Cracking up…

It’s a strange feeling, dropping from a great height.  Again.  A repeat.  Having just recreated that feeling of joy and happiness around me, it was very quick to shatter in to the many pieces of sadness, loss, grief, shame, so many little pieces of shame and the overriding feeling of anger that it was happening again.

 

In other times of anger, I have donned my trainers and run it out.  Until there was nothing left in me but breath to pant out.  But with the torn ligaments and damage done from a euphoric waterski accident, I have to sit with the ‘white hot pain’ that Glennon Doyle-Melton talks of.

 

And so I sat with it.  I tried to do as my friend advised, to choose happy.  But I couldn’t find the piece.  I could only find or feel the boiling rage, the searing pain, or the dull ache of loss and so I did as Tamara Levitt advised instead.  I let grief in.  I let the sorrow of loss overwhelm me.

 

I looked at it and saw that although there is excitement in the new chapter that begins now we are poised to sign the exchange contracts, it also throws up the reflections of the loss of all the houses we are signing away, a village we always wanted to live in, a school we had chosen for the duration, of friendship groups I once cherished, no feel no longer part of; the loss of everything and a life tainted by all that has happened.

 

There is one positive though, as I dive bombed out from my high happy state, I didn’t feel as though I had gone as far down to be on the rocky sea bed. This time, I was, or am floating high above my mountain summit.   And I do have a choice.  Even it if I can’t find the ‘happy piece’ and choose that, I can decide which way I am going to go when I float back down out of the sorrow cloud.  I can either follow my vision and run down the other side, free and exhilarated in to the new start or I can allow the gravity of the anger or the pull of grief to draw me back to the rocky sea bed.

 

I am going to stay here floating for a while.  Both sides tempting.

 

And just be grateful for my sister on the end of the phone, imagining her next to me giving me words of wisdom.

 

And for my therapist, who got the full force of my anguish and confusion today, who helped calm me with words; that it was ok to feel how I was feeling and not be able to find the happy feeling to choose, it was ok, not childish, pathetic or any of the uncompassionate feelings I had towards myself; and she brought my breathing back to a regular pattern, by simply making me close my eyes and tap so softly with my hands on either knee and just allow the tears to fall off my chin.

 

And for my boys, who let me judge ‘wallee’ (tennis against a wall) and then stroke their blond hair and tickle their brown backs as we watched TV.  They are my grounding and a blessing. 

 

Gratitude is the antidote to depression.  And while I can’t be happy and joyful, I feel a lot less frantic than I did this morning.  And that is progress.  So next time someone comes along with the ‘shit stirring stick’, I will know that I can survive it.  Again.

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