Fat Bunny

Actually not the pregnancy one, but the pretty much all the rest.

I probably should have made a checklist when I started work on the farm cabin, it would have been fun to put a little tick in each box.

The Impossible Timeline:

This one has moved so many times I don’t even know why I bother pretending anymore. I can’t even bring myself to joke about in by Christmas anymore.

The Unrealistic Budget:

I would argue the original budget was almost realistic for the original plan, it would be the later design changes and unforeseen costs tropes that would see the problems start.

No Project Manager:

Obviously I don’t have one of these because I’m the star of this show.

Return to Work:

Taking a break from the self build to earn enough money to continue the self build? I am currently in the middle of that one:

The Weather:

Hot, cold, wet I have had them all. Most rainfall in a decade and hottest day in a February for a 100 years? Of course.

Planning Issues:

Thankfully fairly minimal, though I did have septic inspection fail because I had disconnected everything, and will cost another 500 dollars when the time comes.

A New Baby:

I guess technically I can tick this one because there was a surprise cat adoption half way through. However cats are definitely better than babies for both your building schedule and your mental health.

The Overconfident DIYer:

And finally the big one, me insisting on trying to do everything myself with as little help as possible. I am sure Kevin would be constantly pointing out that a team of builders could finish this in half the time. Unfortunately Kevin I don’t have the budget for that.

The last few weeks has been a lot, and this time not all of it is in my head. I mean a bit of it is, obviously because I am what I am, but external logs have been tossed on the fire.

When my stepmother was dying I was living in a different state and I wasn’t around to help. Shortly after she died at the age of 49 I moved back hoping to help my father, a job I struggled with as he was an independent man and I was emotionally challenged man child. We muddled through with coffee visits and occasional visits from his grandchildren, both of us painfully aware that my stepmother would have been an amazing grandparent that would have created a very different environment for us all.

Now a person I care for deeply for is nursing her mother through the final stages of dementia, and once again I can feel myself failing at being there for them. I know I am still struggling with some emotional trauma that makes it difficult for me to express feelings like a regular person. The dark humour coping mechanism runs very deep in my family, and that is totally not what is required at the moment.

The psychologist I am trying to get into at the moment hasn’t gotten back to me yet, which isn’t helping with my feelings of rejection. I suspect my referral was a tad confusing as there was a bit of initially he needs the possibility ADHD looked into, but there are some PTSD issues that could use some attention. I of course am incapable of asking what is happening so I will just check my email obsessively and telling myself I filled out something incorrectly.

In addition to that I am also at the end of the farm renovation budget, but not at the end of the renovation, and I have a bit of surgery that will happen at some point in the next few months depending on how cooked the hospital waiting list is at the moment. It really is a perfect storm of stress that is totally wreaking havoc on my health and immune system. I have another appointment soon so my specialist can tell me that my Crohn’s is still not getting any better and that the new medication is not working as well as expected, while I try to explain that until the stress is under control there will be no improvement. Which he will dismiss and try to put me back on steroids again, which in my current mental state would probably be a very bad idea.

With all that going on my anxiety has been through the roof, the stabbing pain in my side is making sleeping a nightmare, and it genuinely feels like someone has been standing on my sternum in a stiletto. Last night even a valium wouldn’t take the edge off, and I woke up feeling like I had just given up smoking cold turkey. It took 4 hours at the farm before I even started to feel better. A bunch of little dopamine hits from waving an angle grinder around and doing some yard work had me feeling almost human again by late afternoon. It’s ironic that the farm that was causing me flashbacks and panic attacks for the first two years has become the place that calms me. Even with so much to do at the farm it still feels better than being in town where the bills and endless household tasks grind me down.

It was nice to have that boot off my chest for a few hours…

It’s been over three years now of constant distraction. A never ending treadmill of jobs, stress, food, pills, shopping, surface level chats, and social media posts.

A functional wreck with a smile holding back a dam full of tears and acceptance.

Not only have I not dealt with grief, guilt, anger… I have let it eat me up inside and make me disconnect from those around me. The only genuine emotion that sneaks out into the real world is frustration, and I keep a close watch on that.

I need to sit with things in a quiet room and let the feelings feel safe to come out without fear of being pushed down with endless empty entertainment and sugary input.

Initially it was a coping tactic to make sure the PTSD didn’t burn itself so deeply into my brain that I couldn’t get it out. Then it became a habit that kept me functional and available for the needs of those that depend on me. Now it a glass jar keeping all the emotions in and out, and it’s tiring.

Time to risk falling down.

I woke up with my shoulders on fire from a few days of working above my head on rafters and ceilings. The desire to take some painkillers and lay on the couch all day was very strong. Luckily it’s only a couple of days after a new year so there is a still a sliver of hope that maybe this will be a productive year with purpose.

The other motivator was the voice in my head telling me not to NOT LET THE OLD MAN IN.

Aging is inevitable, debilitating illness a definite possibility, but shuffling about and giving up is pretty sure way to speed up the decline. I have also discovered that you don’t have to be all sunshine and rainbows about it, you can be annoyed and angry about it the whole time and still keep going. Sometimes I need to choose anger and bloody mindedness when all else fails. I will finish this bloody job and complain the entire time is okay, but only if you finish.

The problem with being your own boss is that you’re in charge of keeping your only employee motivated. I spend a lot of time alternating between bribes, encouragement, and threats of beatings, and since I am also the HR department the complaints have been ignored.

I’m really sick of struggling being my whole personality at the moment. Objectively I get it because it has been a hell of a few years and that stuff would grind anyone into a thick unpleasant paste, but still…

Complicated children, some health issues, and a sprinkling of poor decision seasoning all added to a pandemic and the loss of a parent is going to beat the hobbies out of you, but still…

It’s hard to take time to do something as simple as read a book, or scribble a picture when you are basically trapped in a situation that requires you to either be building, thinking about building, raising the money to keep building. This is one of those times where the only way out is through, and believe me I have run all the simulations. I know if I can just keep juggling and shuffling there is a good chance I will be done by July, and moved shortly afterwards. At which point money should sort itself out and stress should return to normal levels. I’m kind of counting on it, and by kinda I mean completely counting on it.

So tomorrow I will be back in the truck heading to cabin with a bunch of materials purchased on credit that hopefully I can pay for next month by selling some furniture and other tat. Working hard enough to keep myself too exhausted to worry and then coming home to a bowl of cereal and valium.

But maybe this time next year I will be back being the affable wanderer that spends his days drinking coffee and filling sketchbooks with something other than building plans and shopping lists.