annanotbob's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- If there's anything that you want... I've been having insights into mental health stuff as it's been an intensely emotional few days here in Casa Notbob. One of the least convenient features of my illness is becoming overwhelmed with inappropriate emotions. At this stage of the game I'm able to recognise what's going on and I'm just about able to accept this is an improvement on not having a clue, but it still sucks, big time. This week's drama has been about the kids going off and having fun at the festival with my friends, without me - in fact having a better time because I'm not there. Leaving me on my own. Devastated, I've been. Heartbroken. The rational part of my mind, which is still in there, can see that this is the reaction might have had/could have/should have had as a teenager - between the ages of 11 and 18, I only spent 2 years living with my family for various 'educational' reasons that seemed like bullshit to me then and still do. I know that's what this is about - I decided not to go to the festival, I don't want to be there, yet I'm undone by feelings of rejection, which are so inappropriate, because in fact I am lucky enough to be a well-loved little person and I do know that. I am ashamed and embarrassed to be feeling this, especially so intensely. At the day hospital this morning, J persuaded me that this recognition is an advance on not knowing what's going on, because at least I'm not behaving inappropriately in any way that matters. Like I haven't been phoning the kids and laying guilt trips on them, although I did start blubbing in a taxi this afternoon when I got a text from Sara saying 'Watching the Alabama 3 and thinking of you.' Bastards. That's my Alabama 3. There's been a mental health storyline in Eastenders for several years, featuring Jean, Stacey's mum (there's a song about that: 'Stacey's mum has got it going on,' or something.) For a long time she was a minor character, background rational for Stacey's behaviour, but she's moved onto the square now and is a regular. The writing is as inconsistent as ever with long-running soaps, but Jean's viewpoint has been coming to the fore this week. Yesterday she said, 'But I'm still me, underneath all this,' and I thought I disagreed with that as a statement of how it is to have a mental illness. Today I'm not so sure. Someone made a comment the other day that she didn't understand how someone with a sense of humour like mine could be depressed, but I guess that's the point Jean was making on Eastenders - I'm still me, I just have this illness. And now I'm quite stoned and can't remember what point I was heading towards there. I managed to get myself to the Old School book group meeting today. They had a day off (after doing twilight inset sessions in lieu) and some of them met for a lunchtime bookswap and a meal in a pub. Being a good girl, who is learning her lesson, I called Marion this morning and arranged to meet her beforehand, so that I didn't have to walk in on a group of almost strangers. It was OK, except I'd got the wrong end of it and thought it was about getting rid of books, when in fact it was about lending your favourites. Funny stuff with one of the guys. I'll call him Mark, because if I try and make up a name I'll only get confused. He's deputy head, but quite a sound bloke. I first met him when he was assistant head (one level below) at Ren's school and Ren was getting excluded repeatedly. Each time an excluded pupil goes back to school there has to be a 'readmission interview', with parent(s) - me, kid - Ren, and senior teacher - Mark. Hideously embarrassing and difficult, especially as Ren was doing things that kids at my school were getting away with - like swearing in front of teachers. Once he got kicked out for a week after a rugby game when his try was disallowed. During one of these interviews Mark said to me, 'So, Mrs Notbob, where does your son get his attitude to authority from?' Yeah, yeah, fuck off. Then, while I'm off having nervous breakdown number one, Mark moves jobs, from Ren's school to mine, first as deputy, then acting head as the real one goes off on her own breakdown. After 18 months absence I have to have my own readmission interview and Mark is really cool, asking after Renny and Sara, saying he's sure they'll both come through this tricky stage and that they're both basically sound kids. He's a flirt, this Mark. He used to murmur, 'Mmm, looking good, Mrs Notbob,' as we passed on the corridor, and I have to say, I appreciate that in a bloke, at my time of life. The Italian guy at the deli is a flirt as well - he likes to spoonfeed me tempting little morsels. You carry on, mate, I don't mind. Today Mark said, 'Mrs Notbob, you look lovelier every time I see you,' and I started to unravel on the spot. I haven't had a shower or washed my hair since I don't know when (my party probably), and I've cried almost continuously for four days, so I'm guessing I have looked better than this, though I avoid mirrors so who knows - I could be so fucking staggeringly beautiful that even in my mid-fifties, filthy and broken, I am just awesome. Or he could be taking the piss. Hmm, which could it be? Well, neither, he just does it automatically, it's his default mode. Blimey, I've been drivelling on for hours. Sweet dreams dear ones xxx |11:38 p.m. - 27/06/2008 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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