Fidgety Knitting

Static On The Radio

Sorry to those of you who have read any of my gibberish, and especially those of you who have taken the time to comment or email me. I really really do appreciate it. You are all so much sweeter than I am :) Unfortunately I am cracking at the foundations here and not in a good way, there is no more denying reality- my spirit is breaking. When you have to stick a pen in your leg so that you can change your focus so that you won't cry, that is a telltale sign that you can't hide your feelings through resignation anymore.

Life bubbles up when you try to push it down. And things got appreciably worse today, ironically over something that should have been nothing. I can't handle the knitting let alone the blogging when I can't see through my tears of rage and frustration, tears that are starting to pop up when I least expect them. I am a walking time bomb and the term short fuse is much more than an understatement. More importantly, there is no more self-deprecating or otherwise humour. That my friends is a sign of the fourth horseman swinging the apocalypse my way. I am depleted of everything except that never-ending reserve of salt water tears and a good dose of toxic matter that is putrifying inside me. And I have to sit with this eating me alive until I can get my balls together to find a way out, a way that will stop me from spitting venom. I can't expect anyone to heave my ass around when it is this weighted down.

I would try to do the "talk/write it out" method, but I have never been one of those people for whom letting it out reduces my stewing levels. When I am panicking yes, when I am buried in the dark- not so much. It just cycles it and I have had enough of watching it swirl around me with the darkness that has accompanied it. So me myself and I are going to sit this out on our lonesome until we can change the tides.

And I really don't want to submit those of you who stop by to my bipolar fury and depression. You haven't done anything to deserve it. No one has actually, except maybe me for tolerating this shit and well not wanting to admit reality. But I can't hide it or make it funny anymore. When my loud voice (those who have met me can tell you about my cheerleader range...) is silenced, and I can't laugh or make the worst of cracks about it... all that is left is a dark path that I have to walk through and pray there is light at the other end of the tunnel.

So things may remain quiet while I try to find the way up from down and step away from the weak and weariness that is tearing me to bits. I am on email, I hope to be commenting a bit, I should be on Flickr (all but the rare few of my 150+ Sicily photos have been uploaded and are live for your perusal), and once the tears stop flowing and burning a hole through me... if I am not drowned under the torential sea that my tears create around me, I hope to be typing again and putting my bits back together.

Until then wishing you all smiles and I'll talk to those who are interested on the underside.