I didn’t choke when I took my
tablets this morning. (The one with turmeric in it is particularly chunky, but
it helps my arthritis.) If I did choke no-one would find me until Nev came home
from work. No-one handy to help.
It’s the feeling of isolation
that bothers me the most. Not that I mind my own company – don’t get me wrong.
I’m actually enjoying having a bit of time without the complexities of human
interaction. But I’m feeling kind of invisible. If I choked would any-one notice?
The world would go on.
Here I am, rattling on as if
some-one’s listening.
Since no-one is, I can say what’s
really bothering me - I’m depressed.
I’m not a celebrity, so it’s not
glamourous. It mostly consists of trying not to think about the release of
death while my fruitless job-search continues, along with the grieving for the
bittersweet job I can no longer do, as I struggle to train the dog, and I try
to stay positive, and I focus on the task, and I meditate and try to be
mindful.
I’m on the upswing again – I
couldn’t write this, otherwise. And I pause to feel for the people who can’t
even get out of bed in the morning. At least I can always do that. Somewhere
along the way I have learned that, no matter what, you just have to keep
putting one foot in front of the other and do what has to be done. Perhaps it
was my children, needy babies, who taught me that.
With them it wasn’t enough to
just feed and change nappies. I had to try to act the calm I didn’t always
feel. It’s a handy trick.
“Hello. How are you?”
“Good thanks.” (No. I’m not good.
I’m fucking awful. I’ve got no job and I can’t go back to the old one and
everything in my life is wrong and painful because I‘m having trouble breaking
the current loop of self-loathing.) “Could I have three lamb chops, please?”
I understand why people so often
fail to pick suicides. You learn to keep your disease to yourself. It makes
people uncomfortable. And what can they do anyway? If I had a broken leg people
could see the cast and be a bit kind to help me out.
