The ten day itch
02.12.06, 2:54 pm
Really sorry. And the reason I haven�t written in literal forever is because I try to keep rules when writing in this diary, such as �don�t geek on about science too much� and �don�t repeat yourself�. I�m not telling you all of the rules though, because then I�d lose my amazing aura of mystery. One of the most important ones however is �write as few depressing entries as possible�, because upbeat ones are a lot more fun. And because I�ve had neither the energy nor required happy vibes to write an upbeat entry, I�ve just kept schtum. However, ten days without an entry is just plain ridiculous so here�s my best attempt.
For the past two weeks my ME has been horrendous, for reasons I know not. I�ve been waking up completely exhausted, barely managing work; my legs have been like lead weights; my joints hurt; my sleeping pattern�s fucked; I have crazy pins-and-needles and I�m feverish. I�ve had to cancel any social fun stuff that I had planned, and spend most of my free time lying on my bed resting. It�s made me completely miserable. Even the Herbal Happies haven�t been able to save me� I�ve just been feeling massively low. And because my ME has upped its game, my anxiety gig has risen with it. All together it�s just been horrible� I can�t think of any other way to describe it. And so that�s why I haven�t been writing, and I do apologise for my absence. We won�t dwell on the badness any longer.
So, I had my counselling session on Thursday. I talked through everything with her (because I never ever get sick and tired of that) and she is nothing like The Scarved Hag, thank God. This one is very much on the cognitive side of counselling, so I�ll be calling her Freud from now on. And we�re basically going to try some cognitive behavioural therapy (CBT), which is kind�ve hardcore. No wishy-washy talking here; it�s all about unlearning behaviours and following normal ones. Re-wiring your brain essentially.
I�m going to have to give you a very brief neurology lesson here, so bear with me if you hate science and wish I�d just shut up already. Memories are usually stored in a part of the brain called the hippocampus. Freud seems to think that I registered Bernie�s collapse and subsequent death as a traumatic event (unsurprising really), and consequently stored it in the amygdala. The amygdala�s primary function is to scan events for danger. And so this instant death memory is now seen as an alarm bell for danger, and is why I panic about things like the extra heartbeat. I can�t talk myself out of it because it�s now part of my wiring. This makes sense, because logically I know that I�m panicking over nothing, yet my body reacts like it�s a reflex.
And the solution to this problem? We get me into a very deep, half-hypnotised state, and then get my brain to play the traumatic memory over and over again so that it can be filed away in the hippocampus, where it�s meant to be. I don�t know about anyone else, but I genuinely can�t think of anything more utterly fun. I just love reliving painful memories! Apparently it�ll be just like watching it on a mental television screen, and I�ll re-feel everything that I felt that day. Jesus, just shoot me now.
It�s scheduled for this Thursday at 2pm. I think I�m quite scared.
Oh, my dad was diagnosed as diabetic the other day too, which I�m sure he�s more than pleased for me to broadcast to the entire world. If you think that this is going to make him stop smoking in his various forms then you�re sadly mistaken. He says that he�s going to �cut down�, but I kind�ve doubt it seeing as Ladyfriend smokes like a chimney (a DEVIL CHIMNEY). I�m sorry, what? Be an adult about the whole Ladyfriend situation? Meh. Anyway, we think it�s been caught in time (the result of long-term unnoticed high blood pressure� my, I do hope it�s genetic!) and relatively little damage has been done. He had his eyes checked out and they�re unharmed, and so he seems less depressed about it all now.
On a sidenote, I am totally treated like a NHS Direct helpline by my nearest and dearest, and whilst this is very cute and ego boosting it is in no way to be encouraged, because I�m not qualified to diagnose squat. Not that I let this stop me.
The maintenance guy with the very broad Rotherham accent came round and fixed our almost ridiculously shit boiler yesterday. He left saying, �If you have any more problems, then just give us a ring. Can�t guarantee that I�ll be the one to come out though!� and then winked at me. I have no idea why; I currently look so unattractive I can�t even put it into words. In other unimportant news, my gran is already onto the sleeves of my amazing jumper. Every week she asks me for a new body measurement, and every week repeats the figure back to me in a disbelieving voice, before consulting the pattern and telling me that it should be 5 inches more/less. She�s slowly convincing me that I am a complete disproportionate freak.
My dad�s ringing at some point today to discuss Christmas. I am apprehensive, because he wants us to spend the entire day at Ladyfriend�s and I do not, and in fact I will be point-blank refusing to. This can only go down well.
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