Say thank you more.

I hear a lot of people telling their tiny humans to “say thank you to the bus driver!” and they normally do. Whether it’s a quick thanks, a shy thanks or a bold, almost shouting thanks I always appreciate it.

We could all say thank you more.

Here are my current thank yous:

  1. Thank you to everyone who has stood by me recently. Notable thanks to close friends (that drunkenly ring me to tell me they love me), my mum, a couple of colleagues and my therapist.
  2. Thank you to every single person who works in any emergency service. Paramedics. PCSOs. Fire fighters. Coast guards. Mountain rescuers. Police officers. Don’t listen to what “The Sun” says. Have your cup of coffee in a public place; you deserve it. Every single day you leave your house not knowing what the day will bring or whether you’ll even return home. 
  3. Thank you to doctors and nurses and physiotherapists and porters and cleaners and receptionists in hospitals all over the world. The world simply would not exist without you.
  4. Thank you to my goddaughter who reminds me that happiness can be found at the top deck of a bus or at the bottom of a tub of poster paint.
  5. Thank you to the musicians who have managed to say all the things I can’t say and better.
  6. Thank you to my favourite poet who has changed my life beyond comprehension.

Say thank you more.

Foreshadowing.

Last night, I had a foreshadowing mindfuck dream.

In it, I confronted one of my biggest fears about one of my favourite people.

It was a mixture of painful truth and awful potential.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, I think dreams are our way of safely exploring things that we cannot process while we are awake. And my theory has never been more prevalent than now.

I don’t struggle with difficult conversations but I struggle to figure out the emotion surrounding them. I can get how I feel out there but then I can’t handle what happens next.

My therapist has told me that sometimes when the fantasy becomes a reality a terrible realisation sets in. All of a sudden, you have what you want and, even if it’s exactly how you had imagined it would be, it’s a shock. 

I am in shock and last night I dealt with that in dream form and today I’m dealing with the idea that I might finally have the opportunity to be happy.

Happiness is scary.

Lying to my therapist.

On Monday, I lied to my therapist. 

It was the first time I have intentionally lied to her in the hope that she wouldn’t think I’m a bad person. 

I realise this is flawed, and I shall list why now:

  • She is, as far as I know, pretty damn objective and I don’t think she’d judge me.
  • She doesn’t believe that people are “good” or “bad”; she understands the complexity of humans and knows that people are more than a three or four letter word.
  • Even if she did think I was “bad” she certainly wouldn’t tell me.

    Some people might say that it shows some disharmony between the two of us if I’m willing to lie to her but, instead, I’d suggest it shows disharmony within myself.

    I’ve just sent her a text telling her that I faced one of my fears this morning. I’ll face the rest of them next week.

    Fear.

    “Does that frighten you?”, my therapist asked me in our reflective time at the end of our session.

    “Yes.”, I replied; without even contemplating it.

    “Good. It should.”, was her response.

    Fear drives us forward.

    Today, I’m driving and I’ll be full of fear. I’m doing a rail replacement bus service in London and I’m terrified. I was talking to a colleague about it and he said “You get a buzz; the unknown roads, knowing you might get lost. It’ll spur you on!”. There was a hunger in his eyes.

    There are only flashing danger signs in mine.

    For me, fear is very social based. Fear of rejection. Fear of not being good enough. Fear that someone will realise that I’m 23 and basically just winging it.

    You can’t wing London.

    2017. A year of great change.

    Happy new year everyone! This isn’t my first post of 2017 and it’s rather late on the whole “new year” front but it’s here!

    2016 was interesting, I’d say it was the most life changing year so far (more on that in another blog post).

    Today is blue Monday and I feel strangely positive about it. Rather aptly, I have a session with my therapist later and I’m excited to tell her what’s happening in my life.

    I don’t fall into the trap of thinking that my life will be revolutionised in the new year; I am annoyingly realistic. I doubt I’ll lose 5 stone, meet the love of my life or take more photos but that doesn’t mean that change won’t happen. It’s happening now, I already feel much better than I did this time last year.

    I can’t even remember this time last year really – without even noticing it, I think the depression has descended. 

    That’s how I like to picture depression; like a black cloud. Towards the end of last year I learned how to move out from under the black cloud and how to make the black cloud less detrimental.

    16 days into January and I feel changes are afoot. 2017 will be good, it’ll be a year to remember.

    Dear DTB 

    Dear DTB,

    This is tough. This is like well done steak kinda tough. I mean I like my steak well done but I still want to be able to get my teeth into it. I can’t get my teeth into this.

    People say that it’s a burden or emotionally abusive to say that a person is instrumental to their happiness. Unfortunately, despite its connotations, you are instrumental to my happiness.

    I can only really gather the courage to write this because I don’t think you’ll ever read it. If you were to discover this I hope you wouldn’t realise that it’s for you. If you were to realise that, you’d be angry. “Why couldn’t you just talk to me?!”, would be your response.

    I can’t talk to you though. Not now. You’re a teenage boy in a cave right now; agitated and isolated and you love it. 

    I’m asking you to be someone that you can’t be, at least not yet. I’m not there yet either, my therapist calls it “fake it until you make it”. I’m faking it so much that I don’t think you know that I’m terrified like you.

    You think I’m strong which is why you talk to me the way you do. I’m not strong, I’m barely getting by.

    I wonder where we’ll be in ten years. Will we find this funny? Or will we still be bitter? 

    I think we’ll find it funny. We’ll be different people by then. I’ll still be stubborn and you’ll still be grumpy but we’ll be a bit softer.

    Years of “good living” and hindsight will have made us softer. 

    I cannot wait until we’re softer. I cannot wait until life is how we imagine it to be. We’ll be the envy of people on Instagram (if it still exists) and we’ll be smug. We will be allowed to be smug because of all the shit we will have to endured to get to that point.

    This is the shit and I’m sorry that right now even my name annoys you. Guess what, yours doesn’t make me best pleased either.

    But when I think about my life at 33 you’re there. You are instrumental to my happiness and that irritates me so much. I’m stronger with you, and that bothers me. We’re better people when we’re together. We’re softer. We’re faking it less and making our dreams a reality.

    This, right now, is shit. You’re being shit and I’m being shit. At least we’re consistent.

    In 10 years time you will no longer be known at DTB; isn’t that a refreshing thought?

    So I’ll let you be a teenage boy in a cave as long as you let me be a middle aged woman having a midlife crisis whilst going through the menopause. This is making us softer. The steak is no longer as hard to chew.

    Adult life.

    I thought that, at 23, I’d be married to my teenage crush and that we’d be living in our own house with little versions of us running about causing havoc.

    In reality, at 23, I’m drunk texting my teenage crush at 3am to tell her that I love her. We’re friends, it’s fine, she obviously thinks it’s platonic…

    I was wrong about adult life. I had visions of me effortlessly drifting through it, ticking off adult goals on the daily.

    Nope.

    Adult life is me eating a “funsize” bag of popcorn for breakfast in the car on the way to see my therapist.

    Adult life is me updating my union membership to premium even though I don’t know what it includes and it costs £10 more a month.

    Adult life is me trying to find songs I like for my goddaughter to dance to that don’t involve words like “fuck”, “pussy” and “bitch”. 

    Adult life is painting pottery on my day off when I’m hungover and trying not to vomit up 5 pints of cider.

    Adult life is getting excited when my Tesco vouchers come through and then spending them on Pokémon cards. Pokémon cards for me. That I collect. At 23.

    Is this what life is like at 30? Does Christmas ever become dull? Will I spend my pension money on cat toys for the cats that they don’t even play with?

    Is anyone actually an adult?

    From the outside I think I seem fairly mature and like I’ve got my shit together. I have a responsible job and people trust me with their children. Underneath that am I just an 8 year old who wants to nap, eat pizza and play in the snow? Yes. I’m not an adult. I’m a fraud.