It's Axl's birthday today. He is still not smoking, and he hasn't had an acid attack since he started taking the pills they gave him, so it looks like it was acid rather than gall stones.
We also went to the shopping centre together last Sunday and he got jeans (size and a half smaller than he expected) and boots and was all pleased with himself. Then we ate deliciously in Wagamama. Tofu salad for me with some sort of sticky terriake (sp?) sauce and damn, it was tasty. And now I feel like I've seettled my 'need to go out to eat, poor me' yearnings for a while.
Listen, people - don't slave over birthday cake if you don't feel like it. Jamaica ginger cake, currently €1.50 in Tesco, get three. Buy vanilla icecream - it could be the good stuff, but the kind that stays softer is actually a bonus here. Slice the cake thinly, eat the ends with your son.
Put cling film in a medium sized bowl and layer the cake around the sides. Use the squishy bits sticking to the wrapper to squish into any open holes left behind. Half fill with icecream. Lay a cake layer, fill up again, and make a base that fits in to the walls. If you know what I mean. Just like making a summer pudding or what have you.
Freeze it.
To serve it, pull no the cling film slightly and push a table knife in a little along the side of the glass to separate it. Invert it onto a plate and give everyone big, delicious, cold, creamy, chewy, spicy slices. If you wanted to you could make your own ginger cake, of course - I would, it's just this commercial one is so delicious, there's no point. You could make your own icecream too, of course... my mother made the most amazing vanilla icecream... I was tempted to make some warm custard to pour on top, but my family vetoed the idea.
Somewhat tragically, this went down way better than my actual cake does. Ah well - it's far easier!
We also had a walk and an Indian Takeaway. Sadly Olivia is back in day sleeping mode, and didn't join us at all. I'm not going to talk about that much at the moment, I'm too pre-menstrual to deal. I should be mestrual, but it takes my period about three days to start these days. What that about?
And then... just as I was settling in for the night - I checked my teacher face book page, and there was a photo from my troubled student I blogged about a couple weeks ago - a photo of a big handful of pills on her bedspread. I know she's taking sleeping pills for insomnia - over the counter ones, it seems. What can a picture of a collection of pills mean if you're not planning to take them all? And the photo was from 2 hours before. I called my director, who called the woman who liases with accomodation, but they didn't have her contact details. I got my student on Facebook, but she was making no sense - which was extremely worrying. So I went up to her house (I normally would never know where it was but I'd dropped her home before) and she was there, slurring words and falling around the place. She said she'd taken 19 pills and been sick, He two shocked Brazilian friends and her landlady took her to hospital - sadly the local one A&E at 6 these days, so the one much nearer town. She was falling around the place and not speaking clearly. They thought she'd just gone to bed. The were all shocked. Her landlady: Why did she take 19 pills? What was she thinking?
Me: she's depressed, she was trying to kill herself.
Well, what do you say? I'm low on delicate subtlety these days, I'm operating on Bitchqueen levels of anti-social irritation. I'm getting in trouble in work for biting people's heads off. What was good was everyone's assertive commitment to brinnging her to hospital. Truth is, I wasn't sure I should respond to the photo. Really glad I did, though.
This is the first time I've been involved in something like this. The photo and the puking do suggest she didn't really want to go through with it. I'm conflicted about suicide. I kinda believe people have the right to die. But at the same time... I don't know that we have the right to ignore cries for help based on that assertion. And I also don't believe it's ok to dump this stuff on people.
And yet it's hard... you know you should ask for help, so you do, but then you feel bad about dragging people in/down. And also, you can ask once, but you can't keep asking every day, or in the middle of the night and all the time, can you? So you should, but you also shouldn't. And then there's the fact that a cup of coffee and a chat don't cure you of your abuse experiences, or teach you how to handle your brain chemistry or your pain. But once people know you, you owe them not to mess their lives up with your suicide.
I'm not artculating anything very well here. I feel tired and stressy. I feel a desperate responsibility to help everyone be ok, when I'm so far from helping my daughter, who is actually my responsibility.
I feel a weird combination of defeat and ... hmm, panic? That's not quite the right word, but I'm tired.
The Syrian refugee crisis is wearing me down. I could do with a little holiday from humanity's machinations. A little bubble holiday in a mountain retreat with massage and yoga and cuddle therapy, plz.
We also went to the shopping centre together last Sunday and he got jeans (size and a half smaller than he expected) and boots and was all pleased with himself. Then we ate deliciously in Wagamama. Tofu salad for me with some sort of sticky terriake (sp?) sauce and damn, it was tasty. And now I feel like I've seettled my 'need to go out to eat, poor me' yearnings for a while.
Listen, people - don't slave over birthday cake if you don't feel like it. Jamaica ginger cake, currently €1.50 in Tesco, get three. Buy vanilla icecream - it could be the good stuff, but the kind that stays softer is actually a bonus here. Slice the cake thinly, eat the ends with your son.
Put cling film in a medium sized bowl and layer the cake around the sides. Use the squishy bits sticking to the wrapper to squish into any open holes left behind. Half fill with icecream. Lay a cake layer, fill up again, and make a base that fits in to the walls. If you know what I mean. Just like making a summer pudding or what have you.
Freeze it.
To serve it, pull no the cling film slightly and push a table knife in a little along the side of the glass to separate it. Invert it onto a plate and give everyone big, delicious, cold, creamy, chewy, spicy slices. If you wanted to you could make your own ginger cake, of course - I would, it's just this commercial one is so delicious, there's no point. You could make your own icecream too, of course... my mother made the most amazing vanilla icecream... I was tempted to make some warm custard to pour on top, but my family vetoed the idea.
Somewhat tragically, this went down way better than my actual cake does. Ah well - it's far easier!
We also had a walk and an Indian Takeaway. Sadly Olivia is back in day sleeping mode, and didn't join us at all. I'm not going to talk about that much at the moment, I'm too pre-menstrual to deal. I should be mestrual, but it takes my period about three days to start these days. What that about?
And then... just as I was settling in for the night - I checked my teacher face book page, and there was a photo from my troubled student I blogged about a couple weeks ago - a photo of a big handful of pills on her bedspread. I know she's taking sleeping pills for insomnia - over the counter ones, it seems. What can a picture of a collection of pills mean if you're not planning to take them all? And the photo was from 2 hours before. I called my director, who called the woman who liases with accomodation, but they didn't have her contact details. I got my student on Facebook, but she was making no sense - which was extremely worrying. So I went up to her house (I normally would never know where it was but I'd dropped her home before) and she was there, slurring words and falling around the place. She said she'd taken 19 pills and been sick, He two shocked Brazilian friends and her landlady took her to hospital - sadly the local one A&E at 6 these days, so the one much nearer town. She was falling around the place and not speaking clearly. They thought she'd just gone to bed. The were all shocked. Her landlady: Why did she take 19 pills? What was she thinking?
Me: she's depressed, she was trying to kill herself.
Well, what do you say? I'm low on delicate subtlety these days, I'm operating on Bitchqueen levels of anti-social irritation. I'm getting in trouble in work for biting people's heads off. What was good was everyone's assertive commitment to brinnging her to hospital. Truth is, I wasn't sure I should respond to the photo. Really glad I did, though.
This is the first time I've been involved in something like this. The photo and the puking do suggest she didn't really want to go through with it. I'm conflicted about suicide. I kinda believe people have the right to die. But at the same time... I don't know that we have the right to ignore cries for help based on that assertion. And I also don't believe it's ok to dump this stuff on people.
And yet it's hard... you know you should ask for help, so you do, but then you feel bad about dragging people in/down. And also, you can ask once, but you can't keep asking every day, or in the middle of the night and all the time, can you? So you should, but you also shouldn't. And then there's the fact that a cup of coffee and a chat don't cure you of your abuse experiences, or teach you how to handle your brain chemistry or your pain. But once people know you, you owe them not to mess their lives up with your suicide.
I'm not artculating anything very well here. I feel tired and stressy. I feel a desperate responsibility to help everyone be ok, when I'm so far from helping my daughter, who is actually my responsibility.
I feel a weird combination of defeat and ... hmm, panic? That's not quite the right word, but I'm tired.
The Syrian refugee crisis is wearing me down. I could do with a little holiday from humanity's machinations. A little bubble holiday in a mountain retreat with massage and yoga and cuddle therapy, plz.
4 comments:
Oh, Jo. Jesus. I had a friend who attempted suicide more than once. The worst time was with a knife. Oh god. He's still alive but we are not close friends any more. After many years, I just couldn't deal with him. It all came to an end when I was going through my horrible period of anxiety and every time I talked to him, it grew worse. I had to end it.
But I was not his only source of support. He was well established in the mental health system.
And I have had friends who did commit suicide. One in particular who never discussed or threatened or anything- he just did it.
Such a very, very difficult thing. You did the right thing for sure. And yes, the FB post was a cry for help, not to be all cliche about it.
You do need a vacation. I agree.
Well, Mary, Ithink you did the right thing - if you can't help someone, what's the use in being dragged down with them? I don't necessarily buy into the 'suicide is selfish' thing, because I think it's often a form of psychopathy that goes way, way beyond that. but there is a certain element of unfairness to putting such huge responsibility on others... big ripples.
My friend had a friend who'd been in and out of institutions for decades and just couldn't cope any more. She did kill herself in the end, and I think my friend is very accepting of it as a peaceful solution to her pain. On the other hand, my mother had a good friend who struggled with depression in the 70s who told her how scared he was he'd kill himself while he was in a bad period, and in the end that's what happened.
You did well. You did great.
Could you show your post to your daughter (I don't know you and have no idea of how old she is)?
Can I sign up with you for the cuddle therapy?
love
I would love to be a cuddle therapist! Though I'm not sure I'm what people are looking for in a cuddler, to be honest, I read an article about a girl in Seattle who had set herself up as one - but she was petite and cute and in her 20s. Not sure I'd be as popular with the clients as she was :D
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