Can you believe it's been more than a year since we met?

It seems crazy to me. This year has been such a blur it's hard to keep track of the ups and downs.

January was an amazing month. The time we spent together gave me so much joy and self-esteem, I felt like I'd won the lottery... until you left. My heart, my brain were torn apart for a fair while at the start of February but, after consulting my friends and taking the plunge, there we were, a partnership, separated by thousands of miles but joined by wonderful, wonderful love.

The following six months were a heady combination of blissful adoration and harrowing separation. I felt so loved, and loved loving you. I'd worried about you for the first few months you were at uni, and kept my fingers crossed that you'd ease yourself into an active social life. I so enjoyed seeing you become more confident, less anxious, more involved socially, making friends and settling into a good routine in Geelong. I loved seeing you become yourself - the Tess I knew while you were here - and it gave me such hope for your future.

It's a shame things didn't work out between us, but that doesn't mean we didn't make huge achievements between us. We both opened up to another person, both let ourselves love and be loved, physically and emotionally. We both found and understood parts of ourselves we'd buried or put away for safe-keeping. We've come away better, stronger people and I still firmly believe:

Totally worth it.

I've felt so long feeling utterly low and negative and crap

that I'd forgotten about the positives 2011 brought for me.

• I got myself into a strong, loving relationship with a happy, vibrant, bright lady who loved me in return. I let someone in. I am attractive. Woo!
• I finally ditched my depressing job at the taxi company for something that finally gets me out and about. With the prospect of more work in the new year, things are even looking up financially too.
• I built and maintained some strong friendships with people new and old, young and adult, near and far.
• I kept a reasonably stable household and platform for Sophie, particularly during the first two-thirds of the year.

These last three months have been hell, and no mistaking it. When Tess and I split up I started drinking again. I could see the warning signs weeks and weeks ago, particularly when I noticed a tendency to turn to drink in the evenings. I caught my depression and self-destruction last weekend, when I got thrown out of the pub. I have plenty of unanswered questions about the whole event, but I know one thing for sure - I never, ever want to feel that way again, the shock and confusion and blood and shock, the waking regret, the hangover, the pain, the shock, the embarrassment of apologies, explaining what happened to friends, the uncertainty of who that person was that got physically manhandled out of a very busy bar.

I don't ever want to be in a position where I'm in danger of getting to that stage again, and similar events over the past few years have given me inspiration to stop drinking completely. That's it - I've spent half my life drinking alcohol, abusing it, using it as an escape, as a valve for letting myself out of my shell. No longer.

I actually feel anxious when I think about booze now. Scaringly, I feel anxious and drawn to drink. I mentally tell myself "Nope, I don't drink!" but it's amazing to see my booze brain being hooked by the image or thought of "just one drink".

I spent a good while not drinking in 2010 during the summer and really enjoyed it. There's a few posts about me and booze on the blog and many of them paint a picture of a very difficult relationship with drinking. I have done a few unquestionably stupid things while drunk over the past four or five years. It's done me very little good at all and now it's synonymous with downturns in mood and an increase in depressive symptoms.

Above's an interesting revalation: of my 36 years, I've been drinking for 18 years, or half my life. I came to alcohol quite late compared to my peers and definitely late in modern terms. I think I've just found the clarity and time to admit that I have alcoholic tendencies and booze and I just don't mix. I'm not the best person I can be when I've been drinking and I don't want any part of that any more.

So, Saturday 17th December 2011: the day I had my last drink. I'm determined to stick with this. I want my Noely back.

It's an odd feeling

loving someone and wanting to hate her at the same time. It's not even like I want to hate her, but my brain is doing strange things, pointing the finger, holding things against her, building resentment. I don't want to be that person, but is my head conditioned to try and find someone to blame?

I guess part of the problem could be that I don't really want to love her any more. It's too painful. It's been painful since the last few days we spent together, knowing we'd be apart for too long. Now I know we'll be apart forever, all that pain and yearning is still there, but instead of being a gentle hum underlying day to day life, it's an occasional stab in the stomach. She still comes to mind a few times a day and I resent that now.

I've had to go through my photo screensavers and take pictures of her off. As much as I try to hold on to the great memories of December and January, seeing her face makes my stomach twist just like it used to, but now with added agony. I cuddle up to myself in bed and growl that I'm imagining spooning with her.

I'm fully aware that there's a large financial incentive behind this. I got my refund back - £417 out of £880. This is really the only thing I resent and regret about the whole affair, and I don't know why I can't just let it go. Repressed anger, probably. Even though I emailed her and told her I'm angry, I don't feel anywhere near like I've let it go yet.

I know now there's a strong urge to cry behind all this. I have cried but only the once, and I knew at the time it wouldn't be enough. I think I've got myself into a classic circle of feeling pain, blocking it and storing it, letting it eat at me and generate more pain, causing the circle to start again. I'm low again, turning to sleep and alcohol to dull my head and pass the time. I need to fill my time with more productive things, get another job to improve my income and give me more self-respect. At the moment I feel like I'm wasting away and that's not a great place to be.

I've put a hold on the alcohol, which was easier than I thought. I need to keep up the walking and maintain the momentum of 33 miles in a week. In fact, I'll increase my weekly target to ten miles a week instead of five, which should encourage two walks per week.

I don't really want to feel like this, but I guess I've let my head get the better of me. Instead of hiding and suppressing, I should be exploring and releasing.

Misdirected anger and smiles

have been on the cards the past few days. Smiles because I'm finally beginning to feel a little better overall, and misdirected anger because it looks like half my air fare is in the balance. I was going to try and push the airline for a full refund minus 5% admin, then minus £100, then try for credit towards a flight in the next twelve months. I'll still push for that latter option, but I've given up the overall fight. I desperately need the money and I've just got no fight left in me.

I had to have it pointed out to me that my anger isn't being channelled the right way. I instantly jumped on the airline's back when I heard back about the refund, when in truth my anger should be directed elsewhere. That's where the spark of my fight has gone, fizzling into the ether like a dud firework.

Everyone around me is angry with Tess. I should be angry at Tess. I am angry at Tess, but that anger isn't going to change anything, and I'd rather not inflict it on her during her exams. I don't really want to inflict it in her at all. I need to feel it, I suppose, instead of keeping it in like I usually do... *goes to put on Rage Against The Machine*

ARGH GOD DAMN MOTHER FUCKING ARGH WHYYYYY ARGGGGH!? FOR FUCK'S SAKE, I WORKED SO HARD FOR THAT MONEY, SOPHIE AND I SACRIFICED QUALITY OF LIFE FOR WEEK AND WEEKS FOR THE £463 WE'VE LOST. FOR FUCK'S SAKE arrarARARAHRJHARGR GRHrhaarh rgargAHGRA HRHGARH GARGH!

ARGH. Fuck. Anger. BASTARDS. Fucking money. Four hundred and sixty three fucking quid!¬?£!"$ ARRRRRRRGHHHHHH GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR.

Yes.

It's taken me this long to work out how I feel about everything and I'm still a touch fuzzy but hopefully I'll make enough sense to get my thoughts across. I spent a long time talking to myself while out for a walk yesterday, cleared a few things up and answered a few questions, so I finally feel like I can put things into words.

As I said during our skype on Wednesday, back in January I didn't want to get into a relationship with you because I wanted you, my good internet friend, to go to university with the freedom to find yourself, to go and have a social life and meet folk your own age and grow and flourish without being tied down to someone you couldn't touch. 

I'm so, so glad we tried. I'm over the moon that we had our time together in December and January. I'm honestly so pleased you are going forward, breaking out of your social anxieties and now have that chance to find your footing with people in your home country. Maybe the next two and a half years will help restore your faith in your compatriots.

Please, go out there, get drunk, sleep around, meet fantastic people, have huge fun, learn from your mistakes and try to take some inspiration from me - there ARE men out there who will treat you like a princess, who will love you and care for you and try their hardest not to let you be hurt because you ARE worthy. You're a wonderful person, your love and care and appreciation of the world at large are hugely attractive. You're bright and sexy and funny and you'll go far, I just know it.

I am hurting and struggling to let go a little. I had such hope for our future, wonderful dreams of our life together. That those dreams are gone is hard to accept, but I don't blame you for that. I'll handle it, I'll get through, because I am realising I'm stronger than I give myself credit for. You've helped me see myself for who I am, you've reinforced my positives and shown me where I could improve. You've given me the confidence to move forward and to try again, in time, to forge a relationship with the right person.

I know I'm not alone in those feelings of pain. Take your time, step away from blaming yourself, reflect as much as you can and please, don't be afraid to cry.

What am I doing to myself?

Worrying, mostly. Compounding that worry with speculation, impulsive conclusions and a generally heavy downturn in mood. Things haven't really been the same with Tess this past four or six weeks, we've been less communicative, relying on each other less and generally drifting apart. I am constantly batting thoughts back and forth and it's doing me no good whatsoever, so I thought I'd write to see if I can offload some stuff that I don't really feel I can talk to other people about.

Two or three weeks ago, I confronted Tess after a week or two of concern following a distinct downturn in communication coming from her. She'd been through a change in medication, sleeping pattern and social life and over a period of time I felt I was becoming less important to her. In our conversation I was a bit of a thoughtless dick, but I made my point and we talked it through and I felt better because I got some reassurance from her that things were no different between us.

At the time, I'd hoped for more communication from her, thinking that our chat might have encouraged her to dedicate at least a few minutes a day emailing me or trying to arrange a convenient time for both of us to chat, but it hasn't happened. I honestly didn't think I could miss Tess any more than I have over the past eight months, but I have recently. I've not felt as alone as this since she went back to Australia. So I've spent the past week or two since our discussion hoping that things would pick up between us, sending emails encouraging replies, hoping to hear back and getting a dialogue going again.

Even though both our routines have changed recently, I was sure a little more effort would be enough to make sure we could keep communication flowing. Unfortunately, I've had so little back from Tess it's got my head racing. Last week she forgot to send me a photo, so I reminded her and she sent one back. This week she's forgotten again and I've not reminded her, to see if she'll realise herself. I reckon this is probably a little childish but the mere fact she's forgotten to do something we've done every week over the past eight months, two weeks in a row, tells me her dedication isn't as strong as it once was. We've hardly discussed my trip to visit her since I booked my ticket four weeks ago, we've not booked anywhere, we've not discussed an itinerary, nothing.

I'm going to be honest here, totally honest. I have seriously considered cancelling my ticket to Australia, on the basis that if the next two and a half years of our long-distance relationship are going to be like the last few weeks, I know I'll be totally unable to handle it. My brain is running away with me after just two or three weeks.

Perhaps I'm just not strong enough to handle the distance. Maybe I don't have enough self-belief to really trust myself to do this in the long term. I guess if I was strong enough, I wouldn't be sat here in front of the computer with a heavy head, sweaty hands and on the verge of tears. This whole deal is making me question my dedication to the relationship, and the very act of questioning it tells me I'm insecure.

Whether my insecurities are founded or not, time will tell. I got a terse email today saying "I really need to talk to you" - no sign of a photo, an email back to say hi, she's glad I enjoyed walking the dogs, she got her bruise doing such and such. No hugs, no kisses, no "I love you". Nothing like that. So now my tummy hurts and my brain's swirling round and round with possibilities of what she needs to talk about.

My visit? Her time off? Money? Her trip here next year? Is she going in a different direction? Is she as disenchanted as I am? I feel like I'm crumbling. Only a few hours to go until I find out what she needs to say. I wonder what I'll say?

Bullying

Most men don’t want to admit that they’re in an abusive relationship. They describe the relationship and their girlfriend/wife using other terms like crazy, emotional, controlling, bossy, domineering, constant conflict, or volatile.

I've never thought about it quite like that before. It was the question my therapist asked, "Have you ever been bullied?" that set me off along this path.

We did some work on core values and beliefs, the things in the past that have contributed to who I am now. I mentioned my dad, his relationship with my mum and us boys, and my relationship with Sophie's mum. She asked the question and I thought about it for a moment, before explaining that although I never really felt like I fitted in at school, I wasn't bullied more than the occasional falling-out with someone and the flak that came with it.

Tara brought me back to the relationships with my father and daughter's mother. I started thinking a little more and could feel a revelation coming on. I always get a sense of impending achievement just before these revelations, anticipation of a wonderful, helpful insight. My dad never really bullied us directly (although that's open to interpretation), but he certainly bullied mum. Sophie's mum definitely bullied and abused me and, just as in that quote above, I never really admitted it until these past few days.

I was bullied, by my girlfriend. I had an abusive partner. I think it's a big step forward to see what happened in that light, because that's exactly what it was and, in knowing that, I can start to move forward with getting past it

I did some reading before I came online this morning. I had to modify my search somewhat to find information specific to a woman bullying a man, instead of vice versa. One of the hits, below, rang so many bells it startled me:

http://shrink4men.wordpress.com/2009/01/30/10-signs-your-girlfriend-or-wife-is-an-emotional-bully/

Just like the opening quote above, I classed her behaviour as manipulative, controlling, crazy and angry, not as abuse or bullying. Now I see it for what it is, I can work through it, but I'm surprised how hard the realisation has hit me. I intend to explore this theme of bullying further in the near future as I firmly believe it has a strong influence on some of my current behaviours. The realisation that it was bullying/abuse that I suffered has had a strong impact on me and I'd like to explore that further.

I noticed an interesting parallel

during a skype call with Tess yesterday. She only smiled once or twice for the whole call, and when I asked her about it, she said "I just miss you, so much."

Earlier in the week I'd revealed that our gmail chat conversations were sometimes a trigger for my binge eating, for much the same reason. Our chats, while satisfying and fulfilling and loving, are a strong reminder of the vast barrier between us, the yearning in my heart and the deep desire for proximity. They're a daily opportunity to remind me how long we have until we're together, the nearest opportunity being ten weeks away, the next being ten months.

I knew this aspect of our relationship would be painful, but I didn't realise how insidious it would be. It is a creeping and underlying hurt, like a dull toothache that only occasionally meets consciousness, but is sub-consciously always there causing tension. I guess it might be easier to deal with if it came in waves or noticeable occurrences - at least there would be the opportunity to deal with it head-on. However, now that I've noted its effects and seen a parallel in Tess's feelings, I can't help but think this is a chance to understand it and deal with it as part of the package of our love.

Of course we miss each other. It seems cruel, in a way, that we had almost a month of blissful, overwhelming contact but have been forced apart for the past six and a half months. The chances I had to ask her to stay, and I think she would have... a large part of me wishes I'd taken a chance. My reasons at the time were valid, though: I didn't want to interrupt her chance to study the course of her dreams, to thrive through her university years, to perhaps find love on her way.

At that time, we were having a fling, something with a defined end, and I was clinging onto the hope that we could both let it go when we parted. That was the easy way out, but it soon became apparent that we'd rather take the harder path, for the rewards were so much greater. We knew it would be hard. We investigated all the options so we could be together sooner but, for various reasons, we'll be sticking to approximately six-monthly visits of three to four weeks a visit.

I'm unsure yet whether these visits will make things easier or more difficult. One of the elements that concerned me when deciding whether to carry this relationship on after parting was: would parting again be as hard? Will our meetings take the edge off our yearning or simply enhance it? I don't have the answer to that yet, although common sense suggests it will get easier over time. I hope that's the case, because I can't imagine it being much harder than it is now.

These visits, though, do represent bright, shining beacons of hope in our relationship. I can only speak for myself but without them, I fear I'd be unable to carry on. If it were to be another two and a half years until we could be together again, even only for a day, I don't think I'd be able to cope. Time does fly however, and this distance is giving us both an opportunity to grow, in preparation for our future life together.

This pain is Totally Worth It. It does hurt, and it's something I'd like to come to terms with more effectively, but it is a constant reminder of how much we care for each other. I'd like to be able to turn it into a driving force, a positive, instead of something that stops us from smiling. I wonder if there's a way?

Day 6 of the 40mg Citalopram Challenge

and I have three words to describe how I feel at the moment: low, tired and low. I had a couple of late nights over the weekend, although I slept in and feel I did rather well at the whole "getting back to sleep after waking too early" thing both Saturday and Sunday morning.

I have smoked weed this weekend and I'm tempted to place some of the blame for feeling low on that - I've noticed something of a pattern with smoking and feeling low a day or so later, which is one of the reasons I decided to stop. This weekend was a watershed - I baked the majority of the weed I had left in a lovely cheddar and oregano bread and took it over to my friend's house on Friday. I gave what was left and all my rolling papers to my friends and had a fantastic night Friday, another on Saturday and a great day yesterday, seeing lots of lovely people, getting involved, playing with kids and dogs and adults alike. It was lovely.

Now it's back to the daily realities of getting up for work, I just feel a bit pants. I had fantasies while falling asleep last night that I was working in a school and helping corral children back into the building after break. Waking up this morning with the knowledge I'd be sat in front of this screen in a boring office was not a good start to the day. I'm not surprised by this contrast in mood really - with such a lovely weekend, coming back down to earth is a bit of a shit.

Also, it's grey. This is supposed to be summer, for fuck's sake. I even considered wearing a coat today, it's that shit out there. At least it's not still hammering it down with rain, but my god I could do with a few days of prolonged sunshine. And a break, a holiday. More than two or three days off anyway, some time to get away from work and home and just have some time to myself. At least two or three times this past fortnight I've considered ditching work at short notice, or taking a sudden half-day, because I just want to vegetate or walk or sleep or cook or do something other than work.

*mutters*

Anyway, stuff to look forward to... possible walk on Thursday evening, depends what the weather's doing. I'd like to try and walk more, but this weather simply isn't inspirational. Stuff at the weekend - not sure whether there's a walk in there but my friends have a house-warming/baby-welcoming thing on Saturday so I may try and fit one around that. I thought about maybe borrowing the money to pay for my plane ticket to Australia but I'm not sure I feel up to asking today. I'll think it through more and make a decision over the next couple of days.

C'mon drugs, level me out some please. I know the increase in Citalopram and cutting out the weed will make a huge difference, I'm just getting impatient now.

Day 2 of the 40mg of Citalopram Challenge

and I've obviously started taking 40mg instead of the 20mg I was originally prescribed. I feel utterly shit and have done for more than a week now. My motivation to do anything whatsoever has diminished almost completely, I've been sleeping more and more, increasingly drawn to bed and darkness and audiobooks for escape. I'm getting very little pleasure from day-to-day things and I'm having to make a big effort to get out of my shell and do things that I know will please me.

Each time I've visited my GP since I started taking them, she's asked if I feel like I need an increase in dose. Yesterday and today I doubled my dose to 40mg, and today I've booked a telephone consultation with my doctor to see if she'll write me a prescription for the larger dose of citalopram. It worked a treat last time and I'm hoping it'll have the same levelling effect this time. I'll be sure to keep an eye on the side-effects and positive effects over the next four weeks.

I can't say for sure what's brought on this change. I've felt overloaded a little, I've not really had access to an outlet to splurge. I'm hoping to get some stuff off my chest this weekend when I meet up with old friends, both of whom I know are supportive and good at listening, and who'll take an interest in what I've got going on. We've not seen each other for a couple of years so we'll have plenty to share and I'm really looking forward to it!

More as it happens.

Feeling shitty today and yesterday

and I don't really know why. I want to spend a little while now probing where it's come from to see if I can get to the bottom of it. I'm feeling pretty sorry for myself and I dislike it - it's affected my mood, motivation, sleep and general wellbeing and I want to see if there's something fundamental causing it so I can aim to get back on my feet.

I know I'm overloaded, I can feel it. After work yesterday I spent half an hour on the phone supporting my mum. It's a strange thing, this reversal of roles. It's hard, very hard, not least because I appear to be the only person willing and able to give a reasonably honest and clear view of the whole situation she's in. I feel like I should say "NO! I don't have the capacity to take this on right now!" and in a way I have - I have insisted she see a counsellor, lean on her support workers and call The Samaritans if she needs to offload. I haven't gone as far as saying "I can't help" because I know for sure she's depending on me, but much more and I'll have to make a point of explaining my limitations.

I'm close to booking my ticket to Australia. This is very, very exciting but I'm rather anxious about it. It's a lot of money. It's a huge commitment for the household, for Sophie, for me, Tess and Tess's family. So much rides on all this, but it's a definite "go". I've just emailed and asked my friend for some money back that I lent him and his family so I've got enough in the bank to book the ticket. It may be the case that I can have it back straight away, or I might have to wait a couple of weeks. Either way, I'm looking forward to booking it as it puts the seal on six months of planning and hope, it sets the dates for my trip and lets me focus on saving spending money for the journey and my five weeks away from work.

Blah. Stumbling over words and distracting myself. Not getting anywhere with this. Maybe I'll try again later.

Something of a revelation today

when writing about my past addiction to chatting on the internet. A group started up again on Facebook for the old talker I used to hang around on - lots of old names, faces, friends and memories were brought up. Someone posted a very poignant and heartfelt story about their experience with the talker as an escape from depression and anxiety and I really identified with it, so I replied:

How thoroughly well put. This rings so many bells with me - I wasn't really in a good place when I started using the talker and it was a wonderful escape from all the shit that was going on at the time. I became thoroughly addicted, talked through work all day and screwed my job up over a number of years. As with you, it didn't start my depression but as an addiction that compounded the problem, I'd compare it to alcohol and many drugs in the way it can take over your mind. When work eventually caught me I was so relieved I cried my heart out, told them how thoroughly addicted I was and asked for help. They were great about it as a few of them knew about my situation outside work. They took me to a doctor who I poured my heart out to. I said "I'm addicted to chatting on the internet". He laughed. I've never forgotten that response, that medical professional who laughed in my face when I asked for help.

Fortunately I've broken away from depression over the past three or four years... mostly. I had a relapse at the start of this year but on the right track again. I've started a charity which takes people with low-level mental health issues out for country walks and listening and I'm about to start training as a counsellor, perhaps as a reaction to the doctor who laughed at me. Thanks, Dr Powrie, thanks for giving me an ultimate direction.

I'd not previously made the link between that event and my desire to move into counselling and help people. Adler helped me see the link - he had a bad experience with a medical professional and it drove him to be the best doctor and psychologist he could be, it moved him to altruism and the promotion of holistic therapy.

The image of the doctor laughing in my face, the feeling of disappointment, of a breach of trust, has popped into my mind occasionally over the past thirteen or fourteen years. I was amazed that someone who'd been through so much medical training and had been in practice for so many years could be so insensitive, even if the problem was entirely new to him. I'd spent months, maybe even up to a year, tied up tight in a definite addiction to online chat, and he laughed at me. I felt like a freak, like I'd done something wrong, like I was weak or incorrect or just plain stupid. I've never forgiven him for making me feel like that, it was deplorable and he was unprofessional and, had I been more adult and self-confident at the time, I'd have had him for it. I actually feel like trying to find him and emailing him and letting him know how I felt, but that wouldn't really achieve anything.

I'm sure it's obvious there's a raft of feelings involved in this whole memory, but my point was that I've made a link between that experience and my desire to help people now.

I won a camcorder!

Kind of sneaky-like I guess, but by setting up an event and begging for clicks on Facebook, Sophie is now the proud owner of a Canon Legria SD-card camcorder. Seventy clicks! My friends are awesome!

My internet friend Matt from Surf and Fix IT, Norley Rd, Cuddington, Northwich in Cheshire, does all kinds of computer support, PC, laptop, computer and console repair, runs a smart little internet cafe, and sells IT supplies and gear at pretty good prices. He set the competition up on Facebook to increase the traffic to his page and get a few hundred likes to solidify his reputation. Good luck to him, I say - I've seen him do IT support for mutual friends on Facebook and he knows his stuff, and seems like a thoroughly nice chap too.

Youtube stuff to follow, I'm sure. We've got a couple of "thank you" videos to do, I'm hoping to do some rather novel music stuff if a few things come together, and Sophie will hopefully be putting some stuff together as she learns to use it properly. How exciting!

Awake

and straight to the blog. Last night I had difficulty concentrating on my audiobook, and I awoke just now, ten minutes before my alarm, with stuff on my mind.

My head is fizzing with thoughts about my mum and dad, my brothers, my family history and my place in the world. Reading Adler at the same time as this big family event takes place is a blessing because it's helping me understand the intricacies of the familial influence on my thinking. I don't think I'd have been quite as aware of my feelings as I am if I wasn't in the middle of What Life Could Mean To You.

The fizz is made up of many aspects:

• Regret and disappointment
  
  While I know this separation is definitely for the best, at least for my mother, in some ways it's a shame my parents have split up. All the way through school I was proud of coming from a complete home, while all my friends suffered the ignominy of their parents splitting up, bouncing from mother to father every weekend, divorces and arguments and tension.
  
  I suppose I had many of those things anyway, but within a closed system. I think that probably makes it worse - at least if I'd have grown up with them apart there wouldn't have been a constant tension. I feel like I'm picking holes here, and that's not really the focus of this paragraph. It's more about reflecting on the idea that everyone would have been happier had they been apart. Life wouldn't be as it is now, that's for sure, so it's hard to regret the past when the present holds so much wonder, but I suppose it's a pride thing. Funny that this should come to mind when the actual event holds so much promise and positivity for my mum - I feel kind of selfish. Then again, this whole blog is selfish in a way, so... whatever!
  
  I do kind of feel like I've lost a father. It doesn't have to be that way of course, I could make an effort to stay in touch with him, but I don't really like him so I have to reconcile myself with that and get on with my life. Right here, right now, I couldn't care if I never saw him again. This final act of mum's, of leaving and breaking free of 35 years of oppression and anger, is the release of so much feeling for me and my brothers, for my mum and probably my dad too. Although a large part of me believes that dad wouldn't know a feeling other than frustration and anger if it walked up to him and spunked in his face.
  
  
• Happiness
  
  Mum and all three of her sons have said "She should have done it years ago," so we're all chuffed to bits that she's broken free and is having the chance to find her feet as an independent adult woman. This really is the best thing, despite all the hopes and fears and confusion that might be running around my head. I'm sure mum's head is a million times more fuzzy than mine, but she's got a support team around her of others in a similar position, an outreach worker and staff trained to deal with her situation.
  
  Mixed in with my happiness are all these other emotions, and I'm finding it hard to let the happiness come through. Combined with being tired and up-and-down on caffeine and poor food, it's all a bit of a dither. Blogging here is an attempt to sort it all out and clarify it, because if there's one overriding emotion I want to feel about all this, it's happiness.
  
  
• Fear
  
  What will he do? How will he react? I think this is an infection from my mother - she's always been terrified of him hunting her down and doing nasty things to her if she left him. I've never really believed that. He may be a cunt, but he's not a horribly vengeful creature, just locked in his own head.
  
  Interestingly, my brothers outwardly profess a distinct lack of fear - "I'm not scared of him" one said, and the other projects an air of aloofness. Sorry guys, I fucking am scared of him, yes. I wish it wasn't the case but there it is.
  
  There are so many ways this could go. The most likely is he'll sit and stew in his own anger and regret for the rest of his life, but there's a chance he'll snap. I don't know what form that would take, but I imagine mum will spend much of the rest of her life looking over her shoulder. That's properly shit. No-one should have to live like that.
  
  
• Uncertainty
  
  How will this all play out? Where will mum end up? Will dad stay in the house? Where will George go if not? What about divorce? Selling the house, splitting the assets etc? Will dad disappear? So many questions, so few answers.
  
  Unfortunately, despite my mum's assurances that she's left for good, even the fundamental idea that they've separated is not, for me at least, certain. The number of times this has happened and she's gone back... well, I think I'd run out of fingers if I tried to count them. I sincerely want to believe what she says, that this time there's no going back, I really do. I guess I just need to trust her and be there for her if she needs me. In fact, that's exactly what I'm going to do.
  
  
• Character assassination
  
  He's an angry boy with a superiority complex, no social skills and a distinct lack of regret. He's told me before that he came from a strongly patriarchal family, that his dad hit his mum and step-mum and possibly him too, and that he did very heavy drugs in his teens. He seems to be locked in a bubble of self-importance, trapped in a time warp, a personality fixed when he started doing drugs as a teenager and hasn't stopped since. I recently used the analogy of a middle-aged hippie still with the long hair, the leather trousers and the Hawkwind teeshirt; even though that image, music and lifestyle disappeared twenty years ago, something about that person keeps them locked into and the drugs they use help maintain their personality and identity as it was "back in the day."
  
  He'll never grow as an individual. He'll never change, he'll never find regret or balance. He'll always be trapped in the world where he's right and he can't see what he's done wrong. He's had every opportunity to sort his life out, to change his ways for the better, to try and keep his marriage together. The few times he attended anger-management classes, he thought it was "pointless" and didn't see why he had to go. I can't really fathom that, but I guess I was in a similar mental state as few as five years ago, so I can somewhat relate to it. The difference? My conscience wouldn't let me stay stuck in that bubble, I had to change not only for my own sake but for the good of those around me, those who loved me and saw my potential as an individual, hiding under layer after layer of shit, neuroses and depression. And I did change, and I'm proud of myself for that. Standing on the edge of an escalator that would take me back down that path, I turned back and called for help to stop it happening. It does take strength to do that, and now I see that he has no real strength. He hides behind his bark and his bite, he voluminously verbally bullies his way to his goal and would probably lash out physically to get his own way, but inside is a cowering, frightened little boy who is too scared of his own mind to face up to his past, his guilt and his personality.
  
  Something that has always amazed me about him is that he has no friends. I mean, none. He has no social life whatsoever - I can't remember the last time I saw him in a pub, or at a social function other than a funeral. If I asked him out for a pint his misanthropic demeanour would take over and he'd decline. Actually, the last time I saw him in a pub was thirteen and a half years ago at Sophie's christening. The time before that, fifteen years ago, meeting Sophie's other grandparents at the Wheatsheaf. The time before that, probably at a canal-side pub during one of our holidays more than twenty years ago.
  
  I know that pubs aren't a measure of a man's sociability, but he truly does have no friends. I was thinking yesterday, who would he turn to, who would he go to talk to about all that's happening now? The truth is, he doesn't have anybody, and he's alienated the one person he could have leaned on in a time of need - mum.
  
  I've got to know the man more over the past couple of years, having been out with mum and dad walking across the local countryside. In the most part it's been enjoyable and he does seem to be at his most relaxed and in his element when he's outdoors. Mum said something during a brief moment we were alone in a shop on just such an expedition - "He's doing my head in. He hates everything." I can relate to that. Few things make him happy, but almost anything can piss him off. He doesn't like people at all, makes every effort to avoid contact with anyone outside of the family, the general public annoy him, other drivers, pedestrians, shoppers, kids, grown-ups and old people are all victims of his vocal scorn. I've no idea how I managed to grow up being altruistic at all with that as a role-model. Oh, yes I do: mum.

Lots to be thinking about there. Lots of blurb, few conclusions. It feels good to let these things out, particularly to reflect on the reasons why I think he's a twat, and to admit that I'd be happy enough never seeing him again. He just doesn't fit right in my life - I've managed to rid myself of all the shit people in my life, but they say you can't choose your family. I guess, right now, I can. I'm happy mum's left, right at my core, but it does bring up a lot of feelings and questions. I look forward to exploring them more in the future.

A few things to write about

in the near future. It's been an interesting week or two, I'm shattered and up and down on bad food and caffeine, but I'm doing ok. The subject matter:

• My mum has left my dad, seemingly for good. This is wonderful news, although I obviously have lots of mixed feelings about it all and I haven't really had time to stop and express or understand exactly how I feel. Plenty to blog about here.
• Another weekend away with internet weirdos. Much like last year's bash hosted by the same person and attended by many of the same weirdos, I thoroughly enjoyed myself. I spent time with lovely folk, stayed sober, got a great walk in and came away feeling wonderful. There are some up-and-down moments, some negatives which I want to explore.
• My sobriety. Having spent this weekend mostly sober, and having had the opportunity to get off my face on grade-A skunk but not having done so, I feel I've learned some lessons about triggers, how and why I occasionally splurge out and the person I am when I'm not drinking. Some of this weekend's anxiety was noticeable simply because I wasn't drinking - normally, it seems, I'd be hiding behind the false confidence alcohol can provide. I'll be interested to explore that a little more, as I'd like to think I had enough about me to stand on my own two feet without the need for comforting alcohol.

I think this weekend of travel, partying, and rubbish sleep tied-in with my mother leaving my father and my great friends Mark and Kate having a baby girl, has been a bit of a roller-coaster and I haven't really had any proper, extended time to myself since Wednesday last week, six days ago. That's tonight's routine sorted then - home, food, shower, bed, movie, audiobook, sleep. Simple.

Someone once mentioned dream analysis

in respect of its use as a therapy tool. Some recent reading of Adler ties in quite well with this and a dream I had last night that I've just discussed with Tess and rushed here to put into pixels.

I was woken this morning by my alarm after the first fitful night's sleep in two or three weeks. The lower half of my body was under then covers and soaking with sweat. I was in the middle of a dream where my immediate family were in a churchyard. My dad had built some kind of ancient catapult thing out of dodgy-looking rusty steel beams. Oddly, this is the second time I've dreamed that he's had this contraption - I can't be sure but it definitely feels like I've dreamed about it very recently and in the same context of it being inherently unsafe.

Sophie was over near him, as a six or seven year old, while he was adding tension to the launching mechanism. I was some distance away from a short wall that separated my brothers and I from dad, Sophie and the catapult, and my mum was this side of the wall. I was shouting to my mum that I didn't want Sophie near the catapult as I thought it was unsafe and I didn't want her to get hurt, and dad was continuing to wind the mechanism up. Mum indicated she'd be fine and I got frustrated, starting to move towards the wall to rescue Sophie. I shouted more and started stabbing my finger at the air, I was that frustrated. It was at this point my alarm went off and the dream has stayed quite fresh in my mind since then.

I'll happily admit I don't really believe in dream analysis in the traditional sense, when someone listens to your dream and tells you what they think it means from their lofty viewpoint on a pedestal. Dream analysis, particularly in the form of books, may offer comfort to some in the same way that astrology offers a reassurance of order and understanding in the chaos of our lives.

Adler suggests we assign meanings to everything we experience through a reasonably narrow "meaning of life" we develop during our first five years. Our experiences during these early years help us form an opinion of how the world works and our place in it, and it drives the way we deal with most things on a daily basis. I'm unsure as to the form of my "meaning of life" but I know I'm working my way towards finding out. The significance of the above is that I recognised part of the process of assigning meaning while explaining this dream to Tess.

The dream could have passed me by as just another odd experience but, because of my current frame of mind, I've assigned a meaning to it. The clunky machine my dad is winding up represents his potential bad mood. Sophie represents me as a young boy. I was trying to protect her from my dad's reckless explosions, and my mum's lack of action represents my feelings on her failing to protect us as kids.

It jumps out that my frustration with my parents, with my father for being consistently misanthropic and my mother for constantly putting up with it despite being unhappy, stems from all the crap I experienced during my formative years. In fact, almost my entire world view is built on those five years and how my parents interacted with the world and the people around them.

I'm looking forward to CBT to understand how that's manifested itself in my behaviour. I'm looking forward even more to learning more Adlerian methods to understand myself and my world view as a whole.

I've come back to this post later in the day to answer a question that's sat on my mind since I realised the dream hadn't ended when I was woken: How would I have ended the dream if I had control? I would like to have relieved my frustration by calling out to Sophie - something I don't appear to have done in the dream. If that had failed I'd have scaled the wall and gone to get her myself, regardless of the danger posed by the increasing tension in the machine. I'd have picked her up, held her close and taken her behind the wall, admonishing my mother as I put some distance between us and my dad.

Here I am attaching meaning again, but I'm finding this exercise quite useful: In realising that, in the dream, I resented my mother for not protecting my daughter from the danger my dad had put her in, I'm recognising the resentment I feel for her now. She spent my youth displaying a lack of courage to do the same for me. She let me and my brothers experience our father's anger and its effects on her and the family, she never stuck to her guns and stayed away from him, even when they finally split up a few years ago.

I didn't realise I'd put it so far to the back of my mind until I talked it through with Tess this morning, but mum called me in a state on Sunday. She sounded stressed.

I asked how she was. "Not great, I've walked out again."
She continued, "This has been going on for a few weeks,"
"This has been going on thirty-five years," I responded.
"I've got a place at a refuge if I need one."
"Go there then," I said.
She said "[A mutual friend] is coming out to get me, she's often said I can stay with her in an emergency."
"OK, as long as you're safe."
"Are you at home?" she asked.
"No, I'm in Aylesbury having a day out with Mark and Leo."
"Oh, I'll leave you to it, don't let it ruin your day."
"Thank you, call me if you get stuck."

And I didn't let it ruin my day. I spoke to Mark about it briefly and when Tess mentioned it this morning that was the first I'd thought about it since Sunday night when I got back from seeing Villagers in Oxford. Clever Tess, noticing the link between my dream and what I'd told her then, even though I didn't realise it myself until a few minutes ago.

It's quite the coincidence that this happened less than a week after writing a blog post about mum leaving dad during my youth. It's clear to me now that the phone call on Sunday triggered this dream last night, and I'm pleased it's given me the opportunity to focus on things in this way, as it's helped me understand a few things. Primarily, I think, is the admission that I resent my mother for keeping all of us in contact with this angry person - I've spent much of my life thinking, maybe hoping, that mum was blameless in all of this, but it takes two people to maintain an unhealthy relationship, I guess. I know her outward motivations have always been for us, for the kids, for the stability, the money, the roof over our heads, and my brain is going "I'd have given all that up for a normal childhood!"

The truth is that no childhood is "normal" - most people suffer varying degrees of hardship, displacement, instability or loss during their childhood and I don't like to single myself out or compare my trials to those worse off than me. But screw it - there is an old saying that I think applies here and I adapted it for my own use many years ago. In using it, I refer to the importance I place in recognising, understanding and processing my emotions, and that if I want to consider myself hard-done-by, I bloody well will:

Look after number one, so you can best look after others

A few thoughts have occurred recently

about my decision to train as a counsellor, and some frustration at why I didn't follow that path years ago. I'm playing Mah Jong Challenge at the moment and at the end of each level there's a Chinese proverb. The one that caused me to come here and post was:

The best time to plant a tree is twenty years ago
The second best time is today
I love that so much, and it's relevant to me and applies to my thinking right now: I regret not knowing what path to take when I left school, I'm not proud of falling into computing when I left school because I knew I didn't really want to work in an office doing programming or data entry or even design, I just wanted to innovate and create and explore. Those regrets fade into obscurity when I think that I have time now to plant seeds which will grow into great things. Knowing that I may well have found my purpose in life, I may have broken down the mental barriers to pushing myself to my full potential, to study and explore myself and psychological theory. To push myself to qualify as a counsellor is my ultimate goal, and I'm now more excited than scared to have made such a big decision. I can do this. I will enjoy doing it, and I'll enjoy the final outcome.

Training to be a counsellor is an opportunity to not only help others in a way I feel comfortable and able to do, but a chance to finally work towards understanding myself. A large part of the training and study is reflection and self-study. Understanding your own limitations, boundaries and idiosyncrasies is part of the path to empathising with those of others. What better way to continue my personal mental development than spend time developing my self-understanding, while gaining tools to help others understand themselves and a qualification which will ultimately allow me to knowledgeably and dependably lead Walking for Wellbeing forward?

Wow oh wow oh wow. Exciting times!

Big change a-coming I reckon

in that, with an increase in clarity and motivation from the Citalopram and various other things, I've made some rather important life decisions which I hope can drive me from now on. Along with a wonderful, fulfilling and promising relationship with Tess, which approaches half a year this next couple of weeks and I can see going on indefinitely, there are three things I'd like to try and achieve over the next five years:

1. Train and get regular work as a Teaching Assistant in a primary school
   Starting by getting experience at after-school clubs, I'd like to follow this path. Recent interaction with youngsters has confirmed how much I get out of working with youngsters and, to modestly quote Tracey, how good I am at it. I had lofty aspirations of being a primary school teacher a few years ago but they were certainly beyond my means. TA work would mean getting many of the benefits and experiences of working with children without the headache of a few years study and the bureaucracy and life take-over that comes with becoming a teacher. Of course, the pay scale would be vastly different but I'm all about the work-life balance, which is probably a poncey way of saying I'm lazy, but I also know my limitations. I feel that TA work is a happy medium between doing nothing and going the whole massive insurmountable hog and doing teacher training now.

2. Register the charity, apply for grants and whatever funding possible
   with a view to not only making it pay its own way but to build it to eventually create an income for me. I've always seen it as a potential full-time project and I'm sure with some investment, a little help and some hard work it could be made as such, and if it were possible, it would be perhaps the best job in the world. This ties in with the next thing, below.

3. I want to train and qualify as a counsellor
   This is something I've always shied away from because I've not considered myself capable or had confidence in my abilities. I feel every day it's becoming more clear that I'm definitely capable of doing anything I really put my mind to, and tied-in with getting the charity moving properly is a requirement to solidify my skills and place me firmly into the role of the manager of a mental health charity and counsellor. I can't remember the exact words Tracey used as we were discussing this but she inferred I had enough natural talent to hit the ground running if I were to join her course. To have Tracey display that confidence in my ability is a real boost as I have so much respect for her opinion. I'm thinking about joining the Adlerian counselling course she's been doing for the past few years, I've ordered a book by Adler called What Life Could Mean to You and a copy of Adler for Beginners, of which I read half of Tracey's copy and really enjoyed. I'm reading Cognitive Behavioural Therapy for Dummies at the moment, falling back on the "for Dummies" books as a great source of beginner's information, and finding it fascinating. I know I could study this, I know I could put the time and energy into it to refine my skills and get that qualification. Man, that would be so utterly brilliant. I'd actually be doing something with my life instead of plodding along day-to-day, bemoaning my current situation and not doing anything about it.

Three things. Big, important things. I'd love to say I'm intimidated, but I'm not. I'm excited. And sure. I'm rarely sure, but this time I can feel it. Big things are afoot. Let's enjoy the ride.

Rebound

but hopefully only temporarily. I appear to have had a couple of off days. I've not really felt like myself this past three or four days and I can't put my finger on why. I don't even know if I need to find some cause or reason or thing to blame - maybe it's just the drugs balancing out. Interesting that my first reaction is to try and point the finger and work out what's bugging me, instead of just accepting that I could be having a bad day.

I had a really good weekend in the most part. Friday evening, I took some photos of bees, hung out with Mark and Kate and Leo for a while after work, wearing the little man out and wearing myself out in the process! I had an early night listening to 2001: A Space Odyssey on audiobook. It's been years since anyone read me a story in bed, and I'm totally hooked on audiobooks now. I've seen the movie a few times and never read the book - I'm about three-quarters of the way through and it's utterly brilliant.

Saturday I lounged in bed for a while jabbering with Tess before getting up and going out for a walk around Great Brickhill woods with Tracey. That was a lovely time - mostly sunny, great conversation, wonderful nature moments and some good photos. I'm so pleased we got out, she's great company and I needed to get out of the house, this being only the second walk in four weeks. I've totalled about eleven miles in a month, which is rubbish. I must get out more... come on weather, sort your shit out!

Sunday was lazy. I was supposed to be walking with my folks but got a call ten minutes after waking saying dad was sick and the walk was cancelled. I didn't complain and put 2001 on again before getting another couple of hours sleep. I lounged some more, watched some TV, ate, watched some internet and listened to some more book before napping another couple of hours. I ate mexican chipotle pork with Sophie, watched Dr Who with her which was pretty good, emailed Tess and went to bed with 2001 again. A reasonably good night's sleep apart from a dream about my dad saying I couldn't go out walking with them again, it was too much hassle. I specifically felt really rejected and dejected. I was woken by downstairs girl coughing repetitively, apparently to get her mum's attention. I need new earplugs, although it would have only meant another 25 minutes sleep but I think I could do with the practice of getting my head back down and taking as much sleep as I can squeeze out of a night.

*yawns*

Anyway, meh. I might go to Mark and Kate's again and hang out with Leo this afternoon after work, of I may go and cook and watch a movie as I'll have the flat to myself again this evening. Or I might walk. We'll see what the weather does. Maybe I'll do all three, that'd be fun.

I've been thinking about my dad

recently, and how he's shaped some of my behaviour over the years. Knowing I'm in line for CBT has helped me spot some behaviours I'd like to try and change, and my reaction to my dad's attitude is one of them.

I had a good chat with Tess about this a few days ago. Here's some highlights from my part of the conversation:

Although I hope my dad's in a better mood than he was last time. The miserable cunt. The trouble is that as soon as he starts I revert to old coping behaviour and I get sad and upset and close in on myself and completely stop enjoying the walk, or the car ride, or whatever. It's REALLY fundamental to my being. I think if it was anyone other than my dad or mum I'd be more capable of blocking it out, accepting it for who they are etc but it really fundamentally effects my mood.

I'll have to learn to accept it as part of who he is. I think that's probably the hardest part. Accept it, let him be it, move on. Ignore it. It's just so hard. I don't know why.

I think I feel somewhat forced to "love" and "respect" him as he's my father figure, when in reality I guess I just want to resent and dislike and forget about him. I hadn't really thought about it like that before. There's a fair amount of resentment behind all of this.

My instant reaction when I think about who to blame that is how he's treated mum through most of my memory. His anger, shouting, aggressive and unfair behaviour. Mum doesn't like living with him, hasn't ever really done, but feels trapped. She has no means to support herself and she's scared. Scared of being alone, fending for herself, scared what me might do.

I guess it's his unwillingness to better himself, to change for the better, that frustrates me most. He's never really admitted he's got a problem with anger management.

The real question is "What am I attempting to blame?" As in, the action or outcome. I blame my mum for staying with him as long as she did - which is a catch-22 because without her doing so I probably wouldn't have my youngest brother and maybe not Luke either, my life would have been completely different. At the same time if she'd have left him years ago it would have saved a whole lot of heartache and mental anguish throughout my developmental years and beyond. She's admitted she regrets that and feels responsible for me being mentally ill. I blame my dad for being a miserable, misanthropic, stuck-in-18-year-old-boy unwilling-to-change angry annoying unloving cunt. *smirks* hah that felt good.

I think I'll tell him actually, next time he pisses me off. I'll tell him "I don't want to inflame your bad mood but I want you to know that whenever you get mad like this it brings me down, turns me into a defenceless five-year-old boy and ruins my day."

He hit me once, in my early teens. We were on holiday in a caravan in Wales, I think, by the sea. It'd been a nice enough break, the three of us boys taking advantage of the sun and free reign. Dad had been pretty miserable for much of the trip, as per usual. One morning I went in the shower and washed, then got out of the shower and dried and dressed. Dad started picking on me, pointing to some dirt on my face and saying I hadn't washed it properly. I said I had - I probably hadn't *shrugs* - he said I hadn't, I said I'd been in the shower, how can I not have washed my face? Mum was trying to calm him down, he was getting angrier, I was backed into a corner, he continued picking on me. I got scared and said "Why don't you just fuck off?" and he clouted me around the side of the head. I howled and cried, my little brothers started crying and mum dragged us boys out of the caravan and away from dad. We went for a walk along the cliffside to get away and leave him to calm down. We were out for an hour or two. After an amazing and exciting walk along the side of the cliff we came to a town and there was dad walking along the sea wall out looking for us. I dreaded seeing him. He came up to us and kind of settled things with mum, although I'm not sure he apologised to any of us. I was scared, and have been scared of him since. In fact, I think I was scared of him before.

In reality he was justified. Not that I'd hit Sophie around the head but it's a natural reaction for him, I think his dad used to hit him like that when he was naughty. I think the main thing is that if he'd smacked my arse I'd probably not really be that bothered, and if it wasn't preceeded by him being angry and unreasonable it probably wouldn't be worth comment.

Reading that all through again shows me one emotion that stands out from the others: fear. Fear of aggression, conflict, confrontation, pain, fear of fear itself. That last one is really interesting, and it reminds me of recent ways I've reacted to dad's anger. I curl up in a mental ball and try to protect myself from getting scared.

Here's an old example of the most extreme course of dad's anger:

• Dad gets angry
  
• I get scared, leave the room, hide in my room or go out to play
  
• Mum meekly defends herself
  
• Dad gets more angry
  
• I get more scared
  
• Lots of shouting, swearing, aggression purely from dad, mum stays calm
  
• It all gets blown out of proportion
  
• Mum grabs me and my brother, packs a small bag and takes us out of the house
  
• We catch a bus or train to my parent's friends in Birmingham
  
• Someone entertains us while mum sits in a room with someone else and cries
  
• Eventually dad turns up and convinces mum to come home
  
• We all go home and wait for the next time this happens

I think that occurred a good five or six times, maybe more. I have some very vivid memories and feelings associated with the process; so much so I'm feeling quite sad now. Looking at it I think it's not a nice way for a young boy to live, but I don't suppose it differs that much from many people's childhoods. I sometimes feel a little guilty for dwelling on what might, to some people, be a trivial matter, especially those who suffer abuse or poverty or real hardship.

I can't even estimate the number of times it happened but we didn't get dragged half-way across the country - it's probably in the hundreds. I moved out when I was eighteen, glad for the freedom and to get out of this cycle of being scared of someone I'm supposed to be close to. I kind of lost touch with both my parents after I moved out, despite living within very few miles of them for my whole life. I even rebelled against my dad shortly after he and my mum separated for a few years - they got back together again, just like they always did.

In my mid-twenties my mum told me he wasn't be biological father, the same night she came to my door crying with a bag in her hand saying she'd left him. I didn't realise the significance of that image, that moment, until just now. Interesting. My rebellion took the form of a strong, concise and eloquent letter to my dad describing how I felt I'd been treated over the years, like I was the odd one out, and how his anger had caused his sons to withdraw. I wish I'd kept a copy of that letter; who knows, it may be sat on one of the numerous old hard drives I've got in a box. I wish I'd kept his response too, which spoke of a tough childhood, heavy hard-drug use, an aggressive and physical father and expressed regret at how he was built.

I may have moved away from the source of those feelings, but it's clear the effects of those events still have repercussions now, particularly when dad shows his edge, and in how I handle conflict and aggression: badly. There's a whole lot to think about up there, but mostly I think it's worth looking at the fundamentals of my behaviour when presented with aggression, patterns involved in people who have effected me in that way, and how to progress to improve that behaviour.

---

Tess made a good observation about this last paragraph: I don't handle conflict and aggression badly, I handle it very well. It's the feelings about it I'm uncomfortable with, and maybe that's worth further investigation.

Day 28 of the Citalopram challenge

I think. Certainly tablet 28 – I took the last one in the box today and will go and collect my next pack later. I’ve definitely found some stuff: a little motivation for better eating, more walking, losing the weight I’ve gained, home cooking, being a little more socially active. These are all improvements and I’m pleased with the progress gained from the medication. I’m happy to keep taking it as long as I feel under mental strain – a mental strain which has become much more apparent as I’ve regained a little clarity.

I had my assessment with Healthy Minds yesterday which was the usual mix of graded PHQ questions (moderate-severe depression, minor-moderate anxiety) and exploration of mood, risk, family, relationship history and work. As may be apparent from my last post and is definitely clear from a recent chat with Tess, I’ve been introspecting recently to understand the reasons behind my depression; I stated as such to my assessor. I’ve sabotaged me by piling old problems and behaviours onto an already-stressed mind – itself an old, outmoded behaviour. I’ve reverted to eating, drinking and the internet to help myself feel better which, in themselves, have caused more problems than they’ve solved and are contributing to a vicious circle of self-esteem damage and comforting.

I admitted outright that I used to have problems with alcohol, weed and internet abuse (now that I think about it, sometimes all three at once!) but I have the first two under control and have done for many years. This leads to an important revelation, one which I’ve touched on here, admitted to myself and Tess recently but it’s worth reinforcing: I am addicted to the internet, I’m using it as my main source of entertainment, a crutch and a distraction, and it must be brought under control. It’s contributing in large part to my sleep problems, concentration issues and motivation and I am trying to wean myself off it and onto more healthy pursuits. I want to regain my love of walking, my absolute adoration of home cooking, spend more quality time with daughter and see my friends more. I want to read more books at work, play chess, doodle, blog, write for the Coll3ctive, maybe learn more Photoshop skills and the like.

One of the unfortunate side-effects of this is that I’m going to have to spend less time talking to Tess. Currently, if she’s free, we spend up to five hours a day in reasonably –continuous conversation online. Since our respective time-zones changed, I think we’re talking considerably more than we were, or at least in one big chunk instead of at each end of the day. I’m sure this is a swings-and-roundabouts situation; I get a lot of benefit from talking to Tess, but spending hours on end talking to anyone feels like too much, especially for someone with a history of internet chat addiction. Cutting back has its upsides too; our conversation is sometimes stilted because we’ve run out of things to talk about and I often feel a little guilty about this so try to keep the conversation moving. Spending less time talking overall may improve the quality of our interaction and make it a touch more special, sacred. Trying to look at the benefits, it may also give Tess more freedom in the evenings, something I know she’d dismiss as unnecessary but, were we living together, we’d both appreciate the chance to do different things occasionally and maybe this will free her up a bit.

Anyway, I’ve wandered off the point a little there. During the assessment I surprised myself with the answer to a simple question: “You said you’ve had some therapy before – what has your involvement been with mental health services?” and I said “Lots. A number of community psychiatric nurses, some private Adlerian therapy, ten sessions of psychotherapy with Costas at The Dove Centre in Aylesbury, twenty sessions of psychodynamic therapy via The Tindal Centre in Aylesbury and about eight or so years of anti-depressant medication, at one point two different tablets a day… I think that’s it.” The surprise was just how long my list of interaction with mental health services has been, and this was reinforced when she summed up our discussion with “Given your current situation and history of involvement with mental health professionals, I’m going to put you on the waiting list for Cognitive Behavioural Therapy.”

She told me all about CBT and how it focuses on the now instead of the past, how it tries to make sense of behaviour and tries to discover ways to mould unhelpful behaviour into more positive action. I like the sound of that, and it feels like I already have a couple of things to focus on, behaviours I’d like to explore.

This is positive action. I’m proud I’ve taken this path instead of the alternative; I have always told myself I’m not going back there, to that pit. I told my assessor I probably only feel 10% as bad as I did when I was at my lowest, and I think that’d an accurate estimate. That I’ve spent the past two months feeling utterly crap, I can’t imagine how I used to live at my lowest. I guess the answer there is that I didn’t, really – I survived. Now, I feel like I’m thriving again; not better, but definitely improving and moving in the right direction.

There's a tangible balance at the moment

which isn't just obvious to me but apparently to Tess as well. I've certainly been making more positive noises; I don't feel well, or much better, but I certainly don't feel worse, my head is less fizzy generally and I think my sleep pattern is coming back towards normal and healthy for the first time in a few months. I'm definitely less emotionally-variable but I still get enjoyment from things, perhaps more so now I'm medicated than a few weeks ago when I wasn't. My motivation appears to be returning somewhat, with many things apart from work, that is. My enthusiasm for eating better is more apparent, I want to get out walking again and lose this gut I've gained since December. I've been comfort eating far too much for my own good and it's really showing on my body now. So I'm going to pack some audiobooks onto my phone and listen to stories as I walk. I figure this is a good way to motivate myself to walk on my own along paths I've visited before.

This paragraph contains stuff about my sex drive, so skip it if you want to. There are some side effects. I'm not so concerned about them at the moment as the obvious one only affects me. My libido has dropped off and there's certainly no such thing as a "quickie" any more. I think if Tess was here that would be something of a frustration and would take some working out, but we'd get through it. I haven't really noticed any other side effects; I do have underlying concern about whether their effectiveness has taken the edge off any of my "positive" emotions, but I'm settling that by commending them on their ability to balance me out and bring my moods back to a more reasonable steady baseline. It's a trade-off, and I'd much rather have the positive effects and accept the negatives than be where I was four weeks ago, which felt like hell compared to now.

As well as the medication, I guess a few other things have helped too. I took a little extra time off work and took advantage of it to rest and nap. I think I've had 14-16 extra hours sleep this past six days and it's been much needed. I'm still yawning at my desk (*shakes fist comically at Sophie*) and I've had a coffee today to perk me up a little, but that'll be it. I've got to shake this usage of caffeine to help me feel normal, and getting my sleep in order has been a prime aide to that. Long may it continue.

Back in this post a few days ago I mentioned getting a year planner together. That afternoon I went straight to the bureau and got it printed, and a couple of days later I'd done some workings-out and plotted a few days on it, crossed a whole bunch out and now I can see, visually and logically, what's been and what's to come.

Tess and I have known each other for 140 days, from the first hug as she got out of the taxi outside my house a couple of days after my birthday. We've been apart for 85 days, which is more than half the time we've known each other. We have a minimum of 181 days until we're together again, which is less than half a year. We have almost exactly six months to cross off the year planner until we can be together again. The half-way point between her leaving at the end of January and the earliest date I can be in Australia is June 13th, 48 days away from now.

There's something really comforting about putting a big X through one of the days on my year planner. I think it's because there's a logical tracking of time and a visualsation of what's been and what's to come. Each time I look at it I'm amazed how far we've come, which gives me hope that October is really just around the corner.

One of the symptoms I've always found with my depression is the "living in the moment" syndrome of not looking forward, or looking back, but living purely in the "now". I've been blogging less often, which shows a decline in reflection, and the future was in doubt for some time, although Tess and I have tied up a fair number of loose ends. The idea behind a year planner was to give me some perspective of time, and that seems to be working. It's very satisfying to cross another day out, another day towards half-way which will highlight the peak of our time apart and the start of a more noticeable decrease in the time left we spend apart.

I am missing Tess immensely. There are many elements of this relationship that are easier than I ever dreamed possible; at the same time, there are aspects that get harder with each passing day. Fortunately she is supportive and communicative and I know I have therapy in the pipeline to iron out the creases in my brain, and medication to keep me balanced until I can manage it on my own.

I have a telephone assessment with Healthy Minds tomorrow afternoon, which I hope is the start of a journey which ends with a more balanced and capable me. Tess and I talked through some things today which I'm sure are contributing to my depression and I've come to some introspective conclusions about what's happening in my head and where I need to be to move forward. Hopefully a psychology professional can help me update my tool-kit to I am better able to deal with my emotions and issues in the future. I hope to rebuild and repair my self-esteem and self-believe, both of which seem to have taken massive hits. I'd also like to get to the bottom of why I appear to sabotage myself when I'd be better off improving. These seem pretty big, now I look at them here, but I don't think they're insurmountable and it's what I'd like to get out of any future therapy I have.

It's funny, but now that I'm starting to feel better the urgency to get my head sorted out has diminished. I'm also aware that I'll be facing dark and emotionally-difficult times during my therapy, which is always difficult but so, so worth it.

Here we are then, I guess, at the beginning. The ends aren't that far away - for the mental journey out of depression and the physical one into Tess's arms, and I certainly feel more positive about reaching them now.

Day 22 of the Citalopram Challenge

and I definitely feel like the medication is having the desired effect. I've been considerably less emotional, although a couple of times watching sweet or upsetting things on movies has brought an up-welling of emotion that surprised me, simply because I've rarely felt it this past three weeks.

Yesterday I was in the kitchen and I had a mini-revelation - "I actually feel ok" - again, a surprise because it's the first time in a fair while I've not felt completely shit. I feel much more stable than I was, more able to get on with day to day life and much less suppressed by dark clouds hanging over me.

This is good, right? Definitely. I'm still a touch concerned about what else might have been smoothed-over or ironed-out if the pills have done such a good job of balancing my mood, but I'm not going to fight it. To feel a little better about myself and the world in general makes anything else a small price to pay in the short term.

Day 18 of the Citalopram Challenge

and I've spent much of the past ten days emotionally stable. I had very few mood swings and my remarks to the doctor during my two-week review were positive, along the lines of "definite improvement" and "obvious stabilisation". One thing it hasn't sorted out is my sleep, and the doctor seemed to think the citalopram would help settle that down too within four weeks of starting it. I'm reasonably sure that won't be the case but she asked me to come and see her again if not, so there's hope for something to help me sleep if it doesn't settle soon. I'm hoping to get curtains up today or tomorrow - certainly going to go and buy the gear later and get started on getting them up so they're sorted for this weekend, anyway. First light is around 5.15am at the moment and I reckon getting curtains up will aid sleep in general, particularly getting to my alarm which I feel is most important at the moment.

Anyway, this post isn't specifically about sleep, it's about the effect of the pills. This has come to mind because I had a mood crash while talking to Tess this morning. It was over something that I've crashed about before, but it was so pronounced I noticed it when held-up against the relative stability of the past ten days.

It started innocuously enough. I stated that I missed her, and felt the little tug at the hole between my chest and my stomach again. Nothing new there, and nothing I can't handle. We talked about my visit, and how it'd be a year from my leaving in November to our next meeting at the end of summer/start of autumn 2012:

me: I'll have to wait a year to see you once I leave
Tess: if we're lucky
me: God don't say that

There I was feeling a little gutted it'd be a year, when I was reminded of the fact that yes, without a fair amount of luck, hard graft and saving a year could well be the minimum time we'll be apart. It could be much longer. My mood crashed pretty rapidly. It wasn't Tess's fault, she was just reminding us of the realities of our situation, but it really affected my mood. As I said, it was an obvious crash after noticeable stability so I'm here to explore the feelings behind that a little.

We're both scared of the fact that nothing's certain. We're both fearful of the time spent apart. I can't speak for Tess but for me there's a number of reasons: that maybe the more we're apart the harder it'll be for us to love each other, that we'll drift apart, one of us will change our minds or fall for someone else. Tess'll berate me for saying that but it's true, they're all possibilities. Of course, the greater possibilities are that we'll stick it out and be stronger than ever and settle down in the future and things will be wonderful; the point being that the uncertainty about our long-term future is making all these short-term uncertainties seem like a bigger deal than they probably are.

I think, along with the inability to physically be with Tess, to touch and hold, to comfort and reassure and to feel bodily warmth in all its wonderful forms, the hardest thing I'm personally dealing with is the uncertainty. For example: I know I've got almost exactly six months until I can put my arse on a plane and get over to be with her for a month, but can I put that six months into mental context? No. If it was a week, maybe two, it'd seem measurable, but I guess it's like getting humans to visualise a billion stars; it's just not mentally possible to put measure and foresee six months in human terms. So when we start talking about a year after that, maybe longer, my brain kind of goes "My god! That's so long! What the fuck is longer than a fortnight?! ARGH!" and starts a bit of a mental meltdown.

I've just downloaded a year planner PDF for 2011 and emailed it to the bureau for printing onto an A3 sheet. I'll stick it on my desk at home and cross the days out; that way I get a visual representation of how long has been and how long to go. I think that's a great idea as my mind does work somewhat logically like that, despite all the emotional bullshit I post here sometimes.

Actually, that in itself is all quite reassuring. Part of the stress comes from not really understanding the timescales involved and I feel that having a visual representation like this will really help put things into context. I'm not even particularly freaked-out in seeing that there's still six months to go - part of me's going "Only six months? FUUUUCK!" but that's just my money brain talking.

Anyway, I already feel a little better about that. I've also just got onto my housing trust manager and kicked his arse for some things that are holding me back - mainly that I don't have readings and serial numbers for my services so bills are piling up. I've kind of run out of time and enthusiasm for writing now but I might just revisit this in the future if the concept of time bugs me as much as it did earlier.

God I feel rubbish today

having got to sleep at around 8.45pm after half an hour of lying and fizzing. I woke again at half-midnight full of gas and indigestion; I knew I'd eaten too much of that wonderful pasta bake. I turned over and tried to ignore the insistent turbulence in my belly but had to get up and take a pill to help shift it. Back to bed, I put my head down and tried to sleep again, but more fizzing and twisting and turning in my head and my belly.

I gave up after half an hour, turned my light on and read for a while before having a little "me" time. Three times in three days and still no finish. Grrrrr. I think I may have wound myself up about this but there's a chance the citalopram is dampening my mojo - either that or a tidy bout of hypochondria. I gave up after quite some time, turned over and put my head down at about 3am and slept solidly until my alarm went off at 6am. Seven hours sleep despite having got into bed at half past seven in the evening. Pants.

I am utterly sick of being tired. I consistently admit that I don't function at my best when I'm tired - I'm low, emotional, quick to react, lethargic, unmotivated and disinterested. All I can think about is going back to bed and trying to patch up a few days of rubbish sleep which, on reflection, is actually a few months of rubbish sleep. I've not been sleeping properly since October when we found out about getting the new flat and I became overwhelmed with the scale of what we had to achieve to move in.

I'm going to make more of an effort to get to bed at a reasonable hour to try and catch up on some sleep. Now that clocks have gone forward here and back in Australia, the time difference means that Tess usually doesn't get up before 10pm my time, just about the time I'm thinking about settling down to sleep. A shame, because means less time for us to talk when she gets up, but it also means I'm more likely to turn in early when I feel the urge to instead of staying up to talk to her before she starts her day. Hopefully this is a silver lining on that cloud and, along with my medication kicking in, it should help me settle back into a positive sleeping routine.

I was listening to the audiobook of Susan Jeffers' Feel the Fear and Do It Anyway while flicking through a Where's Wally-style book. The second half of it doesn't suit me at all but the first half is full of interesting insights. One of the concepts she puts forward is that fear is generated when we feel out of control or unable to handle a situation, and that fear only goes away when we actually face the situation and deal with it. It's something along the lines of "The feeling involved in acting on a situation counteracts the fear involved in helplessness."

The phrase "I'll handle it" is promoted, and I like that idea. Whatever comes along, it may create fear and that would hold me back from acting upon it. But telling myself "I'll handle it" creates a positive outlook and gives me the motivation to go ahead and do so.

Big progress yesterday with my blog post and the outcome of relieving pressure on myself to make things happen in October whatever the cost. I felt much better after writing it out and realising it's not the end of the world if it doesn't happen according to plan. I think I need to apply that to many everyday things, or have a look at the things I pressure myself over and, therefore, rarely achieve. Putting pressure on myself is counter-productive because I tend to rebel against it, whatever the source. This is worth investigating in the future because it does tend to hold me back.

It feels good, blogging. Getting stuff out of my head is a requirement at the moment, and hopefully it'll help clear it when I'm trying to get to sleep.

I had a bit of a moment yesterday

where Kate asked me what kind of things were getting me down. Leo was running around the room and the TV was blaring and I knew there was no way I was going to open up in that situation, but my brain did something I wasn't expecting: when she asked the question it shouted at me "The trip to Australia!"

I need to reconcile my feelings about what's happening over the next six months in terms of preparations and gear and organising things and money and investment of time and finances into the trip to Australia. I still have strong fears, doubts and resentment that are somewhat caustic in my brain and whenever they crop up I have a reasonable dip in mood. I have big excitement about the whole venture, travelling to the other side of the world, seeing a country and culture I've never experienced and spending a whole month reinforcing love with Tess. Unfortunately this excitement appears buried under layers of tricky thoughts and anxiety.

As I've written before, I am struggling with saving money for the trip. Not just with the physical act of putting money aside, but with the concept of restricting the spare money we have when we already live quite a simple life. When we moved into the new flat I knew we'd be paying out more each month - our simple all-in rent is similar but I now have all the bills to pay for gas, electricity, water, TV licence, telephone and house insurance. I'm paying off a couple of debts amounting to £50 a week although they're both shortish-term and when they're paid off will make a massive difference to the amount I can spend and save.

I guess I'm feeling the pressure I'm putting myself under to make the trip happen. I said to Tess last week "I'm so wound up about money and budget and job and fucking terrified that if this trip in October doesn't look likely I'll lose all hope." Those are pretty strong words on reflection. And there it is, I guess: if I don't get to see her in October or have a firm plan for seeing her sometime around then, I may lose hope in the whole relationship. I'm already struggling with the distance and increasing the amount of time until we're together again, albeit for a month, just doesn't appeal to me at all. It's looking likely that we won't be together permanently for a little under three years, although there's a chance she can come here to study for a term next year. All these timescales terrify me, quite literally.

Thinking about it, this pressure I've created to make the trip happen in October is unfounded and unfair. It's not the end of the world if we have to put it off. I can do my best to work towards an October deadline but if we get to, say, July or August and it's not looking great in the bank account then we'll talk about putting it back. I don't want to do that, but I guess looking at it logically instead of emotionally it would be the best thing to do, instead of placing undue and unnecessary pressure on myself to make it happen at the expense of actually living a normal life.

I need to get the electricity and water supply billing sorted out and re-do my budget so I can have a firm and fair plan to see what I can achieve and by when. It's such a wonderful thing, this trip, that I don't want to spend the seven months prior to it hating the process of saving for it.

There is a deep sigh

and a heavy feeling in my head as I open the pack of 20mg Citalopram tablets and consider taking my first pill. It's my first anti-depressant medication in three or so years and I've not felt the need to medicate until just the last few days.

It's been a tumultuous few months, as I've written about recently, and I've come to terms with accepting medication as an attempt to halt the downward trend I've felt just recently. My mood swings have increased, my motivation to do anything other than slouch has dwindled and my diet took a real turn for the ugly. I have no fear in actually using the medication to level me out.

There is a slight loss of pride, I guess. I stopped taking my medication half-way through my counselling because I was working outdoors at the time and had started to feel considerably better. I was proud of managing to continue through my therapy and find my own way subsequently without the anti-depressants. I guess I just got lucky really; I'd resigned myself to being on them for life, but was lucky enough to stop needing them when things started to come together. Now that things seem to be slowly coming apart again, I think it's best I take them for the time being.

There, I've just taken my first one.

So, no fear. What I do have is a fair amount of resentment. How dare you come back and bite me on the arse again, depression? You cunt. Now, here and now, when I'm supposed to be feeling fantastic and elated and in love and enjoying my new home and the return of some good friends. Instead I want to curl up into a ball and hide and distract myself with whatever's at hand - currently Battlestar Galactica and chess lessons. I'd rather it was walking and cooking.

Anyway, an update from the doctor which has given me something to look forward to: the mental health team have referred me to Healthy Minds who will be contacting me directly to get me on some therapy. It's lovely to know there's some progress here and hopefully I'll be hearing something in the next couple of weeks, maybe longer, but better than the "maximum 14 weeks" I know is the standard NHS line.

I'll be keeping an eye on how I'm feeling, and whether I notice any side effects with this medication. Today is the first day, and I'm due back for an appointment in a fortnight to see how they're working so I'll post about it then, but I'll post again if I notice any difference.

Changing the subject

There have been a couple of times recently where Tess and I have been discussing something and one of us has become overloaded or can't handle the subject matter and have asked to change the subject. Yesterday it was me, and I surprised myself a little just now by thinking it was a bit of a cop-out.

My reasoning then was that I was at work and getting wound up, which seems a sound motivation. We were talking about my frustration with waiting for assessment with the mental health team, having made the decision to accept the doctor's offer of anti-depressants to try and level me out. I considered that if I were already talking I don't think I'd need medicating and perhaps seeking some private treatment. It occurred to me that I couldn't afford any interim private counselling because of my restrictive budget, and that's when I started to feel really quite shit.

It comes back to the budget again, doesn't it? Damn. What have I already written about this? Oh, I see. Well, I can hardly read that without feeling the darkness descend and my mood drop again, so there's definite strong feeling involved in the subject. And here I am again, desperately wanting to change the subject.

I guess I find this reaction interesting because in a counselling environment it's often impossible to just "change the subject" when things get too hard to explore and, indeed, it's kind of the point. Explore the things that are difficult to face, process them and move on with action, understanding or a change in attitude. I guess that's hard to do now I'm feeling low; previously I'd have sat here at the blog and chipped away and sorted it out. Now it seems easier to run and hide than face it. Gah.

One of the reasons I'm loathe to explore this particular subject is because I simply don't want to think that my trip to Australia in October won't happen...

Actually... *runs and hides*

Do I need to go to the doctor?

Specifically, to get back on the anti-depressants? When I went for my chat about how low I was feeling I filled out the fantastic questionnaire and got a moderate-to-severe rating for my current bout of depression. She accepted my request for another referral to the mental health team and also offered me anti-depressants.

I declined at the time for a few reasons. I got a great sense of pride in ending years of anti-depressant use during my therapy a couple of years ago, and though it'd be nice to beat this episode without chemical intervention.

My brain has brought the subject up a couple of times in the past few days. I didn't really pay much attention until Kate said "Are you taking anything for it?" last night. My response, "Funnily enough, it's crossed my mind a couple of times recently," and set myself the task of exploring it further today.

Why has it jumped into my mind? I've had various mood swings recently. I think if I'd have started therapy straight away I'd perhaps be on a more even keel and wouldn't really be thinking about medication, but because I'm having to wait for the system to pick me up and process me I think I'm just in limbo, neither here nor there, quite possibly deteriorating while all this stuff in my head twists and turns and stagnates and confuses.

I guess it comes down to the benefits versus the drawbacks. In writing that down, I'm trying to think of the drawbacks and clutching at straws a little. Ah, ok. There's the slight dent to the self-esteem that comes with having chemical assistance to help me through this. I'd love to think that I'm the master of my mind but it appears otherwise.

The benefits seem clear: fewer mood swings, settling of sleep, perhaps a little cotton-wool around the mind. I'm concerned that it'll dumb me down but I'd like to think I'd notice if it were having anything other than a levelling effect on me.

The more I write about it here the more obvious it seems: There's no real reason why I shouldn't go back to medication and a few good reasons why I should.

*makes phone call*

All the defences have gone up

and all the best practice has fallen down. I'm a bit of a mess again, I'm fuzzy-headed, tired, comfort-eating and losing my grip on all the wonderful work I'd done during my counselling in summer 2008 and all the effort I'd made to improve myself subsequently. Parts of my brain are going "What a waste!" which is true to an extent, but I think it laid a foundation that helped me recognise the warning signs and mitigate the effect of this most recent downturn in mood. I must admit, I'm proud that I've caught it this time instead of spiralling out of control as has happened many times in the past, and I'm pleased that I managed to last two and a half years without prolonged emotional turmoil.

It still seems a shame that something so wonderful as meeting Miss Right has taken my brain, turned it upside-down, shaken it up and let bits fall out indiscriminately. I fear suppressed emotion is the culprit here, along with a heavy heart filled with loss and distance and absence. The time Tess and I had together was incredible and when she returned home my world fell apart; I felt real pain for the first time in years and it shattered me. Because it was so overwhelming I felt I had no choice but to suppress it and even then it leaked out quite often. Through the process of deciding to continue the relationship long-distance that pain transformed into, or was masked by, elation and excitement. I fear it's now taken the form of underlying pain of absence, and my ability to deal with that seems to be diminishing every day we are apart.

Some old coping mechanisms and behaviour embedded during the formative times of previous relationships have reared its head, all stuff that freaks me out and I resent deeply. This emotional turmoil has stirred up some old thoughts and fears that, in turn, have triggered other behaviours and emotional responses, causing quite a wash of overwhelming good and bad thoughts.

I'm having difficulty quieting my mind at present. As I've written recently it's one of the things my brain does to stop me thinking bad thoughts, and it was one of the little flags that popped up when I realised I was feeling low again. I've read a little about meditation and how to clear the mind and I'd like to work more on that. I tried it this morning after waking and got frustrated within about five minutes of failure. One of the keys is practice, so I'm not going to give up just like that because I can see the benefits of being able to clear my mind, particularly when trying to get to sleep or on waking and wanting to return to slumber.

I'm frustrated by many things at the moment. I'd write a list but they all seem insignificant individually, and I'm unsure as to whether my frustrations are justified or a reaction to my mood in general.

Most concerning is the switch back to comfort eating. Heavy, fatty, sweet and rubbish foods are the order of the day again, while energy drinks battle tiredness and make me feel human again. I'm dependent on the buzz acquired from eating crisps and fatty foods and it's doing my head in, not least because I'm putting on weight quite rapidly. I remember how I felt when people started commenting on how much weight I'd lost last year, how fantastic it was to have to bring my belt in another notch and how incredible my self-esteem was enhanced every time I put a "medium" t-shirt on and felt comfortable in it.

Now, I'm putting weight on again and I'm definitely noticing it. The rubbish food diet has been creeping in since around my birthday last year and I'd guess I've put a stone in weight back on, of the one and a half I lost last year. Fucksocks, I hate that.

I'd love to say that right here and now I'm going to be more responsible in my shopping habits, better at home-cooking food instead of relying on munchies and processed crap to see me through, and walk more. I can't really see it happening until I get my head sorted, but I know that doing all of that would make me feel better and improve my self-esteem a millionfold. I guess I just need to regain the motivation for going out and exploring my locality; unfortunately there's not many paths around here I haven't explored, particularly on this side of town, so to make the most of new paths I need to travel out of town and walk back or travel across town and explore the paths on that side. I have had little smatterings of interest in the charity too, which'll help introduce motivation, but I'd like to do it off my own back. I know that walking is good motivation for healthy eating and healthy eating is a good motivation for walking; I just need to get out of the habit of eating for comfort and sitting on my arse distracting myself instead of getting out there and enjoying my headspace.

I'm noting here that I just went to the shop and steered clear of the easy option of a crappy cheese, mayo and onion sandwich, diet coke and crisps and got sesame Ryvita, humus and low-fat soft cheese instead. I know damned well this stuff tastes better and is slightly better for you than that other crap, so I'd like to think that last night's culinary abomination was a watershed in my eating habits.

Lots more to say but I've run out of steam here. I do feel a little better for getting some of this stuff out and I may blog again today or tomorrow to allow some more stuff to escape.