Thursday, October 27, 2011

On the Search for Lost Time

Last week, I had an emotional unraveling. I was going to call it a "meltdown," but then I reconsidered because that sounded a bit too glib, a bit too hip and happening. Not quite up to the task of describing this.
Maybe it was the dishabituation (see last week's post), an after-effect of having the blinders removed for a time. But I was sad, weepy, achy, frayed. "Where has the time gone?" was my lament. "Where have the years gone?" Everything was a mess. I had let everything go. My office was intolerable. My drawers were crammed with clothing and papers and memorabilia. I felt so ashamed.


Every thought brought more tears, tears overbrimming. For years, my MO had been to push through, work, ignore. For some reason, I could no longer do so. "Where have the years gone?" I asked again. "Where has the time gone?" "How have I come to this?"


If I were a chronically and/or clinically depressed person, I imagine that I would have been incapable of coming up with solutions--confiding my feelings to my husband, crying in his arms, cleaning out my drawers and rearranging my office, scaling back with a focus and energy I hadn't felt for a long time (again, the dishabituation?). If I were a chronically and/or clinically depressed person, I imagine that these feelings would not have dispersed so quickly. And I will not say that they have dispersed entirely. The memory hovers, of how difficult those few days were.

6 comments:

Jim Poznak said...

You managed very well for all of those years with your office as it was, and you managed very well to improve it. Bravo!

Susan Messer said...

thanks, sweets.

Anonymous said...

I am aware that the turning of a certain age (which is not chronological) brings to the forefront thoughts which accompany that age, or awareness or fear, or all of them., the most common being "where has the time gone?" Obsessing about this question seems to make time go faster accompanied by losing some control. It can be a silly control like not keeping towels of the same color in order or not caring to alphabetize clean rock shirts or it may be forgetting to send a birthday card or pay a bill. A feeling of guilt and worthlessness ensues. Suddenly promises made by 2035 do not involve us. We feel like we don't belong. But we do.

Accept these feelings are normal, even in a perfect world, but the world is not perfect.

Listening to music and focusing on what I can do is my best therapy, although the Pollyanna world never did exist. But the park is beautiful and the weather is more tolerable as are those aches and pains.

I try to let "those days" go as much as I can. You can too.

Gotta continue straightening my office.

Cheers!

Rasirds@cox.net

Susan Messer said...

Thanks. I'm glad to hear the you're a Pollyanna-free zone. Perky can be pretty annoying. Sometimes one just has to feel.

Anonymous said...

Your word choice made me smile - George Goebel introducing "Pretty, perky Paggy King."

I truly believe that feeling the feelings makes a lot more sense than pretending they don't exist.

Enjoy the beautiful Fall colors for me, please!

Rasirds@cpx/met

Susan Messer said...

Thank you, faithful reader. And the colors are so beautiful.