insomnia

This week I have been mostly…

~ somethinginthewayshemoves ~ 2 Comments

Trying (& failing) to get some sleep. I’m really fecking tired. Once I’ve done all the yoga, watched all the relaxing tv, had baths with bombs, face masked myself into oblivion, finished the housework & whatever book I’m reading & sprayed every calming scent known to man there is just one thing left to do. Lie still in a dark room & turn up the music.

I require only a couple of things from my insomnia tunes; they must be deep enough to flood the room & gentle enough to let me float away. Wonderful by Lianne La Havas complies. Her thick sweet voice coats me in wistfulness. I feel this song’s warmth in my chest. Its steady pace a comforting secondary pulse. The lyrics tempting & bittersweet. This is perfect middle of the night music.

Every now & then I stumble across music from my past and it opens a door to another time. David Gray’s White Ladder is just a such a time capsule. The intro of Please Forgive Me was enough to shoot me back to the year 2000. Despite that being a fairly mixed year for me this song holds only uncomplicated feels. It has connected itself to chilled after parties; the smell of dope & DKNY. To falling asleep in beds shared with a bunch of friends & waking up to 5 girls talking at once. It feels less like lightening & more like friendship running through my veins. I know it’s a love song, but for me it’s an ode to student flats & almost adulthood.

A Star is Born almost killed me. Seriously, I weeped myself raw, but Shallow saved me. Man, it is hard keeping it hardcore. I’m so relieved to have found softer ways. This is one of those songs that rouses every bloody emotion. I seems like I’ve been far from the shallows for a very long time. It feels good to sing it out loud.

Which brings me to my brand new discovery, Yoko Pwno. I heard them play at the last Yellow Sunday & was utterly captivated. A unique & totally bewitching band; they are comprised of violins, drums & techno synth type sounds. They’re hard to quantity, but oh so easy to fall in love with. Currently blasting in my late late playlist is It could always be worse. Mainly because when played at volume it washes over me & allows my mind to drift. Also, though, because that title’s a good reminder not to despair when I find myself still awake a 5am. It can always be worse, but it’s likely to feel better if you stick Yoko Pwno on.

Rhapsody in blue…

~ somethinginthewayshemoves

Another Friday, another cosmetics quickie. I’ve been really struggling with sleep this week and my tired face needed serious help. All hail, Nyx, to the rescue.

It’s amazing what a pop of bright colour can do to a weary visage. I went for blues to compliment my eyes & me likey the results. I already have a few of the other vivid brights liquid eyeliners, so I knew how good they are. The sapphire doesn’t disappoint. Mixing with the black liquid liner & white pencil on my lower lid really worked. As a less then expert eyeliner applicator I’m definitely in favour of the fine tip on this one.

I did a little bit of experimenting with this gorgeous icy blue mascara. My lashes are too blonde to use it on its own, but it works well on my lower lashes. Plus I added a wee flick the the ends of my outer lashes on top of my regular black. I kinda like the effect.

The star of the show is absolutely the lippie. Liquid matte in this amazing purple tone will definitely get you noticed. I never used to bother with lipstick, but am now a total convert. The more dodgy I feel, the bolder my lips gets; I find a really vibrant lip is a wonderful distraction.

I finished off my cruelty free face with my usual Barry M strobe stick, body shop tea tree primer & Laura Mercier foundation. I have to admit to being pretty chuffed with the end look. Especially considering the sleep deprived canvas I had to work on.

Anyway, I took my pretty painted face (& the rest of me) off for a date night with the Toyboy. We had yummy Mexican & an obligatory margarita; no Mexican meal is complete with tequila. We then hit the cinema to watch Red Sparrow in the comfort of reclining chairs.

I had mixed feelings about the movie. I wouldn’t advice it for anyone who is sensitive to sexual violence. It’s a tad heavy on the ‘America is morally superior’ front, but otherwise quite an enjoyable spy thriller. The reckoning chairs are an unambiguous hit. I only ever want to watch films tilted from the repose of a luxurious angle.

Project Post it & this week’s diy manicure also came along for the ride. Well, a girl has to maintain her personal brand 😉

She’s in fashion…

~ somethinginthewayshemoves ~ 3 Comments

I think I have that bug everyone has been getting. Or I just have the cold & my stomach is acting up. Either way I am vommy & achey & fevery. Oh & my period is trying to kill my uterus. What I’m saying is I feel shit, which means I’m up at 5am watching absolute trash on tv.

One of the show types I sometimes watch when I need something distracting, but untaxing is next top model. I don’t really care which top model franchise, they all have the same ingredients. Ridiculous tasks, a really cool outsider chick to root for, a total bitch, lots of folk getting way too upset about taking photographs, occasional freaky make up looks & even more occasional actual chubby chick doing really well (they always include a ‘plus size’ contestant these days, but they are very rarely actually plus size & they usually get bumped pronto). I don’t care about modelling, but for some reason I quite like these shows for grumpy insomnia fodder. Thus I found myself watching Britain’s next top model & having all my ‘I’m pissed off’ boxes ticked. There was a really annoying chick who had an awful tattoo of a gun, wore fur & irritated the life out of anyone in her vicinity. Abbey Clancy is getting on my wick & everyone has had a complete breakdown about having their hair dyed. It is the perfect amount of bullshit. I can project all my crankiness onto this pointless tv programme & for some reason it helps.

Then they go & ruin everything by making me rage. It’s getting close to the end, so all the contestants are really having to up their game. They’ve been flown off somewhere hot, hot, hot, stuck in insane costumes & asked to do something near impossible. Just for good measure they are also given an absolute prick of a photographer who proceeds to bully them. Let’s be clear about this set up. Some of these aspiring models are under 18 & away from home for the first time. The photographer is a professional as well as a grown ass man. When one of the girls struggles to deal with the tog & gets upset she is basically told to suck it up. The judges laugh about how this guy is renowned for being difficult & declare that part of the job. Cut to me, fuming.

Why should dealing with what amounts to abusive behaviour just be part of the job? Why are they showing female children being degraded by an adult man & then criticising the child’s professionalism for not being with ok with that?? I know modelling is an industry famous for mistreating it’s young acolytes, but actually watching it played out as entertainment enrages me. A huge portion of the audiences for these shows are young girls. Most of whom are not watching with the cynicism that I am. Lots of those viewers will long to get into modelling or similar industries. Even more will be looking up to super models, celebs & fashion folk who appear on these shows. What are they learning from this type of behaviour? Nothing good.

They’re seeing adult men behave like spoilt children & still be admired by their peers. They’re witnessing female debasement classed as the price you pay for success. They’re watching adult women schooling girls to accept abuse. Before you think I’m overreacting, I’ve spent the last several hours doing a little research. A variation of this scenario happens over & over. Girls are continually ‘tested’ with the difficult photographer, director, go see & the person pushing their buttons is invariably a well respected male industry figure. The lesson to be learned is always that these dickheads have the power & they must take the abuse with a smile. It is sickening.

This is the patriarchy captured on camera. Even though these programmes are fronted by apparently empowered women. Tyra et all are full of inspiring speeches. They purport to be about fierce women forging media careers. There’s lots of feminist lip service, but when it comes down to it, they still teach young women they’re lambs to the slaughter. And, seriously, FUCK THAT.

Fuck that

But I ask where is the poetry…

~ somethinginthewayshemoves ~ 4 Comments

I’ve had a rough couple weeks. Ill health (myself & others), unavoidable obligations & insomnia rearing  it’s ugly head have led to an incredibly stressed out ly. Alas, the blog has suffered. Normal service will be resumed soon. In the meantime I offer a small poetic interlude. 

I find poetry incredible cathartic. I often attempt to write away my troubles. You’d be surprised how often it helps. 

A day in the life…

~ somethinginthewayshemoves ~ 3 Comments

This morning I was rudely awakened at about 3am. The ill mannered culprit was pain. This time it was intense & centred in my stomach. So, i got up, took my stomach meds, some painkillers & hoped for relief.

Relief was not to come. I lay in the dark for half an hour waiting for the medication to work it’s magic. My body was having none of it, a wave of nausea washed over me & I knew I was going to be sick. I ‘rushed’ to the bathroom where I proceeded to vomit repeatedly. Each violent wretch sent pain shooting down my back. An hour later I’m sweating, dizzy, sore & unable to get off the bathroom floor.

All the throwing up had triggered some hefty heartburn & reflux, but meds weren’t  an option for fear of kicking off more vomiting. I slowly picked myself off the floor & retreated to the living room. Once situated on the sofa, I turned out the lights & put Joni Mitchell on low.  Over the next several hours,

I tried breathing exercises,

put on my tens, 

paced, 

drank mint tea,

curled into ball,

took more medication, 

vommed more medication 

watched the sun come up

& resigned myself to having a rough day. 

That’s exactly what happened. Today was a riot of pain. My stomach continued to be a nightmare. My back ache progressed into agony. I was intermittently sick throughout the day. Thus I had to cancel appointments. Most of the writing scheduled for today wasn’t even attempted. More housework piled up as I struggled to control my pain & rising panic. An acute flare like is this stressful because I never have any idea how long it might last. I could be in better shape tomorrow or I could be in hospital. I live alone & I work freelance; if I don’t do it, it doesn’t get done. I worry. A lot. I grow concerned about 

staying solvent, 

my professional reputation,

keeping my home presentable,

keeping myself presentable,

how I will keep important appointments,

letting my loved ones down, 

losing control of my mental health, 

Basically, I worry about everything, from the state of my kitchen floor to the state of my relationship. Of course all this stress is detrimental to my health. Especially with regards my to stomach problems, stress is the enemy. Likewise, stress is an anathema to sleep. Lack of sleep makes illness more difficult to cope with, but of course pain & illness also make it harder to sleep. If I can’t manage my anxiety it will spiral into panic attacks & depression. Any decline in my mental health reduces my productivity, my ability to leave the house & my chances at engaging with the world positively. Around & around I go. Symptoms exacerbate symptoms all adding up to an almost permanantly exhausted, scared, sick & sore me. 

And this is my life. This level of illness is not rare. My good days are not pain free. I don’t know when the bad times will hit. I wake up every morning with no idea if I’ll be able to get out of bed. Chronic illness is fucking nightmare. It forces you let people down, to miss huge chunks of your own life & to live that life always walking on broken glass.  

Polish my nails real bright…

~ somethinginthewayshemoves ~ 8 Comments

Some folks need their hair done or lippie on or maybe even just a big smile to feel like they’re killing it. For me it’s kick arse nails. I don’t feel myself unless my nails are sporting a dapper polish. Finger nails may be a strange place to get a confidence boost, but c’est la vie. My mum always has perfect nails, my sister’s are exquisite; who am I to let the side down?

I always do my own nails. On the rare occassion that I’ve had them done professionally I’ve felt like I could do just as good a job (if not better). Thus I am diy manicure enthusiast. Even nail art is a lot easier than most people think. If you  invest in the right brushes & have a little patience, most folk can master it. My secret weapon is nail drying spray. Instantly drying each coat or detail saves so much time & frustrating smudges. I am often asked where I find the time to do my nails & this is one of the few times that insomnia works to my advantage. I almost always do my nails in the middle of night. There has to be some perk to living life perpetually tired & sore. This, my friends is it…




Blackbirds singing in the dead of night…

~ somethinginthewayshemoves ~ 2 Comments

It’s 5.07am. There are some very loud birds outside & the light is creeping around the edges of my blackout blind. I haven’t slept, but I do finally feel a little bit sleepy. Do I sleep? If so I might sacrifice the day. After no more than a couple of hours for the last few nights I might conk out big style. I wanted to do something today. Something nice enough to make me feel like I’m participating in normal life whilst still being easy. Sleeping all day does not fit the bill. Although, perhaps I’ll wake up feeling rested & be productive. If I could complete one of the many, many things on my to do list it might relieve a little anxiety. For now I’m stuck in the vicious crazy circle. No motivation + no energy = accomplishing nothing. As the things I have not done pile up so does my anxiety. Until the undone things & the anxiety are so huge that I’m paralysed by their weight. I’m just stuck underneath, stressing & not sleeping & feeling increasingly worthless. So, maybe I should sleep. I’m exhausted. I’m always exhausted because I never get enough sleep. There is always something keeping me awake. Be it pain or fear or coughing or nightmares or vomiting or the terrifying vagueness of insomnia. Right now I feel that illusive part of tiredness that usually escapes me. The fuzzy comforting drowsiness that signals actual sleep is a possibility.

But

If I sleep now, chances of sleeping tonight are slim. I could miss the chance to do a thing that could make me feel something other than grey or jittery. If I close my eyes now I’m risking the dreams. Flashing scenes dripping with all the things I cannot bear to look at again. Flickering images soaked in feelings too potent for consciousness. Then I’ll wake in a mess. Heart pounding, breath hiding & I’ll have to talk myself down. Fool myself into a calmness that’s counterfeit. Either way the day is scuppered. All those hopes for lightness dashed. 

So, I stay awake. I’ll just wait in this cool dark room for the day to really get started. Force myself into the shower. Try to make a plan that doesn’t feel overwhelming. Push down the fatigue & the jangling of every nerve for the possible reward of OK. Reassure myself that this isn’t forever. Repeat that I am not back in the hole. It has been a difficult month. I am allowed to feel bad. Tomorrow or the next day or the day after that will be an easy one. Just keep going. Swing from one pleasant moment to the next & hold my breath through all the rest. 

This will pass

I will write the things that are over due

I will do some god damn washing 

I’ll cook a proper meal 

&

Wash my hair

Peace will be restored 

Life will go on

&

I will live it. 
If only I could get some sleep…

If you like what I do you can support me here or on Patreon.

 

All I can say is I’m breathing…

~ somethinginthewayshemoves ~ 8 Comments

PTSD is a persistent foe. You can make progress & start to think maybe, just maybe you can actually defeat this bastard, but it knows you think that. 

It’s waiting for you to relax your hyper vigilence. The moment you begin to let go of the breath you’ve been holding for 17yrs it will suck it in & grow.

Folks in your life see you gaining strength & think you’re better. There is no ‘better’.  There is managing ,

coping,

trying to live,

daring to live?

The good days can start to stack up. You can feel a safe distance from the horror, but you can never be sure. 

You can never be certain that a flashback won’t stun you like lightening. 

And stuck in that hot, white memory you could loosen your grip on the here & now.

The relative calm & safety could be shattered. Perhaps only for that instant. You could be lucky, those smells & fears could melt away. Current achievements or delights may well wash over you. It’s possible. That happens. 

You’ll make plans & take steps. But you’ll always be looking over your shoulder. The knowledge of the cruelty of your own mind will keep you rigid.

Because lightening does strike twice & thrice & ever & on.

With every thump of your heart you know you’re only one more squeeze from disaster. Where little sleep becomes none. The crazy creeps out from behind all those positive walls, it brings terror & tsunamis of grief. 

And the pills don’t work

Or Dr’s 

Or the life jacket you had to make with your bare hands. 

There is only one way to row to shore & it’s brutal. It’s hot blood dripping from your fingers; slippy yellow fat & an uncontrollable urge to cut a little deeper. 

Bleed a little more 

Wrapping up the unthinkable pain in the easy hurt of butchering yourself. 

This illness is being  awake in the night & writing so you won’t do. It’s ignoring the destructive comfort because you so desperately want this new, real life. 

And, yes, all those yous should be I’s. 

It’s my past, my pain, my ongoing battle for a future. 


Listen, I’m a really perfect song.

If you like what I do you can support me here or on Patreon.

Don’t patronise me…

~ somethinginthewayshemoves ~ 3 Comments

I’m struggling to sleep tonight. My  pain got a little out of control last week & so my dr upped one of my pain meds. It was quite a big leap & my body hasn’t been behaving since.  My mood hasn’t really been behaving either. It took a dive earlier in the week for, I imagine, a combination of reasons. Perhaps feeling so bizarre, or the pain or an upcoming anniversary. Who can say?

On account of the above there have been days when even getting out of bed has been difficult. Yesterday was one those days, everything hurt & I was very foggy from the meds, but things had to be done. Bronan had to be fed. I had to return some important calls & I had to put my bin out to be emptied.  Dragging myself out of bed was a struggle, but I did it. So, up I got, flung on whatever clothes were lying on the bedroom floor, brushed my teeth & completed those tasks as best as I could. I did these not because they would lift my mood. Nor did I do them as part of an ‘action plan’. I didn’t derive any sense of achievement. They needed to be done, so I did them.


Later, I tried to write, but couldn’t concentrate for more than a minute or two. It occurred to me that I hadn’t eaten all day & perhaps something in my stomach might counteract the effect of my medications. My fridge contained some broccoli that had to be used today or it would only be fit for the bin. So, I steamed that broccoli in the micro, poured some boiling water on noodles & flung soy sauce over both. I didn’t cook because it would make me feel that I was worth taking care of. I simply used the ingredients available to feed myself in the quickest manner because otherwise, I would not eat.

I tell you these things not because they are interesting. I certainly don’t mention them because I want applause. I merely draw your attention to these mundane activities as they are the reality of day to day life.
THEY ARE NOT SELF CARE.
Mental health organisations & increasingly, just anyone are constantly spouting the merits of self-care. I am so tired of hearing this bullshit. Everything I do does not have a therapeutic purpose. Mental illness (or for that matter physical) does not define me. I am a single woman living alone. There are always tasks that need taken care of. I take each day as it comes & do as much as I can manage. That’s just survival. In that respect I am no different from anyone else. Obviously my illness can make simple jobs difficult. Things the average person may take for granted come harder to me. That doesn’t change the nature of life. I either keep living to the best of my ability or I lie down and die.

To label each chore or treat self-care is to rob me of my basic humanity. I am no longer a person, but a collection of diagnoses’. Illness becomes my defining feature. I strenuously reject that characterisation. To measure my wellbeing by how many dishes are in my sink is insulting. Similarly, to minimise serious conditions by suggesting a nice dinner will make it all better is also offensive. A cute badge with a star & I took my meds or A childish phrase is not going to brighten my day. 

I live my life as fully as possibly. I enjoy whatever I can and try my best to endure the rest. Doesn’t that sum up most people’s experience? I don’t hear anyone congratulating ‘non-mentals’ or ‘non-spoonies ‘ for continuing to exist, so why are they patronising me?

If my thoughts on this offend you, then just imagine how I feel when several times each day I am confronted with the cult of self care. If it works for you, cool, you do you. However, don’t suggest I have a bath with candles to get over terrifying flashbacks. Don’t tell me to give myself a wee treat to combat searing pain. Most of all don’t belittle me by suggesting my daily drive to survive is ‘self care’. Keep it to yourself, darling or prepare for my wrath. 

My week in pictures…

~ somethinginthewayshemoves

It has been a week of highs & lows. There has been too much pain & too little sleep. Thankfully I have also been involved in some joy inducing activities. Overall I’m declaring it a win.

A financial boost allowed a wee spending spree. I got a few bits for myself & many bits of my muffin. She will be visiting with my big bro from Australia in April & I am getting very excited. I love Facetiming with my girl, but nothing compares to the wonder of wrapping my arms around her little body & squeezing her tight. I found her a My Little Pony dress that she will freak over & some super cute Comic Relief t-shirts.

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Treats for myself included some budget beauty, freebies from
a plus size event & my very first pair of flatforms. As usual I’m sharing some random snaps of sights I enjoyed; Glasgow & Edinburgh both had some little treasures for me. Talking of the capital, whilst through there for the aforementioned event I was lucky enough to visit my favourite bar with my favourite man. This week even included some flowers, in my opinion white roses stomp all over red in the romance stakes.

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I’ll leave you with my most momentous addition. On Wednesday I finally got my new tattoo. I went to True Colour Tattoo where I was inked by the fabulous Sharon. It was so good to finally be tattooed by a woman, the fact that she is an old school friend made it even better. I am ecstatic with my tattoo & I can not recommend True Colour enough. I can honestly say this was my favourite tattoo experience. I will definitely be going back.

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