Monday, 18 August 2014

The worst day, or when tomorrow still isn't any better than the day before.

Another blog and one I promised myself I would right in the late hours of last night.

I wrote a little while ago about how the worst days of my life were followed by some of the best, amd how I wouldn't change them.

That's mostly true, and really I have only ever had two terrible days after the bad day, in a way that was funked and not funky.

The thing is that if I have had a really really bad day, and I have had plenty of them, I always tell myself that in the morning it will be better.

Most of the time that's true. Even after someone has died or I have suffered some kind of break up or fight with one of friends or whatever. Those days you can switch on auto pilot and concentrate on doing things like writing a eulogy or deleting ever email ever sent or getting a haircut. (Mostly I just get haircuts.) And on days like those you always have people around you, even when you don't want to, not just because misery loves company, but because friends like to invade your life when you need it most. And life, despite the really crappy situation around you, beats on all the same, and eventually you find yourself in a place that isn't necessarily a happy one, but one you're okay about being sad in.

And then there are the worst days ever.

My two worst days. One was midway through year 12, and the other was the end of Term 3 in 2011. I can be really vague about both of these days. Both of these days of high angst and general desperation where kind of caused by me, but really, made worse because of how I dealt with them. After the first worst day I thought I had learned the hard way to guard my heart, but it seems that even now that second bad day is still the worst of all.

So, without oversharing, here is what happened.
Both nights I went to sleep and turned off my phone. I never do this except if I'm hoping for some kind of surprise text which never comes anyway.
And then I woke up and there was no text, or maybe there was and there was nothing to give me hope. And I went about my daily routine which is about eating toast and well, drinking Milo, and going to school (both times, seeing as I used to go to school and now I work in a school), and the day just being horrible.
Both days it rained, and at the end of Term 3, I came home and frantically pulled up marshmellow like a crazy woman and then had a hot shower, but didn't care because I was so unbelivably numb that I couldn't care less whether I was cold or not, and then I sat on the couch and watched Harry Potter on repeat and tried to sleep and couldn't, and may have spent an hour on the phone crying my eyes out with the cat trying to give me cat comfort by putting her paw on my hand ever now and then.
And in Year 12, I basically did the same thing, and sat with my Mum at a lookout - maybe up near the tower - and ate fish and chips and cried and felt like nothing could ever be right again and I couldn't even say what was bothering me properly because it was all just too much.

And then the next day was just as bad.
And the next, and before you know it, your life is like some kind of Twilight novel.

Thoughts that I had on that day a few years ago, and thoughts I had eleven years ago are still the same thoughts. Even now I think them, because, well, they are thoughts you can only ask yourself when everything goes horribly wrong and you can't fix it or talk your way out of it.

Why write about this now?
Today is not a bad day after all. And neither was yesterday.

But even so. I still have a lump in my throat thinking about those two worst days. I think about them often enough and the pain isn't so raw now, except that I know that the last day day involved too many good songs about break ups and Katy Perry female empowerment tunes that I cared to think about.

When everything goes wrong, and it seems to now more than ever, I think how those days couldn't possibly be as bad as those two worse days. And my heart hurts a little less. And if I can get out of bed and eat toast and think about something other than the craziness of my responses to life's disappointments, well, I'm not doing too badly at all.

What snapped me out of those worst days?
I wrote the other week in my journal about Year 12.  I hated that year so entirely that I may have destroyed most of my scrapbooking pages about it. What got me through was sheer grit and determination. Not optimism. Not wishful thinking. Just because I had to get through to prove it to myself that I deserved to finish high school, even if everything else around me was crazy stupid and beyond anything I could really process. And, on the bright side, I had friends who I couldn't really talk to, but who had my back anyway, when I didn't deserve it.

The last worst day I spent a weekend in Renmark with Narelle and managed to stay really sane by not thinking about anything other than that very present moment. And then I drove home to Balak and listened to Nick Skitz and decided it was okay that I missed out on hearing Meatloaf at the Grand Final seeing as he did a terrible job anyway (sorry Meat). And my cat was waiting for me, and I was flying home the next day, come what may. And in the end, it all worked out okay, even after some general confusion and weirdness.

I can't say anything snapped me out of those worst days, other than time healing wounds (or whatever) But if all wounds were healed, well, why be so sad about it now? Because, well, I know what it was like to be sitting on the couch waiting for a call that never came. And if I could I'd like to tell my past self that my future self coped okay despite whatever silly idea past self was concocting in her mind about how terrible life was.

I wrote this blog because once I've said it I won't have to think about it again. And that makes me happy
I choose not to be defeated. But also, I choose me, because, if I had my time again I would do it all the same. Really.
Well, except for the Katy Perry song.