Oh well – I tried. Here we are, me and this mischievous brain of mine, the former being kept awake by the latter. It doesn’t take too much of me sitting here with my feelings to figure out what they’re all about. Besides, I’m getting quite good at it, which is another perk of recovery – I’ve done plenty of sitting with my feelings over the course of these past 540 days. The good news is that this so rarely happens now that I’m sober and it’s not often my mind goes into a crazy spin like it did when I turned the light off to sleep just a short while ago. When I was drinking, this madness was a daily fixture but I can’t actually recall the last time this happened. Well, here we are. Hello, old friend. How ya been?
A little selection of the tornado of dark thoughts that tore its way into my mind the moment I tried to sleep:
- Falla being set on fire and burning to the ground.
- Should I have packed a dress?
- Bambino and his friend in various unspeakable scenarios of the kind that night terrors on steroids are made of.
- I have a weird twitch right in the space between my eyebrows that won’t go away.
- Hurting people I love just by my presence.
- I’m probably shit at my job and all my colleagues probably hate me.
- Nature or nurture?
- What if Hubby leaves me?
- People I love getting murdered. By each other.
- Bad people turning up at Falla, followed by Freddie Krueger style massacre.
- Bambino at the receiving end of abuse from friends because of me.
- Must buy new mascara in taxfree.
- Perhaps I should wake Hubby for a shag? Endorphins might help!
- I am probably too caught up in myself and talk too much to make a good counsellor.
- I understand what GABA does in the brain but can’t remember what it is exactly? A hormone?
These sons’a bitches don’t take turns, I’ll have you understand. They rip roar around and around at furious speeds all jumbled up and fucking LOUD too. The images that accompany them include my child with tears running down his face, people I love in a pool of blood and oh, perhaps I should have my hair cut into a bob? I kid you not – this is how fucked up I am. This is what my brain has decided to do to me tonight.
I know all too well that staying in bed when this happens is fruitless – I’ll just lie there with increasing panic and sleep fitfully – these things need confronting immediately, so here I am pouring all my crazy shit out on to this blog. I did make a brief attempt at relaxing, starting with my toes and working my way up but realised quickly that it wasn’t gonna fly. Didn’t even get to my ankles.
So I can kind of see what’s set all this off. We’re taking a friend of Bambino’s with us to Sweden and the kid’s a bit troubled. I love him to bits and he’s only ever been lovely towards me, so I’m only too happy to take him to the deep forests of Värmland to enjoy the countryside and the outdoors. Bambino can hang out with Kim Jong-un for all I care, so long as bad behaviour doesn’t rub off and he understands agreed boundaries and expectations. Jokes aside, you get my drift. I have no beef with this kid, not even after his mum advised me to search through his suitcase before we travel (something she suggested with an alarming lack of, uhm, ALARM). That, coupled with a few other letter combinations got me a little stressed.
Note to self: stop it. He isn’t going to burn Falla down, nor is he a drug trafficker. He’s, as far as I have seen, a sweet 14-yearold kid who’s always been polite and well behaved around me. We’re taking the kid to Sweden and treating him to a bunch of activities and experiences as well as showing him we care about him and are so happy he is coming with us. This is a nice thing. And it’ll all be wonderful.
What else? Well – Sweden. And Falla. Always conflicting emotions and going back there does always, as much as it fills me with joy and excitement, create a bit of a stone in my chest. Some things are a little painful, sort of in a bittersweet kind of way.
Note to self: can’t do much about that, luv. This is who I am. I feel everything strongly and this stuff is complicated and cuts deep. Just be grateful I’m not pouring a depressant into myself to make it a gazillion times worse!
Hey, crazy ass brain! If you think I’m about to even consider the work stuff, you’re off your tree. I’m doing the best I can and Rio said some really nice things in my appraisal the other day – unless he was lying through his teeth they appreciate me and there’s a whole bunch of things I do well. And if they all hate me? Well, really? So what if they do?
Note to self: I’m supposed to have the serenity to accept the things I can’t control, no? Drop this one, woman!
What about Bambino getting abuse because of me? This is old shame lingering! Bambino’s friend’s mum knows a little of my story. Mostly because I am very open about it and when she popped round earlier today it sort of came up that I’m a recovering alcoholic and work at a rehab. It was in connection to the bag search suggestion, I believe. I also told the man who came to service our boiler in the morning, as it happens. What can I say? I wear my recovery with pride these days, but every so often that mean, old voice in my head tells me I should be ashamed and hide my dirty secret. Fuck you, brain – that ain’t gonna happen. Anyway, my obsessive compulsive thought tornado went in the direction of Bambino’s friend hearing this from his mum and then promptly telling everyone at school that Bambino’s mum is a dirty drunk, with Bambino getting bullied as a result.
Note to self: to be fair, girl, this was perhaps a little careless. Kids can be cruel. But come on, Bambino knows this and remember what happened in the past in a similar scenario? Bambino turned around and dead pan responded with “yeah, my mum’s bettering herself – what’s YOUR mum ever done?“. Boom. He’s a good’un and he’s always been amazingly good at not taking any shit. When he was about five years old and had long hair, he verbally obliterated a much older kid who’d suggested only girls have long hair. But hey, I could do with perhaps being a little more tactical in terms of what I shout from the roof tops. Still, it’s worrying about something that hasn’t and probably never will happen. Just move on, OK?
Falla being visited by the cast from Kill Bill? It’s a bit silly that the one door on the outhouses has got a padlock but the others don’t. If I were looking for things to steal, that’s really convenient – that’s where we keep the quad bike and lawn mower, some bikes and other equipment thieves could make a buck from.
Note to self: this is quiet countryside and the nearest neighbour immediately rang last summer to inform us a car they didn’t recognise had driven up to Falla. It was us in a hire car. Also, I don’t just know where all the rifles are kept, I know how to load and shoot them too. I’m a pretty good shot, I’ll have you know. Aaaaaand if we were, just for fun say, to look at the odds it’s pretty damn unlikely. For fuck’s sake, this is more ridiculous than the place going up in flames.
Well. It’s now half past midnight and I’m heading back to the bedroom. My Kindle has a light that is quite discreet so I can probably get away with reading for a little while without disturbing Hubby. Mind somewhat cleared and for the most part I’m feeling a little more centred. Well, I guess I’ll always be a bit of an out-of-left-field kinda gal, but there we are. As centred as I can hope to be with the stress of travelling ahead of me. Did I mention I don’t like flying? It’s because I’m a control freak, in case you hadn’t guessed.
It’ll all be fine. Just need to keep it in the day and right about now this one’s over and tomorrow is yet to unfold.
Bit early perhaps to say it at 00:35, but hell, I feel confident:
Today I’m not going to drink.