Today has pounded me into the floor. Damn, some days are just hard. Not enough sleep, off for a stupid fasting blood test this morning. I hate these things. I have a phobia around needles – actually just of giving blood or getting drips. Other forms of needles don’t bother me. These two I really struggle with. I’m not brilliantly well still, hot flushes, nausea, sore throat, sinus issues. This is not helping my general sense of vim. The bloods nurse couldn’t find a vein and wound up getting another nurse in, while I sweated and trembled and generally hated the universe. I ran errands, trekking from store to store in a futile attempt to buy the supplies I’ve told to buy for college on Monday. I also went to a bunch of printers trying to find somewhere to create arts prints, without success. I am at least now prepared for a workshop I’m running in a couple of weeks.
Some days are a real uphill climb. My head is on a loop of ‘I hate myself’ that occasionally alternates with ‘Did you know I hate myself?’. Which is somehow worse, and driving me a little insane, hour by hour. I get the notion of slicing off an ear in an attempt to get some peace. I trek off to see the psychologist I’ve been working with for our last appointment before she retires. I’m usually pretty good at last appointments, doing a summary of where things have come from, wrapping things up, making eye contact, saying thanks. Sad but good. I started this one by sobbing incoherently for 10 minutes. Actually I started it frantically on the road late, because today I found it impossible to keep track of the time.
After talking about the frustrating mess of all my plans and poor health, I cried about how hard this is some days. How the sense of failure dogs me, despite my awareness of how dangerous it is to let it take hold. How exhausted I feel by the disjoint between the beliefs I nurture and cherish, and those I’m still suffering under from my own childhood. Like heavy weights that have fused into my skin, the self hatred, the sense of futility, that it doesn’t matter how hard I work, how talented I am, or how many skills I develop, nothing will work out. These things are the demons that torment me. I choose to live according to other beliefs, and they are real to me too, things in my bones that give me strength and courage. Places where I find joy and peace. But some days are without much in the way of peace. Then we said goodbye and I left.
So to hell with that. I’ve found company and something to do for the evening. Change of clothes, switch, put my boots on, walk away.