mandatoryspoonalert

[mandatoryspoonalert]

>be me

>be awake all night.

>neck for some reason is throbbing with pain.

>Get up to get ibuprofen

>can't find em

>Mother is sitting on sofa because snowed in from Work.

>Tell her been awake all night because of pain.

>Ask where buplex is

>"in cupboard" - curt.

>Go to look in medicine cupboard.

>No not that cupboard ! Other cupboard!

>which one?

>That one there! No! To the left god almighty I'm here trying to message parents about snow! Why can't you do anything for yourself Jfc

>dog starts to bark at shouting

>feelsbadman

>have looked after self whole life. Taught self to cook at 12.

>why are you speaking to me like this I only want ibuprofen

>I'm trying to message parents from work!

>you know I have depression. I come in saying been awake all night because of pain and u think this appropriate way to address me?

>start crying because deserve better

>goes into her room muttering about me cos she wants to get away from me

>go to room and cry because mother works all day looking after other people's children and then comes home and treats her only one like shit.

>still crying

[mandatoryspoonalert]

Idealistic, perfect day.

I wake early and turn to check that Kat is still asleep. She is. I do my best to not wake her, gently peeling back the covers. The dog hears me and sticks her head around the door, excited that I’m up. I hold my finger up to my lips and then shoo her, a signal for her to keep quiet. It’s just about dawn and the light streaming in from behind the curtains has a strange quality to it. It must have snowed again the night before.

I swing my legs out of bed. My feet touch the un-dyed sheepskin rug there and I feel happy again, for buying it. Even though it was expensive. Condensation covers the window when I pull it back to peep out. The ground is fresh and unmarked but for some bird tracks in the snow. I recover my pajama bottoms from the floor, and grab an oversized men’s jumper from an old over-stuffed armchair in the corner of the room. The dog disappears out the door and her nails clatter quickly on the stairs. She’s anticipating her breakfast. It’s the first time I’m doing this in our own house. The room is a cosy attic conversion with a slanted ceiling made of old wooden slats. I shrug on the jumper and some thick socks and leave, walking on the balls of my feet, again, I have to be careful not to wake Kat. I make my way down the stairs, avoiding the areas that creak. I practised this. The house is warm and smells like pine needles and winter spice from the incense and candles I’ve been burning recently.  It’s Christmas. In the kitchen I measure out Tribbles’ breakfast and fill the kettle, absorbed in the routine, methodical ceremony of making tea. I drink it on the doorstep as I watch her snuffle excitedly through snow drifts, chasing birds like some clumsy, dim witted hunter. The snow people we made yesterday have a layer of fresh powder covering their grass hair. My tea and breath form clouds in the air, but I am content.  I wait until Tribbles has done her business and call her back in by shaking her food bowl. While she’s eating I slice mushrooms and make balls out of the last of the sausage meat I bought for stuffing, frying them. I slice up some christmas ham for Kat that her mum made especially for us. It’s a Kat family tradition to eat ham and eggs. I heat the oven for hash browns and bake a halved tomato. I scramble eggs for me, clip in some chives, shave parmesan into them and cover everything with black pepper, while soft boiling an egg for Kat. I get out a tray and stick the steaming breakfast on a plate with coffee and carry it up*stairs to wake her up, closing the door on the dog. She’s awake and on her phone, and exclaims joyfully at the breakfast, thanking me. She loves a good cooked breakfast, it’s her favourite thing. We eat in bed for a while and watch cartoons on our tv. What is christmas without morning cartoons and a nice breakfast? She probably steals some of my scrambled eggs because they’re delicious. We exchange presents. Among them are probably more pajamas, chocolate coins and a board game to play later. It’s Kat’s first Christmas away from her family, and I want to include some of her traditions as well as my own. Eventually we get up properly, making a cooing show of giving Tribbles a new bone and some dog treats. She think’s it’s all her birthdays. Kat switches on our multicoloured tree bulbs as I light the fire in our sitting room. She asks me to sing her some carols and I do. We completed all our christmas dinner prep over the past two days, christmas puddings and mince pies are made, as well as a chocolate snowball pudding for Kat. All vegetables are peeled and sliced and in their trays, our turkey is stuffed and my ham was par-boiled in berry cider and has been sitting overnight in that pot. All we have to do is shove stuff in the oven and occasionally baste the turkey.  We open the last pocket on the advent calendar Kat’s mum made us and open the rest of our presents before smoking a joint and watching Wizard of Oz, a movie I’ve watched every Christmas since I was a child. I can practically quote the whole thing. Eventually the dog starts to bark because a car has rolled up outside. I’m excited because it’s my best friend come to celebrate Christmas with his girlfrid. It doesn’t matter what her name is, what matters is that in this perfect scenario, he has finally found someone who loves him, and the dog likes her too, so that’s good enough for me. She’s brought prosecco and some kind of dessert because she’s polite and wants to make a good impression. The fact she makes my friend happy is all that matters. She could have brought a stale biscuit and I’d have liked it. At this stage dinner is in the oven and some movie or show is just randomly playing in the background as we chat. Kat probably has the bright idea to make peach bellinis. They’re staying the night so we can drink as much as we want without worrying. We probably have a tipsy snowball fight before it’s time for the main event, food.  Dinner consists of potato gratin, moist turkey and ham, cranberry sauce, bread sauce, stuffing, broccoli steamed in wine with sundried tomatoes and whole cloves of garlic, roast parsnips and potatoes. There’s probably a litre of gravy. I’ve tried out a new sprouts recipe with chestnuts and bacon . Everyone’s impressed because we’re great cooks. We pull crackers and wear the paper crowns and read out the shit jokes. I win the hat game because I’m still wearing mine as I get into bed later. I heat up brandy in a spoon over a candle and pour it over the christmas pudding before lighting it on fire. It’s traditional for pudding and the blue flame flickers impressively.  After dinner we pull out some board games and cards and play them. Alan DMs a game of seasonal D&D that he’s prepared. Maybe we play some kind of old school video games on the tv. It doesn’t matter. For the first time ever I get to spend Christmas how I want to, with my family. No one argues or fights like my parents did when I was a kid. Nothing makes me cry, as I have done on many other Christmases. I’m in the good company of people who love and appreciate me. I get to follow the traditions that make Christmas special to me. Maybe I even went to midnight Catholic mass on Christmas eve, for old time sake, smelling the incense and singing along with the carols as some priest drones on. But I like it, because that’s how I was raised. It gives me a kind of peace.  Eventually, in the early hours of the morning we all head to bed. I wear my new pajamas and cuddle into Kat before drifting asleep. I look forward to celebrating Stephens’ day by ourselves, eating leftovers and watching more films. Maybe we’ll play poker. Who knows. 

[mandatoryspoonalert]

Struggle

I’m struggling with a lot of things right now. Struggling with the fact that on Tuesday I have to go back to Ireland and live by myself for a week. Struggling to accept that I won’t be able to see Kat for a while and have to live with my mother whose presence in my life has only ever made my self worth plummet.  But the true struggle is with the things my own brain is telling me. That I’m a failure and I’ve let myself, Kat and anyone who has ever believed in me down, anyone who has ever been bolstered by the fact that I got my life together and lived successfully with mental illness. Everyone was so supportive and full of belief for me and my film and I feel I’ve let anyone I’ve ever spoken to about it down. I’ve dropped out of college because I can’t afford to make my film either financially or emotionally. I dropped out because of the fear that my film wouldn’t even be good enough to share with people, and that everyone would realise I’m just a talentless hack who talks a big deal. Well just by dropping out I’ve *proved* that I am indeed that big ol failure who can’t get her shit together, I spend my life talking to people with depression and using myself as an example that they can beat it and live a “normal” life. How can I help people if I can’t even help myself?  Not to mention that Kat is still severely depressed and STILL isn’t getting proper help. She’s so isolated where she lives and she can’t drive. She signed up for an art therapy course and I was SO PROUD and HAPPY that she would finally be doing something that could significantly help her. Her mum won’t even drop her to the fucking interview, let alone to her art sessions. There’s nothing I can do to help. I wanted to finish my course so I could get a good job and be able to fund care and stuff for her, have enough money so that we could get a house together and we wouldn’t have to live in such shitty toxic environments but I’ve fucked up not just my future, but hers too with one fell swoop.