Un mème!

Nourriture Pour La Pensée

Well, today's therapy session was certainly more productive than the last one. I wasn't quite as all over the place.

We talked mostly about my previous blog post titled "J'ai peur". Mr Therapist's impression is that it's probably sleep paralysis. He explained that sleep paralysis is whereby the body is still sleeping but the brain is waking or has woken up. The body waking and the mind waking are two separate functions. They usually happen in tandem, but sometimes slip up. 

People who experience sleep paralysis often see, feel, or hear things that would have been part of a dream. This reminded me that when I was 20 I experienced an episode of sleep paralysis in which there was a massive floating black cloud that pinned me to the bed and throttled me. I thought it was a demon. I now understand what actually happened.

It makes me sad though, that when I experience this, my first thought is that I'm in Solihull, followed quickly by the knowledge that I'm not, so trying to work out where I actually am. Why Solihull? Because I miss Mr Flibbles? Because I miss Rufus? Or Mitten. Tinker. Tigger. Because I miss the smell of oak woodland through the balcony doors in the autumn? Because I want to rewind time and change everything that's happened since... X marks the spot? I kind of feel like maybe I am actually asleep in Solihull, and all of this has been a dream. Or nightmare. How have I made such a bloody mess?

Anyways, the solution is that next time it happens I'm going to try and open my eyes instead of trying to work out where I am. If I can open them, it's less likely to be sleep paralysis.

However, I then remembered that it happens while I'm watching TV sometimes. So after a little discussion I pondered whether there may be two separate things happening. Mr Therapist said that what happens when I'm awake sounds like a very mild form of dissociation, but explained that dissociation doesn't necessarily indicate any kind of mental illness. Day dreaming is a form of dissociation.

I've never been able to day dream. I didn't really understand what it was. The likelihood is that I've been constantly on high alert, so have never really relaxed my mind enough to day dream. So, when I'm becoming so absorbed in the TV that my current narrative confuses me, it's probably that I'm starting to relax at last. Thinking about it, I've seen that happen to my dad. 

Mr Therapist has noticed that I seem to always be trying to find things wrong with myself. He didn't say "hypochondriac", but I think that's what he was hinting at. He's wondering whether that could be because of my step mother instilling in me that there was something wrong with me from a very young age, only never told me what it was, so I'm perpetually searching for it. So I guess when I'm having thoughts about illnesses, I need to consciously tell her to feck off.

It's fairly normal for people with M.E. to try and find alternative diagnoses. Being labelled with an illness that no one understands, and no one wants to treat, is a heavy, complicated, and unwanted burden. The answer is to make the most of life as it is, rather than hoping to change it. Much easier said than done though.

My mind!

A painting by Julia Spiri

J'ai Peur

I'm starting to get really scared by my brain. I feel like I'm developing dementia.

For many years I've sometimes had trouble orienting myself when I wake up. I wake up, eyes closed, and realise that I don't know where I am. I think that the first thing I realise is that I can't remember where the door is. Then I realise that I can't remember which part of my life I'm in, so I'm not sure which house I'm living in, which is why I can't locate the door. I don't dare open my eyes until I've actually remembered where I am - don't ask me why, it seems to just be part of the whole thing. Sometimes I can't pin down how old I am, or what my name is, both things that would help me figure out where I am (in time and space, as well as just finding the door). 

It's mostly only the houses I've lived in in Norfolk and Solihull that are in my mind when this happens. My mind sort of pictures a diagram of the room, looks at the location of the doors on the diagram, and assesses whether that feels right for where I am now. 

Sometimes I know where the door actually is, but I can't remember a house in which that fits. 

When this first started happening it used to really panic me. However, I'm so used to it now that my brain tells me "it's just this again", and I go through the motions of trying to figure out where I am. On occasion I've been so unable to figure it out, that I've fallen asleep again. I suppose, as sleep is my go to occupation when I'm stressed, that's not really surprising.

I used to experience something similar when I was a child. I'd been taken from my mother, been through foster homes, spent time staying with grand parents, and once I was settled with my dad and step mother we moved house twice, and often went to stay with family friends. Moving around so much in a short space of time, I think, confused my brain. I forgot what to expect when I woke up. I remember waking up, seeing the wallpaper, and asking myself whose house has wallpaper like that. I remember crying for Mummy because I didn't know where I was - whichever adult came to see what was wrong told me I was being silly. 

I've tried to talk to people about this, but they've said it's normal. It's not. Some have suggested that it's similar to the hypnopompic experiences that some people have upon waking up. I'm not hallucinating, however. I'm not in a waking dream. But I can understand that it does sound like it could be my brain waking up slowly. 

However, I've started experiencing it recently when I've been watching TV or using my phone. I may have been watching something on TV, when one of the cats jumps up on the bed or someone walks into the room; my brain panics because it can't register what is going on. Looking away from the TV, I don't recognise my surroundings, don't remember the cats (OMG), can't remember who I am. It's as if whatever I'm watching has filled my head so much that it's pushed everything else out. 

It's rather more concerning that the same thing has occasionally happened when I'm using my phone. I don't use my phone for many things, mostly Facebook marketplace, and DuoLingo. Neither are things that I particularly want to fill the void inside my cranium.

I don't know what's causing these experiences. They're making me feel totally lost. I am wondering whether this is what people call "dissociation". If it is, then it's not actually that uncommon, but I feel really bad for everyone who experiences it. I hate it.

C'est moi, endormi.

La Thérapie Alternative

Just sayin'!

Un Semi-Échec

I've a feeling that I'm going to have to keep thinking of different blog post titles with the word "fail" in 🤔 

Either that, or actually write about therapy after each session. The would be novel!

I didn't write after last week. Not particularly deliberately, just... I find it difficult.

In last week's therapy session we talked about my coping mechanisms. The list from my previous blog post, I had emailed to my therapist prior to the session. He had put them into two different categories - which I can't remember at the moment.

His two categories coincided strongly with my childhood and my teen years. I had developed some coping mechanisms that saw me through my early years, then developed a second set later on. I think it's fair to say that a lot of the childhood ones were to cope with being depressed. Mr Therapist read them very much as trying to cope with fear, or avoid that which made me afraid.

He also noticed that something that seemed important to me was writing. He's not wrong. As long as I've lived I've wanted to be an author. As a teenager writing used to just pour out of me. Poems, stories, letters. But I've been blocked for years. For a long time I thought I was being blocked by antidepressants, but I think I've just realised the cause:-

My sister is recognised as a journalist. She used to work for the Daily Mail, and has worked in editing, proof reading, etc, for a few sciencey things. I remember feeling absolutely gutted when my dad once referred to her as a writer. 

I don't know what I'd expected her to become, but writing was so far off her radar that it was a complete shock to me. She was the science and maths brain at school, but had always talked about being a singer or children's TV presenter. Or a hairdresser. Writing seemed too considered, and creative, to be up her street.

The way we were brought up, was very much as if we couldn't both be good at anything. She was always referred to as the pretty one, the thin one, the clever one, the one that's good at piano, the one with all the girl guide badges, the one that went to Cambridge, the one with children, the successful worthy of being loved praised remembered one.

So I had to make my own world. I created characters in my stories who were good at things that I'd never actually get the chance to try. She couldn't take those away. And yet she did... by her becoming the one of us recognised for being a writer, I think I subconsciously felt that I could no longer write. 

It feels as if I'm not allowed to. Like there's this wall that I keep banging my head against every time I actually think of writing. This is why it's really quite challenging to write these blog posts, too.

So, last week I had the homework to give myself some space each evening in which I could allow myself to write. But because I hadn't yet had the épiphane from 5 paragraphs up, I skulked into sleep each evening, guiltily wondering what alternative-me in an alternative universe might have written.

So that was last week.

This week we started off with Mr Therapist asking me what I thought of all the coping stuff. I shrugged. So he asked what I'd think if there was another child having to develop so many ways to cope.

My response was to go off on a tangent for an hour regarding feeling annoyed (angry, but I don't like that word) at my step mother all of the time.

So that was a waste of a session.

The truth is, I have no idea what I'd think. I often think I'll react one way to something, but in reality I act totally differently. I don't know what normal coping mechanisms children have to develop. Everyone has to develop something just to deal with getting through life. Who am I to figure out what's normal and healthy for other people?

That probably isn't the point. I'm probably supposed to be introspective about it. I don't think Mr Therapist has realised yet, just how much I really dislike myself. I don't want to think about me.

That's possibly why I'm in therapy.

L'échec

Ha! Literally the second week of blogging therapy and I didn't get around to doing it. The reason is two fold.

Firstly, I can't really remember what happened in last week's session - which just goes to show that I should blog them immediately.

Secondly, I was given homework. I was told to think about the different coping mechanisms I used to use. I'm not sure what we're going to do with them, but here are the things I've remembered:-

- Focusing on the next thing to look forward to, for example visiting Mummy or Beffy, or having the cousins to visit.

- Sometimes cuddling my large doll when I needed to hug.

- I learnt to cry silently.

- I used to rearrange my bedroom furniture frequently. This may have been a way to feel control.

- I used to rearrange my wardrobe and bookshelves frequently. Wardrobe by colour, clothing type even the length of the clothing. And bookshelves by book height, book colour, or authors name.

- I used to hoard wrappers and bits of rubbish up my chimney, because I couldn't bare thinking of rejecting them.

- Similarly, I couldn't cope with balloons going down. I'd keep them inflated as long as possible, taping up holes as they started to degrade. I still can't deal with balloons.

- When going to school as a teen I'd leave the house at 7:05am to avoid morning encounters with family members. Then walk dogs until 6pm after school.

- For some time - I don't remember for how long - I ate as little as possible. I don't remember what my thinking was behind it. I used to pour the milk from my dad's breakfast bowl into another bowl to look like I'd had breakfast. I saved my lunch money. Then gave various excuses to either skip or reduce my meals.

- Some of the things I wasn't allowed to do have become things that I never want to do, which I think is my brain pretending that these things were my decisions.

- I wrote fictitious diaries for characters I invented, disappearing mentally into their worlds, absorbed in writing and creating them.

- Writing stories in general.

- Writing poetry.

- I left some projects unfinished, I think because then I couldn't be told I'd done a crap job of them. They tended to be things my step mum knew I was working on. The projects I did for myself I finished.

- A teacher at college pointed out (to the entire class) that I wore dowdy unremarkable clothing, which she said could be psychologically seen as trying to hide.

- I threw myself into church and YMCA projects. My parents and James did at least drive me around a lot for these.

- I used to listen to music very loudly to drown out my feelings, and the thoughts on my head.

- I had up to 30 correspondents at one point. Perhaps this was another way to disappear from reality. I tried to list them while going to sleep, the other day; doing so was more attentive than counting sheep!

- I think maybe I didn't try very hard with school work, just doing enough to get through, because I knew that if I put my best in I'd be told it wasn't good enough anyway.

- As a teenager I spent as much time as I could with friends, preferably at their houses. Making this list is quite scarily making me experience the same feelings of needing them, that I did back then.

- Looking back it seems like I didn't notice when people didn't treat me with the same respect or kindness that I gave them. It's as if I was choosing to not see it.

- I used to bite myself and hit myself when really upset or frustrated. This still happens when I'm really wound up. 

- I got used to recognising the sound of each person in the house, how they walked up the stairs, how they arrived at the front door, or pulled their car on to the drive. I thought it was normal until discussing it with other people.

- I learnt how to hide from people, in plain sight. I found that closed eyes were less likely to be seen than open eyes, and that people don't look at ground level, so sitting down hid you really quickly.

- I learnt exactly where to tread on the floor and stairs in order to move around the house silently.

Le jardinier et le printemps

I find my peace in the garden. 

I don't want to be living here. I don't think it's good for my mental health to feel so insecure. I don't think that the cats are happy here. I feel too far from the part of Norfolk that feels like home, and too far from Trouble.

And yet, when I'm gardening it does feel like home. I can't help but make future plans for it.

When we moved into the house here, the garden hadn't been touched in years. The lady who lived here said that the only time she entered the garden was to bury her cats. (Thankfully I've not discovered them yet). The garden, although fairly straight, is kind of in five parts. 

1) There's an adequate sized lawn. It's been undermined by moles, so you nearly lose a foot when walking across it. It did have rose bushes going mad in the middle, but we've removed all but one of these.

2) A large triple sycamore completes the lawn. 

3) Beyond the sycamore there are thirty foot fur trees on either side of the garden (not on our side of the fence). The height of the trees means that this part of the garden is almost completely shaded. Either side, along our fences, the ground had nothing but a few weeds growing. Someone put some raised beds along one side at some point, which had nothing but nettles in them.

4) There was a portion of lawn in the middle, but it was (and still is) very dominated by weeds. Giant thistles, nettles, hemlock, creeping Charlie, ground ivy, dandelions, dock leaves, goose grass, and daisies. It also had a giant unidentified bush taking up half of the potential space.

5) The very end of the garden is completely barren. You could fit two green houses there, so it's a frustrating waste of space. We can't put greenhouses or sheds there, because the entire garden has cat proofing around it to prevent the cats getting out. If they can jump on and then off, outbuildings, it would defeat the object of the cat proofing.

So what do I see when I look at that mess? A challenge. A project. A beauty that I want to harness.

(That large tree isn't even half way up the garden. The view of the rest of the garden is blocked by an innocent looking bush, just beyond the tree).

So, last summer I started the rehabilitation of the garden. I have a willing helper in Blob. He pulled out the rose bushes and demolished the bush for me. I sat on the ground trying to extricate the creeping crawling weeds from the little grass there was.

Along the sides, where it was almost totally barren, we pulled up the weeds, dug it all over, put down weed supressing membrane, and started planting. On one side of the garden the side bed is covered in slate. On the other it's covered in bark.

After the first year we've learnt that a lot of things don't survive here, even with a good feed and their own bed of compost, so I've been researching how to approach it. I've ordered some plants that should be happy here, which will be arriving next week.

The plans I have for the garden:

- obviously, plant up the beds we've created.

- where the bushes were, build a gazebo from reclaimed wood.

- allow nettles and weeds to grow in two of the raised beds, so that local insect and bug life is still ok here, but also so that those plants are contained.

- use the earth from the other raised beds to even out the garden where there are holes, etc.

- the back of the garden where nothing will grow, somehow turn into a place to relax, incorporating a fire pit.

- throw woodland wild flower seeds all over the top lawn.

I'm the one that potters out there each day, sitting on the ground pulling up weeds, listening to the birds, falling asleep at 3pm (I don't know why it's the same time each day). I'm also the one bossing Blob around in order to get the rest of my plans done 😁

So far this year I've mostly planted bricks. The beds look far better with the brick borders. Not that I've finished yet. I could have probably finished today, but I figure that when I'm no longer treating worms with respect, I should go do something else. Like write a rambling blog post that no one will read.

What a mess!