It's 1100 and I've been up since 0830 - eventually got to sleep at 0500, so I feel like shit. I dozed a bit on the sofa after I got up, but felt ghastly, so had a coffee and called HT - the nurse is coming at 1600. I hope I can last that long - once again, endless time stretches in front of me with no way of filling it. I panic when that happens, and try to break it down into chunks - Tesco's are coming, so I shall have to unpack that; my Aunt will phone at 1200. That's about as far ahead as I can see at the moment.
Tesco's have just been, but I can't face unpacking the bags - although I might do the chilled stuff. I've had a toasted teacake for breakfast, now that I'm not allowed egg banjos. Actually, an egg banjo would be too much at this time of day, but a teacake was just right Looking at the order, I think it might be the wrong one - but I can't face complaining and in any case, there's some good stuff in it, like fresh orange juice and orange barley water. Must keep one's fluids up.
I was completely drained after writing about the RAF - I don't know whether I got the full horror across; the complete devastation that it caused in my life. To be treated so abominably after 16 years of exemplary service was ghastly. I think writing it down helped, but it did take its toll. I suppose I thought others would behave like I do - or try to do - by attempting to do the best for people, not the worst. My Father always said that we should try to do the least amount of harm to the least number of people, and I've always tried to abide by that.
My mood is pretty low - it's the morning, so what do I expect? It comes over me in waves - the feeling that nothing is worth the effort, nothing is good. I think I must be a bad person to be feeling like this, but I don't know what I've done wrong. Whatever it was, it must have been hugely bad to produce this illness. I sometimes feel as though I'm being punished for past sins - but what were they? Why me?
The Hunt is meeting outside my house at 1200 - I am very opposed to blood sports, so it's tricky to live in a village with a Hunt. The meet is part of the Fox Festival - this afternoon, there's Foxy poetry and Foxy music, followed by a Foxtail party. I shall miss all of them. Can't do The Face today, so can't meet people. I could easily become a recluse at the moment, or a hermit, sitting on top of a pole, meditating. But I can't bear to meditate at the moment - my thoughts rush in as do the voices, so I'm stuffed. I can't read and TV makes me anxious.
I have two voices - one man I know has nearly seventy, so I suppose I'm lucky. There's the running commentary in the third person, and then there's the one that just tells me how awful I am all the time. When I'm teaching about unusual experiences, I do an exercise with the students to try to show them what having voices is like. Someone sits on a chair, with two others beside them - the two start talking into the first person's ears, one on either side, saying nasty things and making comments. Then I ask the first person to answer questions, while the voices are going on. Usually, it's impossible, and that shows how difficult it is to deal with everyday life when one has voices.
I'm going to have a nap on the sofa, so I shall end here - I'll be back later.....
I spent 16 years in the RAF defending the Free World , then got bunged out unceremoniously for being bipolar. I and was subsequently diagnosed with PTSD. Funny old world, isn't it?