feelings – Page 12 – Honest Lies

“Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine. Meanwhile the world goes on.”

Intermission: I’ve been lying to myself for a long time.

Do you ever have those moments where you realise that? Where you find yourself detached from the situation, from yourself, and you realise things that should be so obvious.

Two weeks ago I had one of those moments. One of those moments of clarity, resurfacing from a haze of denial to realise how messed up things had become. I realised – and over the course of these long, wretched two weeks, that I still have problems with mental health. In march next year, it would have been four years since my last CBT appointment. Four years away from depression and it makes me feel sick, and ashamed, to be back here. It is, not actually as bad this time around. It’s not even depression again, at least.

After that moment, as things suddenly started coming together into one big, horrible revelation of everything that was wrong, that had been wrong ever since that last CBT appointment, I was frantic. I did not know what to do, who to speak to. I did not even know really, what was wrong. I wanted a name for the monsters inside me. How could I fight what I did not know? I was terrified, terrified of ending up where I was four years ago. In the end, I phoned the health centre and made an appointment with my GP. After all the courage it took to make that phone call, I could only get an appointment a week later. A week of being unable to concentrate, of constantly worrying about what I was going to say, constantly telling myself that I was being crazy, a hypochondriac and I should cancel. On Thursday I sat, alone and terrified, in the waiting room, trying my best not to fidget, reading the notes I had made in an effort to organize my thoughts, to make sure I didn’t mess up. If I was going to do this, I was going to do it properly.

I wanted to tell someone all that I had been keeping locked up in my head.

I did not want to tell anyone, but I wanted to tell someone nonetheless. That is how my thoughts were, how they are.

In the end, sitting there in front of the GP it all fell apart anyway. I caught my reflection in the glass, the dark night outside making my reflection stark, showing exactly how red I had become. I felt ashamed, I felt crazy, even though I’d drafted out my letter six times, I still found myself unable to express it. I kept stammering, losing track. I got across the overall points though- that I am very anxious, and that I am struggling to control my eating. The doctor was lovely, patient, sympathetic, reassuring. He told me I don’t think you are crazy and I did not believe him, but it was still nice to hear. He did not give my monsters labels, which makes me think perhaps I’m seeing their stretching shadows, and not what they really are. That I’m blowing things out of proportion. At first, I thought he was not taking it seriously, then I just felt relieved. I needed that more – to be told, however subtly, that it wasn’t as bad I was thinking. That my fear and anxiety was blowing things up, distorting things. I do not want to be in that dark, miserable place I was nearly four years ago. And it is immensely relieving to know I’m not. I’m going to see a psychologist on Wednesday, and I booked myself a counselling session in a few weeks time. In the meantime, I need to help myself.

But I admit, I do not know how to begin. I’ve been dealing with this for so long, and I feel so lost. Notice every time I talk about food – I always mention the binging, and I always say I’m working on it. Notice, how many times I use the words worried, anxious, afraid. It’s been so long, and I feel so tired, and I do not know what to do. I have tried to fix this before, and I have failed. But I admitted out loud, I told someone my shameful secret, and that is the first step right? Admitting it. I did the right thing, right? I think it was actually easier when I was ignoring it all, now I cannot be in denial and everything I’ve been ignoring for the past years is piling up and I don’t know how to make it go away. This really is horrible. I thought, I thought after that appointment my thoughts would clear and I’d feel more focused. But I just feel embarrassed, regretful, and even more confused as ever. I cannot concentrate on my work any more. I don’t want to go home over Christmas, don’t want to be around even my family. I have to force myself to go to lectures – its so tempting just to go back to bed, to pretend that life is not happening, whilst I am here, unable to deal with it.

Post Title: Mary Oliver - Wild Geese

“What else was in the woods? A heart, closing. Nevertheless.”

My sister came down to the City where I live yesterday. She arrived at 22pm and we talked a little, then went to bed. This morning it was a little awkward getting ready. I don’t like my body right now, and I did not like having my bedroom invaded in the morning, with no privacy, no where to go to hide. Well, whatever. I got ready and we ate breakfast together, of course I made it, because my sister will never do things if she has someone else to do them, and then we got ready, separately, a bit of breathing room with her upstairs and me downstairs, and I went to university, actually managing to arrive on time for my 9am lecture for once. After university she picked me up, a good thing, I was not looking forward to walking back in the dark, and the cold. There was ice this morning. I was filled with a fear of slipping and falling on my arse in front of the many, many school children walking to school at the same time.

At home, my sister and I huddled in front of the heater and talked, made plans for a pub dinner. Eventually we realized that we should move from our warm spot, and a little after that hunger drove us into action. The pub we went to was lovely, and the food was perfect warming winter fare – hunters chicken with chunky chips, for me, and large coke with lots of ice to chew afterwards, still in defiance of our father even if its been years since he’s told us off for that (not since we were little girls, really) I eat very little meat these days, cannot afford it, and it’s amazing how special it felt to eat chicken tonight.

As we were waiting for our meals to arrive my sister was on facebook and I impulsively asked if my sister would look up my best friend for me, not realizing how it would sound. But we’ve not spoken in so long, my friend and I, and I’m desperately curious to know what was going on in her life. My sister agreed and brought up her page. It turns out, my friend has a boyfriend. I had suspected – I’d lived opposite her for a year, heard her and her other friends talking, seen him coming in and out of her room, they were always together at hers or his. But I did not dare ask – especially when all her other friends knew. It felt pathetic, and I felt like a terrible friend, felt like I had failed her, somewhat, that she did not wish to talk to me about things anymore. Why did she not want to tell me? Why did all those people know so much more than me? Forget a terrible friend, I felt like a horrible person. Pathetic too, as I sat in my room with my music off, quietly listening to the snippets of my best friend talking to other people that came through my door.

Her facebook feed was filled with all the places she’s been, pictures with her friends.

We’re drifting apart, I know this, however much I do not wish to accept this. It’s neither of ours faults – its just…life. It feels inevitable. I’m too shy, too awkward, too difficult to be around. It’s no wonder she feels like she can’t turn to me, no wonder she does not want to be around me…I’m probably not very fun to be around. I know this. I made an effort last year – to try and make plans, and most times it fell through, and it left me feeling shitty. “I don’t want to be that clingy friend always bothering them,” I told my sister today, and thinking, that friend who does not get the message you do not want to spend time with them. “And I don’t want to be that jealous friend who makes a big deal of why they have time for other people, and not me” I added, a little bitter. I do not want to think too deeply about why I’ve not managed to hold onto a single friendship in my life. I guess I am just a person who is always going to be alone. Really, its my own fault. I’m a difficult person, I know this. And life is not like the movies, where even the most difficult person has someone who puts up with all their shit. People get tired of it. I know this. In the end, no matter what, there’s nothing I can do. My best friend has out grown me, I think. Our lives have simply taken different paths, and we’re in different places now. She’s in her final year, dealing with different things, very busy, and in a few months she’ll be graduating, and then working, or travelling. She’s grown up, and I still have a long, long way to get to that place. I should be happy for her. A few years back as we were walking back from school together she told me certain feelings she had about school, and our friendship group, certain negative things, and in comparison, at university, she has truly been able to blossom into the person she wants to be, to be able to meet the people she wants and do all the social things she likes. I am happy for her.

Still feels shitty though, to be reduced to asking your sister to facebook stalk your best friend.

This entry has gotten very negative, and I did not want to be this way. Other things aren’t so bad. University is actually starting to pick up. One of my group members offered to help me with the coursework I was struggling with, and he was very kind about sitting with me and going through his work and explaining it, then going through my calculations and checking it, and allowing me to text him at all hours with my random questions. So I got through that OK. And I’ve been trying to spend more time at the library, slowly but steadily going through example sheets. Hopefully I’ll be able to start past exams in most subjects within the next couple of weeks. The only one that is well and truly a disaster, still, is fields, waves and antennas. My project is going nowhere fast either, and I’m worried my group are going to get fed up with me soon. Apart from that, I have been enjoying Japanese these past couple of weeks, even if I still feel a bit hopeless at it. My katakana is coming along, and we’ve started kanji, which really makes one feel like they are getting somewhere in their Japanese education. I’m the worst at speaking Japanese, but that’s OK, I mostly want to get good at reading it and understanding it spoken. My Japanese teacher is really nice – she’s not only teaching the language, but making an effort to teach about the culture – showing us random movie trailers after the end of every lesson and talking about life in Japan. It is interesting. So, I’m just about coping with university. Whatever I am feeling, at least I am managing to get some work done regardless.

Oh and I’ve started applying for work placements next summer. It’s all very terrifying and I’d like very much not do, but I know this is something I should do, and that would be very good to do. I have a list of companies to apply to. So far, I’ve sent one application and am working on two cover letters. Got a long, long way to go yet, but I do not want to rush it. That first application was a rushed job, I only found out about the placement the day before the deadline, and it shows. I do not hold much hope for that one, but it was an experience, and the imminentness meant no putting it off. I’ll be sending my other two applications at the end of this week and I’ve put a lot more effort into those, and I am hoping something comes out of it. Even though I know realistically that getting a job just isn’t that easy.

My sister has been wonderful throughout this process, answering all my frantic text messages and helping me through my first application. I’ve been trawling the internet for advice and spending unfortunate amounts of time on company websites. I’m going to start seriously bothering the careers people at my university. I want to put effort into this, so I at least can know I did my best. I hope I get something, of course. I really need some work experience. I’m 21 and I’ve never worked, you know? It does not look good on the CV. And I feel there are vital skills, a certain maturity, that comes from having worked. Not only in regards to my degree, for I do think I’ll be better prepared for my final year and the solo project I must undertake by having worked in industry, but also personally. I’m 21. I need to develop more independence, I need to grow up just that little more.

That is, if I can get a job. It’s a very big IF. :/

Post Title: Detail of the Woods - Richard Siken

“Sometimes there’s nothing left to save”

14. Nothing is coming to save you. Let yourself sit with that for a second. It will feel like rock bottom. Stay there for as long as you damn well need to. Lay down at rock bottom and look up at everything that you fell from. When you’re ready to stand, you’ll climb your way out by your own volition, and there will be no other hands to let go of yours, and that’s what’s most important. Nothing is coming to save you. We eventually have to let go of the idea that there is.(source)

→ I read this today and it really resonated with me. It describes quite well my situation these past few years. I did not learn this lesson as a twenty something, I learnt it as a teenager, which was a awkward time to do so. It took me some years to climb my way out of rock bottom, I still feel like I am climbing sometimes, like I’m always going to be climbing, heading towards the light at the end of the tunnel, but never emerging. I feel like I am stronger, having fought so hard, that I have a good amount of independence. But, I have also become very withdrawn too. I am fiercely protective of myself and my feelings, scared to trust other people because I never quite believe that they have good intentions, that their kindness is not some sort of lie. I test people – I am too scared to reach out to them, of rejection, so I wait and hope they will approach me. They rarely do. If they do, I say no to any offers of friendship, hoping they will push the invitation. They never do. I wonder if university would be easier if I had friends. I had a taste of it last year- of being able to work on coursework together, or revising together, and its one thing I miss about being there. I was alone, but not too alone. Here, I am very much alone. It’s third year, everyone is all paired up, and there are so many people, I slip into lectures unnoticed, and slip back out just the same. It’s a quiet existence, and I do not mind that, but sometimes I do want to talk to someone – sometimes I do want someone to ask about my day, or to talk over work with someone. There’s no one there. I never made enough effort, I was always too awkward, I always said the wrong thing. I end up feeling like there’s something wrong with me. I spent so many years trying to become something I was not, so that people would like me, they did not, so I gave up and became myself, and still people do not like me. They do not understand me, nor do I understand them. I realised the other day, that I actually do not really know what it means to have friends, to have a social life. It makes me feel flawed, wrong. I look at other people my age and feel so different from them, like there is some invisible barrier between us I’ll never be able to cross. Like there’s some fundamental knowledge I am missing, like being the only person that does not get the joke.

→ I am feeling very overwhelmed by things at the moment. I have my six modules, none of which I am really getting into at the moment. I go to lectures, I make notes. I’m not really processing the information. I worry about doing so many exams at once. Tonight I realized that I have a coursework for the one module, which involves using a particular software that I cannot use, so I am panicking about that. (Especially since I have no one to ask, as I have no friends.) Meanwhile my group project trudges along and I am so stressed out regarding that. I feel like I am envisioning this project totally different to my group members and its infinitely frustrating. I try to be flexible, to listen, to join in discussions not to impress my ideas on them, but to consider, to process all our ideas and try and bring them together. But I find myself getting confused by what they are saying. I cannot understand their vision, and that’s the true problem. In a fit of desperation I wrote down all my ideas as a rough draft of a project proposal last night and sent it out, and today in the meeting they tore it to shreds. Of course they did it kindly enough, but they started talking about things that were similar, but not the same, to what I was written and going off on tangents and I tried to keep up but I found myself so confused. I need to finish off the proposal, to try and change it to fit their standards, even though I am so uncertain about what they expect, and I really need to get stuck into my research. I’ve sat for hours reading through the internet, research papers, textbooks and each time I find myself feeling overwhelmed and confused as to how to get my ideas because I have many, I know what I want to write about and how, down on paper. Third year is so different from all the years that came before it – we’re expected to remember every little thing from previous years, to be competent, to be independent. I feel like at some point I was left behind, and now its school all over again, staring at the backs of my peers, desperately trying to catch up, coming close, but never close enough. I talked about this last year did I not? How I do not feel like an engineer. And its even worse this year, because I need to have a certain level of knowledge, I need a certain amount of confidence in my abilities, and I do not have it.

→ I have had a miserable week, hell, a miserable two weeks. I’m tired, I am always tired. My mind drifts from random thought to thought, never quite focusing on anything for too long, my nights are filled with strange dreams and I wake, with a fleeting moment of images and dialogue flitting through my mind before its gone, and all I’m left is with a sense of unease. It carries on to the long walk to university, and I find myself thinking things I’d rather not be dwelling on, unable to direct my thoughts away. Walking to university is exhausting, lectures are dull and time drags by so slowly, the material washes over me. I told someone today that I have no idea what modules I am doing, I just go to them. They gave me a very strange look and I understand, it does not make much sense, does it? But it makes sense to me. I am just going through the motions at the moment. I feel disconnected, uneasy, exhausted. It’s terrible, I know. It’s week 5 of university and I am already behind on my personal goals for my work.

→ I started Japanese lessons again last week and thus far I am not enjoying them – I am acutely aware that I am not at the level of the other people in my class and it makes me feel desperately out of place, very uncomfortable. I do not like it. I wish I was better at languages. Really, I love Japanese and I am in love with the idea of being able to speak it, but I wonder if I am really doing the right thing by actually taking these lessons. I do not think I am committed enough, and even when I do study, I am uncertain if I am doing it right. I’m not really certain of how to learn a language? When I do try and learn, I never really feel like it clicks, that I am really learning. It’s just a very different learning experience compared to engineering – the small class size, the interactive manner of teaching, working in groups and one on one, having to go up and write things on the board. It’s nothing that I am used to, and it makes me feel awkward and uncertain, and deeply embarrassed. I don’t feel like I should be there. I don’t feel like I should be learning Japanese- I struggle so much to wrap my mind around this strange, foreign language, to get to grips with writing the symbols and being able to read them, to remember all the new words for items. You’re looking at the world in a whole different way, Roman letters replaced by symbols, sentences reversed and held together by particles, each one with its own list of uses, past and present tenses, counting systems. It’s confusing, and I cannot bring it together in my mind. It’s not a problem to be solved, to be worked through to the final solution – its on ongoing effort, constant memorization, learning how to view the world in a whole other way. I find it really difficult, and I wonder if I am doing the right thing.

→ “I want to stay in a good frame of mind” I wrote, and how ambitious was I.

“Who’s there that makes you so afraid. You’re shaken to the bone, and I don’t understand”

My sister came round last weekend. She was supposed to come on Saturday but on Friday I got a text saying she was coming tonight and was that OK? Well, it was far too sudden but it was hardly like I could say no. Things at home are continuing on their downward spiral, and my sister had to get away then. She was furious and fed up with the way things were. Again, I felt that anger that things were turning out like this. My father texted me to tell me to try and get my sister to calm down, the obvious implication that he wanted me to turn her round to their (our parents) side and I felt angry at that too. She’s my sister I thought. And you’re my parents. How dare he put me in that kind of awkward situation? I don’t want to have to take sides. To be honest, I never thought my family would get to the point where there were sides to be taken. As a family, we’ve never been perfect but its never been like this. Never been as bad as this, even when my sister was at her most rebellious, or I was at my most depressed, and so quiet and vicious because of it. A part of me hates that I wasn’t there at the beginning of it – it’s too much of a shock to come home and to realise just how much things have changed for the worse when you’ve been away. To see what’s been hidden from you, censored through the miles, the phone calls.

I do feel bad for my father though, even if he is annoying me with his attitude it hurts to talk to him these days. He always sounds so tired when I talk to him. He’s trying so hard, too hard. I feel helpless, as always. I wish there was something I could say to make my father feel better, my sister too, or to get my mother to change back to the person she was. I hate it all. I hate this anger. Selfishly, I feel happy to have been able to escape it, to be back in a position where I don’t have to see it, to have to overhear the arguments, to feel the tension thick in the air.

Well, anyway. My sister came down on Friday night, arriving at midnight and I fed her supper then, despite the time. Then we shared chocolate cake, heavily iced in rich buttercream mixed with crushed chocolate cookies, as we had a good bitch. The next day my sister drove us to a nearby forest and we went for a long, meandering walk through ancient trees. It was very, very pretty. We talked and played stupid games. I spy with my little eye something that begins with t — . We came back and I made food, we ate more cake. We talked some more, watched stupid videos on youtube and laughed together. The next day she took me to the supermarket and generously bought me a whole load of groceries. We came back and talked some more, and I made more food (a butternut tagine that I was very proud of – have you ever tried to cut up a butternut with a blunt knife? I do not recommend it) and we talked even more, until she had to go. We hardly shut up the whole weekend and it was nice. As predicted, it helped to lift my bad mood to be able to talk about things, everything, even the stupid little things, to be able to laugh carelessly and be a bit idiotic if I felt like it. It was also nice being able to feed my sister good, comforting food and to make her laugh. I worried about her the whole weekend, watching her out of the corner of my eye, knowing she was hardly as cheerful as she presented herself. I almost wished she could stay, in a way. That I could share my retreat, my quiet place, with her.

Once my sister was gone my mood fell again, and I spent the week doing little at all and eating too much and fretting about university. Last week, I was not registered for a single module or even on the right course. I sent emails to the right people asking to meet and they never replied. I went and tried to talk to people but they either did not know what was going on either, or they weren’t in their offices. Thankfully on Monday I finally managed to get hold of who I need to get hold of and get all the necessary paperwork filled in and handed in and to get answers to all my questions. I know what’s going on, now. I’m registered for my modules. And I’m on the course I want to be – that I’ve wanted to be on since I was 18 years old. Electrical and Electronic Engineering (MEng). That little MEng makes all the difference, to me. That fact I’m “MEng hons” makes me feel even more ridiculously pleased than I already was. And yes, I am proud too. I know its bad, pride, but damn I’d done it.

I was looking at my photos from Japan that other day, trying to formulate the rest of my diary entries, but it’s hard. I have not quite gotten over my amazement that I went to Japan for the second time, that I managed to go to Hokkaido and Aomori, where I always wanted to go. This is not the first time I have thought this. I remember clearly standing at the base of asahi dake, absolutely blown away by the beauty of what I was seeing, absolutely stunned as it hit me full force that I was standing in Hokkaido. It felt completely surreal, like any moment I’d wake up. But, I’m not waking up I thought to myself. I’m here. I felt so incredibly blessed, so incredibly lucky, to be where I dreamed I would go, so so long ago. It hit me how amazing it was to have my dream come true. It hit me just how many things I had made happen, when everyone told me they would not. Looking back I feel that sort of pride too , as it was my own hard work that had gotten me there, achieving the things that everyone told me I’d never achieve.

Three years ago I failed my A levels and was rejected from university. I was being told to “reconsider my options” and to essentially, give up. But I didn’t give up. I didn’t listen to that sort of reasonable advice. I ignored all evidence of my short comings and I fought. I wanted to be an engineer and no one was going to tell me I was not capable. No one. My dreams, that fragile hope for the future, was what got me through my depression without physically harming myself and I could not let them go, not so easily. I went through clearing- and that remains one of the most terrifying things I’ve ever done, and I got myself into a foundation course. I did that foundation year, got myself into one of the universities that rejected me, became part of the top 10% of my class in my first year, went to study abroad in my second year, got to travel and see places I could only dream of seeing before, and now this – getting onto the masters course. So yes, I feel proud. I think this is a case where I can be allowed to feel ridiculously pleased with myself. Back then I thought to myself that if I only worked hard enough I would surely be rewarded. Thus far I’ve not been proved wrong. It’s not been easy, I doubt its going to get any easier, but I hope I’m never proved wrong.

I admit, I’ll never forget the things said to me, or that feeling of failure when I was rejected from university the first time. It’s good, in a way, it gives me the strength to fight. I have a point to prove- to myself, to the world. That I am capable. But it gets tiring, fighting all the time. Always doubting, always, always looking over your shoulder, waiting for the past to catch up and for everything to return to the way it was.

I admit, second year was a tough one for me. I’m not sure I really enjoyed my time in Malaysia. Academically everything got very rough, my grades fell, and my degree means enough to me that that really affected me quite a lot. Then my Grandmother died and I was overcame with homesickness, and sadness, regret, longing, pain. I want to say my study abroad period was amazing, but I think I hit a bit of a low last year. I began to really doubt myself, to start to give up. I began to really doubt whether I was capable of meeting my goals. I thankfully managed to achieve what I wanted anyway, but I think this year I need to be better. I need to be more determined, more focused. I cannot give up yet. I don’t want to live whilst waiting for the other shoe to drop- whilst feeling that I’m about to lose everything, suddenly, without warning, any second. That this will be the year that things go wrong again. I admit, I sometimes struggle to believe that I am capable of anything more than failure. It feels very pathetic, with all that I have managed to achieve. Second year was like that, especially. I will not have third year be like that. How much more do I have to achieve before I believe in myself? I wonder. Just when will it be enough? So I say to myself now- enough. It’s enough.

That doesn’t change the fact that I’m terribly nervous about starting university tomorrow. I know, tomorrow. Tomorrow I will start my fourth year of university, and my third year of my degree. When on earth did this happen? I hope third year goes better than the second. No, it will. I’m so scared but I refuse to let it get to me. I’ll try and find my old determination, and I will not let things become so messy and painful as last year. I will not let my stupid emotions make a mess of things again. I cannot. It’s enough, now.

“Subdued, I stand here all by myself…time passes quickly, vanishing from reality”

Saturday, 31/08/2013 22:41

This summer felt like it was passing by slowly, with every day in that house with my family filled with unease and anger. Lots of anger. For reasons I cannot get into I was so very angry. I have not been in a very good place these past few weeks, tense and over emotional. This blog was forgotten about, I was too ‘busy’ trying to distract myself from my feelings by doing nothing at all. I was unhappy. Even when my aunt was here, my dads friend… it all just passed me by. Before I knew it, it was the 30th of August, September was looming imminently and I was packing up once more, moving once more. I was keen to get away from my family, from that house, but also nervous. Packing was annoying, the fact that moving marked the start of the no doubt quick count down to university starting, made me anxious. But no matter what I wanted, how much I wanted to avoid doing anything, I had no choice but to start up again.

I moved into my new house just yesterday. My new one bedroom house that I would be living in by myself. It’s right on the edge of suburbia, and I admit I fell in love with the peaceful area more than the house itself- but it was an interesting sort of place, a bit old, but spacious and with everything I needed.

My father and I set off in the early afternoon on Friday, with a car that was strangely more empty than it had been when we drove down to this city for my first year of university. Google map lady sent us on a little wild goose chase but we did finally land up at the estate agents, about 15 minutes late. Paperwork was signed, fees were paid and then I had the keys to my new place.

We arrived at the house in the late afternoon. I opened the front door for the first time and any excitement I felt was cut in half at the state the house was in. The walls were scuffed and stained, the carpets were stained and filthy, there was stinking washing in the washing machine, dishes and sponges in the sink, half eaten food in the fridge, rubbish piled in kitchen cabinets and drawers. Upstairs was a little better- the bedroom carpet was filthy, but not as marked with questionable stains. The cupboard door was broken, and the cupboard dirty, but no other surprises. The bathroom was a little mouldy, and there were hairs in the bath, a towel hanging at the door. We took the washing and threw it on the line outside. We unloaded the car and had a long look around, taking pictures and thinking about where things would go. Then we headed off to TESCO on a quest for bleach, multi surface cleaner and lots of strong kitchen towel. On return my father and I set about trying to get the place in order. We managed to get the place vacuumed and the kitchen mostly cleaned, then decided to leave the rest for the next day. My father had a pillow and a sleeping bag and would take the living room. I had some bin bags and two fleece blankets to arrange into some kind of bed in the bedroom. I laid down the bin bags, then placed a blanket over, then rolled up the other blanket to form a pillow. Tired and overwhelmed I laid down on the hard floor and tried to sleep, and tried to sleep. I was either uncomfortable and warm, or comfortable and cold. My legs hurt, my neck was bent in a strange way, I was cold. It was very dark and very quiet, and the house kept making strange noises, as houses tend to do, but every one set off my nerves. I don’t know when I fell asleep, but certainly it was in the early hours of the morning.

Around 7.40am I startled awake, feeling as if I’d not slept at all. Feeling stiff and sore and cold. My father was fast asleep. I sat and pondered what to do, as I tried to get feeling other than pain to return to my legs. Eventually I decided to shower, but the shower was broken. Eventually, I cleaned the bath out and ran a bath. It was not nice- I could just picture some of that strangers hair escaping notice.

Today was spent mostly at IKEA – buying all the many, many things that make up a house. It started off fairly restrained- a table, some desks. We had lunch – meatballs, of course. Then we got to the market hall and it all went a bit extravagant. We ended up with a huge trolley full and a flatpack trolley, too. At the checkout I struggled to unload it all, with the couple behind me making snarky remarks to try and get me to go faster (douchebags) Then we had to go stand at the warehouse collection point, an hour passing by excruciatingly slow before my father decided to go question why our things had not come, only to find that our things had already come through but they’d lost the order information for it, so had not called out the order number. Delightful. We got out of there and shoved everything into the car and came back to the house to start to put everything together. With each new piece of furniture the place started to feel less frightening and a tiny bit more like my home. It’s still a bit in disrepair- but its getting closer to being liveable. I am sat at my wonderful new desk- with a little shelf on it, and a study lamp. This will be my study area. to the side of me is the front window, upon the windowsill I have lined up my collection of cacti. I have 6, now. Upstairs the cupboard has been cleaned out and had shelving placed in it, alongside the rails that are already there. I have actually managed to start unpacking into that. My father put up a small desk in my bedroom, at the window that overlooks the fields, if you look far to the right and squint a bit. The late afternoon sun casts a warm, golden glow on the place, softens the dirt and questionable stains, and with the shiny new furniture the place almost looks attractive. My father left earlier, to go back home and collect the next and last bunch of stuff. Tomorrow he will come back and we’ll build up the last of the furniture and clean some more no doubt, and hopefully then I’ll finally be able to unpack. I’ll also finally be able to get groceries. Tonight’s dinner was cold chicken, and a bowl of cereal. I spent some time pottering about the kitchen earlier- rearranging my kitchen cupboard contents, just to keep my mind off the fact I am all alone in this strange, new place.

I still do not have a mattress for my bed. I am going to be sleeping on cardboard tonight though, and in a sleeping bag, with a pillow. What luxury, right.

Friday, 06/09/13 00:14

Today I had to wash my hair with a jug and minimal hot water. It was messy and not entirely effective, bearing in mind how long my hair is and that I do not use shampoo. I have now been a week in my new house, trying to settle in despite the glaringly obvious faults with the place.

Last Saturday night I had a sleeping bag, a pillow and some cardboard to make up my bed that night, alongside my fleece blankets. It was nowhere near as comfortable as a bed would be, but a marked improvement over the previous nights arrangement. I woke up early, feeling warm and without pain and set about getting ready in anticipation of my father coming. In the meantime I did some chores, attempted to scrounge some food and ended up sitting, staring out the window, phone clutched in hand as I waited for my father. At around three he bangs at my door impatiently and tells me, immediately upon my opening it, that we are to set of immediately to ASDA as they close in an hour. I was in my home clothes, I was hungry, neither of us even knew where the nearest ASDA was and I was not impressed. Regardless he started to get things out the car as I went to get changed. We left and went to the shops, and in our hurry I miss most of what was on my list. At least we managed to get appliances. I was more than grateful to have gained a kettle, microwave, toaster and other such kitchen necessities. My father built furniture, I tidied and cooked. Eventually we sit for a meal at my brand new dining table, in a house that had certainly begun to feel more like home. More like mine.

I have furniture now (including a bed and mattress, Sunday night I slept very well indeed), appliances, a well stocked fridge and plants brightening up every window (except my kitchen window where my herbs slowly wilt as I am unable to replant them.) I have spent my week being lazy, much in the same way as I was at home I stay indoors and try to avoid the fact that perhaps I am still sad.

I am growing to like this place. My kitchen is perhaps my favourite space. It’s small, but I enjoy pottering about it in the late afternoon, when the sun is pouring through the windows. I set a loaf of bread to rise earlier in the week upon my windowsill such that it could bask in that sun. It rose beautifully and lets not later talk about how I later burnt it as I am unused to my oven. I still don’t have a shower, which is annoying. Really, the house is filled with things that need fixing and that is a major annoyance, but I have been negotiating with my land lord and have high hopes that repairs will be carried out, so that this place can truly fulfil its potential. Its a lovely place really, once it’s fixed it certainly will be, and I do feel blessed to be living alone like this.

My dad remarked to me that I am really starting to stand on my own two feet now and indeed I am certainly becoming very independent. Which I see as a plus and also a minus of growing up. I’ve spent more time on the phone in the last week than I probably have in my whole life- the council, the electricity providers, the water company, the letting agency. For the first time I have bills. I’m beginning to have an understanding of the true cost of living – how you don’t just pay for electricity, but pay a standing charge just for having it, how you don’t just pay for internet, but have to pay line rental too. And there are other things where you suddenly find yourself feeling lost and wishing for someone’s guidance, to hold you accountable. I am trying to understand what is allowed in my recycling bin and when the bin men come and to collect what. I am trying to feed myself properly and not overeat, without anyone around to make me feel shame. I am trying to keep my place clean- to wash my dishes everyday and not let clutter build up. I am trying just to wake up at a reasonable hour every day, even if I don’t have to. I like living alone, I like the quiet and independence but sometimes the quiet gets quite too much (especially at night, where every little noise still makes me a tiny bit nervous) and I wish my dad was here to deal with everything for me. I have emailed my dad nearly every day this week, and I don’t think its because I’m lonely but rather that I’m a little scared, a little nervous and want reassurance that I am doing OK. There is a lot I still have to learn about living independently, still have to get used to.

Saturday, 07/09/13 17.28

I wish I could say that I was OK but that would be a lie. Anger fades, turns to a lingering sadness. The anxiety does not go away. I wish I had the courage to be fully honest with my dad – to ask him to send me some flowers or something, because I want to be comforted. I just want someone to say that its OK, and that everything will be OK, on an even broader scale than mentioned above. I went for a walk yesterday, I thought it would help to spend some times outside these walls, but it did not. No matter how responsible I try to be, how cheerful I try to make myself, I still feel anxious. I start university very, very soon.

Friday, 13/09/13 22.51

Today I had a shower for the first time in two weeks. The contractor came today and it was fairly awkward, but I have a shower now. I could wash my hair properly, and shave. The contractor came just in time too, as my sister comes round over the weekend. I am rather looking forward to that. I think it will help with my general bad mood right now.

And yes, I know this entry is strange – but my internet is limited and for various reasons, comes and goes. I wrote this thing in parts, and decided to leave it as its seperate parts.

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