Mental, mardy, but a little bit marvellous..


May 2016

Bank holiday weekend, May

Or a catch up really because we don’t have any plans for the bank holiday weekend. 

My daily walks have been going well, ditto my propanalol. It’s the only medication I’m on at the minute, and I take it when I start to feel anxious. It’s not a permanent solution, and thanks to the doctor not booking in the appointment he gave me, I don’t have any referrals or anything but I’ll get back on to the doctors next week. I need to, so I will. I also need another referral for sterilisation because something needs to be done although I’d much prefer a hysterectomy and be done with the lot.

But aside from my insides (haha) and my mental health, my little family is doing (dare I say it) quite well at the minute. 

The 16 year old is halfway through his exams and has a trial for a sports place at college next week. (He has already been offered a place on a mechanics course) so it’s really a case of enrolling at the one he decides to enrol at at the time. He’s currently playing American football and football and attending the gym a few times a week. Sport are his new thing, although no study leave at school is difficult to get my head round. All the other year 11 high schools have left now, it’s only exam attendance that counts, but no. There’s a new head, he doesn’t want study leave. It’s very strange. 

The 14 year old is losing weight slowly. He’s trying, I think. A smidge more active than he was, I’ve had him come on a few walks with me. Otherwise he’s doing great. Fab marks in school, some great artwork; good stuff. 

My 9 (almost 10!) year old us just been deregistered from school so we can homeschool her as her needs aren’t being met. (We took the letter in on Friday (27th May) asking for the deregistration to take place on the 13th June which is the day they go back after half term). 2 years of utter misery for her and the school saying “yes we will implement this and implement that” and then never doing it – well, we’ve come to the conclusion we will homeschool instead. Because if she needs it, she gets it. 

The 7 year old is going through a period of refusals and stubbornness. It’s difficult but really shows up his condition. We’re fairly sure at this point it’s ASD alongside ODD (Oppositional Defiance Disorder). Google it, it’s interesting. He’s a complex little guy at the best of times, sometimes he’s just a little fart bag of funnies!

The 5 year old is great, as usual. She doesn’t listen, much, but she’s 5. It happens. Personal space is still a big flag, as is appropriateness. She still lights the room up when she smiles. Doesn’t stop talking or asking questions… Or giggling. Mini beasts day at school on Friday and she went as a beautiful butterfly. 

The 2 – nearly 3! – year old is just amazing. And terrifying, in equal measure. Never let anyone tell you the terrible twos don’t exist, they’re practise for the threes – and it’s no laughing matter. One minute they’re full of loves and laughs, the next they’re screaming blue murder like the little dictator they are because their Cheerios fell in the bowl the wrong way and ‘Gak’ moved his car. 

What a bunch! There’s lots to remember and lots to be doing and lots to be getting on with – but mostly there’s lots of laughs and loves in this house. We’re our little family and if nothing else, we have each other. Always. 

(As I type this glowing catch up of my babies I’m surrounded by a 2 year old counting cars and putting them in a row, a 5 year old sitting as close as possible without being on my lap and a 7 & 9 year old arguing over who has been the nicest today and who gets to go on the tablet. 7 year old is so grumpy right now. 14 and 16 year olds are asleep, as is Pond (as always). It’s easy like Sunday morning)


I am 34 today

..happy birthday to me!

It’s strange, because I’ve been a bit confused about my age for the last couple years. Some days I say “I’m almost 34 years old and…” And others I’ll say “I’m a 34 year old woman and…” -behind begs the question, when do we realise our ages? Which part of the year do we sit down and say “I’m 34” – and then when does it turn over to “nearly 35” or “turning 35”? I honestly think I really did miss out on being 33, I don’t recall mentioning that age ever. Funny. 

I’m still in bed – got up and sorted the smalls out and then got back to bed. I’ve had an extra hour unable to sleep so far but I don’t want to get up as am unsure whether the family has plans for me. I hope it includes some breakfast though, I’m pretty hungry! Hmm.. Breakfast in bed and a cup of tea? Yes please, now wakey wakey small people, mama needs feeding, haha.

Plans for today include little to no eye makeup, seeing as many films as we can fit in one day at the cinema and eating lots of yummy food. Sounds like a good day to me, I’ve been looking forward to it all year!!

All the pressies I got from my little family. They know what mama likes sure enough! And Pond got me lilies that light up (and don’t set off my hayfever) and a ton of books. One of which is hands down, THE best book I have ever in my life read. The Reader on the 6.27. Read it, you won’t be disappointed. 

An epiphany

I realised my depression and anxiety in full last week. 

I saw my friend walking her dog. She’d just got it, she was walking it. Easy as you like, no worries just la di da round the park. She’d stop and talk to everyone that spoke to the dog, that had a dog, that looked at them. She had a big smile on her face and she was happy as anything – her son was in the park too, playing with the dog, off with his mates, all sorts.

That’s the difference between us. I envy people that can just get up and take the dog for a walk. I want to walk the dog, so here I go. Dog walked. La di da. 

I can’t do this. Depression says no, don’t be so stupid, you will not walk the dog today. Here have a big black dog on your back to keep you down. Don’t be getting thoughts of normality. Anxiety says no, you can’t walk the dog, remember what happened last time? What about all the other dogs? What if the dog barks? What if he gets in a fight? What if he gets eaten? What if, what if, what if. Anxiety says Oh, you’re stupid. You don’t need to worry so much about the what ifs. They’re not as important as the haven’ts and the else’s. You know you haven’t written a list in your head of all the things you need to do before you even contemplate leaving the house. You haven’t tidied up, you haven’t located the dogs lead or collar or the actual dog, you haven’t sorted out the children. You’ll need to get the children into coats else they’ll catch cold. You’ll need to put the lead and collar on the dog else he’ll run away, but what if he catches cold too? Put that on the to do list. Doggy coat. Depression says oh no not more on the to-do list. Anxiety says Don’t even think about getting dressed and squeezing your fat ass into appropriate ‘outside’ clothes, making sure you don’t look like a hobo that’s stolen a dog, a ratty fat bag lady that looks like she only owns pyjamas and yes, that horde trawling along with her, yes they are hers, yes, she’s the proprietor, yes they do look great, so what happened to her? Anxiety says Oh wait they don’t match at all do they, their outfits are atrocious, those kids must have dressed themselves blindfolded in the dark. Oh look they’re arguing, that kid is so naughty look at him/her! Are they different or something, oh wait that ones off and going doolally, what’s bag lady doing? She’s just laughing, shouldn’t she be doing more to break it up/sort it out/remove the children from each other’s vicinity? Why’s the dog barking? Uh oh here comes another dog and whoopsie it’s all kicked off; the dogs run away, the children have scattered, everyone’s shouting and the bag lady is stood there crying. Depression says The bag lady is crying. In the park. In public

That’s my epiphany. I realised this the other day. It struck me. It is why I don’t walk my dog. He’s only little, the garden is big. I can’t walk him some days. Most days if I’m honest. Depression and anxiety win that round more often than not. 

But at the end of the day I’m still breathing. I might not sleep well, or sleep like the dead, or attack Pond, or I might have nightmares. But still I wake up every morning, and every morning I’m still alive. So they’re my wins. I win those rounds. 

I might not walk the dog today but I’ll let him in the garden. And we’ll breathe. 

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