Reading a blog today brought up some reminders about times past, so bloody difficult this “letting go” thing there are always subtle reminders about what was, this life before losing everything, correction before I lost everything.
I can go for weeks without thinking about the fallout which brought me to this present place, there is always the thought that lingers that I’m living between worlds, the world of stability and the world where it can all be lost so easily in fact once that slide starts the only place is at the bottom.
I know my triggers but in my more introspective moments I can make myself believe that I was predisposed to end up here a half-life and struggling with the intricacies of the human condition, which seems somehow to have passed me by and I feel I’ve made a terrible mess of things.
Yesterday I looked back through the kaleidoscope of my life and the events that have shaped them but none prepared me for this, I cannot fathom how I gave up the fight for me, I realise this might sound like self-pity, but I struggle sometimes to understand the how and the why of it all, there is probably no one thing but a collection of stuff that just built up over the years, however there are areas that are fully my responsibility and as usual I just absorb everything as being my fault, so much easier, if it could be done without guilt.
When all was lost back in 2012 my home the one last haven I had went under the hammer and all my belongings with it, numb doesn’t even describe how I felt, I was invited to buy my own stuff back I confess I couldn’t bear it and basically walked away, it wasn’t until months later lying in my pit of nothingness did I begin to have in inkling at what I’d walked away from and couldn’t face it.
Things are things we know that but which each possession is a memory a though attached, it doesn’t mean anything to anyone but me, books, gifts, things I had after my mother’s death , photos, the list is endless, we all say it’s better not to be materialistic, but it’s so much more than that, you take years to build a home, everything is important, even more than that your identity gets auctioned with everything else, I grabbed as much as I could on the day, but forgot things like certificates, from school/college and other important documents, the very things that say who you are, what you have done, you become invisible.
It’s taken me 3 years to get my life back on some kind of even keel, then of course I lost my accommodation again back in late November and have been struggling to find permanency, it will come but I wait in limbo again this half-life because I cannot forge forwards without having an address which means identity, and as always the black dog threatens patiently waiting for that fissure to open, then he’ll be in controlling my life again, there are days when I know I can beat him again and others well indifference comes into play, I cannot always keep my guard up, that too is a struggle.
“As the saying goes when you hit rock bottom the only way is up” on occasion I keep finding new levels of hitting bottom, which makes the climb back up challenging, however I am standing my head is up, often whisper to myself “is this the worst thing that’s ever happened to you” well in answer to that pretty close but it’s an area I don’t want to explore.