N U M B E R S

Numbers.
Somebody said it to me recently “yeah – you’ve got a thing about numbers haven’t you?” 

I’m more obsessive about them than I realise. I guess like some form of OCD except most of the numbers I’m obsessive about are out of my control… I don’t think it’s coincidence that I “fell” into merchandising and loving that career working with numbers.. magic numbers..

From the magic number “4” children that I’ve always dreamed of, to that I said I was going to start trying for them at magic number “26” and at latest I’d have fallen pregnant, finally, by magic number “27” and at least be on magic number “2”{nd} baby by now.. not the not-so-magic zero at nearly not-at-all-magic “30”..
I discovered that my phone auto tracks mileage I am walking or running.. so whilst I don’t specifically set out to record my every movement, while my phone is in my pocket, it does it for me.. and I’ve noticed that I am somewhat obsessive about keeping that mileage number high.. magic number “8” (but really “9”) in this case is my ideal minimum mileage for each day.. but I don’t think it’s healthy that I think like this. I track my runs via Strava, but stopped using things like Nike fuel, myfitnesspal and have always avoided Fitbit due to my obsessive nature with keeping movement high and calorie intake low, lower, lower.. Writing this means I am beginning to remember a time where I was so obsessive to “beat” the tracker that I even weighed out salad before I ate it.. avoiding these things had worked until I discovered this little gem where I track my mileage simply by carrying my phone (which I pretty much always do, and boy am I annoyed when I nip out for even the briefest nighttime dog wee-walk and leave my phone at home.. tracking nothing..) and whilst I don’t track my calories.. I’m careful what I’m eating in a desperate bid to see my weight go back down {even though it isn’t budging}, whilst keeping an ever watchful eye on how many miles I’m putting in each day (even if just walking).. most days I realise that I am walking the dog more for me than for him! And I think it’s another reason I’ve not minded being at the hospital so often.. as the walk up from where I park adds another good (magic!) 1.5miles!!
I don’t really know how to put a stop on this “number crisis”; it definitely controls me more than I’d like and even though some of the numbers no longer make any sense, the fact that they’ve passed without their original dreams arriving with them, leaves me constantly feeling at crisis point and like I’m “behind”. I’ll never be able to catch up..
Nevertheless, I was surprised to see this number the other day! I guess it all mounts up without you realising.. 5 miles run, 9 miles walked.. ☺️

Time to Talk … 2017

I’ve not been talking lately. Or writing. Or anything. I’ve been barely existing. Drifiting through one day to the other. Disgustingly wishing time would speed up; January be over/my life away, whilst also willing time to slow.. crying, stressing, fighting thoughts, nauseaous with anxiety.. I am raw. Empty.

I’ve been faced with yet another 2 months of no pregnancy, despite both my husband and I being utterly convinced this last month I was. Him even still remaining convinced as I bent double with agonising period/another early miscarriage pains for hours on end one morning last weekend; me, not so much, weeping for another baby “lost”. I had yet more absurd unnecessary stress from what I can only describe as a couple of pure lunatics in the peak time for us to conceive – next month I am shutting down entirely. No work. No phone. No social media. No contact. No stress.

I’ve been avoiding talking because of so many reasons. One of which being one of aforementioned “lunatics” suggesting my writing is A) “heartbreaking” (don’t I know it; try living it.) And B) that I am a burden on people.. “friends”… but I have to say I have specifically not been talking or telling anyone anywhere near the half of it for several months now. Not one single friend knows everything, not even james. No one. It’s been locked away inside of me and continues to do so, so that no one has to tread on eggshells around me or treat me like I’m about to break. I don’t want to be treated like that. Plus I know full well everyone has their own busy lives to get on with, and that really, offers of help are actually often impossible.

I’m also feeling incredibly let down by “the system”, having reached out for help so many times in the last few months and not really getting anywhere or anything. The mental health system seems to truly be at a crisis, and whilst I desperately need to continue to seek help, I can’t also be bothered to keep fighting for it to be turned down/away/ignored. I’m at a loss all round and have given up on hope, speech and life. The fire of fight in me has dwindled to resemble more the dust of ash left after the fire. I can’t see a point in continuing if I’m not going to be able to have children, and yet I can’t see an end because then it definitely won’t happen. I am in limbo.

But not talking doesn’t help. Yet who do you talk to when there is no one to talk to? What difference does it really make being out in the open? Who cares?