As you may have noticed I was MIA last week and I apologize. There has been a lot going on, a lot of work that exhausted my body, a lot of internal matters that exhausted my soul.
A good thing that happened is that I realized that I am able to let myself feel again. If you suffer from depression or you know a little bit about it you may know that a common side effect is that the soul just shuts off much like the US government, to protect yourself from losing your mind, your soul quits feeling. You feel nothing at all. No joy, no grief just emptiness. And even though I have been doing a lot better for quite a lot of time, but this ability to feel something, like vibrating with happiness or crying over sorrow, that took a while to come back.
In retrospect I think my Grandpa’s death at the very end of last year helped a lot to crack me open. My Grandpa was a very old, sick man, so his death didn’t come unexpected and I believe that dying was a relief for him. Still it hurt that he was gone. It hurt that the last nights before his death he had to dream about his WWII experience, I wish he could have dreamed of unicorns and rainbows instead of tanks and poison gas. It just hurt. Period. And I let it hurt. I was strong enough for the first time to let myself hurt, knowing I would recover from it, knowing it wouldn’t be my undoing.
Strangely these feelings were triggered again when I watched the Tudors series finale last week. Maybe because old Charles Brandon reminds me so much of my Grandpa. It took me two days to get over it. But I got over it. I let my protective shell crack open, I let my pain flow out and the wound closed again and I lived to tell the tale.
While I can deal with grief now, abrupt changes still pose a problem. I had a big shake up at work the other day and I responded with a massive anxiety attack. I feel like I’m still recovering from this one.
I have moments (not only work-related) where I feel like I can’t make ends meet. No matter how hard I work no matter how much effort I put in, no matter how much I think ahead, something throws itself in my way and makes me trip. Minor bumps in the road I can deal with but at the moment it seems to pile up. I hate the feeling of helplessness when I have to rely on other people to get things right for me, when I have done my part and it’s out of my hands now. Exhausting, I tell ya!
So yeah, that’s me at the moment: Still reeling from that anxiety attack.
I’m trying to get my shit together, though. I’m cleaning and washing and organizing in the attempt to give me a cozy environment, a place where I can relax and lick my wounds. And I’m trying not to let the work pile up but to slowly and steadily reduce the amount. I guess the parole is to not give in to the fear and let her paralyze me.
I’m sorry that I still have nothing uplifting to tell you, I’m working on it though. I’ll be fine. Just give me a minute.