So, since I got back from my ‘other home’ (where my parents live) a couple of weeks ago I’ve been full of pent up emotions. Before leaving London I joked to my best friend that I felt sorry for the person next to me on the plane, envisaging me balling my eyes out. Then more seriously I said to her, I hope I do just break down and cry, because I knew if I didn’t, I’d just continue on with all these built up emotions, just blocking me up. I didn’t cry. I slept a lot. I felt so sad, but I didn’t cry. I never really used to cry aside from when I was drunk (okay, so the last few years that was most nights… but it’s so different..)
I’ve spent the last two weeks feeling intensely sad at points, hurting physically at the thought of not seeing my Mum for 4 months. Trying to work out finances and expectations and hours between my two jobs. Trying to actively lose weight, but not open up the doors to self loathing or criticism. I almost broke down a week ago. At a Muay Thai class. I was so exhausted, and the class was going well, but at the end I just couldn’t muster up any more mental or physical energy. I was trying so hard and felt like such a big lump. I’m pretty fit. I care about what I put into my body. I exercise a lot. I always take the stairs. I walk as much as I can. But even since I decided to get healthier, I put on weight. The ONE time in my life I was a size where I didn’t feel like ‘the fat one’, or ‘the best friend’ was when most of my calorie intake was booze. But since then I’ve sworn to myself to treat myself better. And I have, but my god, was not being ‘the big one’ amazing. I see woman much bigger than me and I think they are utterly sexy and gorgeous. And ‘gorgeous’ woman much smaller than me and wish they’d put on weight (including some friends) because I don’t think they look very well. So, it’s not that I have this perfect ideal. But when it comes to running, to jumping, to being more physically lean and agile – I feel…
Actually I didn’t mean this to be a speil about weight. And boring myself. And kinda happy with that. Because deep down, or not even so deep down I cherish how I am now. And I wouldn’t give this up to be lighter…. But it was all these thoughts that made me holding back tears. Trying so damn hard and ‘failing.’ Actually, the only thing I really had failed at was holding back tears, but I think I got away with it and only let a few out. I was hoping I’d get home and cry all those tears that needed to be cried. But no, the walls had come back up, and that uncomfortable sea of emotions insides stayed put.
Everything is good. The job situation, though stressful in terms of working out what and when, is pretty damn excellent. I am working somewhere I NEVER thought possible. 16 year old me remembers day dreaming about doing a job like this. And it’s happened. I FUCKING MADE IT HAPPEN! I’m writing. I mean, like writing, and people are saying they like my writing. And I’m making new friends. And I have such a beautiful family, and such wonderful friends. Damn – at Easter I’m meeting 2 friends from Europe and 1 from Asia to all go on a yoga retreat together. I mean WOW! How damn good is life!! But I can’t shake this sea of unsettledness. URGH! I know I can’t force that seed of contentment, but for fucks sake, how much good shit needs to happen for it to appear?! What more do I want from, and for myself? I started questioning if I’m going down a path I don’t want to be, but just think I do.. and that’s why I’m not feeling happy or excited about all these things. I wanted this move to bring me more freedom and laughter, as I’ve said before.. a lighter life. But I feel weighed down.
And that brings me to yesterday morning. I woke up to a sad text from a friend about the death of Dolores O’Riordan. Not only did I think she was an incredible, powerful, dynamic, inspirational woman, frontwoman, social commentator.. The Cranberries have been a soundtrack to my life. So, thinking of all their songs, and then playing them whilst working out, brought a FLOOD of emotions and memories. I then… put my 6kg weight on my bed. I usually do this very carefully. I did not yesterday. It bounced off and smashed right into my bedside floor light (I know.. why the fuck do I have one of those in a tiny studio flat!? NOT my choice!) It shattered loudly and instantly. I started sobbing uncontrollably. Wondering why the fuck I moved. I wanted to just be with my parents. What was I doing? I’m trying so hard to save and keep everything together and I feel like some fucking fraud. Why do I fucking bother? and the tears kept rolling. It did not feel good. I had a really important meeting at new job and my face was puffy and I called my Mum from the Underground and started crying again..
But I made it through the day. In fact, it was a really good day. I gave myself a pep talk and gave my best self to my new colleagues. The costs of fixing the stupid floor bed light are £140. Not the £500 I though it might be.. (just thought the worst obviously.) It’s still a lot to fix something I never wanted, and is stupidly unnecessary, but something changed when I smashed that glass. I don’t feel fabulous. I don’t feel content even. But something shifted. And I feel more positive. I can see the clouds opening a little. I hope they continue to open, I’m a little scared they won’t.. but I have faith that to get what you want in life there is a lot of hard work, uncertaintity, and a lot of effort, planning and emotion. And I hope, after all I’ve put in, I can sit back and enjoy it a little soon.. of course me sitting back and enjoying it means FUCKING GOING FOR IT but not having to do interviews, wait for contracts, have awkward conversations with employers. I lost my appetite in London. I have it back, but it’s different. I don’t feel obsessive. I can go to the supermarket and not overbuy. I can think about what to have for dinner on the way home, not plan for the whole week (in a food obsessed way, rather than for some real, positive reason.)
So, that’s me right now. I met a guy on Bumble. He seemed pretty cool at first, but then his chat? Kept asking me questions.. to which I’d respond, then no acknowledgement of my answers and another question.. pissed me off. I’m a conversationalist. I like to know about people and I like people to listen to what I say! So, I declined his offer for coffee in favour of a long walk with a new friend. Right choice. I sent a nice message
Oh. So, this made me laugh a lot… in my frazzled state yesterday I cleaned up the glass mess on the floor. But most of the glass was actually in the area/rectangle box that the strip lights are in. My plan, to keep myself safe, and not step on the glass when I got out of bed was to tape cardboard over the wooden box and glass. PERFECT. I’M SO SMART.
When the handyman came round to measure up the glass needed he said ‘be really careful cleaning this up. You have gloves right?’ And it dawned on me. LIKE EVERY OTHER TIME I HAVE EVER BROKEN ANYTHING EVER I NEEDED TO CLEAN UP THE GLASS AND NOT LEAVE IT AND COVER IT WITH CARDBOARD?! I managed to stay cool and be like ‘yeh of course’ and then when he left, had a giggle fit. Just imagining all the times I’ve broken a glass; ‘fuck it, not cleaning it up, just going to tape cardboard over it to keep my feet safe.’ Hahahahahaha
So, I feel mad at myself about breaking the glass. £140. When I count every cent. When I go to three supermarkets to check out I buy the cheapest Weetabix. This is how I save and manage to travel. But part of me is like, it had to happen. So, that’s my 3 second costly therapy session.