Today I am angry and frightened and angry because I am frightened

TOMORROW IS A NEW DAY

I’m not sleeping well. That isn’t really newsworthy as I have been an insomniac my entire life but now I am tired, so tired. It is tiring being scared to step out of your own front door, it is tiring to check if your neighbours are in their garden every time you want to step out to look at the butterflies or sit quietly by the pond or simply to have ‘a moment’. It is tiring to worry all the time. It is tiring searching for myself and wondering how I can ‘get over’ this. It is tiring being angry with myself for not doing better, being better and taking more steps. It is tiring being angry with myself for being scared of everything. It is tiring being angry at myself for letting this happen, for not seeing it coming, for not stopping it before it took hold. I am tired with reprimanding myself for being angry at myself when I know it is not my fault and blaming myself will solve nothing. I am so tired of crying.

I opened the back doors this morning as I always do and my first thought was “I never want to go outside again”. Me, the woman who loves the feeling of grass between her toes, the wind in her hair. Me, the ones who finds solace in the rain and rejoices to feel it upon my skin. Me, the one who never feels quite so at home as I do in the woods, among the trees, the nature who forgives, who doesn’t judge, who accepts my footfalls and welcomes them earnestly. ‘Me’, where am I and who is this frightened little mouse who has taken my place?

I feel like I am living on a knife edge, one false move and I’ll be gone forever, how long can people really put up with me being like this? How long before they grow tired of my bullshit? How long before they say “enough is enough, get over it”, perhaps they think it already, I know I do.

I keep reminding myself that I need to rest, I need to cry. If I need to scream then I should scream but I don’t, I just sit here wondering what the feck I should be doing and how I can change it. Where are the Men in Black with their forget me stick? Where is Mr Wells with my time machine? Where is the Doctor with my Tardis? Where is Rufus with my fucking phone box? This is simply not on. This is where I am stuck, there is no going back, there is no changing what has happened, there is no manual, there is only forward. Forward is hard when you are frightened and the world doesn’t seem to make sense but forward I must still go. It’s not game over yet man.

So, the neighbours doors are closed and the back garden is safe again, my little sanctuary placed back into my eager hands. I sit outside to enjoy the cool summer’s breeze, cutting through my thin shirt and dancing on my chest, it feels like freedom, just for a fluttering moment. The butterflies have retired and the moths are doing their erratic rollercoaster dance through the air. My cat, Merlin is asleep under the buddleia, I can smell his breath from here and I smile at the thought that I have the smelliest cat in the world; he’d even rival an ocelot! I can hear the hedgehogs stirring in their house, waiting for the darkness to beckon them to their beetle search and nightly ‘chase Merlin down the garden grunting’ routine. The bats will be out soon too, this is good, this is home, I am safe here. Breathe.

It’s strange really, I have made such great progress and were I somebody else I would be highly commending of the effort made and steps taken. However, I am not, I am me and can’t seem to muster the enthusiasm to be pleased with myself. I have managed three trips into town now, I visited my Mum, I have made two phone calls, I waved at a neighbour, I have made fimo Pikmin, I have made furniture for Phoebe’s dolls house and I have started working again so why do I feel that I have achieved nothing? Where is this negative part of the brain and why can’t the logical part seek it out and override it? Progress has been so good so why do I still feel like some crazed old bat? I find myself mindlessly moving cups into the middle of the coaster, dead centre, attempting to balance spoons on the edge of bowls. I find myself counting the grain in the wood before I begin to burn, the OCD is on the prowl it seems. With that in mind I make a mental note to buy a garden gate, that way I can hear people coming…….

I know this train of thought is not good, I know it isn’t helping but there appears to be no off switch, where the hell is it? Answers on a postcard…..

Today I will play my ukulele in the garden whilst the children play with the sand. I will practise the tiny part of Lazarus that I am learning to cries of “look Mum, I’ve made a bum in the sand!” And I will laugh. Laughter to drive out the darkness, smiles to stifle the fear and for a short time, my heart will not pound so hard with fright.

That is the answer I guess, look for the light in every new day, seek out the wisdom, the energy, the positive. Easier said than done though eh?

Well, here I go, another day, I’ve managed this far and that’s not bad, where’s my uke?

“Even the darkest night will end and the sun will rise” — Victor Hugo