As I write this I am fixed into a hive of boredom watching paint dry (this is why I rarely paint my nails). Boredom itself isn’t something people like to admit about themselves as it infers we have too much time on our hands and are thus lazy, that or it implies that we are not self-sufficient creatures with an array of hobbies and interests and things and people to fill our lives. To be bored would state that we need something or are doing something wrong. I don’t need anything right now other than to write this and understand what is going on in my head because quite frankly, I’ve been somewhat unhinged of late.
Only yesterday I saw someone I knew and was telling them about a place I visited two days ago, but when I went to say where I couldn’t remember where it was. An awkward silence was quickly filled with polite laughter from both of us. The other day in the hair salon I asked the lady beside me if she wouldn’t mind letting the hairdresser know that I’d gone to the bathroom if she came back, as though I was going to be anywhere else with a head of foils. Last night as I went to bed, I read about the Albula Tunnel and the last thing I wrote was that I’d stopped dreaming of late. And I always dream. But recently, nights have been filled with wakeful moments, an hour, perhaps two or three of waking and thinking, a brief reprieve through a little more sleep and then more waking and more thinking. The thinking itself hasn’t been filled with thoughts of any substance, nor a to-do list or anxiety-infused woes and worries. No, it’s not that. The thinking has more to do with feelings, the kind that arrive in the night bringing tears to your eyes, the sort that burns deep inside you, giving your lungs fire, and pain in your chest and stomach. Then there’s that sadness, the kind that you can’t explain that only happens at 3am. These nights seem to be running the length of me and I don’t know about you but right now, I’m feeling like I’m running at a pace that isn’t myself. Christmas is a weird time and I used to love it. Now I’m not sure whether that’s the case. It feels almost like a halfway house between loving the parts that mean a lot such as the birthdays (we all have our birthdays at Christmas), and really very much disliking the parts that most of us dislike such as the shopping, the events on consecutive days and just overall, being outside of routine.
I don’t know why I’d stopped dreaming but after writing that sentence last night, I had an eerie dream, that took me into a weird house with different bedrooms containing my things. I tried moving everything into one room, but the entire place was filthy and everyone else had left other than a small black kitten chained to a window ledge trying to flee. I attempted to save him or her from both jumping and the chain, but neither was working. If I freed her from the chain she would jump from the ledge to the small courtyard below where a much larger angry black cat was hissing. If I kept her chained then that cruelty would become my accountability in that moment. Next thing I know, I’m in a tiny cafe with a friend I’ve not seen for a long time (too long) drinking a too-rich turning sour hot chocolate before running back to that weird filthy house. The parting scene before I woke was a face looking at me and the words “I love and said who you used to be”.
Those words came from me as the narrator but I have no idea what memories were bringing them to me other than that it’s a weird time of year. But this Christmas is one we’ve been planning for months. The events have all fallen into place so far, and it’s been nice. We’ve been busy for the last few days doing different things, some just the two of us, some family affairs and others just chore-related. But I feel disconnected through it all. The things that I planned have happened and I’ve not even felt them. While everyone else was sitting around the fire in the hut at the winter solstice event yesterday, I was wandering around in the trees down a track at the back in a place where I wasn’t even supposed to be. That’s what I mean by unhinged. I’m not feeling, saying or doing the right things in the moment, yet once night arrives the 2am feelings take full swing. It’s as though I’ve been locked out of the house and lost my key. I can look in through the window but I’m not there. I’m somewhere in the night garden without the music.
I used to love this time of year and I had the right mask for it. I used to be the one who would down shots at the awkward party or bring the Monopoly set out when everyone else was ready to go home. As I’ve gotten older and it’s become more Cards Against Humanity, even then, I still did the right things. Yet it would seem that these days I’m just disconnecting from it all and all I really want to do is write. As Stephen King said in Danse Macabre, it’s when we write it down that we figure out what’s going on. So that’s what this is. I don’t know why I’m not sleeping properly and why the dreams went away. But last night was different and the only thing that was different than all the other recent nights was that I had had words with myself in both mind and on paper beforehand. Sometimes, when we don’t have a flurry of close family members or friends, or counsellors to open up to, we find ourselves alone, and one thing I’ve learnt is that to survive in this world, above all else, you need to be emotionally independent. That’s why having the freedom to write is so important. My writing tutor recently said this to me. He told me that it doesn’t matter if it reads badly or doesn’t make sense. It just needs to be honest and written from the heart. It can be embarrassing to do that. None of us really want to tell the world what we are really feeling, but sometimes, I think that writing down your feelings, your dreams and all that happens in the night actually brings us closer together than we would imagine to be. We may be far in distance but emotionally and otherwise, you and I might be close. You probably wouldn’t still be here reading this if there wasn’t something you had that was similar to my own headf*** right now.
In relation to Christmas and the days that follow, Twixmas or whatever they want to call it this year. I’ll be completely honest, Christmas itself is ok here. It’s busy but it is also predictable and there are quiet periods during the three days due to co-parenting schedules, a brilliant teenager who is now no longer a Father Christmas enthusiast, and some well-curated boundaries in the wider family. The period just after Christmas is different. That’s the time I dislike the most due to how busy everywhere is, long and short, it completely stresses me out. January then, is a different story. Those early weeks of the year I used to find hollow and empty after weeks of Christmas, but today I welcome the routine and normality that they bring. I wonder whether that will be the time when I’ll finally be able to feel normal again. Last January I ended up with COVID-19 so lost pretty much the first two weeks of 2024. I’m aiming for that to not happen again this year so we can actually get out for some long rides and hikes. We’re both ready for them.
Whatever happens in the days and weeks that follow, one thing I want to say to finish this is always listen to yourself. I’ve said this before in the past, the nights will bring your truth and by that I mean the things that you feel in the most primal sense. Your fears, your worries, the reasons why you’re forgetting where you’ve been and why you’re saying weird things that make no sense. Our minds are powerful things, and in a world that seeks to suppress them through its traumas and depressive news cycles, its fear-driven scaremongering and addictive clutches of the internet, this is where listening to yourself can really help. Not only at Christmas, or in the depths of winter but all year round. I’ll likely never see the little black kitten that I dreamt of last night again, but the way it happened and the words that followed have allowed me to have a conversation with myself today along those obscure lines, I love and said who you used to be. If you were here for this conversation, I thank you, and I hope you can do something similar. I promise it will help.
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