This weekend was meant to be a getaway, a road trip with Sissyface and my son to visit his kids 4 hours away. Though I wasn't keen on such a long ride, I was yearning to get away from the sameness of my daily routine, and the many hats I wear in running this household.
It couldn't be done, as it turns out. They had to leave at 11 am; had I gone with them there would have been no one here to pick up the girls from school. No one to ready them for going to their mother's for the weekend, as their dad has to work late.
I've felt a weight of sadness all day. Truthfully, I've felt this weight for more than a day. But today the sadness seems to have sunk in further and dug in its roots. I'm not sure how much of it is due to the missed trip.
Somewhere along the way I've lost my sparkle. I know that Funnygal, my resident comedienne, is in hibernation. How desperately I need her! Without her I am dull, and life takes on the drab hues of something very like depression. I don't even know if I'm depressed, or simply so exhausted that every little thing has me on the verge of tears.
While going to pick up the girls from school I thought how, the moment they left with their mother, I'd like to burrow into my bed and have a good cry. My heart yearned for this like it sometimes yearns for a long ago love.
I'll never give myself permission to do this, of course. There are still plenty of others here who may, at any moment, need me for something. The fact that I don't want to answer their knock with swollen eyes says more about my insecurities and intense privacy than it does anything about them. It's that old "crying is shameful" mindset again rearing its unlovely head.
I sit here in bed reading old blog posts while Friends murmurs in the background; I find myself wishing they were really my friends. There's something a bit pathetic about needing to hear sitcom noises and voices so I don't feel quite so alone.
There is no one I really want to be with. There is no one. When I get like this it hits me painfully that no one and nothing outside of myself will make things better. I must go down into the depths as I have so many times before, and usually I never know why this is so.
And so down into the depths I go, sinking deep into my subterranean selves. Slumming, an insider says with sarcasm. Isn't that what you mean, you're going slumming because no one in your 3D world is there for you right now?
Is this what I mean? Isn't it true, I wonder, that I blithely ignore my parts unless or until I reach a point where I'm so desperate for companionship that I'd rather hang with them than go through the evening alone? I don't know how it works for other multis, but my parts rarely intrude. They don't elbow each other out of the way, vying to be in front. Probably because I fail to nurture them it's all I can do to coax one of them to surface.
Down into the depths: slumming. Maybe, but probably not so much. I've a hunch that some of my richest living takes place deep beyond my placid surface. Deep within the many personalities who are there for me in ways I'm never there for them.
Trouble is, that's also where the ugliness of my raw pain lives. Seems I can't have one (rich living) without the other (exposure to pain I try never to see full on, for fear it will scar or blind me forever.)
Down into the depths I go, and when I'll emerge nobody knows.