The Enemy Within

Been a tough day. I’ve been responding to the objections to my appeal. Oof. It’s all online if you want to see. It’s interesting from an academic point of view, for many reasons; the minutiae of planning, the psychology of people, the things that get hidden, the power of the use of language, the way to spin something with a politician’s skill – it’s all there. Some of the things thrown at me are in fact, true. Some of the things I’m accused of, I’m guilty of, but most of the things, I’m not. There are so many points to address that I couldn’t address them all. In fact, in all honesty, I didn’t even manage to read through the entire thing. My anxiety won’t allow it. And therein lies the rub. The thing with mental illness, is that, because it can’t be seen, you try to keep it hidden. Of course, anyone who has known me over the years knows full well that I’m a bit, well, you know…. Carrie Fisher meets Karl Pilkington…

The Marmite effect is strong in this one. Some of you reading this are going.. yay.. it’s Tess from school, Brother Veg, the Stilts lady, that girl who won the weakest link… etc. Some are going.. it’s that gobby cow from school.. it’s that girl whose voice I always hated.. it’s that girl who I tried to beat up in the Castle Inn in 1989 etc…. But reading the objections to my planning appeal application, I’m wondering – blimey. Am I really that bad?

And being a bit Carrie Pilkington…. and the stigma attached to that, I’ve created this tomfoolery Music Hall face that I present, in order to hide the demons that I see when I close my eyes, or to quieten the constant music that plays in my ears. I have been known to react in the most unpredictable of ways, and some people see what’s behind it, and some people don’t.

To the uninitiated I have for all this time preferred to leave them with the impression that I’m just an idiot, or unlike-able, or flaky. It’s easier that way. But as it seems these days we’re all fighting a similar battle, in that mental health issues are on the rise at an exponential rate, then it’s probably time we addressed these things.

One good thing about what’s been going on this week, is that I’ve actually fessed up to my family and friends how difficult everything has been and how much I’ve been struggling. You don’t want to upset or worry people so you try to get by. That’s when things start to fall apart and you start to fall behind. I’d been doing a lot of that over the last few years.

But as I’ve been falling apart, I’ve been basically stalked and photographed by my neighbours the entire time. I’ve been feeling like I’m developing paranoid schizophrenia in co-morbidity with my other problems. Turns out, I wasn’t imagining the sensation of being constantly watched. My neighbours have a list of my every move, everyone who has visited me, every journey I have made. I’m not sure what they can prove with this information, other than I have very little life, very few friends round, and sometimes don’t leave my field or see anyone for a week. But instead of wondering how that’s normal, they take photographs and use it to prove that I’m an imbecile, and make sure I stay homeless, because I’m spoiling their retirement or holiday home postcard.

Instead of coming over and noticing that I’ve been curled up with the same cat the whole time, unable to eat and picking which tree looks strong enough to take a rope, they’re plotting how to end everything for me completely. They’ve watched me struggle, and then they’ve used it against me. And I know that I’m a div and I’m this and that, but surely some sort of basic human compassion isn’t beyond them? Is this the same mentality of the people that set fire to homeless people in tents? Just the middle class, bought a house in the country version?

It seems I’ve been unfairly harsh on the planning department and the council. I had no idea what was going on behind the scenes, and it seems that they were dealing with way more than they should have had to. I can only imagine the volumes of paperwork they’ve had to go through. No wonder they were slow! I apologise to those concerned, especially the ones who have had to listen to me at my worst, like poor Rachel Green when she came to enforce me. She definitely got a good look at me at my lowest. In my previous dealings with her she was kind to me. And I regret my actions. I regret a lot of things I did whilst at my worst. But it’s hard that when you try to make up for your failings it doesn’t make any difference. When I’m right, no-one remembers- when I’m wrong, no-one forgets. Well. I was wrong. I know it. It’s easier to live in denial, but my mind doesn’t work that way. I wish it did.

I guess at this late stage, there’s not much I can do but tell my side of the story, fess up to the way I’ve been struggling, accept that I’ve done my best at all times, and that’s all I can do. Whatever is to be will be now.

If you’re suffering, tell someone. I feel a million times better now that I’ve actually got it all out there to my family and friends. I have secured some official support, and whatever happens with my planning application, I’m pretty optimistic about the future. That might just be the prozac. But hey. Get help. Talk to a person. Anyone. Sometimes it takes rock bottom to get you heading back up in the right direction. Our mistakes are not what define us. We can only feel a certain amount of shame and guilt before it’s too much. Let it go. Be better. It’ll come in the end.