Been a long time comin'

I usually try to keep away from any communicative medium when I feel like this. It's just easier for everyone. I hate whining on the internet. (I mean I hate to whine on the internet, not that I hate everyone who does.) I know a fair few people who are worse off then myself, so I tend to think of it as pretty self-indulgent. And even then, most of them just get on with it for the vast majority of the time, so why can't I?

I know this is silly. Most of my tweets these days are about 4 of the 5 things I love most in the world. (Steff, my friends, football and music, if anyone's counting. I don't tend to tweet much about my family.) In general, at least in comparison to over summer, I reckon I'm mostly positive on Twitter, so I should really give myself leave every now and then to have a bit of a rant. I just can't be as expressive in that format as I'd like, though. Certainly not for anything personal. It's easy enough to get worked up about job cuts and Tories and Lib Dems and bankers (these are a few of my least-favourite things). I find myself using Facebook less and less (except for Scrabble, obviously), and anyway, I don't want my friends to feel like they have to leave comments out of obligation. I've gotten out of the habit of ordering my thoughts and feelings like this in a blog. Ever since I stopped regularly updated Livejournal, I've let my feelings of inadequacy get in the way. I've never been a great writer and never will be. All those wonderfully expressive blogs by my friends seemed to be mocking me. Why it felt like a competition, I'm not sure, but it did.

Anyway, it's almost certainly been to my detriment. I might not have ended up needing to see 2 different psychologists now if I'd just sat down and typed it all out. I might have been able to hold onto my job when Steff went into hospital. I might have dealt with the stress better if I had sat down and properly engaged with someone, actually using all the wonderful people who offered whatever help they could provide. I might have realised that what everyone from friends to Steff's doctors to my family were saying was true - it was affecting me too.


Talking about what Steff was going through felt like I was betraying her. Talking about what I was going through felt like I was belittling what she was going through. I tried not to think about myself. If I remained stoic, I could be there for her her. How could I help her if I was allowing myself to crumble? I now see I did more harm than good...
If I had done any of the above, I might not have had to deal with this tightness in and pressure on my chest, caused by the wonderfully-named Costochondritis, for months.

I hate feeling like this. It's exhausting. Simultaneously, someone sits on my chest while they reach inside and tie all my arteries in knots, giving my heart a good squeeze into the bargain. Any energy not wasted on, say, moving, or breathing, or snapping at Steff when she's trying her best to help, goes on convincing my brain I'm not having a heart attack. (I've had my heart checked and there's definitely nothing wrong with it, thankfully.)

I've come to realise that it's this symptom more than any other which makes me terrified of returning to work or study. It's recently come to my attention that I've dealt with anxiety for most of my life, but it's never taken up more  energy than it has over the last 18 months. I don't know how to make if go away. I'm hoping this is a start.

This isn't the entry I started to write...

I started this blog during one of my creative bursts. They don't happen often and they don't last long. When the storm subsides, I'm left with little or no energy to follow up on what I've started. So booked gigs go unpromoted, demoed songs go unrecorded... and my blog sits accusingly empty.

That's not to say my post today is a sign of another creative burst or surge in energy. Quite the opposite. I could barely move yesterday after overdoing it with packing for our impending move and today doesn't seem to have started much better. Steff has been encouraging me to write more and I can see how positive using her blog has been for her, so I'm just trying to get inspired.

Since my last post I've started a few entries, but just couldn't bring myself to write them. Between October and December I wasn't exactly short of material given our Dear Leaders' assault on people like me and the subsequent protests, but to be honest I couldn't bring myself to research just how bad things might get for me and Steff over the next few years. Thankfully, since then we've formulated something approaching a plan for the future, involving returning to studying. Hopefully this will get us both off demoralising benefits and lead to us both being able to work again somewhere down the line, without having to return to Call Centre Hell. It's certainly worth a shot.

Cuts might scupper those plans, too, though. I'd ideally like to end up teaching in adult education. I've heard over the last couple of days that Glasgow University is looking to significantly reduce it's adult education budget. Another option for me is teaching adults with learning disabilities. I find helping out at Enable's clubs hugely rewarding and think I have the patience to do this kind of teaching, but I doubt that Glasgow City Council will consider funding these courses a priority.

I've spent most of my life with no plan whatsoever. Now that I've finally formed one, I have no idea if, 5 or 6 years down the line, it will be remotely viable. Still, a flawed plan is probably better than none.