Lost time

Where did it go, I mean who kernicked it? It was there in front of me, all mapped out and ready and now poof, I’ve lost it.

What am I looking for? The last two months of my life. Go on see if you can find yours. I mean really look for it. It shouldn’t be hard, it was the holiday season so even if you didn’t go away you must have done something different. You didn’t, well all I can say is do it now.

It all started off ok, I cleaned and cleared the house and got a few jobs done. Made up some meals for the freezer whilst tackling a new job. Then we went away to Wales and I loved it, albeit I was a bit sad. Came home, Mark had a bad back and now here I am a month later with nothing done, and the house having been rifled by my alternate reality doppelgänger, it wasn’t me that messed it up, honest gov! Tomorrow I’m off again. But not on the planned trip to sunny Mexico, my trip of a lifetime, oh no, I’m doing much more exciting things. Yep you guessed it, I’m off to Lincanshire. (Not a misspelling, it’s how we of a certain dialect say it. You would think that locals would be allowed to change the spelling of the places they live in, to reflect the way they sound. Take for instance Mesnes. Hands up all those who have just read that as mez nez? It’s pronounces mains as in water mains, thank you Mark for clearing that up.)

My trip to Mexico? Postponed. No flying for this one. I’ve got lumpy syndrome. Unspecified spherical object in my bits. Don’t panic, it’s not going to kill me, but it’s not doing me any favours either. From this point on I’m going to refer to my condition as USO. Why not every other bugger seems to have a label for their condition.

I’ve been a lazy bint for two months and I’m not going to tell you that I’ve enjoyed it. It’s been killing me, literally. Blood pressure, check, cholesterol, check, moody cow syndrome, check. I’ve got all of them in abundance, and weight, lots of that. I’ve always joked that inside this scrumptious size 18 body there is a size 10, because I didn’t leave it behind in my dreams when I awoke so it’s still there somewhere.

My size 10 must have been stolen along with the time I’ve lost. It’s difficult to admit it, but I have fallen from my perch and landed nose first into the duldrums of despair. The only problem is that I’ve hidden every time someone has come looking for me. Instead of holding out my hand and saying help me, I’ve sent my alter ego out to play my part in the game of life and slunk deeper down into my own little world.

I’ve ignored the friendships that I have, and made excuses for not being around the friends that I know care. It’s a coin that never falls, spinning on its edge constantly. I don’t want to tell the world but I want help, I don’t want help because that means admitting weakness, I don’t want to show weakness because people will see it as attention seeking, I don’t want to draw attention because that will make me feel worse. So I just keep spinning in an ever decreasing downward spiral.

Where have the last two months gone. Into the pot that says, you don’t deserve to be happy, so stay away from happiness. I have done things, I’ve been on holiday, gone back to riding horses, lost weight, got my blood pressure sorted out, meds are a miracle. Changed my diet to tackle my cholesterol, been to the pictures to watch A Star Is Born, and made a difference to at least three people I can name by doing my job. I don’t feel any better right now for remembering the good things that have happened, but I know that if I try to do more I may actually be able to climb out of the quagmire. How do I know? I’ve been here before, and sunk even deeper before I woke up. I’m awake and slowly but surely I will fight my way out of the depths to get back on the treadmill. Literally, I want to start running again. But that’s another day.

I know this isn’t my usual twaddle, but I just thought I’d share. Our mental health is important, I believe we all suffer to a greater or lesser extent even those who deny it. After all we all have a mind that feels for us. Being aware of those feelings and learning to accept them is the challenging part. From those who have severe mental health problems to those that suffer grief, everyone has to face the fact, mental illness is real and can be helped by asking for help. It’s not a crime to be different.

I’ve found some answers on a site called Blurt, https://www.blurtitout.org. If you are finding things hard, go take a look. They have given me the incentive to seek help. Plus I’ve ordered a Buddy Box, I’ll let you know what I get, next time.

On that note, I’m booked in to see a trickcyclist next Monday, time to hold out my hand.

PS. “That poem I wrote weren’t bad was it?” If you liked it, check out my other blog at https://deesdailyjournal.wordpress.com


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