Starting Over 

Today was a good day. For most of the day I felt normal. I did normal things. I did normal things outside (!) amongst other people! I had two meltdowns. One when I was due to leave the house with my daughter and felt like I might die in fear. I was choking back tears and shaking but once I was driving I was fine. The other meltdown came in the evening. Anger and frustration felt like they wanted to rip me apart. Got through that too without any casualties so yeah, all things considered, a good day.

It’s made me consider: what will I be like when I’m normal? That’s an optimistic thought isn’t it?! Look at me imagining getting better! (For what it’s worth just having that positive thought makes me feel like I need to physically punish myself)

But seriously, what will I be like? What will my life be like?

For example I’m starting to wonder about work. I love teaching. I am passionate about it however I can’t deny that I’m happier without the stress. I miss the interaction and using my brain but, fuck me, it is amazing to not have to work evenings and weekends. It’s given me an opportunity to think: hey, what do I want to do?

I’m creative. I’ve always known that and have tried to incorporate creativity into my lessons. Turns out I’m never happier than absorbed in some creative task. That’s me

It’s such a weird thing to start assembling a personality – trying out different ideas to find what fits. It can be exciting. It can be overwhelming. It can be frightening. What if I’m not suited to Andy any more? What if I want to leave him? Thoughts like that are terrifying and I put them to one side. I don’t know who I’m going to be so worrying about that is futile, if natural.


Sometimes the idea of starting over is akin to being asked to walk to the moon. Impossible. Huge. A task so gargantuan that should the final destination be reached I will collapse and die from a combination of exhaustion and old age! What’s the point in that? It makes me mourn the time that has passed already. I’m middle aged. Has my life been half lived? I really don’t want that for the next 36 years. 

Footprints on the moon – but they didn’t walk to get there

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s