Yesterday I felt like, or maybe even was 4 people. I disliked all 4 of them. I am stuck in this place where I cannot find the space to go backwards or forwards and I’m twirling, ballerina like, in a stream of consciousness.
The kids left yesterday, leaving me with a sadness and proud they are growing up, but a profound sense of loss that they are no longer my babies, my anchor to this world. For so long they have been my weight, my reason, my light, and I know I will forever love them, but truth is they need me in a different way.
My mind was a disco ball splaying thoughts like a machine gun on the walls. I was over-drive- just stay busy, laundry, cleaning, dishes, folding, fixing. Every tiny thing bothers me, a spot on the carpet, a stray hair, a dirty dish. Somehow I am suddenly OCD, which I am not, but strung so tight with every single turn I am a crow seeing shiny everywhere. SHINY! SHINY! SHINY!
And when I stop, it’s a grinding, shrieking, body slamming into a wall stop, complete deflation where I do nothing but crawl into bed and mindlessly watch tv shows to drown out the litany of abuse, loss and pity that won’t stop. My body and my conscious mind wants me to get up, do something, move, be productive but I can’t win, my limbs won’t move and my brain has me in deadlock.
Guilt, oh how we love guilt, we feed on it likes it crack, devouring each tiny bit with relish, poring over it, exalting. I am going no where, my business is rotting, my money is decreasing, my responsible side aches with guilt that though I may want to, I cannot cannot focus enough to be me, be the me that can lock on to something and bang it out. I feel useless, baseless and guilty.
No wonder people think I am fine, even I feel like I should be fine, I look in the mirror and the same face looks but the same will doesn’t. I can’t see that, how can anyone else. I’m wrapped in invisible bandages, broken , burned and bruised but they are as invisible as Wonder Woman’s plane.
I am a yo yo, up down, up down, tangled, up down, round and round.
My existence, I don’t want to live to just live, see doctors and professionals to keep myself alive, for what? What is my soul, where is my passion, who am I, what do I want of myself. All these questions but no answers. Psychotherapy helps, medications help, but inside, that fire is out, the peace isn’t in there, the joy of being me, what is that? I want to be me, find the love for me.
I feel frivolous dying my hair, dumb taking my vitamins, fluffing with my exterior, plucking eyebrows, an oxymoron. I don’t give a shit but I do? I want to give a shit inside.
Inside away from the thoughts of dying, the dreams of abandonment and rejection that wake me every morning, the replay of all the wrongs that try and entangle me, the pleasure of pain. I keep working and working to keep them out but they slide in like serpents, coiling, slowly till they are in and I am wrapped. Not till the squeezing begins do I notice, here I am again, and we start our fight to separate.
Little things are helpful, trying hard to be mindful and push them out and focus: yoga, finding that inner strength to push, meditation was hard the first 5 days but today I could feel that though not perfectly I did find a minute where my body glowed and my heart chakras thumped into life. Brief but sweet.
How many me’s can I have tossed in this storm, if I cannot keep them together who on the outside can see. The effort to restrain myself from saying all this is a waste of energy, I stop myself at every turn, watching and carefully phrasing what comes out of my mouth. I don’t want to be that person that constantly talks of their children, though my child is the devil and surely more interesting. It’s exhausting, pretending, trying, smiling, yo-yo’ing, you can paint the outside pretty but the wood could still be rotting inside.