The lies we tell ourselves …. to get by

You know the part where I said I was fine and coping really well.

The sheer magnitude of that “lie” became apparent yesterday as I proceeded to have what can only be described as a shit-fucking day, and a total break with reality.

I am not sure if shit and fucking should be combined, but it was the sort of the day where there were few other options that would work.

I have managed to cope pretty well.  I told you I was coping well.  I told me I was coping well.

I told my psychologist I was “fine actually” …. anyone who would listen I told them I was fine.

It appears coping and just putting things into neat boxes, and avoiding dealing with them is almost the same thing.

On Sunday I had been invited to a really lovely day away with my friend and her lovely guy.  We had a relaxing day.

Went out for dinner, and it was really just really great.

view

I am not a big “sea” person – possibly because I have always lived at the sea, or near the sea, the sea holds very little in the way of wonder for me.

Mountains are far more my thing.

My divine friend and her significant man person, were nice enough to “evacuate” their room and let me have the room with a view – I know I should have said “no, really guys, no” but then I didn’t.

But then I saw the view — and well then I rethought that I might in fact be a “sea person.”

Monday pulled around.  And then I had a poes collapse.

The epic kind.  I know we tend to use rather “epic” liberally but if I can direct you to one of it’s meanings of unusually great size or extent” then I get to use the word epic for my day yesterday.

The sort of day where I stood wondering how many sleeping tablets would be sufficient to have a really long sleep, say versus off”ing yourself.  My personal feeling on numbers is 22.

I am not sure why, but I feel that 22 is the “magic number.”

I have not done any personal investigation, it just is the number that I think would be the number.

I opted not for 22.  I just wanted enough to sleep for most of the day.

I figured THAT range would be more than 1 less than 10 –  like sleep for the day and maybe the rest of April, but wake up refreshed, or at least not crying.

Kennith had the kids with him.

I lay on my bed curled up in a ball.

I cried like I have not cried since that time I fell whilst roller-skating and broke my coccyx. And then realised I still had to get off my sorry arse and roller-skate the rest of the way home.

Do you know how much fun roller skating is when you have a broken coccyx.  Not as much as you would think.

That kind of cry.

I would swap a broken coccyx for the way I feel right now.

I cried so hard my eyes looked not dissimilar to sheep’s vaginas.  I will be honest and tell you I have not really looked at a sheep’s vagina, but I just have this picture.

And my eyes sort of filled the mental picture I had created of a sheep hoo-ha.

The humour, or the part that is slightly funny, is that I didn’t sleep.  I dozed for a bit.

I did not sleep last night. I did not sleep this morning.  I have not slept since Monday night.

I have ingested two week’s worth of sleeping tablets and I did not go to sleep.  Do you think LIFE is laughing right now?

Or possibly I misread the box, and I took two weeks’ worth of diarrhea medication.  My eyes were red and very swollen, it could have happened.

I hope someone is laughing, because we know it is not me.

I did some more crying last night, and usually crying makes me very tired.

I had to do it (cry) quietly into my pillow as I had two kids sleeping in my bed, and a dog.

This morning dawned and I put my big girl panties on, showered, brushed teeth, attempted to arrange my hair around my now swollen face, dropped kids off and then drove to work.

I am attempting to not cry at work — well I can cry, but only when I know no one is looking.   I am moving between no mascara and panda-eyes.

How much can one person cry?  Is there a number?  Is there a liters per capita?  Is there a point where your fucking tear ducts just burst into flames?

Yeah, so anyway, in answer to the previous question no, I am not fucking fine.

Next person who asks gets punched in the vagina.

 

{this post is not a cry for help —– it is just a cry}