It will be interesting to see if this post sees the light of day. It may not, for a number of reasons, among them that it feels a little too close to the core right now and also because it feels a bit fractured and I'm not sure it will make sense at all.
I have been reading A Year By The Sea, by Joan Anderson. At a point in the author's life, she felt that she could not follow her husband to his new job and, instead, retreated to their vacation home on Cape Cod to sort herself out. When I saw it at the library, I thought it might be an interesting read. I am forever trying to sort myself out. Mainly, it's been disappointing. She seems like such a spoiled brat, at least in the first half of the book, not someone I can really learn positive things from. She's far more introspective than even I am, to the point of being annoying. She reminds me a lot of the exercises we used to do in therapy school, trying to understand ourselves and our clients almost down to the cellular level. And a lot of the things she says are just not who I am or how I am. Understandably so, as she is who she is and I am a totally different person!
But the book has brought to the forefront, again, a lot of the negative things I see in myself and had brought forth a longing to be a pure and good version of myself, rather than the ranting, angry woman I am right now. One of those double-edged sword things. I'm not so depressed now and I have a lot more energy but I am so very angry. Anger just festers and bubbles beneath my skin and it's not a very pleasant thing to be around me right now. It's not a very pleasant thing to be me right now. It is, however, better than being as depressed as I was.
Why is life such a struggle? As I wrote that, my mind mocked me saying, "Why shouldn't it be?" Too true. It just is. Except for people who are blessed with everything they could want, people who lack mental capacity to process, or people who refuse to see it, life is somewhat of a struggle. Sometimes it is a titanic struggle. I guess I could be accused of being a Joan Anderson, someone who does so much navel-gazing that she begins to see too much, perhaps things that aren't even there. Right now I feel like I've been vacuum-sealed for a time but the seal is broken and all of the colors, sounds, smells, experiences are rushing at me, along with emotions that may or may not pertain to what I am experiencing in the outside world.
Yep, this is becoming quite abstruse. I apologize. I guess I'm attempting to sort myself out, without the luxury of a beach house to myself. I have to work on myself in fits and starts, in amongst the buying of the groceries and birthday presents, the cleaning of spilled beverages, the instructing in logic and grammar. I hope that, at some point, the varied parts of myself that wash free of the grit reform to make the beautiful me that I know is shining just below the surface.