Be warned: I’m going to babble about my feelings
Plenty of emotional stuff coming soon, eh? That was a month ago. And since then, I’ve written loads for this blog, but nothing I feel comfortable with publishing. All the while telling myself that if I could only post regularly, I’d probably get more views. But also telling myself I should not be putting pressure on myself to write while I’m so ill (still). And also thinking that if I can at least give potential employers a link to this blog, they’ll see I’ve been doing something productive while I’ve been ill – but only if I actually write stuff on here while I’m ill. But then they will also see how low I’ve been, and as a result probably not want to employ me.
In my more insecure moments, I wonder if maybe Between Times is a really naff title. One of my biggest supporters in recent times has also been one of my biggest critics. My poems don’t make any sense, my prose is too flowery – until I consider never asking for another person’s opinion ever again. Reader, I dumped him. It was amicable, I must stress that, but I still feel rubbish about it. And it is much easier to let my mind wander down nastier paths. What if he hated everything I wrote? My rational mind knows he (probably) didn’t, but I am not in my rational mind right now.
Things are really not great at the moment. The break-up is really the least of my problems. Loads of rubbish stuff is happening all at once, because that is what life does sometimes, and I really need to just accept that that’s what’s happening. Of course I’m feeling low.
But at the same time, that’s what bothers me the most. Stuff is happening. And I can’t stop it from happening. I can’t instantly make everything better. I’ve dumped my boyfriend, and I am currently in the process of clearing out my bedroom and throwing away a significant proportion of my stuff. I very nearly cut off all my hair. I just feel like I need to do something. Have control over something. I blatantly do not really have any control. There is nothing I can do, except wait for things to heal over time.
I can’t decide if it’s good to use the ruthlessness of depression to get rid of everything that I was previously kidding myself that I wanted, or if in fact I’m so depressed I don’t like anything I normally would, and thus as soon as I recover I’m going to want everything back. Whether I can get it back or not. But I cannot, cannot, keep carrying all these bags around – that much is for sure. I’m not strong enough. There is so much stuff, both in my bedroom and my brain, that unless I take things out and look at them, I never realise they’re there at all.
I’m still between times. I’m still waiting for all the bad stuff to get better, so I can get on with my life. At this point, I should probably say something like: ‘but bad stuff always happens and really I ought to get on with my life right now!’ This would be much easier to do if I wasn’t busy recovering from chronic illness. Which really does not feel like getting on with my life at all.
Photo: woods near Veryan, Cornwall, May 2016