Thursday, 20 November 2008

Early morning thoughts

I still have nights when I don't sleep well and I often have thoughts in my head that I just have to get up and write down. If I don't write them down there and then they have often gone by the morning or I don't remember them as I want to. The same thing happens sometimes when I am out running which is a bit trickier as I have to keep the thoughts in my head till I get home.

4th October running along by the river:

I lift my face to the sun and feel it's warmth
The river flows over my feet and it is icy cold.
I am held between light and warmth
Cold and dark.
I cannot move.
11th November early morning:

There are two mes

There is the me who each morning
Along with her clothes
Puts on her public face.
The public me whose smile
Just avoids the eyes.
"How are you?" they say
And the public me says "I'm fine"
But the other me
Whose private face
Is sad and bewildered
Is Crying.
The other me who wants to say
My son is dead, grieve with me.
The other me who cannot understand
But the public me just says
"I'm fine."

I have a notebook where I write down all these thoughts, it helps to have them in one place.


ChrisH said...

I really admire for you for being able to do as much as you have in such unbearably sad circumstances.

I run too and, yes, it is hard to hang on to some of those thoughts until you get through the door!

Take care, CX

JJ said...

I think that second one speaks very closely to my own experience of depression.

Take good care of yourself.

Love JJx

Stray said...

Your second poem really struck me Sheepish. There is the beginning, overwhelming, stage (for me at least) in grief. The days when you weep openly on the train or in the street and don't give a toss who notices.

And then there is an outer shell that somehow assembles itself, trapping me inside with my grief. The urge to break through that shell sometimes can be overwhelming.

I had a strange experience a few years ago, just after a big break up and the death of a good friend, when I went on holiday on my own and went out walking on a beach in wales, and I met people who were - just as I was - struggling with the pain inside their shells. One had lost her husband and the other her mum.

We started with polite conversation (about our dogs of course) but somehow, I don't know how, we ended up ditching the shells and speaking about the pain.

I don't know how it happened but it did feel incredibly healing.

I hope you have friends and family to share it with, but I also hope that you'll have moments with strangers where you can let go of your public self for a while and they can do the same.

Hugs and cups of tea,


Val said...

I came here via the black box. njoyed your blog though sense your sadness. I will be back x

liz fenwick said...

Sheepish- your words carry so much...

SpiralSkies said...

It must all be so painful but the beauty in your words must help a little. I do hope so.

You're doing really well. Sending hugs to both your 'me's.


Lane said...

Beautiful words.

I'm glad it helps to write them down and keep them all in one place.

Take care xx