I feel like I’m barely holding on at the moment. Clinging on with my fingernails to whatever I can.
I am exhausted. Mentally. Physically. Spiritually. Nothing left to give. And yet ironically, not sleeping. Isn’t that always the way? I swear if I could get some sleep, I’d have a slightly firmer grip on reality.
I’ve barely had time to grieve for grandma. It wasn’t a traumatic or unexpected death – I knew she was going downhill, she was in her 99th year, and she died a beautiful, peaceful death. It was certainly not a tragedy. Nevertheless, I would like to spend a little bit of time grieving the loss of the last woman in my family. Now there’s just me and some cousins. And a very gorgeous niece… But the key women in my life are all gone.
I’ve finished the eating disorder course and feel a profound sense of loss. I didn’t recover. I progressed – but I didn’t recover. And now I’m slipping – a lot. I’m losing sight of my why and what for? Don’t panic – I’m sure I’ll find them again. One of the beauties of writing in my blog so prolifically, is I could go back and read what I wrote about freedom from bulimia. I don’t usually go back and read what I’ve written, it feels like treading over previously trampled ground. But I can do so if needs be. In the meantime – I’m slipping. My physical health isn’t topnotch right now.
I’ve started the author awakening course. I’m feeling underwhelmed. Not by the course or the content – they’re awesome – but by my willingness and ability to commit. I made a mistake today – submitting the wrong content to the group. It wasn’t a big deal, but I feel like an idiot. I can’t stand making mistakes. I don’t want others to realise how stupid I am. How fragile. How weak. Little errors very quickly make me doubt myself. Of course I love writing. Of course I want to write. But is now the right time? Do I want to turn a hobby into a major passion? Am I ready for the inevitable stress that will come from stuffing up and having to redo work? For getting halfway through and feeling lost and out of my depth? Can I handle that? I don’t know. Do I want to? I don’t know. Will I quit? Absolutely not.
I’m feeling afraid financially. We’re bleeding money. We’re doing it by choice, but still – it’s almost a hemorrhage. We need to pull the reins in, which we are perfectly capable of doing, but every little thing I want to improve my life, and the lives of my children, costs money. Taking my son to the movies – money. Doing the recovery and writing courses – money. Going away for my husband’s birthday – money. Physio for my neck – money. Worm tablets for the cat – money. Endless money. I wish I had better job security – I would feel slightly less panicked. As it stands, I’m sure I have a job long term. But what if I don’t? What if they need cutbacks and my position goes? Because mine would be the first to go… Then what? Doesn’t bare thinking about.
Ultimately though, I don’t feel right in myself. I don’t know what’s going on – I hope it’s just the post-funeral exhaustion and the lack of sleep forever and the normal demands of everyday life in the 21st century – but I don’t feel right. I’ve had blood tests to check my iron levels – all good. And I’ve had blood tests recently for an obscure condition I’ve never heard of and highly unlikely to have – pheochromocytoma. Still I don’t feel right in myself. I’m back to just wanting to run away and be left alone to just sit. Just sit.
I just want to sit. And be quiet. And still.
And so I will. Just for 48 hours. I’m going away to a beach house with a friend for a couple of nights. There’s a lovely log fire there and a beach nearby and I just want to do nothing. I don’t want to be at home feeling guilty about not doing housework or socialising with my family. I don’t want to be at work and wonder how I’ll get through the big long list of endless tasks that can never be totally finished. I don’t want to worry I’m not spending enough time with the friends I adore because the energy it takes to send a text message to arrange a time to meet is just energy I can’t find right now. I don’t want to feel fat and old and tired and a failure.
I just want to sit. On a rock. In the sun. Listening to the waves lapping quietly. Staring into a log fire for hours on end, watching wood burn to ash under a hot orange glow. I want to traipse up a mountain in the brisk winter air. I want to drink wine, and read a book, and laugh with a friend, and nap in the middle of the day, and do whatever I feel like whenever I feel like it and do nothing at all and just let my soul rest.
I want to take time out from doing all the things for all the people all the time. No more organising work, and family and friends. Making times for catching up over a cup of tea, or paying an overdue bill, or servicing the car. I just want time out. I want to take care of my needs and mine alone. Just for a day. Just – one – day.
And so I will.
And so – I will.
I just need to hang in until Friday. And then – sit.