Two Months Off

Okay, it was only two days, but at this point I should probably share some stuff with the Internet.

That wasn’t ‘just some poems’ that were written over the last few weeks. The process has rearranged just about everything in my head. Same furniture, carpets and curtains, different positions. There’s light in places, dust-covered for decades. Certain pieces of furniture have turned out to be close to collapse. Others have never seen use.

Welcome to the world where ability to communicate has, for the entirety of adulthood, been held back at crucial moments by anxiety, inertia and naïvety. It’s a potent combination, and knowing that for at least some of that time I’ve just existed without any actual memory of how that took place is… well, a bit frightening.

Arriving here, therefore, remains a bit of a surprise.

Suddenly, writing a blog has become really useful, because I can now go back and read about things that have literally been forgotten about. That’s going to be incredibly useful going forward. Pictures help too, and we can go back to about 2012 with a measure of confidence. Before that, however, BOY are there holes. Massive gaping ones.

I’d sort of grasped that this was a problem for a while, but the reality of it is only now beginning to register. I was on autopilot for years. I’d let other people control my entire existence. Nothing of real worth actually took place. There’s no idea of if this is how it works for anybody else either: do the rest of you just do as other people do without worrying about the long-term consequences? Do you even KNOW?

I told my husband earlier this week I felt as if something was very seriously wrong in my head, and that’s where I am right now, except wrong is the incorrect descriptor. I’m still not sure what it is, but this isn’t bad. If wrong is the means by which you become aware that normal processes have altered, I’d be better off using the word different.

Problem solving is taking place in far more sensible fashions. Approaching conflict is far more considered. Dealing with it has become a transformative process. I am still putting together all the verbal tools required to correctly address some issues. Certain things can’t be spoken about and won’t, not until other events take place. They are out of my hands.

Most importantly, I am singing. I haven’t been able to sing for a while.

This is better.