lost myself, again

Look at me I’m such a basket case
Delivered to you wrapped in cellophane
Waiting on your doorstep, every day
Delivery, a basket filled with pain...
- Sia

Something snapped in me a couple of weeks ago. In the lead-up I'd been dealing with quite a bit of work stress, I'd been chatted to by my supervisor, about my 'overworrying' so I was trying so very hard, to not try so very hard - or at least make it appear that way... I understood what I was being told, but I was trying to prepare myself for any foreseeable outcome, I was trying to arm myself with every weapon in my arsenal, but I simply couldn't carry the weight. I was trying to be perfect, flawless. I was told it was unrealistic, it was unnecessary. I knew what they were saying, but I was trying to prove myself. I've been trying to prove myself my whole life.

Work has been a mixture of strange feelings for the past weeks. I'd been thrown back into a role I hadn't done in a long while, back with people I didn't necessarily mesh well with, relying on their assistance and my own skewed sense of competency. I'd also been sitting across from the source of my malignant workplace crush: Manchild. Working with him made getting out of bed in the morning easier, work more bearable and weekends became excruciatingly long. This 'crush' has also come to make a dire mess of me.

It was a Thursday, my last day in this challenging work rotation and it was set to be a long day. I was strangely well-composed, even 'chilled' on the exterior. My last hoorah - come what may! In the late afternoon, I hit a speed bump - I was overtired and frustrated. Manchild had been away for work, was due to return this afternoon, it had been three days since seeing him. As I was reaching speed on my decline, he walked in... he shouldn't have been there. My heart leapt and I was overwhelmed with the sudden desire to cry my eyes out. It was as if my very own knight in shining armor had knocked at my castle door. People talk about being unable to wipe a smile of their face - I now understood this kind of smile.

Unbeknownst to me he stayed. He stayed until I finished. He stayed for me? Then as I was collecting my things he told me he had decided to pursue a longstanding passion that would almost certainly take him out of our shared workplace, and out of our hometown. Tears were welling in my eyes.

It was like John all over again. A lesson not yet learned, manifesting in some new cruel way. I had to flee immediately. I feigned part exhaustion, but I fear even a blind soul could sense my upset, my tears freely leaking.

I had to rush to the safety of my car. Sobbing part way there - begging the Gods that I not bump into anyone I know. I got to my car and I sobbed heartily the whole way home. I'm quite surprised I actually made it home without incident. My parents could not understand why I was in the state, and neither could I really. I continued to sob in the shower, as I pleaded with God, the Angels, or whoever dared listen: please, not again.

I went to work the next day. On the drive home at the end of the day, I became a similar teary mess.

Monday rolled around, back to my old menial role...ripped from the company of Manchild, I slipped further into an ugly black hole. I started crying, in front of a coworker. I couldn't collect myself - I had to hide away in a dark room - more than once. I could hear other coworkers, including Manchild having a jolly old time in another part of the office. It seemed an added cruelty on my already frayed emotional state. Much of that day was spent fighting the urge to cry. Each evening going home, feeling ill with this darkness. Tuesday, Wednesday...fighting tears. Evidently I had lost the footing I had so solemly maintained after John, after changing jobs, after the death of my beloved pet, after so many knocks. I'd finally succumbed to the black dog again, and he had me in his jaws.

This week just passed, went by in usual fashion. I thought I had begun to make some headway - but another work incident knocked me on Wednesday, and I went down again.

I have whimpered and howled in bathroom stalls, showers and in the dark silence of 'bed-time'. I have hidden sneaky tears at customer service counters, and inhaled and exhaled the muted upset to just make it to another day. To make it to another day in which Manchild would finally declare his feelings.

"I can't do this again" is what I cried to the Divine. Wrong. I won't do this again.

Again, I have lost sight of who I am, near-drowned myself in the shadow version of me that I thought he'd like. That I thought, the 'cool-girls' would like. I've been trying to be ok with eroding myself. I'm so messed up with these muddy thoughts that I don't even remember what I'm doing from one moment to the next. I cannot believe I sabotaged myself again. I cannot believe I fooled myself again.

It's late, and right now I should be sleeping, but I needed to get this out. I had hoped to spill everything; for as sure as I know I put myself here, with my thoughts, I know also that the situation does not belong solely to me.

But most of all, with this anger-tinged clarity, I needed to write down, for the 'me' that will undoubtedly weaken momentarily again... I need to tell her - that this guy, these people, this bullshit morphing of myself is utter fucking crap. That none of it - that none of our late night imaginings, warm affections and sassy office repartee are anything other than slight of hand, smoke screen distractions from our self. I - we - started a journey of self discovery, we knew that the path to love was going to start with loving our own self - even the dark parts. I got lost. I got transported to another dimension, but I will get back to myself.

Manchild is not the answer you seek. Nor is an attentive boss, a flattering friend, an approving parent, a complimentary stranger. These archetypes are not the missing piece of the puzzle, they are not going to make everything better - the power you are assigning to these faceless figures does not exist. I know it doesn't feel like it, but this is something we must believe - we must know, that all the power we will ever need, all the love we are seeking to find is already there, inside ourselves. Believe it. Don't be distracted by anything else, because this is the only love that matters, and it is the only thing that is going to fix you. 

shadow self

I am so profoundly broken.

Death, life, grief, pain, time and life have pummeled me. I don't remember who I used to be, all I know is that I am not that person anymore. She is gone.

I feel as if, in her place, is this shadow version of me. This half-life me. She's ugly; bitter, angry, tired. I can't conceal her anymore.  She is the person I have become when all my other masks fail me. I have no energy and I have no means to keep her hidden. I don't know what to do.

I wish I could run. Home doesn't feel safe anymore. I am judged here, by people, the past, the mirrors. I want to run to a place where I can scream and cry and not be condemned for what may escape my mouth.

I am at the end of my tether.

artist unknown

everything is debateable

It's hard being me sometimes.  If I told you the ways in which things are screwy right now, you'd scarcely believe me that someone could be so... unlucky? In an effort not to be self indulgent (and to keep the blood pressure in the acceptable range) let's just say I'm one off-hand remark away from going all Michael Douglas "Falling Down" on someone's ass.

I sat at my desk this afternoon at work - willing the minutes away until I could lock the door and leave the day behind, and I thought to myself how nice it might be to suddenly, I don't know, fall pregnant by immaculate conception, or win lotto, or meet a strange millionaire who takes a liking to my tired face - all this, just so I could check out of my life the way it is right now. So I could feel something other than the festering anger and almost complete hopelessness that I feel almost every moment of every day. I just want to feel something other.  There's got to more. I'm just a relatively normal girl, trying to live a modest, reasonable existence - there has got to be more. 

this mess I'm in

There are two sides to every story and multiple ways of interpreting things - just ask the voices in my head. For instance, the past couple of weeks for me have felt at times, devastating - but clumped together could actually feel like the plot outline of some b-grade midday movie - 'drama' or 'comedy' I have yet to decide.

Lets see... a blinding migraine that knocked me on my ass for two days, which led to a CT scan on my head, blood tests and a rather curious doctors appointment in which I encountered the worlds most annoying child, and overheard the thickest Irish accent I'll likely ever bare witness to this side of Dublin. There's the unexplainable crazy-itchy rash that made home on parts of my face last week, oh, and the dermatitis that gave rise under my nose as a result of the cream I was using to 'cure' the rash on my face. Then, while reading a story to my nephew, seated in the kind of awkward positions you can only adopt when dealing with children, I placed my 'other' shoulder out of whack.  Because the 'other-other' shoulder has only been in Physiotherapy for the past six months, and maybe this one was feeling left out.  But then... while adopting the kind of awkward positions you can only expect to get away with when trying to photograph small children, I also added my neck to the pile labeled: shit that's wrong with me. And that's just the crap I can put a name to.

But, put altogether like that - you could almost laugh at it. Almost.

The journey of me these past few months has been rocky.  I'm trying with everything I have, to become a better person, or without embellishment - at least an adjusted person.  I've cut my dosage of depression/anxiety medication down to half.  I thought I was going ok.  But I'm starting to have doubts. I don't seem to be able to engage in things as easily, fighting feelings I'd gotten used to being dulled.  At times I've been demanding and challenging to the people around me - which just sucks for everybody.  I sort of feel like I'm pushing away the real world in order to address the problems that are flying at me from this internal one; this one of seemingly, my own creation.  And it sucks balls - because all I wanted to do was make things better, but I just feel like I'm making them worse. Which could just be this depressive mood talking, or it could be the truth - and I'll never know the difference.

Of late I have brought the battle here, which hasn't made for terribly uplifting, inspiring reading. So perhaps, for a time I need to turn to the paper page in the drawer and not the PC keyboard to the world.  I don't know what I'll do, or how I'll do it - but I'll continue to carry myself forward - sometimes dragging and sometimes sprinting (well, in my head, because God knows this big girl does not actually sprint).

Whether I like it or not, all I have is me. And I just have to get myself through this mess.

the bounce and fall

I've been absent for a while, but I have been thinking of this place. In the past it has been my refuge - my place to say whatever I feel.  But lately, what I feel has been a messy palette of colours that have been allowed to sit together for too long - they have bled into each other and turned an ugly, muted shade.  Truth be known, most of my days lately have been just run-of-the-mill-ok. There have been a few dips, with another low late last evening and this continues to wash over me today.

It's hard to come here, to say that I'm sad - that I just feel sad, and not be able to explain it. For the record, I'm sad, I'm sad for many reasons that roll around my head, but I'm just sad, sad, sad. There's no real rational reason for it.

Although today, the sorrow seems to deepen - and if I didn't know better - if I believed that bastard voice in my head, I might buy into the idea that this week the universe just positively hates my guts. But really, it's just the roll of the dice. Isn't it?  I feel like I've let people down today - and some I think I have.  And now, I just feel a bit shit.

I was in a doctors surgery waiting room a few hours ago.  While waiting patiently for my name to be called I was looking out the window, watching a single dead leaf roll on the concrete, blown by the wind.  And I thought to myself then, that maybe it would be nice to fall to the ground, simply crumble into a heap on the floor, just to watch and see what the world does.  I imagined in my minds eye that there might be a fuss, that the admin lady would probably shriek, the African doctor with the bright, warm smile and pointy shoes might run out of his room to attend to me - that there would be a rush, a swell of panic for a moment, until everyone realised I was ok.  Until they saw that I chose to fall; that I chose to dive to the ground to take cover, and to stay fallen.  And then they would leave me.

At that moment, I wished I was the dead leaf.  I wished that when I stood, my legs might crumble beneath me and I would hit the ground, close my eyes and just forget for a moment that I am me. But I didn't. Despite how crap it feels to be me today, I remembered that each of those people sitting in the wait room have their own set of problems and pain - real or imagined. And that it would be selfish of me to take a fall and bail out, just because I feel my problems are too overwhelming.

Even though today I feel like I'm a terrible friend, I know that I'm probably not; even though I feel like a fat, unlovable woman, I know there are things I can change; and even though these feelings and thoughts feel like they'll be here forever, I know that they probably won't.  So, I travel the fall in the hope that tomorrow I might bounce.

The talent

into the dark: I'm not calling you a liar, just don't lie to me

I write these posts in my desperate moments - like drawing a candle into the dark,

so that I might see a little clearer. It is true, and it is me, and that is why I must expel it.

While I don't expect anyone to follow me there - if you find yourself in dark places too,

we can walk the halls together and hold each others hand.

*   *   *

You know what it's like? It's as if someone suddenly turned up the volume, and after all this time, I hadn't really learnt to control anything, but just dull out the sound. I hate feeling like I'm losing my mind.

But then, I try to pull myself back into the moment, by remembering that nothing has really happened between yesterday and today; between last week - last month, to right now - except that itty-bitty pill. I refuse to let myself believe that all the control comes from a pill.

Talk about feeling absolutely powerless. Slave to a pill forever? Is it possible that I could be so much of a fucking head-case that this could be my actual reality? It's not fair. It's not fair. Now, nothing was made to be fair.

It's just so exhausting. Questioning every thought that gallops across your mind; if you can't trust all of them, how can you trust any of them? But then, thoughts can tell you when to be cautious and when to be brave; to know when to pull the sword or the armour, or both, or neither and run. Take your hand off the burning surface... don't stand there.

Pain is always subjective. A grimace, a sudden wash of white - mostly cause and effect. But, emotional pain, that comes from somewhere unseen. It cannot be tested, scanned or diagnosed. I become locked inside a chamber of my own making, and it is just the worst existence. No wonder 'mental-health' is a dirty word - who the fuck wants to share this shit?

I don't want to be 'sick', I don't think I am; I think I just feel too much... I think too much. "Ahh, but is it helpful?" Judy would ask me, "it might be true, but is it helpful?" Nope, none of this is helpful.

It just wasn't meant to be this hard.