"Time to die"

I've seen things you people wouldn't believe. Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion. I watched C-beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhauser gate. All those moments will be lost in time, like tears in rain. Time to die. 

I watched this film, "Until"  by Barry J Gibb, after Alom Shaha linked to it and was so happy to see such an important subject discussed so beautifully, as well as amazed at the insight shown by the children featured.

It's a conversation we don't have enough. And not talking, or avoiding thinking about something that makes us uncomfortable just makes it scarier.

I am not scared of  ageing, I am scared of pain & infirmity. 

I am not scared of dying, I am scared of living too long & losing my lust for life.

When the time comes that I can no longer create new memories, enjoy a book, film or a conversation over a cup of tea and a cake, then I feel it will have become time to go and trust that I have made enough of a positive impact on those I have met in life that I live on for a long time in their memories.

I don't want to die. I don't think I will want to die when the time comes (unless I have no quality of life). But I recognise that death is a part of life and not something to be feared or dreaded in and of itself. I feel this way, not because I believe in any kind of afterlife or reincarnation (recycling into my basic elements-yes, reincarnation-no) but because I believe that there is a time for everything and everyone. And that if we are greedy and try to take more than is allotted to us, it's as destructive to others as any other type of greed.
After all, who wants to live forever?

"But touch my tears with your lips,  Touch my world with your fingertips

 And we can have forever, And we can love forever, Forever is our today." 

"the flaw"

My sons are always asking "and where was Mum?" when going through family photos. I'm not sure that they are convinced by the answer that I was there, but either behind the camera or just out of shot. (A typical album photo: I am the green-sleeved arm).

This poem by Robin Robertson, from The Wrecking Light, made me catch my breath as I recognised myself: hiding from the camera, but always there "...a figure in the background, stepping from the frame." I don't know if he meant it so literally, or whether it was a way of expressing his feelings about his physical or emotional absence from events, or something else entirely. The only thing I am certain of is that I feel a sadness and disconnectedness reading it.

But once you release your words into the world, they become whatever the reader's experience makes them. I'd like to think he'd just be happy that his words "spoke" to me. Anyway, from now on I will try to be less vain and camera-shy so that my children have pictures of me at as many ages and in as many moods & settings as I have of them. I hope never to hear "and where was Mum?" again.

********************************************************************************

 ALBUM by Robin Robertson :


I am almost never there, in these
old photographs: a hand
or shoulder, out of focus; a figure
in the background,
stepping from the frame.
I see myself, sometimes, in the restless
blur of a child, that flinch
in the eye, or the way
sun leaks it's gold into the print;
or there, in that long white gash
across the face of the glass
on the wall behind. That 
smear of light
the sign of me, leaving.


Look closely 
at these snapshots, all this
Kodacolor going to blue, and you'll
start to notice. When you finally see me, 
you'll see me everywhere: floating
over crocuses, sandcastles, 
fallen leaves, on those
melting snowmen, their faces
drawn in coal - among all
the wedding guests,
the dinner guests, the birthday-
party guests - this smoke
in the emulsion, the flaw.
A ghost is there: the ghost gets up to go.

Summer by the sea

To my surprise, I find that I am still missing Norfolk. We spend a week there most summers, in a caravan belonging to my out-laws, and, although I always love the time we spend there, I usually don't think about it once we leave. This was the first year where I really enjoyed the quiet and isolation of being a 2-3 mile walk from the nearest village/shop/pub/bus-stop... (Neither my partner or I drive. Where we live, it's not really neccessary).

Maybe it's because this was the first year where our youngest was able to do the required amount of walking without getting tired and upset, or maybe it's because I am getting better at being still, but I didn't want to leave.

Look at it. Isn't it beautiful? The light at dusk is breathtaking. Everything goes muted granite colours: soft blue-grey, pink, pale dusty-purple. At sunset, the sky away from the setting sun looks like a colourful bruise. And the sea is so clear that you can still see your feet and the pebbles underfoot when you're knee deep in it.

This photo for me says it all. Instead of the troubled, confused boy I am used to, I see someone who is totally at peace with himself and the world around him. THIS is what I want for him.

Unmasked

Today I had my second CBT appointment. Why does it hurt so much and feel so wrong to think about myself? (And by that, I mean think clearly and truthfully about myself, not that I have never put myself first; I may play the martyr on occasion, but I'm certainly no saint).

It would seem that, in order to deal properly with my depression I first have to address my "social anxiety." I personally thought these things were one and the same, but on closer examination the social anxiety has been with me far longer and is contributing to my move from the mild depression I could cope with (with occasional counselling sessions in times of stress) to the moderate depression that now has me taking medication just to be able to function from one day to the next.

Today's session made me realise that I have been locked in a cycle of unhealthy "masking & coping" activities since I was about 5 years old, and that the things I thought were just part of me being me were actually my mind's attempts at dealing with the situations that scared me. And (giant blow to my ego here) those behaviours I engaged in are very typical. Almost boringly so.

Stopping drinking alcohol was the thing that made my anxiety come to the surface. I knew I was using it as a crutch to get through social situations, but hadn't realised the extent to which I relied on it. People use alcohol and drugs because they work. They numb the pain, mask the anxiety, shut down the awful voice in your head that tells you you are not good enough and never will be. Problem is, in not facing up to these feelings, they get bigger and stronger. They feed on the weakness left behind by avoidance.

I am not saying I'll never drink alcohol again, I still occasionally have a small glass of wine with my dinner, but I never want to end up needing it just to function. I've seen first hand what that does to a person. It's not pretty, especially when it's someone you love and look up to. My kids deserve better than that.

So, am I strong enough to keep going with this process? I don't know. It really, really hurts and I am scared of finding out that underneath all my barriers is someone I don't recognise and don't like. But I'm going to try.

The Dark Place

I'm skirting around the edges of the dark place again. I have an urge to run away to somewhere quiet and cold and green with no distractions. My mind is filled with noise and heat and fear and disgust and it's exhausting just to be.

I have been avoiding speaking to people again. Writing, e-mails, text-messages etc. are all fine. I can control what I say and delay sending if I don't trust my state of mind when writing them, but face-to-face and phonecalls are a terrifying prospect at the moment.

The problem with feeling like this is that the very people I should be turning to, my family (both immediate and extended), are the ones I instinctively want to avoid because I am so scared of hurting, or being hurt by, them. They mean too much to me and I couldn't bear it. Anyone but them.

I know that this is unhealthy. I know that my brain is malfunctioning and playing tricks on me, but I don't have the energy at the moment to fight it. I am hoping that my CBT appointment next week will help me to find a way of being quiet and still despite the noise and chaos that surrounds me, because those things aren't going anywhere any time soon and I need to be able to manage my response to them.

One of "THOSE" mums

Today I was one of “THOSE” mums:

The ones who are so disorganised and caught up in other things that they forget one child’s school is breaking up a day earlier than the other, and thus also closing 90mins earlier than usual. 

The ones who are in a meeting and unable to take calls when their child’s school rings half-an-hour after all the other children have gone home. 

The ones who arrive teary and out of breath within half-an-hour of receiving the call to find that the emergency contact has been called and has had to leave work because he too can’t reach anyone as my phone is engaged trying to ring the school back and my partner’s phone is on divert to mine because the battery died.

The ones who then have to spend ages reassuring their stressed-out, worried child that everything’s OK, nobody’s hurt and “wasn’t mummy silly for getting her days all mixed up” 

The ones who always mess up in ways and at times that inconvenience the most people possible.

The ones you always hear being complained about by parents and teachers alike. 

The ones you have probably complained about at one time or another (I know I have).

The ones who really wish that work life balance was truly achievable, rather than just appearing to be the case because the hours fit around each other when everything is going to plan.

Today I was one of “THOSE” mums, and it’s much, much worse being one than having to deal with the inconvenience caused by one.

Don't Panic!

This morning I had my first appointment for Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT). I was so nervous about it that I left home without doing my usual last minute check to make sure I had everything. Big mistake.

The session itself was fine. As it was our first meeting, the whole hour was taken up with investigating why I had been referred, what I felt were the major issues I wanted to address and coming up with a statement of where I am now and where I would like to be.

It was only when I left that I realised my head was pounding from the effort of trying to put my feelings into words. It was a real struggle to answer some of the questions. There are some things about my current irrationality that I just don't understand (and I hated being put on the spot).

I decided to go home and have a cup of tea to calm myself down before heading to work, but found that I had left my door-keys at home. This set off an anxiety attack of exactly the type I had just tried to explain: my face went all hot, tears were flooding down my face and my breathing became very shallow & rapid. I sat on a bench in the churchyard near the Health Centre and just gave in to it. I couldn't do anything else. At least there was nobody else around to witness it.

Here's the bit where I become proud of myself:

I stopped.

I wiped my eyes clear of the tears, took a deep breath and thought about how I could make things right. I couldn't have done that two months ago. I am ready for this now.

So I am really hopeful that the CBT will help me to shorten (or ideally bypass completely) the bit where I panic and give in. I can be rational. I can fix things that go wrong. I just need to get to a place where I really believe this.

Memory

Blink.

The sun plays an insistent beat on my eyelids.

Blink | beat.

You jump on my chest and giggle as the breath comes out of me in a giant "whoosh"

"Wake up Mummy"

I smile and turn over on my side, twisting you around so that we are nose-to-nose, foreheads touching and your toes tickle my tummy as you try to curl up in the space where the roundness of the bump that used to contain you still refuses to budge.

You stroke the hairs on my arm, flash me a huge, sunny smile and say "I'm softing you" and my heart bursts.

We have finally bonded. It is only now that I realise we hadn't before.

To my children.

You are beautiful and intelligent and funny. You brighten my days and make me want to be a better person.

You are not perfect (who is?) but you can break my heart with a smile as much as with angry words and hurtful actions.

You are magical and wonderful and terrible and I love you so much.

If I ever made you feel small, I am sorry. I have been made to feel that way and I know how much it hurts.

If I ever made you feel stupid, I didn't mean to. Sometimes my impatience with my own inadequacies makes me harsh with you when I see you making the same mistakes as I have, over and over again.

I cannot promise that I will always be there. I cannot promise that I will not make mistakes. I cannot promise that I will never hurt you with my words or actions. I cannot promise that I will always understand.

I do promise you that I will try my very best not to hurt you. I promise that I will always admit to you when I've got something wrong and that I will apologise. I promise to do my best to give you the tools you need to be happy, healthy and productive.

I promise I will love you always, no matter what.

Standing on the shoulders of giants

A while ago now I read this blog: Standing on the shoulders of giants by Samyogita (@Hardigirl on twitter). As it is intended to be a collaborative blog, I've been trying to think about what I could contribute. You see, I haven't really done the things I thought I'd do when I was younger. I have a fairly ordinary job, I haven't travelled very much, I didn't go to university, become an astronaut/teacher/policewoman, get married, buy a house...the list of things I was inspired to do by teachers, authors, film-makers, but didn't get around to doing, is endless. The one thing on my list I have done is become a mum.

If I am a good parent, it's because of my own Mum. She gave (and still gives) the kind of hugs that make the world go away and everything feel safe. Any faults she may have had (and we all have them) were insignificant because she was always there and on my side when I really needed her. She taught me that the best thing you can do for your kids (apart from let them know that they are loved) is give them a safe space in which to make mistakes & get hurt (even if she did her best to prevent us doing so) while setting boundaries, teaching personal responsibility and showing that everyone makes mistakes but it doesn't matter as long as you learn something from them.

So the giant on whose shoulders I'm standing, the person who most helped to shape who I am today, is not famous. She has not won any awards, had books or articles written about her, she's not "powerful" in any sense of the word but she is very important to me.