It’s been a bad week. Longer than a week actually, if I were to think about it. There was the visit to the doctor that yielded unhappy results. The gut wrenching few hours where I was terrified I was going to lose the most important person in my life. The uncontrollable sobbing. The barely holding it together at work. The fragmented sleep, the bad dreams. And the black dog. The ultimate reason for it all.
It hasn’t hit me this hard in a long time. I almost forgot what it felt like to be here, where it’s damn near impossible to see the light, where the ultimate darkness resides and tries to tempt me with the allure of nothingness. It’s hard, I’ll be honest. I hate being like this. So what do I do? Everything. In an attempt to convince my brain that it is totally fine, and by extension, convince myself and everyone else, I throw myself into everything with a fervour and drive that is otherwise unrivalled by well-adjusted Amy.
I started walking again this week. Exercise always seems to put me in a better mindset, for any number of reasons, and I have been incredibly slack in the months leading up to this week. So, with the new house in a different area, and a new route to explore, I figured now was as good a time as any. The last three nights, I have powered through the cold, the rain and a nagging pain in my right knee. Pretend I’m ok, tone up my butt and thighs.
I finally have a place to sew, so each night after my walk, I have set myself up with fabric, my trusty sewing machine, and a cup of tea, and set about making curtains. My kitchen window was unnervingly bare and I decided that it wouldn’t do, especially given my penchant for being naked. I like to be naked. Open windows are not conducive to this habit, so I remedied the problem. Pretend I’m ok, decorate my house.
I once wrote a blog about how cleaning can be cathartic. So naturally, tonight I threw myself into it. I walked, I showered, I sewed. I began running out of things to occupy my mind. So I put on a load of washing and while the machine ran through the cycle, I tidied the collection of random items accumulating at my front door. I folded my work clothes, threw dirty clothes in the hamper, hung the freshly washed ones once they were done. Pretend I’m ok, compulsively tidy.
And now I’m here. Curled up warm on my couch, writing this blog because despite what I told my best friend this afternoon, I evidently did have something to blog about after all. And now I’m going to watch some episodes of The Knick, as has been my routine this week. Pretend I’m ok, keep occupied with everything.