On holiday


Such fun, endlessly away with two children and little distraction. I am in dire need of therapy, I think. I think, is really the problem. I wish it were that I think rarely, but it is not so. I think constantly. There are no gaps, no time to be still, shunia, to meditate and settle into stillness. Where is my pool of serenity and calm? Did I ever have one? Somehow when I get here, in this spiralling state, I forget that I have tools and can think otherwise. I remembered in the Supermarket that I could focus on positive thoughts like a well behaved grown up should, but the soaring pop music and insane man selling tripe kept on being more important than my thought processes, good and bad. I did have an epiphany when I remembered that what I resist, persists. I stopped listening to the offal seller and let go of the music and just drowned in my fears and projections.

Otherwise the sun is shining, the crickets are all madly rubbing their legs together, and it is just never enough.

The hard part about long term sobriety and lots of therapy is the endless awareness. Beyond the odd coffee or drama that floats past me I am permanently aware of all my feelings and thoughts. That awareness is quite new. It has been there for about a year. I used to find it exhausting but I have settled into being used to it now. I rarely find that I look back and think “how did I get to feel like this?”, I know exactly what is going on as it unfurls and opens. So here in France, away from all my comfort, friends, safety and known things, I roll from one emotion to another with endless clarity and sometimes I wish I could just turn to the side and let it all out.

Life is not like that.