Signs

It's funny how the universe gives you little signposts and sometimes, when you're tuned in, you actually see them! I wrote about carrying tension the other day and decided that I really must get something done, so booked in to see my local Osteopath, who I haven't visited for nearly a year and a half.

Before I went, I had to fix my poor car, and after a previous unsuccessful attempt, it all got sorted out and I was back in my trust old blue chariot. The sun shone. I got to the waiting room of the health centre and there, on the coffee table full of flyers and notices, was Healing Through Writing. Well, after TGW's last comment on the tension topic, I could have fallen off my chair laughing. I write when I'm confused or unhappy and often going back to my ramblings gives me insight or clarity on what is troubling me or what I need to do to change things. The penny hadn't dropped yet though.

I went into the practice room and after a brief description of my ailments, had to stand with my back to Mr Osteopath (I call him Dr Pain to his face), who cheerfully commented "You're a bit lop-sided, aren't you?" and then it was on my front with Dr Pain poking tender bunches of muscles and 'pinging' my spine in ways that made me yelp louder than I knew I could. There was one point, near the end, just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, that he pokes something in my back and said "Hmm, are you carrying emotional pain? People do that and I'm wondering if that isn't half the problem here" and I just burst into tears. The penny had dropped.

It wasn't that it hurt any more than anything else he had inflicted on me, just somehow, all the depression and misery of the past months finally snapped into perspective and left me knowing what I needed to do. It made me cry because it's going to be very hard and I don't even know where to begin. What an idiot I felt. I was blubbing, with my face stuck through the face-hole of the treatment couch, wondering where I could get my hands on a tissue and could I reach my nose around the outside of the couch and all the while, this horrible, dawning realisation of what was up washed over me.

I went home and went to bed; it was all just too much and I didn't know how to think or cope. I slept and woke with a screaming migraine. I still have it, but it's a lot better than it was, thank goodness. All the signs were there, I only opened my eyes to them yesterday. Healing through writing; Mr Osteopath stating what would have been perfectly obvious to me if it hadn't been my own body causing me such discomfort, realising that I hadn't sung for over 6 months and I love singing.

So, even though it took someone poking my back and the universe giving me a great big kick up the bum, I have finally opened my eyes. I have been living in a festering depression for at least six months and I know what is causing it. My father died on 14th April last year and for six months after his death, I was very wobbly and down; it wasn't my father dying that got me into this state though. I do miss him, but I don't wish he were still here as his life wasn't great at the end. He lived well into his 87th year and had a pretty decent life and I saw him lots and we had a good relationship. For a while I thought it was grief, but it isn't.

Writing about tension the other day started the train of through that eventually got me to open my eyes. It is my life that isn't right. I have let it slip and lost control of it and the loss of control has made me miserable. I have been working for myself and it's lonely; I miss having other people around me and the buzz of office life. My days are eked out in long silences with an occasional phone call, but mostly email communication. I love silence, but there is too much of it - so much that I have lost my ability to sing. My social life has died; all we ever seem to do is sit and watch television at the weekends and it's as boring as hell - I feel like I'm twice my age and less interesting than a corpse. I don't go dancing any more because my back hurts so much - and because I don't dance I'm miserable and my back hurts even more. I haven't done any smithing for ages, and I haven't touched any of the other things that I love to do, like sewing, oils or diddly squat.

At the moment, I feel as if my life is like a waiting room. I sit and wait for Kim to get home, then I wait for him to stop being tired, then I wait for him to pack and I wait to get the place back to myself so I can clean it up again and then I'm waiting for the next weekend cycle to happen all over again. In between, I feel resentful that I'm little more than a cleaning lady - not a very good one I have to admit, because wielding the vacuum hurts my back - and I do the laundry and fill in with a bit of work and that's all there is to life. You know, I can't remember the last time I laughed - really laughed - that loud, raucous belly laugh that one does when life just feels so good and everything is just such fun (even for a moment) that you throw your head back and let out the joy.

And all of this is my own fault.

So, I now have to remedy these things that are ailing me. I have to put aside the notion of working for myself and admit that I don't really like it all that much. I miss the hurly burly of working with others, being in a place where one's business calls aren't interrupted by the sound of a geriatric cat throwing up... and reminding me that I'm the cleaning lady again. I have to find something with a salary that puts me back in total control of my life, which isn't going to be easy, as I'm now considered well past my 'sell by' date in the job market, but I trust that with a lot of effort from me, the Goddess will help out in that department. I have to stop 'waiting around' and just go out more. If I have to do that on my own, then so be it - it's probably the only way it's going to happen, because I've given it enough time for the alternative. I have to look at the entire way I live my life and stop waiting around, stop stifling how I feel in favour of other people's hopes and dreams and start being me again.

I have, more than anything, to start laughing again. I suspect that there are even more drastic steps to be taken to fully reclaim the person I once was... no, I don't suspect, I know. It was the realisation that hit me on the Osteopath's couch and I'm dressing it all up in euphemisms and trying to not say aloud that which is screaming in my head. I am going to end up upsetting a lot of people who have made arrangements on the strength of things I have said and planned and I'm going to unravel it all. Well, I shall just have to upset them because I can't do the alternative.

Yes, writing really does heal and help to open the flow of being oneself again. The signs have been there and you know, I might just jump in my car, go out for a drive and see if I can find my singing voice again.