At last, I write. The
weekend’s events have driven me to it.
What should have been a
pleasant and practical couple of days turned into an outright blubfest. It’s
embarrassing to cry in public, worse when you can’t stop yourself, and you just
stand there helpless, wanting the ground to swallow you whole and spit you out
into your bed at home. I alarmed so many of my lovely friends, which of course
makes it worse.
I am back to where I was
fourteen years ago, and it is horrible. However there are many differences
between then and now, the main one being that I have fourteen years’ experience
on myself, so as well as going through all this crud, I am watching and nodding
sagely, and saying “ah yes, I remember that.”
Since 2001, I have:
- Put on four stone and lost six.
- Moved from
- Had, and lost, two whole boyfriends.
- Had, and lost, one whole dose of cancer.
- Worked as a teacher, supply teacher, a
part-time medical receptionist, a care home “event co-ordinator” – all of
which I crashed and burned out of as I hadn’t shaken this off…
- … and
as a First Aid Trainer and a puzzle compiler/sub-editor, both of which I stopped
after about six months as I hated being in a place at a prescribed time, trapped
by what I had to do.
- Had five and a half years of really great counselling.
- Been a member of the same musical theatre
group for nearly twelve years, plus another one, plus vocalist in several
musical groups.
- Written and directed two whole pantomimes.
Played numerous stage roles.
- Set up a business making biscuits and cakes, to supplement my income.
So yes, I am in a
different place now… but the same place. Interesting. Some of these
similarities are my situation, and some are a result of it:
- I’m living on my own…
- …a seemingly long way away from most of my
pals. (It’s a long way, when leaving the house is an issue.)
- I have to do things that I don’t really want
to do. (Slightly more complicated, but the same idea)
- I don’t have a TV. (I do have the internet,
and many DVDs though.)
- I’m playing a fairy in a pantomime!
(Coincidence? Or is it…?)
- I am single.
- I have nobody to throw my arms around and tell
them I love them, and smother them with kisses…
- … other than my teddy bear, onto whom I cling
nightly.
- I have no faith in my abilities.
- I have lost interest in things that interest
me.
- I recoil from phonecalls, or my email inbox.
- My cooking is waning. I am eating ready meals
for one again. And the odd takeaway. I’m being quite lax when it comes to
food, and hitting the chocolate hard.
- I’m shopping. Nothing big, but little things will mount up. Preferably on the internet, so I don’t have to see other people.
And here are the
differences, which are whoppers:
1)
My
home is nicer. Look at it –
it’s got more than two rooms! It’s got a second floor that I can actually live
in! It’s a winner already. Swanky, not wanky.
2)
The
area where I live. I’ve
known it for years. It’s familiar, and I’m quite settled.
3)
Work. Approaching a decade of puzzle compiling. I might
not be as starry-eyed as I was when I began, but I would be loath to do
anything else. Freelance, self employment, creativity – it appears to be the
way forward for me.
4)
I
am not overweight. Oh, that
makes so much difference, and I am determined not to slip back to that.
5)
Facebook didn't exist back then. FB
is both a curse and a blessing together. Like a sprout wrapped in bacon.
6)
I
have so much more support this time. Not just that, but I know how to use it.
7)
Older
and wiser. (Please insert
your own hysterical laughter here) What I mean is - I know that I got better
before, so I know I will do it again. Using all the above to help me, and most
definitely not via idleness and stuffing my face.
What puzzles me is why I
have fallen into this bucket of crap this time. OK, understandably my battle
with Mr H has left my reservoirs drained. Then all the splitting up stuff didn't help. But I’m sure people go through much worse than this, and they
manage. I have to accept that it’s my biology more than anything else. Just like our
eye colours vary, so my bonce is different. Why is my bonce different??? Good
god, I would give anything just to feel normal again.
Through tears and despair
I have been looking back across the years and recalling the events
that led to my toddling off to the doc for assistance, and ditching the life
that I was living at the time. I scrolled through my diary files from then and
was shocked to read how much overlap there is. Should you be remotely
interested (and all my head tells me is “of course not, who the hell would be?”)
I might post them later. The past may be a country best left unexplored, but I
still pop over for the occasional day trip.
Winston had his “black
dog”. Mine is more like a charcoal sloth. An expanding charcoal sloth. It sits
heavy on my shoulders, wraps itself around me and pounds on my chest. It can
envelop me and knock me down. Then it crushes my head and exhales its foul
breath through my ears, fogging my brain. I can’t think. I can’t move. I just
want to sleep for a long, long time, waking up refreshed and ready for
breakfast.
I neither expect nor want
anyone to rescue me from this. I’ve sort of allowed that to be the case before,
but it’s not worked out. This is my responsibility. By all means lob me a
lifebelt to keep me afloat, but don’t reel it in. I need to swim to the shore
by myself.
With a Little Help from
My Friends
Once again this weekend I
was reminded of what wonderful friends I have. I am a very lucky girl. Somebody
said to me “I really want to help you, but I don’t know what to do.” To be
honest, I don’t know what you can do either, but here are my thoughts:
It’s lovely that
you want to help me. It’s beyond lovely. I feel so bad for making you feel so
helpless or even upset. And yet, just saying you want to help… well, it helps!
The deal is that until I get my head – my head – sorted, I will struggle
to do things. That isn’t to say I won’t do stuff. But some days it’s much more
difficult, and the hardest part is often getting myself out of the house to do
the thing in the first place. No career changes or lifestyle changes are
required – believe it or not, I know what it is I want to do with my life. I
just lack the mental cojones to implement the plan. It’s very frustrating!
I prefer to say nothing
rather than bang on about how miserable I am. Who wants to hang around a misery
guts? This will explain why I might be quiet, or in hiding more than usual. I
don’t want to bring anyone down. I’ve never wanted that.
I still prefer not to have
people “drop round”. Especially as it takes me a long time to get settled into
stuff. (You might interrupt a crossword being compiled. How could you live with
yourself?) Always text first. I’m also not great on the telephone, but better
on emails and messages, though I may not always reply.
Love and understanding
gets me through more than ever, though I may blub when it’s offered, for it
seems to me that I am undeserving of it. When you make jokes to try to cheer me
up, it makes me laugh and cry at the same time! Hugs are great, but may also
lead to blubbage. Don't say you weren't warned.
So to summarise: Smiles,
hugs, normality, emails, kindness, patience. And tissues.
I took all the comforting words
and actions from the weekend – particularly yesterday - and made them into
bellows. Then I squeezed them like crazy over the dying embers that are my
spirit. The resulting flicker made me feel capable enough to blog today, and I
am hoping it will carry me through to tonight’s rehearsal. Who knows - If we
keep on like this, I might get my flame back one day.
Will Lizzie make it to
tonight’s rehearsal on time? Or at all? There is so much beauty in the world –
when is Lizzie going to be able to start seeing it again? What is the doctor going to prescribe on Thursday? Tune in next time.
There will be a next time. There is always a next
time.
Lizzie with an “i-e”,
that’s me,
With a head full of ideas
And a heart full of love,
And a tongue that gets in
the way sometimes.
With a cheeky smile,
And dancing feet,
And a voice that fills a
room!
With a minimal waist,
(And minimum breasts),
And legs that make me sad.
With a soul untouched,
And lips unkissed,
And arms that hold myself.
Lizzie with an “i-e”,
that’s me.
With a head full of fog,
And a heart full of pain,
And no idea when I’ll be
Lizzie again
With a belly full of
nerves,
And eyes full of tears,
And a chest that aches every
day.
With hands full of chores,
And an immobile arse,
And a gutful of
this.
With typing fingers,
And a mouth full of
chocolate,
And a brain supplemented
by whatever it takes.
Lizzie with an “i-e”,
that’s me.
With a head full of hope,
And a heart full of hope,
And a spirit that will
never, ever, ever give up.
