I’m a little busy right now…
Can I please postpone my mental breakdown?
This has been an extremely tough week mentally and physically. I feel like I am fighting for my life and I guess in some ways, I am.
Let’s start with the physical…
I have physical limitations. They include extremely serious spinal problems. I suffer from excruciatingly painful chronic back problems. I refuse to be pumped full of chemicals and so, I grin and bear it. Mind over matter and all that.
My daily routine when my husband was home involved a loving and short rub of my back in the morning and sometimes at night. After 14 years, he was the only one who knew exactly how to rub my back to give me immeasurable relief.
We would go to sleep with him spooning my back. Those back rubs were my lifeline. I often told him the way he held me at night was one of the best things in my life. It is (was) akin to coming home.
There is no one to rub my back and in a small way, ease my pains.
There is no one to spoon, hold and comfort me at night.
This week, I have been logging around heavy stuff that I have no business lifting. I’ve been loading and pushing heavy bins through long steep passages. I have not done any such “manly” thing for over 20 years (6 years relationship, plus a little gap where I had a boyfriend, plus 14 years with my husband).
At the end of all that, every bone in my body was shattered. My back was on fire. I am proud of myself for carrying on with things. By goodness have I carried on with things. I was feeling like shit and there I was, accessories to match my clothes, full make-up, bright red lipstick, bring red nail polish, big Prada sunglasses, rock star me.
Now that an event two Saturdays ago has announced to my gossiping neighbours that my husband is no longer at our home, my goodness, they must know that I keep ticking. I keep going. I hold my head high. I haven’t done anything to be ashamed of. The explosion that has rocked my life wasn’t lit by me.
The only place I will lose it will be behind closed doors.
Mentally, this week has stretched me beyond all endurance. If I had tried to write this post yesterday, it would have been complete and utter jibberish. If this post is littered with mistakes and nonsensical, forgive me.
It’s been one of those weeks. I haven’t slept for more than one or two hours each night since Saturday. I am both worried and impressed by myself that I am still functioning.
I had planned to check myself into a clinic this morning to get dosed up and sleep for hours and hours and hours and hours. Sleep always cures all my ills.
And then the gardener who was supposed to revamp my garden which has been neglected for months for reasons I now understand, cancelled yesterday. (He didn’t turn up today either but hopefully tomorrow will be third time lucky.) There was no way on earth I was going to leave the house knowing that by the time I got back home or find someone else to sort the garden, it would be a jungle out there.
I might as well announce to the whole world that my life is in complete chaos. Hell no. There must be some order in all this confusion.
This mental breakdown will have to wait another day, preferably, never.
I am not being flippant about mental health issues nor am I dicing with my vulnerable state of mind. This morning, I had a very long phone call with a very kind practitioner at the clinic who has armed me with another appointment, more information and reassurances that help is at hand 24/7. He was very nice to me and I found myself crying like a baby. He reassured me that the trauma and grief I was experiencing, with the endless sleepless nights, depressed mood, crying etc. were normal in the circumstances.
I felt reassured that he thought that I hadn’t completely lost it even though he didn’t even know a fraction of the events of the last 9 weeks and one day.
For all that is good in the universe, I hope that I finally get some sleep tonight.
I am down but I am not out.