Why so downcast, oh my soul?

It’s Monday evening again and once more, I feel broken down and crowded out. It’s been a sad day from the start – in clinic, I met a lovely lady whose last state funded cycle of IVF has failed. She’s also at the upper age limit for adoption, so may never get her wish to be a mother. It’s things like this that make me grumpy anyway – for children in desperate need of parenting, does age really have such a huge impact on outcome? But, that’s a rant in itself, and now is not the place.

I went back to counselling and all I can say, is that I hope it’s going to get better at some point after things just seem to keep getting harder. The more I say, the more messed up I seem to get. And, yes, hiding all this stuff away for so long has done me no favours – but part of me thinks, if I am being open, honest, and a little self-centred, that I preferred being in denial and getting by, to being accepting and feeling like those parts of me are dying, all over again. I preferred blanking over certain events and emotions, to uncovering them and finding the stains are still there, and if anything, sinking deeper.

Every Hogmanay, there are stories of people who hop between countries and meridians, to greet the New Year in several times in different time-zones, and every year, I think that what they’re doing sounds so close to something Phillip Pullman or CS Lewis would come up with – a few adventurers seeing how long they can escape the coming of the new year for, a couple of thieves risking how much time they can steal before it finally hems them in again. At the moment, I feel like I’m caught in one of those stories – running and running and trying to stay in the light, above water, but as I look over my shoulder, the shadows are drawing in and the protection of the day is fading. How long can you run for, if you are running outside of time? How long can you outrun yourself?

I’m feeling lower and blanker again, exhausted again. I know I may be slipping and that recovery isn’t linear and straightforward, but likely to come in troughs and peaks – but at the moment, all I want is just one small peak, to get me through the next few months. I want to sleep easy and not wake up  constantly through the night thinking about all the things I must do if I am to complete the year. I want to stop feeling so unfixable, so beyond healing that I’m closer to dying completely than recovering. I want to know that the words I try to read to comfort myself, really are written on my heart in indelible ink. I want to know that someone is listening when I’m crying out with every inch of me for some release. I want to feel joy where joy should be felt, to feel at peace when my day is over. I want to get rid of this listless, under-the-skin feeling of jarring against the world around me.

I have a two week gap until my next session due to issues with my placement timetable, and for all L says that it’s best not to break, that it’s best to push through, I am so relieved. I have a full week where I don’t need to be sleeping off a session or losing sleep over the thought of the next. I have some time to get my bearings, process, and push back enough memories that I can function properly. That extra week feels like a lessening of the weight that I’ve got so used to carrying. It feels like a releasing of a taught rope that has had me in its grip. I know I have to go back, and face up – but right now, feeling drained and tearful and out of emotional control, I am relieved.

I love this song – I did it as part of a gospel triple in my choir. We’ve all felt a long way from home at some point. It’s on my pensieve (read: miserable) playlist that’s getting quite a lot of airtime at the moment.