I won’t lie to you… mentally, I’m not doing so good these days.
Alzheimer’s, blondeness or just being a muppet. What can I tell you?
The other day I spent five minutes searching for my toothbrush that I was becoming increasingly convinced I’d left in Chester… while I was actually brushing my teeth- TOOTHBRUSH IN MOUTH! This was just 2 days after the arm in bin episode of the train journey to Chester – retrieving rail passes I’d accidentally thrown away.
Such premature senior moments are the more amusing side to this early onset dementia.
Less amusing though is the Black Dog.
It’s always there, lurking.
It makes me hide from mirrors because I don’t like to see myself:- my miserable face, my moles, my hair, my blotchy skin. It makes me prefer to stay in bed rather than get up and do, because under my duvet I am smaller, more petite, less cumbersome than when I’m up and dressed; lurching about in my shitty $5 ‘Ugg’s and last season’s Primada; shouting, shouting shouting.
I don’t even like the sound of my voice, which you may find hard to believe! I’d happily spend days on end not speaking at all. I think that’s why I’ve embraced the Internet. I can babble bollocks and shout out loud and call out a load of shit into the Ether and yet…I cannot hear my voice.
It’s the black dog that makes me not want to go out (Out Out).
I have nothing to wear, nothing of any import to say. What I do say will likely offend or make me sound stupid. I will get drunk and make an asshole of myself. It is far safer for everyone if I remain in my own home then I can be an embarrassment to no-one.
The dog tells me to eat healthier and do more exercise but it also tells me that there is no point – I may as well just eat shit and lay around with the curtains closed. It tells me that my parenting is hopeless. I’ve fucked up my kids & may as well not be here. They’d be better off without me. It tells me every night when I get back into bed that today could have gone so much better but that I screwed up again. It reminds me how pointless I am to the World, that nobody listens. That I am surrounded, day in and day out, by children – whether they be my own or other people’s. None of these children listen to me. Why should they? My own don’t, so why the hell should any of the others. Pick up your clothes, tidy your room, do your homework. Stop whining, Stop crying. Why the constant crying over nothing (oh yeah… you belong to me. You are a mini-me! Holy shit!!)
There is no escape from the children. My children , the neighbouring children. I go to the dustbin and hear “Hya Mrs B!” I am never on my own unless I manage to sneak away at lunchtime from work and come home when nobody is in but me.
It is silent.
There is just me.
It’s very calming.
I need more times like this.
Yes, the Black Dog is becoming more and more prevalent these days. Not like Son of Sam style. I’m compos enough to not start picking off the neighbours with a .44 or anything. (I know it’s not a real dog y’all!) It’s just my name for the Mean Reds (which are worse than the blues, because there’s no reason for it).
There aint no Tiffanys round these parts though to help me though. Bejesus!
If Holly Golightly got the Mean Reds, what chance do I have?
It’s almost bedtime again. The best part of the day. Until tomorrow when we will do it all again and hope that the Black Dog stays asleep and does not bother me.