Messy

 I'm very aware that all I seem to have done lately with teh blogging is whine. Which is, yes, traditionally what it's for, but still, if I'm getting sick of it? You guys must be well and truly through. But then I end up becoming completely uncommunicative, and people don't know shit... anyway. This is the latest "where we're at".

Me. A couple of months ago, I developed a shiny new fucking appalling health problem. Look away from the brackets if you don't want to read Woman Stuff. (I've been having periods roughly every two weeks, and with that, much worse cramping and bloating and mood swings and shit than normal. Like, way worse.) My GP is pretty convinced the root of the whole thing is stress. Two weeks ago, the strain on my body proved too much, and I had a minor relapse of my Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. That Thursday, I went up to Auckland. And I had a completely fabulous time, don't get me wrong. I wouldn't have missed it. And the day after I got back to Christchurch? I could hardly walk. Sicker than I've been in over a decade. And every day it dragged on I was more and more terrified that I wasn't going to get well, that I was going to get stuck there again.

But. I have, gradually and by dint of doing nothing at all, crawled my way back to about as sick as I was before I left. And I feel like I'm improving. Thinking I may actually be able to start achieving things again - like finishing the last half a scene that's been holding up PA Story for over a week. 

Rhiana. We may have found her a new counsellor. She doesn't like him as much as she did Scott at Youth Specialty Service, but after they told us to piss off, and that they didn't give a shit if our daughter was cutting, we were running out of options. Then my GP -during an appointment about ME - realised that we might be eligible for funding for counselling for her, and yay we are. So she's had one session with this guy my GP recommended, and she's agreed to see him again. I don't know if it's going to help, but it can't hurt, she won't talk to us any more, and we are shit all out of ideas.

Which I think has been the hardest thing about this. We had to admit that we couldn't cope. That we didn't know what to do. And "managing" is a huge thing for me. And when we finally got to that point and broke down that far? Nobody would help us. 

I just... y'know, I love her. I want her to be well and safe and happy. And at this point, I don't really care what it takes. And maybe that means accepting that I can't help, or even that the things I've tried to do to help, because I love her, are making things worse. And honestly? That I can't cope. That my physical and mental health is coming to pieces under the strain. 

Anyway... I got paid (well, I will) for the Auckland gig, and I'm thinking I really should treat myself. Because, from a practical point of view, if I feel better, I can better look after others. I'm thinking maybe that thing I said I couldn't afford to do...