I am still here, clinging to the scraps of my sanity like a captain going down with his ship, or something. I am still worried about work. I am terrified about coming back on Tuesday. I am not sure what to do. However, I'm getting closer to accepting my terror and locking it in a Terror Box, and have been grimly just trying to focus on things I enjoy, to try and take my mind off it. I played the tin whistle a bit. I've got really into the TV series The Vikings, oh and also I cut all my hair off.
Mainly so any gossip when I come back will be more focused on the hair than the altogether too obvious insanity, minor breakdowns and weeping-at-desk sessions of last week. My short hair is proper weird. Like I just washed it and it's not taking hours to dry. I keep trying to put it up, which is what I usually do when I'm frustrated about something, but there is NOTHING THERE.
I finally admitted to a) management and b) my mum that I'm a bit mental in the head and have not been doing well of late. Not sure about a) at the moment, but b) was the wisest decision I've made in a long time. Of course she can handle that news. She has given birth six times and is Scouse and is also fond of me, in her own Scouse way. I was an idiot not to let her know a year ago.
Today we trolled off to Symond's Yat, it was COOL. We managed to find a bridge that I'd been obsessing over since I was about 10. I'd gone there on a trip with friends who'd visited this bridge before and they hyped it up so much (this was the days because iPhones and that, we had to make our own entertainment), and when we finally got there it was CLOSED. One of the most disappointing events of my childhood, but today we FOUND it and crossed it. It was a nice day, even though I seem to be tired all the time (although I've taken up my old, much-missed habit of sleeping again) and felt exhausted by about 4pm. Tomorrow my nan's coming over during the day and I'll hopefully be toddling off to Hereford in the evening.
I'm probzzzz off to the doctor next week to try and switch me out of self-destruct mode but hopefully this will be fiiiiiiiiine. Whatever I decide to do in the end, I have a Wise Family down here. Now I am off to learn more Old Norse on Memrise. It is making me develop a sense of achievement (and a much-needed glimmer of hope, confidence-wise) because, like, I REMEMBER all the Old Norse words for thief and coward and orange (LOL IT'S JUST THE WORDS RED AND YELLOW STUCK TOGETHER AS A COMPOUND NOUN, THOSE CRAZY VIKINGS! In Irish it's oraiste – I think I'm missing an accent/fada there – which is one of the most beautiful words I've learnt in Irish so far, nearly as good as the word for night, oiche, which is pronounced something like eek-a, whereas oraiste is like oroyshta). I shall become a Viking.