Eleven months ago a series of events was set in motion and with it came an undeniable realisation, that being (supposedly) grown up, can be entirely horrible. These issues of the unbloggable kind have cut to the quick. They sit so heavily upon my shoulder, there are times I can walk only in circles.
Such events do not involve a tragedy or the loss of a loved one and indeed, on the surface they appear entirely superfluous: in the grand scheme of things, possibly even frivolous. Yet they do involve another kind of undeniable tragedy and certainly, a great sense of loss. Foundations are rocked when you realise what you have always thought ‘is’ just isn’t. When a great sense of betrayal gives way to a grief that pitches low and constant and is barely perceptible but rises to the surface, in a blink of an eye, with the rawest of howls.
In the last month, I have made a conscious decision to minimise, as much as possible, the emotional cost of these events. I realise how destructive it is, monotonously waiting for communication, much less explanation. Things were beginning to be better, until yesterday. Yesterday those events were presented to me again and I ran in circles and journeyed nowhere and blew up in a great roar of frustration and today I am numb and again my brain only thinks in ‘bland’.
PS. Please know that everything that is most important is fine. The Mr wrapped me in cotton wool and made much tea and the kids have drawn sympathetic pictures in the form of dinosaurs and hearts and left notes with many exclamation marks (and then apologies in case so many exclamation marks “hurt my eyes”).
PPS. Also cutting through that numb blandness is a realisation that it really does help to write stuff down...
PPPS. ...to the extent that when wandering away from the computer on a coffee quest, I noticed something small and significant and wonderful. Those seeds the kids and I planted way back when? Growing! Not dead! Living!