was very dark in the corridors, the lights came on when you walked under them which was a little freaky alone but my room was only one floor up from the reception and I found room 20 no problem. The floor was carpeted in very new looking green carpet, there was a single bed against the wall beside the door, with a radiator over the top of it, which I thought very odd but I guess there was no where else for it. There was a desk and kitchen area opposite the door, a flat screen TV on the wall to the left and the door to the shower room and toilet. It was far too quiet in the room and very cold because of the windows being open a crack. I shut them and put the heater on and the TV and got the internet sorted out. Then I got my lap top out on the bed and sat down......and cried and cried and forced myself to eat a little and cried some more. Then I had a shower and found that helped a lot and I stopped crying but realized that there was none of the night left.
I did some hypnotherapy then went to sleep, setting my alarm so I would wake up before bedtime the next night.
Unfortintalely despite being able to sleep in as long as I wanted to I was awake at half past seven and decided to get up and get dressed and get on with some writing. So before nine in the morning I was sitting at my laptop at the desk, looking out at the building opposite which reflected the sun and clouds at me and down at the street below at the people. I made some coffee and dipped my biscuits into it as I worked, I edited and wrote and rested my eyes by looking below again, peed, drank lots of coke, made lunch, wrote more, walked around my room singing for a moment while I watched down below, wrote, wrote wrote, snacked while I wrote, peed, wrote, and then I got hungry and made some dinner then wrote while I ate, then wrote some more, then I had a shower, did a little hypnotherapy then wrote a little more. I stopped at about half ten to do a little knitting before bed. i'd reached a total of over 13 hours straight. I was pleased and happy and felt free.
I woke up earlier the next morning, at seven and decided to get up and get a little writing done before I had to get ready to go meet T and Angel and go round town with them. I wrote a short story about zombies for a writing competition, then edited it and got my stuff ready. I was so pleased to see T and Angel again but I was sad to be leaving a world where it was only me and I could do as much writing as I liked, and I tidied up as I went along so there was no mess.
The only problem I had the whole time was that I was anxious a LOT, I ended up taking lorazapam Tuesday evening. It's silly really but I kept thinking, what happens if I the fire-bell goes and I have to go outside and I have a panic attack or get ill?
We walked around town after we met up and didn't really do anything meaningful, just meandered. Last night I developed a nasty cough and it wouldn't go away. However I pushed myself to the absolute limits, moving furniture around, hanging my art work up, cleaning, tidying, throwing things out, advertising things, all in the dining room, so I could make it 'my work room'. A place where I can go to do my 'work' and be able to concentrate and be out of the way. Bonus being it doubled as T's work room too so he can do his work from home in there so he wont keep getting distracted by me and Angel in the living room. I was so excited about getting my own space, my own work place.
Today I struggled to wake up, I know I was having bad dreams but I'm not sure about what. I finally got more conscious after I'd had some coffee and I fit back into Angel care fine. We went for a walk to the post box this morning and I met a friend on the way and we had a chat. I promised to text her later but I haven't purely because my mood has messed up. It started raining so we said bye and Angel and I continued to the post box then hurried home as he coat isn't great at keeping her dry any more, she's almost grown out of it.
I actually had a lovely day looking after Angel even though, today for the first time she didn't have her usual nap. She showed absolutely 0 signs of needing one so I just let her play. She had a few little time outs while she munched snack and she had a lie down on her big lady bird cushion 'Gaston' at one point. We had a lovely day, I got loads done too, I got washing on, washing sorted, washing up done, bottles made, (Although Angel has started refusing them), hoovered, cleaned the hob and the kitchen sides, made dinner, made lunch, tidied Angels room, changed her bed, swept her floor, fed the animals, put up the new hook and bird feeder in the garden.
Then T came home from work and it felt like Angel literally turned into a demon, just like that, as soon as he was through the door. She went from being an Angel to being a little crying, moaning, fucker and it broke my heart after all the work I'd put in and sacrificing the two hours I usually get during the day to myself. I felt like she was showing me up to be a bad mum, after I'd felt like I was doing so well all day. Then I snapped and it felt like I dissapeared back to the hotel, to the day of writing and nothing else. I thought about having to go away next week and face my PTSD and my phobia. I thought about how much effort, how many hours I put into Angel and T and this house, and how many hours I put into myself. How much I run around for them and I'm left with only the tired brain and a clutched together measly few hours before bed to do what I want to do, to do what I enjoy doing. And why? Because it doesn't earn, because it isn't a job and because I put everyone else first constantly. That day off was the only one I have had since the day Angel was born. Why the fuck don't I get more? Am I selfish to want more? I wish I hadn't gone away now, because I wouldn't have had a taste of what it could be like. Of who I could be and the scariness of wanting that freedom, not all the time, only maybe for one day a week, only maybe for one day a month. Any fucking thing. I shouldn't have gone, I shouldn't have gone, I shouldn't have gone.
The scary thing is it feels like the reality is broken, It feels like a part of me is there, showering, nibbling snacks while I type, tap tap tap. I wouldn't be surprised that is someone is staying in that room right now, they aren't freaked out of their mind while part of my spirit sits there 'tap tap tap'.
"Excuse me, would it be possible to move rooms? Room twenty is haunted."
I'm struggling not to hurt myself tonight, I'm struggling not to do more than hurt myself when right now I can't see anything in front of me apart from more 24/7 child care, more every waking hour housework and looking after cooking and T and the animals. What's the point? At least T gets an element of time off when he works. At least he gets that time to and from work which is sometimes hours where he can sit and just drive and listen to his audio books and relax. I have the choice when it gets to Angel's bedtime and the housework has finally been finished... my biggest passion - writing, making something for my shop or relaxing. I bet you can guess how many times a week I choose to just relax?
FML
In my mind I've already cut myself a thousand times.
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