I took an usual step. I reached out to a member from the support group that I felt I most connected to. Close in age, with children, similar humour, we seemed in sync in the group and had already exchanged numbers. I started with a few texts, but gradually opened up about how hard I was finding things. The overwhelming anxiety, the panic, the isolation, the loneliness. She responded that she completely understood and had been going through a similar period. She was struggling herself. She became a beacon to me. I felt so validated. We arranged for her to come to my house for tea this morning.
I’m still with a cold, but I wanted the morning to go well. I’ve not been sleeping well. My anxiety is crippling and I can’t think straight. The good thing is that the kids have shuffled bedrooms so I’ve taken great delight and care in making their rooms really special for them. I really enjoy changing furniture and buying things for the children.
However, I got off to a bad start. My blog posts to tumblr which I don’t think about as I barely use it, but I was notified that I had a new follower. Curious I checked my account to see that in fact I had acquired a few. One of those was a man who took great delight in advertising his, well, very small third leg. His images went on to things that were gruesome and encouraging of fantasies that, in short, made me panic and cry and call my husband as I didn’t know what to do about this stupid tumblr account. We’ve since worked it out and my blog no longer posts on there. I suppose it’s naive of me to assume that only people with a genuine interest read these blogs. For a moment I considered stopping blogging. But in mediums of life there will be insincere people. I exposed myself to risk going to this group and now I have made this good friend and confidant.
So I was feeling shakey, and I got held up at the supermarket trying to make sure I got everything I could to cover her tastes.
It was refreshing to speak to someone who got it. Who understood the ripple effect of things. The long term effect of things. The sense of panic. The sense of failure. The loneliness. The terror, the dread. The fear of things that have happened and the fear of things that haven’t. How tiring this life is. How much you don’t want it. You try to push it away, try to deny it, but it always comes back. The long nights, the bad dreams, the unknown sounds, the crowds, the loss of control. Everyday is a battle. But some periods are significantly worse than others.
She looked tired. I know I looked tired. Then she left to deal with her kids and a friend that needed to borrow her car. She would go on from our conversation. After we had bared our souls. I would glad wrap the left overs and then shop for bits for my daughter’s room eager to get things in place for her return. Also get the laundry on and make sure I was in Mother and wife mode. They wouldn’t know of the heartache that had taken place in my living room.
It is what it is.