This date last year was a Monday and that was the Monday I called in sick to work with a sore throat and ended up in A&E embarking on my colossal mental meltdown.
I cannot quite believe that that’s all a year ago. It seems so recent and yet so cold, dead and historic within me.
My stomach churns in an iced mess of shame, regret and grief when I think of it. I could say I made a show of myself and yes, I take responsibility for my actions (which were not dignified) but I will allow a certain amount blame to be attributed to the build up of emotional scum within me that was lining my heart strings and inhibiting sense from breaking through (that’s a blatant steal from Dickinson’s I Felt a Funeral).
I could dwell on it. I’m tempted. With a long, dark winter ahead and the invariable shortage of funds, I could haunt myself with self-reproach for the trouble caused, principles disregarded and the general wretchedness inflicted upon those unfortunate enough at that time to find themselves pulled by the destabilising gravity of my BlackPit brain into my virulent orbit.
But I won’t. Because today was a good day including yoga; baking; entertaining text conversations; a hearty dinner; a volunteering pledge; lesson planning; half decent parenting and not drowning in a sea of my own bile.
So hang in there, if you do cling on to the last ribbon of energy tucked deep within the bowels of your demons, you might just find yourself, one year on from the blackest night of your life, happy enough to keep going at this life thing.
You might be Bat Shit today, but you could be The Shit tomorrow.
Much love, Dotty. 💋