HIATUS
I’ve been absent. Absent from so many things in my life.
One of the key components of my recovery has been writing. Since 2016 I’ve been writing up a storm. I couldn’t even hazard a guess at the number of words that have dribbled out of these fingers in the past five years. But let’s just say it includes 390 blog posts, 40 insomnia articles, an awful lot of journal entries and one whole book. Amongst other things.
WRITING IS MY THERAPY
So, when I go awol from my blog – my most powerful therapy tool, what is going on?
Sweet fuck all is what. See that picture of my cat? Curled up in the sun on the daybed. Sleeping his life away. That’s me. Except without the sleeping bit. I think I could safely say for the past 12 months I’ve been in a giant time out. Self-imposed. I have barely done anything. I do still write, but not enough. I have countless journal entries. Although I’ve turned my journal into letters to a special friend. It makes me feel like I’m being social.
I’ve stopped being social. While I can’t confess to ever being a social butterfly, I’m not even a social caterpillar anymore. I realise socialising is an important part of the human condition – we need connections. And I enjoy them! But left to my own devices I barely make contact with the floor let alone my ever-patient and eternally-loving friends.
THIS TOO SHALL PASS
I will make it so. I know my dearly beloveds will read this and think I don’t want to see them. That’s not at all true. I love spending time with people. I just don’t like going through all the (seemingly) major inconveniences of having to be social. I have to get out of bed, shower, brush my teeth, put clothes on, have a fight with myself in the mirror about how awful the clothes look now that I’m living in a much larger body, eat food, find car keys, drive, stay awake, talk.
It is all quite exhausting to be honest. But it’s exhausting in the way that climbing a mountain is – it’s also exhilarating and well worth the view when you get to the top. Socialising is one of those things I’m always grateful I’ve done, but I never look forward to it. Just like sex really. Is it? It is for me. I don’t ever think, wow let’s have sex, but once we’ve done it I’m grateful for the time spent together.
I AM THE MOST BORING PERSON EVER
But the point of this post is to say I’ve had a big writing hiatus but it is coming to an end. Mentally I feel so strong and so well and part of my journey of recovery is making the choice to keep on moving forward. I lost my identity as a mother and a musician. I’m reimagining myself as a writer and to do that, I need to write. Not just in a silent journal full of the narcissistic writings so quintessentially necessary with private musings.
I need to write for public consumption and hope my words speak to someone other than me.
I have built a standing desk. [Haha haha haha! I didn’t build it. It was built for me by my son and husband.] But I have a standing desk and I love it. It is my workspace and I’ve put a nice pot plant and a kick-ass speaker on it so it feels funky and practical and – as I said – I really, really love it. My writing environment is conducive to writing. I just have to move from daybed to desk and make the choice to keep on keeping on with this moving forward business.
You know, when I came out of the clinic last May, I think people thought I was all magically well. That nine weeks locked away was all that was required. There is sometimes a misconception that a psychological clinic is like being on a retreat. I’m not sure people deliberately make that connection, but there’s a perception it’s a time out where staff provide food and cleaning and you just rest and attend sessions.
While those things are true to some extent, that is the same for any hospital stay and anyone requiring hospital admission is acutely unwell in some capacity. The hospital stay treats the acute illness and once you’re safe and sound you go home to recuperate. I feel like I’ve done 12 months of recuperation. Which might sound ridiculously long but I broke my leg 20 months ago and I’m still trying to rehabilitate my ankle as a result.
I cracked my brain somewhere in the past (let’s round it off and say six years ago) then broke it completely in March last year. The rehabilitation is long and convoluted and never in a straight line. But pushing myself to try and be back to “normal” (whatever the fuck that is) has been counter-productive so I have learned to just be patient and remember my favourite mantra, This too shall pass.
I am 55 years old. It’s not easy to completely reinvent yourself at this age but I’ll do it. I hope I would say the same if I was 65, 75 or 85. I think at 95 I’d just let myself curl up in the daybed with my cat and soak up the sunshine.
