Wrong

image

I overhear some of the other mothers at school plan going to some zumba class and I walk home thinking, ‘there’s something wrong with me because I don’t want to be involved with these things the others like to do.’ One, it’s social. Two, it’s exercise. Both are painful.

I think about wanting to curl up at home, out of the way. But, I also think about not wanting to be lonely. And that gets me thinking about the friend I used to have. The one who would come and visit me. And it was gentle and easy. I didn’t have to try. Sometimes my friend would pick me up and we’d go for hot chocolate and a stroll in Bradgate park. Again, easy and gentle. Two introverts socialising. Such a difference.

This makes me cry and feel broken. One, that I’m not like these others, these extrovert exercisers. Two, I miss my friend. I was nothing to her.  She doesn’t deserve my tears, but I hurt. I hurt. And I deserve them.

Introverts need interaction, too. But, it is that gentle sort. A visit to watch a film together. Music shared. A lazy drive. A quiet mutual rant to right the world.

No answer or cure for this. I’m not joining the zumba and my friend is never coming back.

My tears are justified.

Advertisements

Unfriended

I find myself irrationally upset about having someone ‘unfriend’ me on Facebook. I say irrationally, because it wasn’t anyone I was close to, just a casual acquaintance from the school run. But,  it’s someone I have thought of as very friendly, a person I shared a smile and hello and simple mummy conversation with in the schoolyard. Plus, she was the one who sent me the friend request in the first place.

I began to notice no posts from her, so I checked.

I’ve been unfriended before, but I have always known why… usually some silly drama. Or, it’s been an issue of someone not liking my position on something. But, at least I knew their reason for the unfriending, even if it does seem to be a rather extreme way to handle differences of opinion.

I don’t know why this bothers me so much, why it’s such a sting. Other than…

I guess it makes me feel rather worthless to know, that, without a word, she’d just ‘delete’ me like that.

And, yes, this is just me bpding out. I know. So, I guess I’ve answered my own question as to why I feel this way. But, it still doesn’t make it right.

Sigh.

Life Goes On

image

“Life goes on.” Don’t you just hate this saying? It’s right up there with “snap out of it” and “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger” (gag). The problem is, unlike those latter sayings, “life goes on” is true.

I recently watched an episode of a tv programme I like. In this episode, one of the characters has lost his wife to cancer. He looks out the window and laments that the view is the same. The love of his life is gone from him and so the view shouldn’t be the same.

I agree.

When there is grief, or when life just generally fucks you over, or when the complications that are a part of chronic illness happen, the world should stop. Life shouldn’t go on. But, it does. Relentlessly. Maddeningly. It just keeps going on. And on. And on. It’s wrong, on soooooo many levels.

And we wear our fake smiles and masks and try our best to appear normal because people we encounter are going to tell us “life goes on”. Human compassion has its limits, and they don’t have the capacity to deal with our pain (another reason life should not go on). So, we prepare our lies for when they ask us how we are. “I’m fine.”

I’ve often said this:

Life goes on. And that, my friends, is the tragedy.

It isn’t the loss, or the unfairness of life, or the issues that arise because of our illness – those things are bad enough, but they aren’t the tragedy. The tragedy is that life goes on…when it shouldn’t.

And, so, with all this in mind, I wrote this song and created the artwork for the video.

No, not everyone will get it or like it. But, there will be many who will. It will resonate with anyone who has ever suffered a significant loss, and it will resonate with my fellow squishy brainers. We’re the ones who know what the tragedy actually is.

Living in Hope

image

I don’t clear out my phone often enough; messages sit there for months, years even. Call me a sentimental fool. I hold up my hand and confess.

Today, wrapped in a blanket, feeling physically unwell (as I have for some time), I decide to do a tidy up on my phone. With relative emotional ease, I deleted messages in order to clear space.

Then, I went back into my contacts in order to send a message to my husband. There, in my contacts, was my old friend who no longer wants me in her life.

Awhile back I had deleted her messages, so they weren’t a constant reminder of her absence from my life. But, at the time, and again today, I couldn’t bring myself to delete her from my contacts.

Realistically, I know she might have changed her number by now, but to delete her name out of my phone the way she deleted me from her life… I can’t do it yet. Not today. I still hope that one day she might say hello, might think of the friendship we had…might let go of judgements and assumptions…might just want to laugh and make music with another funny musical soul.

She doesn’t need me anymore. I was surplus. Complicated. And, I became uncomfortable (to her) when I began saying how I really feel and think.

My friend is gone, but I remember and I hope.

Hope is a bitch.