I haven’t written in a long time. The thing with writing for a living is that after a day’s work you would rather eat a nest full of fire ants than write another word again. Still, it feels good to just write for myself. In professional capacity I tell other peoples’ stories. In personal, I write mine.
Compliments feel especially good coming from your counsellor. It’s like a personal high-five from God.
He compliments me often on my organisation skills. I guess mentally unwell people don’t often fare well on that regard. They have more important things in their mind.
I guess I AM organised. My bills are always paid on time, affairs are in order. If something comes up, it’s put to right at first instance.
It doesn’t come from an inherent personal quality though. It comes from anxiety. Things MUST be organised, otherwise I’ll die. At the very least.
Anxiety is awaiting of a catastrophe that might never come, but the key word is that it might. When I take care of everything, it lessens the chance of a catastrophe. If I have done everything in my power to do the right thing, maybe the anvil doesn’t land on me.
Tonight I noticed my antivirus programme had charged for my subscription twice. I was in the middle of making dinner, and surely this could’ve waited. The company has a 24/7 chat service. Surely it can wait until I have eaten? No, it must be done now.
Steaming spaghetti is left in the saucepan, sauce in the microwave. I start talking to the chat person. The service is very good, the matter gets sorted quickly. Then, and only then, I can have my dinner. The spaghetti is now cold and the sauce needs to be heated again. There was no reason why this matter couldn’t wait until I had finished eating.
But it couldn’t.
Sometimes I wish I could just let things be for a bit. Enjoy my spaghetti, even with an awareness that something needs to be taken care of.
At least it’s sorted.
In Finland, there are ‘girls of ten.’ Rather than girls who are attractive, it refers to grades. School work is graded four to ten, with ten being the best. I was never a girl of ten actually, I usually had nines at most, but I had a girl of ten-mentality. In my case, constant performance anxiety. Constant general anxiety. Nobody has told girls of ten that the exams they care so much about don’t actually matter.
At least it’s sorted. The only comfort available to girls of ten. Besides not having your power cut.
I have been fundraising for the Birchall Trust, a charity that helps victims of rape and sexual abuse and their families. They offered me free specialised counselling. If you find what I have written above mildly amusing, please consider sharing my fundraising page in your social media. Thank you.