DOG SITTING, GETTING GRUMPY. ENJOYING THE FRESH AIR

MOMENTS ALONE, MOMENTS WITH FAMILY

Gracie and Georgie are lovely dogs, but lonely dogs and frightened dogs. They live very near us and are about to be looked after by Wendy for two weeks. The first day we went round to theirs and opened the door they charged out, sniffing and barking while crowded around us; in my imagination like how wild wolves might act; though, of course, they were nowhere near like that. Now, when we meet them, we bring treats and sit on the decking with Gracie until Georgie gets the courage to come and see us and get more treats. We also go into their house to help them get used to the idea of us in their property. They no longer tremble so much when they see us and their tails now wag fairly confidently in our company, though sometimes Georgie hides under the table with her whole body shaking. I am less concerned that I might wake up to hear that Wendy has been eaten when she is round with them in the next two weeks. Georgie is a Dalmatian and Gracie is a Weimaraner Golden retriever cross and both are lovely. I can imagine a day when we walk into their presence confidently and they are immediately happy to see us.

I had three coffees today, the last of which seemed to be much stronger than I thought it should be. It meant I was jangly when I turned up for the planning meeting for the Mental health and Arts festival at Jeans bothy; jangly in a way that meant I talked a lot and a bit loudly and interrupted just a bit too much. Katrina started the meeting by saying she was very excited by the festival and that we had lots and lots planned but it was a time for us to all enjoy and that if any of us volunteers were stressed or even worse, sleeping badly because we were worried about it, to let her know because we could adapt and get help in and just change things rather than get in a mess. I wish every place where I worked or volunteered had a similar attitude. It is the embodiment of our pleas for kindness. The whole meeting was made of kindness. Delia gave me a woven basket on which to place hot pots which she had made herself. That gesture was so beautiful. I left pretty delighted. This is how the Bothy tries to work and live and it is wonderful.

A still day and cool air but not so cool I need to wear a jumper. The sea, just shimmering with wrinkles of the tiniest slightest breath of wind. The hills in the distance. Will I ever climb a hill like that again? Will my body be fit enough and kind enough to me that I can dream realistically of standing on a summit to gaze into the distance at the other hills and the lochs and streams?

On my walk, I drifted connected to my footsteps, lost in my thoughts but looking out at the cormorant sitting sunning itself with its wings outstretched. I walked, I was amiable in my mind and glanced at the late season wasps buzzing in the fruits of the ivy. A soft walk where I was kind to myself; a calm walk where I felt the air on my cheeks, a walk where I fell into the bliss of knowing I can wander beside the sea, the trees, the beaches and rocks, I can still smell the roses that seem to have a second flowering and I can watch the late gorse flowers and talk to Dash the dog when I am not close to other people, pre occupied with their own wonderings.

Down at the Havoc, I don’t know why it is called that or how many people know it as that. The day is a haze of light raindrops and I am delighted though confused about the merits of zipping up my coat and getting too hot or leaving it be and getting too wet. I skirt a fallen tree and then puddles that cover the path. I can see gulls and oyster catchers gathered on a sandbar. I can hear a curlew calling and away, midstream, a small freighter pushes towards the open sea.

I took the car to the car wash earlier as it is utterly filthy. It fell off its conveyor belt at the very end of its rinsing and drying. It took me a while to realise but when the huge paddles of cloth stopped their swaying and the car repeatedly lurched forward and then fell backward, I realised and drove through the last couple of feet, glad there were no cars behind me. Wendy was in town with her mum. I was squelching. I was very happy.

This morning was the end of Wendy’s first night with the dogs. I have to admit I was grumpy, as was Louie, while James remained upstairs; ill. Wendy was sad at our attitude. I had a lovely Saturday but didn’t stop for a moment, or if I did it was to wait to give someone a lift somewhere and although everything had gone right throughout the day, I was in bed two hours later than normal and woke after nightmares about going back to work, well before dawn. I lay in bed, read and thought too much. Wendy had had a good night with the dogs, with them delighted to see her in the morning but equally determined that she should give them their five am walk which she couldn’t do and now at 10.30 we were trying to work out the rest of the day in a way that didn’t seem right. Alongside us Louie said she didn’t know to each request about what she might like for breakfast and what she might like to do in the day. It was a bright sunny day which made it even worse somehow.

A little later, decision made; we were getting ready to take the dogs to the dog field. A little tense as Georgie was terrified getting her harness put on and we did not quite know how to do it; her whole body trembled as I tried to fasten it; also a little tense because they were doubtful about getting in the car. And then? They ran in the field and looked delighted to be there. They ran to Wendy and they ran to me and all was good in the world again. I felt abashed at my earlier grumpiness. The dogs are big and do seem to hate other people and dogs but underneath it they are sweet and very gentle; just frightened of the world.

I loved wandering at Balloch Country Park with Dash, though my leg was back being painful and Louie was still morose. It must be hard being a teenager; she has tried to enjoy herself throughout the day but each time she slumps back to sadness. I think it is probably hormones and also the worry of the homework she has to do but which she doesn’t know how to do and cannot settle to get help with. I can sometimes see why people look on school as an oppressive place.

I have been asking people I know to put in writing how they see me as a person. It is to help me with another memoir I am writing and was inspired by my realisation that how I see myself is at odds with how everyone else sees me. I have had so many kind responses. In a strange way it is as I thought; people do see me in a much kinder light than I do. A much, much, kinder light. I sort of expected it but not quite such lovely reflections as these. Now I don’t know what to do. In an obtuse self- destructive way, I am now angry at these replies in a: you are so kind and I know you must be right sort of way but at the same time I know you are all completely mistaken way. I am not like that. I am utterly disgusting and I don’t know why people cannot see this and yet am delighted at their version of me.

I am glad I have been seeing my psychologist. I am sure she has taught me techniques about how to deal with a brain that rejects the evidence of what it is being presented. I am hoping this can help me reach further into understanding that maybe my mind does work strangely and in some ways seems dedicated to attacking me. Maybe this schizophrenia thing is right or those parts of the past created that vision I still cling to despite the evidence.

As is often the case - all this happened a few weeks ago!

If you would like to read more about my life with schizophrenia and with Wendy do pop over to Amazon for START and Blackbird Singing by Geilston Press