On the way to the bloody doctor tonight I realised the metaphors I use to describe this journey are about control. Washing machines and roller-skates. You’re wet and spinning, cyclical, or your up and skating and down on your arse, repeat. Either way, you’re out of control.
Anxiety is like that.
Grief is a lot like that.
I’m two years into my new life, Life Sans Libby, and this week I’ve tried to get a handle on what I’ve learned. The brief for this journey has always been, okay, Libby’s gone what can I learn from this?
Truth is, today I can’t figure out what I’ve learned. I’ve learnt I was better, more educated, six months ago. I’m sketchy.
The most useful thing I’ve learned is how you feel today is no guarantee of how you feel tomorrow. A bright beautiful day doesn’t not necessarily lead to a beautiful day tomorrow. Good thing is, it’s the same with shit days.
So, I know this. I’d bet the house on it. Still, it doesn’t stop me panicking.
I’ve got a thing about control.
When I was six or seven, or eight or nine, whatever, child abuse was a thing, and the images I have are of dark spaces and tall furniture, and me in my long white school socks, no control. Roller-skates and washing machines, when I’m panicked I feel like I felt when I was a kid, tall furniture, dark spaces, anxiety.
Anxiety. Anxiety is the washing machine a front loader on full, 1200 rpm, lot of noise, no getting out. And it’s an inability to sit still enough for long enough to get your roller-skates on. Not that roller-skates would be much use in a washing machine, I mean, your smalls would get tangled in your wheels and can you image the racket? Ker-thunk, ker-thunk, ker-think.
I’m forgetting what I’m learning and I’m trying to keep it, the panic, the tears, the no Libby, in. No control, control. And it isn’t working because of course it isn’t, I’m not bloody superman.
So back to the doctors.
Who knew I’d ever have the maturity-slash-desperation to go to the doctor to discuss upping the dose? I guess I am learning.
I don’t remember the drive home. I was a bit of a zombie at the chemist. I got cranky at my poor partner because that’s what ya do, give the person who cares the most a hard time when you’re having one, and I had microwaved pizza for dinner.
But I feel good, now. Could be time to learn to roller-skate.
Strangely. It could be hanging about on my blog and making sentences, I always like a sentence. It could be realizing just because you can’t nail down exactly what you’ve learnt you have learnt, it is in there, and it can be accessed. Relax, and you’ll find it.
It could be understanding that going back to the doctor, upping the dose, and plugging into the world via the net, the phone, people in real life tomorrow and the next day, that I am taking control. That feels good.
It feels good. Peaceful.
I kidded about learning to roller-skate; Hilda would never forgive me.