I started writing my ‘Week That Was’ posts to as the real bloggy part of the blog. The online diary, the lowdown on what I’d been up to and where I’d been. The moments behind Instagram pictures, the meals with friends where you don’t take photos of the food, the best and the worst and the stuff in between that makes you laugh or gets on your tits.
I haven’t blogged for a little while but there’s not a day goes past where I don’t think aloud (well not aloud; more in my head actually) of things that I should mention in here. I tell myself I’ll remember it at the end of the week, and write about it then. But I never do. Maybe this is loneliness, that feeling where you want to tell someone something, but there’s nobody there to tell.
When I dropped my phone down the loo in January I spent a good few weeks without a phone and without full access to social media. It was a well needed, if unwelcome, break and I got used to not speaking to anyone for a while. I say speaking, but most of my human adult interaction is on screens. Texts, WhatsApp, email. You can be like ships passing in the night even with the people you’re closest to sometimes can’t you?
I think I’m a natural hermit. When I lived alone in my 20s I could go for weeks without talking to someone outside of work hours. I didn’t bother me at the time, although I often look back and wonder whether it was healthy for me. These days hugs from my son mean the world; not just being loved but the physical interaction. I’m incredibly tactile for someone who hates the world at large, you know.
So while I didn’t have the phone I immersed myself in family history again, something which I’d left on the back burner for a while. Hope you all read the first part of Forgotten Lives: Emma by the way because I have put some real people hours into uncovering her story and I’d hate for it all to be in vain.
It seems I’m more comfortable around the past. Around the dead. Around black and white. I’m an introvert, and I’m anxious, and I find going outside my house more and more of a chore these days. I am excellent at hiding this from my 4 year old, who has his own set of worries going on right now (absolutely heart breaking hearing him say nobody likes him because every time he makes a friend they move away – he asks me regularly if we can go to Australia and to Turkey to visit his two friends who moved back there). But on the inside I feel like I just want to stay in my cocoon forever.
I feel like this because I’ve randomly chosen this month to come off my anti depressants – this latest stint being a two year stretch of Citalopram. I fucked up and ran out of my reduced dosage quicker that I should’ve done, which means I’ve got to get my big girl knickers on and meet this head on. I’m looking forward to the spring flowers and lighter evenings helping me along the way. After all, you can’t live in the past forever.
Until next time, thanks for reading. I still don’t know why you do.