New Year's Resolutions? Not really...
Back in Brighton, people.
Of course, after an emotional time such as three whole weeks of Italian life, and counting Christmas, New Year's Eve, and whatever comes with it, I can only say that I feel on the verge of another nervous breakdown.
I have decided not to write about what I did during the Italian weeks, mostly because I am sure that the memories of how I felt then will be with me forever, no matter how much I will try to forget. Then again, there is no point in trying to forget, but only in trying to accept and take everything in. Move on, as usual, live and work and all that jazz.
Some news, though: Teacher friend proved to be once more the one. I mean, the one who can keep calm and provide advice, and practical solutions, in spite of her claiming to be living in another dimension, and not being practical at all. So, I may be changing my plans again, and maybe sooner than expected or planned.
Which brings me to the question I have been asking myself for months now: do I want to stay? And why?
On the way to Brighton, on Friday, because I cannot read on the bus and because my earphones went on strike, I could only alternate sleep and thoughts. Painful, confused thoughts.
It was nice to be back in Bevendean, because of the cosy little house with the friendly housemates, because of my room and because I was frankly really tired of being at home, and I could notice that I was going to my snappy behaviour, and the more I noticed it the more irritable and snappy I would become, and the snappier I was the guiltier I felt, and the guiltier I felt, the more irritable I would become, and so on.
So, decision number one with Teacher friend is that whatever happens, I am going to live by myself from now on. Meaning that I love my family, but it's about time I got on with my life, and please let's try to feel less guilty, although it obviously breaks me to think and see mum getting older and weaker, her strong self getting tired more easily, hearing her talk of getting somebody to help her with the chores and all that, but that's life I guess? I can be there as often as possible, but there are some things you can only accept.
Which brings me to yet another painful train of thoughts, which I am not going to discuss here, because I have been writing somewhere else, almost all morning, shedding tears for hours, the familiar need to scream getting stronger and stronger in me, and frankly I am also sick of that. Yes, I am fighting to accept it. And I am trying not to break too often, this year. Meaning that all these tears must end soon or late, right? All this thinking back, all this regretting, which is so extremely wrong and unhealthy, all this waste of time hoping for impossible things to happen, and even my daydreaming is not convincing.
A big, tired (tired, still at the same time it is the part of me that makes me run for hours, and get lost in books, and obsessively think of moving, moving, moving, as if all this moving and running could make me vanish into some other dimension), a screaming part of me is simply pushing and fighting to pack, go back home, and lock in my room, and cry and cry and cry, scream until my lungs ache, until my throat burns, until I have no voice.
Shrink and disappear.
And what kills me is that whatever I do, it will not matter. Nothing will change.
I simply cannot think of a future, now. I am, again, living day by day, thinking of easy things like what to make for dinner, like how much I want to run, or what book to read next, and of yet another website with Bible readings to help me through, but I don't find any pleasure in anything. It's awful, because these are things I have been writing for months, maybe for years, and in spite of some little progress, an occasional feeling of well-being, nothing (NOTHING!) has changed. And I find myself older, more tired, and a lot sadder than I was. I have really lost that light, people, and the more I try to find it the farther from it I am.
I write even though it makes me cry, because somehow I feel better, after that. Even though the evening is so dark and cold, and I have no idea of what to do, and my life is shattered, and I don't know who I am and what I want.
Who am I?
Of course, after an emotional time such as three whole weeks of Italian life, and counting Christmas, New Year's Eve, and whatever comes with it, I can only say that I feel on the verge of another nervous breakdown.
I have decided not to write about what I did during the Italian weeks, mostly because I am sure that the memories of how I felt then will be with me forever, no matter how much I will try to forget. Then again, there is no point in trying to forget, but only in trying to accept and take everything in. Move on, as usual, live and work and all that jazz.
Some news, though: Teacher friend proved to be once more the one. I mean, the one who can keep calm and provide advice, and practical solutions, in spite of her claiming to be living in another dimension, and not being practical at all. So, I may be changing my plans again, and maybe sooner than expected or planned.
Which brings me to the question I have been asking myself for months now: do I want to stay? And why?
On the way to Brighton, on Friday, because I cannot read on the bus and because my earphones went on strike, I could only alternate sleep and thoughts. Painful, confused thoughts.
It was nice to be back in Bevendean, because of the cosy little house with the friendly housemates, because of my room and because I was frankly really tired of being at home, and I could notice that I was going to my snappy behaviour, and the more I noticed it the more irritable and snappy I would become, and the snappier I was the guiltier I felt, and the guiltier I felt, the more irritable I would become, and so on.
So, decision number one with Teacher friend is that whatever happens, I am going to live by myself from now on. Meaning that I love my family, but it's about time I got on with my life, and please let's try to feel less guilty, although it obviously breaks me to think and see mum getting older and weaker, her strong self getting tired more easily, hearing her talk of getting somebody to help her with the chores and all that, but that's life I guess? I can be there as often as possible, but there are some things you can only accept.
Which brings me to yet another painful train of thoughts, which I am not going to discuss here, because I have been writing somewhere else, almost all morning, shedding tears for hours, the familiar need to scream getting stronger and stronger in me, and frankly I am also sick of that. Yes, I am fighting to accept it. And I am trying not to break too often, this year. Meaning that all these tears must end soon or late, right? All this thinking back, all this regretting, which is so extremely wrong and unhealthy, all this waste of time hoping for impossible things to happen, and even my daydreaming is not convincing.
A big, tired (tired, still at the same time it is the part of me that makes me run for hours, and get lost in books, and obsessively think of moving, moving, moving, as if all this moving and running could make me vanish into some other dimension), a screaming part of me is simply pushing and fighting to pack, go back home, and lock in my room, and cry and cry and cry, scream until my lungs ache, until my throat burns, until I have no voice.
Shrink and disappear.
And what kills me is that whatever I do, it will not matter. Nothing will change.
I simply cannot think of a future, now. I am, again, living day by day, thinking of easy things like what to make for dinner, like how much I want to run, or what book to read next, and of yet another website with Bible readings to help me through, but I don't find any pleasure in anything. It's awful, because these are things I have been writing for months, maybe for years, and in spite of some little progress, an occasional feeling of well-being, nothing (NOTHING!) has changed. And I find myself older, more tired, and a lot sadder than I was. I have really lost that light, people, and the more I try to find it the farther from it I am.
I write even though it makes me cry, because somehow I feel better, after that. Even though the evening is so dark and cold, and I have no idea of what to do, and my life is shattered, and I don't know who I am and what I want.
Who am I?
Labels: depression
posted by Peggy @ 7:27 PM
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