God I’m such a scaredy cat today. Dunno how or why I woke in such a state, but it might just have been the thought of redecorating my home. This issue has come up basically because my local council offered me a few hundred pounds to redecorate my house (or three rooms of it anyway). It has to be done by the end of the year to recoup this money (tho’ I have to decorate first and have it inspected before they part with the money).
If it hadn’t been for this offer, I don’t think I would be contemplating redecorating at all. My fears were brought to the fore today because yesterday I popped round to a friend’s house for a tea and a chat, and mentioned to her that I was thinking of redecorating. She immediately said she could recommend somebody, and I let her go ahead and call this guy (who had done her flat when she moved in). I also spoke to him on the phone and we arranged that he would come round to view my place this morning.
I was up at six-thirty this morning on the internet looking up redecoration sites to try and get a handle on my fears, but there was very little that related to me and my primal dread of the whole process. Predominantly, I guess it is because doing a paint job will necessitate quite a lot of disruption and moving of stuff, clearing the walls etc. My house is already quite cluttered and it is often as much as I can do to keep it relatively clean. I just couldn’t bear the thought of moving things like my computer and desk, emptying my bookshelves, etc. I would basically have to radically de-clutter as part of the process, and the thought was just overwhelming. So I put the guy off. I’m so not ready!
I’ve also got the problem of a mad (and paranoid), cannabis-smoking ex-partner who has just come through the door and started in on me – ME – about ‘going back to my old ways’. He even called me a crackhead, and accused me of lying about it, where I was last night, etc. As so often, he tells me things about myself which are actually about him and him alone…I now wonder if he himself has not gone back on crack. Fantastic!
Can you imagine bringing a hapless painter-decorator into a situation like this?
At first I just felt disappointed in myself for being such a wimp. Now, with M upstairs singing away to his ghastly music, and totally untalkable-to, I realise I was actually being realistic and sensible, in the circumstances. First things first. Baby steps. Begin the de-cluttering process. Think about which bits of the house actually need redecorating maybe. Decide if it’s more of a priority to have the flooring done: thirteen-year-old carpet could maybe be replaced by laminate flooring. I also need some advice from someone with design ideas. I had absolutely no idea what colours I wanted on the walls. In stark contrast to when I first moved in, when I seemed to know exactly what I wanted and was very clear about it all.
I have so little vision about my home these days. It’s just my cosy den, but I don’t show it much love or consideration. Almost no-one ever comes around except for professionals of one sort or another and I sort of prefer it that way, but it makes me even lazier than usual. I don’t even have much pride anymore, and don’t really care how I’m seen. That’s also a change in me. It happened when I got together with M. Not blaming him. It was my own decision to go along with his wishes that I not wear makeup, dress down etc.
Now I’m to be found in unflattering and unfeminine trackie bottoms, T-shirts and hoodies/jumpers. I haven’t even been wearing my jeans since I put on a bit more weight around my middle, cause they’re too tight. Oh my.
I attended my Women’s Group yesterday, and noticed the care with which most of the other ladies were dressed/made up. My friend that I saw in the evening has also been encouraging me to go shopping and give myself an image overhaul.
I guess I need to de-clutter my life of a very mad and unstable ex-partner, but something within me almost welcomes being dragged down I guess. An urge to self-destruction exists alongside my healthy self-preservation instinct, and particularly surfaces during psychotic or hypomanic episodes. It may be only a small voice but it is holding sway over my life at the moment and preventing me from making a truly fresh start. Plus, M is genuinely very difficult indeed to shift. And, as before, I have to admit I can’t help thinking…where else will he go, who will he see and what will he do? I KNOW it’s not my problem…technically.
I’m better off for friends than I was, having started seeing more of a couple of the old ones, and even succeeded in getting a bit closer to some of my new acquaintances at the drug and alcohol services. Quite a few of them are really getting their lives together, starting work etc. The hopes and outlook of a recovering addict are generally far higher than those of the long-term mentally ill.
I feel like a valued member of my various groups, and really get a lot out of them.
So my life at present is like the proverbial curate’s egg. Good in parts.
Lots of love dear readers.