''Holiday'' and Party and not being able to cope

It feels like I've been offline for an eternity, and between being ill and just being scatterbrained, I can't get my shit together. Even just to blog. How bad is that? I have all the hours in the day, and still, it's 23.28pm and I'm just trying to blog - 2 days after coming back from my time away. I swear, when I'm fixed and actually able to work, I won't know how to time manage. And damn, I used to be quite good at it. I may have looked like a blue-arsed fly, but inside, I was kinda organised!

Anyways - enough of the babbling. Well, enough of the nonsensical babbling. I've been away on ''holiday'' then at a weekend party (which was amazing, as usual!). The holiday was with my Nana, and we went to a hotel in Forfar. I feel bad that we didn't get much done throughout the week, but I now realise that trying to holiday with a grandmother while absolutely buggered on drugs just isn't a good time to holiday. I knew this before I went, the reason I went is because she's 87 - and really, at that age, you can't keep putting things off. And I would never want to be in the position where I put things off for so long that she died waiting. Unfortunately it meant it wasn't the best holiday, and I didn't really enjoy it - which I felt guilty about.

In all honesty, the holiday was hell on Earth. Not because I was with my Nana, while she is er, unique, I do enjoy time with her, although she can get irritating. But I was sick, I was tired, I was stressed, and I was losing the plot - quite seriously. I've never had a real mental breakdown, but I think I came close last week. I was randomly bursting into tears, I told my Nana it was my gall bladder, but it wasn't. Yes, I was sore, but I was tired and I was exhausted, and I couldn't cope. I would be sitting having tea with her, and I'd be fighting back having a mental collapse. I've never felt like that in my life, and I felt so guilty - that me being like that was ruining her holiday. It happened daily, I just couldn't cope. We went shopping in Dundee, in the shopping mall, I had to hang up on my Mum on the phone because I was about to become a wreck, I was fighting back tears talking to my Nana, trying not to show her because I didn't want her to worry, while trying to do things like count Webkinz in my head or sing nursery rhymes mentally or biting my lip or my tongue to try and take my mind off things. And this was a *holiday*. On the way back from that shopping trip, I got lost, and I had to really fight back having a panic attack, because I was lost, and I couldn't see the road signs. I shouldn't have been on the road at all, but explaining that to my Nana was impossible. Later that same night, I was lying in bed, silently sobbing, with a towel and a lil kinz, and stroking this damn teddy and texting Paul complaining it wasn't big enough to cuddle. The next day I bought myself two soft toy kittens, because world be damned, I might be 26 and buying teddies, but I was buying sanity.

So yeah, that was my holiday. I still feel riddled with guilt over the fact I couldn't make it a real holiday for her, but I can't stop being ill. And clearly, I just can't cope - drugs, illness etc - I'd like to think I could cope, but I can't. And that in itself was one of the hardest things to swallow, I'm not keen on being weak, and that was hugely weak. Needless to say, while I missed her after we came back, I was glad it was over. I was rundown, stressed and just wanted to sleep for days - but I couldn't, as it was the castle weekend, and I really wanted to go.

So Paul and I went, and as usual, it was good fun. I hated the fact I was so tired that I couldn't get involved in as much as I'd like. Although I went to bed earlyish on the Friday night, we didn't actually sleep till much, much later. Thus, we didn't get up until mid-afternoon Saturday. Saturday night however, I couldn't keep going, and before midnight I was in my bed. I had a sore foot, a sore gall bladder and I was back to the tearful state, I was better off in bed, reading my book and just relaxing. So I did. Paul stayed out till half 2, by which point I'd long since fell asleep on top of my book with the light on. I slept till around 2pm Sunday, proving that I needed the sleep.

On the matters of sleep - I slept till 2pm on Monday, and today despite being up at 9am for the Doctor - and being in bed early the night before, I was asleep again by 10am, and woke up at 3pm, and I'm still so tired. And stupidly, the Doctor today asked me if I was coping and I said yes. I don't know who I am trying to kid. I look like shit. Anyways, on that note, and feeling sorry for myself and wishing I was able to be different to how I am, I'm going to put myself to bed.