Pregnancy, positivity, and nostalgia.

I woke up alone, twice, this morning (as my partner worked away last night)...

Firstly to pee, because my bladder since pregnancy, has become impatient and lazy. I could ignore it, but then it protests by throbbing until I can hold it no longer. Unfortunately, our bathroom is downstairs.

I've come to hate waking up alone. I spend most of my days alone. I've done so for many years, however, things are different now. Loneliness (aside of loss) is the worst feeling I know.

Which is why my first task, every day, is to cheer myself up. Camomile tea with honey does-the-trick, and a giggle with my sister: a comedy, Disney, or innocent film, comes a close second. I have to be careful what I watch these days, because loneliness drives depression, and depression isn't easy to control. (I've sussed it though, after a good decade).

For instance... I woke up this morning, wombled downstairs, and looked in the mirror. For no other reason than it was there, looming over the sink, above my toothbrush, which I needed.

Up until now, my morning-sickness has been like a drunken hang-over: a nauseaus, spinning aftermath of a night-out, in which that hot-dog you've eaten is feeling neglected, and wants to make a re-appearance. (Not that I've had a night out in years, but I have my fuzzy memories).

Yesterday I managed not to be sick, for the first time in months, and standing infront of the mirror this morning, in my underwear, it showed. Up until now, my face has been thin, it's always been thin actually, because I've always been stuck in a dieting- loop.

All though, this morning, my face has filled out, a little, I hate to say it, but I look better.

I'm not happy with my weight, but it's what comes with pregnancy, I expect it will grow on me!

I'm feeling postive today, I'm going to jump in the bath, prod some more at my growing wobbly-bits (I'm not used to having bits to poke at), whilst listening to my Brit Awards '96 cd, for nostalgia (always a great one to put you in a good mood), prat about with my hair, and then go for a walk.

Okay, it's not an entirely independent move, as I'll have my partner on my arm (a crutch), but it's a start. I've not been out now in weeks, not since my last scan, I need some air.

It's laughable, yet when I'm out, sat in the car, I'm like one of those dogs that sticks its head out of the window, excitedly.

I love being out, I'm just not good at going places on my own. I've no idea why.

People expect me to be confident, I 'look' confident. Yet drop me in the middle of a busy town centre, and all I want to do is dart for the nearest small shop, and phone for someone to come get me. How did I ever get like this?

The only thing which sometimes motivates me, is when I'm shopping, because then I have something to do, somewhere to be, a goal; rather than wandering aimlessly. Even then, if alone, I walk about looking lost, as if I have a sharp pencil rodded up my backside. I look shifty, it's unfortunate, because security guards trail me, which only makes things worse!

There are reasons why I am the way I am, yet they would only draw sympathy, or pity, or loss of respect. On the-one-hand, I want to explain it's not laziness, nor cowardice, nor that I'm timid; but what does it matter how I got here? Here I am. What matters is what I do about it.

It's difficult to understand, myself. Logically it makes no sense... you want to go out, so do it! Stop belly-aching.

I've tried everything, therapy, medication (not a wise move), hypnotherapy, and homeopathy. I realised, eventually, the only person who can help me, is me.

I have to face-my-fears, because if I don't, one day I'll wish I had.

I already do.

My partner doesn't help. He spends a good eighty percent of his time criticising me, pointing out my faults. It's irritating, and we argue, because I'm not a mouse. However, it wears me down. I often imagine what it would be like if he complimented me, threw me a joke once-in-a-while, did something spontanious, a romantic gesture (without motive).

Being reclusive drives you to day-dream. Reading is a form of day-dreaming, as is writing. People read to escape their troubles: boredom, and reality.

I'm sometimes happier in my head, at the risk of sounding unhinged. It's somewhere you can be 'anywhere', regardless of your circumstances. I've dreamt about paddling - swimming in the sea, alot lately. Laying in a grassy field, surrounded by corn, and sunshine, with a picnic basket.

I'm tired of dreaming though, I will paddle in the sea, I might even join a swimming baths. I've been looking into it - there's a women's only session, locally, in the evenings.

I've not been swimming for a long time, since fifteen? I used to love swimming.

I might even go for that picnic, maybe even thread some daisy-chains.

I'd better get ready, I'm leaving the house today if it kills me!

Jess x