Friday. I love Fridays.
It means that no matter how bad the week has been (and this week has been particularly stressful), I get to go to the pub tonight, and spend the next two days with S. It means any drama or anxiety can take a back seat while I sleep in the arms of the man I love and eat Chinese takeaway without the usual ‘am I going to die from too many calories?’ worry. It means I can have a bath, shave my legs, wash my hair and wear nice clothes without a thousand questions. Most importantly, it means I made it through another week.
Yesterday went from bad to worse after the whole doctor/scan/OMGIHAVESOMETHINGHORRIBLE experience. I couldn’t get the thought of a brain scan out of my mind. I’ve had one before, a long time ago, and remember hating every moment of it. This time though… they’re actively looking for something which may impact on the rest of my life. Which may shape my future. I’ve told my mother, S, and Z (my best friend), but have decided to keep it quiet otherwise. I don’t want people suddenly treating me like some sort of invalid or special case, just because the wheels of diagnosis have started turning.
Most of yesterday was spent in a tearful panic, partly from the appointment and partly due to a total lack of sleep. I have no idea how I didn’t have a full-blown panic attack; I came close in a café, but held it off long enough to get outside and have a cigarette. The constant chatter from my mother didn’t help; I know she’s only talking to me, but when I’m tired and anxious it’s difficult enough to keep putting one foot in front of the other, let alone keep track of a mostly one-sided conversation about things I have little interest in (“ball-rooted Christmas trees!” “cake forks!” “Question Time!”).
We almost had a full-blown argument over my social life, or lack of, and I barely held off weeping over my mozarella panini. She said, “you have S, you don’t need friends who don’t understand you”. Which is all very well and good, but it’s not that friends don’t understand me, they just don’t understand why, when I’m almost 27, I live with my mother under her strict rules, don’t have access to my own money (it gets paid into her bank account, not mine) and why I can’t go out if it’s not been arranged days in advance, since she doesn’t understand how life works these days. Yet again, I’ve given up on having a social life and can only pray that S and I get the house next year so I can start rebuilding it yet again. I’ve done this so many times – made friends, only for them to become understandably frustrated when they can’t visit (mum doesn’t like people in the house) – and I’m sick of it. I just want a life, you know? It’s not too much to ask. It’s not like I want the world.
I owe quite a few readers thanks for their kind replies yesterday. I was incredibly touched that complete strangers and people overseas would be thinking of me, and to be so kind as to share their own experiences of healthcare and illness. I also owe a lot of thanks for those who replied to my articles on depression and eating disorders, and those who have linked to those articles from their own sites. You’re amazing, and I’m humbled. Thank you.
Here’s to the weekend. Hope yours is wonderful.
PS- I also stumbled across a fantastic article on depression and suicide whilst checking my blog stats. Check it out.