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kaberett(Internalised ableism, capitalism, etc.)
I am having a fairly bad few days of miserable conviction that I'm too ill to work and therefore too ill to exist. Combination of things, including feeling overwhelmed by deadlines and the follow-up with my GP.
Conclusion: I am not deemed to meet the formal criteria for PTSD. It is considered plausible that it's a useful framework to approach treating me within. My GP is completely on board with my needing a CBT practitioner who will work with me to identify brain-body warning signs below the level of "screaming crazy" in order for it to do me any good; he's referring me to the in-house CBT team, and specifically to the head-of-unit, who (1) has more experience and is therefore more likely to be able to deal with me (my GP, bless him, acknowledges that I am Tricksy); and (2) is willing to do long-course CBT, of up to 20 sessions. Apparently the waiting list isn't ridiculous.
I had a dream last night about handling HF with bare hands.
Let's see if I can make it up to ten good things, eh?
1. I've fessed up to my mum about the current state of my relationships (she kind of asked?), including "hahahahaha Schrödinger's terrible bloody breakup" (she... was not as cross or judgey with me about that entire thing as I'd been half-expecting) and "um I am accidentally dating facesfriend???" I think the only thing I'm still not sure she's worked out is that my useless ex is, well, my useless ex.
2. I also fessed up to her that my lungs work vastly better in the mouldering ancestral pile than they do anywhere else, in spite even of the, well, mouldering; and as such I'd actually really like to have "move there and start running writers' retreats or some shit idk" as an option for when I bomb out of academia (see above). This was another Scary Thing. She seems less axiomatically opposed than I'd expected? She... almost seems supportive? Huh, etc.
3. We did our ritual wander around Anglesey Abbey and this year the plant shop was actually selling my favourite dwarf iris what they have in the winter garden (not Frank Elder, the one that looks like it), and we found one that was mislabelled at £1.50 instead of £2.75, and she got me it and I will stick it in the windowbox when I get home. Also v pleased by misc iris reticulatas, which are pretty and want to be secretary birds when they grow up.
4. Current knitting project will be done by end next week, at which point I'll have finished everything I've promised people and can make my Möbius cowl. I have given up on finding a reversible stitch I like and will probably do something ridiculous involving a rib-with-eyelets (I am thinking knit two rounds, round of yos, knit two rounds with appropriate decreases, purl two rounds, knit two rounds...)
5. Apple and pear juice, which my mother has in; ditto blueberries.
6. My mother pronouned me correctly; Papa asked which name I'd prefer him to use on the phone.
7. I met up with awesome ex-housemate C for misc this afternoon - we both happen to be in Cambridge this weekend and didn't manage anything last week (but hope to this week coming). She now holds several PhD offers from several very good departments, and is waiting to hear from a couple more, and it is very well deserved. :-)
8. The sun is returning.
9. The daffodils at home are coming up.
10. Facesfriend keeps arranging his kitchen for my convenience and telling me that it is to his advantage to do so. Being allowed to cook for people and take care of people is, as we know, A Thing.
I am having a fairly bad few days of miserable conviction that I'm too ill to work and therefore too ill to exist. Combination of things, including feeling overwhelmed by deadlines and the follow-up with my GP.
Conclusion: I am not deemed to meet the formal criteria for PTSD. It is considered plausible that it's a useful framework to approach treating me within. My GP is completely on board with my needing a CBT practitioner who will work with me to identify brain-body warning signs below the level of "screaming crazy" in order for it to do me any good; he's referring me to the in-house CBT team, and specifically to the head-of-unit, who (1) has more experience and is therefore more likely to be able to deal with me (my GP, bless him, acknowledges that I am Tricksy); and (2) is willing to do long-course CBT, of up to 20 sessions. Apparently the waiting list isn't ridiculous.
I had a dream last night about handling HF with bare hands.
Let's see if I can make it up to ten good things, eh?
1. I've fessed up to my mum about the current state of my relationships (she kind of asked?), including "hahahahaha Schrödinger's terrible bloody breakup" (she... was not as cross or judgey with me about that entire thing as I'd been half-expecting) and "um I am accidentally dating facesfriend???" I think the only thing I'm still not sure she's worked out is that my useless ex is, well, my useless ex.
2. I also fessed up to her that my lungs work vastly better in the mouldering ancestral pile than they do anywhere else, in spite even of the, well, mouldering; and as such I'd actually really like to have "move there and start running writers' retreats or some shit idk" as an option for when I bomb out of academia (see above). This was another Scary Thing. She seems less axiomatically opposed than I'd expected? She... almost seems supportive? Huh, etc.
3. We did our ritual wander around Anglesey Abbey and this year the plant shop was actually selling my favourite dwarf iris what they have in the winter garden (not Frank Elder, the one that looks like it), and we found one that was mislabelled at £1.50 instead of £2.75, and she got me it and I will stick it in the windowbox when I get home. Also v pleased by misc iris reticulatas, which are pretty and want to be secretary birds when they grow up.
4. Current knitting project will be done by end next week, at which point I'll have finished everything I've promised people and can make my Möbius cowl. I have given up on finding a reversible stitch I like and will probably do something ridiculous involving a rib-with-eyelets (I am thinking knit two rounds, round of yos, knit two rounds with appropriate decreases, purl two rounds, knit two rounds...)
5. Apple and pear juice, which my mother has in; ditto blueberries.
6. My mother pronouned me correctly; Papa asked which name I'd prefer him to use on the phone.
7. I met up with awesome ex-housemate C for misc this afternoon - we both happen to be in Cambridge this weekend and didn't manage anything last week (but hope to this week coming). She now holds several PhD offers from several very good departments, and is waiting to hear from a couple more, and it is very well deserved. :-)
8. The sun is returning.
9. The daffodils at home are coming up.
10. Facesfriend keeps arranging his kitchen for my convenience and telling me that it is to his advantage to do so. Being allowed to cook for people and take care of people is, as we know, A Thing.