An emotional rollercoaster….

Thursday the 16th of August 2018

Right then 8.53am, lets get cracking.

It’s a fucking stupid time to start a blog to be honest because I’ve literally been nowhere and seen no one since I last wrote. I guess that means I should have fuck all to write about, but no, I’m a veritable encyclopedia of useless shit and experience; I always have far too much to say…. I can’t believe you keep showing up.

So, I’ll start with my location, because I’ve fucked with the universe today. I am NOT in bed. I am NOT on the sofa; I’ve mixed it up: I KNOW HOW TO PARTY! Its obvious though innit? If I’m going to start gearing myself up to work again then I need to get out of my fucking bed… so I have. I am sat in my office (which is also Eli’s playroom) with a 3 foot Iggle Piggle and Upsy Daisy stood dancing behind me. I know that makes me sound like I’m off my head but bare with me, all will become clear. So Slutty Skirt and the Blue Reaper are here.  Now given the sheer jibberish that comes from this pair I should feel like I’ve found my people… right? We’ve got an awful lot in common; we make a meal out of having very little actual content, we’re both dead behind the eyes and we both enjoy pina colad’s but… No…. I don’t feel comfy at all. I feel like those cartoon fuckers are judging me, I always do when I’m sat in here. It’s like they’re looking over my shoulder sniffing my earlobes in a really creepy way. In fact the entire lay out of this room lends itself to a Chuckie style doll crawling out of one of those bottom boxes and running at me all bitey and murderous. It freaks me the fuck out. It’s not the relaxing environment I had hoped for when I was planning my working space that’s for fucking sure and having all the v-tech toys chipping in like we’re in a tourettes holiday camp is the icing on the fucking cake.


Ahh you didn’t know I wore glasses. Technically I don’t. I’m supposed to use them for wanky things like reading and writing but I can see fine – in fact I threw a very memorable hissy fit in the opticians because my prescription was so fucking tiny I felt they were ripping us off by making me buy glasses. Christiaan took me to one side, told me to get a fucking grip and choose some glasses. So I did. I wear them grudgingly when I work, and seeing as I’m pretending to work I may as well get totally in the zone innit. Feeling is believing.

So, I’m dressed, I have my glasses on and I’m at my desk. I’m materialistically ready to start work hooray. It’s odd though, the first thing that struck me was how fucking bright it was. I knew my sensitivity to light was getting trickier to manage by the amount of time I spend in sun glasses or with the curtains drawn,  but being sat right next to a window, even with curtains shut, I’m struggling. I genuinely feels like my eyeballs are on fire whenever the sun breaks through the clouds.  I guess I need a black out blind. Or winter (pipe down Jon Snow). Whichever comes first. Useful lesson learned though because when I come to sit here for real in a few weeks time I need it to be as comfortable as possible if I have any fucking hope of being able to ride it out so it’ll need sorting. For now, I may need to give it up and move somewhere a bit darker but I’ll see how I go. If I look down at the keyboard rather than up it seems to be a bit easier, I guess it’s because the sun does not live in my keyboard… it also means I’m typing shite. Fuck it. I’m moving back to the lounge. Stay there, I’ll be back in a minute.

*interlude music*


Fucks sake, right I’m sat back on the couch…. I’ve literally fallen at the first hurdle but you know what, this is probably what it’s going to be like going back to work anyway. I am absolutely going to have to accept that I can’t approach it in the same way everyone else does and that I’m not going to get it right first time round. I need to stop being such a bell end with myself and start doing the things that make life a bit easier from the start. Cos that’s TOTALLY ingrained in my personality… right? No, no it’s not. Actually, if there’s a challenging way to do something I’ll find it, and then I’ll either get incredibly fucked off with myself when I fail or ridiculously jubilant when I succeed when in reality, it doesn’t fucking matter. I am an utter nightmare. Still, on the upside, I’m away from the creepy bastard crew in the other room and my liver will not be eaten whilst writing this blog. Silver lining n all that.

So… yesterday… well something pretty big happened after I’d finished writing for the day. This arrived.


Now normally I’d have posted an update on Facebook but for reasons that will become apparent I didn’t. So, firstly:  hooooooray, better more convenient parking and a lot of “making my life easier”. I’m genuinely really really grateful it was approved and even more so now that I actually have it in my grubby wee paws but… I guess it was also a really sad reminder of where I’ve ended up and as a result I ended up feeling really low for the remainder of yesterday. I have no idea why, it makes no sense really because I fought to GET this, it’s not like they’ve picked me out of a line up and said “you look disabled, lets give you some special treatment”. I asked for it. So why the fuck do I feel so insulted now that it’s arrived? Well I’m asking you but I don’t expect you to answer (unless you’re the sort that shouts at the telly) because I actually I know why. To me, (and I know this is mental but it’s how my brain works) it suggests I’m not as capable as you are, it tells me that I’m LESS than you. That’s the whole fucking point though aint it? To tell people you need a wee bit more help to achieve things. Otherwise whats the fucking point? Well, Miss Complicated Emotions here, she sees it as a chink in the armour – it’s a huge confidence knocker and its hurting my pride. It tells everyone, alongside that fucking bastarding walking stick that I’m not fit and well and that’s something that I try and hide from the majority for the most part. Yes, even though I write a fucking blog that’s read by the masses and go on about it all the time…. I’m complicated. K? Anyway, I felt shit and defeated and like this fucking thing had turned me into something I never wanted to be; less than healthy.

So aye, yesterday afternoon was a bit wanky. I wasn’t in a great place physically or cognitively but normally in those situations I remain fairly chipper about the whole state of affairs; you’ve got to aint you? It wouldn’t be fair on Christiaan or the wee man if I went all woe is me and started getting angry at the world every time I took a step backwards… but… even Iron Man cries (I think?) and I allowed myself a wee self indulgent blub when Christiaan went out to collect Eli yesterday afternoon. He doesn’t know that by the way, so he’ll be reading this, turning to me and giving me the eyes and the “why didn’t you tell me you were upset?”‘s Well suck it up handsome, you married a stubborn fucker and I didn’t want you to see how much it got to me. I’m OK now. I cried, I turned to “my girls” on the Mums page and one particular angel, Rachael knew exactly where I was coming from. She made me this.


Judith (Rachael’s mum), I know you read this… Your daughter is epic. She’s picked me out of a few emotional holes over the years but this one was her finest hour in my eyes. She knew my pride was hurting and she made me a blue badge of awesome; she made me feel less of a victim. She got me back on my feet when I was momentarily down trodden and thanks to her I’m back in fighting mode today. I’ll use that fucking badge to have FUN, you see if I don’t. I’m gonna be parking IN Costa coffee, I’ll drive my fucking car through the doors. I AM A DISABLIST and no one is gonna stop me.

In all seriousness though, I do need to start thinking about how I’m going to use this to our advantage because both Christiaan and I came unstuck last night talking about what we could do this weekend. After I had my private meltdown I went into “Fuck this” mode and said I wanted out this weekend come rain or shine; I am so tired of being in this fucking house…. but we’re struggling on what we CAN do with my limited energy and mobility. I’d love to take the wee boy to a zoo, or safari park or something but I know I’d not make it round one and I guess it comes back to whether I can swallow my pride and get my arse in some sort of wheelchair or mobility scooter or whether I continue depriving myself and my family of days out. I know which I SHOULD choose but I’m not sure my heads in the zone to be forgiving or accepting of a mobility aid. So, the battle rages on and I know you’ll all be shouting “get in the fucking scooter you arrogant twat” from the sidelines. I would if I were you too but… I’m not sure I’m ready yet and I can guarantee you that it wouldn’t be an easy decision for you either. Maybe next week….

This week though I need to centre on getting myself feeling a bit better. Now, how the fuck I do that, I have no idea but this pay back from last week is hanging around way longer than I would like and I need it to fuck off. I’ve got an easy few days ahead, obviously-  because I live the life of a sloth, and by easy I mean I have NOTHING planned. Nothing. There is nothing more depressing than having empty days stretching out ahead of you; I need to do SOMETHING. I have no fucking idea what right enough, I knackered myself getting dressed this morning and I doubt I’ll manage a shower, but there has to be something that I can do that makes me feel fulfilled but doesn’t push me too far. Maybe I should do some batch cooking or baking but it’s not the same when it’s the low fat, no fun kind.  I’ve been yearning for some proper home baking for about a week now. Not someone that someone else has made, but something that I’ve made – something like cake and custard. Or stew and dumplings or a nice big fucking pie, but….. I’m also trying to lose weight as you know and none of these things lend themselves well to shifting lard.

“Treat yourself woman”…. I can hear you. I have. I had a “fuck it” day on Monday and Tuesday where I threw caution to the wind and ate white bread, and crisps and biscuits and even a chippy on Tuesday night and you know what? I didn’t enjoy it. In fact it seemed like a stupid thing to do afterwards and I instantly regretted it. There are times where coming off plan is something to look forward to and savour and there are times when it’s self sabotage and Monday and Tuesday was entirely driven by self sabotage – I was feeling sorry for myself and looking for food to fill the gap. It rarely does.

Normally I come off on a Monday because it’s weigh in day and I need that freedom to steel myself for the week ahead. It means I lose a little more slowly than your average bear but it also means I don’t have any cravings sat there waiting to be itched. If I’ve been craving pizza for a week then I’ll have it on a Monday, if I need cake, that’s when I’ll have it… but this week… well I’ve already said haven’t I? Everything has just been that little bit harder and that little bit more emotional so I genuinely thought “fuck it, why SHOULDN’T I have exactly what I want to eat, I’ve enough to contend with?” and you know what? That would have been fine if I’d used that time to scratch my home baking itch… but I didn’t, because I was too knackered, instead I went for shite food that did nothing bar bloat me and make me feel a bit sick. It was a daft but necessary thing to do I guess because yesterday, even though I was lower than a turtles ball sack, I was determined I was sticking to plan and this morning I’ve still got the same appetite to get back on it. I really want to shift this last bit of weight and I’d be an absolute fucking idiot to let myself go for the sake of a pity party.

It’s hard though because its taken ages. I’ve been “on plan” for 14 months now. That’s over a year of watching my carbs, restricting my treats, cooking everything from scratch and chucking so much fruit and veg in my body that it farts before it breathes most days. For the most part I’ve not grudged it; I don’t eat anything I don’t enjoy because I don’t eat a lot. I like cooking from scratch, even when my energy is limited but fuck me, could I destroy some of my chocolate cake. Or ginger cake. Or scones. Or a big fat partially soggy puff pastry pie. I just can’t get my energy aligned with my cravings though and therein lies a lesson that I want to share with you, because we’ve all been where I am at one point or another; our body is telling us we NEED something and it’s really fucking hard to ignore it. In my case, I need cosy comforting food – stodge – and I need it because I’m on a low ebb and desperately want to feel good. My body is tired and sore, my mind is tired and sore and I’m scrabbling around looking for any quick fix to make me feel “up”; in my brain I’m thinking cake is the answer. Now don’t get me wrong, there are very few occasions when cake wouldn’t make you feel better but actually; when you have a problem producing and using energy efficiently giving into cake is a bad idea. By giving in to my sugar craving I am absolutely creating a “boom or bust” situation and my pal TheNewtritionNurse would kick my arse for being so stupid. See by flooding my body full of fake high’s I’m fooling it into thinking I have all this new found energy, and well, you know what happens next… I feel like I can conquer the world and do something utterly daring like climb the stairs two at a time. Then I crash…normally quite badly, because really, I don’t have the energy my body things it does; it’s an illusion created by a sugar rush and believe me when I tell you that the crash is the hardest thing to recover from.  Its not worth it.

That’s not to say I will never eat cake again by the way – that would be utterly fucking mental. I will, but I’ll eat cake when I want cake, not when I need energy and I need to separate those two things in my noggin.

So for today, I’m back on “plan”. I’m sticking to high protein alongside some veg and I’m letting my body eek away from the sugar that’s contained in complex carbs like pasta in the hope that I stop yearning for that “fix” of cosy. Slimming Worlders – you’ll know this as an Extra Easy SP day, the theory behind it is pretty much the same. Fill up on protein and “feed” your body as much natural shit as you can. If I can do it again tomorrow, great, if I can’t, then no bother; it’s not sustainable for me for longer than a few days at a time anyway.  I know the last few days aren’t wasted – they’ll have been enough to reset some of the nonsense going on and I’ll settle down to a bowl of tagliatelle feeling not one fucking ounce of guilt…. because it’s still “on plan”.

I’m sorry I’ve been a bit all over the place today, as you can tell it’s been a rough ride these last 24 hours but I feel a bit more like myself now so hopefully tomorrow we’ll be back in the game.

Happy fucking Thursday fuckers.




  • Highlights
    • I’m back in the weight loss zone… I need to be less fat and therefore I must eat better and stop craving lard
    • Day 2 of fake work hasn’t been without its challenges but its done now
    • Eli went off to nursery today in a cracking wee mood. He woke up dancing this morning. Literally. Check out Facebook or Insta if you want to see a wee video of bollockchops dancing his arse off.
    • I feel like I’ve stepped over a black hole a bit… yesterday could have broken me, and it did a little, but not completely
    • I was reminded that friendship comes in all different flavours – Rachael, thank you my darlin for understanding so completely. I’m lucky to have “the girls”.
  •  Low lights
    • I broke a bit yesterday…. this is not like me.
    • I guess I’m feeling a wee bit unsure of a lot of things just now; I have no idea if I can work and what impact it will have on my family when I do. Going back isn’t up for debate; it needs to happen but I’m not looking forward to the fall out.
    • Still no sign of this CBD working… I may need to up the dose next week when D day rolls round.
  • What’s on the menu Mellars?
    • Breakfast –  A garlic mushroom omlette
    • Lunch – Lentil carrot & bacon soup again
    • Dinner  –  Pulled pork with salad and butternut squash chips I think… tasty.
      • I post pics regularly on my Instagram account if you want pics of some of this grub by the way – you’ll find a link to follow me here: CLICK HERE my pics all look like road kill but if I post a pic it’s because its tasty. OR wank and you should avoid making the mistake. Whatever. There may also be pictures of cats and kids. Not included in the meal… I’m not an animal.

Are you new round here?

If you’ve just stumbled across TryingToDoItAll and have no bastarding idea what’s going on you should probably go back and read a few blogs from the beginning. Don’t panic, I won’t ask you to read them all, but these few posts will help explain. Oh stop sighing, it’ll only take you a few minutes. Fucks sake.

  1. Well you’re here, so you may as well get comfy
  2. Can’t stop M.E. now…. ahmm having such a good time, ahmm tickling your balllssss!
  3. When are the grown ups coming?
  4. Major surgery…again?
  5. You’ve got to be kidding M.E.?

#mecfs #meawarenessuk #mewarrior #silentillness #swearymum #meblogging #mummyblogger #losingweightwithme #losingweightwithcfs


ME Blogger extraordinaire… a bit of a shit one, granted.

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