, , , , , , , , , ,

Hello there again,

So… I don’t know if I had any expectations for what I thought Christmas was going to be like. I knew it was going to be different, awkward and upsetting; similar, comforting and happy at times. At the get go, I was pretty clear about the fact that I have no idea what I’m doing, why I’m writing, words about my thoughts and feelings – thoughts and feelings of which I freely admit at this stage, seem extrinsic to me at best.

I still don’t know if I feel terrible or horrible about the situation I’m in. I still don’t know if I’ve actually accepted my dads death, or I’m still in denial. I’m unsure of how to cope, how to mourn, how to continue. What’s the better option, if how I react and what I say to people is the right thing, if there is a right and a wrong or if it’s all one big mess in which all this confusion is correct.

The whole concept of what is right and what is wrong is very much dependent on perception. On the perception of the individual, and society; of their values and their goals. In my case, I don’t feel like there is a right or a wrong decision. What I’m going through is, to put it lightly, different to most situations. Specifically in the way that I don’t feel like society has made an opinion on how I should act, nor have I. It’s unfortunate, unique, and mind numbing.

When I think whether or not I should be at work, my first instinct is definitely. It’s the smart thing to do and (with hesitation) it’s right. But then when I’m at work, I feel uncomfortable, I feel like I made the choice not because it was in my best interest, or in the best interest of my family, but because (as weird as this might sound) it’s the easy choice. The wrong choice.

It is a lot easier to go to work. To distract myself with meaningless tasks, to put my mind somewhere else and to stay in the comfort of denial. To put on a smile, to take responsibility for my actions and to be productive for myself and by societies standards. It is not easy, however, to admit I’m not okay. That I need help, and that I’m vulnerable. That the idea of being in a situation where I can’t predict how I’m going to feel, that I can’t guarantee that I’m not going to break down at the most inconvenient times and that I find the idea of being in that situation paralyzing. I hate being vulnerable, I hate being a burden, I hate being pitied. But I am vulnerable. I am a burden, and I currently feel like a charity case.

The last post was somewhat so positive too, I almost felt like I was making progress. Almost. Maybe that was the alcohol… most likely was the alcohol. So the current thoughts running through my head at the moment aren’t the most positive. Things like:

  • “Maybe it’s best if I become a complete social recluse until I work out what I’m doing.” My logic behind this one being, I cause less embarrassingly awkward silences. I can’t be a burden if there’s no one to burden, and I can’t be pitied if there’s no one to pity me.
  • “Maybe I should quit work.” I should, I know I won’t though. I don’t like giving up on things, too stubborn in that way, even if the cause is detrimental.

The other thoughts are more specific and not constructive for linguistic therapeutic purposes.

I liked Christmas. I was spoiled, or pitied, either way you want to look at it. I appreciated it, and I felt uneasy about it. I’m not at all unappreciative of everyone around me, all the support. It’s keeping me sane, I just hate the guilt I feel with it.

Speaking of guilt, for some reason, I feel apologetic about this post. For its lack of sense or structure, for any trace of epiphanic resolution. I’m writing purely so I can slowly try to make sense of what I’m going through, yet I feel guilty for anyone who stumbles on these lost words on the basis that they might see I have nothing to offer and that I’ve wasted their time… why? The silly things that don’t matter, are always the things that a shattered mind focuses on. Probably distraction in its more brutal form.

That’s all I got for now… maybe next time x