Phoenix Fights

Fighting the FEAR, depression and BDP on a daily basis AND making my own bread. Bring it on 2016….

I GOT TO BREAK FREE

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Sorry I’ve been a bit quiet, things have been very challenging of late.

Not going to bore you with all the details, but those of you who read this pile of piffle that I call my blog know what’s up anyway.

I’ve had to take a deep breath, gather up every fragment of courage I have left and tackle a couple of very scary things in the last ten days or so, but I did it, despite, whilst taking a very humiliating call from my bank one morning, bursting into tears and crying so hard that my nose bled all over my favourite top.

i_8.

Where the fuck did that come from?

Even more embarrassingly, I couldn’t stop and couldn’t hang up until I’d sorted the situation out.  God it was bloody (quite literally), the operators kept changing to ones with softer/kinder tones and I kept trying to stifle my sobs, sighs and snuffles and grasp back some dignity, but to no avail.  At the end I could almost visualise them laying the phone gently down on the desk and backing away from the hysterical, middle aged madam on the other end, arms in submissive ‘don’t shoot’ position as they edged towards the staff room for a revitalising cuppa.

I just wanted to die of shame.  How didn’t I see that coming?  Yes I did lose my temper and scream obscenities until my throat was sore at the automated voicemail before being put through (as you do), but I honestly didn’t think I was on the verge of full breakdown.

Then I realised; I hadn’t taken my meds for four days. Two day’s of migraine hell accounted for the initial period (as I can’t mix those meds), and I guess the trauma of having to deal with all this shit had caused me to forget to continue afterwards.

I think I sobbed for a good part of the day until it was all out of my system, outbursts triggered by sad real life stories on ‘This Morning’, animals with shattered limbs surviving surgery in ‘The Supervet’, and even that frigging stupid, manipulative Sainsbury’s WW1 Christmas ad where the young, handsome British squaddie gifts his Sainsbury’s branded chocolate bar to his German counterpart during that legendary…(sniff)….Christmas day…(sob)….football match…choke…. 516d7_the-grinch-emotions

FFS.

As my long-time Christmas anti hero the Grinch (Jim Carrey version) once said ‘What is the deal?’

But.

And this is a big but…. ….I hadn’t noticed any side effects and after the howling had subsided, I felt kind of…

….energised.

That afternoon I started to research a new estate agent, applied for a full time job and looked into doing some charity work over Christmas.

This is good, I thought.  Isn’t it?  I knew that I was supposed to talk to my GP about coming off Big Sista S and do it gradually, but hell I was on a roll, and might as well keep going.

Then wouldn’t you know it, some horrible little voice (of the mind monkey persuasion) kept whispering to me incessantly ‘If you’d done this two years ago, you would have saved all that money instead of living off it.  You would have gotten yourself a job, been able to sell your flat and not be on your uppers now, you dumb, weak willed bint!’

Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP!

Too late for that now.

But it was right, as was Aunty C.  What else can I say?

Then last night when I went to bed, I woke up all writhing and fidgety, and could not get back to sleep.  I don’t know whether it was my long suffering sexuality trying to break through the hazy weakened SSRI barriers whilst I wasn’t looking and demand to be fed, but I swiftly got up, staggered to the bathroom and took a swift 50mg of my drug of choice and went back to bed.

There’ll be none of that kind of behaviour in my bed, thank you very much. Not at that alarming level at any rate.

So I might have to do the sensible thing and come off gradually, if only to ensure that I don’t end up dry humping some unsuspecting pub Santa for giving me a ‘Ho, ho, ho!’ and a festive hug.

You can get arrested for that kind of thing in this country.

And hiding away in a drugged stupor ignoring the inevitable has gotten me into a whole heap of trouble, so I need to break free from my meds and be fully alert and lucid in order to save my miserable ass come 2015.

Even if I have to feel stuff.

<shudders>

Help me Saint Freddie, wherever you are….

Namaste bitches x

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9 thoughts on “I GOT TO BREAK FREE

  1. In a quandary as to what to say, but I hope you salvaged your favourite top.

  2. I love your writing ❤ and I missed you. X

  3. If you’d done it 2 years ago, you wouldn’t have been ready and it wouldn’t have worked. I believe implicitly that it’s usually the shitty bits of life that teach us what we need to know, and get us where we need to be. It sucks, but there you go.

  4. BANGO, Madame! So, we ride this momentum and see where it takes us. Hit that pipeline, walk that nose, shoot that curl, love! (Sorry. Presently listening to quite the spate of surf music on Pandora.)

    And, boy-howdy, one can set a watch by Ms. Meikle, she is so reliable. Yup, do spare yourself the retrospective flagellation, please. Remember, two years back, you were still recovering from an ungracious liberation out the purgatorial corporate dystopia.

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