It’s been a miserable day today. The weather has been awful; really cold, wet and miserable. I changed my wardrobe over this weekend. I moved all my summer clothes and shoes out and put all my winter clothes and shoes/boots in. Looks like I just did this is time by the look of the BBC weather 5 day forecast for London. Autumn has arrived in style. Mind you, it is the Great North Run this Sunday, and I always mark that and the Last Night of the Proms as the end of summer, so it is about time.
I don’t like the rain and I particularly don’t like the cold. I seem to have a totally screwed up internal thermometer. I’m either always too hot, bright pink and sweating like nothing on earth or really cold, with frozen fingers, toes and nose and can’t put enough layers on to warm up. When I was an under-grad in Newcastle I shared with a girl who was really tight with money and avoided putting the heating on at all costs (even if it was snowing outside) and I used to go to bed in fleecey pyjamas, a hoodie over the top, 2 pairs of socks on and then under a duvet with my dressing gown laid over the top of me. At the moment I’m cold even in my parents’ house, and they have the heating on every morning and evening. My Mum keeps whining on about how it’s too hot in here, but my nose feels like ice and my toes are so cold I can barely move them. I think I have something wrong with my circulation, as well as not being able to regulate my own temperature. I put it down to being a premature baby and living in an incubator for the first god knows how many months of my life where the external temperature was monitored for me and therefore my body didn’t have to think about it.
The change to Autumn has got me thinking though about how my depressions always get worse in the winter. Most of my major breakdowns or crisis moments have been reached in the months between November and April and I am determined that I don’t want this winter to be the same. I have talked to GPs in the past about the possibility of having Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD) but they have all just shrugged it off as a passing possibility. I know everyone feels a lot lower in the winter but I think I suffer worse than most. It’s a miracle I even passed my final year at uni as most of my lectures were at 9am in the first semester and being in the far flung frozen North meant it got lighter a lot later and invariably if I wanted to get to uni on time it would have meant getting up and walking to the campus in the dark, which I never did, so I just didn’t go to lectures.
I do like wearing winter clothes though. I can indulge my passion for skirts and knne-length boots, for fancy coloured tights, scarves and funky coats. I feel a lot more comfortable in winter clothing, maybe because I can hide the scars more easily but also because under layers of clothing to keep you warm, no one knows how fat or thin you are, whereas in linen trousers and a thin tops every roll of flesh is there on show. I went out onto Kensington High Street this afternoon, dodging the showers, and looked at lovely winter shoes. Most of them are way out of my price league, but I would dearly love a nice pair of wearable heels and by that I mean higher than kitten heels but not so high I fall over. I spent all of earlier this year wearing flat shoes thanks to buggering my foot up and having an operation on it, and although it still twinges at times, I think it is time the tendon got educated into the art of heel wearing. I may venture into central London this weekend and see if there’s any nice cheap shoes.
This is my 99th post and therefore my next post will be the milestone 100. I already know what I am planning as a special treat; it is going to be some photos showing an insight into my life (well, all the other cool kids are at it). However, I go back into hospital tomorrow for another 3 day session of chemo, but I am planning on taking my laptop in and have already taken the photos so the post should be up in the next couple of days.
Luckily the piggy eating of yesterday hasn’t meant that my winter clothes are too small on me, which is my ultimate dread every time the season changes. In fact the scales told me this morning that I had only gained 1lb, but I’m not even sure if that was the case as I didn’t have my glasses on and I’m not very good at reading the dial without them on, it all gets a bit blurry. I’ve eaten less today though and because of the chemo for the rest of the week I’ll spend the next 3 days completely nauseated and off food so in the long run they’ll be no harm. I seriously need to stop being so obsessed with my weight, but it seems to be controlling me. Almost like a compulsion every morning, lunch and evening to stand on the scales and weigh myself. Then I have to weigh myself 3 times to ensure the number is accurate and then I can get on with my day. I am going to bring it up in my appointment with Allison next week as I know something has to be done about it. I mean I’m not fat, my BMI is in the ‘healthy’ range, but that’s only by chance. I know if it were up to me and if I wasn’t living at home then I’d weigh a lot less, and that isn’t a good thought.
Anyway, enough of my moans. I’m off to bed in nice warm PJs and bed socks with my laptop to watch Holby City on iPlayer – my week just gets better and better.