TW: discussion on suicide
I no longer know which one is which. I seem to want to do both at the same time.
It has been a while since I posted. Various reasons, mainly that I have been very busy moving back to our flat and my little baby is so active now at the end of the day there is not an awful lot else left in me.
I was mixed about moving back here. On the one hand it is our little space; we own it, and we have the room to just be a little family. Six months of living with the in laws is six months too long. It was making me ill in ways I hadn’t realised, undermining my authority and confidence as a mother, as a woman.
But within a week of being back that which I dreaded has occurred. Our neighbours are cunts. I do not use that horrid word lightly. If I have to listen to one more fucking Polish dance track at full pelt, shaking my furniture and pictures on the walls I won’t be responsible for my actions. It literally is driving me crazy. There are supposed to be noise laws and the police are supposed to come and take noise readings. Of course, in this poor part of Rotterdam, it’s never a priority. This has been going since 2pm – my family were told there was a party tonight just to let us know. Well fuck you wanker, my mental health and wellbeing of my daughter trump any boozefest you may have planned and I fully intend on having my sweet revenge once your hangovers and comedowns kick in. As soon as our new speakers arrive. Wheels On The Bus at full pelt 7am anyone? I know my baby for one will love it.
We had to leave today. I was driven out of my home by some selfish twat thinking of their own self gratification. Same as most of humanity, no surprise we are so fucked as a species. The noise cuts through me like a knife, giving me such a strong physical reaction. I want to vomit with the intrusiveness of it all. This sound invading my personal space, my safe haven. I feel demented with it all, with the need to flee to the top of the nearest mountain (and I’d have a bloody long trek from The Netherlands to get there), warring with the descent of the red mist to do physical harm to those causing me this pain and trauma. It is all DH can do to stop me hurling bricks through their window when they refuse to answer the door, knowing that we are asking them to shut the fuck up. I dream of having a shotgun that I shoot through our ceiling, or smashing their door down with an axe and jettisoning the sub woofer (which we have repeatedly requested they move from the floor and put a towel under) into the nearest canal, weighed down by their super expensive stereo.
The problem is that these visualisations become close to hallucinations and in the moment I am so lost to my senses I can’t snap out of it. I feel so under threat by this plague of noise I am close to actually doing something illegal – and driven by my illness – in this case PTSD – I actually have no control over my actions. I actually want to die to make.this anguish in my head end. To make this noise stop. I am a suicide risk right now. My baby is safe with her daddy so I can go knowing she is in good hands. Oh how seductive that thought is. I am no use to anyone like this.
I went and drove my car up the road and sat in it for two hours today just to have some peace and calm. Only the need to look on my sleeping baby got me back into the hellhole that my home feels like. The noise amplifies in my head and I start to hear things that are not there, feel vibrations that don’t exist. I am plugged into Spotify, my own dance music on at full pelt to try and drown out the other noise. I almost wonder if I am in some way autistic, my extreme reaction to such noise being so distressing to me that, like my cousin with Aspergers, I need to listen to music with a headset on to face the outside world. Or in this case, be inside with the outside world sat right in my living room like an unwanted guest that refuses to take a hint and fuck off.
In between all of this is despair. How did my life get to this? I don’t live in places where such people live. I left that behind me so long ago. That’s why I worked so hard at university, got myself a career. Yet here I am, unable to change a thing because the mere thought of work leaves me feeling paralysed and we simply can’t afford to live anywhere else. Mental health is wrecking my life, taking my options away, leaving me impoverished both financially and emotionally.
I’ve taken two of the dreaded Quetiapine and I’m on the sofa waiting for them to knock me out. I hate them but I think I need them. I have to detach. I’ll review this tomorrow. I’m sorry this was so ranty. In a way I want to capture this so I can look back and learn from it when I’m not worried about someone falling through my ceiling with their overenthusiastic and undeniably shit dancing.