One short hiatus in real life is a long time in the blogosphere. I’ve discovered that blogging gets lost in life and too much energy goes into survival rather than writing about it. So I’ve been quiet lately on the word front but silently screaming daily to try to get back to it until I had to let go. Let go and let the shadows that have been tracking me engulf me in a cloud of self pity. I needed to accept that I was depressed for no apparent reason and I could escape it no more. I have a lot to be happy about so the guilt attached to why I wasn’t was debilitating enough.
Since my last post these clouds would occasionally pass and hover beside me rather than over me. Then I could breathe in normality and reason and doggedly continue to work home and office – the daily grind does not wait. Eventually it feels like no-one is on my side and clouds close in again and I retreat a little further from myself in an attempt to get away, from something.
Then as suddenly as it comes in things begin to clear. Today is a cloudy monsoonal day yet I am in the sunshine. I had breakfast with my family, my second ever match of squash with my beautiful husband as coach and a successful move of rooms for Masters 3 and 2 as well as a partial sort through of baby stuff I don’t need.
Master 7 months is starting to crawl and has two teeth, Master 2 talks like a parrot and Master 3 argues like a QC. Life is good so I cling to the sunshine.
Exercise makes such a difference to my mood; I feel human again not some domestic machine set to ‘repeat’. Basic motherhood advice says to ignore the household chores and focus on the essentials but to my sense of order it is all essential and I can’t handle the mess imposed on me. Oh how I am played when I cannot complete any of the twenty jobs started in any given day!
To draft this post I’ve sneaked outside scribbling fervently on a Spiderman notebook. I must be quick, but already there are shouts for “more Peppa Pig” (DVD). Looking around me I realise how much I hate the all pervasive toys riddling my sense of self and place – scattered, scuffed, battered and broken. Then inside there is a constant mess of clothes, dirty dishes, spilled food, containers, paper and books –nothing in its place.
A gusty monsoonal gale rocks my little house and the tamarind tree leans. I hear their strident voices “let’s play in our house boat” (bunks), “Mum, what are you doing?” Mum where’d you go”? They’re coming for me. “Mum, you wanna have a look at my truck?”
Apparently there a just a few more years to go and babyhood will be behind me. Here’s hoping that the vasectomy worked!