It's never about what it's about.

I'm a bit sad today. I started an argument with Mr A over 'nothing'. I still don't really know what it was about, he didn't bite though, thank god, so all is good in the Borealis household. I'm just feeling insecure and confused.

I had my first afternoon away from A.B with a friend. It was less than three hours but it was great. I dressed nicely and A.B's Godmother and I had a fabby time wondering and chatting and not having to pause awkwardly every few minutes to chase the baby, or not being able to go into half the stores because of the pushchair.

We also had the property inspection today, which is why there's been quite from me recently, as I've been working my tiny, bony ass off trying to get the house in a presentable state. It's still not guest-ready, but at least it wasn't going to have the landlord cancelling our contract. However I did massively over-do it, and if it wasn't for the painkillers I wouldn't have made it.

Having painkillers is good and bad. Good, because I'm starting to live what is approaching a normal life. Bad because the more normal I feel, the more normal I assume I am. You know the mentally ill person who takes their meds, feels better, so decides they're cured and goes off their meds, only to go off the rails? That is LITERALLY me. I used to play chiken with my anti-depressants, forgetting to refill my prescription and going three days sans medication. This week I went through withdrawal and FUCK ME SIDEWAYS. That SUCKED. I wasn't even withdrawing off anything strong, but shit a brick. It was horrific. I never want to do that again, so despite my little cat-and-mouse game with myself (going from a pill every 3-4 hours to 2 pills in over 24) not going so wrong until very near the end, I will be refilling my prescriptions at the appropriate times from now on. Although there is still a voice in my head that goes 'You're just a massive, drug-addict hypochondriac. The painkillers 'work' because THERES NO PAIN. Co-dydramol? That's basically just paracetemol. You're MAKING IT UP.' And this is hard to deal with, because, guys? I actually kind of am a drug addict. Like, not in a terrible, heroin-mommy kind of way. I don't even drink. But I have an addictive personality and I have always always always preferred my state of mind to be altered. I don't even care what way it's altered. I just do not like being in my own headspace. It's uncomfortable for me. I've been taking substances to address the difference between where I am and where I want to be (read: anywhere else) since I was 12. A decade and a lot of bad experiences is a WHOLE LOT of time to think that everything is really just in your head. It doesn't help that my problems are not, as far as I can tell, quantifiable to me. As in, I'm not covered in postules. I'm not bleeding from my eyeballs. I look fine. Skinny and tired, but fine. I limp a little, but I look fine. Until and unless a Doctor does a magic test and tells me that I am Definitely and Completely Surely broken in some way, it doesn't matter what my body does...I'm just not going to believe it.