It’s been a little silent on here. In fact, it’s been a whole 83 days since I last posted anything, which is probably the longest I’ve gone since Mum died.
I thought I was trundling along fairly well with grief (and life). I figured that maybe after two years, I might be beginning to move on.
In many ways I have. In many ways the ache is duller. The daily thoughts aren’t always daily. The paralysing grief attacks are fewer and further between. I’m not sure I’ve actually dealt with anything, though. I don’t think I’ve worked through anything. I’ve tried whacking grief on the head with a metaphorical mallet every time it pops up like some strange internal whack-a-mole. I’ve tried distracting from it. Sometimes I even let myself feel it a little, and cry a little, or get angry for a few moments. Occasionally I’ve tried to write about it or paint it.
But have I actually dealt with any of the thoughts, feelings, anger, guilt, resentment, life changes or anything? Nope, not really.
Turns out you can have the house, the job(s) and the car. You can paint make-up and a smile on your face each morning. You can pick up all of these pieces of a flat-pack life, and build them into a magnificent den around yourself, with a big sign on that says ‘I AM ABSOLUTELY FINE AND NAILING LIFE NOTHING TO SEE HERE’. But if you’re not okay, you’ll still sit in the den shaking and crying half of the time, and eventually bits of the den will begin to fall away and expose you for the struggling, human, person that you are.
In my case, the big thing to fall first, was my health. It started slipping and I kept trying to patch it up, but the more it slipped, the more tired I became, and the further it fell, until the big ‘health’ bit of my den came dramatically crashing to the floor in a fairly epic fashion; and on the floor it has remained. Once that went, a few other bits started to go, and here I am, four months later.
One thing that my health dragged down with it was the little self-confidence I had. I can’t even look after myself, so what good am I likely to be at anything else? I doubt every conversation I have. I doubt every decision I make. I doubt everything I do. I walk around with my head down (if I can’t see them, they can’t se me… right?). This has massively impacted my perceived ability to blog.
I have had a whole range of ideas for blog posts I could write, but I quickly dismiss them because with so many voices out there shouting into the internet, who’s going to care about what I have to say? I’m not sure I have anything of value to add to the all-too-cluttered internet-land. (I’m not sure anyone will be particularly interested in this slightly-vague update, either, but I thought that if I broke the blogging silence it might help me to start writing again). Add that to the pitiful excuse of a short-term memory, and total lack of concentration span that come with being rather less well than I should be, and we have one neglected blog.
Looking forward… I think I need to start writing again. I think I need to admit that this whole grief-thing might not be quite over yet, and that writing could help. I want to sort my blog out. I don’t just want to write about grief. I want to write about life and all that entails; art, home, adulting (or trying to), all the messy ups and downs of life, not just the crap bits. I really don’t like my middle name and never have, so I’m not quite sure why I called it that in the first place and I think it needs to change (though I’m not sure what I’m going to change it too, yet). I also want to make it easier to share some of my art. Again, I’m not sure how to do this yet, but I’m sure I can work it out. It’s all going to take time, but there’s no rush. Offline, I’m trying. I’m doing my best to keep myself alive, even if it doesn’t look like it at times.
So, that’s where it’s all at. That’s an incredibly vague explanation for the silence, and an even more vague idea for the future. Thank you to whoever has got to the end of this.