"All the best people are."

Last night I had a visit from the Past, and with it came an insight which I wasn't thrilled about since understanding doesn't automatically bring acceptance. I am feeling hurt, and the self-esteem has taken a little battering*, so I am finding it a little hard to use it.

I know I'll get over it eventually, but I was also a little surprised at my own reaction. I had thought that I was safe, that I no longer felt... I was going to say that I was wrong, but even as I type this, I feel it ebbing, when just minutes ago, I felt that ache in my chest, now an echo. So maybe I was right, after all. Perhaps, this is what a memory of feeling is.

Years ago, after the first break down, I learned that emotional pain never really goes away. It comes back when you least expect it, like a dark wave, breaking over the barriers you've so painstakingly built, stone by stone. I am learning to swim through it, but it's hard work and I'm not as robust as I was.

My visitor is one of those who finds me too emotionally driven. I'll say what a dear friend said to that, "All the best people are."

On a positive note, I believe I am now OK with being alone. The idea of dating is decidedly unappealing right now. I think I'd like more frequent company of an adult nature though. That would be most... satisfying.

* I wonder if I will ever meet someone whom I will click with sexually again. And by click, I mean we will find each other equally attractive. Lately, it seems to be either I fancy them but they don't fancy me or vice versa. Or worse, we sort of fancy each other. Sigh.

"Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out."

I find myself in a an almost perpetual state of frustration alternating with rage these past 10 days. But this morning I read one man's blog about being let go from a job he had held for a decade - and I found myself thinking, "I will NOT be like this." So I breathed the 4, 7, 8 sequence and calmed the fuck down, then promptly did a quick search on stress on work. 

Exercise seems to be the panacea of choice when it comes to alleviating turmoil. I've been a little slack in the exercise department lately, mainly because I've not made the time for it, being too engrossed in my outrage. Being so emotionally driven, I sometimes become lost in the drama* and forget to pay attention. So I shall take my medicine like a grown-up. First dose tomorrow - if my daughter will suffer it. Trying to do a workout when a five-year old insists on jumping on you or using your arms and legs as a crazy maze is quite the challenge.

Oh yes, my weekdays now have a morning two hour slot for my Little Monster. Friday's activity shall be baking corn muffins if we have time: http://agirlcalledjack.com/2015/06/09/corn-bread-muffins-10p-each/. (Yes, I am trying to be a Parent.)


*To those of you who consider "Drama Queens" contemptible, I'll not gloat when you finally explode from throttling your emotional selves. Or turn into dry detached husks, wondering why you feel nothing but emptiness. Meh.

"I'm just not made for this, kid."

"This" being parenthood.

I know, I know -- lots of parents think they're not, that everyone feels this way sometimes. I have long despised the parents who gave the raising of their children to someone else (nanny, grandparents, boarding school) -- to my chagrin, if I could afford it, I would. Because I have found that I cannot be what my daughter needs me to be: 100% there all the time. All these people would care for her in ways that I never can.

This was further brought home to me when I visited the home of a childminder. Her home -- not her place of work, her home -- was a child's heaven. There was all manner of toys, games, costumes for dressing up, books, chickens, cats, a garden, a sandpit... my child belonged here, in this place made so lovingly for the purpose of childhood.

So why did I have a child? Not, as one might expect, because I wanted to be a parent. The reasons now seem naive, but despite what we believe ourselves capable of, predicting accurately how we would react to a situation two, three or five years down the line is not one of those things.

I am in awe of the power of our genes to convince us of the rightness of procreating. I had somehow gone from adamantly not wanting children to craving one in a space of 10 years. Even though, I knew that I would not enjoy parenthood, I'd somehow convinced myself that I would.

Alright, I concede that I did have moments of joy. But let's consider this: I was so angry and sad a few months after I gave birth, that I went back on antidepressants and stayed on them for nearly four years. It was the only way I could cope with my marriage and my child. And even then it was a bit touch and go for while. In that time, I believe I must have enjoyed some things - I have the pictures to show it - but I don't remember many of them. I see the smiles, the things we did, but I do not remember them. Post-meds... well, that's a different story. Take today for example, I ended up locking myself in the kitchen - I was hiding from my own child, because I just could not bear to be with her (the caterwauling, the flinging of cereal all over the bedroom floor and bed, the endless demands). Take a breath? Calm down? Don't shout? Medicate?

For those of you who are made for this, I salute you.