I should know better than to do these things.
Just wandered onto the Fetish Bound website, to see what I'm not as good as. Apparently, it's ropes, fetters and gaffer tape.
Saturday, 15 September 2012
Thursday, 13 September 2012
Possible trigger found!
Chatting online with another partner, one who goes to the same club nights as the boyfriend (the same club night that the boyfriend does not want me to attend for fear that I will cramp his style). Suddenly I'm finding it hard to concentrate on work or force my thoughts away from the constant background "Not good enough" that swirls through them at times like this.
Tuesday, 11 September 2012
Drive-by posting
My mood picked up over the weekend, which was nice. Yesterday and
today were too hectic at work for the head squirrels to start their
work, but I was reminded just now by a quote used in a comment on how
much of an arsehole Mitt Romney is.
"You may not remember what a person said to you, you may not remember what a person did to you, but you will never forget how a person made you feel!" - Maya Angelou.
Several years ago, my then-boyfriend said something to me while I was with him and my one uni friend who stayed around after uni. I cannot for the life of me remember what he said, but I felt crushed afterwards. I was so knocked off centre that I could barely remember the route to walk home!
A few years after that, while on holiday with my current boyfriend and the same uni friend, she said something that had a similar effect - in this case, I lost my appetite. I did everything that I could to minimise the time spent with her over the next couple of days.
I think that if it happens again, I will try to make a note of what has been said, to see if I can analyse it later and work out if it's still hurtful.
"You may not remember what a person said to you, you may not remember what a person did to you, but you will never forget how a person made you feel!" - Maya Angelou.
Several years ago, my then-boyfriend said something to me while I was with him and my one uni friend who stayed around after uni. I cannot for the life of me remember what he said, but I felt crushed afterwards. I was so knocked off centre that I could barely remember the route to walk home!
A few years after that, while on holiday with my current boyfriend and the same uni friend, she said something that had a similar effect - in this case, I lost my appetite. I did everything that I could to minimise the time spent with her over the next couple of days.
I think that if it happens again, I will try to make a note of what has been said, to see if I can analyse it later and work out if it's still hurtful.
Saturday, 8 September 2012
A very delicate time
Or so beginnings have been called.
This is my place to keep track of my mood on a (hopefully) regular basis. I'm fairly certain that I'm suffering from depression, but I haven't spoken to my GP about it specifically. I don't want to be a diagnosis, and I know from experience that a whole extra level of bureaucracy will lumber into life at work if take that label in with me. (Two years ago, I was signed off for a two-week period for "stress and depression", due in part to an unpleasant working environment and no support from the manager who had put me there. When I went back, I had to deal with Occupational Health. Once they had concluded that it was in fact a management/HR issue, they passed me straight back and almost nothing changed.)
I base my certainty on (of all things) descriptions given by Ruby Wax of her time as a depressive. It rang so many bells in my head that I wonder why my boyfriend didn't hear!
Right now, there is a pile of washing up to do going back just over a week. The living room hasn't been adequately tidied since November, and there are boxes from May still sitting by the not-for-people sofa (the one that my boyfriend has colonised with his work and play stuff, and now serves as a dumping ground) that should have been broken down for recycling three months ago. I have a hand-written recipe to unearth, type up and try. There are two bags of stone fruit in the fridge that are destined either for throwing away or jam. There is a mountain of laundry in the bedroom, and I'm running out of underwear, so it's been a few weeks since that was last done. I'm due to go swimming with friends tomorrow, and it's a gorgeous day.
And yet, I feel empty inside. So far I've read a little, showered, shaved, had breakfast and watched two episodes of "The Stones of Blood". Oh, and created this blog(!)
Not so very long ago (okay, 2003) by this stage on a Saturday I would have showered, had breakfast, cycled over to the next town for some shopping, cycled back and pottered around the local shops, had some lunch and worked on a personal project - programming, knitting or gardening.
Things have been like this in fits and starts. I was fine until shortly after I graduated university, when I well and truly lost my heart to someone totally wrong. (Not just for me, but in general. When you have to dissuade a friend from actively pursuing a twelve-year-old boy, you know that he have a problem.) I was keeping a journal then, and I referred to the bleak periods as the Black (hence the title of this blog). When I finally lost patience/came to my senses (whichever you think most appropriate) and excised him from my life, I felt better.
I felt better right up until a few years ago. I was in a stable relationship - we were living together, and (I thought) all was good. Then his job got outsourced to another company, although he was doing the same stuff in the same building with the same colleagues. However, the management ethos changed, and he became more and more withdrawn. We had already opened the relationship at this point, so I also had another boyfriend, which was a challenge for us both at first. The two of them got on, though - they even kept each other company when I was away on a training course for a week!
Anyway, my primary boyfriend told me one day that he's been signed off work with stress and depression. He blamed his lack of sex drive (which I had noticed but not commented on) on this, and said that he needed to work through it. This was 2008.
Since then, we haven't really had sex. We've got close a couple of times, but there's always been a barrier between us. I know that his sex drive came back, because the following year he went to stay with some mutual friends in the Netherlands, and his host gave me rather more details than I really wanted about what they did together. That's when I started feeling the Black again. It hasn't got better.
This is my place to keep track of my mood on a (hopefully) regular basis. I'm fairly certain that I'm suffering from depression, but I haven't spoken to my GP about it specifically. I don't want to be a diagnosis, and I know from experience that a whole extra level of bureaucracy will lumber into life at work if take that label in with me. (Two years ago, I was signed off for a two-week period for "stress and depression", due in part to an unpleasant working environment and no support from the manager who had put me there. When I went back, I had to deal with Occupational Health. Once they had concluded that it was in fact a management/HR issue, they passed me straight back and almost nothing changed.)
I base my certainty on (of all things) descriptions given by Ruby Wax of her time as a depressive. It rang so many bells in my head that I wonder why my boyfriend didn't hear!
Right now, there is a pile of washing up to do going back just over a week. The living room hasn't been adequately tidied since November, and there are boxes from May still sitting by the not-for-people sofa (the one that my boyfriend has colonised with his work and play stuff, and now serves as a dumping ground) that should have been broken down for recycling three months ago. I have a hand-written recipe to unearth, type up and try. There are two bags of stone fruit in the fridge that are destined either for throwing away or jam. There is a mountain of laundry in the bedroom, and I'm running out of underwear, so it's been a few weeks since that was last done. I'm due to go swimming with friends tomorrow, and it's a gorgeous day.
And yet, I feel empty inside. So far I've read a little, showered, shaved, had breakfast and watched two episodes of "The Stones of Blood". Oh, and created this blog(!)
Not so very long ago (okay, 2003) by this stage on a Saturday I would have showered, had breakfast, cycled over to the next town for some shopping, cycled back and pottered around the local shops, had some lunch and worked on a personal project - programming, knitting or gardening.
Things have been like this in fits and starts. I was fine until shortly after I graduated university, when I well and truly lost my heart to someone totally wrong. (Not just for me, but in general. When you have to dissuade a friend from actively pursuing a twelve-year-old boy, you know that he have a problem.) I was keeping a journal then, and I referred to the bleak periods as the Black (hence the title of this blog). When I finally lost patience/came to my senses (whichever you think most appropriate) and excised him from my life, I felt better.
I felt better right up until a few years ago. I was in a stable relationship - we were living together, and (I thought) all was good. Then his job got outsourced to another company, although he was doing the same stuff in the same building with the same colleagues. However, the management ethos changed, and he became more and more withdrawn. We had already opened the relationship at this point, so I also had another boyfriend, which was a challenge for us both at first. The two of them got on, though - they even kept each other company when I was away on a training course for a week!
Anyway, my primary boyfriend told me one day that he's been signed off work with stress and depression. He blamed his lack of sex drive (which I had noticed but not commented on) on this, and said that he needed to work through it. This was 2008.
Since then, we haven't really had sex. We've got close a couple of times, but there's always been a barrier between us. I know that his sex drive came back, because the following year he went to stay with some mutual friends in the Netherlands, and his host gave me rather more details than I really wanted about what they did together. That's when I started feeling the Black again. It hasn't got better.
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