I went to get a haircut. It was the middle of the day, and the warmth of the sun felt so unexpected against the winter I was living in. I guess I hadn’t been out of the house in a while. It was mild enough to drive with the windows down, and The Alchemy Index (Air/Earth) was on but I felt nothing. The coming of spring has always lightened my mood, but warmth wasn’t enough to reach inside me.
This numbness haunts me. It’s like my emotions have died, and I can’t tell if I like it or not. You know in Fight Club when the narrator says, “After fighting, everything else in your life got the volume turned down.”? This inner struggle has definitely put my life on mute. Sometimes I wonder if I’d jump out of the way if a car came barreling towards me, whether my reflexes for self-preservation are still working.
People have been supportive in very creative ways. Passing on music, notes, recommendations, personal experiences, and other acknowledgments of the pain. They walk around me as if on eggshells, unsure of what to do. I’d tell them if I knew myself. I feel guilty and undeserving of the attention, but touched at the same time.
I’ve been staying away from everyone because it’s getting harder to keep up the façade. I’m too tired to pretend like everything is fine. I don’t talk to anyone but John, who acts as if nothing happened because the whole situation makes him uncomfortable. I’m not working from home anymore, so I hide in my office at work. I wear the same clothes every day and no one seems to notice. I can’t remember the last time I shaved but I think it was over a week ago.
The hardest part is trying to accomplish things when I’m so uninspired. My calendar has filled out to the middle of April — projects I took on and plans I made when I needed a distraction — but now all I want is a nice chunk of free time for some hedonism.
I feel fragile and stable all at once. It’s not like I’m in a crisis, but nothing’s been resolved either.
For about three days last week I couldn’t stop writing. Now I don’t know what to say anymore.
I’m so angry at the people that put you in this state. Really fucking angry. Angry that even the love that many feel toward you cannot plug the chasm these idiots put there inside you. I feel very helpless that my pissedness is not infectious to you, who needs to feel angry enough to be standing up for yourself. But that’s the way this kind of damage works.
Please see your counselor guy, please?. And think about breaking your routine or even meds. When you get to the same-clothes-every-day stage, it’s not good. Trust me. Do something for yourself even if it’s arbitrary. I’m glad you cut your hair. (which is a sentence I’d never have believed I would ever say to anyone, anytime.).
I will definitely see my therapist soon. I’m trying to spread out my sessions because only two are covered by my work during the year.
I hate this time of year. I always go through weird cycles when the seasons change from winter to spring and from fall to winter. I’m swimming and then sometimes I feel like I’m drowning.
I wrote a very vulnerable, open post a few days ago, and I think you just echoed everything I feel.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy a lot, but the anxiety is a strong undercurrent and I’m afraid I’ll get swept away.
It’s terrible you don’t have people to talk to who don’t pussyfoot around your issues. If I lived in Ottawa, I’d take you out for tea and we could cry it all out. If you’d be okay with crying with me, that is. It’s very soothing to cry with a friend who knows how you feel.
…well, maybe crying in a tea shop would be awkward for other people, but we could have tea somewhere, where it wouldn’t be weird and work it all out.
I am sending good vibes into the Universe for you. And when I’m in bed tonight, I’ll pray for you, too. Would you do the same for me (whatever MO you choose)?
Actually, I don’t mind that people are being careful around me. I have my space because they don’t get into panic mode, but at the same time it lets me know that they care.