(Or: At Home – Day Fifty-Five)
Slammed a heel today during a very inelegant fall in aerial and I’m reasonably sure I’ve bone bruised it, as it hurts like a son of a bitch, so that’s fun. I am having a lot of fun with aerial, but I’m bruised to hell and back.
Managed to meet up with a good friend of mine and had a good chat.
Otherwise not much by way of developments. My mood is pretty low. Overall, I definitely feel like I’m plummeting. The sensation of hopelessness that’s been spreading since the discovery that I really can’t fucking trust anybody in the NHS has now sunk marrow-deep and will not leave. I just can’t be fucked any more. I don’t care. I am so tired and I am so, so done with all of this – and I don’t have that option, I have to be doing everything myself.
People don’t seem to get just how fucking tiring it is, to be mentally ill. I can hold conversations, socialise, go out. I can. It’s physically possible. I have just got so used to being so tired that I don’t even notice it any more.