annanotbob2's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Looking back I found this in an old blog, when I was looking for something else. Fuck me, no wonder I'm knackered. Daughter, still Younger Daughter at the time, had just been to a festival and this is when I got back: "Son's parting gift, as a thank you for having him stay here for a week while he waited for his moving in date, was to clean the house while we were away. He did it really well, o joy, o complete and utter joy! Who'd have thought that a clean and tidy house would be such a balm to my spirits? I don't mind a bit of mess when I'm 'living' rather than 'coping', but I've barely even been coping recently and the mountains of crap everywhere kept me stuck in a place of chaos. I've kept it tidy since we've been back - just little ten minutes here and there putting things straight - helps me keep my mind straighter. Lovely Son. He was there when Daughter lost it last week, more shocked than I'd realised as I was focused on her, not him. It feels kind of odd to write about it here, but that was the point of locking up - to be able to write, and I do want to get it down - writing it out clarifies it in my mind. He told Bloke about it and Bloke told me that Son was astounded at my brilliant response to Daughter, at how I talked her down, listened to her, accepted everything she said but would not agree to forgive her if she killed herself, whilst tending her cuts, trying to stop the blood, accepting her hysterical resistance of going to A&E (whilst internally reserving the right to change my mind on that at any point), repeating that this despair would pass, it will pass, round and round till she started to run out of steam and was ready to see the benefit of taking a couple of Valium. Son felt the hugeness of what I've been doing in a way that no one except R (counsellor) ever does in my real life, and he conveyed it to Bloke and something shifted between them and me. In the moment, I don't think about what I'm doing or saying - it all happens too quickly, but I know that dark place and how seductive it can be because I'm almost in there with her, but I'm not, I'm staying here, with one foot on the ground, determinedly fighting for my daughter's life, for my own life. I would surely die if she killed herself - how could I keep going if that happened? So it's not going to happen. My whole being comes into focus and concentrates on that one task, all at breakneck speed while my hands and eyes are getting on with the cotton wool and the bowl of salt water and the blood, blood everywhere, not pumping out, but keeping coming, from too many places on her arms and legs. And she did calm down, with the valium, but also on a deeper level, which was visible the next day and confirmed as the days have passed, so I was good and did do and say the right things and I hadn't really recognised that myself until Son and Bloke were so flabbergasted by it. And where they both have heard me speak of my exhaustion for about a year now, suddenly they have respect for that exhaustion. They can see I've earned it and I hadn't realised that they didn't until they did, so that's all a bit odd." Well, I tell you, that did my head in. The things I've completely forgotten. Fuck. She came through it, though, my girl. Not before falling even further into the pit but she made it back out. I hope - I always panic when I write things like that in case she's sitting somewhere feeling like shit. Meanwhile, in plague land, we discover that MH who went up north days and days ago, before all this latest variant shit kicked off, came back on the train. SHE CAME BACK ON THE TRAIN. Where, no, most people weren't wearing masks. Concerns have swung round from fears that we might infect her after being at a wedding, to fears that she might infect us - after being on a busy train, then across London on a tube that was packed for fucking fuck's sake, then another train, eventually, in the end, as they were short of drivers and were cancelling them left, right and centre. I may still get a call asking me to go and fetch her from some Godforsaken station on the Southern Rail network. She didn't sound keen on my plan of carving the turkey in half before we cook it so each family can have half. Her son's father-in-law has COPD so needs to be careful. She's going to have a chat with them and get back to me. I feel like washing my hands of the whole thing but where would I get a turkey at this stage of the game? Or anything else. In other news I'm putting weight back on, not much so far, but it's not great. And I'm watching Canada's Drag Race S2 and it's very flat. What's that about? The lack of Ru Paul? The fact that Brook Lyn Hytes uses the exact formulations Ru does when discussing a queen? That never works - I remember a yoga teacher who sat in for J when J was off on retreat - he used exactly the same phrases that were funny and light from J, but utterly leaden from him. Or is that the queens are too similar in tone, as opposed to US ones, who come from a range of states with different accents, and UK where there's been a big class and regional variation. The Australian queens were all loud and extreme, from what I remember, nothing flat about that series. It's a mystery. Today I am grateful for: a quick visit from K, masks on, arm's length, door open. But still, it was a visit. Laters xx 10:56 p.m. - 20.12.21 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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