What goes up must come down. After a triumphant step on the scales last week, things have headed south. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had the best week in a long time – After nearly six weeks apart, I got some much-needed time with my partner, James. The first few days consisted of mostly sleeping on his part, so I toddled round doing my usual. The middle of the week was fabulous as we walked on the beach, told each other rubbish jokes, had a few drinks and had some chill-out time.
The Dread began to sink under my skin on Friday. I could feel it coming. The Dread is a familiar feeling to me, it used to come as a bumper-gift pack when I was sorely depressed. All of a sudden, you take no pleasure in normal activities. Going out the house doesn’t interest you, and that horrible feeling of not wanting to do anything at all creeps in. I’m a person that does stuff. Alarm bells started ringing. For me, my love of the outdoors disappears, I don’t want to wash and would rather hibernate under a blanket on a couch than do anything else.
I know fine well how it came about. On Sunday I had to face the hard task of putting James back on a plane to London. When I left the Fens, I took our whole house and our pets four hundred miles North, and left James standing on the doorstep of an empty house. All he had left was a car to drive and his job. I can honestly say it’s the hardest and most upsetting thing I’ve ever done. Bar none. Today was worse. It was like sending him back to prison for a crime he didn’t commit after a week in a luxurious resort. I know this all sounds a bit dramatic, but I can’t believe how much it has affected me.
The first thing I noticed was my writing. I write every day – sometimes just a few words in my journal, sometimes thousands of words in my novel. I stopped writing on Thursday. By Friday night, I didn’t want to go out anywhere and cracked open the Jack. I stopped tracking what I ate and drank. I stopped caring. Saturday, I hid from the world as the Dread took over. Sunday morning I did my best and busied myself getting James to the airport, but couldn’t stand and watch as he said goodbye to the dogs. It broke my heart. Again.
I kept myself together at the airport, cuddled him, told him for the millionth time that it won’t be long before he moves back for good, waved with a smile and drove off. I made it onto the M8. I pulled onto the hard shoulder and stuck my hazards on. I bawled my eyes out for a good five minutes. I cried for selfish reasons, I cried for James’ reasons. I cried for ruining what would have been a great WWs week, and for the confusion of our dogs when I returned alone.
Thankfully, I feel better today. I’m back to ‘normal’ – tracking, writing, and leaving the house. Phew. I told James the next time he comes home, I’m not letting him leave. Next time will be for good.
I suppose the lesson I’ve learned this week is that no matter how strong you think you are, never underestimate the power of emotions.