If I told you that I’ve been cavorting all over space and time with Dr Who for the last two months that would be okay, right?
Because, honestly, it sounds a lot better than the truth – I ignored all internal shouting to write because I needed to – and because, actually, things have been a bit all over the place and I think that’s not too far removed from Dr Who. Is it? Dr Who is the one with the weird time travelling stuff, right?
Two months. Wow.
It’s like Matt Smith, all foppish hair being flicked out of luminous green eyes and jacket that totally looks like it smells of mothballs and wet dog, grabbed me by the collar and whizzed me around the universe a few times, enough to get me a bit dizzy, and plonked me back down to earth at opportune moments in more and more surreal situations before whisking me back off again in his twirling blue police box.
and failing to be clever, to cover up my absence and the fact that I failed to listen to myself. I don’t even watch Dr Who. Not since Tennant went all glowy and turned into Matt Smith anyway.
But, whatevs, weird shit has gone down.
And, in a triumphant break from form, I’m going to gloss over the bad bits and jump into the glimmering, glittering swimming pool of good bits, all gently lapping warm water and floating on my back under clear, sunny skies.
See? Weird right?
At the risk of sounding therapised (I’m totally therapised) I have a epiphany like understanding of my *ahem* quirks; the quirks that lead to the whole self hate thing and dark, depressive holes thing that I am known for. And yeah, I may be smiling through gritted teeth – OMG I’M SMILING, WHUT? – because that stuff is stuff that hurts to know and stuff I’m really, really not sure what to do with but it does make me more mindful in certain situations. And that’s something so I’ll take it and shake your hand in vigorous thanks.
Those spins around the universe shook something free in my brain too because here I am, feet back on the ground, feeling like I’m on the edge of something, enriched with feelings and enough brainfog lifted to allow me to see straight and think straight and actually feel them.
It’s a beautiful thing.
So, just FYI, is liquid Prozac.
I’ve been left on a precipice; back against a cliff face and toes wriggling over the edge in gleeful rebellion, a beautiful vista and a big, huge wide open space of…something. For the first time in pretty much ever I feel like I’m stood, staring at a turning point with choices and decisions and all of the questions but none of the answers.
And Matt Smith has buggered off so I can’t even raise a quizzical eyebrow in his direction.
For every one person who has treated me like absolute shit – man (I use the term loosely) at JobCentre who told me I was stupid to have had a child, I’m looking at you *death stare* – there has been one more who has empathised or sympathised or just said something nice.
And that’s a good feeling, you know?
What I’m going through is part of me. Coping mechanisms ingrained from years ago and hormones and life and the fact that it’s in my brain make it as part of me as my left arm. But it’s not all that I am.
I can’t head a one woman crusade and change the world because one woman can’t change the world (although, for the record, sort it out world. We’re all just humans) and nor do I have the absence of morality enough to pimp myself with the USP of a bit of dodgy brain wiring.
So, somewhere up there amid the stars and the planets and the ribbons of time I sat on the floor of the tardis (humour me), bewildered and disheartened and so, so ready to select all and DELETE.
But then, through the lifting clouds of brainfog, came the words and the outstretched arms of people who can actually look me in the eye and treat me like a normal human being. And it’s been a long time, believe me.
I might even start being a bit more … *gasp* … positive.
Thanks for having me internets, you iz my favourite x