I had a sleepless night—despite being tired and having taken sleeping pills—because I had stomach cramps and I kept waking up dreaming I had emails arriving through the night (in fact, I did, and it was my phone's email alerts that kept waking me up).
Then at 1100 I had my appointment with a psychologist near Manchester University. It’s ironic that just two years ago, as I walked past this psychology building with my then-flatmate, he pointed to the building and laughed and said, “That place is for psychos” and I am ashamed to admit that I laughed along. We know who’s really laughing now. No one.
I told the psychologist that a good day to die would be on my birthday. And this event comes up on 23rd April. I am determined not to celebrate it. Incidentally, it was also Shakespeare's birthday and deathday, and I enjoy telling people that he died on his birthday, and if there was a good day to die, this would be a Very Good Day indeed.
Feeling tired after my appointment, I headed back into town and got myself a carefully-chosen Mexican Chicken sandwich (because it has one of the lowest calories amongst sandwiches on display) but then decided to reward myself with an original glazed Krispy Kreme (£1.20—daylight robbery by any other name) and the fat cow behind the counter tried to tempt me to spend more money and to put on more weight by telling me that I get a free scratchcard if I buy 2 doughnuts instead. What utter shit.
Now it is the afternoon and I have done nothing useful the entire day. I have so much to do:
- Get a new flatmate
- Get a new flat
- Beg parents to let me stay
- Get a fucking job
But as it is with my condition, these four things are causing me so much anxiety and angst and I am avoiding them because it will just make me worse.
Typing about my problems and being open about my experience has indeed helped me, but has also helped open a can of worms. I have had a couple of people and friends coming up to me and disclosing that they too suffer from some form of depression/anxiety and are taking anti-depressants. I suppose my honesty about it has encouraged them to be open about it too, but it has destroyed whatever innocence we've had between us. It's almost like having sex with a friend: you'll never be able to go back to that same level of friendship once you've slept with a friend. Nonetheless, I'm glad that I'm not the only one who's going through this and I am not weird because lots of people go through the same things too.
Anyway I should be off to the gym despite feeling really sleepy (must be that Krispy Kreme-induced insulin spike). Today is chest day. I want a chest like his:
My ideal chest workout (I say ideal because I get really tired and sore after doing 80% of the workouts) is:
- Bench press
- Dumbbell flat presses and flys
- Incline dumbbell presses and flys
- Decline dumbbell presses and flys
- Cable flys
And here's mine. You can see I've got a long way to go.
That is all.
Oh, and this song:
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