I'm not particularly fond of writing through a funk. It feels self serving, and I think that you'll think that I'm dull and whiney. Or, worse, that you'll not allow me the very real cycles of living and pigeon hole me in your thoughts as a "depressed" person. Which I have a deep aversion to. So I call it a funk, and avoid writing too much.
I spent many years living in near constant depression. That cycle began to slowly change in my late 20's. I've spent 10 years living in fluctuating states of self searching, growth, change, reflection, healing, and, subsequently, joy, delight, wonder, awe, gratitude, and peace.
But right now. I'm in a funk.
I love this season. I love the turning in, the darkness, even the weatherizing of our space which turns it into a dark little den of soft light and warmth. I love the freshness of winter air. I love snow for it's alchemical ability to re shape familiar landscapes into magical places. I love when it clings to every tiny thing and makes the world soft and sparkling and so so silent. This love of the season compounds the funk, because I so sincerely do Not want to feel it (in the midst of the mooost wonderful tiiime...of the yeeeaaaaar) that I deny it, and it gets all uppity and out of control until I am forced to deal with it.
Today there is rain. A near constant rain, and I have had a sinusy headache for two days and I feel so tired. I hurt my back this morning by coughing while I was bent over. I eased myself into childs pose and wept and wept there on the floor. Cat nip sticking to my forehead and feeling so sorry for myself, wanting (for over a year now) a massage, but denying myself, saying yet again that I can't afford one. I am full up on emotions, and have no more room in me, which makes me feel impatient and overwhelmed. So I need to express them. To release them and breathe into the space they leave in me to welcome ease, trust, comfort.
I feel afraid. I'm afraid of not making enough money at the QCM this Saturday. I'm afraid that noone will want anything that I make, and I will feel invalidated. I feel afraid for Pappy's surgery on Monday. That he won't recover well, or that they'll find more cancer. That I'll lose him. That we'll lose him. I'm afraid of losing anyone else that I love, and I've so damn many people to lose.
Which brings me to anger. I'm angry that I live above people who walk around like they've got weights on their ankles. Seriously, I am woken from my sleep by their pounding through their apartment and they live below me. I am angry at an old friend for responding to my admission of having felt hurt by her with hurtful words. I'm angry at my landperson for still not putting a new roof on.
I am sad that an important relationship in my life shifted fundamentally the summer I got married. I feel sad that it feels so damaged, and lost. I feel broken trust and rejection and a myriad of old old issues all bundled up within it.
But if I stop spinning in the emotions, I know that our well being doesn't depend on the money I make this weekend. I know that I can stop denying myself the healing luxury of a massage (though I still feel the need to justify that it would cost less than 2 chiropractic adjustments). I know that there will be people who walk right by my table at the show on saturday, their eyes sliding over the things that I've created, and love. But there will be people who stop, who compliment, and converse, and encourage, and buy. I can do nothing but trust that Pappy will be fine. He will heal and we will be present and help and support and encourage. That I have many people in my life who I will lose, but whom I love. I love. And who love me.
As for my neighbors, the Ladies of Mighty Striding, they do their best. If I say, 'hey..you're rediculously loud right now and woke me', they're responsive and respectful. No big. I am doing my best, and with wishes for love and peace, releasing the old friendship which made her feel judged and made me feel peripheral and hurt. We'll get a roof. Or not. We'll move out of here. Eventually. I can love the lost relationship, and wish her so much love and peace and joy in her life.
I'm exhausted. I can't imagine that you've stuck in through all of this processing. I don't know yet if it's helped. I do, however, trust that I will move through this. I will learn from it and there will be wonderous little shifts inside of me. My entire life and the living of it will hold cycles of wonder, ease, adventure, peace, stumbling, loss, weeping, laughter, comfort, fear, anger, connection, joy, expression, creativity, sadness, and funks. And through it, I will always be growing.