I've always thought of my mental state as a pot of boiling soup.

When people ask me how the soup is, I look at it, and oh look, all I can see are chunks of beef and potatoes and it looks very nice.

"It looks very nice," I say.

But then ten seconds later everything rolls around and I look and it's just steaming garbage, and I wonder, which is the real state. The nice soup or the steaming garbage.

Then ten seconds later it's nice soup again. Ad infinitum.

It feels a bit silly to describe it that way, but that's the way it feels.

The strikes are almost over. I have had a few bosses tentatively call me to see what my availability is.

Of course, my availability is OH GOD YES PLEASE.

I've been going on dates, plural, but with one man, singular. I like him, but do I LIKE like him? It's unclear. It's been years since I've given a man more than a single hour, a single date. This one, unusually, did not set off any of my alarm bells, so he gets multiple dates.

I've been reading a book on the psychology of fear, and how and why people have gut instincts. It's very interesting, though I'm not sure it's helping my anxieties. Sometimes I like to dig my fingers into my feelings and really shred them apart so I know all the dirty workings, and it makes me feel better.

Sometimes it doesn't.

I still need to go to the doctor. I keep telling myself that tomorrow I'll call the office, and then I don't, and then I lay awake in bed convinced that I am dying.

I'm not dying.

(Or am I?!)

I'm probably not dying.

I'm a little bit drunk though.

Time for bed.

.

Rosie

Before&After