When Results Day Isn’t What You Hoped It Would Be

Trigger warning: This post contains details of an emotional breakdown and mentions of self harm.

So results day is coming up. The timeframe is much as it ever was: school grades will be released as planned: A Level results will be released on the 13th August and GCSE results will be released on the 20th August. Degree results tend to depend on the specific university. Despite all of the upheaval over the last several months and the changes made to the expected academic year, many people still took exams of some kind, worked hard on projects or coursework, and pushed themselves to attain the highest marks they could so, regardless of the unusual circumstances, the anxiety around these days is no doubt mounting.

As I’m in the middle of my course, I’m not currently awaiting any grades. I completed my second module back in April and received my marks not long after. But every August (and to an extent, January, when some modules are assessed), I think of all those anxiously anticipating those numbers or letters that they’ve been working towards for months, that their lives have revolved around for so long (not a healthy mindset, mind you, but one that society has entrenched in us and one that I’d like to talk about further at a later date). I think of those young people and hope that, whatever grades they have received, they are coping in a positive and healthy way.

What with my GCSEs, some in Year 9 and some in Year 11, my AS Levels, my A Levels, all the results during my degree, and now my Masters, I’ve had many, many a results day. And the majority of them have been absolutely fine, if not better than fine. Some of them have been downright amazing. But I do have one very negative experience that I think is important to share because chance are, at some point or another, we will all have a bad results day that comes as a shock. So I want to tell this story and then share some advice for dealing with a similar situation…

It was a chilly morning in January 2013 and I was anxiously awaiting the release of the Autumn module results with my friends. The only course I’d had an exam in was Physics and although I’d found it difficult, I finished it feeling like I’d done okay. Having been absent for a lot of secondary school due to ongoing illness, I’d missed out on a lot of foundation material so I’d found the course difficult but during the most recent parent-teacher evening, my teacher told us (me and my Mum) that she had absolute confidence in my abilities and that I was on track for a high grade. So when I opened my results and saw the little printed ‘u,’ I was initially confused. Surely it was a mistake. I’d always gotten good grades and my teacher had said such positive things. I waited restlessly for the mark to be confirmed and when it was, it felt simultaneously like everything went still and like everything was crashing down around me. I made my escape and headed for the more secluded of the two toilet blocks – I felt like every emotion I was feeling was visible on my face and I had no idea how to talk about it or how to pretend that I was fine. I needed to be alone.

I was crying before I even made it into the toilet stall and I sat on the lid, sobbing so hard that my chest hurt. I was gasping for air but it was like my lungs had pinprick holes in them, the air rushing straight out again. Even to this day, I’m not sure I can explain exactly what I was feeling. It’s not especially subtle and sounds very dramatic but it felt like the world was ending. I felt like a failure and I felt like the only thing people would see when they looked at me was a failure. All I was was this ‘u.’ All I was was ‘unsatisfactory.’ I couldn’t move past that thought. Everything else disappeared.

I don’t know how long I sat in that cubicle, crying and self harming, before my friends tracked me down. I wanted to stay there and hide forever but somehow, I dragged myself up and walked out to face them. I still remember the shock on their faces; I still remember looking at myself in the mirror, my face a mess of thick, mascara stained tear tracks and my arms covered in scratches. I looked as bad as I felt.

One of my best friends – someone I still consider a good friend despite the fact that we don’t see each other as often as we used to – took control of the situation, taking me off campus to a coffee shop where she gently coaxed the story out of me over hot chocolate. We both had to go back for classes but she arranged for us to talk to a mutually beloved and admired teacher at the end of the day. I wasn’t convinced but I was operating on autopilot, drained of the will to protest. So after my lesson (a lesson in which I didn’t say a word), we went to see this teacher and in her typical fashion, kind but direct, she told me about some of her experiences and talked me through my options. Then I went home and didn’t return for over a week.

It’s worth noting that my mental health had been deteriorating exponentially over the previous year, so this happened at a time when I was completely unequipped to handle it and it was a catalyst for a lot of big decisions. I dropped out of the physics course, partly because I wasn’t mentally healthy enough to manage the number of courses I was taking and partly because I was so distressed by the experience that I felt completely incapable of going back into that classroom and continuing with the course. Just thinking about sitting in that room triggered anxiety too extreme to function. And I can admit now that there was some shame involved too: I couldn’t bear the thought of my teacher and my class looking at me and seeing a failure. So I dropped Physics, completed the rest of my courses, and started seeking professional help for what were now obvious mental health problems.

To this day, I still struggle to open exam results. I work extremely hard and then, when the results are released, I’m very careful to open them at a time when I feel emotionally equipped to handle whatever they’ll say and when I have the time to process the emotions that I’ll potentially experience. I’ve talked about this a lot with my therapist, in general terms, but then we talk about it every time new results loom. Not long ago, she referred to the experience as ‘a trauma’ and the relief of having it validated for the distress it caused and continues to cause was so overwhelming that I swear my heart stuttered in my chest. After having so many of my experiences (and the ongoing problems they caused) invalidated, it was a really emotional moment. That day had a massive effect on my mental health and my relationship with education and still triggers debilitating anxiety.

Not all results days are like this. In fact, most of them aren’t and I hope that you – you, reading this – never have to go through an experience like this one, but just in case you do, here are some of the things that I’ve learned about coping with difficult results…


IN THE MOMENT

  • Get yourself to a safe place – Dealing with difficult emotions is hard enough in itself but factors like crowds of people, lots of noise, and so on can make it even more difficult. Whether you need to be alone or with a friend, somewhere quiet or somewhere too noisy to let yourself dwell (momentarily is fine, indefinitely obviously isn’t healthy), being in a place where you feel free to express your emotions can only make it easier to cope with the torrent of emotion.
  • Give yourself time to process your emotions – I always find that, when something huge and unexpected happens in my life, my emotions completely overwhelm me and while I know what I’m feeling right then and there, it often changes as the intensity recedes. I try not to make any decisions until everything feels more stable; if I do, I usually end up regretting them. So let your emotions flow and evolve and eventually simplify. Once that happens, everything will be clearer.
  • Talk it through with someone – Talking to someone (someone you feel safe and un-judged with) about what you’re going through can you help you process the emotions and make sense of what’s causing them, whether it’s a fear of disappointing people, a fear of damaging your future, or a fear of failure in general. Or something completely different and personal to you. And then, when you’re ready, they can help you put it in perspective and decide what to do next.
  • If it feels helpful, compare with your peers – Whether this is a good idea can only be judged by you. Sometimes sharing can be a bonding experience; for example, if the exam or module was marked universally harshly, the shared emotions can help you deal with the situation. However, if you decide to compare your grades with your classmates, be careful about who you choose to talk to: some people may approach the problem with potentially invalidating positivity, some may have done worse and be sensitive about it, and so on. It’s not a straightforward choice and one that only you can make.

ONCE YOUR EMOTIONS HAVE SETTLED

  • Talk to your teacher(s) – Not only do your teachers know the system, they will also have seen and helped multiple people through experiences similar to yours. They will have useful advice and experience that they can share with you that will hopefully make it easier to decide on your next steps.
  • If you get feedback, assess areas to improve on – If your results come with feedback, read through it carefully and think carefully about how you can perform consistently in the areas you excel at and how you can improve in the areas you lost marks in. Having clear goals for your future work can improve not only your future performance but also help with negative feelings around your recent grades.
  • Think about whether you want to resit – Retaking exams can be a smart route to take because resits can give you extra time to learn the material and they can help you boost your overall grade. And if that overall grade affects your next steps, it may be possible to continue with that original plan, just a year later. However, resits eat up time, can distract you from whatever comes next – whether that’s working on new modules, new experiences in a gap year, etc – and challenge your mental health with added anxiety and pressure. Again, only you can make this choice but I recommend talking to multiple people with various viewpoints before making a final decision.
  • Consider getting extra help – Whether you’re starting a new module or resitting previous exams, support from a tutor or mentor might be helpful, both in your approach to learning and your overall grades. You might also find that you need some support with your mental health after upsetting results or in the face of moving forward in education so you may want to talk to your school’s counsellor or the pastoral care team or even your GP. It may also help to talk to a teacher, not specifically for mental health advice but for advice on who to talk to concerning this matter.

Despite the trauma of that day and the vivid images that come to mind whenever I recall it, there are three things that I actively choose to focus on:

  1. The absolute kindness of my friend – I don’t know how that day would’ve gone if my friend hadn’t come to find me, taken care of me, and taken me to talk to a teacher I trusted. While I wasn’t capable of properly acknowledging her help at the time, I am so grateful that she was there and that she looked after me in my most fragile state, nonjudgmental of my emotions, accepting of my self harming, and thinking only of how to help me. Whether we’re friends forever or our paths diverge, I will always remember and appreciate it.
  2. The words of my teacher – I so appreciate my teacher sharing her story with me and what she’d learned from it, even if I wasn’t really taking it all in at the time. I didn’t know it at the time but she helped. She really helped. I can’t remember her exact words (much of that day is a blur) but in essence, she said: there is always more than one path to get to where you want to be. I didn’t truly understand it at the time. I had a plan and I was going to follow it but looking back, she was right. I may not be literally where I wanted to be but I’m metaphorically where I wanted (and want) to be and more importantly, I think I’m where I’m supposed to be, if a little battle-scarred.
  3. It was the beginning of a very important journey – It was a horrible day with far reaching consequences but it was that day that really made us realise that something was very wrong and we needed to do something about it. Of course, if you’ve read my other posts, you’ll know that my mental health journey has been and continues to be full of twists and turns but if not for that day, who knows how much longer I would’ve struggled before something pushed us into action. I thought it was the end of everything but in fact, it was the start.

This post turned out to be a lot longer than I’d intended but I hope it has been somewhat helpful. I hope you remember that whether your results are good or bad, whatever you feel is valid. You have spent years working towards this moment and it’s natural and totally okay to have strong feelings about them. It would be odd if you didn’t. You’ve worked hard for this. So feel what you feel and do what you need to do to make sense of this big, messy experience that you’ve gone through. It will be okay – maybe not in the way you expect but it will be okay. I can promise you that.

I Finally Left My House

On Monday, for the first time in over a hundred days, I left my house.

I was already self isolating when the UK lockdown went into effect. My university classes had moved online, I have friends and family that I could put at risk if I caught the virus, and it generally seemed like the safest, most socially responsible thing to do. Then the lockdown was officially put in place and it was me and my Mum in the house together. Struggling with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, I don’t go out a whole lot because I physically can’t manage it but I had previously had university classes, seeing friends and family, and swimming at the gym (the only exercise that doesn’t cause me physical pain – probably because it’s non weight-bearing), all of which were suddenly gone. My Mum went out only to food shop and pick up medication prescriptions as necessary.

I’ve only been out once since then and that was to rescue my kitten who got stuck up a tree in a neighbour’s garden – we think she’d been up there for more than twelve hours. And when we did go to get her, all involved socially distanced and wore masks. It was stressful in the face of the virus but my kitten would not come down  by herself and we were all getting really worried about her.

Ever since then, I’ve stayed in the house. My mental health has been a monumental struggle during this time, especially my anxiety – to the point that something as simple as laughing from outside or looking through the window at the street can cause severe anxiety and autistic meltdowns. And the longer this goes on, the worse it’s getting. I’m in contact with my psychiatrist, taking my medication, and having online sessions with my therapist but I don’t feel like it’s making much difference to my anxiety.

The easing of lockdown only increased my anxiety. With the scientists and Public Health England still warning of the dangers of Covid, it seemed (and still seems) incredibly irresponsible of the government to be making such changes. When it was announced that hairdressers would be opening on the 4th July, my anxiety sky-rocketed. Ever since the pandemic began moving into Europe, my Trichotillomania has escalated dramatically. It’s been a problem for years but with the recent extreme levels of stress, I’m now pulling my hair out more than I ever have. It’s not only causing pain in my scalp and damage to my hair, it’s also causing terrible pain in the fingers, hand, arm, and shoulder on the side I pull from, as well as tingling and numbness that often doesn’t pass for most of the day. So while I did, of course, want a hair cut (as I think everyone did), I was also desperate for advice and help with this problem. Plus, I go to an independent hairdresser and wanted to support them.

But despite all of that, I just as desperately didn’t want to go. Even with the all the strict safety measures they’d informed their clients of, I still felt overwhelmingly unsafe going out, especially into town. To make it feel more possible, we spoke to them and they arranged my appointment to be as stress free as they could possibly make it: we cancelled the colour to reduce my time there (it felt unnecessary as it was something I could do at home – I’d booked it way back when when it had looked like it would be (or feel) safer, they scheduled my appointment first thing on a Monday morning so the environment would be as clean and safe as possible, and they were happy to have my Mum come with me in case my anxiety got too bad. When we made those arrangements, it felt as good as I thought it was ever going to  and we moved on, the appointment still a few weeks away.

But as it got closer, my anxiety grew and grew until I was having panic attacks over it. I didn’t want to go. I really, really didn’t want to go. It felt so unsafe to be going out, even with a mask, gloves, hand sanitiser, and safety measures in place. I didn’t want to go. The anxiety was unbearable and I had multiple awful panic attacks.

In the end, my anxiety just wiped me of all my energy and on the morning of the appointment, I just didn’t know what to do. I had nothing left. So Mum took over, got me up, and took me to the appointment. Even being outside felt terrifying: I felt so unsafe and exposed and vulnerable. We got there and the hairdressers was almost empty, as planned, and my hairdresser was as lovely as always. I’ve been camouflaging my Autism and my anxiety for so long – I’ve spent my life building a mask to help me manage in difficult situations, something that I want to write about more in the future – that most people see the ‘usual’ me but in reality, I was so anxious that I felt like I couldn’t breathe properly (and that had nothing to do with the facemask). I almost destroyed the fidget toy I’d brought with me and the whole experience was just exhausting. It felt like it only added to the trauma of the pandemic and lockdown.

(I do want to make it absolutely clear that that has nothing to do with them as people or a business. It was all about going out and feeling so unsafe outside my house.)

My hairdresser is awesome and so lovely and we had a good conversation about the condition of my hair and the textures that trigger my pulling. We talked about what might improve the condition of my hair and therefore lessen the textures that trigger me, which products might be helpful. So we’ll see how that goes. And simply cutting off the dry ends of my hair will hopefully help with the pulling too.

We were there less than an hour but I was completely exhausted. I was barely functional all day and ended up falling asleep on the sofa at about 10pm, hours earlier than I usually get to sleep at the moment. And it’s taken days to regain enough energy to concentrate and actually do things again. Even now I’m not sure whether I made the right choice or the safest choice but it’s done and I can’t go back and change it. Several people have said to me that going out would make going out again easier but if anything, it’s made it feel even scarier so, for the moment at least, I’m not going anywhere.

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The next challenge, I guess, is when gyms reopen. As swimming is the only non-painful exercise I can do, my exercise has been severely limited during lockdown and on a personal level, I’m desperate to get back to it. I love it, I miss it, and I miss how it makes me feel, physically and mentally. But I just can’t imagine how on earth it can be safe. So there’s a lot of investigating to do, a lot of thinking and weighing the pros and cons to do. I’ve never been so jealous of people having their own private pools.

A Week In My Life (in Lockdown)

It’s been a while since I did a ‘week in my life’ post and I haven’t done one about lockdown, mainly because I feel like most of my days are incredibly similar, which wouldn’t exactly make for a scintillating post. But I saw the idea in my ‘blog ideas’ list and realised that over the last few weeks, I have managed to be a bit more productive (with my mental health fluctuating so wildly, it’s hard to really get into anything) and so each day is looking more like its own entity.

The week in this post started on Monday 22nd June and ended on Sunday 28th June.


MONDAY

Even though I don’t have anywhere to be, I’m still getting up relatively early, partly because I’m at my best mentally in the mornings (generally) and partly because we have five cats who are always very eager for breakfast. They’re actually really helpful when it comes to maintaining some kind of routine; sometimes I think it’s easier when there’s something external to build from, rather than trying to build it from nothing.

Cats fed, I settled on the sofa and replied to all the messages on my phone that were waiting for me. In times of mental distress (which there is a lot of lately), I tend to abandon my phone and withdraw from communications because it’s all just more than I can handle. However, it can then be a rather daunting task when I feel able to engage again. But I managed to reply to everyone and messaged some of my friends that I hadn’t checked in with for a while.

I spent the morning sorting through my tech box of electronics, my store of everything electronic, from spare pairs of headphones to camera equipment to cables I know longer own the devices for – I’m sorting through all of my possessions and this was next on my list. I went through it, throwing out the stuff that was damaged or so old that it was no longer useable, piling up some stuff to give away, and organising the remaining items by function. I certainly don’t need the big box anymore.

I didn’t stop there though. I went through all eight of the USB sticks I’d found, deleting the files I didn’t want and storing those I did. I now have multiple memory sticks empty and ready to go whenever I need them. And then I started on the hard drives, most of them assorted back ups of my laptop. That’s a job that’s going to take considerable time. But I’ve assigned each of them a function and started moving the relevant files. I can’t have done more than a quarter of the work and even that took most of the day.

Eventually I gave up, having spent so much time on it that I kept getting confused about which hard drive I was in. So I disconnected them, packed them away, and did a couple of hours work on my blog post for the kittens’ birthday post (here). Me and Mum had dinner together, continuing our rewatch of Nikita, and then I spent about forty five minutes at the piano, during which I recorded this:

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This song calms my soul ♥️ @sarabareilles

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Then we fed and settled the cats before going to bed.


TUESDAY

It was a quiet day. I spent most of it working at my laptop, finishing the blog post for the kittens’ birthday the next day and writing the one about coming off Pregabalin (here). I also planned out the next few as well, with sketches of the rough post structures. So it felt like a pretty productive day, which I was pleased with.

My Mum and I usually work pretty companionably since her desk is in the living room and I tend to work from the sofa (it’s better for the physical pain that I usually deal with to some degree or another – I need to get a specifically supportive desk chair but I’d have to go and try them out, something I can’t – and wouldn’t choose to – do until it’s safe). But recently she’s been working at the kitchen table, paper spread out around her as she transfers her accounts to a new system. It’s weird, going from being basically on top of each other to almost feeling like I’m alone in the house.

We reconvened in the evening, having dinner with several more episodes of Nikita, and then I sat at the piano, playing for almost an hour, methodically practicing each of the songs I’ve been learning recently. Thank god my neighbours are so easygoing and even supportive of my music because I usually ending up playing fairly late at night and even though I try to keep it as quiet as possible, some noise does drift through the walls.

I was just going to bed when I got a Twitter notification that Ingrid Andress is doing a virtual show on Tuesday 30th June. I love her and was supposed to see her live when I went to the US (before the trip was scuttled by the pandemic) so that was really exciting. I went straight to my computer to get a ticket and thank god I did because it was already difficult to get a ticket. I also managed to get a meet and greet, which should be fun; I have no idea how it will work online (plus it will be about 3am my time…) but it will be really nice to see her again. I’ve been going to her shows and chatting with her afterwards for the last several years so I’m glad that lockdown won’t prevent that.

(Note from present me to past me: it was an awesome show and I really enjoyed my chat with Ingrid.)


WEDNESDAY

It was the kittens’ first birthday so we didn’t delay in heading downstairs and presenting them with their present. They both had a go at it but it was Sweep that eventually managed to open it, revealing the birthday cake shaped toy. Despite not having had breakfast yet, they were both very excited and played with it enthusiastically. It remained in tact for about twenty minutes before Sooty managed to tear the felt flame of the candle off it… Sigh. Ah well. They don’t seem to mind.

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Unfortunately, I ended up getting caught in a panic spiral about the loosening of lockdown (I know I’m not the only one who feels that the government cares more about the economy and their reputation than the lives of the British public) and the scientists declaring that they feel we’ll still be dealing with the pandemic next year, that a second wave is extremely likely. The idea of feeling so terrified and so unsafe and so worried for my loved ones (plus the uncertainty around my education and my career) for all that time is exhausting and makes me feel almost overwhelmingly sick.

In hindsight, it probably turned into a meltdown but I didn’t really process that thought at the time. The intensity of my emotions are so extreme at the moment that it can be hard to clearly identify them within the mess I’m feeling. In the end, I was so worn out that I fell asleep on the sofa and didn’t wake up for three hours, a common reaction to a meltdown, for me at least.

When I woke up, I didn’t feel better – that’s not how it works, at least for me – but my head was a little clearer. WordPress had been playing up on my laptop so I hadn’t been able to post the kitten birthday post but eventually I got it up, complete with a video of the kittens: one second a day everyday for the first year of their lives…

In the evening, I spent about an hour on FaceTime with one of my friends. We had a good moan about missing each other and the things we can’t do, drooled over the guitars we wish we could afford, made plans for the first time we can hang out properly again. It was fun and nice and as normal as you can get in a time like this. Mum had wandered in and out of the room during the conversation and commented that we sounded like we always do, hanging out as if we were on opposite ends of the sofa. That made me laugh.

We had dinner together and continued our rewatch of Nikita, staying up far too late.


THURSDAY

I’d struggled to sleep with the heat so I woke up, still tired and with a throbbing headache. Not exactly the greatest start to a day.

I sorted the cats and then spent some time tidying the living room and sorting out my space: it had gotten pretty chaotic with the various stationary and electronics that I always have within reach due to my frequent need for them. It’s definitely better and I’m always calmer and more productive in a tidy space.

I’d intended to do some more organising of my hard drives but the rising heat (over 30 degrees) was only making my headache worse. I ended up lying on the sofa with my eyes covered, waiting for the painkillers to kick in, except I accidentally fell asleep and didn’t wake up until about three hours later. Thankfully I slept through the hottest part of the day: I don’t cope very well in the heat. The cats were struggling too, poor babies, stretched out on the cool of the kitchen floor. I’ve never seen them look so flat.

I didn’t manage a huge amount because the headache never really abated but I did get a few bits and pieces done: some research for the blog, some blog writing, watching a bit of TV. But most of my energy was focussed on managing the headache; I spent a lot of time with my eyes covered, blocking out the light.

Mum and I kept to our evening routine of dinner and Nikita rewatch (we’ve just finished season two, which has such a great finale) and then, to finish off the evening, I listened to the two tracks that Richard (my writing partner) had sent me and gave him my feedback. I loved them: they’re both really cool but I had a handful of comments that can hopefully be of use. I also sent him a song of mine to listen to before we start work on the production.

That done, I went to bed but it was so hot and humid that I felt like I could barely breathe.


FRIDAY

It was so hot that I just couldn’t sleep. It wasn’t until about five am that I finally drifted off. It was uncomfortable and frustrating but as least I got to witness the incredible thunderstorm that started at about two. There was a lot of lightning and heavy rain, although not much thunder. I sat up and watched it for ages. I absolutely love thunderstorms; they’re my favourite kind of weather. The air just feels different and I feel lighter. Apparently thunderstorms create negative ions in the atmosphere and that’s where that feeling comes from (x).

I struggled up at eight thirty and managed to have breakfast and a shower in time to relax for a moment and collect my thoughts before my therapy session. It’s taken me a while to get used to therapy via Zoom and while I still think face to face is better (and I really miss it), I am really grateful for it. I know that going without therapy during this time would be incredibly damaging for my mental health. I think it’s probably fair to say that we’re not necessarily focussed on making progress right now, rather we’re focussing on managing my emotions and the things I’m struggling with in the present moment, like my overwhelming fear of going outside and my sudden inability to sleep properly to name a few. I mean, technically it all comes under distress tolerance, one of the fundamental areas of Dialectical Behaviour Therapy so I guess we are making progress in a sense. Anyway, we had a pretty intense session because of several tough things going on at the moment, not helped by my lack of sleep. By the time we were done, I was exhausted.

I had a gentle afternoon, watching Nikita with Mum, and then napped on the sofa for a couple of hours. Three hours of sleep really isn’t enough. Throw in a tough therapy session and I was completely useless. I wasn’t going to make it to the end of the day without a nap.

In the evening, we had a socially distanced dinner and movie with one of my parents (she doesn’t live with us). Despite keeping up to date with the briefings and doing my own research, I’m still really confused about what the official safety guidelines are so we’re just sure to be really careful: apart from seeing each other now and then, none of us go out for anything other than the essentials, we social distance when we’re together, and we keep the space (and ourselves) as clean/hygienic as possible. It’s hard not being able to behave naturally together – having to be so conscious of the risks all of the time – but it’s so, so good to see her and hang out and have just a touch of normality, even if it is only a touch. I’ll take what I can get. Getting to see her in person is better than not getting to see her in person.

Despite my nap, I was tired and so me and Mum had a quiet evening together. Exhaustion always makes my anxiety worse so I just needed some time with her. Sometimes we joke that, rather than an emotional support animal, I have her: my emotional support person.

Always far too late (I swear I’m trying to maintain a regular sleep pattern), we fed and settled the cats before going to bed.


SATURDAY

I slept better but still not well and I woke up feeling very anxious and unsettled, usually how I feel when I’ve had nightmares but can’t quite remember them – I definitely want to write a post about how the pandemic has affected sleep and the increased number of nightmares. It was still quite early so I stayed in bed, trying to shed the feeling. The cool, grey weather helped.

Eventually I got up, fed the cats, and managed to get a few good cuddles in, which also helped. Although nothing helped as much as the Diazepam I took.

I had a quiet morning, doing some admin, some blog post writing, and a couple of video calls to family and then I spent the afternoon catching up with my diary. The one mental health problem that hasn’t been too badly affected by the pandemic and lockdown is my OCD. It’s much easier – and quicker – to write down everything that happens when so much less is happening; before lockdown, busy days could take hours and hours to write up. My ability to concentrate has been seriously compromised by my anxiety so it still takes longer than it should but at least, with emptier days, it balances out a bit.

Mum and I had dinner, continuing our rewatch of Nikita, and then I spent some time at the piano. One of the things I really wanted to use my empty semester – and I guess, now the lockdown – for was improving my musical skills and at the moment, I’m just really in love with playing the piano. I’ve definitely improved already, which is really satisfying. I practiced my current repertoire and then tried to work out a new song. But it was tricky and I was tired so I didn’t get far before giving up – for the night, not on the song in general.

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It was late but before going to bed, Mum (who used to be a full-time massage therapist, although it’s no longer her primary job) massaged my neck and right shoulder. My Trichotillomania urges have gone into overdrive since Covid-19 emerged and they’ve only gotten worse as time has passed. How I haven’t ended up with any bald spots, I have no idea. But because of my excessive pulling, my arm and shoulder have seized up and become really quite painful. The muscles actually hurt to touch but she was very gentle and I do think it helped.

We went to bed and I actually managed to get to sleep fairly quickly, which is a bit of a miracle at the moment.


SUNDAY

I managed to sleep in a bit, which was nice, although I’d still had busy dreams. It took me a while to make sense of what was the dream and what was real and when I dragged myself out of bed, I felt slow and sluggish. Fortunately the cats had been very patient about breakfast. Having said that, they were very pleased to see us (and vocal about it).

I had breakfast and a shower, leaving me with fifteen minutes or so to clear my head before my music lesson. One of my parents is a professional musician and music teacher and as another of my goals for this period of time is to improve my understanding of musical theory, I’d asked a while ago if we could spend some time on it together (well, via Zoom). So, every Sunday, we dedicate a couple of hours (sometimes more if we’re on a roll) to working out the chords to a song, figuring out the rhythms to play, etc and then discussing the theory that underpins those things in that particular song. Then I practice it in the week before our next session. It’s hard work – I’ve always found theory quite difficult to really understand – but I do think I’m getting better, if slowly. I think learning it in a practical, applied way is helping and it’s much more fun than just trying to memorise it from a book. To my amusement, it’s basically turned into an attempt to learn every Kalie Shorr song because I love her writing so much but it’s also given me a new appreciation for the songs because I’m seeing how much more to them there is. As I said, it’s difficult and I’m exhausted afterwards (probably from the effort of keeping my concentration on it – a serious job at the moment) but it feels good to be learning and trying to improve my skills.

My concentration is always pretty poor afterwards but I did manage to get some blog writing done. I’m really enjoying this style of writing at the moment; it just flows really easily. I’m also trying to get ahead of myself by a couple of posts, creating a buffer of sorts, just in case I hit a period of writers’ block. That happened a while back and suddenly writing became really difficult and stressful, not exactly something I need more of right now. So I’m taking advantage of (and enjoying) how good and effortless it feels.

Early evening, Mum and I FaceTimed with my Granny. Mum speaks with her everyday while I join in every few days (sometimes in the frame and sometimes just in the room, adding to the conversation). We do the crossword together – something we’ve always done when we’re actually together – which is really fun and catch up on each other’s days. I worry about her, her age making her more vulnerable and her being alone during lockdown. We (especially my Mum and my aunt and uncle) try and talk as much as possible and suggest new things to do and new forms of entertainment (especially when her television died and no one would go out to fix it) but I still worry.

After we hung up, I tried to set up the laptop that had finally arrived from DSA, only to find out that they’d sent me the wrong one. Fortunately, I discovered that (sadly, I’m experienced enough with the problems of getting support as a disabled person to check) before I loaded all my files onto it. So we got in contact with them (and after a lot of back and forth) and they’re sending another one to swap it with. When this process is officially over – as in I’ve got the laptop and everything is signed off on – I will write a blog post about this whole process because it has been long and complicated and stressful and I think these experiences need to be out there.

Me and Mum had dinner with more Nikita and I did some more diary writing.

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Somewhere closer to a sensible bedtime, we fed and settled the cats and went to bed.


I hope this was somewhat interesting. When I started writing it, I hadn’t counted on a heatwave that made me just this side non-functional for two days; I’d been hoping to be more productive. I know that we don’t have to be productive everyday but achieving something, even something small does help me to manage my mental health and keep my depression and anxiety from getting into a cycle that’s difficult to break out of.

Anyway, that was a week in lockdown: some routine and some different activities to mix things up. This seems to be the best approach for me. The routine is comforting but the variation keeps me from feeling like I’m in a time loop, living the same day over and over again.

I hope you’re all keeping safe and healthy in these times. I hope lockdown isn’t too traumatic for you and I’m sure you’re managing the best that you can.