|picture is from Matthew Johnstone's book:|
I Had a Black Dog
lifted from the Glasgow Steps site
But I shall not write them down in this post I think. This post is really a short note (yes, I know it seems lengthy, but this a mere touch on a scratch on the surface of The Black Dog) to people who place great expectations upon The Loris to achieve several things in a day, or even a week. Sorry to disappoint, but that really is just a tad too unrealistic. Certainly there are days when a kick up the backside is needed, but mostly at the moment I am exhausted beyond exhaustion, incapable of concentrating for more than two minutes and racked with nerves and anxiety.
It is not helpful to expect a person who has an anxiety attack at the thought of leaving the house to go out and run errands. I hear the door shut behind me and want to scream; I leave the door to the block of flats and hear that shut behind me and... Oh. My. Life. I am now outside, in the fresh air and am paralyzed.
|"It Dwells Behind Closed Doors|
Copyright Nicolas Henri
Well, I then spend a moment or two telling myself to grow a back bone and feign courage and make a decision. And yesterday, this turned out to be the wrong decision. I got on the wrong bus. Fell asleep. Got out at Marble Arch and decided instead to visit a friend in North London, as I knew I could get a bus home from there. The problem was that having made the mistake and boarded the wrong bus I had no idea where to get out. Well, OK, there were quite a few Tube stations that I went past, but I just kept thinking of all the horrible stairs I'd have to climb and felt sick at the thought (dodgy hearts make for an interesting life, what?).
|Macavity (left) and Psycho Kitteh (right)|
Photo Copyright Lissy Mogaji 2010
So, two hours later I arrived at my friend's and she fed me plenty of tea. I then mauled my cat, Macavity (or Pickles or the goth grumpus...), and her cat Psycho (well named!) for a couple of hours and later went home for dinner with my flatmates.
I feel pretty peeved with my brain for messing me about all the time, I can tell you. So it doesn't really help when people get cross as they expect me to have done much more than get out of bed and wash and get dressed by midday. Some days, I just want the world to stop so I can step off. Not because I want to die or anything, but just because I am tired of feeling this tired and this confused and this permanently panicked. I am having to take a year out of my current studies because of this illness, and the tiredness, and when I start to think, I start to paN1c... But it achieves nothing except to hinder me further. "O God! Please Comfort me!"
So several times a day I find myself inwardly shouting, in a Jonesian squawk, "Don't panic, Mr Mainwaring, Don't panic!".