Ooh look, a post. Don’t get too excited. But I’ll try to make it a good one.
As I mentioned way back at the beginning of this blog, I believe my ME was triggered by PTSD. Before I fell ill, stress was like crack to me. I didn’t need it, I didn’t even want it most of the time, but by god, it felt good, and I could function well under it. Deadlines excited me. Multitasking was my normal state.
I’ve noticed recently, that since I got ill, my stress threshhold is dramatically lower. Little things bug me a lot, like losing the remote or realising in the middle of the night that I forgot to take my antihistimine. Big things don’t just bug me, they send me into conniptions. But then, I’m not sure I even know what big stress is anymore. I think about the events that has sent me into a downward spiral, and they seem like drops in the ocean compared to what others have to deal with. I have a roof over my head, food in the fridge and a little bit of money in the bank. So why the fuck does not being able to understand the instructions on a piece of IKEA furniture make me cry, scream and throw things? Crazy stuff, this.
In other news, it’s summer, so I’m busy and barely have a minute to myself. Birdie is learning to ride a bike, pretty much under his own steam, I have a brand new bed, two weekends away planned, and I’m about to start driving lessons. The last of which terrifies me, because of the first part of my post. I can pretty much guarantee I’m going to cry the first, second, and probably 20th time I stall the car.
However, mood is good, general health is no worse than normal, sleeping patterns are very slowly improving, and I have just about enough energy to get the important stuff done. So if I’m quiet for another few weeks, it’s not because I don’t want to talk to you, it’s probably just because I don’t have a lot to complain about.