Bless them

I've been down lately, not feeling myself at all.  I've been deliberately isolating myself and not being around people because I’ve just been finding it too hard.  The more I am around people, the more tired I get.  It’s not an exhausted tired but emotionally tired, I really hate being around people at the moment.  I can’t even cry any more.  I just want to crawl into bed and stay there.  I’m not sure what gets me out of bed in the mornings.  It’s just so hard.  I want to curl up in bed and just sleep or listen to music or just watch TV.

Today has been no better.  I got fed up of the way the flat looked so I decided that I would finally get around to doing my share of the chores.  I haven’t done them for a couple of the weeks, but that’s mainly because I really couldn’t be assed to do them.  That’s how bad I’m getting.  I didn’t want to do them because I just can’t be bothered.  Like everything in my life at the moment.  I couldn’t even be bothered to change Toska’s bedding or his water, I only do it because I love him so much and I’d hate to see him become ill.  Today however I hated the look of the flat so much that I just did my chores and cleaned my room.  I need to start making my room somewhere I want to lock myself into.

On top of that my shift today didn’t go fantastically well.  The same problems were coming up again and again and again.  No one takes them seriously; my superiors keep pushing them under the carpet and won’t do anything about it.  I can’t do anything about it because I don’t hold the purse strings and that’s what it really needs. 

So I was walking back to the flat and all I could think about was cutting myself.  I thought about where I have my razor hidden, about how I was going to sterilise it and how I was going to enjoy making the cuts, and the fact all those around me at the moment have no idea I do this, so hiding the marks were not going to be a problem.  I was actually looking forward to doing this.  It was going to be the highlight of my day.  Then something amazing happened.  I walked into the flat and I could smell bleach.  The boys had cleaned.  Both bathrooms and the kitchen had been cleaned.  I walked into a clean flat.  It just picked me up no end.

I no longer want to cut.  Well not at this precise moment.  I’m hoping when I finally settle down for the night I won’t burst into tears and I won’t want to cut myself.  I have to believe that I’m over it for the night or else I’m going to be in a mess in the morning.  It’s times like this I wish I could call someone and tell them what I’m thinking or what I’m feeling.  I wish I could tell them both how I am feeling and how much I appreciate what they did, even though they really didn't do much.

Some days I love my flat mates. 

tags: flatmates  depression  selfharm  toska  tortoise  home  cutting  work  personal  

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