Trying to salvage the weekend…

I did go to the theatre last night, but was so disappointed that I left half through.

I got some food on my way. Mozzerella cheese to eat with caramelised onion. Some Skyrr – a high protein Icelandic yogurt. I also got some marzipan filled chocolates that I discovered recently. They remind me of Germany.

I ate the mozzerella with a glass of good red wine. Delicious.

This morning I got a text in relation to the anger spewed on me on Friday. It sent adrenalin through my body, with the subsequent pain, muscle spasms and anxiety. I replied with some information, and added that the text had made me highly anxious and I don’t expect this on a Sunday morning. So I got a second text which compounded my anxiety.

I told a friend which I soon regretted as he started telling me what I should have done instead so he is temporarily blocked until I feel better.

I wrote an article today which helped me focus and feel purposeful.

There is some technology I would like to have to reduce my general pain, anxiety etc. But it is expensive so I need to start a Go Fund Me page.

And I’ve realised that my medium page in here is not a link, as I had thought.

Brain Fog, or my chaotic mind…

I knew that today I would need to get groceries. I logged in to my emails, responded to some and deleted a lot, as right now I have not a lot of time for the campaigns I m involved with. With Trump playing around with war, and another Tory government, I am needing a break.

So I contacted a friend about travel arrangements to a poetry event at the weekend, booked a facial because I deserve it, and went to put on my mac.

I had planned to go to the mini supermarket 250 yards away. Somehow twenty yards out of my gates, I decided to go and buy some plants. So I headed to the local nursery. I met a friend on the way, which was good.

So I bought a rambling rose, and a variegated plant that produces creamy blooms, an ivy from the bargain table, a primrose, another plant I’m not sure of, but it looked interesting, and some stones to prevent weeds coming up.

So my basket was full, to say the least, and my shopping bag contained these stones. But, I don’t like missing opportunities. So I went to the larger supermarket on my way home. My groceries only just fitted into my bag.

I arrived home, and staggered into my kitchen after having deposited my plants in the garden. I put stuff in the fridge and cupboards, and arrived in my office upstairs wiped out. I lay, and used my inhaler, and within 10 minutes.

I need to stick to a plan. I exhaust myself by following an idea that pops into my head, without thinking about it will tire me.

I encountered a rough sleeper on my way back from the nursery. At first, I simply wished him a good day, and then went back and gave him a small amount of money. I understand that their only opportunity to get warm may be an alcoholic drink. He said he didn’t drink, and would get a coffee. A hot chocolate might be better. I went on, and went back again. I offered him a place to shower. He did say he would take the offer. In the supermarket I bought extra bread and cheese, so that he can have hot cheese on toast, if he comes. It’s so quick, hot and comforting, especially if made with butter.

I have locked my back door and hidden the key, as I don’t want him to work out another route to my home. There are kind gestures, and there is stupidity.

It’s Christmas Eve and I’m hungry…

Yesterday, my daughter arranged Christmas, but was staying at her boyfriend’s place. I had run out of food for the rest of the day today, apart from dinner. Almost all my nearby friends had shipped out to their Christmas destinations, the rest of my friends are a distance that would make getting me some things very inconvenient. I could have asked the girl who lives nextdoor (the good side), but I had seen her earlier in the day, when I wished her a merry Christmas and she was in her dressing gown, probably planning a day of blobbing and pampering. So I did what I never do. I contacted my ex-husband and asked him. I got the response which is the reason I don’t contact him. No.

In times gone by, if I thought I might ask my ex to help with anything, I would lie down until the thought went away. He will not do anything unless it is his idea. So I’ve eaten the house bare, and am hungry. Because I have a chest infection, with fever, and a slightly upset tummy I could not face going out myself. I have been drinking milkshakes to keep myself feeling ‘full’.

I could kick myself for asking him. One definition of insanity is doing the same thing again and expecting a different result.

We used to have a lot in common. But now we differ quite a bit. He uses the Twelve Step Program as a tool for self growth. I see him shrinking, not growing. There are parts of the program that are very open to interpretation. One is that you look after yourself first. This is not wrong, after all we cannot save a drowning person if we have cramp, or cannot swim ourselves. But another part of the program talks about gratitude. To me, expressing gratitude is sharing what I have, or doing someone a favour. I’m not certain how my ex expresses gratitude now, but I suspect it is charitable donations. But to me, what is the point of charitable donations if you can’t take a ten minute walk and get your ex-wife, who raised your daughter alone, some food?

I’m not writing this to expose how unkind he is, but to show my insanity and the different way we perceive life.

We always used to have an open house. If friends were round and it came to a meal time, we’d invite them to eat with us. We invited lots of people for meals. We offered hospitality to people we’d started talking to on a ferry or plane.

I like to do this still. In the summer I took lunch to a young guy I’d befriended who worked in a store alone. It gave me pleasure.

Tonight is the first Christmas Eve that I don’t have any traditional German biscuits and cakes. I feel a bit sad, but that isn’t what Christmas is about, and I won’t die without them.

I can’t work it out…

I have a very complex relationship with food. I have never been able to work it out. I’ve studied to become a psychologist, I’ve been counselled, I’ve counselled others. I really just seem to confound myself and everyone else.

I generally say that I am ambivalent towards food because my four open brain surgeries left me in a state of akinetic mutism and thoroughly traumatised. But actually, I had lost my appetite after my parents decided to come and live in England. I was almost six at the time. My mother had worked full time in Germany so it was my Oma who started to bottle feed me and weaned me and fed me all her cooking after that. So moving to England was a wrench. A huge one.

We went back to Germany twice a year, but that isn’t the same as living there. I remember once my mother found me in Oma’s kitchen piling Oma’s homemade strawberry jam onto the dark rye bread that I love and so many English people despise. I felt I was being naughty because of the quantity of jam I was using, but no I was not in trouble. Meanwhile, in England, my weight was cause for concern and I was pronounced anaemic.

The disease I contracted in my nervous system used up a lot of calories as it progressed until I was given a month to live. My left arm was uncontrollable and my left leg also. My nights were spent in agony as I endured excruciating muscle spasms that threw my limbs around. Eating was not a priority. It was all so difficult. And I was terrified. Of course I was, although no one asked me. I was imprisoned in a body that was out of control.

While this was going on I had hospital stays while they tried to control my symptoms with drugs. I spent months in Bristol’s Hospital for Sick Children, months in Great Ormond Street, Newcastle Royal Infirmary and finally what is now called The London Royal Free Hospital. I was there for an outpatient visit and was admitted straight away. My parents were told I had a month to live unless I had surgery to freeze certain brain cells, and that I might not survive the surgery.

In all, I had four brain surgeries, after the third I was in a state of akinetic mutism. There is so much I don’t know because I was in a coma for a while, stuff I don’t remember and stuff it seems my mind refuses to remember.

For a while I was fed through a naso-gastric tube and later ate mashed food. While I was living at home I didn’t care about eating. I ate food I liked but my mother would make me sit for hours with food that I didn’t like. I didn’t have a lot of self esteem, having gone from captain of the team to the last to be chosen. At a fete my Dad took me to, I was mistaken for a boy and this affected me deeply.

After I left home I was always happy when I didn’t need to cook or prepare food. Although I did enjoy preparing meals I would share with others. I liked to learn new recipes and be thought of as a nurturer. But inside, I wasn’t nurtured. I had nightmares and other symptoms of post traumatic stress although I didn’t realise it. I made close bonds with men of my age but found it hard to relate to most women. I had great women friends but I didn’t know how to appreciate them or retain them when our ways parted.

I travelled so much, often working as a cook and then I studied psychology and became a psychologist.

I got some self insight, a lot of ‘ah’ moments. I developed a good self awareness. But I could not understand my ambivalence, sometimes loathing of food. It goes back to my mother ‘rejecting’ me, or my rejection of her milk. I eat most when I am happy. I ate well when I was in a relationship. When I married, I was eating well and did so while I was feeding my daughter. I weighed the most I’ve ever weighed while I was breastfeeding her and weaning her. Because I ate well, she ate well.

My marriage failed for lots of reasons, but the main ones were violence and bullying and that he did not understand how to keep a child safe.

I cooked well as a single parent. I enjoyed cooking for my daughter. Now my daughter has left home, my health has declined, and I struggle to want to eat.

Why?