A night time depression.
For the past week or so, I've been getting the worst bouts of depression when I'm trying to go to sleep.
This is quite unusual, as while I can definitely be a moody cow, I don't really suffer from depression. I'm actually chipper the majority of the time, which really annoys Paul, especially when I'm happy as a clam in the mornings and he wants to die.
The depression starts the moment I turn the light off, and within seconds I'm laid there thinking about the world ending, the cats dying and then - the big fear - losing Paul. Sometimes I stress about him finding a girl who isn't mentally retarded and physically bollocksed and buggering off and leaving me. Nasty as those thoughts are, they're better than the second type of Paul-related-depression; the idea of him dying.
My entire life I seem to have worried about people I love dying. I vividly remember being about six and clinging on to my Mum and crying, begging her not to die. This was way before she got sick. I have these fits of burning desire to tell people how much I love them. I think it comes from actually having a lot of people I care about die; three grandparents, one best friend and of course my mother.
I used to console myself quite easily when I thought of Paul dying; I'll just top myself. Easy. But then I thought more about it, and how I'd still have to spend some time alive while Paul was dead. Then I started wondering what would happen to the cats, and now I know I couldn't kill myself if I lost Paul because I'd need to stay alive for my babies. So I lay in bed, my mind going nuts and my stomach churning.
It always ends the same way. I wake Paul up and blurt out endless blurb about how much I love him, how much I need him etc. I then tend to cry and apologise for things I've said or done to him, events which are sometimes five years old. Paul has become skilled at dealing with this, though I can't imagine me contemplating his death is a bunch of fun for him. He lets me cling on to him and cry and tell him I love him, before I exhaust myself into sleep. By the next morning I'm absolutely fine and also, very embarrassed. But recently it's been happening every night, and I'd quite like it to stop now. Please?
Usually I then ask Paul to tell me a story. He once told me an hour long story about a donkey who wanted to be an architect. It was very funny and pulled me out of my slump, so today he told me a story about a ladybird who became the Pope's official carpenter. It's little things like this that make me love him so much.
Anyway. Last night we watched the Super Tuesday coverage and... uh... nothing happened much. The Democratic race is still wide open, though leaning toward Hilary, and though it looks like McCain will get the Republican nomination, it's by no means certain. My overall feeling after six hours of coverage was disappointment.
I've also told the police what happened with the car denting crazies. It's in their hands now, so we shall see.
Oh, and some woman from Lloyds was tremendously condescending to me when I phoned to ask where the hell my new debit card is (ordered two weeks ago). So I've made an official complaint which makes, count em, complaints to BT, KFC, the GMC about my doctor and Lloyds in the last week. Don't mess with Toni, she really is enough of a busy body to complain all the time. I'm that sad.
