No moon to be seen last night and a tremendous sadness and fearfulness in me, hating my body and feeling unloved, lost stranded in a sham of a life. What makes it worse is that this is me sober -- the pain of realising how deep-seated the lies and insecurities go, how lost I am and how I set myself up for these painful disillusioning episodes over and over again, pretending it all comes to me easily and is doable. Then I find myself stuck, trapped, lost and mired somewhere between self-pity and terror and complete sloth.
The summer is ending -- rosehips growing on the hedges of dogroses, the brambles coming into berry, the days grwoing briefer. Rain falling as it has done since spring, no moon for Lamma's Eve.
Lovemaking but painful and no intimacy. Such a dread and revulsion in me I wanted to get away. The thought of returning to South Africa feels like a promise as well as a threat. Hope is just to painful.
Is this depression? The fear around every effort, the acute sense of failure.
But I stay calm outwardly, no drunken outbursts because there is no drinking. Just living through this, trying to act adult and take care of myself.
Does he really think women are so much more insecure than men? Has he no analysis of the oppression of women? But I don't know what he is thinking and worse, I don't know what he is feeling.
Now I must go downstairs and get ready for the walk to town and to the library to pick up my Joyce novel at the library. Then to do some reading this afternoon.
Heartache and dread. Just to keep going. This is me, not anyone else. My fear, my sense of helplessness, my feeling anbandoned in the midst of my own life. My flawed sense of reality.
And he is human. not impervious -- I must keep trusting and staying in the day.
The summer is ending -- rosehips growing on the hedges of dogroses, the brambles coming into berry, the days grwoing briefer. Rain falling as it has done since spring, no moon for Lamma's Eve.
Lovemaking but painful and no intimacy. Such a dread and revulsion in me I wanted to get away. The thought of returning to South Africa feels like a promise as well as a threat. Hope is just to painful.
Is this depression? The fear around every effort, the acute sense of failure.
But I stay calm outwardly, no drunken outbursts because there is no drinking. Just living through this, trying to act adult and take care of myself.
Does he really think women are so much more insecure than men? Has he no analysis of the oppression of women? But I don't know what he is thinking and worse, I don't know what he is feeling.
Now I must go downstairs and get ready for the walk to town and to the library to pick up my Joyce novel at the library. Then to do some reading this afternoon.
Heartache and dread. Just to keep going. This is me, not anyone else. My fear, my sense of helplessness, my feeling anbandoned in the midst of my own life. My flawed sense of reality.
And he is human. not impervious -- I must keep trusting and staying in the day.
- Location:a sunlit study
- Mood:
crushed - Music:Eva Cassidy: Fields of Gold
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mala09- mala09
- Mala at Her Eyes Only