That's how it goes, right?
Nothings really changed-does it ever?
I still don't have a permanent job nor a place to live not that I could afford it right now.
I've been working for Wise Employment doing various jobs but the works dried up and I'm stuck at home day after day which doesn't help my mental state.
Mum and dad came back from their holiday about two weeks ago and things are back to normal or what can be called normal which is quite the opposite of the meaning of the word.
Dad continues to ignore me and mum just moans and groans about everything which I think makes her happy.
A lot of things have been plaguing my mind and on the top of the list is my eating followed closely by my relationship.
My eating is out of control, I'm terrified that I will eat all the weight I lost and be back to my fatter self, that self that made me attempt to take my own life on more than one occasion. After thinking deeply about this I came to the conclusion that it's living here that makes me want to eat because that's what I did before when I lived here. When I moved to Liverpool I lost loads of weight and the same happened when I lived in Kent. Living at my parents drags back all the memories that I'd tried so hard to forget when I moved away but here they are always around me dragging me down.
I keep making plans and writing out diets but it's hard here to stick to them especially when my own parents think I'm Bulimic-which I'm not. I also have to be very careful about planning diets because I don't want to arouse suspicion with what I'm eating.
I can't wait to move out and to be free of the rents.
Moving out means the world to me and I don't even care where I live. I want to have control over my life again, I want to do what I want when I want and eat whatever plan I create without people watching over my every move.
My relationship. I don't even know where to start with this subject as it's been going on for a longtime and I don't know if things will ever return to how they used to be or even if I want that.
We've been getting more and more distant over the months, less of the "I love you", less of the cuddles and romance, and none of anything else including the spark. I know I started this downwards spiral with my mental state being all over the place. I feel low and depressed and when I feel like that/this I don't want to be touched, kissed or cuddled and I push everyone away. Things are strained, she's moody and cold and I'm distant and non responsive.
I've been questioning weather or not I actually want to be in the relationship anymore, questioning my love for her and questioning if old flames buried deep still burn for another person.
I'm lost between how I feel and how I "should" feel.
I hope that once we move things will improve because if they don't then I don't know what I will do.
Maybe it's what I truly want but can't admit to, I'm so lost and confused I can't tell between what is real and what's just in my head.
It's all very confusing.
Fallen-Angel
Saturday, March 29, 2008
Sunday, March 16, 2008
"I Want You Out!"
Roughly three weeks ago mum suddenly announced that she wants me to move out. Yes me, she didn't mention anything about my girlfriend though she probably thought that where I go she'll follow which is true to a certain extent.
Her reason?
We don't get on, there are too many women in the kitchen and unless she means that literally then I have no idea what she means by:
"Too many women in the kitchen"
I have phoned numerous flats and apartments up but the majority fall into two categories: too expensive or already let. We have so far viewed two that we thought we could afford.
Number 10, Torquay.
corridor to the staircase. To the right of the staircase is situated the "laundry facilities"-a washer and dryer not suitable for dead rodents to be buried in let alone do laundry in. Walk through the main entrance door, along a long, dark royal blue decorated and uneven. Climb the endless uneven, dark, royal blue decorated stairs to the top. Right up the last, narrowest, steepest and most spiraled staircase and vola the front door. A sixty something year old man, snuffly dressed in ill fitting trousers and an old grandad jumper with bad teeth, some missing put a key in the door and opened it. There were two reasonably sized bedrooms with enormous closets big enough to almost live in, the worlds most beaju bathroom that was no bigger than a broom closet had a peach toilet with matching plastic towel rail hidden behind the door and the worlds smallest shower cubicle that not even I could turn around in. The kitchen was small and compact. The contents: a dirty hoboed cooker with a dirty sink and matching cupboards and work surfaces, and a junk yard ready fridge freezer big enough for a few says shopping at it's most. The lounge was of reasonable size with a god awful floral three piece suit. All the floors were uneven, the carpets had seen far better days and the whole flat smelt of sweat and old urine-certainly not for us or anyone to inhabit.
And then there was the perfect two bed roomed flat above a tattooist in Torquay.
Through the peeling black painted entrance and up two flights of stars freshly carpeted but in need of a hoover and past the one bed roomed flat. Open the door and enter the freshly painted hallway with facing toilet which was white and clean. The hall lead on to a long kitchen which was modern and clean consisting of: pine cupboards with chrome handles, glass top electric cooker, stainless steel clean sink and clean work spaces. There was optional washing machine and fridge that had seen better days but was decent.The floor was laminated but needed a sweep and the rest of the flat was carpeted. Adjacent to the kitchen was two decent sized bedrooms with period black steel fireplaces. Following to the end of the kitchen was the lounge which again had a period black fireplace. Just off to the right before the lounge was the bathroom which had a white sink and a glass and silver shower cubicle big enough for two, all was cleaned to a high standard. What really caught my eye was all the cute little windows with white painted wooden surroundings, they were everywhere. Everything in the flat fitted together and worked well.
So what's the problem?
The agent who showed us around on behalf of the elderly landlord dropped a bombshell. It would cost around £700 a month to run the flat inclusive of all bills plus £400 deposit, way more than we can afford right now. We both left feeling down about this wonderful flat.
I've come to the conclusion that we can not afford a flat on our own, we need help so I've contacted the housing council and they may be able to help up with their "rent deposit" scheme. I have to phone Monday morning to get an appointment.
Fingers crossed.
Fallen-Angel
Her reason?
We don't get on, there are too many women in the kitchen and unless she means that literally then I have no idea what she means by:
"Too many women in the kitchen"
I have phoned numerous flats and apartments up but the majority fall into two categories: too expensive or already let. We have so far viewed two that we thought we could afford.
Number 10, Torquay.
corridor to the staircase. To the right of the staircase is situated the "laundry facilities"-a washer and dryer not suitable for dead rodents to be buried in let alone do laundry in. Walk through the main entrance door, along a long, dark royal blue decorated and uneven. Climb the endless uneven, dark, royal blue decorated stairs to the top. Right up the last, narrowest, steepest and most spiraled staircase and vola the front door. A sixty something year old man, snuffly dressed in ill fitting trousers and an old grandad jumper with bad teeth, some missing put a key in the door and opened it. There were two reasonably sized bedrooms with enormous closets big enough to almost live in, the worlds most beaju bathroom that was no bigger than a broom closet had a peach toilet with matching plastic towel rail hidden behind the door and the worlds smallest shower cubicle that not even I could turn around in. The kitchen was small and compact. The contents: a dirty hoboed cooker with a dirty sink and matching cupboards and work surfaces, and a junk yard ready fridge freezer big enough for a few says shopping at it's most. The lounge was of reasonable size with a god awful floral three piece suit. All the floors were uneven, the carpets had seen far better days and the whole flat smelt of sweat and old urine-certainly not for us or anyone to inhabit.
And then there was the perfect two bed roomed flat above a tattooist in Torquay.
Through the peeling black painted entrance and up two flights of stars freshly carpeted but in need of a hoover and past the one bed roomed flat. Open the door and enter the freshly painted hallway with facing toilet which was white and clean. The hall lead on to a long kitchen which was modern and clean consisting of: pine cupboards with chrome handles, glass top electric cooker, stainless steel clean sink and clean work spaces. There was optional washing machine and fridge that had seen better days but was decent.The floor was laminated but needed a sweep and the rest of the flat was carpeted. Adjacent to the kitchen was two decent sized bedrooms with period black steel fireplaces. Following to the end of the kitchen was the lounge which again had a period black fireplace. Just off to the right before the lounge was the bathroom which had a white sink and a glass and silver shower cubicle big enough for two, all was cleaned to a high standard. What really caught my eye was all the cute little windows with white painted wooden surroundings, they were everywhere. Everything in the flat fitted together and worked well.
So what's the problem?
The agent who showed us around on behalf of the elderly landlord dropped a bombshell. It would cost around £700 a month to run the flat inclusive of all bills plus £400 deposit, way more than we can afford right now. We both left feeling down about this wonderful flat.
I've come to the conclusion that we can not afford a flat on our own, we need help so I've contacted the housing council and they may be able to help up with their "rent deposit" scheme. I have to phone Monday morning to get an appointment.
Fingers crossed.
Fallen-Angel
How I despise you and your home
Time for another update on my pathetic little life.
In this post Burlington House and the boss from hell.
At some point in the summer mum and I were in Pound stretcher in Paignton when mum spotted Amanda (I know I don't normally use names but it's either that or "The bitch"), her ex boss. Mum asked Amanda, who was holding a boxed iron, weather she had any vacancies for me. Amanda and I chatted for a while about my experience in support roles and said she'd be in touch.
I started working at Burlington in September of 2007.
My first week was boring as I sat in the quiet lounge reading care plans for thirteen residents none of whom I'd ever seen let alone met.
My second week and the progressive weeks that followed I was shown how to do the day to day things like bathing, supporting, monies and toileting-yes, changing pads and watching clients use the toilet. I didn't sign up for care work, I was informed that the job was support worker and I know for a fact support workers do not toilet residents, that's the job of a carer.
The weeks and months that followed bored me, made me feel worthless, un-needed and low. Deep depression reared it's ugly head and once again I was plummeted back into the lows of life.
I had no passion, no will or want for this job. I would go as far as to say I hated it and just like Orhcard view dreaded going in each day but did anyway like a robotic, depressed moron.
It was like the long road to the death chamber on the green mile movie.
After a week's annual leave at the end of February I did my final shift. It was a Monday afternoon and I forced myself against all my will to go in. I told myself all the way there on the bus that I just need to keep faking it until something better comes along but there was no faking it anymore. As hard as I tried I just couldn't fake that I was happy there, it was crystal clear to all that I was depressed and on the edge of no return. I spent most of my shift either talking to another member of staff or outside trying to compose myself-trying to stop myself blowing up and walking out.
I texted Amanda that night and told her I wasn't coming back. We spoke the next afternoon and try as she did there was no convincing me to work there anymore. She went on and on about how I'd let her down and that it was in the terms and conditions of my job that I'm obliged to give a weeks notice to which I told her I wouldn't be prepared to do.
I didn't sign a contract to her or the company so what could she do?
Over the following days a huge weight lifted from my shoulders and the dark cloud started to lighten though it still lingered like a bad smell.
Fallen-Angel
In this post Burlington House and the boss from hell.
At some point in the summer mum and I were in Pound stretcher in Paignton when mum spotted Amanda (I know I don't normally use names but it's either that or "The bitch"), her ex boss. Mum asked Amanda, who was holding a boxed iron, weather she had any vacancies for me. Amanda and I chatted for a while about my experience in support roles and said she'd be in touch.
I started working at Burlington in September of 2007.
My first week was boring as I sat in the quiet lounge reading care plans for thirteen residents none of whom I'd ever seen let alone met.
My second week and the progressive weeks that followed I was shown how to do the day to day things like bathing, supporting, monies and toileting-yes, changing pads and watching clients use the toilet. I didn't sign up for care work, I was informed that the job was support worker and I know for a fact support workers do not toilet residents, that's the job of a carer.
The weeks and months that followed bored me, made me feel worthless, un-needed and low. Deep depression reared it's ugly head and once again I was plummeted back into the lows of life.
I had no passion, no will or want for this job. I would go as far as to say I hated it and just like Orhcard view dreaded going in each day but did anyway like a robotic, depressed moron.
It was like the long road to the death chamber on the green mile movie.
After a week's annual leave at the end of February I did my final shift. It was a Monday afternoon and I forced myself against all my will to go in. I told myself all the way there on the bus that I just need to keep faking it until something better comes along but there was no faking it anymore. As hard as I tried I just couldn't fake that I was happy there, it was crystal clear to all that I was depressed and on the edge of no return. I spent most of my shift either talking to another member of staff or outside trying to compose myself-trying to stop myself blowing up and walking out.
I texted Amanda that night and told her I wasn't coming back. We spoke the next afternoon and try as she did there was no convincing me to work there anymore. She went on and on about how I'd let her down and that it was in the terms and conditions of my job that I'm obliged to give a weeks notice to which I told her I wouldn't be prepared to do.
I didn't sign a contract to her or the company so what could she do?
Over the following days a huge weight lifted from my shoulders and the dark cloud started to lighten though it still lingered like a bad smell.
Fallen-Angel
A long time coming
For a longtime now I've forgotten about this blog, forgotten all these words I used to write of pain and sorrow but now I'm determined to post on a regular basis once again.
I had two teeth out under anaesthetic at Torbay hospital in December 2007.
The night before I hardly slept because I was anxious about the operation. My girlfriend reluctantly came with me though she couldn't stay awake to be with me mentally. You know sometimes just being there in the flesh isn't enough especially at a time like this.
A time when I really needed her to be there for me.
I went in for my assessments and consultations only I had three when others had one which I found very odd but soon came to realise they were concerned about my irregular heartbeat and the episode at McDonald's.
After I adorned the national hospital gown and robe and I walked alone to the preparations room as my girlfriend was fast asleep in the waiting room. I lay on the bed and watched as two women and one man attached a heart monitor, BP clip and band, an ECG machine and put a line of fluid into me. They aimlessly chatted to me pretending they were interested in what I had to say but were really trying to distract me from what they were doing.
Then came the time for the anaesthetic.
They talked some more to me until I pointed out that I knew what they were going to do and reverse physiology on me doesn't work. They stopped and told me straight as they administered the anaesthetic.
My stomach sank so deep into the bed I thought it was going to fall through the bed to the floor, my heart rate increased by almost double, I felt sick and dizzy, and then I was gone, asleep.
Just over an hour later a woman was calling my name over and over telling me to wake up. Apparently they were getting very worried because it had been twenty minutes since they first tried to wake me. The nurse said she was just about to get the doctor to give me the reverse drug for anaesthetic.
I was laying on my right side with the guard rails up. I could hear the monitors beeping and people talking but I couldn't see or hear clearly.
I started to cry: "I want my mum"
The nurse asked if she was in the waiting room, well, that really set me into hysterics as I cried:
"No, she's on holiday".
Strange as it sounds, which is was, the next thing I did was ask for a cup of tea!
Sometime passed and I found myself being forcibly sat up as some nurse pushed the top half of the bed into a up right position and drew the curtains around me. It took me a while to realise that I'd fallen back to sleep and was now in a recovery cubicle and not on the intensive care recovery room.
I'm not sure if I asked for my girlfriend but at some point she appeared through the curtains. She looked sleepy and started talking to me, something about a cash machine and that she'd had a cigarette. I asked her to get my clothes from my designated locker as I wanted to wear something dignified, something more than a gaping gown which kept falling off my shoulders revealing my all to whom ever opened the curtains.
I think I drifted off again shortly after I regained my dignity because I opened my eyes to a nurse placing toast and a plastic cup of water on the table. I had already pre-determined that I wasn't going to eat anything that day but when it came to it I just couldn't face it. The sight of toast when you feel very groggy, sick and have a face swollen like a hamster's filled pouches eating tends to be the last thing on your mind.
My girlfriend at first tried to persuade me but then she tried forcing me to eat the fucking toast saying as soon as I eat it then we'll be able to get out of the hospital. I turned my back on her, curled into a ball and cried my eyes out as flashbacks of being forced fed came flooding back- painful memories.
A doctor came round a while later to check on me and he took my drip out saying nothing about me not eating the toast. He said I could leave once my medication arrived. My girlfriend then tried to dress me/help dress me but I wasn't ready for that either. She said if I got dressed then we could go straight after my medication came because she hated hospitals and with that I got really upset and angry, I said to her that she didn't have to come with me and that she could leave anytime she wanted.
After my medication arrived I eventually got dressed and staggered out of the hospital and walked to some steps where I sat and had a cigarette. I know I shouldn't have but I wanted one, so I did. A taxi arrived and we went home.
I spent the rest of the day in a daze on the sofa in some discomfort and a little pain. I ate nothing and drank through a straw.
Fallen-Angel
I had two teeth out under anaesthetic at Torbay hospital in December 2007.
The night before I hardly slept because I was anxious about the operation. My girlfriend reluctantly came with me though she couldn't stay awake to be with me mentally. You know sometimes just being there in the flesh isn't enough especially at a time like this.
A time when I really needed her to be there for me.
I went in for my assessments and consultations only I had three when others had one which I found very odd but soon came to realise they were concerned about my irregular heartbeat and the episode at McDonald's.
After I adorned the national hospital gown and robe and I walked alone to the preparations room as my girlfriend was fast asleep in the waiting room. I lay on the bed and watched as two women and one man attached a heart monitor, BP clip and band, an ECG machine and put a line of fluid into me. They aimlessly chatted to me pretending they were interested in what I had to say but were really trying to distract me from what they were doing.
Then came the time for the anaesthetic.
They talked some more to me until I pointed out that I knew what they were going to do and reverse physiology on me doesn't work. They stopped and told me straight as they administered the anaesthetic.
My stomach sank so deep into the bed I thought it was going to fall through the bed to the floor, my heart rate increased by almost double, I felt sick and dizzy, and then I was gone, asleep.
Just over an hour later a woman was calling my name over and over telling me to wake up. Apparently they were getting very worried because it had been twenty minutes since they first tried to wake me. The nurse said she was just about to get the doctor to give me the reverse drug for anaesthetic.
I was laying on my right side with the guard rails up. I could hear the monitors beeping and people talking but I couldn't see or hear clearly.
I started to cry: "I want my mum"
The nurse asked if she was in the waiting room, well, that really set me into hysterics as I cried:
"No, she's on holiday".
Strange as it sounds, which is was, the next thing I did was ask for a cup of tea!
Sometime passed and I found myself being forcibly sat up as some nurse pushed the top half of the bed into a up right position and drew the curtains around me. It took me a while to realise that I'd fallen back to sleep and was now in a recovery cubicle and not on the intensive care recovery room.
I'm not sure if I asked for my girlfriend but at some point she appeared through the curtains. She looked sleepy and started talking to me, something about a cash machine and that she'd had a cigarette. I asked her to get my clothes from my designated locker as I wanted to wear something dignified, something more than a gaping gown which kept falling off my shoulders revealing my all to whom ever opened the curtains.
I think I drifted off again shortly after I regained my dignity because I opened my eyes to a nurse placing toast and a plastic cup of water on the table. I had already pre-determined that I wasn't going to eat anything that day but when it came to it I just couldn't face it. The sight of toast when you feel very groggy, sick and have a face swollen like a hamster's filled pouches eating tends to be the last thing on your mind.
My girlfriend at first tried to persuade me but then she tried forcing me to eat the fucking toast saying as soon as I eat it then we'll be able to get out of the hospital. I turned my back on her, curled into a ball and cried my eyes out as flashbacks of being forced fed came flooding back- painful memories.
A doctor came round a while later to check on me and he took my drip out saying nothing about me not eating the toast. He said I could leave once my medication arrived. My girlfriend then tried to dress me/help dress me but I wasn't ready for that either. She said if I got dressed then we could go straight after my medication came because she hated hospitals and with that I got really upset and angry, I said to her that she didn't have to come with me and that she could leave anytime she wanted.
After my medication arrived I eventually got dressed and staggered out of the hospital and walked to some steps where I sat and had a cigarette. I know I shouldn't have but I wanted one, so I did. A taxi arrived and we went home.
I spent the rest of the day in a daze on the sofa in some discomfort and a little pain. I ate nothing and drank through a straw.
Fallen-Angel
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