Be still, my panicked heart

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Today’s writing rejections: 2

Bins successfully put outside at 2 am, accompanied by toddler pointing at the moon: 2

Chest pains induced by man roaring suddenly outside front door (made of glass) at 2:40 am: 1 (lingering and, well, painful)

Episodes of crying, or hysterical wailing, as some might like to call it: 3 (I think). Long, loud and generally humiliating, in hindsight.

Text messages sent to beloved ex after he decided not to come over, due to a change in his other plans: I dare not count. Typical BPD response to rejection, which leads us to…

Vomiting episodes (brought on by crying): 2

Mood stabilisers taken: 0 (need to take them with food and I’ve hardly eaten anything I’ve managed to keep down)

Dizziness caused by panic: 1 episode (caused by movement on footpath outside, half an hour after roaring man nearly gave me a heart attack)

Distance walked outside today: 5 km

Weight gained in the last fortnight despite lack of food and increased exercise: approx 1 kg. How?! I haven’t even had any doughnuts this week!

And the award for the most painful part of my arthritic body today goes to… my wrists! (Right wrist in first place, left wrist in hot pursuit.) This could change any minute, though, as my feet are putting in an amazing effort, and I did, cruelly, walk on them today. My fingers are also determined to break their shackles and dislocate themselves.

Today can go away – and not a minute too soon, as it’s nearly 4 am.

Two is long After Eight

After Eight chocolates left in box: zero.

After Eight papers eaten by toddler son: unknown, but, judging by unusual nappy contents, more than zero.

Sleepiness level of son at 2:10 am: less than zero.

My wrists: feeling sprained.

Elbows and fingers: rusty.

Feet: bruised.

Rings on Gielgud: zero. Just a mark left by the engagement ring I had to have cut off because of Gielgud’s changing shape.

Fiancé: gone.

State of mind: in sync with Tess of the D’Urbervilles. Watching while my son waves at Tess, laughs at cows and sticks a pencil through the teat of his bottle.

Questions watching Tess of the D’Urbervilles: How could Newt Scamander be so cruel?!