Not Waving

I tried so hard last week – and for a while it worked, I think. I put on a good show all round. I saw people and did things that made me smile. I felt human, I felt as if I had a life of my own outside this cage.

This week I feel as if that was all the energy I had, putting on the good face just for those few days.  The anniversary of my little one’s first attempted suicide is approaching this weekend and I have such a sense of impending horror I am being stifled by it. 

I am overwhelmed by my life, the heaviness of it, the sucking heavy mud pulling pulling pulling me down.  I can’t remember what you’re supposed to do. Struggling, fighting, that sinks you down, doesn’t it? Staying still and keeping calm, that doesn’t stop the inexorable dragging under either.  There doesn’t seem to be anything to hold on to, nothing solid to anchor me.

I am cold. I am sinking.

Instructions for Living

Bollocks to all these self-help books. Adults have no bloody idea how to live their lives - just look at us, for heaven's sake. What a mess.

I am going to take all my advice from 6 year olds in future. Here is the instruction list two friends made.

How To Fall In Love

1. First you stare at the person.
2. You get close to each other.
3. You ask for a date.
4. You go to bed and do sex.
5. When you kiss you suck and lick.
6. Get nacked in bed and do more sex.
7. -
8. Go dance and put your noses together.
9. -
10. Then kiss forever.
11. Take a shower together and kiss.
12. Give each other rings.
13. Go to the pool together.

Yep. I think that has everything covered.  Steps 14-24 are blank - as they should be. It's all downhill after you get back from the pool.

Moon of Alabama

When is the right time to say goodbye? And when is it better to stay and face the music (even if dancing can't be contemplated)? Only hindsight makes sense of the actions we take  -  we overlay a skin of meaning onto the bones of the facts, pull it into shape and fashion it into a body of evidence. Posthumous, but nonetheless convincing. 

I'm still deciding. So come on and let me know: should I stay or should I go? 

Music always has the answer. Is it to be Stay (just a little bit longer)? Go, walk out the door (and survive)? Or Burning down the house? Je ne regrette rien.

Lure

This is it - the path. This is how it looks in winter. This year I will walk it. 

I know I have said this before. I've said so on this very blog, in fact.  And if I am going to be kind to myself, I had better start by keeping my own commitments to myself, particularly when they are basic, free-of-charge, uncomplicated activities that will be enjoyable and healthy like this. What I really mean by all that waffle is, why couldn't I have given myself a couple of hours off, some time over the last nearly 4 years (4 years!!) to go for this walk? I don't think I am kind to myself at all. 

This week I have Tried Harder. I spent time with friends (hardly a trial, of course, but I had to allow myself to "deserve" that time).  I tried hard with my husband (and believe me this is very trying indeed). I went on a Mummy-Daughter date, supper and a night in a hotel in London. And this afternoon while I wait for her to finish dancing, I have been for a wonderful facial in a Thai spa I found on the internet, and am now writing. 

It will be very hard to get used to having time for myself that does not involve running around doing things for other people. 

But I Asked For Help, and help was forthcoming. Of course it was, my friends are wonderful (well, most of them, with notable exceptions but let's not go there for now). The writing is creaking into gear, I am on my fourth poem of the year, and it's only Week 2 of my 52 Challenge.  One of my poems was about the path. 

I am going to get off the clickety-clack of this railway existence and walk up that hillside. Yes I am. 

Fresh

I have to find a way to live my life as it is. The meaningful changes I would like to make cannot be made at this point - I am a mother before anything, and I need to do what is best for my children.

Thus I have made some New Year Resolutions and I have been trying to stick to them. 

Be kind to myself: life and other people are throwing rocks at me, I don't need to help them out by beating myself up.  I am going to try and talk myself up instead. I have a continual inner voice constantly talking me down, so this will be a real challenge.

Write: I have signed up to an initiative to write a poem a week (I'm ahead of the game as I've already written two).  I will organise my material and submit more of it for publication, see if I can raise my game a bit. This will give me something purposeful to do now that I have to spend so much time at home. I am also going to write other things. This blog for a start (expect to see all sorts of writing on here going forward, sorry it's been such a wrist-slitter lately).  Crack on with the novel. Maybe also a work-blog - I have set this up on the company website, all I need to do now is blurt some opinions on topical issues. I'll need to give a shit first, I guess.

Get fitter: notice this is a relative objective.  I need fresh air and walks and to keep myself moving. It's always hard for me, as I fight my body's natural urge to chub, and I would rather sit on the sofa with a glass of red and a good book than go for a run, any day.  However I am going to try. Harder than I have so far this year, otherwise this aim will be over before it's even begun. 

Yesterday for instance, I started well. Had Fruit & Fibre and a coffee for breakfast. Planned to go for a run later in the day.  Then had a very distressing therapy appointment with Ultra High Risk Daughter. The day was derailed after that. For lunch I had a samosa, a bag of Cheddars and a Star Bar. Then I had a bag of crisps later on.  For supper I made a leek and mushroom risotto (quite healthy) but ate some pate with crackers while I was making it.  Then I had four Thorntons Continentals in bed. Today I will do better (see? I am still able to be optimistic, that must be a good thing). 

I realised I needed to do something very important that I have rarely if ever done before. I understood that I can't struggle on being this lonely, feeling so alone. So I took a lifesaving step: Ask for help. Wow! Yes, I know! So proud of myself. I contacted the people who are important to me, reached out to them. This might sound easy but believe me, it's a huge step. I don't feel like talking to anyone, any time, as I don't feel I have anything to offer them. I'm the life and soul, right? I'm the party organiser, the drinker, the fixer, the sorter, the fun-times girl.  No one wants to see me white-faced, silent with panic, beaten by my spectacular failure to build a happy family. Do they? 

Actually maybe they do. I think I might have been underestimating my friends. Times like this sort the wheat from the chaff, for sure. And the people who are left are the golden ones, and just sitting with their glow will help me feel better.  I hope. 

Circus

And so, my darlings, the show must go on. 

Every day I get up, I get ready, I go about my business. Smile and jolly everyone along. Put my game-face on and pretend everything is ok.

For what else is there to be done? I go to the concerts at school, and nod a smile at the other parents. I go to meetings and say yes, I'm all ready for Christmas, looking forward to it, lovely, having a quiet one this year. No kidding.

This year isn't like other years. I always ordered all my Christmas food a few weeks in advance, got all the presents ready way ahead of time. Feels like bad luck, tempting fate now. I'm waiting until Christmas Eve.

Can you save someone that might not want to be saved? 

All I can do is try, and hope that in time she will feel better. Perhaps she will grow out of it. Perhaps she will discover something to make her feel like she wants to spring out of bed every morning - calculus, or masturbation, or Greenpeace. 

Or perhaps this is the start of her troubles, the part where we dance along the knife-edge before we tumble into the dark abyss, or move evermore in the grey fog of uncertainty.  Perhaps the rest of my days will be like this now - one breath away from a panic attack, one lip-tremble away from a howl. 

But I'm putting on a damn good show.  Perhaps if we all behave as if things are getting better, that's as likely to work as anything else? Life is one long confidence-trick, after all. 

A Room of One's Own

There is no place as lonely as a marriage.

I sleep in the spare room of my own house: a spare person. The sadness of this month aches like a pain, tugs at me like stitches pulling in a wound. Some of this hurt might feel better with some kind words or a hug, but there is no such thing to be had. 

I move through my life like a sleepwalker, although at night I do not sleep. I am troubled with nightmares, with panic. I creep around in the dark to check my girls are safe, and check again, and check again. 

In the daytime I check, and check, and check my phone. My little one is in the Highest Risk Category. It feels like the part in Lawrence of Arabia where he thinks he can make a difference, but it only postpones an inevitable fate. It is written. 

What is written for her? Can I change the story? Can she change it? Does it have a happy ending? Or a tragic one? 

I feel desperate in every way. I have no idea how to live with this fear.