I heard from someone the other day, who said (about my blog) “I am a bit disappointed that it’s becoming more and more about pictures and less and less about you.”
Well, he’s not the only one who’s disappointed … I am too. But the truth is, photos are easier.
I don’t know what’s happening to me at the moment, but I have zero positive energy, and I’ve felt this way for days. My head is a complete shed, but without the massive, obvious, outward emotion or personality change. It’s all inside bubbling like a brewing volcano, but outwardly, I’m just flat and tired, and uninspired, and … well …. dead, really. I’m occasionally conscious of the thoughts in my head, and they are berating me for being a complete loser with no way out. No joy in my job, no money, no motivation, no ambition, no relationship, no support network …. Just a very, very little person in a very large, unappealing world.
I have tried sooo hard to boost the spirit and try to inject some positivity – avidly reading blogs by MindMindful every day, and clinging to the Mantras and other profound advice she gives …. but I can’t seem to hold on to any of it.
And once again, I think of my poor child …. He has seen this deadened version of me for at least a week now, and we cannot find a decent common ground. He is almost permanently on the defensive lately – and rightly so – because I have attacked him quite harshly a couple of times during the last few days, for no deserved reason. He doesn’t know which version of Mummy he will get from day to day anymore, and it hurts when I can’t predict it either.
Perhaps it’s the medication I am on. I assume it is. Last weekend, my mother came to visit – which, in itself, always causes a great deal of stress and anxiety. I had been “down” for a week prior to her visit, and this carried into Friday and Saturday. Then Sunday my mood suddenly shifted into Superwoman territory – a massive energy boost, during which I spoke way too much and too quickly, couldn’t make a decision about anything, became VERY irritated and upset with those closest to me, and impulsively bought tickets to Marrakech with money I don’t have. I couldn’t decide whether to take my mum or my son (purchase was based on two sharing), so I bought three tickets (as you do). It now turns out my mother “hates” Marrakech, and my son would prefer to stay home – and the tickets are non-refundable, so there you are. And as soon as the money comes out of my account, it will take me beyond my overdraught limit, so the cheque will probably bounce anyway.
And now I’m just flat and non-responsive to anything resembling emotion, except for a few weepy tears and an unbelievable, incessant discourse going on in my head.
I’m due back to see the doctor for a medication review on Wednesday – also for CBT on Thursday, start WRAP group on Wednesday, and there is a Team Around a Child meeting set up by the school on Friday – so it promises to be busy, and hopefully productive week to set me back on track.
Unlike before, writing this piece has not been a cathartic experience. It feels like I have to dredge it out somehow rather than it being a release of pent up thoughts. I have even wept on occasion during its writing, because I keep thinking what a complete nonsense this “life” of mine is, and wishing I could turn the clock back and have another stab at it.
When I first started this blog, my intention was to use it as an outlet to try and make sense of this crap that is happening to me. My photography has now encroached on that purpose, because, while I’m completely flattered that lots of people read my posts for the pictures and have good things to say about them, I also feel that my “writing therapy” has taken a backseat. I have this almost childish fear that if I write about what’s really going on with me, I will spoil the “feel-good factor” – burst the happy bubble – and disappoint and disillusion readers.
I just can’t seem to get my head around the fact that this is my blog. I have lost the courage to write what I want, and instead I have returned to doing what I have always done: worrying about what other people will think of me and rolling with the safe option, i.e. photos.
Hopefully, writing this will springboard me into a bit of action ….
and then, maybe it won’t ….
To be honest, I can’t even find enough energy to care.
Alice through the Macro Lens 
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