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15th September 2019

 

I’m going to try blogging again. I wasn’t great at doing it all the time when the kids were small but they’re not anymore and I liked it. I did! The general hiatus has been because basically I’ve been really fucking base level sad and disappointed. For a long long time. I’ve had a-lot of weird stuff come to the fore in the last couple of years that has been incredibly difficult to manage, this, in retrospect sounds utterly ridiculous because I am completely cognisant I’m very lucky in the grand scheme of things. But loss, challenge, trauma. I’ve had a rougher ride than I expected having happily found myself married with two kids and a dog. It’s only about 15 months ago I was sitting in a basement room with a box of tissues and the psychotherapist opposite me uttered the word “anhedonia” and when I looked it up I was like ‘oh……. yeah, that’. I was so tired. I was so done.

this is what that word means : anhedonia : an inability to feel pleasure in normally pleasurable activities.

If you’re reading this you probably know I like alot of stuff: my friends and family, crochet, running, reading, music,  food, my dog.

I didn’t have anything in me at this time.

Pretty much mid last year I was only covering the basics: there were clean clothes, and food and so so many cuddles with the kids and dog. But I didn’t do anything else. I was a high functioning wreck, an absolute drain on those surrounding me, trying to support me, and in turn I found myself walking home in my lunch break and crying for an hour and then going back to work. I made nothing, I barely read, I did what needed to happen, the food, the laundry. And then I flaked.

I got written off work in the end with a horrible telephone conversation in which the doctor on the other end of the handset told me ‘you are not going mad’ – I’ve walked past that person since –  they were totally unaware how their words had reassured me, because I thought I’d lost my grip. The whole thing felt so staggeringly absurd… but I had ABSOLUTELY NOTHING LEFT. I’d burnt out. The last year hasn’t been a picnic, it’s been better, better than better – the person who delivered the news that ‘we’d all adapt’ can perhaps feel some sense of validation in that. But for two and a half years, I’ve been worried about alot.  Where will we live, how will I cope. Basically two years of shit that have entirely benefited from not being documented.

Anyway. Back. Making. PLANS. And reading. If you read this far. It’s ambiguous with reason. You know that.

 

 

 

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