Jem is coming home. He seems desperate to get here and I am so looking forward to having him back.
I have spoken to him and he sounds more himself than he has done since we found out. He seems to have benefited from just being with his family. I also had messages from his sister and mother and it turns out that everyone understood and agreed with my reasons for not going to the funeral. I am relieved that they don't think I'm an unfeeling bitch. Or perhaps I should suspect that they are well mannered enough to lie to me about it. Either way I feel slightly better.
Monday, 22 February 2016
Saturday, 20 February 2016
I think I may have done something despicable...
My husbands son died last Sunday. Overdose. he was 23. He had drugs problems for years but he had been doing really well for the last year and everyone thought he had turned a corner. I didn't know him except from overheard conversation with Jem on Sunday afternoons, but I liked him and I am very sad to think that such a smart and funny guy is gone.
I am also heartbroken for my husband. No parent should have to bury their child. He is at the funeral in Penn, USA now, with his family. Not only have I never met Justin but I don't know any of his family other than his mother and sister slightly, so I would have felt like an intruder at the funeral. Plus I thought there might be a chance that Jem could get to talk to his daughter and hopefully have a civil conversation with his ex wife, something that would have been very awkward with me there. Such a tragic funeral is not the right setting for getting to know your partner's extended family.
And I know my husband, he will do almost anything to get out of family dramas or emotional conversations and I didn't want him to be able to avoid talking to his family by using me as an excuse to escape them. Plus it would have increased to cost of an already expensive trip and require me to miss work at a really busy and demanding time.
I looked at all the angles and I truly believed that my presence would have been disruptive in every way so I felt the best course of action was for me not to go. Of course that practical and sensible assessment of the situation didn't matter one iota when I woke up the morning after Jem left and realised I wouldn't be there to support my husband as he buried his son.
I know I made the right decision, I know my absence will have forced Jem to engage with his family, discuss this tragedy and will ultimately help him to come to terms with the death of his son. Plus I know that the funeral was just the beginning of grief and that when he comes back home I will be able to care for him and love him and help him heal.
But right now, sitting on my bed in London while Jem is in a car on the way back from putting his child in the ground, I feel like a piece of shit.
I am also heartbroken for my husband. No parent should have to bury their child. He is at the funeral in Penn, USA now, with his family. Not only have I never met Justin but I don't know any of his family other than his mother and sister slightly, so I would have felt like an intruder at the funeral. Plus I thought there might be a chance that Jem could get to talk to his daughter and hopefully have a civil conversation with his ex wife, something that would have been very awkward with me there. Such a tragic funeral is not the right setting for getting to know your partner's extended family.
And I know my husband, he will do almost anything to get out of family dramas or emotional conversations and I didn't want him to be able to avoid talking to his family by using me as an excuse to escape them. Plus it would have increased to cost of an already expensive trip and require me to miss work at a really busy and demanding time.
I looked at all the angles and I truly believed that my presence would have been disruptive in every way so I felt the best course of action was for me not to go. Of course that practical and sensible assessment of the situation didn't matter one iota when I woke up the morning after Jem left and realised I wouldn't be there to support my husband as he buried his son.
I know I made the right decision, I know my absence will have forced Jem to engage with his family, discuss this tragedy and will ultimately help him to come to terms with the death of his son. Plus I know that the funeral was just the beginning of grief and that when he comes back home I will be able to care for him and love him and help him heal.
But right now, sitting on my bed in London while Jem is in a car on the way back from putting his child in the ground, I feel like a piece of shit.
Monday, 8 February 2016
Still weak after all these years
Horrible weekend, Headache and lurgie set in on Friday and I used feeling poorly as an excuse to indulge in some of the birthday cake that is ALWAYS in the office. As with any addict, once I got the taste I was lost on a binge for the entire weekend. I literally ate so much that I made myself feel utterly sick and my stomach was so distended and painful walking upright hurt only slightly more than lying down. Yet I still woke up on Saturday and again on Sunday and did it all again.
I wish I could explain why I get days like that, weekends like that. Once I start it's as if the brain's higher functions just shut down. I just can't think or focus on anything but food and getting as much of it as I can. There is a tiny part of my mind that is looking on from far away and feeling completely disgusted with myself but it isn't strong enough to stop me..
Everyone thinks that those of us who over-eat are just gluttons. There may be truth in that for some people. Some people just like cake. I have known enough people who just really enjoyed their food. But my eating has never felt the same as theirs. The way I can eat, the way I want to eat all the time, the way I ate at the weekend, feels like it comes from a different place, an uncontrollable place.
Or perhaps that's just my need to feel important or special, to forgive myself, to make excuses, to rationalise. Perhaps I am just really, really greedy. I can only accept that if it is true that alcoholics are just really, really thirsty.
Don't misunderstand me, I'm not asking for sympathy. I loath this weakness in myself and I am equally unforgiving of other fat people. While I believe that compulsive eating is a powerful addiction that is incredibly difficult to control, I still despise myself and anyone else who is too weak to fight it.
On the 5th March my gastric band will be removed. It hasn't worked properly for nearly two years now but while it was inside me I could fool myself that somehow it was still helping me to keep control. My consultants have been telling me for over a year that my stomach had distended over the band and the lining was thickened and irritated. They insisted I have the band deflated to allow the stomach to settle down. Of course they hadn't needed to tell me because I had pain in my abdomen and acid reflux. But I argued and lied and bullied and pleaded and they inflated it again. Of course it soon stopped working and the stomach problems came back, but I still fought them. They nagged me into getting endoscopies so they could actually show me what was going on. Eventually I accepted that there was no way the band was ever going to work again so I finally I agreed to let it be removed.
I now have to face the fact that I am on my own again after 15 years and everything I have gained in those years, the life and freedom I gained when the band enabled me to loose 23 stone and become a normal person, could be lost again because I cannot control myself.
I have put on just over 30 kilos in two years. That's 5 stone. Every day involves a fight. Some days I win and I actually lost two stone in 5 months last year with Slimming World. That was when I still believed that the band was helping me a little bit. The band was completely emptied in August and since then I have put on 3and a half stone.
Anyway, it's late and this isn't helping much. Especially as I'm tired and not making much sense. I suppose it was just on my mind so getting it out may help me to sleep rather than just lie here hating myself.
I wish I could explain why I get days like that, weekends like that. Once I start it's as if the brain's higher functions just shut down. I just can't think or focus on anything but food and getting as much of it as I can. There is a tiny part of my mind that is looking on from far away and feeling completely disgusted with myself but it isn't strong enough to stop me..
Everyone thinks that those of us who over-eat are just gluttons. There may be truth in that for some people. Some people just like cake. I have known enough people who just really enjoyed their food. But my eating has never felt the same as theirs. The way I can eat, the way I want to eat all the time, the way I ate at the weekend, feels like it comes from a different place, an uncontrollable place.
Or perhaps that's just my need to feel important or special, to forgive myself, to make excuses, to rationalise. Perhaps I am just really, really greedy. I can only accept that if it is true that alcoholics are just really, really thirsty.
Don't misunderstand me, I'm not asking for sympathy. I loath this weakness in myself and I am equally unforgiving of other fat people. While I believe that compulsive eating is a powerful addiction that is incredibly difficult to control, I still despise myself and anyone else who is too weak to fight it.
On the 5th March my gastric band will be removed. It hasn't worked properly for nearly two years now but while it was inside me I could fool myself that somehow it was still helping me to keep control. My consultants have been telling me for over a year that my stomach had distended over the band and the lining was thickened and irritated. They insisted I have the band deflated to allow the stomach to settle down. Of course they hadn't needed to tell me because I had pain in my abdomen and acid reflux. But I argued and lied and bullied and pleaded and they inflated it again. Of course it soon stopped working and the stomach problems came back, but I still fought them. They nagged me into getting endoscopies so they could actually show me what was going on. Eventually I accepted that there was no way the band was ever going to work again so I finally I agreed to let it be removed.
I now have to face the fact that I am on my own again after 15 years and everything I have gained in those years, the life and freedom I gained when the band enabled me to loose 23 stone and become a normal person, could be lost again because I cannot control myself.
I have put on just over 30 kilos in two years. That's 5 stone. Every day involves a fight. Some days I win and I actually lost two stone in 5 months last year with Slimming World. That was when I still believed that the band was helping me a little bit. The band was completely emptied in August and since then I have put on 3and a half stone.
Anyway, it's late and this isn't helping much. Especially as I'm tired and not making much sense. I suppose it was just on my mind so getting it out may help me to sleep rather than just lie here hating myself.
Wednesday, 3 February 2016
I love my hot water bottle...
I really do. It relives pain. It comforts me. It makes me happy. That can be what I am thankful for today.
Tuesday, 2 February 2016
Guilty Tuesday
Tuesday is the day I go to Slimming World and get weighed. I bunked off today. I bunked off because I fell off the diet wagon on Friday and I didn't make the slightest effort to run after it and get back on.
I couldn't face being weighed when I knew full well I had managed to pile on 5 kilos in 3 days. Yes really. I made a feeble attempt to get back on track yesterday but I only held on until I got home and then I found Magnums in the freezer. Today was better until I got stuck with a 7 minute wait for the 415 at Elephant and Castle. Instead of playing with my phone like a normal person I gave in to the lure of the grubby snack shop and spent the bus journey home stuffing myself with flapjacks and gummy bears. Now I feel like crap. Bloated crap. The wagon feels very far away but perhaps I will be able to catch up with it in the morning.
I couldn't face being weighed when I knew full well I had managed to pile on 5 kilos in 3 days. Yes really. I made a feeble attempt to get back on track yesterday but I only held on until I got home and then I found Magnums in the freezer. Today was better until I got stuck with a 7 minute wait for the 415 at Elephant and Castle. Instead of playing with my phone like a normal person I gave in to the lure of the grubby snack shop and spent the bus journey home stuffing myself with flapjacks and gummy bears. Now I feel like crap. Bloated crap. The wagon feels very far away but perhaps I will be able to catch up with it in the morning.
Monday, 1 February 2016
Good Mental Health
And so the time has come for the annual self loathing life evaluation. Every year, round about the middle of January, I become determined to change my life, to be better, stronger, braver and kinder. To be a calmer, more balanced, more thoughtful, compassionate and empathetic person. To exercise, to meditate, to let joy into my life. To waft about the place smelling of patcholli and looking like I might pull out a tambourine and start singing at the drop of a hat, you know the sort of thing. I always mean it at the time but, like most people, I lack staying power, I lack will. However good my intentions I am easily lulled back into my default position of sloth, gluttony and profound loathing for my fellow man. Especially the ones sharing my daily commute. Some would say that my belief and acceptance of the inevitability of failure is what ensures that it *is* inevitable. To them all I can say is, "shut up and piss off till next year".
In about 8 minutes it will be February 2016. My self flagellation and pledge to achieve perfection of body, mind and soul is a little late this year as work has been a bloody mare! Also I went skiing. But life has settled into its usual winter routine now so I have some spare time to devote to totting up my faults and weaknesses and making half formed plans to address them.
The list of goals is long of course but I feel I'm off to a good start right here right now. I keep reading that writing a journal is incredibly good for ones mental health, allowing one to file and organise and basically tidy and sort the brain box wardrobe. Obviously I'm all for that, so here I am making a start. I do believe that writing things down is beneficial. Especially now when I feel as if my mind is slipping out of my control. I am hoping it's just menopause rather than the onset of dementia, but how would I really know? I do know that I need to focus my thoughts more than I have been in the hope of perhaps identifying patterns or triggers to help me manage my emotions at the moment. And I think this might help.
I also think the recommendation to write down 3 things you are grateful for every day is a sound suggestion on many levels. (Which is why it really bothers me that I find it so hard to do. I find doing, saying or thinking anything positive requires a real effort for me and that can't be healthy can it? I'm OK with strangers or people I don't care for, I can compliment them and heap praise and positive thoughts on them. But with people close to me, people I care for, I find it hard. Although not as hard as I find being positive to or for myself, that's almost impossible. Like I said, can't be healthy. But I digress..)
My point ( yes there was one but I realise it's wandered a tad) is that I am really going to try to keep updating this blog or journal or whatever you want to call it. I think this is one resolutions I really need to keep.
In about 8 minutes it will be February 2016. My self flagellation and pledge to achieve perfection of body, mind and soul is a little late this year as work has been a bloody mare! Also I went skiing. But life has settled into its usual winter routine now so I have some spare time to devote to totting up my faults and weaknesses and making half formed plans to address them.
The list of goals is long of course but I feel I'm off to a good start right here right now. I keep reading that writing a journal is incredibly good for ones mental health, allowing one to file and organise and basically tidy and sort the brain box wardrobe. Obviously I'm all for that, so here I am making a start. I do believe that writing things down is beneficial. Especially now when I feel as if my mind is slipping out of my control. I am hoping it's just menopause rather than the onset of dementia, but how would I really know? I do know that I need to focus my thoughts more than I have been in the hope of perhaps identifying patterns or triggers to help me manage my emotions at the moment. And I think this might help.
I also think the recommendation to write down 3 things you are grateful for every day is a sound suggestion on many levels. (Which is why it really bothers me that I find it so hard to do. I find doing, saying or thinking anything positive requires a real effort for me and that can't be healthy can it? I'm OK with strangers or people I don't care for, I can compliment them and heap praise and positive thoughts on them. But with people close to me, people I care for, I find it hard. Although not as hard as I find being positive to or for myself, that's almost impossible. Like I said, can't be healthy. But I digress..)
My point ( yes there was one but I realise it's wandered a tad) is that I am really going to try to keep updating this blog or journal or whatever you want to call it. I think this is one resolutions I really need to keep.
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