and character-building, of sleep-deprivation and sunburn, old faces and new friends found.
I'm trying to remember who was there. Me, Michelle, Kevin, Sam, Aiden, Cath, Mike, Heidi, Paul, Asun and her fella Nick I think, Ian, Crow, Clare, Wookie, Leanne, Bill, Andy, Becca, Nathan, Bearpookie, David, plentyofants and finally, Burt Chimpcaster, the dirty fucking monkey. I think I got everyone. Twenty-four of us, mostly intent on getting incredibly pissed and laughing our arses off.
While both nights were filled with proper belly laughs and finding out about each other, there were a few moments of incredibly sweet interaction. A few people who I were looking forward to meeting gave me huge compliments and reminded me how far I've come since my lowest points. These are people who I've grown to adore online and who've had compliments showered upon them by others I trust.
So, when I'm told I'm "much cuter in real life" it sinks in and adds to my being. When someone else tells me I'm lovely and proceeds to tell everyone else at the party I'm lovely over the course of the night, even when I'm not in the room, then spends ten minutes hugging me and showering me with adoration before I go to bed, it builds my confidence and esteem immeasurably. Being accepted so readily into a group who've met many times before and know each other quiet well is a real boost for me. It's rare that new social situations like this come along for me, so to thrive and really enjoy getting to know new people was simply lovely.
Compliments used to bounce off me like I had some kind of shield that reflected them. I'd be coy and dismissive because I never felt I deserved to be told I did something well or looked good or was a nice person. Since my therapy I've learned to allow compliments for two reasons: first because it makes others feel good when they make you feel good, second and more importantly at builds your self-esteem when you let these things in.
I know I'll never be big-headed, but I've noticed that over the past year - more specifically the last three months - more and more people have been paying me compliments. "You're looking really well" is a current favourite which I put down to losing a fair amount of weight and spending more time in the sun. I realise every compliment I get is a testament to the work I did during therapy and the introspection and reflection I've done since. It's hugely pleasing to see evidence of that effort in the way people perceive me, and how I see myself.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Monday, June 28, 2010
How to use an extra day
At the weekend I travelled to Yorkshire for a three-day party with loads of weirdos from the internet. It was a simply stunning time and I've taken so much away from it. On the journey back yesterday I realised I've had so little sleep I've technically had an extra day to enjoy while I've been away. Here's how I filled my time.
1. Normally asleep by 9.30pm but stayed up late watching Family Guy. I still woke up at 5.30am.
2. Left the house at 7.50pm and got a lift to the road and stuck my hitch-hiking sign out. I almost instantly got picked-up and dropped ten minutes later at the ring road heading in the right direction.
3. Walked a few hundred metres up to a lay-by on the dual carriageway and waited twenty minutes for a lift. Finally got collected by a red plate driver and dropped at Oxford services - the opposite direction to where I was heading but the driver assured me it was a great spot.
4. Waited an hour and a half for a ride. I was starting to get very worried until a small, packed Ford Fiesta came around the roundabout beckoning like mad. Me, my two rucksacks and four American christian theology students squeezed into the tiny car and flew a few miles up to the Cherwell Valley services.
6. Stood at the side of the road near the petrol station for forty minutes, gradually getting more and more frustrated until my friend at my destination said she'd come and collect me. I walked up the road a little and sat with my sign for Leamington Spa leaning on my bags. Five minutes later a man walked past and said he'd take me up to Warwick in his lorry. Result!
7. An hour later, waited outside the Hilton Warwick and finally got picked up by my friend around four hours later than I'd hoped to arrive. This was probably one of my least successful hitch-hikes ever, six hours for about fifty miles.
8. Driven to Warwick to collect another passenger, then up the motorways which were bloody rammed. I'd hoped to nap on the way up but didn't. I watched my companions eat big KFC meals and felt half jealousy and half pity - a weird combination!
9. More motorway, more traffic. After a while I suggested altering the satnav to avoid motorways and it kept us going through towns and villages and ever closer to our destination instead of crawling along a highway.
10. Finally arrived at our destination about four hours late. Met lovely people, chatted, ate, chatted, laughed and generally had a brilliant evening. Called it a night at half-one, although people coming to bed meant I didn't sleep until half two.
11. Saturday morning, woke up at 5.15 am. With everyone else still asleep, I sat dossing on the internet. For six hours. Made everyone bacon sandwiches then got washed-up ready for a nice long walk up a big hill, with the intention of napping afterward before everyone arrived for the big event that evening.
12. Walked up a big hill. This was certainly one of the highlights of the weekend for me, a total of five and a half miles with a select group of people and a chance to get to know them away from alcohol and the buzzing of the party. The views were simply incredible, the monument at the top of the hill was impressive and we were buzzed by a huge helicoptor which encircled and tower and flew off into the hazy sunshine.
13. After a considerable walk to find one, we sat in a pub garden and struggled to find a ride home. A drank three Red Bulls and when we finally got into a taxi, a heavy shower and one hour later, I started to feel pretty crap.
14. Bath, change, out into the fray. It was 8pm by this point and I was pretty spaced-out. A Relentless or two picked me up, I steered clear of the loud music and shouting in the kitchen because I couldn't really concentrate but I mingled nicely.
15. Space cake! As I wasn't drinking this was a lovely surprise and it topped the night off nicely. Very gentle but nicely amusing, I didn't feel particularly affected but it was a nice quiet buzz.
16. Got my head stroked by two different people, a kiss on the cheek from another and huge lovely hugs and drunken compliments from someone I'd been really looking forward to meeting. I like and repect her so much it's wonderful for her to say such lovely things about me. I kept hearing her singing my praises at various times throughout the evening to lots of different people which was really, really sweet.
17. Went to bed at 2am, still buzzing a bit and very pleased with myself. Finally got to sleep around 3am having given my bed up to the needy; slept on the floor with my t-shirts rolled into a pillow.
18. Woke up at 5.45am with streaming eyes and nose. I'd managed to put my face on a t-shirt completely covered in cat fur, sending my allergy through the roof. I got up and the house was completely covered in drunken snoring bodies, even in the kitchen.
19. I went outside to eat some nuts and seeds I packed on Friday and decided to go for a wander. Instead of simply walking around the park and back to the house I ended up walking along the canalside to the next town where we'd started the walk the day before. It was a lovely quiet walk, spoiled only by the fact I wore my trainers instead of my boots and completely ruined my feet.
20. Waited an hour and a half, barefoot, for a train back to my starting point, then went to the market to buy plants for our host's back garden which looked a little bare.
21. Washed and changed and finally fed a bacon and egg sandwich in the sun.
22. Hugged, kissed and waved goodbye to lots of lovely, sexy, funny people and got a lift door-to-door by a couple who walked yesterday and were just brilliant. I considered napping on the way back but navigated and chatted with the driver instead.
23. Hugged daughter madly, unpacked, showered, got fed scrambled eggs and almost fell asleep fifteen times during the last Dr Who of the series.
24. Bed, asleep by half eight, woke up at 5.45am ready for work - or so I thought. My phone had been off for an hour and for some obscure reason the clock doesn't keep time while it's off and I swapped batteries to recharge it, leaving it off for an hour, so I was late for work this morning but thankfully got an extra 45 minutes in bed.
Done. Done-in. I slept like a log and will again tonight and probably tomorrow too. I'll get my diet back on-track tomorrow and not walk until Thursday to give my body and mind a good rest. I worked out that in the 86.5 hours between getting up for work on Thursday and getting to bed Sunday evening I slept for only 11 hours - 9.5% sleep instead of my usual 33%.
There's so much more to say about the weekend but I'm too bloody tired to write it out now. I will say I had one of the best times of my life and I've met people I'm very happy to be good friends with.
1. Normally asleep by 9.30pm but stayed up late watching Family Guy. I still woke up at 5.30am.
2. Left the house at 7.50pm and got a lift to the road and stuck my hitch-hiking sign out. I almost instantly got picked-up and dropped ten minutes later at the ring road heading in the right direction.
3. Walked a few hundred metres up to a lay-by on the dual carriageway and waited twenty minutes for a lift. Finally got collected by a red plate driver and dropped at Oxford services - the opposite direction to where I was heading but the driver assured me it was a great spot.
4. Waited an hour and a half for a ride. I was starting to get very worried until a small, packed Ford Fiesta came around the roundabout beckoning like mad. Me, my two rucksacks and four American christian theology students squeezed into the tiny car and flew a few miles up to the Cherwell Valley services.
6. Stood at the side of the road near the petrol station for forty minutes, gradually getting more and more frustrated until my friend at my destination said she'd come and collect me. I walked up the road a little and sat with my sign for Leamington Spa leaning on my bags. Five minutes later a man walked past and said he'd take me up to Warwick in his lorry. Result!
7. An hour later, waited outside the Hilton Warwick and finally got picked up by my friend around four hours later than I'd hoped to arrive. This was probably one of my least successful hitch-hikes ever, six hours for about fifty miles.
8. Driven to Warwick to collect another passenger, then up the motorways which were bloody rammed. I'd hoped to nap on the way up but didn't. I watched my companions eat big KFC meals and felt half jealousy and half pity - a weird combination!
9. More motorway, more traffic. After a while I suggested altering the satnav to avoid motorways and it kept us going through towns and villages and ever closer to our destination instead of crawling along a highway.
10. Finally arrived at our destination about four hours late. Met lovely people, chatted, ate, chatted, laughed and generally had a brilliant evening. Called it a night at half-one, although people coming to bed meant I didn't sleep until half two.
11. Saturday morning, woke up at 5.15 am. With everyone else still asleep, I sat dossing on the internet. For six hours. Made everyone bacon sandwiches then got washed-up ready for a nice long walk up a big hill, with the intention of napping afterward before everyone arrived for the big event that evening.
12. Walked up a big hill. This was certainly one of the highlights of the weekend for me, a total of five and a half miles with a select group of people and a chance to get to know them away from alcohol and the buzzing of the party. The views were simply incredible, the monument at the top of the hill was impressive and we were buzzed by a huge helicoptor which encircled and tower and flew off into the hazy sunshine.
13. After a considerable walk to find one, we sat in a pub garden and struggled to find a ride home. A drank three Red Bulls and when we finally got into a taxi, a heavy shower and one hour later, I started to feel pretty crap.
14. Bath, change, out into the fray. It was 8pm by this point and I was pretty spaced-out. A Relentless or two picked me up, I steered clear of the loud music and shouting in the kitchen because I couldn't really concentrate but I mingled nicely.
15. Space cake! As I wasn't drinking this was a lovely surprise and it topped the night off nicely. Very gentle but nicely amusing, I didn't feel particularly affected but it was a nice quiet buzz.
16. Got my head stroked by two different people, a kiss on the cheek from another and huge lovely hugs and drunken compliments from someone I'd been really looking forward to meeting. I like and repect her so much it's wonderful for her to say such lovely things about me. I kept hearing her singing my praises at various times throughout the evening to lots of different people which was really, really sweet.
17. Went to bed at 2am, still buzzing a bit and very pleased with myself. Finally got to sleep around 3am having given my bed up to the needy; slept on the floor with my t-shirts rolled into a pillow.
18. Woke up at 5.45am with streaming eyes and nose. I'd managed to put my face on a t-shirt completely covered in cat fur, sending my allergy through the roof. I got up and the house was completely covered in drunken snoring bodies, even in the kitchen.
19. I went outside to eat some nuts and seeds I packed on Friday and decided to go for a wander. Instead of simply walking around the park and back to the house I ended up walking along the canalside to the next town where we'd started the walk the day before. It was a lovely quiet walk, spoiled only by the fact I wore my trainers instead of my boots and completely ruined my feet.
20. Waited an hour and a half, barefoot, for a train back to my starting point, then went to the market to buy plants for our host's back garden which looked a little bare.
21. Washed and changed and finally fed a bacon and egg sandwich in the sun.
22. Hugged, kissed and waved goodbye to lots of lovely, sexy, funny people and got a lift door-to-door by a couple who walked yesterday and were just brilliant. I considered napping on the way back but navigated and chatted with the driver instead.
23. Hugged daughter madly, unpacked, showered, got fed scrambled eggs and almost fell asleep fifteen times during the last Dr Who of the series.
24. Bed, asleep by half eight, woke up at 5.45am ready for work - or so I thought. My phone had been off for an hour and for some obscure reason the clock doesn't keep time while it's off and I swapped batteries to recharge it, leaving it off for an hour, so I was late for work this morning but thankfully got an extra 45 minutes in bed.
Done. Done-in. I slept like a log and will again tonight and probably tomorrow too. I'll get my diet back on-track tomorrow and not walk until Thursday to give my body and mind a good rest. I worked out that in the 86.5 hours between getting up for work on Thursday and getting to bed Sunday evening I slept for only 11 hours - 9.5% sleep instead of my usual 33%.
There's so much more to say about the weekend but I'm too bloody tired to write it out now. I will say I had one of the best times of my life and I've met people I'm very happy to be good friends with.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
It's good to have the badger back
and looking so pleased to be home. Her wit hasn't lost its edge and her sparkle still shines. She didn't seem weary despite a stressful journey and months dealing with the arse-end of New Zealand's finest immigration system.
Meeting in the pub for a new menu, a few of us salivated over potential mash, sausage and gravy combinations while we waited for the others to arrive. When they did they brought news: the chef was off. No pork and apple sausage, horseradish mash and cider gravy. Within view of the fish bar and the glorious sun we loaded up on chips and sauces and sat along the park by the waterfall.
It was nice to see the park being made use of. There must've been a hundred people hanging around in groups, sat nattering or knocking a football about. New park equipment was being put to the test by youngsters too old for swings and seesaws, acoustic Arctic Monkeys floated across the grass and filling ourselves with greasy potato products added to the recreational luxury.
We ate, we laughed, we shared and it felt good; just like old times. Badger and I drifted apart around the time I drifted up my own arse but I'd often thought about emailing and trying to strike up the friendship again. Thankfully I'm a different person than I was when she left and I can be the Real Me instead of the confused and self-destructive person I was. It was so thoroughly good to see her and I look forward to her company as a good friend.
Meeting in the pub for a new menu, a few of us salivated over potential mash, sausage and gravy combinations while we waited for the others to arrive. When they did they brought news: the chef was off. No pork and apple sausage, horseradish mash and cider gravy. Within view of the fish bar and the glorious sun we loaded up on chips and sauces and sat along the park by the waterfall.
It was nice to see the park being made use of. There must've been a hundred people hanging around in groups, sat nattering or knocking a football about. New park equipment was being put to the test by youngsters too old for swings and seesaws, acoustic Arctic Monkeys floated across the grass and filling ourselves with greasy potato products added to the recreational luxury.
We ate, we laughed, we shared and it felt good; just like old times. Badger and I drifted apart around the time I drifted up my own arse but I'd often thought about emailing and trying to strike up the friendship again. Thankfully I'm a different person than I was when she left and I can be the Real Me instead of the confused and self-destructive person I was. It was so thoroughly good to see her and I look forward to her company as a good friend.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Hot on the heels of yesterday's post
about daughter missing Father's Day is the thought that my mum recently told me all three of us completely missed Mother's Day a couple of years ago. I have no memory of that but she swears it happened. I said she should have told us but she said no and wouldn't give a reason. I think it makes perfect sense to tell people these things so they don't happen again.
I guess I got a taste of that medicine on Sunday. I don't think my reaction would have been as strong if it wasn't for the litany of personal slights her mother had committed over the years. I need to consider whether my reaction was justified or out of proportion to the issues.
My gut instinct is that I went too far. I got angry about two things, both of which have been building up; the untidy bedroom for weeks, the Father's Day issues for years. If I'd been upset about one or the other I think I'd have been less reactive and less prone to shout and swear. My actions were fuelled by anger, frustration and disappointment which'd been building for some time, not a balanced and well thought out response to a volatile situation.
I fear I fundamentally scared my daughter, and that's something I'm finding hard to deal with. As I said before I hate seeing her cry especially when I'm the cause. There's a part of me that's pleased I got such important points across with a lot of weight behind them; points that're important to me, anyway. Daughter is hopefully certain she should keep her room tidy and try hard to remember Father's Day in future. However, there's this nagging doubt about the validity and dilution of the message when accompanied by shouting, swearing and scaring.
A fair amount of the work I did in therapy was about anger. As mentioned before I bottled anger up for a long, long time and it contributed in large part to my depression. When I let it out on Sunday I surprised myself by the ferocity of the feeling and how much better I felt when I'd let it out. I surprised myself by carrying on when I noticed daughter getting upset. I wasn't surprised when I was back to normal within twenty minutes - I don't hold grudges or stay pissed off at people because I don't see the point.
My thought at the moment is that I should talk to daughter about my outburst on Sunday. Before I do I need to decide whether I've got anything to apologise for and whether talking to her is a good idea in the first place. It's an interesting episode though, and it's given me plenty to think about.
I guess I got a taste of that medicine on Sunday. I don't think my reaction would have been as strong if it wasn't for the litany of personal slights her mother had committed over the years. I need to consider whether my reaction was justified or out of proportion to the issues.
My gut instinct is that I went too far. I got angry about two things, both of which have been building up; the untidy bedroom for weeks, the Father's Day issues for years. If I'd been upset about one or the other I think I'd have been less reactive and less prone to shout and swear. My actions were fuelled by anger, frustration and disappointment which'd been building for some time, not a balanced and well thought out response to a volatile situation.
I fear I fundamentally scared my daughter, and that's something I'm finding hard to deal with. As I said before I hate seeing her cry especially when I'm the cause. There's a part of me that's pleased I got such important points across with a lot of weight behind them; points that're important to me, anyway. Daughter is hopefully certain she should keep her room tidy and try hard to remember Father's Day in future. However, there's this nagging doubt about the validity and dilution of the message when accompanied by shouting, swearing and scaring.
A fair amount of the work I did in therapy was about anger. As mentioned before I bottled anger up for a long, long time and it contributed in large part to my depression. When I let it out on Sunday I surprised myself by the ferocity of the feeling and how much better I felt when I'd let it out. I surprised myself by carrying on when I noticed daughter getting upset. I wasn't surprised when I was back to normal within twenty minutes - I don't hold grudges or stay pissed off at people because I don't see the point.
My thought at the moment is that I should talk to daughter about my outburst on Sunday. Before I do I need to decide whether I've got anything to apologise for and whether talking to her is a good idea in the first place. It's an interesting episode though, and it's given me plenty to think about.
Monday, June 21, 2010
A measured response
Two things bugged me yesterday. Well, three, but while the third contributed to my frustration it is insignificant.
Daughter forgot Father's Day. No-one mentioned it to her, no TV show told her, school didn't remind her, her grandparents or brother and sister didn't say anything and I spent the day stewing, waiting for a call or text or wall post on Facebook. Nothing came. When she returned from visiting her siblings and our plan to go to a local school fete came to nothing, she remarked she could have spent more time with them and I said she could if she wanted, but the second thing that was bugging me was boiling up and I ended up losing my temper.
Earlier in the week I told her she absolutely must tidy her room this weekend. I've told her to do it a number of times recently but let her off doing it in favour of being lenient and hoping she'll realise how much the state of her room is bugging me, take the initiative and tidy it off her own back. When I told her she must do it I said I wouldn't remind her and if she didn't do it she'd be punished.
So, she said she could have spent more time with her brother and sister and I did what came naturally and said she could go back until dinner if she wanted. She said she'd like to but she'd also like to spend some time with me. Without thinking I blurted out "Well it is Father's Day!" and instantly regretted it. She apologised and said she didn't know, and I continued "And you haven't tidied your room," and that's when my temper broke.
I stood up and shouted about how much the state of her room got me down, swore about the mess in a room we have to share, about the effort I put in to get her room absolutely spotless last time and how she promised to keep it clean. I shouted, I swore, I pointed my finger and felt horrible inside as her eyes welled-up and tears started to run down her face. This is her natural reaction to being shouted at and she's told me before she's afraid she's going to be hit when I lose my temper. That's never a danger but I was surprised by the emotional charge which drove my anger.
Over the years that daughter lived with her mum I rarely got anything for Father's Day. Sometimes a text message, rarely a phone call, often nothing at all. Once I found out that her mum got her to sign a card for her step-dad but nothing for me. Back then I asked daughter whether she thought I might like a happy Father's Day and she apologised for not thinking of me. But it hurt, a lot. I was regularly made out to be a bad person by her mother, a second-rate father. Less important than her immediate family, a disposable child-support machine with no emotions to effect. I guess I can forgive daughter that as it wasn't truly her fault, but the hurt I felt yesterday is linked to all the strife I experienced over the years with her mother.
As for her room, it got tidied. I barred her from returning to her siblings as punishment and she stayed in for the afternoon and cleaned her room. I was back to normal within twenty minutes, but I left her to it until it was time to eat and although I could see she was upset we smiled and laughed and joked and things seemed to get back to normal. I helped her sort her drawers and get old clothes together for charity and we ended the afternoon pretty happy. I don't hold grudges or stay grumpy in these situations because it just seems pointless and I want daughter to know that anger is a short-term emotion.
Next time I won't remind her about her room, and I probably shouldn't have done this time. It would have been better to let her forget and to follow-through on my announced intention to punish her if it wasn't done by the end of the weekend. I've made it clear, though, that next time her rooms gets bad I'll take her phone away for a week and the time after that I'll ground her for a week as well. Hopefully that'll be deterrent enough that she keeps her stuff in order from now on.
I'm a little surprised, disappointed and afraid of the scale of my loss of temper. It's the biggest anger I've felt since finishing therapy, the most emotive and perhaps somewhat damaging to the recipient, although I do feel it got how upset and disappointed I was across to the person who caused it. My concern is that it might not have been a measured response to the situation, but I guess it's an expression of how I felt and quantifying that, especially after the event, is hard. Inside I'm almost naughtily pleased I managed to let it out and that daughter saw how frustrated I was with her untidyness. But there's a large part of me which hates to see her cry, especially if I'm the cause.
Daughter forgot Father's Day. No-one mentioned it to her, no TV show told her, school didn't remind her, her grandparents or brother and sister didn't say anything and I spent the day stewing, waiting for a call or text or wall post on Facebook. Nothing came. When she returned from visiting her siblings and our plan to go to a local school fete came to nothing, she remarked she could have spent more time with them and I said she could if she wanted, but the second thing that was bugging me was boiling up and I ended up losing my temper.
Earlier in the week I told her she absolutely must tidy her room this weekend. I've told her to do it a number of times recently but let her off doing it in favour of being lenient and hoping she'll realise how much the state of her room is bugging me, take the initiative and tidy it off her own back. When I told her she must do it I said I wouldn't remind her and if she didn't do it she'd be punished.
So, she said she could have spent more time with her brother and sister and I did what came naturally and said she could go back until dinner if she wanted. She said she'd like to but she'd also like to spend some time with me. Without thinking I blurted out "Well it is Father's Day!" and instantly regretted it. She apologised and said she didn't know, and I continued "And you haven't tidied your room," and that's when my temper broke.
I stood up and shouted about how much the state of her room got me down, swore about the mess in a room we have to share, about the effort I put in to get her room absolutely spotless last time and how she promised to keep it clean. I shouted, I swore, I pointed my finger and felt horrible inside as her eyes welled-up and tears started to run down her face. This is her natural reaction to being shouted at and she's told me before she's afraid she's going to be hit when I lose my temper. That's never a danger but I was surprised by the emotional charge which drove my anger.
Over the years that daughter lived with her mum I rarely got anything for Father's Day. Sometimes a text message, rarely a phone call, often nothing at all. Once I found out that her mum got her to sign a card for her step-dad but nothing for me. Back then I asked daughter whether she thought I might like a happy Father's Day and she apologised for not thinking of me. But it hurt, a lot. I was regularly made out to be a bad person by her mother, a second-rate father. Less important than her immediate family, a disposable child-support machine with no emotions to effect. I guess I can forgive daughter that as it wasn't truly her fault, but the hurt I felt yesterday is linked to all the strife I experienced over the years with her mother.
As for her room, it got tidied. I barred her from returning to her siblings as punishment and she stayed in for the afternoon and cleaned her room. I was back to normal within twenty minutes, but I left her to it until it was time to eat and although I could see she was upset we smiled and laughed and joked and things seemed to get back to normal. I helped her sort her drawers and get old clothes together for charity and we ended the afternoon pretty happy. I don't hold grudges or stay grumpy in these situations because it just seems pointless and I want daughter to know that anger is a short-term emotion.
Next time I won't remind her about her room, and I probably shouldn't have done this time. It would have been better to let her forget and to follow-through on my announced intention to punish her if it wasn't done by the end of the weekend. I've made it clear, though, that next time her rooms gets bad I'll take her phone away for a week and the time after that I'll ground her for a week as well. Hopefully that'll be deterrent enough that she keeps her stuff in order from now on.
I'm a little surprised, disappointed and afraid of the scale of my loss of temper. It's the biggest anger I've felt since finishing therapy, the most emotive and perhaps somewhat damaging to the recipient, although I do feel it got how upset and disappointed I was across to the person who caused it. My concern is that it might not have been a measured response to the situation, but I guess it's an expression of how I felt and quantifying that, especially after the event, is hard. Inside I'm almost naughtily pleased I managed to let it out and that daughter saw how frustrated I was with her untidyness. But there's a large part of me which hates to see her cry, especially if I'm the cause.
Monday, June 14, 2010
OMG I ate the banana bread!
Yesterday was the first meeting of the Social Walking Group with Walking for Wellbeing. Less of a group walk, more of a pair.
I invited thirty people, half of whom were unlikely targets in the first place. Of the rest, six people confirmed attendance on Facebook and I went to the meeting point excited at what I'd managed to put together. I dragged daughter and her friend along to make up the numbers and there'd be nine of us wandering the countryside.
Waiting outside the pub, one by one the text messages came through. Sorry, hung-over. Sorry, can't make it. I had to phone two of my good friends fifteen minutes after meeting time to find out where they were - tired and hung-over and ultimately forgotten all about it. Once I realised it'd just be me and the one friend who turned up, I gave daughter and her mate the choice of coming with us or heading home. Off she went leaving the pair of us to enjoy a lovely walk and a good chat.
I still feel very disappointed. Many of these people are friends who know how much this project means to me; people who, with a little bit of thought, would know I'd be really disappointed they weren't coming to share this experience with me. The start of my walking group! How exciting! Come along and support my endeavour to get folks interested in walking, meet new people and share the great outdoors! If this had been a party I was throwing I'd be devastated.
I'm trying so hard not to let my disappointment affect my enthusiasm for this part of the project but christ, that's hard. What's not to say every walk will be like this, I'll make big plans, get my hopes up and be let down again? Possibly. But I really like the idea of group walks locally and hopefully I'll be able to get some momentum going with some updated posters around the town and continued publicity on Facebook.
A little reading online is telling me not to blame others for my disappointment and accept that the feeling comes from within, feel it and move past it. I really hope that's possible because at the moment I feel like shit.
Yesterday I got home after the walk and pretty much stuffed my face with banana bread. A paragraph of the text I read earlier said 'You may go back to tried and tested coping mechanisms such as pigging out or drowning your sorrows with alcohol.' Hence the title of this post and the realisation that food and comfort eating were a big part of my life until I changed my diet for the better.
I was going to write more but my phone's dicking about and I'm just getting more and more aggravated and wound up, so I'll finish this off another time before I punch my fucking knuckles off or destroy my phone.
Ok. I was stewing for an hour after writing this then spent the rest of the day in a reasonably good mood. I think writing it out was very useful and I understand it's not their fault I felt that way, it was mine. They might have been the trigger, but the sheer scale of the feeling came from within me. I didn't appear to have any control over that and it spiralled out of control.
It's comforting to me that the 'banana bread incident' was the first time I've binged on any kind of food - or alcohol - for around a month. I've lost a whole bunch of weight and want to keep up the momentum to lose all my body fat and buff up. I've got plenty to be happy about at the moment, but considering my past it's no surprise I have the occasional blip, which I see as an opportunity to learn about my emotions and how to improve my mental toolset to help me cope better in future.
Also, I've ordered a second-hand Palm Pre to replace this frustrating phone. It should arrive in the next few days and I'm rather excited about it, although not too excited - I wouldn't want to end up disappointed.
I invited thirty people, half of whom were unlikely targets in the first place. Of the rest, six people confirmed attendance on Facebook and I went to the meeting point excited at what I'd managed to put together. I dragged daughter and her friend along to make up the numbers and there'd be nine of us wandering the countryside.
Waiting outside the pub, one by one the text messages came through. Sorry, hung-over. Sorry, can't make it. I had to phone two of my good friends fifteen minutes after meeting time to find out where they were - tired and hung-over and ultimately forgotten all about it. Once I realised it'd just be me and the one friend who turned up, I gave daughter and her mate the choice of coming with us or heading home. Off she went leaving the pair of us to enjoy a lovely walk and a good chat.
I still feel very disappointed. Many of these people are friends who know how much this project means to me; people who, with a little bit of thought, would know I'd be really disappointed they weren't coming to share this experience with me. The start of my walking group! How exciting! Come along and support my endeavour to get folks interested in walking, meet new people and share the great outdoors! If this had been a party I was throwing I'd be devastated.
I'm trying so hard not to let my disappointment affect my enthusiasm for this part of the project but christ, that's hard. What's not to say every walk will be like this, I'll make big plans, get my hopes up and be let down again? Possibly. But I really like the idea of group walks locally and hopefully I'll be able to get some momentum going with some updated posters around the town and continued publicity on Facebook.
A little reading online is telling me not to blame others for my disappointment and accept that the feeling comes from within, feel it and move past it. I really hope that's possible because at the moment I feel like shit.
Yesterday I got home after the walk and pretty much stuffed my face with banana bread. A paragraph of the text I read earlier said 'You may go back to tried and tested coping mechanisms such as pigging out or drowning your sorrows with alcohol.' Hence the title of this post and the realisation that food and comfort eating were a big part of my life until I changed my diet for the better.
I was going to write more but my phone's dicking about and I'm just getting more and more aggravated and wound up, so I'll finish this off another time before I punch my fucking knuckles off or destroy my phone.
Ok. I was stewing for an hour after writing this then spent the rest of the day in a reasonably good mood. I think writing it out was very useful and I understand it's not their fault I felt that way, it was mine. They might have been the trigger, but the sheer scale of the feeling came from within me. I didn't appear to have any control over that and it spiralled out of control.
It's comforting to me that the 'banana bread incident' was the first time I've binged on any kind of food - or alcohol - for around a month. I've lost a whole bunch of weight and want to keep up the momentum to lose all my body fat and buff up. I've got plenty to be happy about at the moment, but considering my past it's no surprise I have the occasional blip, which I see as an opportunity to learn about my emotions and how to improve my mental toolset to help me cope better in future.
Also, I've ordered a second-hand Palm Pre to replace this frustrating phone. It should arrive in the next few days and I'm rather excited about it, although not too excited - I wouldn't want to end up disappointed.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Some ranty catharsis is needed
and as I've not had a chance to really talk to a proper human being about it I'm going to sit here and open the gates.
I've been really tetchy for the past few days, quick to anger and easy to bug. As ever I'm reasonably sure what's causing this frustration and it's my job.
I fucking hate my job. Every time someone's asked me how I am recently I've said 'Work is meh but it pays the bills" and everyone seems to know what that's like. There are many aspects of my job which get me down:
It's corrupt
There's two factions in my company: one which comes to work every day, does their shift, earns their 'fair share' and works honestly - namely the majority of drivers on my shift; another which gets good jobs fed to them by other operators, the airport and city runs, who give their private number to customers and take bread and butter from the honest workers' pockets. I have to work with both parties every day and it seriously frustrates me when my boss can't or won't control what's going on.
My boss is a fucking retarded alcoholic pot-smoking tool
I used to have a kind of pitying respect for him, but for the past six or seven years he's made his bed and now he's lying in it. Currently his bed is covered in shit and detritus from his uncontrollable existence, he constantly talks shit and tries to be the cheeky charismatic chap he used to be but can't pull it off because he's so thoroughly bitter inside. Every time I talk to him I can feel my bowels loosening and my teeth gritting and he's one of the main reasons, and targets, for my mounting frustration.
It's very low pay
The only self-esteem I get from the job is that I have the respect of most of the drivers and the customers. I'm proud of the fact that I run the only tight ship around here and my integrity is intact, but there's a large part of me that's completely against working for something so fundamentally wrong. It would probably be easier if I was getting paid more than £5 an hour, which I'm not, despite taking on more responsibility and running the accounts for the past eighteen months. I've been close to asking for a raise for a while but I know it's pointless because my boss is a useless fuck who can't see what's in front of his nose. The bastard.
What this is coming to is something I've known and wanted for quite some time: I need another job. I think part of the problem is that I've known this in reality for a long time but not done anything about it. Better the devil you know, 'It pays the bills', there's a recession and the job market's rubbish, etc blah etc. All basically excuses for not getting myself out there and finding something fun, exciting and reasonably-paid so I can get this portion of my life on-track. I reckon just about everything else is sorted - my health both mental and physical has improved immeasurably recently, home life is stable and Sophie is happy and settled, my social life is moving in the right direction and I even had a 'date' a couple of weeks ago. Just imagine how happy I'd be if I had a properly fulfilling day of work and a satisfying paycheque at the end of it.
I've been really tetchy for the past few days, quick to anger and easy to bug. As ever I'm reasonably sure what's causing this frustration and it's my job.
I fucking hate my job. Every time someone's asked me how I am recently I've said 'Work is meh but it pays the bills" and everyone seems to know what that's like. There are many aspects of my job which get me down:
It's corrupt
There's two factions in my company: one which comes to work every day, does their shift, earns their 'fair share' and works honestly - namely the majority of drivers on my shift; another which gets good jobs fed to them by other operators, the airport and city runs, who give their private number to customers and take bread and butter from the honest workers' pockets. I have to work with both parties every day and it seriously frustrates me when my boss can't or won't control what's going on.
My boss is a fucking retarded alcoholic pot-smoking tool
I used to have a kind of pitying respect for him, but for the past six or seven years he's made his bed and now he's lying in it. Currently his bed is covered in shit and detritus from his uncontrollable existence, he constantly talks shit and tries to be the cheeky charismatic chap he used to be but can't pull it off because he's so thoroughly bitter inside. Every time I talk to him I can feel my bowels loosening and my teeth gritting and he's one of the main reasons, and targets, for my mounting frustration.
It's very low pay
The only self-esteem I get from the job is that I have the respect of most of the drivers and the customers. I'm proud of the fact that I run the only tight ship around here and my integrity is intact, but there's a large part of me that's completely against working for something so fundamentally wrong. It would probably be easier if I was getting paid more than £5 an hour, which I'm not, despite taking on more responsibility and running the accounts for the past eighteen months. I've been close to asking for a raise for a while but I know it's pointless because my boss is a useless fuck who can't see what's in front of his nose. The bastard.
What this is coming to is something I've known and wanted for quite some time: I need another job. I think part of the problem is that I've known this in reality for a long time but not done anything about it. Better the devil you know, 'It pays the bills', there's a recession and the job market's rubbish, etc blah etc. All basically excuses for not getting myself out there and finding something fun, exciting and reasonably-paid so I can get this portion of my life on-track. I reckon just about everything else is sorted - my health both mental and physical has improved immeasurably recently, home life is stable and Sophie is happy and settled, my social life is moving in the right direction and I even had a 'date' a couple of weeks ago. Just imagine how happy I'd be if I had a properly fulfilling day of work and a satisfying paycheque at the end of it.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
I had a 'date' on Sunday
for the first time in living memory. Wracking my brains, I really can't remember the last time I went somewhere to meet a girl so we could get to know each other better. We'd met before and recently bumped into each other after a night out. We exchanged a few messages on Facebook, both of us consulted a mutual friend and against her best advice, it seems, we decided to meet up at a local gig.
I thought I'd be nervous as I approached the pub but I wasn't; this new 'me' is perfectly confident and has no real place for these kind of nerves and this, combined with my sobriety, left me with few worries. I just made sure I looked my best and wandered on in, meeting her and being introduced to various friends who's names I tried to hold on to but instantly forgot - I need to work on this.
We got a drink and she questioned why I wasn't drinking - one of five times I'd answer that question during the day - and we chatted about life in general before the band started. Her brother played bass and she was at the front, part of a large following who apparently followed them around gigs supporting them. I stayed back, not wanting to be crowded by tens of strangers singing at the top of their lungs, quite happy to lean on the bar and catch up with a couple of old friends.
After their set, my date and I got talking about things that are important to us. She said she was looking for a man with a house who she could settle down with and have kids. This isn't me. I'm 34, have a teenaged daughter, live in a tiny annexe and earn less than minimum wage. I think she's set herself some internal deadlines and is trying to find Mr Right so she doesn't get left behind all her friends who are getting married and settling down. At one point she used the word 'desperate' in a reasonably different context and that triggered something which turned me off quite a bit. Because yeah, you are desperate, just a little bit. You've got your ideal scenario and you're chasing it, hard enough to consider me an option. You're very sweet and I'm definitely attracted to you but I can't be sure I'm not just the first guy who's come along and qualified in the race to get your family started.
We chatted for a while and the band started up again. She went off to the front and I enjoyed the music from the back while the crowd went wild. They were due to finish at 6pm but overran by almost half an hour, by which time I was clock-watching as I'd told daughter I'd be in town shortly after six and she'd texted chasing me. I said my goodbyes once the band finished and wandered into town, pleased I'd made the effort to meet her and see the band but reasonably sure of how I felt about the situation.
I got into town of met up with daughter and a few of my friends while enjoying another music event. A short while later I got a text from my date saying it was nice to see me and she might be in town later so she'd give me a shout. I responded politely and I got a text back calling me 'a sexy guy' which is flattering but, if I'm honest, a bit full-on and almost laying it out on a plate. However, I do consider myself a gentleman and despite an obvious physical attraction and potential bedroom action - to end a drought of almost three years - I messaged her yesterday to be honest and clear. You're very sweet but I can't give you what you're looking for.
I ended the day on a high, bopping to the rockabilly strains of The Jets live in the town centre surrounded by friends, watching daughter dancing away with her mates and stone-cold sober for the third event in a row. I'm a full week without alcohol now, two and a half weeks since I last got pissed and despite a couple of minor internal conflicts over wanting and not wanting to drink, I've really enjoyed it. Long may it continue.
Also, her eyelashes were caked in black mascara. What's the deal with that?
I thought I'd be nervous as I approached the pub but I wasn't; this new 'me' is perfectly confident and has no real place for these kind of nerves and this, combined with my sobriety, left me with few worries. I just made sure I looked my best and wandered on in, meeting her and being introduced to various friends who's names I tried to hold on to but instantly forgot - I need to work on this.
We got a drink and she questioned why I wasn't drinking - one of five times I'd answer that question during the day - and we chatted about life in general before the band started. Her brother played bass and she was at the front, part of a large following who apparently followed them around gigs supporting them. I stayed back, not wanting to be crowded by tens of strangers singing at the top of their lungs, quite happy to lean on the bar and catch up with a couple of old friends.
After their set, my date and I got talking about things that are important to us. She said she was looking for a man with a house who she could settle down with and have kids. This isn't me. I'm 34, have a teenaged daughter, live in a tiny annexe and earn less than minimum wage. I think she's set herself some internal deadlines and is trying to find Mr Right so she doesn't get left behind all her friends who are getting married and settling down. At one point she used the word 'desperate' in a reasonably different context and that triggered something which turned me off quite a bit. Because yeah, you are desperate, just a little bit. You've got your ideal scenario and you're chasing it, hard enough to consider me an option. You're very sweet and I'm definitely attracted to you but I can't be sure I'm not just the first guy who's come along and qualified in the race to get your family started.
We chatted for a while and the band started up again. She went off to the front and I enjoyed the music from the back while the crowd went wild. They were due to finish at 6pm but overran by almost half an hour, by which time I was clock-watching as I'd told daughter I'd be in town shortly after six and she'd texted chasing me. I said my goodbyes once the band finished and wandered into town, pleased I'd made the effort to meet her and see the band but reasonably sure of how I felt about the situation.
I got into town of met up with daughter and a few of my friends while enjoying another music event. A short while later I got a text from my date saying it was nice to see me and she might be in town later so she'd give me a shout. I responded politely and I got a text back calling me 'a sexy guy' which is flattering but, if I'm honest, a bit full-on and almost laying it out on a plate. However, I do consider myself a gentleman and despite an obvious physical attraction and potential bedroom action - to end a drought of almost three years - I messaged her yesterday to be honest and clear. You're very sweet but I can't give you what you're looking for.
I ended the day on a high, bopping to the rockabilly strains of The Jets live in the town centre surrounded by friends, watching daughter dancing away with her mates and stone-cold sober for the third event in a row. I'm a full week without alcohol now, two and a half weeks since I last got pissed and despite a couple of minor internal conflicts over wanting and not wanting to drink, I've really enjoyed it. Long may it continue.
Also, her eyelashes were caked in black mascara. What's the deal with that?
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