thranduil

HAHAHAH

Don't you just love going to see the dentist with what you think is legitimate tooth pain only to be told you're either

a) suffering from a new level of your trigeminal neuralgia
b) suffering sinus congestion
c) stressed and anxious as fuck (leading to muscle strain from clenching, bruxism, and tension headaches)

And from the way he was talking to me, I know he was pretty sure it's option c. So there we have it. The second medical professional this month to tell me I'm stressful and anxious. My parents have heard about this too and now they're going to be wallowing in guilt and self-blame. I feel dirty and exposed, like my most detailed diary was just read out to everyone. It's one thing knowing you're on a downward spiral of anxiety, but it's something else entirely having everyone knowing about it. Especially the people you try to care for and support.

This is going to make me look weaker and less capable in their eyes. And it can't have happened at a worse time. I still worry about Dad up and leaving us, especially now that a chasm has opened up between me and Mum since her last episode. I need to keep it together so that Dad doesn't feel as trapped and desperate to run away, how can I do that if he's looking at me like I'm the source of all concern and guilt?

This fucking sucks. Maybe I should give in and see if I can get some medication to cope with all of this.
  • Current Mood: crappy crappy
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thranduil

My Mad Fat Diary: Season 3 Confirmed




That took a long time to confirm! I was starting to think the series was over for sure.

Honestly, I have no idea where they can go from here. I have a feeling it will be no place I would like. Season two disappointed me in a lot of ways, most particularly: Finn being kept a 2D image of perfection, the treatment of Liam and his illness (he wasn't a sweetheart but the narrative neglect of him and the bias of Rae's POV meant that he got a serious level of undeserved abuse from viewers), giant holes and out-of-character moments to force quick fixes.

I also wonder where the plot can go from the end of the last season. MMFD has the potential to be great if it only took off its blinders and widened its view some more. I will definitely watch a new season but I'm also prepared to get back on my soapbox about mental illness, being overweight, and hole-riddled writing if I have to!
  • Current Mood: cynical cynical
fall

Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions...

...You change direction but the sandstorm chases you. You turn again, but the storm adjusts. Over and over you play this out, like some ominous dance with death just before dawn. Why? Because this storm isn't something that blew in from far away, something that has nothing to do with you. This storm is you. Something inside of you. So all you can do is give in to it, step right inside the storm, closing your eyes and plugging up your ears so the sand doesn't get in, and walk through it, step by step. There's no sun there, no moon, no direction, no sense of time. Just fine white sand swirling up into the sky like pulverized bones. That's the kind of sandstorm you need to imagine.

And you really will have to make it through that violent, metaphysical, symbolic storm. No matter how metaphysical or symbolic it might be, make no mistake about it: it will cut through flesh like a thousand razor blades. People will bleed there, and you will bleed too. Hot, red blood. You'll catch that blood in your hands, your own blood and the blood of others.

And once the storm is over you won't remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won't even be sure, in fact, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm you won't be the same person who walked in. That's what this storm's all about.



- Haruki Murakami, "Kafka on the Shore"
fall

Instead of things I'm good at...

...it might be faster to list the things I can't do. I can't cook or clean the house. My room's a mess, and I'm always losing things. I love music, but I can't sing a note. I'm clumsy and can barely sew a stitch. My sense of direction is the pits, and I can't tell left from right half the time. When I get angry, I tend to break things. Plates and pencils, alarm clocks. Later on I regret it, but at the time I can't help myself. I have no money in the bank. I'm bashful for no reason, and I have hardly any friends to speak of.

- Haruki Murakami, "Sputnik Sweetheart"