body [not responding]

"Why don't you push yourself harder?"

 

Dear Diary,

 

This is the question I asked myself. Let's set an imaginary scene.

 

I'm actually in the bath, but in my minds eye, I'm sitting in a small enclosed room, reminiscent of something between the room where I did counselling in 2010, and an academic's office where tutorials happen. A place of interrogation and insight, and terror. I'm sitting on a leather chair, and the other person is sitting on a leather chair. The other person asks me:

 

Why didn't you do more today?

 

I was tired, I just had to listen to my body. I did some reading and then my mind and my body shut down and I collapsed.Part of me know where this line of thought is going.

You know you need to do better than this. Why don't you push harder, if you wanted to push yourself harder, let yourself pass out before you got stuff done today

Some days I get shit done. Other days I don't. If I'm honest. I've got lots of anxiety things in my head. Things that I know I'm obliged to do, things that I really should be doing. Then there's something else on my mind that's causing indecision. I'm waiting. I don't like the uncertainty. Wasn't I just offered a fucking job? Then why haven't I heard back from HR yet? Why haven't I gotten my first placement, my first assignment? Why am I just fucking waiting around?

You know that isn't up to you

I can't make plans without knowing

You can't keep waiting. You know what happened when you did that

I feel impotent. The anxiety, all the things in my head. I'm getting too many ideas. Then Irealise there are things I want to do that I can't afford to do (due to payday not coming yet). I wanted to go and see Megadeth this week. I want to go off to Oxford. I wanted to go on a date with the pretty librarian girl from okcupid. I wanted to go on that all night philosophy bender. I have garden stuff. I have blogging stuff. I have music obligations. I have other blogging stuff. I have a book review to do by August.

That voice in bold is still in the back of my head, my voice. Mia's voice. That voice that says I need to be better. When I silence it I know that I'm doing myself a disservice. I know I'm too complacent. I know that when I give a label to my accidie, to my indecision, it gives me an excuse.

I was reading a book lately, where Bruno Latour talks about how people use labels as a get-out clause to explain their behaviours or why they can't fail. They can't fail because they have depression, they can't fail because they have some medical condition. They use that medicalised bullshit as an excuse to avoid the realisation that they are a miserable fucking failure and gives them comfort to say its okay to fail.

I hate being a failure. I don't know why I am so tired today. I hate when my body is like my firefox browser. When too much shit happens it goes [not responding]. What would I like out of life? I'd like to go on dates. I'd like to sit in the pub with people I feel safe with and chat shit. I'd like to be in a job with more working hours. I'd like more independence from my disability. My vision is getting bad lately. I am planning to meet a woman tomorrow morning, she's been asking me out for ages, we are meeting for 'lunch' before I go off to work.  Then I'm off to work for a few hours, its one of those short notice shifts. By the way, when I say 'work' in this instance I mean old shambly arena, not Sentinel.

Lots of short notice shifts have come up lately at shambly arena. Shifts are a bit few and far between this month. July and August will be no better. I really need to get on with another work situation before it gets quiet at shambly. On the other hand, I do have a good opportunity to move forward with Sentinel. If only I fucking heard back from them! I am getting impatient. I need to learn patience. I need to learn calm.

I was so tired today that I couldn't go to the balance class today. In my stupour, I have been watching a fuckload of movies lately. I am abusing the dual screen and youtube. I am catching up with the shit that hollywood throws out there.

I haven't heard from the psychiatrists eitehr. I fucking hate when people don't follow up. I fucking hate when there's no touching of bases. Nobody really gives a fucking shit these days. I hate the lethargy of the world. I hate my own fucking lethargy

I need to fucking push myself more! FUCK!

Tomorrow is the premiere of that thing I was composing the other month. I can't go to it. I have too much shit going on. I feel really fucking frustrated right now. Why can't I get some feedback from the sentinel. I want to start soon! I'm pissed off at myself more, for having an eating disorder during my masters degree, for trying to save Marie.

I need to calm the fuck down and imagine a happy place. I like thinking about the piano downstairs, when I was there with my old piano teacher Jim Beam. I feel relaxed with my classical music. I have too many ideas in my head, my body feels so weak. I have so much to do. I might try to hurredly write blogs all night before I collapse.

so fucking drained. I want to cry.