waking up and getting out of the house

Found

I had one of those days where lifting the cup to my mouth was hard work. Where the question was shall I wipe down the filthy bench, or get in the washing so it doesn’t get wet for the 3^rd time? Forget about flute practice, that heavy piece of silver can stay sparkling on its peg.

Instead I took a trip down memory lane, as you often do when you have hours of you + silence. When you are occupied, you don’t have to do very much of this thinking thing. In a very odd way, it was good to have such a physically low day {though, can we just keep it at one?} because it reminded me of how I used to feel and what I have forgotten. The very things that I want to always remember, and never take for granted, I forget. Memories fade in time, especially if you don’t recall them often. I didn’t think they could, but they do.

I have discovered that as life gets easier, I become unsatisfied with the things in my better life. My daily struggles are milder than they were, but still with me all the time – and so I focus on those milder struggles, and though they are lesser, they preoccupy me just as the greater ones did. That’s why the healthiest individual with no want for income or work can be miserable, because you can always find something to be unhappy about. That’s why someone whose life is easier than mine can  still find it incredibly hard. I am definitely not unhappy (infact, I think I’m the happiest I’ve ever been) and I feel grateful most days for the progress I’ve made, but my gratefulness has become less sharp – my appreciation for small mercies is not as heartfelt as it first was. I don’t celebrate as I do the dishes anymore, or smile as I lift my hands to wash my hair, and drive the car. I don’t even remember as I wash my hair that I didn’t used to able to. I remember the migraines I had, but forget how far I’ve come with anxiety and stomach pain. It’s perfectly natural that I would be adjusting to my new dose of health, but I hope I will never forget the joy of walking to the letter box and feeling more than just a painful slump of body. I don’t want to forget, that’s the thing. I don’t want to be so preoccupied with today’s tired that I forget I’ve come from yesterday’s exhaustion.

Why would I want to forget the things which made taught me so much about people, and pain, and the fact that life is less about achievements and more about moments? Things got rather in focus when I was most sick, in a very sad, very hard sort of way. 

Found

At the same time, I don’t want to remember too much. You’re supposed to enjoy your honeymoon, aren’t you? And fondly remember the first house you lived in with your spouse. But I was so glad to have a fresh start when we moved from that first house. It didn’t hold happy memories. I never feel good when I visualise the house – the lounge reminds me of couch, and crying, and the bedroom reminds me of hours in the darkness. As for the honeymoon, the only good part about it was that I was with Ben 24/7, and the rest was a kind of deterioration nightmare {just because you are on a honeymoon doesn’t mean it will be very honeyish or romantic}. 

It’s not about getting depressed or reliving the hardest days of my {short} life, but putting things back in perspective. What a cliché! But really, try being really not well for a long period of time, giving up some big dreams, being a bit of a social outcast; that’s when you realise how caught up you were in the extras without even realising how precious the fundamentals are. Like, waking up and getting out of the house. 

And because I’m supposed to wake up and get out of the house tomorrow, I will close here with the mental reminder that if I manage it, I will celebrate it.