Ramblings of a Ringless Wife

Ringless Wife, Messy House, Cluttered Brain. All in a standard day.

June 20: Anger

I allowed myself four days off blogging, safe in the knowledge that I would be able to catch up. Why did I give myself these days off? Because for the last few days, I have been angry. Not just “Oh, you pissed me off” angry – but Hulk, “I want to high five you in the face with a chair” angry. Why? Because these are the days that coincide with my “I’m a depressed head f**k” days.

Every now and then, I get days of pure rage. Everything makes me want to scream, nothing seems to go right, A cup not put in the sink can make me see red. I know that when it does happen I need to isolate myself a little bit, take a step back and just breathe.

I am shocking in that when I am angry I take it out on people who don’t deserve it. I don’t mean to do it, I just become much more caustic and volatile, my sarcasm reaches new heights and I imagine peoples heads stuck on totem poles as warning signs to not come near me.

I get cranky over things that aren’t worth it, I over-react to them in ways that just need not happen, and I end up hurting people with my words that I just can’t hold in. Even if the person has been perfectly fine, courteous, whatever, I still have an irrepressible need to just tell them to shut the f**k up because they’re letting their inner moron shine through.

I become something rather nasty, a mere shadow of myself, and basically, not nice to be around. The bit that’s ironic is this is when thoughts that I normally ignore came raring through, I feel alone and isolated, and need people. I need someone who tells me to get the eff over it, and people to tell me that it’s all going to be ok, and to show me that I am not a bad person. I get cranky because people aren’t there for me, but I know that in these days I push them away. Doesn’t make sense, does it? Hey, I want you to come visit me, but I’m going to abuse you, so don’t come… but if you don’t come, you’re going to cop it anyway. Leave me alone because I’m lonely. Have a nice day!

I know that this is an aspect of depression that most people who have suffered it have lived through. I don’t know why it happens when it does, but I know that when it does I want people to see that it’s when I hurt the most that I swear I’m OK. I want people to say “I know you’re not OK, but you will be. One day.”

I want to have the guts to say to people, “You know what? I’m not OK. I don’t want to be alone. I’m scared.” But I don’t. I doubt I ever will.

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May 13: Please… just leave me alone. And then come back for coffee.

Do you ever have days where you just want to be left alone?
Not alone as in having someone in another room, but alone in perfect solitude, with no one to look at, or speak to, or associate with?

I’m seriously hoping someone else has these feelings because I’m feeling as though I am a freak by them.

In the last few weeks I have had to smother this feeling and it’s still suffocating me. But the strange thing is, I am loving the visitors who have been dropping in. I’m loving finding new friends and rediscovering old ones. I’ve been loving the company and the never ending coffees, so I don’t understand how my feelings are working at all.

How can I crave solitude but at the same time love the company I am receiving?  I feel like it’s not making sense to me at all, and it’s probably not to you, either.

I wake up in the mornings when I know Dan is at work and I will have X amount of time to myself and feel relieved. But within about an hour, I’m feeling alone, and wanting company. Then company comes, and I’m over the moon. And then they go, and I feel great! And then I want visitors again.

I feel like a freaking YoYo that I can’t control at all. I hate it.

Tell me someone else out there in the world feels like this sometimes.

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May 9 – Recognising when not to blog.

As you may have noticed, there was no blog last night.  I would like to thank the people who emailed me asking where it was; it’s nice to know that it’s not just my mum who reads!

When I blog, it tends to be a channel that I pourinto what ever my main feeling for the day was. Yesterday, I had a day where I honestly felt like I couldn’t go much further on. I started the day with a conversation to my lawyer, then to my union, then back to my lawer – and none of these phonecalls were of a positive nature.

The day just got progressively worse and by 4PM I was in such a funk that I may have been able to write a suicide-assist blog – which I am sure none of you need or want to read.

I had the opportunity to blog last night, but to be honest, I recognised that I was in no fit state of mind to write something that any amount of people may read. Just because I was miserable didn’t mean I had to write something that may have brought down someone elses mood.

Ask any blogger: The mood you are in reflects directly on to the piece you write. If you are cranky, you write a blog that is just pure vitriol. If you are happy, you write about sun shine and daisies and being awesome. If you are sad, you write about things that are too close to your heart and you end up bringing someone else down.

I have no right to do that to anyone.

I am currently in one of the most difficult fights of my life, and some days it is a physical struggle to muster up enough cheer and smiles to write a blog that will make people smile or laugh. How can you write about an emotion or for an emotion when it is so far from your mind at the moment? You can’t. Your true emotions end up showing through and impacting.

Recognising that last night was  not blog-able was a big step for me. It was learning to contain what I was thinking and feeling instead of spewing it out in a massive case of fat-chick-crazy.

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March 16: 2 Years. 24 Months. 104 Weeks. 731 Days. 17544 Hours. 1051200 Seconds. And it still hurts as much as it ever did.

Ellen Mary Midson was born in Young on 30/10/1917.
Over the course of her rich life, Ellen became the matriarch of a family so diverse and so far extended, that when she left us on the 16th of March 2010, she had over 100 descendants.
At 92 years of age, she was ready to leave this life, and was finally able to join the husband she had loved and lived without for almost 22 years. She was also able to be mother and mother-in-law once again to her daughter and her son-in-law, who had gone before her, six years and one year earlier respectively.
Amongst so many family, she was my Nanny, and was one of the most important people in my life, whose influence and love was pivotal in making me who I am today. The grief I feel having lost her is indescribable.

Today marks 2 years since my life had her physical presence in it. And while I have experienced amazing things in that time, I would give them all away in a fraction of a heart beat just to have her for five minutes. No, I lie. I wouldn’t need a five minutes. I just want her long enough to hug her, stroke her hair, and tell her that I love her. And maybe clean her finger nails for her.

Nanny telling me the same story used to drive me crazy; and now, I would give my right hand to hear her tell me something that I have already heard a million times.

I get moments when I get wafts of that smell which has no true definition: only a very broad description that is understood to be “Nanny’s house.”

There are feelings that no one can ever escape. And that feeling is physical, it hurts. It feels like a knife sitting in your heart, and twisting with every word, every thought, every wish.

Even for someone as non-religious as I, you find yourself making bargains with a God that you are not even sure exists.

I will give up everything, EVERYTHING, if you let her come back.
I will change my life, if you let her come back.
I will start going to Church, if you let her come back.
I will start living my life by the bible, If you let her come back.

And when these bargains go unfulfilled, and you’re standing in funeral home staring at the body of the woman who you idolise, and willing with all your heart that she would just wake up. You still bargain, you pledge your first born child, you pledge your happiness, you pledge anything and everything… and you mean it, too.

When you’re sitting in a church that is draped in Purple, and you’re staring at the most beautiful coffin you have ever seen and you know what is contained therein, your bargains get more ludicrous as you start to get to desperate.

Come on, God, please. Please don’t take her away from me. Please don’t break my heart. Name your price, and I will pay it.

And then, and you don’t even know how you got there, you are standing in a cemetery, not even 10 meters away from where your Dad is buried. You feel a hand on your back, and you think it might be your mum, or your partner, or your aunty – but even two years on you still don’t know. All you know is that there is a hole they are going to put your beautiful, amazing Grandmother in. They’re going to cover her in dirt and walk away and leave her alone, in the dark, without even her rosary beads there, and you start to lose it.

Take me, please. This world can’t ever be the same without her in it anyway. I don’t want to be here if she isn’t. Please God, just f***ing take me… coz I can’t do it anymore. Not without her. Never without her.

This is the bit where you feel your heart break. This is the bit where you feel Deaths cold, ruthless hand on your shoulder and you know nothing will ever be the same. Your bargaining turns to soul-consuming hatred and all you want to do is die yourself, just so you can tell God exactly what you think.

You want to stay at the cemetery, all night and all day, just so you know she isn’t left alone under a pile of dirt. You want to sit there and talk to her, and never go.

But somebody grabs your hand, and gently tugs you away. They tell you that it is all going to be OK, and you stand there, leaning in and crying for what you have had to leave behind… and all you think is:

“How?”

And then they say that it will get easier one day, and all you think is:

“When?”

And then they say that she knew you loved her. And you say to yourself:

Please God… Just let me have her back…

It is such a hard day today, Nanny.
Is it real that you’re not here?
Is it true that I wont get to see you
Any special day of the year?
I miss you so very much Nanny,
and I love you so much more.
I know you’re not in pain now, Nanny,
of that one thing, I am sure.
It’s still hard to think of you,
Is it you that dries my tears?
I know I’ll feel your hand on my shoulder
as I somehow plod through the years.
I can’t wait to see you Nanny
I wish my time would come…
but then I know what you would say
That I still have work to be Done…
Is it warm there, Nanny?
can you see your knitting well?
I bet you dont drop stitches now;
that you dont have to stop for a spell!
and how is your Crocheting going?
are you still doing fancy designs?
I know that it is gorgeous again
and always one of a kind.
Are you cooking all that you used to?
and is the water always right?
you can cook all you want now,
no stopping for the night.
Do they have your special brand
of Sago that you preferred?
Coz you dont like that “other stuff”,
I remember having heard.
And I’ll bet you never run out of jars
to preserve your cherries in;
and do you still seal them tight
in their lids made of tarnished tin?
What about your port wine jelly?
do they have it there for you?
I am so sure if they didn’t,
you would make sure they did, wouldn’t you!
And tell me, Nanny, have you met
The God that you so love?
I hope He’s taking care of you
in your castle up above.
But Nanny, still, do you know
that I think of you every day…
and my Life would still be so much better
If He hadn’t taken you away…
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