I woke up and turned my phone back on. I hadn’t missed much.
I made a telephone appointment with my GP first thing so that I could get some more medication. He suggested maybe upping my antidepressants to the maximum dose of 200mg.
I decided to go for it.
Everything’s particularly difficult atm with lockdown and the breakup.
I’ll take as much help as I can get.
My parents were a little surprised that my dosage had been upped, and said they were just concerned about the physical side effects.
They’re really keen for me to stop my mood stabilisers, as I’m probably getting more negative physical side effects from them than actual mental benefits, but I’ve told them one thing at a time.
Dial everything right up, then scale it back gradually.
So, I’m probably in for another rough few days of side effects while my body gets used to that.
I decided that I didn’t feel like getting up, so I didn’t.
I spent pretty much the whole day in bed playing on my tablet and watching Netflix.
Just before dinner, my ex texted me to say thank you for the birthday present that I had sent him – a bottle of his favourite gin. He said I really hadn’t needed to, but I said I that had wanted to.
I really hope that I’m not making him feel uncomfortable.
I just want to be his friend.
I just care.
After that, I decided to turn my phone off again.
I’ve found it quite liberating to know that the evenings are solely for me.
We got this weird little flyer through the door about VE day celebrations on Friday as it’s the 75th anniversary.
Unsure if it’s a thing that’s just going on in our town, or nationwide, but it goes as follows…
11AM – 2 minutes silence on your doorstep
3PM – Churchill victory speech on the TV
Then grab your picnic blanket and head to your front garden for…
4PM – Tea & scones
6PM – Dinner and raise a glass to your neighbours
9PM – Nationwide singalong to ‘We’ll meet again’ with Royal British Legion after the Queen’s address
We are not taking part.
It’s not that I don’t appreciate the efforts of the troops during the war – my Grandad went off to fight, but it’s more complicated than that…
My Granny (on my mum’s side) actually met my Grandad because she was a refugee in Czechoslovakia after the war ended. So, we’ve never been raised to be particularly patriotic, and we are all huge pacifists.
The war, to me, signifies something terrible. Not a victory. It is something that smashed my Granny’s life to pieces. But then again, if it wasn’t for the war I wouldn’t exist because my Grandparents would never have met.
Very mixed feelings.
My mum said that she has my Granny’s memoirs about her time as a refugee, and I said that I would really like to read them over the next few days. I’ve always wanted to.
I’m really looking forward to it. I’m sure that it will be very emotional, but I’d love to learn more about her life.
I was 11 when she died, and I always very much identified with her.
I wish I’d had more time with her. She was a fascinating woman. It’s certainly from her that I have a love of faux fur (she had real ones though), style in general, and all things fabulous.
Before dinner my parents and I had a conversation about grandparents. I said that I’d always wondered if my ex-husband’s Nan was still alive. My mum told me that she had actually died a couple of years ago.
She was another amazing woman. I’ll never forget her 100th birthday. It was a fucking surprise party for a 100-year-old! I remember my husband and I were worried that we were going to give her a heart attack! She’d been in hospital for a few days before, and it would be touch and go as to whether she would actually survive a bout of what I think was pneumonia.
Thankfully, she was so blind that she couldn’t see who was there when she entered the party, and gradually got introduced to her guests a bit at a time, so it wasn’t a complete heart jolting surprise for her.
I said how much I love old people, because they just don’t give a shit anymore.
I mentioned to my parents that when I turned 30 I definitely got more of a ‘fuck it’ attitude.
If I wanted a bottle of prosecco for no reason at all, I’d have a bottle of damn prosecco.
If I wanted to buy some rainbow dungarees, I’d buy some fucking rainbow dungarees.
My mum said that actually she hadn’t had prosecco in ages, and suggested putting a bottle in the fridge for us to share in front of the TV later that night, so that’s what we did.
We watched an episode of the first series of ‘The Great British Sewing Bee’. It definitely wasn’t as good as the current one. A bit dull tbh. But it was nice to sit with my parents and have some company.
After that, the night took a bit of a weird turn.
My Dad said he wanted to put a jumper on and go to sit outside with his bat detector.
That’s right, he has a bat detector.
It’s this weird kind of little gadget that picks up frequencies of their wings flapping.
So, we all put on a jumper, took our prosecco outside, and sat waiting for my Dad to pick up any bat flapping.
It was really peaceful. It reminded me of evenings in France on summer holiday.
But we didn’t find any bats. So, we went back inside.
I found it super difficult to get to sleep. My brain felt like it was doing that short-circuiting thing again, just flitting from here and there to everywhere. I guess that’s because of my increased dose of antidepressants.
Hopefully it will settle down in the next week or so. Maybe then I can start to wean myself off my sleeping tablets.