Right now I feel the need to go to a special place I go to sometimes in order to survive.
It is a free place – and a very cheap place – in my head.
It is simple solitude with no outside contact.
It might seem like a dark, lonely, troubled place to an onlooker, but to me it is called peace; it is my long hot bath or my book on the beach or my trip to Mexico (only cheaper).
If I can’t get there I feel frantic – hunted almost, and trapped.
I don’t want to fight this feeling, and I don’t feel I need curing, rescuing or stopping from going there – simply going there in itself is the cure.
The deepest dark washes over my head like an inky tide and then it sucks softly away leaving me levelled like a beach freshened by the ocean.
Afterwards I can walk into the light again feeling soothed and rested.
But I need to go now, and I can’t.
I went for a walk with the dog earlier today and tried to put my feelings into words. But when I feel like this everything seems tangled and busy and thoughts are difficult to map out in a straightforward way. It’s as if thought processes are scrumpled up; it’s all there – there’s nothing new or bigger or different to cope with but it’s confused, messy.
I feel childish when I’m like this. Sulky, grumpy, at the mercy of others.
Perhaps I could write a childish poem, I thought – as it’s National Poetry Day.
So I plished through the wet fields, whilst Dylan ate cowshit and carried a cricket in his mouth (- so gently it survived!), and I typed a few words into my phone:
They are strange these days: of feeling like a child;
Neglecting the domestic and desiring to run wild.
Fighting against life.
Sulking because it’s raining.
“I haven’t eaten!” (Whose fault is that?)
I thrive on this complaining.
Perhaps a hug or an icecream?
An early night or a good scream?
I’m tangled and I’m messy
I’m sticky and I’m stressy
Turn down the lights, stroke my head.
Whisper “There, there” and put me to bed.
I don’t want this! or that! or the other!
Leave me alone – you’re too much bother!
But don’t say “Act your age!”, whatever you do
Because today I am barely more than two!
It’s such a selfish and guilt-ridden feeling, having what I have decided to call “A charmed strife”.
Life should and can be good – but part of that being good means giving my head time out on the naughty step. Otherwise I feel permanently unhappy.
I think standing in the mud and staring into puddles helped a bit today.
Bug in Muddy Puddle, by Rachel, aged 2 and a lot