At least, this is what I keep reading….it’s OK to acknowledge one’s feelings. So here goes……I’m not OK. I am so sad it actually hurts. I am guilty for not being able to let the sadness go. Yet I know that for me to recover, I have to allow the sadness out in order for it to cause less mental damage than it has already. But of course, if it were so straightforward, I’d have felt my sadness fully a long long time ago. This sadness is a betrayal. A betrayal of love, of responsibility. It is a sadness of fear and of shame. I hate this fucking sadness.
I’m fighting the best way I can. Writing this is one of the ways I’m trying to fight. I am in pain. And it won’t bloody well go. I’m trying to look after myself the best way I can. But it’s so hard. Every day is hard. Put it this way, I’m now being careful about the amount of painkillers we have in the house. I know in my darkest moments I might be tempted and I can’t do that. I will not let my children down. Am I in crisis? I don’t know. If so, then I’ve been in crisis for years and years because this is how I have felt for as long as I can remember. I just hide it very well. I’m one of those ‘high functioning’ people. If you met me, you’d have no idea of the depth of pain I’m in. I’ve always been in. It’s a battle I worry I won’t win.
I got a food processor for Christmas, and I’m using it to make fresh food. Ideally the kids would eat it but in reality, not so much. However, my eldest has taken to making fruit smoothies for her and little boy, so that’s a bonus. And this morning I made fresh pesto. Granted it was through tears, but at least that means there’ll be no need to add salt I guess…..I am fighting. I feel like I’m achieving something if I make fresh meals.
I desperately want to be OK. I want those fleeting moments of just being, to float on and on and on. I’m not naive (I’ve experienced far too much for that indulgence). I don’t expect life to be so smooth all the time. But my internal turmoil to stop bubbling away. For sleep to be restful and peaceful. For smiling and laughing to feel more real, more of the time. To feel less fearful, less shame, less hopelessness, less helplessness. That’s what I wish for. I’m not OK. But I really really want to be.