Me & My Opinions Mental Health 

I Write. I Just Don’t Share.


I feel the need to apologise for being a bad blogger again, but I’m trying to do less apologising in 2019. It’s one of those New Year’s Resolutions that I’ve already broken, but hey, there’s still plenty of time to turn things around. 

2018 was a fucking cunt of a year. 2019 hasn’t been too kind to me so far either, but again, there’s still plenty of time to turn things around. I’m hoping if I tell myself that enough times it’ll actually happen. 

Fingers crossed, folks. 

I definitely should blog more, though. I got the domain and hosting renewal email a while back and actually wondered whether I should bother. It’s not like I blog these days. What’s the point in having a blog when you don’t blog? So, I cancelled the renewal and figured I’d let it run out. 

Exactly 25 minutes later, I renewed everything I just cancelled. I *am* still a blogger. I have 70+ blog posts here, some not quite finished, never published. I still write. I write a lot. I just don’t share my words with the world anymore because I’m a wimp. [Translation: anxiety.] But I want to start sharing again. I miss it. I always miss it.

Before I start sharing those old blog posts, though, I want to share a little bit of what’s been going on in my life … 

I’m still with Bear. We’re still very happy, except we don’t have sex anymore. It was my crushing depression to start with, and then his depression took hold, along with an ever-changing string of medications that don’t seem to do anything beneficial. I’ll talk about this sex business (or lack thereof) another time … probably a lot. 

[Update: I blogged about it here: Six Months]

I still haven’t managed to get pregnant, but you do kinda need to have more sex than I’m having for that. 

My anxiety and depression are still winning every day. I lost more weight, enough to get skinny-shamed by people I haven’t seen in a while. It makes a change from being fat-shamed, though. I have weird eating habits that aren’t specific enough to be classed as an eating disorder, but definitely involve a lot of control. And that’s the first time I’ve ever admitted that. 

I have more wrinkles. I started cigarette-smoking on/off again. I’ll blame the wrinkles on the smoking.

I still don’t talk to the majority of my family (and I still haven’t explained that whole business, to be honest) but I’m happier that way. Cutting toxic people and/or relationships out of your life really does work. Who knew? 

I lost another Nan. Recently. Very recently. My fucking heart is crushed and that’s probably how come I’m blogging again. I need to spew some sad words, folks. 

I also lost my old boss from the other side of the world. 

I lost another friend who was far too fucking young to die, who left two baby girls and a husband behind who are well and truly heartbroken. 

My old cat (no longer mine) died and I cried for two days solid. 

I didn’t go to my sister’s wedding. Or family Christmases. Or birthdays. 

My washing machine broke. I broke three Xbox controllers. Lost more friends than I can count. Avoided medical appointments. Lost clients. Broke a front tooth. Cried more tears than I could ever tell you about and had bigger meltdowns than 2007 Britney. I didn’t shave my head, although I came close once or twice. (I’m not even kidding.) 

I binge-watched everything — literally everything — there is to watch on Netflix, whilst working 18 hour days (from home). I have a family now. I’m a step-mum. I got responsibilities and all that jazz. I like to pretend that I work that much for the money, and a big part of it is that, but it’s also because working is easier than thinking. There were a few points in 2018 that were so low and bleak I didn’t know if I’d make it through. I’m fine and I didn’t do anything stupid, but I thought about it almost every day. And every time I felt like cutting myself — which was a lot — I got myself a new tattoo instead. It’s like an acceptable form of self-harm. I probably shouldn’t say that, but it totally is. Most of my tattoos came about during periods of darkness in my life. 

And that’s pretty much where I’m at. Trying to get my shit together and failing. Failing is too harsh a word, but I am struggling. I have struggled. Considered the recent Nan-related bad news, I’ve been doing better lately, but as I’ve learned, things can change with the flip of a coin. Good to bad. Rarely bad to good, but it’s gotta happen sometime, right?

As a final note, I’m probably not going to return to the social media world for a while. I barely use my own personal accounts these days. I just find it all too toxic. I take a peek at Twitter every now and again, but I think I take things way too seriously on there. On all social platforms, in fact. I don’t think social-media’ing is good for my mental health … or sanity. 

Anyway, I hope you’re all doing well.

What’s been going on in your lives? 

P.S. In case you’ve missed my rambling, I’ve got a truckload of old (ish) posts to share with you + a bunch of new ones. 

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One Thought to “I Write. I Just Don’t Share.”

  1. Tracey Abrahams

    Its lovely to see you again, im sorry things are so shit atm, sending huge cyber hugs xx

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