Wild Is The Wind

The wind roars down the chimney, occasionally whistles for a moment. Windy all day yesterday and again today, keeping the forecast heavy rain at bay. Bright sunlight, then dimmer light, as the dark clouds are hustled along over the sun. Yesterday managed a late walk, with my hat on. Today the wind keeps me firmly indoors. L and I have been constructing an IKEA shelving unit for the landing cupboard, putting things on it, deciding to get rid of (more) things, emptying the last few boxes (except the stack of book boxes in 'chaos corner' of the sitting room.) Later we will at last put some pictures on the walls. This job keeps dropping to the bottom of the list, but we know it will make the house feel more properly like home. Our friend S, who is moving next week, has given us another IKEA bookcase, which had to be dismantled to be transported, so now there's yet another construction job ahead... But which may just result in the emptying of the book boxes, so worth the pain!

Suddenly had to break off there to eat a bowl of Greek yoghurt with honey. Memories of breakfasts on balconies overlooking crystal seas. Wouldn't mind some of that right now...

Today my heart aches, my throat aches, and I'm trying to let be, even though it's really hard to bear, even though I'd really rather not feel like this. Even though I don't have any words for why I feel like this. It's grief, I recognise it. It's like that feeling you have when someone dies, that the world has no business going on being busy or beautiful or purposeful, when someone in your life is dead. The beauty, the business, the purposefulness hurt you in their obliviousness to the way you feel. I guess I am a welter of old griefs, stirred by the recent shock, pain and trauma of being forced to leave my job, of being betrayed by people I trusted, of being treated like a criminal, of (conveniently for others) carrying the can for all that was wrong in a project, and much that was wrong in an organisation. The hurt of all this, and the loss, and the total shocking disruption of my life from one day to the next, has left me maybe filled with echoes of the shock, betrayal, and total disruption of my father's suicide. I say 'maybe' because I can't see it clearly. I'm guessing really. But I feel as if nothing is worth doing any more, as if everything is futile and empty and pointless, as if I'm going through the motions much of the time. It's familiar, and it's dreadful, and, because it's so familiar, and I've done so much work around this stuff, I do now have a little space around it, some sort of capacity to keep at least some of myself out of that place, to hold another possibility even dimly ('it won't always be like this'...) And I know that under these kinds of feelings is a deep and violent anger that mostly feels too frightening to approach directly. Right now this process feels mostly exhausting.