Reasoning

I’m going through a phase of needing quiet.

I suppose I need peace. But the next best thing is quiet.

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I struggle with the thought of ‘what’s the point in doing anything?’ Everything is trivial and meaningless really, once we die. I don’t say this to be a downer – though, naturally, it is a downer.

I fight this conflict all the time. It’s why some days I do nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Maker:S,Date:2017-10-10,Ver:6,Lens:Kan03,Act:Lar02,E-ve

Today though I needed a walk in my favourite fields, to clear away the fog and cobwebs, and although it was freezing (literally freezing, it’s been snowing this week) it helped me hugely.

Just feeling the sun on my face.. it’s hard to explain. I don’t need to explain anyway.

I realised

there’s no point to anything but you can’t be happy doing nothing.

It’s simple, but as I’ve been realising recently, the best things are.

Maker:S,Date:2017-10-10,Ver:6,Lens:Kan03,Act:Lar02,E-ve

I’ve slacked on reading for a while now and to get back into it I started with some Roald Dahl. I then went onto The Secret Garden. The quote ‘where you tend a rose, my lad, a thistle cannot grow’ has stuck with me. So for two packages I’m sending to friends for Valentine’s Day I included a postcard of this quote that I drew, with a note on the back reminding them to keep the magic within them.

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What have you been up to? Looking after my mental health and cute penguins

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This week on whybut has been different. At first it annoyed me, not going to lie, but turns out how I want to be and how I am are two very different things.

I want to be clear headed 24/7 and able to do all the things I want, but I simply can’t.

I get low, then I get extremely happy, and then back down etc etc. And along with the ride I get so frustrated, I hate the numb days, I hate hopelessness, I want to be something else.

*You’re never going to be someone else*

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It’s too complex to go into, plus I can’t be asked.

I’m just being my own best friend, that’s all. And I love to comfort her with Sky Arts Landscape Artist of the Year and Jonathon Creek.

I obviously want to continue to fight the depression and anxiety, but I still need to be at peace with it – some days I can climb over it and sometimes I need to stay on the mountain and make it my home. It can’t be a negative anymore because it’s been years and years now and I should just accept it’s part of my path.

I have depression. I HAVE DEPRESSION! That’s fine.

Anyway, less suppression, more acceptance. That’s been my week.

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Along with it I’ve realised I can’t write out do to lists for future days, or plan it because when that day comes my mood might not want to do it – and I don’t need guilt on top of other negative feelings.

So this week my book has turned into an essential part of my working, but not with words – more like a pallet or backdrop.

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Still successful. I did stuff that was under each category – lifestyle, work and personal.

I made these wonderfully, weird penguin acorn caps, which I will be turning into baubles and will be up on my etsy soon.

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I also finished these two photo wall hangings – after the other two selling – and they are up on my etsy shop.

Other than that my bedroom is a shit hole, I’ve forgotten to clean my teeth today and I’m treating myself to a takeaway pizza tonight. Yipeeeee!

 

 

Thoughts on how I’ve embraced positive quotes

I’ve been quite open and honest with my mental health on here in the past, and with everything else in my life, I just go through phases of how much I tell people. At the moment I’m pretty quiet, which I’m not sure is better because do people assume I’m ‘cured’ because I’m not showing it as much? Does that even matter?

Even so, I may be screaming on the inside, just like others are, but I don’t feel like doing that on the outside.

This may be in relation of whether I allow my depression and anxiety to consume me or whether I’m fighting it more. Fighting in the sense of accepting when I feel crap but surrounding myself in happy things.

I have never been one for quotes, and more specifically positive quotes, they just felt.. fake. I hate fake and it felt like I was lying if I were to have something like that around me. I do like words, however, so I would hold onto thoughts I’ve had or things which would help – like ‘I’m okay’ or ‘One Day At A Time’, which I drew at the beginning of this year after therapy. Telling yourself just one day at a time works wonders!

(Which, past Emily, is a positive quote!) (Don’t tell her, she’d be mortified!)

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I think what’s changed is that I’ve allowed positive quotes to help me.

I don’t need more bad energy surrounding me, I’ve got enough of that in my brain. So what if it’s cheesy?! So what if these positive quotes isn’t how any of us are feeling?! It doesn’t mean it’s fake, it means your trying.

It’s the difference in someone telling you to just give up, life is hard, or to help yourself because it’s worth it.

There’s just too many dark paths to go down, all I can do is stick to a route that’s genuine to me but try and have that torch, that light to guide me.

Hold onto a crystal, re-read your favourite book, pray, listen to an album on repeat, cover your bedroom in fairy lights, go for long walks, cuddle your favourite teddy

or

embrace positive quotes.

Because you’ve just got to.

Cosy nights

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In desperation, my partner bought me Sleepy from Lush in hopes I’ll settle better of an evening. I’m in an awful routine – which has spanned my 26 years – of getting anxious at night, getting what I call ‘restless leg’ (like growing pains in my legs) and being just a pain in the arse. Then, what makes it worse for my partner, the next morning I wake up and forget all about it and get on with my day.

‘What a lovely/horrible day I’ve had,’ I ignorantly say to myself, ‘it’s been very productive/lazy, oh look nights creeping in..’

and BAMB!

Hello friend, remember me now?!

Yes I do! Why didn’t I do anything to stop this?!

It’s a bit like 50 First Dates, or, a bit darker, like that Black Mirror episode where the lady lives the real life nightmare each day because she committed a crime.. I don’t remember committing a crime.. but neither did she……

So, inspired by my new product, which rather excites me more than I should admit, I had a day of tidying my bedroom and making it all relaxing and lovely. ‘How can it take all day to tidy?’ I hear you cry, well it was in a pretty bad state, with it also becoming a somewhat office/studio recently. So it’s not even finished now but I’m okay with that.

What did I do to help me chill?

Self care and doing things I love. Rule number one. (Well rule number one is always that you don’t talk about Sleep Club, even though I am right now) but taking time for yourself is so important that I felt like I needed a Fight Club reference to get it across. Did it work?

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Lit my new candle. I just can’t resist not smelling candles in shops. Same with trying on hats. Instantly Christmas hit me in the nostrils and it’s not even a Christmas candle, which is even more perfect really because it meant it was on sale. And oh, feeling Christmasy is the best feeling! I can just lay there and let that feeling consume me. But then again that’s not going to help me sleep – think relaxing, Emily, rellaaxxx

If you’re as obsessed and excited by autumn, winter and Christmas as I am, give it a smell and see if you agree. And also I now have relax, don’t do it.. stuck in my head. Oh, and there’s Zoolander in there too. Yep.

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Had my Sleepy lotion. I think I need to have a box of night time lotions and sprays next to my bed at all times. It’s actually getting ridiculous how much I struggle. I’ll start my collection now, Sleepy is the first one.

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Fairy lights. Atmosphere, it’s important. Not to my boyfriend. Nor probably a lot of people, but I think it’s another rule. Let’s recap;

Rule 1: Do not talk about Sleep Club
Rule 2: DO NOT TALK ABOUT SLEEP CLUB
Rule 3: Take good care of yourself and do things that bring you joy
Rule 4: Create a nice atmosphere

And other than clean bedding – besides detracting me from the smell of the sleepy lotion, everyone loves clean bedding – and as many comforting films as I could manage, and a read of Harry Potter, that was pretty much my evening.

BUT to top it all off, the next morning when I left for work at 6am, whilst still feeling all cosy and happy, these were the sights presented to me which sent my heart aflutter for the coming season…

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What depression is to me – because sometimes, when you’re depressed, you can only talk about depression. Then laugh at it.

Every bout of depression surprises me like I’m 14 and it’s my first period all over again. Yes, I was a late bloomer and I wish I could feel the jealously of millions of women around the world, if only this thick layer of depression didn’t do exactly as the word says it does. Surely that rich jealously from women would cure any depression? I’ll add it to the list of Reasons I Shouldn’t Be Depressed pinned up in some ignorant fuckers minds. But sadly (the irony) there will be no pinning as I am channelling Ringo Star today and therefore take back any snarky word I’ve said – peace and love, peace and love.

It’s like a ghost tapping on my shoulder when I’m really engrossed in an activity. I’m mindlessly scooting or painting a tree branch and BOO. Except there’s no BOO, there’s nothing to see, just empty space, no proof for others of what just happened in my brain. I’m still looking over my shoulder though, there has to be a culprit. I’m looking over my shoulder just to prove to you that something is going on and I’m not just crazy. I’m looking over my shoulder to see if others are also looking over their shoulders. I must be surrounded by people that also feel like Nearly Headless Nick just passed through them. These Dementors are real, I swear. J.K. wasn’t lying. You understand, right? You have to understand. What do you mean we are all different? You don’t like Harry Potter? Oh, wow, that just tops it all off. Well, I’m in Hufflepuff, I’ll have you know. YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT A HUFFLEPUFF IS? Depression gone, replaced with rage. That cured it. Peace and love, peace and love.

I moved my entire room around yesterday. It’s unimportant to what I’m writing other than the hilarity that I was breaking down in tears every 10 minutes. Why, you ask? Are you due to bleed from your vagina, or do you have a little human growing in said vagina? Nah. Apparently moving heavy furniture by yourself does this to you. You don’t know, maybe every person who has ever moved furniture by themselves has just cried the entire time, and I’m the first person brave enough to admit it. Or, and a much more reasonable answer, my body decided to not sweat from my armpits, but rather from my eyes. I have no memory of smelling so it probably is true. I mean, The Flight Of The Conchords didn’t write the song I’m Not Crying for no reason. Needless to say, this time round the depression seems to be a bit more random and spontaneous. Oh, how exciting! A spontaneous depression.

I’m not stopping doing things. My bed is my friend but tonight I’m going rock climbing. Tomorrow James and I are going for a picnic in a park that we have only briefly visited once before, but I’m a little unsure about it. It looks like a place people would go dogging, and I’m not sure that I want to be sitting there eating a scotch egg while there’s people dogging in the bushes next to me. Might put me off my food, you know? Spreading my philly as they’re spreading their… Or dipping into my houmous as they’re dipping into… It’s best if I stop that there. I just envision a sudden break down of crying on my part, still eating my cherry tomatoes between sobs as they start to taste more and more salty from my tears rolling down my face, which makes me cry more, then, softly at first, you hear moaning. Then louder and louder as my cries match the volume and pitch. One bush apart from each other – immense joy and immense pain.

Now I re-read the part about us only briefly visiting this park before, sounds like we were the ones dogging.

This is where my sad and tired brain is at. It is what it is. Peace and love.

 

Going from one bed to another

I seem to have gotten into a routine of bed hopping. Now hold on one second, that is not anything sexual before you think it! But quite frankly I’m charmed that you would think that I could pull that many guys to bed hop like that. Thank you. Sadly, I mean because of my work schedule, James’s work schedule, my depression and, lets be honest, laziness, my new routine is literally to leave one bed for the next. Like a beauty vlogger; My Morning Routine! My Daily Routine! My Nightly Routine! Bed. I’m in bloody bed. It’s always bed. I’m in bed as I write this. It’s 18:09. 

Let’s lay it out. For the last two weeks James has been getting up at 6:30am for work, and seeing as the only time we can see each other is in the week, I am there. Waking up. At 6:30am. On my days off. I get home at 7:30am and go straight to bed. I don’t sleep, I drink coffee, blog, watch YouTube. Bed.

Suddenly it’s like 10am, shit. I must do something. How about a tea this time? Well, while I’m drinking it; bed. Breakfast? Bed. What’s next? What do I want to do? I go off and do it, and then when I’m not; bed. Maybe bed is my ‘sofa’ because I live with my parents. Whatever, it’s still a bed.

I’ve said bed so many times it’s no longer a word.

Bed.

Bunk.

Chaise.

Berth.

Trundle.

Thank you Google.

Is my bed the best one in the world? No*. I feel like it hardly resembles a mattress with all the lumps, bumps and indentations, probably from me spending the whole of my existence in it. I think the real reason is because it’s in the centre of all my things. My plants I love watering, my laptop, any craft things, clothes, make up, I dunno, everything I own I suppose. But it’s a bed, it screams lay down. Chill. Browse YouTube. Have another coffee. Then before you know it, I’m going back to James’s to another bed because he’s bed is like his ‘sofa’.

It doesn’t hurt at the moment, like I’m not frustrated at how much time I’m in bed because I’ve been really low. Which, god, sounds like the worst idea. I’m still active, I went for a 3.51 mile walk today, going for a scoot with the dogs tonight, wrote a blog post (not including this one), made bruschetta, made probably about 5 cups of tea or coffee… I just rest in bed in between, I recharge. I’m looking after myself. This is dangerous territory though, I’m fully aware. I do not want to go back to the days when I lived in bed and wouldn’t leave.

Now this is the point in the post where I should make a vow that I won’t keep or put myself up for a challenge that I’m just not mentally prepared for. Nah, I’ll give that a miss for now. No Trying To Stay Out Of My Bedroom For A Week challenge. No I Promise To Only Use My Bed For Sleeping vow

Here’s what I’ll do, a compromise if you will, I’ll move my bed. To be fair, I’ve been thinking it a while. Well, like a week. I’ll start that in this post right now actually, so when I get home tomorrow I mean, because there’s going to be a lot to move, like, fucking hell, why do I have a arm chair in my room? (Surely that should be my ‘sofa’?!) (Mind blown) If I move my bed to the corner of the room, rather than the centre, I’ll have room to move, do my crafts etc. I don’t know what else, this experiment might not work.. But I’m giving it a go!! Because it’s not healthy to keep bed hopping and I really don’t want to catch an STI!

That was a joke. A poor one I know. Still a joke.

 

*When reading this to James he wanted me to include that although my bed isn’t the best in the world, he thinks his bed is;

“No, don’t add I think it is, say ‘his bed is the best in the world’,”

“Yeah, ‘he thinks his bed is the best in the world’,”

“No! ‘his bed is the best in the world’!”

“That’s what I said, ‘he think his bed is the best in the world’.”

People get so touchy about their beds.

“Get out of mine then if you think it’s not the best in the world.”