I am almost alone. Just two children and a nanny asleep. Baptiste is in France. Breakfast will be chaotic, too many things to do, but then it will all skid into silence. The phone will ring, the doorbell too, the dogs will bark at anything, but it is strangely quiet. I know what it is. I have worked it out. I don’t talk to anyone anymore. Of course I chat, but I don’t really let anyone know who I am. I keep it all to myself. I used to talk a lot. When I first got sober I talked about my feeling all the time. There were so many people to listen. Now there is a stillness and very very few people around who will listen or show an interest in others. I am not cross or hurt, but just can see that this is how it is.
I used to get really upset about it. I used to wonder what was wrong with me that I could not fine anyone willing to listen to me, over the past few years, but now it is less and less important. I tell Baptiste everything, almost, and realise why I was so totally freaked out at the thought that the Hep C might kill him. There would be no one to tell anything to. I tried talking to a girlfriend when he was at the worst point in the chemotherapy. She loves drama, but sadly it seems to have to be her own. I confessed that I had had the worst two years of my life up until that point and she turned and asked what on earth I had to be stressed about. I have a technique when I don’t want to go somewhere with someone, I have an internal shutter that clatters down. It came down then.
So we just keep it light, between us now. I don’t think she has noticed I never talk about myself any more. I she rings and I say “how are you?” she just says “fine thank you” and then proceeds to talk about herself. I went through a phase of watching who asked back, “how are you?”. Almost no one. It got rather tiresome, so I stopped looking. Now there is a stillness that sits when Baptiste goes away that is quite odd. Like fog around my ankles. There is no one to call and say……. I suppose I really have nothing to say outside. I can chat, of course I can. I can rail and be funny. I can be intimate to a point, but I just don’t tell anyone anything any more.
My closest friend went away about three months ago. She will be back for 3 days in a moment, then off for a year. A tiny tiny window of intense talking, then back to the silence. I think I am getting used to it. Sometimes I clutch my phone wishing I had someone to chat to, but then it passes. It certainly does not upset me any more. Perhaps this is the joy of weblog. Just get it out of oneself and onto a screen, but there is a mountain I would not tell the screen. This is just idle chit chat. This is not my hearts longing and yearning.
So it does not need to be said. There can be silence. it churns inside, roaring that it wants to come out, but can just as easily wait until the upheaval has passed. Which it always does. Some quicker than others.
I read a very interesting technique the other day: when the brain is over whelmed, just hold the breath for 15 seconds. I tried it at a moment, in public, when I could not stop crying. I stopped. The 15 seconds of oxygen calmed me down completely. Yogi Bhajan says such great stuff.