Sunday, 15 March 2009

The morning after the life before...

I overindulged. I know I should have stopped sooner but I couldn't. I went with the flow until I passed out cold in a pool of loveless misery, finally waking to a monumental marriage hangover. I have been lying here shivering for some time, quietly waiting for a kind soul to arrive proffering the reassuring plink, plink, fizz that heralds the road to recovery. I could be waiting for some time... even I am having difficulty locating myself.

Where on earth did I disappear to and how did I let it happen? It is a truly sobering thought.

Once upon a time, a long time ago, in the days before marriage and child bearing, I distinctly remember that I had a personality and even interests. I was fearless. I travelled the world, alone; jumped out of aeroplanes; abseiled down buildings at 3 am; had inappropriate liaisons and frankly far too many other things that raise the hairs on the back of my neck at the mere thought of my daughter repeating (well, she is only five). In the intervening years I seem to have become fearful without even realising. My current level of spontaneity is to take myself out for an unexpected cup of coffee. Ye Gods. On balance it would appear that a total redesign is indeed the necessary, if not exactly preferred, option. Whist I determine exactly how that might be achieved, I think I might just drag myself from floor to bed. Tiny steps... tiny steps...

 

5 comments:

mothership said...

Where did those people that were us in the past go? I am also wondering where my former self went. I sometimes wonder if it is not more to do with the fear that comes with being a mother than the damping down that comes with marriage (though that's not to be underestimated). She (me) sometimes seems to have disappeared like the Cheshire Cat but without the smile..
Yes, tiny steps, tiny steps. Recovery, of any kind, is only achievable this way.
I'll be keeping an eye on you xo

Mrs Trefusis... said...

We come back. We do. We rediscover ourselves through sideways glimpses into a forgotten past and slowly the pieces of fragmented self start to cohere. Think of yourself as a genuine Titian, painted over by an inferior painter, only to be rediscovered inch by inch as the long-lost masterpiece as the layers of varnish and paint are painstakingly removed. x

The Unreliable Historian said...

The best I can offer from my divorce survival kit is to do things for yourself that will recharge and reclaim the self that gets lost. My task for you today is to make your self a mixed CD to play in the car, or even just a set list to play while you write- take this as seriously as if you were making a song list for a new lover you wanted to impress with your very best songs. Ask yourself what kind of music makes you happy? And make a truly just for you list. You don't even ever have to tell anyone what is on the list because you are wooing yourself here, the tasteful, complicated, wonderful self that needs a shake or two to know that it is okay to come out now, and perhaps dance a little.

Cassandra said...

I want to comment on the song but I can't access the comments box...I LOVE the song, I also love re-writing pop music. Check out my "Woman in love with the shops", a re-writing of the Babs Streisand (sp?) classic. And sorry that you are having such a shit time. Cassandra x

Juno California said...

dear late developer,
You are not a late developer,
I am at a farther point in life in terms of age and older daughter and I so still struggling to figure out how this all happened to me and to come to terms with the "Me" that is now.
You are doing great, and listening to you is inspiring. Finally a blog of someone who talks about all the inner darkness without concealing.
But, pray, where have you disappeared?
http://www.blogger.com/home
yours, Juno