It’s 1.30am. I never write anything at this time. Because generally everything I’ve written is reflective. Right now, I’m sitting in the midst of a haze that is far from nice.
I usually look back and find the humour in it. But I can’t do that right now. Because I’m in it. Slap bang in the middle of it. And anyway, am I even a humorous writer? Just because I say I am, doesn’t mean I am. The Daily Mail says it’s a newspaper…
Food for thought…
There’s two things that are currently depressing me. Food and thoughts. I couldn’t sleep because I slept during early evening and missed my tea (and, incidentally, Emmerdale, which according to Twitter was kicking right off with a brand spanking new hashtag, scenes worthy of an oscar and plots more devastating than a fictional plane crash). My stomach was not impressed. So I grabbed a Muller Light because, let’s face it, I’ve piled the pounds back on so chocolate will not do. My belly is like jelly and my ‘synful’ ways would have my Slimming World consultant crying into her bowl of overnight oats and fat free quark . And who am I kidding with this slimming malarkey anyway? And this writing malarkey. And this marketing and PR malarkey. And this breaking stigma malarkey. And this ‘let’s keep anxiety at bay’ malarkey. I’m fannying around with all of it, and not making a success of any of it. These are my early morning thoughts.
My meds got topped up over a month ago. So why, from nowhere, did I fall as flat as a fart yesterday morning? And why, from nowhere, did I throw a massive dose of unfocussed anxiety into the pancake mix today? It’s flat, it’s broken, it’s stuck to the pan, and, silly me, I threw chives in instead of oregano. I hate chives but they’re all I can taste right now. And I could brush my teeth but I haven’t the energy or indeed the inclination. (Sorry, it’s all gone a bit Mighty Boosh. It’s now 2am…)
But is it really anxiety? My thoughts might be real. They might be in response to real danger this time. And my muffin top might be five times the size that I think it is. The meerkat is doubting its instincts. Insight is knocking at the door for me, but I’m just not sure whether to let it in.
If I let it in, I could be fooling myself and missing the warning signs…
If I don’t let it in, I could drive myself into a relapse.
So that’s why I’ve written them down. My thoughts. In the midst of this…whatever it is.
a) A response to real events that are going to shatter my world, ruin my career and force me into deepest darkest depression
b) A full blown relapse that is inevitably going to leave me catatonic and cut off from the world for infinity
c) A minor lapse, possibly brought on by being physically run down. It will be remedied tomorrow morning with scrambled eggs, a diet coke, Emmerdale and a trip to play Gary Sparkles bingo at the coast.
Insight is still knocking at the door….and it’s cheering on option c.
But I’m not 100% convinced yet.
I’ll try to sleep, and answer it in the morning…..