Thursday, 28 November 2013

She's like a bus...

Probably too much UK based humour already.  We say that you wait ages for a bus and typically two always come along at the same time.  Meaning you wait for ever and then two of what you want arrive at the same time.  Anyway, two blogs in a few days of each other.  There you go.

I probably should say something more flattering, like 'she's like the wind'.  But you've seen my photos: she's like a bus is a much more accurate representation! (OK, I admit it, mild attempt to secure protestations at my vague beauty!)  :o)

Wanted firstly to say thank you for the previous comments to my last blog.  So nice to know that you are there and supporting me.  Having a tough time at the moment as you could tell.  Work is also quite mad right now, so I'm sat in a bar at Kings Cross in London waiting for a train.  It is 8pm and I've been on the go, working, since 7am when I caught my train this morning.  The Sauvignon Blanc beside me is deserved if you ask me.

The point of the blog is my current plague of very intense, sad moments.  Not trying to be too dramatic, but in can tell when I'm lacking Rhiannon time.  Things start to go a little bit - a lot - crazy.  As I look round the bar, my heart sinks.  Three pretty girls at 1 o'clock, another at 3 o'clock, two at 4 o'clock and yet another at 5 o'clock.  Happy, comfortable, enjoying being the women they were born to be. And waves of sadness debilitate me, because I am not.  Yesterday, at work, two very lovely ladies, looking great. A moment of unutterable sadness washes over me. But that time it didn't leave me either.  I battled through the day without showing it. Without crying. With a brave, happy smiling face, because my job requires it.  But inside I know that it's not what I am feeling. I wonder if my smile is spotted for the fake that it is.  It doesn't reach the eyes.  Or have I become so good at hiding that it is imperceptible to everyone.  Except me.  I know.

So when I talk of stopping, I know that I am talking like a mad person. It isn't possible.  And then I remember them.  My family. Those who love me.  And the vicious circle starts again.  And it really is vicious.

6 comments:

  1. A friend sad to me recently that he always thought there was something behind the smile, a shadow that couldn't quite be seen but at times its presence was felt. This was all that showed of my inner turmoil and the reality is that most people didn't even see that much - I hid myself well was what was I hear.

    Its a thankless burden that you carry my friend one made harder in that so few know the real cost of not allowing yourself to be one of those ladies at the bar.

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    1. Thank you Becca. Your friend really did capture it right didn't they? I'm not sure I can bear going into a closet again and covering it all up.

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  2. The strain of living a fake life. It often does show through the disguise, but is usually misinterpreted. It's quite possible that some work colleagues think you have a dreadful personal worry that you just can't share, and consider you a very brave person for coping with it, without guessing the truth.

    I don't post them up nowadays, but in the past I've shown old photos of myself, and they have sometimes drawn the comment that 'the eyes look inexpressibly sad'. Just like yours. I can quite imagine how you felt, contemplating those girls all around you while waiting for the train, at an end-of-day time when your guard might slip. Very difficult.

    Lucy

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    1. Thank you so much Lucy - the sadness of watching happiness you don't feel you can be a part of is heartbreaking at times. Not feeling quote so meloncholic today. The fog has lifted again. My issue is that when I feel positive, I feel I can overcome it and then take the world on too. My problem is that I make decisions at those points instead of remember what the down escalator feels like too...

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  3. She's like a bus.... You have a conductor and a rope that goes 'ding' when you pull it? No? Okay. Too much chocolate for me :-)

    Weak gags aside, I don't really know what to say, mrs. I wish there was a way it could all be fixed and there would be no problems from either side. But, this ain't Disney - or it isnae Disnae, as some might say :-) - and I think we both get that.

    The girls at the bar? You have my sympathy on that, for what it's worth. When the Pink Fog strikes, its claws are deep and when it's really bad, it actually hurts. Try not to let it, if you can. Take time away, stay with work and be yourself for a night. Even if it's just a short time, it is some time away and hopefully, that will help you. Stay strong, Rhi. L x

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    1. That's very kind of you - I'm just glad no-one likened by bottom to the back end of the bus!! :o)

      I've never thought about the pain of the fog before, but you are right - there is a physical pain that you can feel deep down that really hurts.

      Really appreciate your support Lynn. x

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