I have been looking through photographs of my children, my family, my life. Me.

I love taking photographs – I love having that record of where they were at that moment. How I captured that moment, that split second in time.

I always have a camera with me – I prefer to take photographs on my SLR camera than I do on my phone, but right now I do not take photographs on either.

I think I will remember how things were or how they appeared, but I don’t —or I can’t.  You are so busy worrying about the million other things that are happening, that you forget.  Important stuff.

Those moments you want to hold on to.

When I go through old images I start to smile, or cry, and I just cannot believe that time has passed by in the way it has.

Where has it all gone?  How much have I missed?

I am doing a project now and I am moving through some old photographs on my Facebook history and it has hit me hard in the gut area.

First the memory, that this was my life.  That this. Was my life.  That this is no longer my life.

I am not that person any more.  These people are no longer part of my life.  I feel I am not remembering all the important things that my children are doing.  I think I will — but I can’t.

That person is not who I am.  I am not always sure of exactly who I am. I am struggle a bit to find my own identity.

Often when I look at pictures I have taken, I can remember me on the other side of the lens and how I felt taking that image.  I can recall that exact moment.

Divorce changes so much about you – it changed how I viewed history, how I viewed moments in time, how I viewed me as a person, and how I viewed where you fitted in.

It’s like the trick where you pull the table cloth off a fully set table – with the aim to have all the items remaining in place, because the table cloth was pulled off so quickly.  That’s the trick.

The reality is all the crockery and cutlery op-focked onto the floor and sort of lay there in pieces.

When you go through something that is such a life-shifter, your memories change.  Your way of looking at things changes.

Your life changes in every possible way.  No matter how hard you smile and say “I’m good hey….” … “Yep, yeah, things are great….”

I have slowly but surely stopped taking photographs.  I don’t think the change was gradual, it was rather I just stopped.

I am not sure why.

I am pretty sure I know why.

I am not sure how I can start again.

For many reasons I have stopped living my life.  My life seems to be on hold.  To just be stagnating.

I am stuck and I can’t always explain it well.  I shouldn’t be.  I look around and tell myself I shouldn’t be.

I have so much to be grateful for.  I have so much in my life.

But.

I have not allowed myself to carry on living my life.

This life, what ever this is, just does not feel right or mine.  The only time I feel fully complete is when I am with my children.  Somehow they are the extension of me that is the only true thing in my life,

My north.  My compass.

When I am with them, I can breath.  My chest does not feel so tight.

When the girls are with me they sleep in my bed.

I actually get no sleep as they are like two sweaty octopuses and clearly I need a bigger bed.  I am too petrified to let them go and sleep in their own beds.

That I will be giving up this last semblance of what makes me feel complete.  So I let them sleep in my bed, because I am not ready to give this up yet.

It is actually tremendously sad to tell the truth.  To no longer see your life worthy of taking a photograph of.

Of not having the energy, the power, the will, the want, to take a photograph.  To record your life.

When I look at these photographs I have taken years ago, I laugh, I smile, I cry — they make me really happy and desperately sad at the same time.

I have convinced myself that I am living my life.  I am very good at reassuring everyone else that I am fine, that I am really fine, nothing to see here.

I realise I am watching “me” living my life.

When I interact with people, I hold back so much of myself that I am actually absent from the situation.  It’s now an automatic measure. There are very few conversations and interactions I have where I am truly present.

It allows me the freedom to just walk away from people without having to cry about it.  Yes, I do realise that that is a bit of a disaster, but it is a wonderful coping mechanism.  Right now.

Maybe it is the fear of being hurt again === that I just cannot give 100% of myself.  Maybe it is that I just do not feel whole.  Maybe it is that I actually do not feel connected, really connected, to anyone around me.

I can fake connection like no one’s business.

And here is the trick, people are so busy with their own lives that they are happy with the basics in terms of interactions.  They do not ask for more, they do not realise that you are just not there.

When I smile I do not actually smile, it doesn’t reach further than my mouth.

But holy shitballs when I cry, I am 100% committed.  I really get behind that shit.  I can spend a weekend in various states of tears, and I need very little to set me off.

I do keep my shit under wraps as best as I can.

I do what needs to be done.  I am highly productive.  Smile at who I need to, say the right things, make the right coo’ing sounds necessary when it is a story that needs a “coo” as a retort.

I am sorry I have not blogged more, I really need this space right now.