Welcome to my Nest
Okay, new blog. Yay.
Welcome welcome welcome.
Apparently the domain that hosted my old blog expired. Or my subscription to that domain did. Or... Anyway something expired so I thought I'd start a new blog after a few years hiatus.
Because I'm somewhat lazy -and whilst I try to compose some new material- I thought I'd plunder my old blog and share a post from the 4th April 2012.
So folks, are you sitting comfortably?
Then we'll begin....
"I'm highly agitated.
I have a million little flickering shapes teasing the edge of my brain.
I can't really make them out.
Or I don't want to make them out, because then they will be real.
I'm in shutdown.
Avoid avoid avoid. Don't look and it won't be there.
What are you scared of?
I don't know.
You do.
I said you do.
YOU DO.
YOU DO.
OK. I know, I do, I bloody know..For Christ's sake.
I'm scared of fucking everything.
EVERYTHING.
Every-fucking-thing and then some.
Whatever comes next, I'm scared of it.
Bad night last night. Bingeing and purging until the early hours has left me utterly depleted. My back and chest feel like they've been trampled by a pack of desperate animals. My tongue is swollen in my mouth which is hot and raw. My glands are swollen too. In fact there's quite a lot of swelling going on. My head feels like a bowling ball on my shoulders. A dead weight. My neck might snap.
The evidence of the night's excesses were stark in the light of day. One big, black, greedy bin bag. The innards stretching it's shiny skin. Tight.
It cast a large shadow across the kitchen floor.
I manoeuvered around it as careful as I could not to touch it's bulging flanks; as careful as I could when my own withered flanks hold so little muscle for balance. And when the space is limited. And my whole world was tilting as my vision slipped. Rocking, tilting, slipping; as if to capsize me at any moment.
I would have to wrestle with that festering bag later...The thought flitted through my mind, catching on my consciousness and scratching it's meaning:
At some point today I must face..outside.
It is hard to slip unnoticed when one is hoiking about a gigantic-to-bursting black bin bag. More so when you are a mere scrap yourself trying to jiggle open the rubbish dump door. Keeping balance; door ajar; bag in control; all at once. I fear it is an incongruous farce of a feast for my neighbours'. One of those scenes which is painful to watch, but at the same time hard to avert your eyes from. This must be true because I feel the needle-point of their eyes piercing my skin as I struggle with my fetid burden. I feel it as keenly as I feel the shame. When the bags thud into the dark recess of the communal dump they take with them my small daily pittance of self-worth - and leave me with another chunk of self-loathing. I am ashamed. Again.
2.42pm: The black bag sits like a shiny overstuffed olive by my front door.
My head is banging. Or rather my brain is banging; slamming against my skull. My head is just trying to remain upright and attached.
I have missed my appointment with my Care Co-ordinator. It was supposed to be at 12.00. She will not be back until after the Easter break now. I usually see her twice a week which is both too much and not enough all at the same time.
I need to fix myself a Complan.
I had my usual breakfast (2 slices wholemeal toast spread with 2 pre-packed pats of butter and honey; a big mug of strong coffee with milk and far too much sweetener) at about 10.30am -before stumbling sweatily back to bed- and a cup of tea at about 12.30pm by which time being upright had become possible and slightly less risky.
By my (imprecise) calculations it should be about time to slop in the fortified soup.
Great. Perhaps that'll give me the energy I need to tackle the bag of crap.
I long to change my sheets and duvet cover; to feel the fresh, soft linen soothe my aching, tired body. But this aching, tired body feels very unwieldy all by itself, without the physical load of trying to shake a double duvet into it's cover. And then, of course, I'd have to have a bath; wash my hair; yada yada...because it would be slightly pointless to have a lovely fresh bed to slip into if I was straight away to taint it with that faint tang of vomit which lingers in my hair.
But, energy and strength are at a premium. I am a hermit today, so I will swallow down the shame (and stench) of my skankiness (yum) and hope for a good night's rest and, possibly, the overnight discovery of some vital elixir that increases energy by at least one hundred-fold and makes the effects of mere caffeine (pah!) seem about as peppy as a drowned hamster (please note: No, I don't have personal experience of the peppy, or otherwise, nature of a drowned hamster. No animals were harmed in the writing of this post).
Yup, I'm babbling bollox. Let's put an end to that."
So that was me 5 years ago.
If you're still here...
Welcome to my Nest.
Welcome welcome welcome.
Apparently the domain that hosted my old blog expired. Or my subscription to that domain did. Or... Anyway something expired so I thought I'd start a new blog after a few years hiatus.
Because I'm somewhat lazy -and whilst I try to compose some new material- I thought I'd plunder my old blog and share a post from the 4th April 2012.
So folks, are you sitting comfortably?
Then we'll begin....
"I'm highly agitated.
I have a million little flickering shapes teasing the edge of my brain.
I can't really make them out.
Or I don't want to make them out, because then they will be real.
I'm in shutdown.
Avoid avoid avoid. Don't look and it won't be there.
What are you scared of?
I don't know.
You do.
I said you do.
YOU DO.
YOU DO.
OK. I know, I do, I bloody know..For Christ's sake.
I'm scared of fucking everything.
EVERYTHING.
Every-fucking-thing and then some.
Whatever comes next, I'm scared of it.
Bad night last night. Bingeing and purging until the early hours has left me utterly depleted. My back and chest feel like they've been trampled by a pack of desperate animals. My tongue is swollen in my mouth which is hot and raw. My glands are swollen too. In fact there's quite a lot of swelling going on. My head feels like a bowling ball on my shoulders. A dead weight. My neck might snap.
The evidence of the night's excesses were stark in the light of day. One big, black, greedy bin bag. The innards stretching it's shiny skin. Tight.
It cast a large shadow across the kitchen floor.
I manoeuvered around it as careful as I could not to touch it's bulging flanks; as careful as I could when my own withered flanks hold so little muscle for balance. And when the space is limited. And my whole world was tilting as my vision slipped. Rocking, tilting, slipping; as if to capsize me at any moment.
I would have to wrestle with that festering bag later...The thought flitted through my mind, catching on my consciousness and scratching it's meaning:
At some point today I must face..outside.
It is hard to slip unnoticed when one is hoiking about a gigantic-to-bursting black bin bag. More so when you are a mere scrap yourself trying to jiggle open the rubbish dump door. Keeping balance; door ajar; bag in control; all at once. I fear it is an incongruous farce of a feast for my neighbours'. One of those scenes which is painful to watch, but at the same time hard to avert your eyes from. This must be true because I feel the needle-point of their eyes piercing my skin as I struggle with my fetid burden. I feel it as keenly as I feel the shame. When the bags thud into the dark recess of the communal dump they take with them my small daily pittance of self-worth - and leave me with another chunk of self-loathing. I am ashamed. Again.
2.42pm: The black bag sits like a shiny overstuffed olive by my front door.
My head is banging. Or rather my brain is banging; slamming against my skull. My head is just trying to remain upright and attached.
I have missed my appointment with my Care Co-ordinator. It was supposed to be at 12.00. She will not be back until after the Easter break now. I usually see her twice a week which is both too much and not enough all at the same time.
I need to fix myself a Complan.
I had my usual breakfast (2 slices wholemeal toast spread with 2 pre-packed pats of butter and honey; a big mug of strong coffee with milk and far too much sweetener) at about 10.30am -before stumbling sweatily back to bed- and a cup of tea at about 12.30pm by which time being upright had become possible and slightly less risky.
By my (imprecise) calculations it should be about time to slop in the fortified soup.
Great. Perhaps that'll give me the energy I need to tackle the bag of crap.
I long to change my sheets and duvet cover; to feel the fresh, soft linen soothe my aching, tired body. But this aching, tired body feels very unwieldy all by itself, without the physical load of trying to shake a double duvet into it's cover. And then, of course, I'd have to have a bath; wash my hair; yada yada...because it would be slightly pointless to have a lovely fresh bed to slip into if I was straight away to taint it with that faint tang of vomit which lingers in my hair.
But, energy and strength are at a premium. I am a hermit today, so I will swallow down the shame (and stench) of my skankiness (yum) and hope for a good night's rest and, possibly, the overnight discovery of some vital elixir that increases energy by at least one hundred-fold and makes the effects of mere caffeine (pah!) seem about as peppy as a drowned hamster (please note: No, I don't have personal experience of the peppy, or otherwise, nature of a drowned hamster. No animals were harmed in the writing of this post).
Yup, I'm babbling bollox. Let's put an end to that."
So that was me 5 years ago.
If you're still here...
Welcome to my Nest.
Comments
Post a Comment