Processing

Some things take time. 

My head works around things, sometimes and necessarily avoids the issues. Coping enough to allow day to day function and a whole ability to just be.

The face doesn’t drop and it doesn’t rise. The problems are there. The days pass and move on.

I get there, I realise what I’ve done or not done. It hits hard. The emotional crunch. A bite of humility, a torn piece of pride, sadness at the pit of my stomach, shallow and almost worthless breathes.

I grieve and fixate and the possibilities burn in my mind and weigh at me. It bites my mood and appetite and desires.

The functioning continues, days and weeks and work and home.

Days go into weeks and months and years and I think whether I can raise my head again, regain the ‘mojo’, the essence, the bits of me subsumed in that hurt and dealing with it.

Tears at random times. Inexplicably not when I’d like them to happen. 

Bursts of frustration and anguish. Minutes of darkness. Days of numb.

Does it lift? It’s like a cloud blanket screening the sun, it’s like fog. 

Permission isn’t granted to escape it. No driving thoughts of renewal or restoration. Merely existing and being.

It’s hard to explain, it’s hard to see through the moments clearly, it difficult to replay the pictures in the mind and hard to admit the loss and the pain and the defeat.

It’s not for talking over and making a public sport. Random sympathy doesn’t quite help. Hearing stories or being patronised won’t cut it.

Rising again isn’t that straightforward but the processing completes and the emotions dull after a while.

Maelstrom (Autism)

Tears. 

Head sore.

Standing on the train , processing hurt and tiredness and confusion.

It wells up, the tears, the sore head, no clarity, just knowing ‘hurt’, just feeling empty.

 Nothing else going on. Standing, looking at the phone in my hand and not really taking in the screen as a distraction. 

That was Wednesday morning after reluctantly getting up and getting going. I’m no further forward in processing whatever that was.

I didn’t sleep well last night, couldn’t get over and in the end had to look at something to try and understand where I was. I searched on loneliness and then on solitude.

I think I ‘know’ or have realised that I spend time alone in the evenings and distract myself, usually through the TV. I was tired and after a couple of hours tried to sleep and get over.

I did eventually after 4am waking just before 8. Washed out, sore tired and just feeling wrong. 

I sat this time on the journey, but my eyes were wet again and I felt lost and empty. Still processing, still figuring on whatever it is or was. The same, more or less as a day before. 

It’ll be the weekend, or a day next week when I figure this out and ‘know’ what I was getting through.

If someone had asked me yesterday or today why I was crying, I’m not sure I could answer, I don’t think I knew myself. Maybe as simple as I had forced myself up awake and to get ready or to take myself onward.

 I don’t quite know, maybe I just felt sad. Maybe being tired and frustrated and alone and confused doesn’t help. 

If I know what it is, then maybe I can do something, but much of the time, I’m fighting me, my conditioning, my filtered self, the person I was/am before the diagnosis dropped on me.

Work needed doing, kids and people and dogs needed sorting out, when the moment of clarity comes over those journeys I’ll be glad.