It’s been a tough couple of weeks. It seems like a month of being off Zoloft (though not quite completely) has all combined and hit me like a tonne of bricks.
Needless to say, the last week or so I’ve been lagging.
I’ve found this last week particularly tough. The combination of school holidays and a to do list that refuses to get any shorter has not made this any easier.
The majority of it was centered around Bridie’s birthday yesterday, and I find that today, now that it’s all said and done, I’m suddenly purposeless.
Boatman came home early from work today, to find me lying on the couch doing not much of anything. It was a rare moment when three kids were asleep and Taylah was happily watching a movie. The house was quiet and peaceful.
‘Have you been having a sleep?’ he asked. A valid question; sleep has not come easy the last ten days.
‘No, I’m just lying here.’
‘Oh that’s good. I’m glad you’re just relaxing.’
‘I wouldn’t say that. I’m just lying here.’
I was searching for words; aching to put all this pent up emotion in to some useful, informative kind of dialogue, and maybe even cry a little. Something, anything at all to just move on and feel.
I just want to feel.
I’ve been so listless. Busy, but without passion. Getting though my list of jobs with a mindless energy they is focused on literally just getting the next thing done.
There has been no satisfaction in my work. In the beautiful bunting I made for Bridie’s party, or the delicious rainbow cake.
Even the annual toy sale birthday shopping trip lacked its usual luster.
In the words of Buffy:
losing all my drive.
I can’t even see, if this is really me.
And I just want to be alive’
As I was lying there on the couch, it wasn’t because I wanted to chill out, or watch tv or anything. It was because there was a part of me that just wanted to somehow sink in to it.
To cease to be .
I know that there are all these things I should be doing; looking for the positive, trying to be happy, walking through a field of roses, whatever, but it’s impossible when I can’t feel anything. Nothing makes me happy. Not even my gorgeous girls 6th birthday being a huge success, could bring a smile to this dial.
I’m so low I don’t even know who or what I am.
All this, I tried to explain to Boatman. To pour it all out in words that can’t quite encompass the magnitude of what I’m trying to say.
And finally, as I fumbled my way through, the tears came and the damn broke.
Sweet, sweet release.
A break through the blockage.
A shaft of light.
And I realised, in that moment, that the thing that makes me happiest, the person who makes me happiest, is Boatman. To know without a doubt that I am loved and supported and cared for whatever mood I’m in, no matter how high, low, or in between I am, is unequivocally reassuring.
No one makes me smile like him. No one else laughs at the same dumb jokes. I can pour out my heart and soul and he will listen and love me, then make me giggle at something so ridiculously stupid.
Standing at our washing line this afternoon, hanging out the clothes, and he tells me he is so happy to see me smile, and I hug him.
‘Can you feel that?’ he asks me.
‘That I love you.’
And I realise that yes, yes I can.
I can feel it.
And for now, that’s enough.