I don’t want beta-fricking-blockers I want neat serotonin.

I went to the doctor to get me some anti-depressants and was offered beta-blockers. 

It’s the first time I’ve opened up and said I was not really coping and I became a little overwhelmed, so I guess she thought I was having a panic attack and went straight down that road. Anyway I’ve been given some websites to look at:

moodgym, mindgym and bigwhitewall. I did not take the prescription. 

I need to see the sunshine again. 

I’ve healed my colitis (touch wood) with diet (thank-you Deliciously Ella and the internet) and the free 10 minute breathing exercises from Headspace which gave my stomach time to relax; now I need to heal my mind. 

The GR is unhappy, frustrated and angry most of the time which he takes out on his nearest and dearest - ie me, and I suppose in a way I enable that behaviour. 

Erbie has been bullied at school, on and off since starting, the Grandad is much trickier than I ever anticipated and the Belle Mere is well, The Belle Mere. 

Don’t get me started on the constant building noise from neighbours. 

All this along with a prolonged death from cancer and one suicide from a best friend, mind you that was after her sister had stabbed and killed her mother, so who wouldn’t. Oh and I had to take Erbie to that funeral as it was the same day as TheGR’s brother’s funeral, so neither of us could be there for one another. We don’t sleep in the same bed, we argue and shout, the flat looks unloved, we look unloved, everytime we pick ourselves up something else happens, when will this cycle end?

I try and put pockets of happiness in, martini’s help, Erbie is adorable, my allotment is a welcome escape but I even find that overwhelming sometimes. 

I’m offloading. 

I’ll be okay. 

If it’s too good to be true, it usually is.

Well having moved into our new flat a few cracks have appeared in the shiny new veneer, we CAN hear noise from the café downstairs. Music when they set up and close up, which is nice music so we don’t mind that but the worst is – a drinks refridgeration unit that kicks in every 6 minutes then goes off for one minute before starting up again with the gutteral roar of a phlegmy beast. And this refridgerator unit is right below the bedroom. So, I introduce myself to the manager, and rather petulantly ask if it can be turned off over night. I bump into the landlord of the local pub who tells me there is no reason for the unit to be on overnight and that the Landlord of the building has just increased their (the café’s) rent and wants them out anyway. He’s a gossip! They’ve been there over ten years, and I’m all for ‘better the devil you know’, so after a few more sleepless nights decide a better tactic is needed. All smiles I request a meeting with the manager and we talk civilly about the possibilities, all their stock comes in weekly, which is why they turn it off on Sunday nights – bliss, ready to fill up again on Monday. He is considering moving the perishables into a basement fridge, but we are the first people to complain in 10 years. Why do the english never speak up about stuff, this explains why no one has stayed in this flat for longer than the minimum tenancy, a shame as it’s a dream location and on Sunday nights, peace incarnate. The GR and I discuss, and feel bad for even bringing it up, but there must be a remedy. We decide to proffer half and half, if he keeps it on overnight Monday to Wednesday when he has more stock will he consider turning it off from Thurday to Saturday, meaning we get 4 nights of blissful quiet. It’s a Thursday and the fridge miraculously gets turned off. I’ll put it to him today, wish me luck!