Another week bites the dust.
It has been better, on the whole. I have slept less, laughed more and turned up for more things than I’ve turned down. My period has finished. I had some of the best cheesecake of my life. I went to see What the Butler Saw.
In the spirit of honesty, it has still not been great. I had another menstrual migraine which was a bitch and a half. I am sad more than I am happy. I can’t bear to look at myself in the mirror at the moment. I am overwhelmed more than I am whelmed and I am constantly misjudging how much better I am, which leads to moments of deep fucked-up-ness in which I realise I would really have been better not doing this or that.
However, I have not lay down on the floor and wept, or burned anything down, or punched myself or anyone else, so this is all positive. I also keep on knowing that this will pass and all will be well again. Sometimes I don’t know how I know that, but I always do and that’s a blessing.
I have been thinking about things that have been helping.
Breaking the time up into manageable chunks. I do not have to do ‘this’ forever. I just have to do this for the next moment. I only have to sit here for another five minutes. I will only feel like this until I fall asleep. I will only have to interact with this person for the next ten minutes. Whatever I can cope with. Whatever is easiest for me to achieve. I just keep breaking down the difficult bits so that they don’t feel eternal.
Telling people what is actually happening if I have to explain stuff. Even people I don’t know very well. People who get it behave excellent well. People who don’t get it but are fundamentally nice people behave excellent well. People who don’t get it tend to panic and behave pretty well albeit it in a rabbit in the headlights way. This may be because they fear you’re going to go postal on them. I don’t care, as long as they do the decent thing. I haven’t come across any dickheads yet. If I do, my plan is to either cry on them or punch them, or punch them whilst crying. I think it will be cathartic.
Crying. Even though it doesn’t feel like it’s helping much. I know it is. Better out than in, as my granny always used to say.
Getting out of the house. Yesterday when I was recovering from my migraine, I wrapped up in a blanket and dragged myself into the garden. The cat and I sat on the big wooden table we have out there. She told me she was protecting me. I took comfort in the lie and scritched her ear. I drank coffee and blinked down the sunshine. I ignored the thousand small jobs that needed doing and just existed in the moment. It was nice. It was simple and uncomplicated. Walking to school to pick the boy up is good too. Saying hello to all the cats in the road who have unilaterally decided it is spring and the pavements belong to them, ambling through the church yard and over the stream. I can do that. It is good.
Reading. It’s the door out of my own thoughts. Always. Thank God for something that gives me time off from myself that isn’t illegal and doesn’t give me a hangover or diabetes. I am reading Priestdaddy by Patricia Lockwood. It’s absolutely the best thing I have read so far this year. It’s totally strange and genius and very funny and it is helping.
Avoiding the Internet. There’s just too much stuff in my head at the moment for me to safely add a whole lot more I don’t know what to do with. I pass through. I read emails and your comments. I check in, and then I leave. For a long, long time, the internet has been my place to hang out, but right now it’s all a bit complicated. I’m sticking with the garden table for a bit longer.
Really hot showers. Just standing in the middle of a boiling hot, needle sharp cascade of water. I don’t know why. I don’t really care.
The cat. Her utter indifference to human suffering is an object lesson to us all. Also, sometimes when she falls asleep on the arm of the chair, she forgets she’s on the arm of the chair and falls off, which is always good for a smile.