Wednesday, 25 January 2012


I don't know, what do you think?

Is it when you're climbing the walls at one in the morning trying desperately to listen to the rational part of your brain that's telling you you're being irrational?  That you can breathe?  That the shakes and the shivers and the manic thoughts and the racing pulse are all in your head?

Or when you are on the phone to the Samaritans in the wee hours of the morning talking to a complete stranger because you're terrified to close your eyes?

Or when you're stepping over the piles of crap that used to be your life and wondering where it all went wrong?

Or when you're friend says to you "Why didn't you tell me you weren't coping?" Then tries to make you understand that "It's alright for you to fall apart, it's alright for you to not cope.  But you have to tell me so I can help get you back on track."

But how do you explain that it's not alright for you to fall apart?  It's incredibly hard for you to lean on anyone.   That you're supposed to be able to do it all. And if you fall apart, HE'LL be right.  That you lived with a man for years who made you feel inadequate as a wife, as a mother, as a person?  That you've been wearing your game face for so long that you don't know how to take it off?  That as long as you keep smiling and being jolly and cut fast and loose with the wit and the wisecracks just like normal... no one will know.  No one will be able to see that where there was calm there is now chaos.  Where there was light there's so much dark you don't think you'll ever be able to see your way out.

And then they peel off the veil you've been wearing over your eyes for so long that you didn't see what was going on around you.  That they do know.  That you haven't been as clever as you thought.  You haven't been able to hide the fact that you're just a shell and the person you see in the mirror is someone you don't even recognise any more.

Is that when you say, I need to reach out?  Is that when you can reach out?  When you can say actually I think I might be in a bit of trouble?  That's when you find out who your real friends are.  The ones who've been there all along.  The ones who've seen you at your best and don't care that you're at your worst, because they know you don't want to feel like this... this isn't something you enjoy... something you relish.

And then you have that one friend who says, right.  I know this isn't you.  I know you've hit the bottom and right now we're working our way up.  The friend who takes your hand and says, okay... now we're doing something about it and rolls up their shirt sleeves and dives in whether you like it or not.  The one who makes you realise even if its only a tiny bit... you are worth something after all.

Mine's called Amanda.  Who's yours?


  1. Hands down mine is my husband. I know most people say their spouse is their best friend but in the case of falling apart he's my worst enemy. He rolls up his sleeves and begins driving me to prove him wrong. I know its reverse psychology on his part and it works.

  2. In real life? No one now. On the net - Tom.

  3. Lisa, it's more than wonderful to have at least one person you can have a meltdown with and they totally understand. I know I spent thousands of hours and many years with only my journal as a friend. I wrote everything down, as silly as it seemed. I could not vocalize my sorrow, it was too overwhelming.
    I spent years from about age 20 to age 36 so depressed and mournful, I would not have recognized who I really was, because I was too scared to discover it.
    I began spending years 36 to now, almost 42, discovering me and the catalyst was cutting loose the man who hollowed me out with an emotional melon baller, He.Dragged.Me.Into.Quicksand. and I stayed for too damn long.
    It hurt so badly to peel away the deadness and begin to live, but, I did it. On my journey, I've been places that would raise eyebrows, and I've loved every minute of it.
    Embrace Amanda, she sounds like more than a friend, but, life support. :)

  4. Hon, you're lucky to have an Amanda. Damn lucky. Please take care. And listen to Amanda.

  5. Amanda sounds like someone to be cherished. I'm very glad you have her.

    When my black dog bites I rely on wonderful internet folk. Often they don't know how much help they are being, even if I tell them. And writing fiction helps. In a story one can CONTROL what happens, in real life one can't.