Getting myself out of a depressive black spot, can sometimes be extremely difficult. Recently they have been few & far between, which for a manic depressive (I refuse to use the term bipolar, it only draws images of Britney Spears & Kerry Katona & I for one refuse to be associated with either of those two) such as myself, is pretty good.
Usually it's the little things that seem to draw the most response. Pumping myself full of sugar & caffeine, by way of three cans of Coke, usually kick-starts the proceedings. Then it's the beloved French films on the iPlayer (2 Days in Paris is my absolute favourite!). Talking with friends always helps & Christmas gift ideas go a long way to pulling me into a different space (even if the holiday season is three months away).
Unfortunately, I am now having to make the enforced decision of quitting step one altogether. Coke. It is the Devil's drink after all. Plus, & this brings me onto the title of this post, it has diuretic effects, leading me to pee a trillion times a day! In fact, it was on my one millionth trip to les toilettes, that I peered up & saw, what was essentially, a tarantula. Midnight peeing, combined with lethal arthropods equals moi acknowledging I need to QUIT!
Plus, I finally went for my interview with the recruitment agency on Friday, so I am 'this' much closer to having a job in London! Living by the coast & working in the city requires exceptionally early starts, which at current I struggle with. In fact, I struggle to get up for work at eleven. I am therefore worried. Six am wake-up calls, dark mornings, cold walks to the station. Did I make the right decision!?
Being unable to get to bed before midnight is also a factor in my morning haze. One am, two am, I've been known to crash at three am, even on a school night. But alas, it is not I, it once again can be blamed on the Coke! You see, caffeine has a tendency to stay in your system for a shockingly long time & makes your body unable to benefit from deep sleep. Bastard soda! You win again!
Nope, as of tomorrow, it is l'eau all the way! Even when the six ice cold cans sitting neatly in the refrigerator stare up at me when I go to grab a slice of bread (fridges are the new bread bins don't ya know), I shall ignore their glares & turn away. If not for my bladder, if not for my (much needed beauty) sleep, than for my ever increasing thighs!!!
I gained two pounds before I left for La Grande Aventue. Then a further five pounds while out there (I'd like to say from all the fine dining, but I wouldn't want to lie to you like that...). When I returned, I made a valid effort to stay on the straight & narrow. No Coke (clearly that didn't last). No MaccyD's. No takeaways. No chocolate (surprising easy!). No crisps.
It was salad for most of August & you know what, when I went to Findon to see Miss Dunn the other week, I'd lost seven pounds! Which was great. The only problem being that, once I lose weight, I see it as a battle won. I seem to go into celebration mode & start to over consume high fat, high calorie foods again. So now, although I have not been weighed yet, I have seemingly regained some of that weight. Well, fat!
Mostly it seems to wish to absorb into my thighs. I can handle my body. I like it. It's been abused in numerous ways on numerous occasions, but I still like it. The only thing I can't handle? Chaffing! I'm not even kidding you. Everyone I whine to thinks I'm making it up, or over exaggerating, but it's true! It's that really annoying bit of residual fat that loves to linger at the very top of my inner thighs, taunting me.
It keeps me awake at night, I swear! If I could just get rid of it, I'd be a happy woman. Well, y'know, until my next 'episode'. But then we'll reach for the DVD collection, grab a pen & paper & start writing out my gift list.