Things have taken a turn for the worse mentally, so today I’ve been trying to recreate normal life by mentally transporting myself to my favourite place to work, the cafe above the H&M in White City.
Yes, it is pathetic that the cafe above the H&M in White City might be my happy place, but when you have anxiety and depression, there is no happy place – there’s just places where the screaming is quieter and you can put 12 sachets of sugar in a tea semi-judgement free.
I think for me that’s the cafe above the H&M in White City (it’s full title) because the internal cries of anguish are drowned out by the unrelenting sound of babies crying. To fully commit to recreating my not-happy-but-near-enough place, I’ve also been switching off the internet at random and whispering “please can you watch my stuff while I just run to the toilet” while sobbing into my own reflection in the mirror.
What I would give to entrust my valuables with a complete stranger right now. The eye contact, the shy smile, the trust, I can finally, triumphantly release my bladder, all the while knowing that I’ve made a new friend – no, guardian of my belongings. Perhaps I am trusting you, reader, with my valuables: this blog. If you’re lucky I’ll share a secret with you later.
My head is screaming and it feels like everything’s on fire and I wake up with a tightness in my stomach that feels horrendous. That’s hard to say on a zoom chat, though, isn’t it? Particularly when friends can hear at maximum 20% of the words I’m saying, like a sad dubstep remix. I’m also getting pre-FOMO about post-lockdown events. I don’t miss going to the event, I miss seeing it a day later on Insta stories and realising I wasn’t invited.
One of the main lessons I am trying to learn is to separate what is in my control vs what is out of my control. For example, I can’t control anything that is going on inside my phone beyond how much I am looking at my phone. I know that. But the problem is that I am looking at my phone fucking loads, and I can’t stop.
It’s honestly incredible. I have single handedly proved that immersion therapy does not work. If I did a sit up for every time I check my phone in a day, I’d still be checking my phone constantly, but I’d be a lot happier about the images of myself I post online.
So I could cut down the amount of time on my phone, but we all know I wont, so instead, I’m making another cup of tea. I’m up to two cups of tea at a time, like I’m Noah and the teas are the animals coming in two by two into my ark, but instead of cleansing the earth of sin, I’m just going to get early onset diabetes. Do you think you could just watch my bag for a second?
These are both for me. Tea for two and two for me?
Cheeky update re bedtime chats with my best friend. We both got so upset with each other for being on a different call before realising we’d called each other at the same time.
Unexpected highlight of week was fish and chip shop chips. Got them with salt and vinegar and wolfed them down and nearly the fork too, if I could have wedged it down my gullet.
Secret I said I’d share with you later: my nipples have started to chafe from not wearing a bra for so long. Genuinely. I have had to start putting bio oil on them. They sting so much.
Number of times I’ve cried this week: 4. Don’t want to talk about it. Oh who am I kidding, of course I do.
Number of broadway songs I’ve learned from scratch: 1. I think I look incredible when I lip sync it in my room but I recorded myself doing it recently and I genuinely look in pain.
Number of times I’ve sat in the bath with my head pressed to my knees with the shower running with Natalie Imbruglia’s Torn in the background: 1.5. I gave myself half a mark cos couldn’t get the shower working.
Unexpected kindness of the week: Imogen, who stitched me this bag with a design I love and posted it to me. Incredible!