Boring

Well I guess people have stopped reading this shit. I've had no comments for a while. I don't give a shit really, I write it for me as a kind of therapy, not for anyone else...If you want to read fine, but if you think it's boring and can't be arsed, then fuck off and find some other happy drivel to read. I don't care.

Went to se P.S Ilove You again with mum tonight. It is possibly the most heartbreakingly funny film I have seen in a long time. And yes I cried and laughed all the way through it again.

I shouldn't watch films like that. It kinda half makes me want to believe in true love and happiness. When in reality it's all bollocks. People hurt eachother all the time. There's no such thing as eternal happiness, and a sucessful relationship is just one that hasn't failed yet. Yje only way a relationship can survive is if the people in it are tough enough to survive the hurt that the other person causes them.

Oh jesus (sorry God) I must be the most cynical of all cynics. Listen to me, in one breath I'm wittering about love, and in the next I'm spitting venom at anyone who has a happy relationship.

I apologise. I'm bitter and angry and cynical and I shoukd keep my big, fat, loveless mouth shut.

I don't think I'm right in the head. I need a holiday. Somewhere a long way away from this fucked up place. Trouble is if I go, I don't think I'll ever come back. And maybe that woulkdn't be such a bad thing. I could sit on a beach somewhere, with my laptop (making sure not to get sand in the keys) and write stories til the sun goes down. Live in sarong and flip dlops and get an amazing tan, except with my skin I'd probably burn horribly and get skin cancer.

And I got the fate through for my eye operation yesterday. 14th Narch. And I don't want to go. I'm sick of being prodded and poked and messed with. I just want to be left alone, in peace.It doesn't make any difference to me that the op will improve my vision...when they take out the oil and replce my lens things should clear up a bit, should become less blurry. But really, I don't give a shit anymore. I've lost the will to fight. And Gary won't be there to help me through it, cos he'll be in rehab.

I don't think I can deal with any of this any more. The last 12 months have beaten me down lower than I've ever been, and I can't do it any more. Gary's pneumonia, Gary's coke habit, my health problems, my sight problems, losing Gary back to his wife, more operations, watching Gary getting more and more miserable and killing himself with drink and drugs, nearly losing my job, Sam getting arrested, Gary going into rehab...Just a few of the things that have happened in the last twelve months. And I've coped so far. Lost the plot a couple of times, but I'm still here. But now I can't I've got no fight left, I'm mentally and emotionally exhausted. I don't want to go out to work, I want to dtay in bed all fucking day and hide. The only reason I don't is because I can't. I need the ,money, and Mum is retired now so I can't stay home. We're getting on ok at the moment, but Normally she annoys the hell out of me, and staying home with her fussing over me every second would finish me off.

And iff you turned my life into a soap and put it on the telly, people would laugh and say yeah right like that would happen.

If I go to the doctor they'll give me pills to take, happy smily pills that don't make you happy they just make you numb. They don't solve the problems, they just make you stop caring so much about the problems, but they're still there. And they'll try and sign me off work. And try and make me see a counsellor. But six months down the line when I finally manage to see the counsellor, if it's the same snotty bitch I got last time, I'll go once, and then walk away drom that...counsellors shouldn't make you feel uncomfortable. They shouldn't sit there in silence and watch you say nothing, waiting for you to speak. They should ask pertinent questions and be nice. Not look down their nose at you and make you feel guilty for being crazy. Make you feel like your wasting their time.

I did go to counselling two about 18 months ago, shortly after the seroxat made me go nuts and maybe try and kill myself...I say maybe, I can't remeber what I was thinking at that point. Everything is fuzzy and mixed up and painful. I can't remeber what the counsellor's name was. She was nice. She was from Corecare, through work, and she helped me I think. But I only got six sessions. Thats all your allowed, six one hour sessions. Yeah, short term care from the government there. Just keep propping you up so that you can keep on working, but don't pay to have a mentally healthy staff. Can't be paying a counsellor to come in, and pay your staff to sit in a room for an hour in work time doing nothing, but perfectly happy to pay you for six months when you go nuts and have a break down due to stress and go off sick.

It's quite strange. They allegedly carea about their staff...at least they have a 'duty of care' which I don't think is the same thing as actually caring. ANd they want their staff to be in all the time and reduce their sick days, yet they stress people out by giving them formal warnings when they're sick for more than 8 days in a 12 month rolling period, so when people are sick, they make themselve worse by worrying about the warnings, and people who are ill come into work and spread their germs about so as not to go over the sick limit. I'm better, I have 12 days cos I have a medical condition. I'm already well over that, but apparently recovery after an operation doesn't count on the sick policy.

It's no way to run a business. But then it's run by the government so what do we expect really?

I feel like I've been writing for hours abd iut's late. Or early depending on which way you look at it. Either way I think it's bed time.

Strangely I deel better for ranting and stuff.

Blogs are like counsellors without the bored looks and guilt-tripping stares and snotty attitude.