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anonymityblaizeSo. When a grown adult finds herself running away from her life to go hide at her parents' house for a week then it is time for her to admit she has a problem.
And I can no longer hide behind my belief that things can't be that bad if I'm not moaning about it on the internet when, in fact, I allude to all the stuff that is making me whinge in nearly every post. So full disclosure time - tales of my inability to acknowledge depression in the present tense, my feelings about my home turning on me, and my desire to murder all the builders.
Let's start with the depression, since that's the thing I find the hardest to talk (or write) about.
I tend to think of my depression as something that is in the past. It stole several years from me in my early twenties and I like to see it as being something I triumphed over. I started leaving the house on a more regular basis. I became able to talk to strangers and managed to engage in small talk. I didn't assume that everyone thought I was a crazy person and started to find things about myself that I liked. I went back to university after a five year hiatus and got my degree. I was proud of my recovery.
But now I find myself having to admit that that isn't how depression works. It is not a dragon that I slew through my own hard work and perseverance. It is a black dog that will walk with me forever.
It will never be as bad as it was then, when everything was frightening and dark and I couldn't remember how happy I could be and I cried until my eyes were swollen. I have the tools now to recognise what my depression is trying to do to me and what I can do fight back, but it will always be there. The trick is for me to lead the dog, not let the dog lead me.
The reason I bring all this up, and how it relates to killing workmen, is because I've been engaging in some really daft circular thinking lately and have been helping my depression rather than fighting it. I've been distressed by the building work going on around me for the past year, and then I've felt guilty for being upset by it, like it should be some trifling matter that is beneath me to be bothered by. Which has, of course, just upset me more, and then I'm upset about being upset, which just leads to being upset about being upset about being upset, which leads to anger which leads to the dark side. Or something. And this past week of being removed from the source of my problem has pointed out to me a) how much I needed a break from it, and b) how much any sane person would be bothered by it all, let alone someone with a depressive personality.
So I'm going to have a right old moan now, and hopefully it'll be all cathartic or some such shite.
I live in a flat in a tenement building that was build in the 1870s. I love this building. It used to be in the middle of a row of tenements, but one came down during the war, and the one on the other side was demolished in the early 90s after a fire, and now we have gardens on each side. It's an unusual street to say the least, but its quirkiness suits me. The flat itself is surprising large given the area we live in, and I adore my 12 foot ceilings and the little things here and there that are still the same as when the building was built.
But beautiful old things need help to stay beautiful and inhabitable, and so two years ago the city council contacted us about doing a whole bunch of renovation work before they would slap a compulsory work order on the building. So all the owners of the eight flats got together with our factors and we worked out what needed to be done. And it was a terrifying amount of stuff and it was a whole bunch of money we didn't have, but it had to be done, and it would bring the building back to its former glory and hey, maybe we'd make the cost back through a bump in our flat's value (sometimes, I am SO middle class, I know).
And so last year, in April, they started on our "six month" renovations. I never expected them to finish on time - I have watched enough episodes of Grand Designs and the like to know building projects never come in on time, but we had a contract that specified that cost overruns were not our responsibility, so I thought I had no worries.
About three months in I started to get really stressed out by it all. I work part-time from home, so I spend a lot of time here when the builders are here. And since there's scaffolding across all our windows, they can see right in to every room of our home except the bathroom. So I started not opening the curtains and spending entire days inside working under artificial light. And then I started walking round my own home with headphones in to block the noise out. (I never need to hear a Weegie builder singing along to Rhianna ever again.) And the rage started building. I felt trapped by own home (once or twice, literally - I would open our door to find them working in our close and they would be stunned and annoyed by my need for them to move something so that I could exit my own house, sometimes I couldn't even bring myself to argue with them and would retreat back inside). And of course the days when they needed access to our flat to do work from the inside were even worse.
And then here we are fourteen months in to a "six month" project and there's still no end in sight. They'll be here for at least another two months by my reckoning, maybe longer. And there's talk of us needing to pay more money for unexpected work and two VAT rises that have happened since the work began. I can't even bring myself to list all the ways they have made my life infinitely more complicated. Although I will mention the THREE SEPARATE TIMES they have broken our satellite dish so that we can get no telly, as telly is my teacher, mother, secret lover and the source of much of my stress relief. At least the tv and internet were never broken at the same time. That might really have caused me to go homicidal.
Bloody hell, I have rambled for quite some time.
Anyhow, in conclusion: stressful things have stressed me out, and I need to accept that that is understandable. Yes, they are terribly first world problems of woe, but they are my problems and I am allowed to be upset by it. But I need to not let it overwhelm me. It will be over eventually, and my lovely building will be lovely once more and this hellish time can become a funny anecdote. (At some point I shall share some of my other tales of my building, which were very much full of woe at the time, but seem hilarious now. One of these stories involves Glasgow's history of pirate miners, I kid you not.)
Thank you to anyone who made it through my tl;dr of self-centred angst.
On the upside of life, I saw X-Men First Class and it was every bit as flail-inducing as everyone had said. It gave me FEELINGS. And many thoughts. Some of which I shall post soon (probably when I have seen it again because I so need to see it again). For now I'll just perpetrate a drive by gif dump before I run away to spend the rest of my life watching McAvoy/Fassbender interviews on youtube. Such a chore...
Also, Community fen, please help a girl out - where does this pic come from and are there more? Because, WANT.
Also, also, I am giving tumblr another try (as it provided me with most of today's pics!). Tell me who I should be following!
And I can no longer hide behind my belief that things can't be that bad if I'm not moaning about it on the internet when, in fact, I allude to all the stuff that is making me whinge in nearly every post. So full disclosure time - tales of my inability to acknowledge depression in the present tense, my feelings about my home turning on me, and my desire to murder all the builders.
Let's start with the depression, since that's the thing I find the hardest to talk (or write) about.
I tend to think of my depression as something that is in the past. It stole several years from me in my early twenties and I like to see it as being something I triumphed over. I started leaving the house on a more regular basis. I became able to talk to strangers and managed to engage in small talk. I didn't assume that everyone thought I was a crazy person and started to find things about myself that I liked. I went back to university after a five year hiatus and got my degree. I was proud of my recovery.
But now I find myself having to admit that that isn't how depression works. It is not a dragon that I slew through my own hard work and perseverance. It is a black dog that will walk with me forever.
It will never be as bad as it was then, when everything was frightening and dark and I couldn't remember how happy I could be and I cried until my eyes were swollen. I have the tools now to recognise what my depression is trying to do to me and what I can do fight back, but it will always be there. The trick is for me to lead the dog, not let the dog lead me.
The reason I bring all this up, and how it relates to killing workmen, is because I've been engaging in some really daft circular thinking lately and have been helping my depression rather than fighting it. I've been distressed by the building work going on around me for the past year, and then I've felt guilty for being upset by it, like it should be some trifling matter that is beneath me to be bothered by. Which has, of course, just upset me more, and then I'm upset about being upset, which just leads to being upset about being upset about being upset, which leads to anger which leads to the dark side. Or something. And this past week of being removed from the source of my problem has pointed out to me a) how much I needed a break from it, and b) how much any sane person would be bothered by it all, let alone someone with a depressive personality.
So I'm going to have a right old moan now, and hopefully it'll be all cathartic or some such shite.
I live in a flat in a tenement building that was build in the 1870s. I love this building. It used to be in the middle of a row of tenements, but one came down during the war, and the one on the other side was demolished in the early 90s after a fire, and now we have gardens on each side. It's an unusual street to say the least, but its quirkiness suits me. The flat itself is surprising large given the area we live in, and I adore my 12 foot ceilings and the little things here and there that are still the same as when the building was built.
But beautiful old things need help to stay beautiful and inhabitable, and so two years ago the city council contacted us about doing a whole bunch of renovation work before they would slap a compulsory work order on the building. So all the owners of the eight flats got together with our factors and we worked out what needed to be done. And it was a terrifying amount of stuff and it was a whole bunch of money we didn't have, but it had to be done, and it would bring the building back to its former glory and hey, maybe we'd make the cost back through a bump in our flat's value (sometimes, I am SO middle class, I know).
And so last year, in April, they started on our "six month" renovations. I never expected them to finish on time - I have watched enough episodes of Grand Designs and the like to know building projects never come in on time, but we had a contract that specified that cost overruns were not our responsibility, so I thought I had no worries.
About three months in I started to get really stressed out by it all. I work part-time from home, so I spend a lot of time here when the builders are here. And since there's scaffolding across all our windows, they can see right in to every room of our home except the bathroom. So I started not opening the curtains and spending entire days inside working under artificial light. And then I started walking round my own home with headphones in to block the noise out. (I never need to hear a Weegie builder singing along to Rhianna ever again.) And the rage started building. I felt trapped by own home (once or twice, literally - I would open our door to find them working in our close and they would be stunned and annoyed by my need for them to move something so that I could exit my own house, sometimes I couldn't even bring myself to argue with them and would retreat back inside). And of course the days when they needed access to our flat to do work from the inside were even worse.
And then here we are fourteen months in to a "six month" project and there's still no end in sight. They'll be here for at least another two months by my reckoning, maybe longer. And there's talk of us needing to pay more money for unexpected work and two VAT rises that have happened since the work began. I can't even bring myself to list all the ways they have made my life infinitely more complicated. Although I will mention the THREE SEPARATE TIMES they have broken our satellite dish so that we can get no telly, as telly is my teacher, mother, secret lover and the source of much of my stress relief. At least the tv and internet were never broken at the same time. That might really have caused me to go homicidal.
Bloody hell, I have rambled for quite some time.
Anyhow, in conclusion: stressful things have stressed me out, and I need to accept that that is understandable. Yes, they are terribly first world problems of woe, but they are my problems and I am allowed to be upset by it. But I need to not let it overwhelm me. It will be over eventually, and my lovely building will be lovely once more and this hellish time can become a funny anecdote. (At some point I shall share some of my other tales of my building, which were very much full of woe at the time, but seem hilarious now. One of these stories involves Glasgow's history of pirate miners, I kid you not.)
Thank you to anyone who made it through my tl;dr of self-centred angst.
On the upside of life, I saw X-Men First Class and it was every bit as flail-inducing as everyone had said. It gave me FEELINGS. And many thoughts. Some of which I shall post soon (probably when I have seen it again because I so need to see it again). For now I'll just perpetrate a drive by gif dump before I run away to spend the rest of my life watching McAvoy/Fassbender interviews on youtube. Such a chore...
Also, Community fen, please help a girl out - where does this pic come from and are there more? Because, WANT.
Also, also, I am giving tumblr another try (as it provided me with most of today's pics!). Tell me who I should be following!
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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Date: 2011-06-15 05:44 pm (UTC)http://verydemotivational.files.wordpress.com/2010/01/129081361879580033.jpg
I wish you well..
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Date: 2011-06-15 06:10 pm (UTC)James McAvoy and Michael Fassbender are the slashiest thing I've ever seen, and I've seen a lot of slashy things. I can't handle their awesomeness. ♥
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Date: 2011-06-16 02:42 pm (UTC)