Heart pounding, muscles straining, breath coming in short, sharp bursts, body writhing; will they? won't they? Yes! They're on! The only pair of jeans I've got left that will go anywhere near me...
Yesterday, feeling very anxious, I went to a well know supermarket and wandered around looking at everything trying to calm down. Not finding anything I wanted, I decided to go into the cafeteria for a skinny decaf latte and while I was sitting there I suddenly wanted cake. Well, this supermarket has the most amazing patisserie counter and they were selling three for the price of two, so I bought an apple turnover, a chocolate eclair and a mini victoria sponge with the firm intention of going home, sitting in front of the television and having all three for my tea instead of the pork chop and cabbage I was going to have.
On the way home I had to stop and post some letters and as I was doing this I saw the bin next to the letter box; I got to wondering what would happen if I binned the cakes right there and then and went for a long walk instead. Dusk was falling, it had been a long day, I was anxious and hyper and really looking forward to binging on my cakes. But. The next thing I knew I'd opened up the boot, taken out the box of cakes and dumped them in the bin; then I went home, put on my trainers and went out for an hour long walk. I was feeling nervous by the time I got back because night had fallen, but, surprisingly, my anxiety levels had fallen dramatically, in fact all the anxiety had gone. I had my pork chop and cabbage and had no more craving all evening.
So. Maybe it's enough just to buy the food and not eat it; maybe the simple act of buying something and intending to eat it is enough to calm my anxiety. If that were true it would be wonderful; next time I'm going to buy 2 litres of ice cream from Tesco for 89p and then put it down the sink. It might cost me a bit of money but worth every penny if it works!
Yes, another rant alert I'm afraid; this time I'm alone here at home with Golfer in hospital after a fall that broke his hip. After mum's stroke and subsequent three years of slow decline; after having to make the decision to stop her meds and watch her slowly die; after Golfer's cancer diagnostic and the months of strain getting him back to a semblance of health, he is now laid up again and I'm the carer again. Not to mention all the heartache and struggling and wasted life that went before all that from the age of 19.
And during all this who is looking after me? Not even me! I've put on half a stone in the last two weeks and it's a tragedy after working so hard to get back to health and a normal weight. I'm scared. It's like an out of control rollercoaster that you know is going to crash but you can't seem to find the brake. I've been there twice now: twice up to 18 stones, twice back down to 11 stones and I think that a third time would kill me, but I don't know what to do...
I am sooo sick of trying. I try so hard, I restrict my food when I want to eat, I walk and exercise when I don't want to, I spend a fortune on the dentist and the hairdresser and beuaty products and skin treatments... For years and years and years and years I've tried and tried and tried to keep my weight under control; I smile when I want to cry, I accept when I want to break up the place, I suck everything up and never complain or ask for anything, I hide my broken life and put everything else before me, but the battle is NEVER EVER won; it goes on and on and on...
Yep, you guessed it, I put a pound on overnight doing absolutely sod all to deserve it.
It's funny how feeling bad can actually be comforting. When everything is going well and you're near to realising all the goals you've set yourself; when you're happy and relaxed and safe and nothing is wrong in your life it's somehow scary! You need to sabotge yourself a bit so that you can go back to those comforting things you've always done to make yourself feel better. Living without trauma or upset; without needing comfort, is a bit like flying without a safety net; you're so not used to it that it scares you to death.
I'm living next door to an artist! By day he's a builder, but by night he paints and exhibits his work. Golfer and I attended one of his exhibitions last night and he is FANTASTIC; so talented I almost persuaded myself it would be reasonable to part with £500 for one of his paintings...maybe when I get my end of year bonus. Name is Simon Tonkiss, check him out on the internet.
From my mother’s diary on 24th November 1953. I would have been 4 years old.
“Julia sat on the chair for three solid hours last night. Just before 10 o’clock Phil told her that we were ready to go to bed and if she didn’t go up now she could sit there all night by herself. She just got off the chair, went upstairs by herself, got into bed & said goodnight, and we didn’t hear any more out of her at all.”
Having recently had Leo and Rose to stay, the evening after I read this I sat in my lounge with Golfer and tried to envisage either of them sitting on a hard chair for three hours being ignored, without protest, without squirming, without whining, without putting their arms out and crying…and myself keeping up the punishment for three hours, unrelenting, without feeling any concern or compassion or pity for them. I was unable to even imagine it.
It clearly wasn’t a one-off for the words “the chair” imply that it was a regular occurrence. Worse, I’ve seen photos of me when I was four; shy, plump, needy, clinging to my mother’s skirts.
I know things have changed, life was not the same sixty years ago and people are what they are and do the best they can; also that the diaries are filled with happy times and lots of love and laughter, but the thought of that fat, solemn faced little girl being so desperate for company that she was willing to sit in the middle of a room on a hard chair for three hours without moving, without protesting and without receiving the slightest bit of attention, until she gave up, threatened with staying there all night by herself, and even politely said goodnight when she finally had to go to bed alone, fills me with so much rage and revolt that I can hardly breathe.
Last week I went to the gym and worked out for an hour; I did two half hour runs and a six mile walk. Results? I put on half a kilo. Conclusion? Exercise doesn't help you lose weight, only restricting your food intake does.
I've just cancelled my gym subscription and feel as if a weight has been lifted from my shoulders...excuse the pun.
Throughout my childhood my needs were sacrificed to my parent's desire to live their lives wherever and however they chose. As a teenager my needs were sacrificed to my parents unwillingness to defy social convention. Later my needs were sacrificed to my sister's needs. Now, my life is being sacrificed to the crushing demands off my mother's old age. So what I want to know is: when is it going to be my turn?
What's the point of people being kind and thoughtful one day and cold and aloof the next? It makes me think that it's all about them and how they are feeling; if you can't rise above what you're thinking and feeling for the good of someone else; if you visit your angst on those nearest to you, who are completely innocent, or simply not doing what you want them to; being what you want them to be, then it's no use being kind and thoughtful when you're feeling better and expecting them to appreciate it...people forgive, but ultimately such behaviour damages relationships by killing spontaneity and giving rise to uneasiness and distrust.
...all the books I have been working on:
Remember me when I am gone away,
Gone far away into the silent land;
When you can no more hold me by the hand,
Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay.
Remember me when no more day by day
You tell me of our future that you plann'd:
Only remember me; you understand
It will be late to counsel then or pray.
Yet if you should forget me for a while
And afterwards remember, do not grieve:
For if the darkness and corruption leave
A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,
Better by far you should forget and smile
Than that you should remember and be sad
By Christina Rossetti 1830–1894
I've got the glasses; anyone got the Champagne?
This morning I woke up and had my coffee and sat there as usual trying to do the puzzles in the paper. Usually I'm very good at puzzles, but today my head was muzzy from increasing work related fatigue and stress and I was unable to think straight; the words didn't make sense, my brain wouldn't compute and things I did last week with ease were beyond me.
It got me to thinking what it would be like to lose my mental capacities permanently, yet still be aware of what I used to be capable of...and it was terrifying.
So when old or sick people are being difficult and challenging, I shall remember what it felt like to know you are no longer able to hold your place in society, or even in the family, and be more patient.
Since reaching my goal in February 2010, I lost another 7 pounds, then slowly gained 1½ stones! Now I'm back in the zone and this week have lost 2 pounds...goal next week: 3lb.
Pure Australian porcelain bought £7 at a boot fair on Broadstairs seafront!
Ever wondered why Mother Nature allows parents to grow old and dependent on their children? It's so that children can gradually lose their parents without being crippled by grief; just like you don't notice your beloved child growing up and away from you when it's done over a period of twenty years, whereas if someone took your son or daughter away when they were still young you would be inconsolable and spend the rest of your life looking for them.
Seeing your mother or father's gaunt face and sunken eyes; their paper-thin skin and rounded back...and the vulnerability in their brave smiles, all makes you grow up and alters the parent-child dynamic so that when they finally pass away you are anesthetised to a certain extent and can cope with the grief. The baton is well and truly passed and you just have to run with it.
So losing a parent before the time is right; having them taken away suddenly and prematurely when they are still in the prime of life, means that the baton cannot be passed and is dropped, leaving the 'child' in a no-man's land, somewhere between dependence and autonomy. It may take years to come to terms with the loss and the feeling of being cheated; with the huge black hole that should not have been there...so you see, Mother Nature is not so cruel, there is truly method in her madness.
Sometimes when you really want something and work hard to get it, things don't turn out the way you thought they would. Disappointment and disillusionment render painful the very thing you coveted. Sometimes you just have to move away.
People shouldn’t mistake discretion for weakness and anyone thinking they can dictate to me is making a very grave mistake.