Someone with mental health should never drink, the fact that it’s a depressant is not the one. If you thought you felt bad before, the alcohol crash will have you reaching for the blades, iron, what ever your form of comfort is. This is me today, too much wine last night with the Duck. Brilliant idea at the time, we laughed a lot and competitively went to war against each other on battleships. The sex that followed is one for the wank bank, crazy in the head freak in the bed is a saying for a reason. Plough it with alcohol and monsters are created, one with bpd the other definitely narcissistic (borderline and narcissistic relationship cycles make for good googling and reading). All of these things are sub topics for other blogs I’m sure, my point of the one now is I am at the beginning of what could be a huge crash.
I am currently writing from the bed I have been in for twelve hours. My house is in post drink state and I now have four children to make a roast for, Duck has his child today and I have mine. The idea of getting up is overwhelming. Dread is sunken in my stomach. I’m too ocd to not gut the house,I also need to wash. Duck is painting my hall and this means the hall furniture lives in the living room. I have no milk so have to shop run. Yet here I am,hiding out in my bed mid afternoon. I did try getting up but it made me feel ill, I don’t know what’s real and what of it is somitization, I don’t even care. Then I found some fluid forming in my eyes so back to bed I came. I layed for an hour thinking here I would stay, nothing can alter my mood. The illness won.
A duck and music may have saved my day. I love music, duck loves music, both with a very eclectic taste, with a very much equal adoration and appreciation. I hated his stupid huge speakers when they made home in my bedroom, my girlie clear bedroom now houses two huge speakers. Until these moments when these speakers act like prozac. Duck came upstairs and from under the covers my ears absorbed the enigma and return to innocence. I hated this song for years until Tc,now it sums everything up and my body responds to its tribal monk like chants. Goosebumps and chills. My body responds the same to this as it does when I pick up something hot my skin wants. My body sinks into my bed of safety. Duck leaves the edge of my bed and goes about the day with our children and a paintrush in his hand. Even whilst I write still the music flows, controlled by him from his androids. It is mix of the man knowing me, caring, and playing the most perfectly chosen tunes. Maybe he just played it selfishly despite my obviously dying self but today I will believe the other. We have a mix of Pink Floyd, Guns and Roses, Enigma and some old school comforting R&B reminding me of how I used music in my teens.
I have always used music to escape and to comfort. Headphones my whole life, vinyls, scratching my parents records to death when I was young. Musicals. Tapes. Cds. Losing myself to music in cars, in clubs, give me it and give me it loud. During some hypnotherapy once my self now gave my young me a walkman, total subconscious decision. Best gift anyone can give a child that struggles I think. I saw most west end productions when I was younger, something my parents got very right ( you have to give them the credits when deservant or you live building hate blocks). Cats was my favourite, I saw that twice, phantom of the Opera, Joseph, starlight express. Anything Wayne Sleep was in I had to see, musicalsl films made my childhood bearable and gives me fond memories.
It’s lying here feeling my mood shift that made me write. I don’t know how this simple thing can have such power. I’m pondering if artisan types and mental health go so hand in hand for a reason. Beside from the fact the back of our brains over ride the rest maybe the blessing is the creative out lets soften the screams of the batshit. Or is it that identifying the feelings is impossible when crashing and music embraces these, waving sounds over us in a way we can manage. Identifying, pulling things from inside to the surface of our bodies where things become easier to reach. Working backwards from my bodily responses is a process that works for me when I am struggling to find the overwhelming culprits.
What ever it is that works such magic, I have reached for my phone to blog, my head is out of the covers, when I put my final fullstop in here I am getting up to tidy and sort out these children. I am placing the chicken in the oven and peeling the potatoes. All after I have hunted out the duck to kiss and thank. I would never have turned the music on myself because my mood wasn’t there, but hearing who do u love ll cool j, and a bit of Mcfly telling me I’m loved has me feeling blessed, feeling that amongst the music played to raise me up he also sends me a message and I feel less isolated than the darkness would have me believe, (remember right now we go with the belief he is making some romantic gesture).
Today it nearly won, nearly robbed me of a day and nearly robbed my children of me for a day. Disgusting vile shitty illness. Disgusting vile alcohol if it be to blame also. But it didn’t… Today it lost, not to my fight but the fight someone else made unknowingly. That there is one more reason to get up and sort my shit.