The fragile edge of sane.

Just so you know, by time of posting the sunshine and immediacy of classes has helped, i am greatly cheered. 🙂

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I keep reminding myself I promised to be honest on this site, about the whole process.With that in mind, after the stonkingly brilliant Saturday things took a dive.

Sunday, Martin the lodger started moving his stuff in just as I was heading out toKickboxing. In itself this is all well and good but I found myself oddly emotional,  a bit low.

Went to class which I’d forgotten was to be a syllabus class. Again, in itself well and good but my grading sets weren’t in my bag and the mood I was in I deeply needed a burn out.

During the worst of it, while Mark and I were living together and even before it became clear the relationship was broken, the stress I was under and the need to keep things at home peaceful and pleasant meant the only outlet I really had was the time between leaving the house and getting to work. I would get in my car and cry all the way to my parking spot, hold it in all the way to the gym and then spend as long as I was able to battering myself about in the gym so I could put up an appearance of being stable and ok the rest of the day. There is still a thought in my mind that on thetreadmill I’m running away from it all.

The last month or so I’ve been on much more of an even keel, the days of weeping under a duvet seemed to be over and the extreme highs and lows of mood to have balanced out.
Then Martin started moving in. So on Sunday I went to class, baked, and finally crashed out on the sofa for three hours. Sleeping on the sofa for that long is a stress response for me, it’s my ‘eeep, I can’t deal with this right now so if I just close my eyes and pretend it’s not happening’…. Equally I went to bed early. I wasn’t sure why it affected me like this. Sure I’m a control freak and I knew someone else moving inwould be an adjustment but he’s a pleasant chap, reads fantasy wants somewhere he can spend his free time in his room on his computer, he’s the ideal lodger.

I went to bed around 8:30, exhausted, read for a bit and dropped off. I haven’t dreamed properly in a while. I did last night. Odd random places and events but the central theme was strong and unsubtle. I dreamt about Mark. It was clear that things weren’t great between us, but we were trying to hang on and make it right again. In the midst of all the randomness, there we were trying to be a couple. Trying not to just let go.

I know we did the right thing. I don’t doubt that, I never have. We married because we could see a future together that we wanted, we are divorcing because that future doesn’t exist for us and never can, not with each other. Today though, with someone else moving in to occupy the room we used to occupy, I feel sad, emotional, raw. I miss the hope and optimism we had a few years ago. I keep catching my fingers moving to fidgit with a ring I wore everyday for four years but that has been absent from my finger for months.

I am stronger and fitter, mentally, physically and emotionally better than I have ever been, happier and more sure of myself than I’ve been since I was a teenager and was focussed on farming and riding. But in the midst of it all, just sometimes I take a blow I didn’t see coming and that knocks the wind right out of me. This is, in part, why I seek out the clean, easy pain of wrist lock no.2 or a punch to the face, I love losing
myself in the ache of my muscles as we work strength and fitness and the burning in my chest as the treadmill ticks away my time, in the raw aggression of fighting. Yeah,I’m running away. My hope; my belief, is that I’m running toward something too. Ijust don’t know what. And I don’t know who I will be when I get there.

So I’m working towards the tattoo’s and the tournaments. I ‘m working towards being fit and fierce and a real fighter, not just a hobby kickboxer. I’m trying to let myself be whatever I need to be. I’m not scared of being me anymore and I’m not so easily wounded by the world, but just sometimes; well sometimes I am still sorry I won’t be who I thought I would be. I won’t be Mark’s wife, we won’t be raising a family together, dragging bored kids round national trust gardens. I don’t get to have the life the ring represented. It’s for the best. Better both of us move on to something that makes us happy than hold onto something that couldn’t anymore, but I guess sometimes it’s not enough to know it was the right thing, it’s still going to hurt.

Still, tonight there will be Judo and Kickboxing. To The Pain!

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About Aunty Fox

'Fox Spirit is the crazy young aunt who dances in the rain and conjures fantastic worlds out of cardboard boxes, loo rolls and sellotape'
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2 Responses to The fragile edge of sane.

  1. mrwriteon says:

    Having been there twice, dear heart, you really do have to let it run its fucking course and go in the directions that you and your emotions need to go. It’s horribly demanding on the psyche, but there is solace (at least in my experience) of coming out the other end just a little more whole and with priorities in a better place. In your case, I do believe it is better to have found out it was unworkable earlier rather than later. And I am so glad you have found other things to be involved in. You do have my sympathy and empathy.

  2. Adele says:

    Thanks hun, it’s a bugger of a course though eh? But you are right and i’m very lucky it’s not been a bitter nasty mess, but very easy by comparison to many and that i’ve had ton’s of love and support, still, there are moments when the whole world wobbles and I can’t stand quite so steady, and when I started here I said i’d share that too. 🙂
    Much love to you.

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