12:05 pm October 14, 2009The
During our hospital stay, I went into survival mode. It was like flicking a switch; almost a completely voluntary thing. I did it to save my sanity. I thought, “These days will be impossibly long, impossibly boring, and at times impossibly lonely. It is what it is. Embrace it. Embrace this time with your son. He needs you. It’s okay if you don’t shower. It’s okay if you walk around with puke on your clothes. It will only be for a while. Just a while.” And then — click! — I kinda hazed over and became okay with the not showering and wore the pukey clothes and embraced the time with my sick son. I embraced the worry. Embraced the sadness. I curled up with the loneliness at night and listened to the monitors beep. I discovered the rarely-used bathroom on the 4th floor and escaped there to cry when things felt unbearable and crushing. It was what it was, and it was just for a while.
And now that I’m home I should be out of it. I’ve been trying to flick the switch back to normalcy. I’ve been trying to tell myself, “We are home! Your son is better! Life is good!” But I just can’t find that switch to flick. The time in the hospital seems to have sunken deep inside me, deeper than I realized. And it’s hunkered down and moistened and darkened a little spot there. A spot that is still okay if I don’t shower. A spot that is still embracing sadness and loneliness, even when there doesn’t look like there’s any sadness and loneliness to be found. It’s a spot like quicksand. And each day I wake up and put it in my mind to get a running start, to sprint and break out and leave the spot far behind. But the sprint doesn’t last very long, and the pull of the quicksand is too strong, and finally my will gives and I am pulled back in on myself. Like a collapsing star.
Stupid spot.
NaNoWriMo is next month. I am hoping that some angst-ridden YA fiction writing will purge some of this darkness. If only I can figure out how to focus the dark spot and use it against my enemies — exploit it to my every advantage — then I would be unstoppable. A force to be reckoned with… instead of this sad, pathetic, unshowered individual you see before you.
Ask me in a few weeks. Until then, I am attempting to get jazzed about making kids’ Halloween costumes and decorating my house for the “fall season”. We’ll see how it goes…
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I know this feeling, I know this switch. I hate that I know, but I do. I don’t know how or when I ever got out of it. At times with Miles, just when we thought we were in the clear, we were right back on the 4th floor of PCH. So well, I bought a rainbow cafe meal card. I heart you and little deac! Prayers coming your way, that’s all I know that works.
Comment by Shahara — October 14, 2009 @ 5:27 pm
ug. still praying and sending you a hug (and no, I don’t mind the stinkyness or puke).
Comment by Heather — October 14, 2009 @ 5:37 pm
Sometimes we get the wind knocked out of us.
It’s okay.
Carry on, brave and sweet mama. And let us know if we can do anything from here.
Comment by Lisa Milton — October 15, 2009 @ 3:28 am
Sounds like you need a girls night! Or better yet a trip to Maryland. I’ll be waiting. =) Love You.
You can also try and watch Practical Magic. Our favorite movie! And think “I’m glad I’m not possessed by my ex-ukranian boyfriend “. =)
Comment by Diana — October 15, 2009 @ 6:41 am
You’ve been through a lot. Take it easy on youself.
Comment by Leslie — October 26, 2009 @ 5:50 am
And, obviously, YOUSELF is the way the cool kids are saying YOURSELF these days.
Comment by Leslie — October 26, 2009 @ 5:51 am