Brave heart, Mel.

I’ve been feeling very down over the last few days.

Thursday emotionally drained me, but I don’t know what triggered it. I spent the day fighting against my anxiety harder than most days, so when I got home from college, already feeling run down, and was told that we wouldn’t be getting a new kitchen fitted, it left me feeling disappointed. I realise this may seem ridiculous, but let me try to explain.

Firstly, my family and I moved from a Georgian house in to a 1989 build a year and a month ago. I still do not feel at home, or comfortable, in this house.

The only thing I like about it, is that there is a canal at the bottom of the garden, and a field behind that. The view isn’t awful.

The point is, even though I wasn’t expecting an all singing, all dancing, stupidly expensive new kitchen, I just want a different one.

The current kitchen is in a medium-dark wood, and the walls are almost fully tiled. The oven and hob are separate, and the hob is too high to me to use comfortably. It feels small and cramped (as does the whole house, but that’s not my current point). I would like creams and colours, with a light-medium wood counter, as few tiles as possible, and a range cooker.

I hate change, unless it’s to improve something. The fact I care enough to would like a different kitchen is a good thing, isn’t it?

Secondly, I don’t cope with disappointment well. Not when I have allowed myself to become excited at the prospect of something. What do you do to cope with disappointment?

 

In the old house, the kitchen used to be where I went when I wanted some alone time. This usually happened after work – I would sit in the kitchen and watch TV, or listen to music, and play on my phone. Chilling out and mulling over the day, sometimes even venturing to bake for no reason.

In the new house, I have nowhere to go and do that. You might ask, ‘What about your bedroom?’ I don’t want to be that secluded from things. In the kitchen, someone might walk in to get something, whereas in my bedroom that wouldn’t happen. Making me feel trapped and isolated.

It feels like no one understand how I feel about this situation. It also feels like they don’t understand that I can’t explain how I feel, to them.

I posted the other day, on Facebook and Twitter, that ‘I don’t know’ is one of the most common things that I, and probably most people with a mental illness, says. This is because we do not know.

We don’t know why we’re feeling unhappy, and not responding normally.

We don’t know why we were Ok yesterday, but today we’re moping around and wanting to cry.

We don’t know why we don’t want to get out of bed.

We’re not trying to annoy you, or make you feel guilty – we simply just don’t know.

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