January 19, 2012


We haven't been getting on as well as we were. It's only to be expected I have had three colds in the last three months. Each one hitting a a lot harder and longer than the one before. He was great at first, leaving me to sleep and not shouting or repeating himself lots when he talks. He's sick of it now though, too much Tom and Jerry, too much time with a ill, fatigued or pained mother. As the last cold faded in to a nagging cough and general knackeredness one of the lumps in my armpit started growing again. I knew I couldn't go through what I did with the last cyst, which was to be in constant pain before eventually giving in and going to see my GP. She lanced it after spraying my hairy red swollen pit with some sort of freezing spray and talked about how her daughter had used the same spray when on holiday as she squeezed out the red smeared clotted stinking green sludge. My eyes watered. She said she had never seen one so big.

So this time I went for the antibiotics. I completely rejected feeling like my stomach had been turned inside out and went for the penicillin. She was half way through reminding me of the downside of penicillin when I stopped her. I've remember now though. It stops the pill from working. So now I'm hurting, my moods are swinging pendulum like and I feel like puking when wee man wants more than one kiss or licks my face. He doesn't mind me being not much fun for a little while but its been too long now.

He's hungry all the time, the other day he ate two bowls of noodles and steak for lunch, the day before that two fried eyes and a sausage. Still snacks constantly. Brain throbbing at times at hearing 'Hungry Mummy'. Tonight he ate steak pie including the pastry which is usually treated with utter disgust.

We had a chat. I tried to talk to him about mummy being not well and how that wasn't fair on either of us. His concerns were pretty much all food based. He said he didn't want to 'starve to death' when I'm ill. I always get up to give him pieces, fruit or something when I'm feeling awful. I'm glad he's there to force me out of bed. Watching him enjoy eating something that I've prepared fills me up to. Not that its a constant joy of course but knowing he is sustained, fed, hugged and loved without being tortured and manipulated, raped and sold is lovely.

How can I ever even want to write something that had a chance, even a small chance of coming back to hurt us? Some memories make me stronger, some make me scareder. Some memories make me feel like I have no need to write or talk and others make me feel that to stop trying would be catastrophic. I talked about what we are going to do when I'm better and the weather is warmer. He said he wanted to play with me more. We agreed to spend Saturday tidying our bedrooms and playing then made a deal that there would be no stories tonight but he would give 5 tomorrow. There is only so much 'Cat in the Hat' a woman can take.

I've pretty much put given up on quitting smoking again until after my February birthday. Yes, like the Queen I have more than one. If I had the chance to buy cannabis I would. Mum gave me a spliff tonight and it provided a great relief I'm not sure of I would of thought to talk to the fairy prince without it. It's like I get stuck in loops and need a kick out of it. I'm sure the citalopram is helping but its not enough when I worn down by a body the is constantly hurting and remembering being at both ends of levels of violence that cant be believed, even when there seen.

Tweeted Trevor Nelson again and had to stop myself from asking him to marry me. Still paying for match.com but dont go on. There all too ugly, too far away or too boring. I shouldn't have chicken out of meeting the French dude that looked like a model but keep having images of him making moves on me and me being stuck in a program to consent. No rush.