“Life is like a pipe,
And I’m a tiny penny rolling up the walls inside…”
Back to Black, Amy Winehouse
There’s this particular hopeless kind of melancholy that’s been seeming to wrap around me more and more, lately. I don’t know where it’s come from and I’m not sure what to do with it. I’m not sure if it’s just… cyclic, if it’s just another part (maybe even the tail end?) of the long ebbing process of grieving. I’m not sure if its hormonal or behavioural, or my medication is messing with me; or if it’s low self-esteem, or if my own mind will always be my worst enemy, or it’s just the unwarranted stress of sole parenting…
Or maybe… feeling like this is just the next step up from not feeling anything at all. Because it feels like that, like finding someone who loves me has melted the ice I was existing in, created me from non–entity to real human flesh and blood again. And at first it felt like an acid trip, an ecstasy pill– the whole world was coloured again, sights and sounds and smells embellished and accentuated. And when I’m in the presence of the Most Amazing Man In The Universe, it always still like that. I only see him every few weeks, and when I do it’s the ultimate escapism– I allow the rest of the world to fade away and I drown myself in the scent of his skin. But then he leaves or I leave, one of us always has to leave, and it’s back to this… distasteful reality.
Once the ecstasy of simply being began to pale, there was anger and it hurt to be angry but it felt good because anger is passion, fury is life.
But now that and has burnt off, too, and he’s so much still here but it’s feels like there’s just… this.
And a burning, crying helplessness that makes the whole world a sad place to be. I know the name for this, I’ve had this before… this is depression and anxiety creeping in, more than grief, and I don’t know if the meds I’m on are helping or making this worse, and it’s a steamroller flat over every day and there’s nothing but anxiety and worry as far as my mind has foresight to think. It makes life irritating. It causes blogging to be difficult because I don’t feel passionately enough to write much about anything, I’m not sure I have the energy to dredge up and recognise emotions at all and all I really want to do is sleep so I don’t have to listen to my own mind anymore and the way it just loops around and around on itself…
there is something wrong with you and you are a bad mum and you are a bad person and your children deserve so much better than this and they used to have it so much better than this and you need to get your sh*t together and what the hell are you doing with your life and how long do you think you can keep pretending to be anything and he is going to leave you soon because you will push him away and you are a burden on your family and the people that still love you and it’s no wonder your husband left and that’s your fault too and no matter you do it is not good enough because there is something wrong with you and you are a bad mum and a bad person and your children deserve so much better than this….
I wrote this post a few days ago and it was only after reading it back and having a moment of ‘What the actual f*ck?’ that I realised just how bad things had gotten… I don’t want to sink, like this, after so long keeping myself afloat. The more I think about it, the more I put it down to lack of maintenance. I feel safe, loved, for the first time in a long time. And while letting my guard down is blissful, it’s had the unfortunate side effect of allowing me to be too easy with myself.
And I can be a very lazy creature, by nature, should I let myself be. I can forget to watch myself, watch my thoughts, get enough sleep, take enough time to just be quiet. It’s seems I’ve been underestimating the actual amount of effort it takes to keep myself stable- when I stop concentrating so hard, I feel like I fall to pieces a bit.
Or not. I don’t know. But the last few days, I’ve stopped floating along, skidding down the muddy slippery slope of my own thoughts. I make lists, plan things. I drink water and do yoga and force myself to stop procrastinating, to get things done.
So far… so good. I’ll let you know, of course, how things tumble out from here.