What to say? How much? How little?  I’m off meds. Not exactly by choice but I’ve ran out and the prescription isn’t ready. I’ve no money to pay for it at the minute either.  I’m awaiting money from customer, as usual, so I’m skint. I’ve missed last months mortgage payment too. I’ve had the builders merchants chase me as my account was over due.  It’s shit.  Such is life.  The harder I work to get ahead the further behind I get.  I personal bank with Lloyd’s and they rob me blindly because I use an agreed overdraft. They charge me daily for using it up to a total of £90 each month and they make sure they take about that much. So over the 18 or so months they’ve been doing it they’ve been taking about £90 a month. That’s rather a lot and yet another reason why I’m always in my overdraft. I get charged for going over the overdraft, when I do go over, and it’s usually because they’ve charged me why I go over.  If I did this to a customer I’d get taken to court for theft. If a bank does it then it’s ok.  It’s shit. I can’t see an end to the debts either at this rate.  Ever.  

Sometimes things are just shite.  That’s just how it is.  Shite.  

The lyrics to the song say that suicide is painless. Is it? Really? Who for?

 I’m shattered. I went to sleep early last night only to wake a bit early. I did manage to drift off again. It was a night of odd dreams.  I can’t remember them all but I know they were vivid.  One of them must of affected me badly as I woke up feeling slightly odd and contemplating suicide. Very strange.  Obviously I didn’t take it further.  Who knows what the mind truly does to itself.  I’m tired. It’s doing my head in.  I do my own head in.

 In other news there’s now 14,777 subscribers to this blog. I wonder how many are robots. I have heard that a friend elsewhere in the country had this blog recommended to him by someone in his mental health team. How funny is that. 

My life is far too stressful.  I’ve had enough of it. I woke up before 5am with huge anxiety this morning. One of our cats sat on me because I’d woken up.  I’m chasing money yet again. Every year I tell myself it will be different, I’m certain this year will be, but it seems like Groundhog Day over and over.  I’m tired of the stress, tired of working so much, tired of how much of my mental capacity is taken up by it all.  I feel I never relax. I never take time off for a break from it.  It will be the death of me.  I see others around me who seem to do so much better and work much less.  I can’t figure it out.  Nothing makes sense anymore.  I’m sure it will pass.  I hate all of the fucking clichés people quote.  They’re shit.  Bipolar does my fucking head in. Nothing makes sense most of the time.  What’s the difference between being well and thinking you’re well? Delusion. Does anyone actually have their shit together?  My memory isn’t great again.  So much to get on with. I put myself down and each day I kill myself a little bit more. 

And I’ve relaxed.  

Today I’ve felt good. I’ve got lots done. Now I wish I were back at work. It would seem I’m not allowed to be jolly or jovial in my own house.  I’m fucking sick of it.  Maybe it’s time I looked for somewhere else to live.  I’ve had a week of really bad stomach upset. I’ve had time off work over it. I’m back at it now though.  I’ve got to be. I’m a walking fucking wallet and I’m sick of it.  I’ve wirked my fucking fits off for the 10 years we’ve lived where we do. I’ve fought through severe mental illness. I’ve fought through almost being broke every 3 months lately.  I’ve fought through far too fucking much. Fuck it all. It can all fuck off. My wife is miserable whoever I’m in a good mood. My daughter swears at me and tells me to fuck off.  I think I finally get the message. They want me to fuck off. Maybe I actually will. Fuck it all. Sell the house and pocket half what’s left after the mortgage is paid. I doubt it’ll be too much as the house is in need of shit doing to it.  Not least a new boiler.  Time I started loving for myself instead of being a slave to a huge fucking debt that was put upon me months after my mum died. How fucking cruel. Pushing me to sell and move house months after my mums death. No time to grieve.  Ever. Nope. Just wait a few years and mentally crack badly and live through 12-18 months of a mental breakdown while still having to work and pay most of the bills.  It can all FUCK OFF. 

Wednesday was Kara’s birthday.  All went well until the evening when I felt really cold.  By 9pm I was shaking with a chill so I had a hot shower and got into bed.  From then onwards I had a really upset stomach, which still hasn’t settled,  and I had to take yesterday off work as I slept nearly all day.  It’s still not letting up.  I really do need to go back today as I’m now behind but I’m not sure I can.  It’s really playing on my mind because I need to get money in as I’ve my mortgage to pay late next week and early next week money goes out of the business to the tax office.   I’m sick and tired of working so hard, recently I’ve even been to work on a Sunday briefly, only for it to get sucked away.   I bank with Lloyds for my personal accounts and they’re screwing me over constantly.  They have a daily overdraft fee and can take up to £90 per month in those fees, which they do every month.  It’s an agreed overdraft at that! It’s a rigged system to keep people poor.  I’m sick of living like this.  Things are that tight that one day off work with the fucking shits and a fever could just about break me.  That’s not living.  It’s not even surviving ffs.  I’m really not sure I will be able to go I even for a few hours.   It’s killing me slowly.  I’ve spoken with Kara and we might up our mortgage, meaning more debt, to clear some other debts off to try to get a bit ahead again.  We certainly need to get ahead.  She’s working 7 days a week too.   It’s crazy and it’s a killer.   

I’ve had a week of dodgy dreams and a tricky mood.  Luckily it’s been mild,  mild compared to before, and is hopefully passing now.  Last night I pretty much slept through until about 5am and then slept again until 5:45.   It’s been shit.  I’ve had suicide ideation again which I coped with.  I’ve had rage and anger inside.  I’ve been stressed about things that shouldn’t stres me.  The biggest single issue that’s getting me down is money and cash flow.  I’m charging more again now for my time at work but as usual I’m trying to get a big job finished for the final payment and lots of small call out jobs have come along.  It’s a catch 22.  Money is stupidly tight at the minute and often we don’t have much food to eat. Thank fuck I grow food or I don’t know how we’d be coping! I’m still harvesting some of last years veg.  There’s still fresh beetroot, parsnips, leeks and chard in at the allotments thankfully.  I’m so pleased that I had my gallbladder out because it fucked my year up last year.  I was constantly more tired with more niggling pain as the year went on.  I can now move forwards.  What’s caused financial issues though, and the mental issues too, was having the first operation cancelled at the last minute.  It meant I only worked maybe 6 weeks in the last 3 months of 2018.  We had no savings to rely on as usual.  I’m determined to get ahead this year.  I’ve been working Saturdays until lunchtime or just after and have even had a few Sunday emergency jobs I fitted in.  One was only an hour but it’s amazing how it affects the mindset for the following week. It’s a rolling snowball coming down the hill.  Then with broken sleep it’s gotten exasperated.  I feel much fresher today for having slept well.  

  Today  is another day and is Kara’s birthday.  Luckily I’ve got a spare £20 so we can go get chips tonight as a treat.  We’ll have some cake too.  W ever twinky won’t get fat as we’re all very trim.  One good thing about not stuffing our faces.  Fynn and I are back working out and now on week 3 or 4.  I’m building some muscle again but dropping body fat and dropping some weight.  I can almost see my abs properly again.  That’s also had a small part in my sleep and mental health too.  The working out hard and drop in calories.  I can kind of get what it’d be like if I decided to get ripped and enter a bodybuilding competition when I’ve put some decent size back on.  Maybe I should do one.  I always wanted to.  Fuck knows haha.  

Life.  Reflecting on things.  Past. Things that are gone but did they happen or are they kind of feelings based on partial events.  I’m sitting near my fire. It’s warm. Toasty. The log burner is kicking heat out from lovely red wood embers.  Spring is almost here.  Winter is disappearing.  Memories of years gone by well up in my mind.  Facets of life from different times combine to come back to the forefront of my mind.  Do I crave some elements of my childhood and younger self still? Do feelings come from old thoughts and happenings of from now and the recollection of things?  The past is such a strange beast.  It’s gone but did it ever truly exist.  When we go to sleep and wake up did any of that past really exist? Are memories real? Photos and videos, are they really real?  Past conversations. Past angers. Past.  The past. Is it really gone.  What does the future hold?  Death is the only certainty of the future.  All else is speculation.  Conjecture. Nothing is permanent. Nothing truly exists. 

Fridau night, and again Sunday night, I had a couple of glasses of wine. It felt good to be able to.  I thought on Sunday that it hadn’t affected me so that’s why I had some more.  Yesterday it crept up on me though.  I felt very tired, there’s a few reasons for this which I’ll get into, but I also felt my mood lowering.  I can’t drink alcohol without some payback a few days later. It really is that simple.  Luckily for me I knew what had caused the drop off. Some of the tiredness is down to working out again.  I’m now on my second week of working out since before my operation. My body is responding quite fast, it was about 3 months off, and has already started changing and building muscle.  Once again I’m dropping some weight but getting bigger due to body fat loss.  Initially the tiredness can affect my mood, lowering it slightly, until my body responds better and it lifts more.  Another thing that has played on my mind is the death of Keith Flint.  Such a shock.  Very saddening.  It shows up yet again that wealth and fame don’t make you immune from mental pain and torture.  I really feel for his family.  All of these small things connect like a spiders web for me and build a slightly bigger picture.  So I’ve been having early nights and it’s helping.   I’m feeling ok and I know it will pass pretty fast.

 Last weekend I got an unofficial PB up the casting field and that made me feel good.  Things do try to balance out.