2. The last book I remember reading and genuinely enjoying was The Fault in Our Stars by John Green. If "enjoying" is the right term. I remember picking it up on sale at Indigo and lazily thinking "Hmm, could be a good read." I read most of it overnight under my blanket while using my phone as a flashlight. I cried like my heart was breaking, and Natalie slept unmoving in her bed on the other side of the room. I remember being so desperately careful not to wake her with my sobbing. (It wasn't until the next morning I realised that she had slept with headphones on and that my worry was for nothing). I got up the next morning, showered, dressed for the day, and finished it off. I had moved the divan so that I sat with the curtains open, sun shining on Toronto, traffic piling up below, and me sitting with my feet tucked up under me. It was a good time to be free.
3. I remember being back at home two days after my return from Toronto, sitting around in pyjamas, moodily staring out the window feeling dissatisfied, and unhappy with everything. After years of having a fairly solid idea of who I was/where I was going, suddenly I didn't have either - no purpose, and no meaning.
It was at this point that I felt tired. The kind of tired where you sleep and it's not enough, oversleep and wake up still tired, or lie awake for hours unable to get any rest whatsoever. And then the crying began. The kind of crying where you don't even know that it's happening until a stranger on a bus is handing you a tissue and he's asking what's wrong and you didn't know anything was, where you're sitting at your desk calmly working away and having conversations with colleagues who are looking at you oddly because you don't know you're crying. It's like there's this huge black hole where your emotions should be but all you have is tears (you lose hours, days to crying), and you try to fill it with noise and distraction and tv shows and fanfic to give you secondhand/third hand feelings that aren't your own because you don't remember what it was like to not be anything but sad. So much sad you don't even have words for it. It feels like you're grieving or mourning but you have no idea what for. You only know that it's all you have in you right now, and you're maybe a little bit scared that if someone can name what this is then it can be fixed, and if that hole full of secondhand/third hand borrowed emotions is taken away...what if you were made up of nothing, after all?
How about them apples.
These are the last 3 clear things I remember before life got crazy.
(I think maybe things were crazy for me, anyway, and had been for a while, and my body had been trying to tell me so, but it would be another two years almost before I actually listened and got help).
It was at this point that I felt tired. The kind of tired where you sleep and it's not enough, oversleep and wake up still tired, or lie awake for hours unable to get any rest whatsoever. And then the crying began. The kind of crying where you don't even know that it's happening until a stranger on a bus is handing you a tissue and he's asking what's wrong and you didn't know anything was, where you're sitting at your desk calmly working away and having conversations with colleagues who are looking at you oddly because you don't know you're crying. It's like there's this huge black hole where your emotions should be but all you have is tears (you lose hours, days to crying), and you try to fill it with noise and distraction and tv shows and fanfic to give you secondhand/third hand feelings that aren't your own because you don't remember what it was like to not be anything but sad. So much sad you don't even have words for it. It feels like you're grieving or mourning but you have no idea what for. You only know that it's all you have in you right now, and you're maybe a little bit scared that if someone can name what this is then it can be fixed, and if that hole full of secondhand/third hand borrowed emotions is taken away...what if you were made up of nothing, after all?
How about them apples.
Tino aroha ki a koe, e hoa. Eunice xx
ReplyDelete(Me and technology, I don't know what or how to do the 'profile' thingee.
An amazing post. I wish I had the words. It reminded me of how far I have come. That I too was once in that sad scary place. And that I got through it. I know that you will get through it too.
ReplyDeleteYou're amazing, wonderful person.
We had the best time in Toronto. Remember how gumboots with skinny jeans were the height of fashion? Lucky you didn't wake me up ... I'd have thrown that book out the window. I do sleep like a log though. So glad you're back writing and sharing this. It's hard to read and know how much you've been suffering, but also good to understand better what it's been like for you. I have a feeling there will be more happy times in the future, once you make it through this dark night.
ReplyDeleteTosca you have been very courageous and honest in writing this post. Chronic Fatigue is a devastating autoimmune life changing condition that even people close to you may not know how bad it is. You will get better even though that will seem a long way off. Hannah says "there is light at the end of the tunnel. But it is a very long and difficult tunnel to navigate".
ReplyDeleteEnjoy your strengths and successes; one of them being writing and another being an awesome person to work with :) Karon
Admiration for your honesty, hugs for your tears, strength for your continuing journey.
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