Slow work weeks for freelancers are distressing. Slow work weeks for grieving freelancers are dangerous.
With nothing pressing to occupy your mind, it's especially easy to get lost down an internet rabbit hole. Eat the wrong things. Dwell on what-ifs. Wander aimlessly. Bother sleeping cats. Then eat the wrong things and start the whole cycle all over again.
Lather, rinse, repeat.
Today I found myself curled up on the only cat-free spot on the bed begging my Dad - who I'm only partially convinced can even hear me now - to help me find happy again.
I want happy.
My Beloved and I lost our first baby a little over 7 years ago. I have spent almost all the time since that moment being afraid or sad. Desperately so in both cases. Sometimes at the same time. There were bits of hope and moments of happy sprinkled in, sure, lots of them. But mostly I feel like I've been sad for such a very long time.
I want happy.
So I sat up and made a mental list of things that make me happy, thinking that was a good start. But I cried the whole time. I am responsible for my own happiness, but that responsibility is so overwhelming right now that I don't even know where to start. It makes me tired and defeated just thinking about the effort of it all.
I want someone to walk in with happy on a silver platter. A great huge plate heaped full with more happy on it than I could ever possibly need or want. An excess of happy. Effortlessly won.
But that's not the way it works. So I'll press on as I have been; as best I know how.
I'll get lost online, eat crap, cry, move quietly from room to room, and pester the cats while I wait for work.
And while I try to figure out a way to find happy again.
11 comments:
Not that it helps, but you're not alone. {{{hugs}}}
I wish I had a huge platter of happy to send you. Instead I send hugs and warm thoughts and good wishes from across the water. Thinking of you.
I hope you find happy again (*hugs*)
Wish I could have some delivered to you. (((hugs)))
I could send chocolate, which always makes me happier...
Keep pressing on...I want happy for you too.
I wish happy happened that fast. But it takes time, and sometimes someone with credentials to help us pull ourselves out of unhappy ... I hope you are able to find happy again, and yes, you are responsible, but it's OK to ask for help to do it. *hug*
Wanting happy, and knowing that you need to get there, is a very good first step.
I'm with Loribeth.
But more than that, I wish happy was the sort of thing you could find. I wish there was a location, a something, instead of having to carry on with your life, and waiting for it to find you.
like everyone else, i would send you that plate of happy if i had it! But i have sent you something else instead...
I can, by enormous force of will, muster moments of happy. (Cookies figure prominently.) But they lack the buoyancy, the feeling that they would be endless, that I seem to remember from when I was really young. Grieving is so heavy...
I pray that you're able to find peace, and happiness, and joy, very soon.
I think the first step is knowing you can find happy again. It'll come. When you least expect it, probably. But it will come. I just wish I could make it come sooner.
Kristin,
You don't know me, but over the last several days I have read just about every article in your archive on this blog.
I, in no way, can understand the journey you have been through, as I have not lost a child or my father. Please know that there are people who love you (yes, I know that sounds weird coming from a stranger) and are thinking of you during this most difficult time.
I wanted you to know how much this blog has helped me in my struggle to become a mother. The words you have written, so eloquently and honestly have made me cry countless tears, as well as laughed heartily at your humor and wit.
I feel that you and I could be friends, even though we are strangers and so much distance separates us.
Thank you for your candor, your intelligence and most of all, your willingness to be open about such a private matter.
You are in my thoughts and prayers.
Love,
Kae
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