This week has already begun at a snails pace. I’m already feeling over wrought and fed up. Two of my daughters are still at school, so the morning routine scrapes painfully, although when they’re off school it’ll be stressful, at least the morning rush can stop. And S is off work, so he can have the kids more. Again, not that I don’t enjoy them, I adore my children, but I’m feeling increasingly anxious about Xmas.
I think it’s fair to say most people in NZ seem a bit lost and fed up. We had the earthquakes and flooding and Spring was a cold wash out. It’s officially summer and it’s not started particularly well. Strong winds, rain and the sunny days are generally muggy. Everyone seems to be struggling financially and there is an air of despondency and impatience.
For me, I’m in a state of stasis. My days slowly grow into each other, so I never know what day is it because they’re always the same. I’m slowly churning in thick mud. It’s hard to stay focussed, alert and present.
I’ve still not heard anything from the UK, I find my mind drifts back there, questioning everything and I doubt now I’ll hear anything until the new year. If at all.
I’m restless from therapy exposing raw wounds and trying to manage feelings and thoughts from those conversations.
I gave in to the need to tidy S’s house on the Sunday. The piles of laundry, the kids rooms, the rubbish, it was too troubling for me, especially as my children live there. S made some comments about nothing looking different. I let it go, I didn’t do it for him. I had worked for a good couple of hours and the wheelie bin was full!
I haven’t heard anymore from the guy I went on a date with, whose family member was killed. I expect I won’t now. It must be such an awful time for him and his family. But I selfishly miss the connection we had.
I have my last therapy session on Thursday for a few weeks. I need to put some work into what I hope to achieve. I need to leave with something inspiring and some hope to last the few weeks without the therapy.
I hate this feeling of pressure this time of year. I hate that financially I’m not settled, independent and secure. I hate the uncertainty of the new year. Although I’m trying to see it as a positive opportunity to start afresh, my feeling of gloom and fear is that it will continue to be the same.
Mostly I feel so depressed. Not suicidal, just a consuming melancholy. Uncomfortable. Binding. Smothering.