The Unravelling – Pt.1

I’m wired.

My head’s full of electro-static cotton wool … don’t google it, I just made it up. Nothing else can fully paint the picture of a feeling of cumulative nothingness piqued with jabbing, piercing needles which are prodding at my conscience and my consciousness every waking minute of the day. I feel permanently sick. I can’t smile, I can’t laugh without feeling I have to kick a concrete ball out of my chest first. I’m clawing at air.

I have so much to say and can’t utter a word. I feel so much but am numb, anaesthetised … nerves and limbs dormant at someone else’s will other than my own. Or maybe that’s just me : maybe I’m just shutting down as a defence mechanism so I can keep going on, one foot in front of the other, smiling and being happy, bouncy, silly with my boy, always a light word and a grin for the old man neighbour downstairs, who, let’s face it, needs cheering up much more than I do. My life may be about to radically change for the worst, but his is about to end. And when his does, doubtless sooner rather than later, I will break down. He doesn’t know it, but he is my pillar through this … he has no idea how his fragility is keeping me strong. How selfish of me is that.

In November something picked me up and flung me hard against a wall. I’ve been fighting and scratching at every crack and crevice on the way down since, but today they told me it was over … I have to stop … It’s time to give in and sacrifice my last bit of pride in order to salvage the tiniest remaining speck of dignity. My head is still up, just about, but I’m howling like a wolf on the inside. There’s a Venetian mask across my eyes but I can feel my lips crushed tighter together than they have ever been. How are you MJM? Oh ya know, I’m getting by, you have to don’t you …

Well, apparently it’s not that easy, the old ‘getting by’ thing. And honestly? I’m actually really not.

 

MJM

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This entry was posted in Home, Life Stuff, Philosophising, Single Mum, Starting out as a single working parent, Work-Life Balance. Bookmark the permalink.

10 Responses to The Unravelling – Pt.1

  1. rugbymadsdad says:

    Hi Its only me…..are you ok….i am a little worried by your post….if you need to talk or need anything please shout and i will be there….you helped my so much at the end of last you so my turn now….. take care x

  2. *wide eyes* This all sounds very very bad. Are you going to lose your home? Is it something worse? What can we do to help? I’ve been wondering why you weren’t blogging and I’m really sorry to hear thwt it’s because things have gone so wrong, whatever’s happened. Keep writing, I’ll be reading, and do please let me know if there’s something I can do. xx

  3. Red Ted Art says:

    I have no idea how to respond to these kind of things, but I have to respond somehow. MJM, I know we have only just “met” but I miss you and although this is a frightening, sad and heartbreaking post, I am glad you are “back”, even if just briefly or not. You are there. You are alive and your are feeling.

    I hope with all my heart that things get better.

    I know words and the internet are not much, but if there is ANYTHING I can do, please please let me know.

    Hugs and courage

    Maggy x

  4. Ally says:

    OK, now I’m worried. Is there anything at all I can do to help? I know I’m miles and miles away, but if there is, let me know.

    I really don’t know what else to say.

    *Hugs*

    Ally

  5. Chris Mosler says:

    I’m here too. So sorry you’re struggling my friend. If there is something I can do, just call. x

  6. Julie says:

    Like the others, I am at a loss, but had to say something. Just wish I wasn’t so far away and could provide something other than virtual hugs, which seem to terribly, terribly inadequate.
    x

  7. Once again, thanks …. to all who have commented and tweeted. You’re all amazing. x

  8. Pippy says:

    Hello my lovely, I’ve sent you an email. Uncensored but I needed to say it. xxx

  9. Watchsnapper says:

    Ok, I’ve read your blog now and my tweet seems really facile.
    I have (at times) felt like I was drowning but trying to wave happily to the concerned friends and relatives on the shore. You know I have. I’m also a separated dad who is scared to death his son will stop loving him. If you ever need me, call me. I’m free any time, any day. I’ll send you my number.

  10. Kate says:

    Hope you are OK. I’ve been coming back occasionally to your blog and was sad to see you’ve not updated it for a while.

    I really hope things take a turn for the better soon.

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