Actually Facebook, I do not want to do a photo montage of my great year …..

I was looking at some photographs of myself earlier today — and I realised how tired, exhausted and life weary I look.

I was smiling in some of those — but the smile was not a real smile, it was that strained kind you are forced to do, usually in group photographs and at birthday parties.

I zoomed in closer and really scrutinized the look in my eyes and it is of utter exhaustion.

It looks like someone on the edge of a nervous breakdown — or a Game of Thrones binge.  Or who is about to eat the entire pack of lemon meringue cupcakes from Woolworths.

It is not the kind of weary that can be cured by a good’ish bottle of wine and a 14 hour nap, but the sort of weariness and exhaustion that etches into your very soul.  And then oozes out of your pores.

It’s been a good year in some ways.

It has not been a good year in many others.

It has been a “fuck really ??? really” year in many more more I am afraid.

I have been really good at putting my stuff into little boxes and packing them neatly away.  I have been a high functioning {insert correct word} for much of this year – I am not sure if that was the impression I created with others, but that was definitely the vibe I thought I was creating.

Me. Sorted.  Keeping it together.  Getting shit done.

For much of this year, I have been proud of myself and my ability to just button down and get on with the stuff that needs to be got on with.  I have tried this “normal” thing and I think for the most part I managed to really give the illusion of getting it about right.

Sure there has been the odd “well that was unfortunate” and “yes, I got a lift home with Bennie the tow-truck driver because I could not find my car” — but hey who does not have those nights weeks every so often, right?

I started to feel the cracks this month — the cracks started to show and then the cracks got bigger and then I started to cry.

It really got going on Christmas Day – like the lurching jerking kind of cry.  For absolutely no reason.

I have cried myself a fucking river at this point.  I am crying now.  My guess is I will cry tomorrow.

I am actually not sure of why I am crying, nor what exactly I am crying about — but it has made reading or keeping a buoyant attitude really trying, and the red eyes are just a permanent fixture at this stage.

Sorry I have not been blogging – I have so much to say, so much in my head, but at the same time nothing.  I am also trying to pick my words wisely, and be aware of what I say or spew.

To those who have been my support this year – and really been there even in the smallest way I thank you — like really big.  Your late night SMS’s and funny images have been appreciated.

It is often not the big gestures that get you through the day, it can sometimes just be someone sniffing you and saying you smell good.

Granted when it is a strange guy at Pick ‘n Pay who does not respect the personal circle of trust, then it gets a bit awkward, but anyway.

I will blog again, don’t give up on me totally.  Watch this space.

 

dowager meme

 

 

 

 

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4 Comments

  1. Good grief, that is the kind of weary I feel now. Sadly, mine stems from me not getting the divorce which I think I desparately need. I just don’t have the balls….

    I am just so tired

    Reply
  2. Karisa

     /  January 1, 2015

    This sounds so much like how my year was. Crying and crying and more crying. Its a new year and guess what!? Im still crying

    Reply
  3. Brilliant post. With you on so many levels. Hope 2015 brings you some respite.
    Much love,
    Keri at http://www.midlandsmusings.com

    Reply
  4. Two pieces: substance, and growth. Tied into “substance” is authenticity. I appreciate your words, a post worth reading; a blog worth reading. Some words came up for me, in the last week … on my Wilder Man On Rolling Creek blog, similar to what you mentioned here” “It is not the kind of weary that can be cured by a good’ish bottle of wine and a 14 hour nap, but the sort of weariness and exhaustion that etches into your very soul. And then oozes out of your pores.” Glad you are writing, living through your writing, and writing through your living.

    Reply

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