reaching out, into the void…

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(not my image)

 

I can be a hermit. It’s not easy for me to “reach out”. I fear bothering people. I expect rejection. But I try. I reach out. And I keep coming up empty handed.

I am not having success making friends in the city I’ve been living in for almost 5 years. I would give up, I might just give up, but damn, I need a friend. Where I live. I have some wonderful friends who I continue to be part of my life despite us being miles and miles apart. This is something I’m so grateful for. And I also feel the huge hole in my life here without a friend to hang out with, go do stuff with, etc.

I just feel like crawling under a rock and disappearing from existence right now. I’m struggling with chronic pain. With perimenopausal discomfort and emotional over-flow. I need some support. And I feel all the worse when I reach out for some and no one’s there.

I guess I should just get better at supporting myself. Ok. I can do that. But I’m so tired. Tired of trying and not getting anywhere. Trying and not connecting with anyone. Feeling like I’m just on my own. Life is meant to be shared. Maybe mine isn’t worthy.

So many things are overwhelming. Impossible problems that I can never solve. How can I fight misogyny, climate change, systemic racism,  if I can’t even make one fucking friend? Maybe I’m just destined/doomed to be a solitary loner most of the time. Maybe everyone will be SO glad when I stop reaching out so they can stop finding nice ways to rebuff me.

I am capable of being pretty self sufficient. But it’s getting really, really lonely.

Spring is blooming all around me and I just want to stay in bed and cry. Maybe I should just chalk it up to perimenopause hell. But it feels like a failure. Failure to be a good human.

If life is short, why does it feel so fucking long?

Hope blooms

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Ok.  All hope isn’t lost.

Elskan mín & I have reconnected. Things are moving forward.  Maybe spring will thaw us out of winters gloom soon, but my hearts been warmed and I feel I can carry on again.

Of course things aren’t perfect. I have things to work on. He does as well.  We both have to continue to learn to communicate with each other in the most healthy way.  But I’m glad I didn’t just blow up.  Or completely shut down.  I wasn’t feeling happy but I was able to wait, albeit impatiently.  Maybe I’m learning.

Relationships are as challenging as they are rewarding. As a natural hermit I have to really feel a good connection with someone to even want to bother. He’s worth that bother. And I’m willing  to take the bullshit that invariably comes with the blessings. Nothing is perfect. I’m sure that I’m a total pain in the ass sometimes. I was more than half convinced that he’d decided to say fuck off.  But when we saw each other, hugged each other, I could feel our mutual relief. Mutual gratitude. It’s the best feeling to be taken into the arms of someone who was recently furious with you. Being loved in the face of your imperfections is so powerful.

And a little bit of make up sex never hurts either!

adrift

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not my image, googled “uninspired” & voila!

 

Forgive me, it’s been 48 days since my last post.

I was so happy in Iceland. I was so happy to come home to elskan min. I was just happy.

Then some things combined to conspire against my sunny disposition. Winter, for one. Without the pool, hot tub, sauna, steam room or nature hot springs to warm me up I’ve been feeling cold, tired of the grey skies, rain and dark. It’s freezing in my uninsulated house. I bundle up but I’m cold. In multiple sweaters.

I am also recovering from an injury. It is getting better, slowly, but anything can flare it up and then I’m really hurting. All the things I’d love to be doing hurt it. Sewing. Typing blog posts. Reorganizing, decluttering, cleaning, all things I actually really need to do and do enjoy, weird but true. So I’ve been resting. And it’s made me restless.

Work isn’t going great. That isn’t helping either. Perimenopause is also not helping, I’m often weepy, crying at sappy songs on the radio, or some random sight out the bus window. I’m sinking into something depression-adjacent. I feel adrift, from my self.

I had some great ideas for posts when I was just returning from Iceland. But I was busy reuniting with elskan min, too busy to be writing. Now I can’t remember ever having a brilliant idea for anything, let alone this blog.

So I’m writing about not knowing what to write about. Metta, I know. Maybe I’ll build some momentum. I need to be creative. Not being creative or able to clean is making me feel very unhappy. I literally spent most of yesterday feeling like I’m a total failure and have wasted my entire life. Today was a little better. Maybe tomorrow I’ll feel like my self has finally come ashore on the raft it’s been drifting on, grounded instead of floating aimlessly. Maybe tuesday I’ll have an idea of some decent proportion.

 

Ok, now I’ve got to go do my ice/heat therapy, my body isn’t willing to type anymore. Spinsterhag isn’t a spring chicken anymore. But she’s not dead either!

Long live Spinsterhag!

Hot flash

 

 

I decided to take a lovely hot bath it bath last night. It was lovely. Until a hot flash struck.  I jumped out of the tub and almost passed out.  I wrapped my towel around me and went outside onto the deck, into the freezing Icelandic night. Ahhhh.  Blissful cold air!  The solution to hot flashes-  move to Iceland!

I’ve not had a period for about 80 days now.  Who knows when & even if  I’ll have another. I used to be like clockwork!  It’s really weird to have no idea when or if it’s coming.

The hot flashes are the worst. I used to love bundling up in cold weather but now I have to be able to get some cold air on my skin immediately so my previous layering system is now defunct. I’m glad I’ve got some fabulous coats.  Now I understand those women who I used to wonder “isn’t she cold?” about.  No.  Not cold. She’s sweating in winter because her body has become a furnace.

Isn’t middle age fun?

Are you going to blog about this?

F7DD0AC4-3725-48F2-B558-6D96A70C915A.pngApparently all you need to be happy is open arms and balloons.  Lots of balloons.  That must be what I’m doing wrong!

I had a wonderful holiday with elskan mín and my family.  It was really lovely.  I was going to write all about it.  But now it seems like a distant memory.  I’m not surrounded by balloons.  I’m not feeling like opening my arms. I feel like I’ve fucked it all up because I suck at being happy.

I was asked, accusingly, if I was going “to blog about this” not long ago.  And no, I’m not blogging about that. Or that.  But I need to write about this because now I’ve been plunged back into my native state of fear & anxiety and blogging helps.   Who knows why.  Maybe I should try balloons.  But I was also told, in a heated moment, that I’m “never happy!”   And this made me want to run. Hide. Die or dissolve into the ether.

People Being happy isn’t something I grew up around. My parents were both deeply unhappy people. I was a very happy child but being sexually assaulted as a toddler at daycare and then feeling abandoned by my father during my parents divorce a few years later put a huge damper on my happiness. I was depressed as a young girl.  I pulled my hair out in handfuls when my dad moved out. I know anxiety well. Fear. Depression.  Happiness seemed like a fleeting trick or something reserved for better people.

Being told that my deepest fear is actually true I really flipped out.  I started to just bolt but then stayed to try and talk but that didn’t go well.  When I get emotionally stabbed in my most vulnerable wound I am not good at staying calm or rational.  I probably don’t hear what the person is saying after clearly.  All I know is I’ve failed at just being a good, happy person and I’m humiliated that I ever thought I’d succeed.

Falling in love is amazing.  And I’m so in love. I want to make a life with this man. Which feels amazing. And also terrifying. It’s so much more comfortable to stay alone and accept that being kind of ok but very lonely is the best I should dare to hope for. But I’ve gotten out on this limb of love and I want it to work.  I want to be happy.  But I think I’m really shit  at it. I’m scared of being to happy. Bad things can happen when your guard is down. But not much can happen when your guard is up,especially when it’s made of 12 inch thick bulletproof glass and you’ve become so lonely you’re actually invisible.

There was a fight.  We will talk.  I hope things can be worked out. I hope my fucking hot flashes cease. I hope for things I dare not hope for and hate myself for it when it all goes wrong. But I want to learn to be happy and not self destruct because it’s more familiar. I want a life with love and connection and I hope I can build that, with elskan mín.  I hope I haven’t ruined things already. I wish I’d gotten better at relationships by my age but all I can do is try to be better now.

I’m totally  failing as a blogger because I was focusing on being in love. And when it goes wrong I turn here to try and get clarity, or just cope. But  I want to have both!  Certainly if it comes to it I’ll choose love for sure. I mean, I know my 44 followers will be fine without my intermittent rambling. And I’d be fine if things fall apart in this relationship but I don’t want to be fine, I want to be happy, as scared as I am.

But maybe I’ll get to have it all?

love is everything

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Love transforms everything it touches. I was convinced I’d never find love and have to spend my life alone, maybe someday being able to get a cat was the best I dared hope for.

Then I met elskan min. But at first I wasn’t sure… I was involved with both Ben & Ed, and I insanely thought that maybe it would go somewhere, with Ed at least. And I did like him, I liked them both. But neither were emotionally available in any real way. And neither were the perfect man for me either.

My dearest elskan min is so perfect for me. If only he was rich it’d be a fucking fairytale! But I love him and I think we’ll be able to make a lovely life together despite our collective economic struggles. We are a perfect pair, he makes me feel so comfortable and he’s so sweet and funny we are always laughing, kissing, cuddling, laughing some more.

I am so grateful that we found each other. Tinder is a miracle. It brought us together. He was wonderful to wait while I figured out that he was the one for me. He is so sweet to me I thank my lucky swipe every day.

If you’re struggling to find love, don’t give up. I found it, at the ripe old age of 45, grey hair, peri-menopause and all. If it can happen to me it can happen to anyone.

Don’t stop swiping. Or hoping. Love is on its way. In the meantime love yourself. And pet all the cats you can!

StopShoptober

E8F01CCB-E684-4158-BBB5-8A3532C0D72C7512CA66-7ED3-4701-849C-3BDD46341F91I’m admitting I have a problem. A shopping problem.  So I’m doing something about it. StopShoptober. No shopping for the month.  Maybe November & December  too, exempting Christmas gifts.

I’m going to be shopping from my closet.  I have clothes.  Many many clothes.  Fabulous clothes. I’ve thrifted about 75% of my wardrobe.  I’m finally in the mood to dress well. But I don’t need to buy another garment to do so.

I’m not sure how this blog will continue now that I’m done dating and in a relationship now.  So I’ll be taking a turn into style blogging. I’m going to challenge myself to stop shopping and start creating and enjoying the clothes I have. I’ll be sharing outfits as well as garments I’ve made. I working on a dress made from an old unionsuit long underwear, complete with buttflap!  If you want more tragically hilarious dating disasters I can’t help.  But if you want to see my sartorial explorations keep tuning in.