Every so often I have an incredible urge to type. Just randomly type. Nothing specific. I used to work on stories or my novel when I got that urge, but I've had chronic writer's block for years and my novel appears to have died. So now I blog. I randomly ramble on for you lovely people to read.

Nonsense typing isn't half as much fun at the moment, because my beloved laptop Archimedes is currently missing three keys and has another one (at least) that's wonky as hell. (He's also taken to closing itself down at random times recently - I might be getting a new one in a few weeks). For the tactile pleasure of tying it helps if all the keys are level. Shallow laptop keys have a nice feel (when they're all in place), but I like those old computer keyboards that click as you type. They have a few at Keele library. If I get another typing urge during the holidays maybe I'll go up there. Of course, I can almost guarantee that my typing urge will vanish when I have to start typing up the two essays I have due in May.

I'm not making much sense. I don't think my ramblings have been quite this random since I started the blog. I have a lot on my mind. It's ten past three in the morning and I can't sleep, because my sleeping pattern is all screwed up. And it doesn't help that I'm tired all the time. I've barely done anything for days but I'm physically and mentally exhausted. I feel like I could curl up and fall asleep for a year or two. I wish I could switch my brain off. I think I'd find it a lot easier to sleep if I didn't have a thousand voices yelling at me everytime I stop being busy and close my eyes.

I'm worried about a lot of things. And I know there's nothing I can do about any of them, but it doesn't stop me worrying. Worrying is in my nature. It's what I do. If I care about something, or someone, I worry about them. They can tell me not to worry as much as they like, I just can't switch it off.

I'm worried about N. He had a depressive episode/attack last Monday morning and he was signed off work for three weeks and put back on antidepressants. He's withdrawing. He called me briefly on Thursday night, and I asked him what he'd been up to. He told me he's been lying on his bed staring at the ceiling. That's what he does. Not thinking about stuff, or reading, or even sleeping. Just lying there. It worries me. I pointed out he could use the time off to play all his games for a few days and he said he couldn't be bothered. I almost burst into tears. And I got three times more worried about him. At least. I know it sounds silly, but if he can't be bothered to play his games then he must be really ill. And I know there's nothing I can do. I'm a depressive, I have my episodes. I know that when I'm episoding all I want is for him to hold me and tell me it'll all be okay, but that's not what he wants. He needs space and solitude 'til he's ready for anything else. And I will give him that. I'm not gonna nag him. I still text him, as I usually do, but I don't pester for responses. All I've asked is for him to send a message at least once a day to let me know he's still alive. He's okay with that. I just feel so helpless. I love him. He's the most incredible, amazing, wonderful person and he's done so much for me. It hurts that he's ill and lost and there's nothing I can do about it. So I worry. I think about him, and I send him my love and my support over the ether, and I worry about him. All the time.

And I worry about GKL. She's stuck. She needs a job, and rent, and I can't do anything to help her either. Her parents want her to move back to Nottingham until October (when hopefully she'll start a PGCE at Keele). She's resigned herself to the fact that she has to go live with her family again, but I'm scared. Ok, there are minor selfish reasons for me not wanting her to go to Nottingham. I don't want to be left alone in Stoke, I'll miss her like crazy, etc, etc. But I got the texts from her when she was home for a week over Christmas. I get her frustration after she has tense calls from her parents. I know full well what'll happen if she goes back to Nottingham for more than a week. She'll sink further into depression than she is now.

She's scared, and worried, and not sure what her future holds. And it's almost a year after she graduated and she had big plans for her future, but they aren't happening and she feels like a failure. There's nothing I can do to make her feel better, there's nothing I can do to sort out her problems, and that makes me worry. Because she's the best friend I've ever had. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for her. I'd have killed myself ages ago. Or destroyed myself, there is a difference. I love her, and I can't help her.

It's a recurring theme in my life. N, GKL, C. People I love have problems, and they hurt. I can't do anything to help, so I worry.

Not to mention all the worry about myself. I'm not exactly on top of my own life here. I knew at the start of the semester that I needed to buck up my ideas with regards to attendance, and keeping up with the work. I knew it this semester, and I knew it last semester, and the two before that. And I start each semester with good intentions. My attendance invariably slips in the first fortnight and by the end of the first month I'm behind on the work. I've been telling myself I'll catch up at Easter. But now it is Easter and I have so much bloody work to do. I know I have the work, I know I need to do it, I know that if I don't do it I won't get to go to America in the fall, but I can't do it. I have no motivation. That's not right. I have plenty of motivation. A million reasons to do the work. Just no... I don't know. Urgh! There's a perfect Garfield quote for this. "My get up and go has got up and gone."

So I have uni work on my mind. I have my health on my mind. I have my mental stability on my mind. I've had a lot of reminders recently that antidepressants are a temporary solution. I know that. I don't know why people have been telling me. I don't even know if they've been mentioning it deliberately. All these comments about how antidepressants are to deal with the immediate situation and that to solve depression takes things like therapy. I know that. My antidepressants don't make me happy. They make me tired. They make the episodes I do have not quite so bad, and not quite so often. They don't make me happy. I know I have (major) issues, and I know I need therapy. I've been to therapy a million times. I don't think I've ever been to more than two sessions with the same person though. And very few made it to two. I go through phases of enlightenment, realise I need therapy and put myself on a waiting list. I get an appointment, I go (usually with some encouragement or force from friends), and I make an appointment for second meetings, and I can't go. I don't go. I rearrange the appointment, over and over, and skip them. And I never go back.

I can't even go through with an appointment with the woman in the student support centre at Keele. I've been at Keele nearly two years now and I've been meaning to go see her. I know I need to see her. My depression affects my performance at uni, and the student support centre can help me with that. But I make appointments, then I 'forget' them, or sleep through them, or just don't bloody go. Sometimes I remake them, four of five times in a coupla weeks. Sometimes I let it drop and try again a few months later. I need to sort it out.

I need to see my doctor, and tell him about the OCD tendencies I have, and tell him properly about how the depression is affecting my life. I think all I've ever told him is crying fits, self-harm and suicidal tendencies. I very rarely tell the doctor anything. When I went to see him about the illness episodes I've been having recently, he told me it was a bug and I'd get over it. He doesn't exactly inspire confidence.

I know I need to sort out these things, but I don't. It takes all my effort to remember to take my antidepressant every day. I'm only still taking them because my housemate works at Boots and they order and collect my prescription, and he brings the drugs home. If I didn't have him doing that, I'd have stopped taking them when the first month ran out. I can't take care of myself. Sometimes I don't want to.

I'm not sure what's going on in my head right now. I'm trying to type and type and not give the thoughts in my head any time to properly form. But little things sneak in. Like how much my shoulder is hurting, and how much my ankle is aching, and how much I miss N, and how scared I am about all kinds of things. About how scared I am that I'm always going to be scared. I know full well that if I stop typing and pick up some knitting, or do some work, or read a book I'll be distracted and I'll be fine for a while. But right now all I wanna do is curl up with N and fall asleep in his arms. That, or curl up alone in bed and cry. And since my teleportation skills still need some work, I guess it's the second option.