the happiness project

So how is it that an intelligent woman such as myself can be so floored by the predictions of a clairvoyant?  I mean, of course my daughter is going to die. We all are going to die. We all are dying this very moment. Why the histrionics then?  Why the melodrama?

I approached that reading full of hope.  What I wanted, what I expected to hear, was that yes, it’s been a shit year, but that’s all come to an end, and now the good stuff is coming.  I really thought that I’ve dealt with enough; that my family has dealt with enough. This insidious belief in the workings of karma had me believing that we were due a reward. I thought it was time I got to drop the bundle and just coast for a while.  When faced with the very real prospect of even more hard times to get through, I feel positively weak.

I regularly have people say to me something along the lines of ‘...sometimes everything feels so hard and my life feels so hard, and then I think of you and I think what do I have to complain about….’.

It’s a curious position to hold – that of the gold standard for fucked up lives.  I wish it was anyone’s position but mine to hold.

When XXXX (my eldest daughter) lost her breast to angiosarcoma at the age of 16, I struggled to keep my world together.  When told the bleak prognosis for young women with this condition, we resolved that she would be different; that good food, clean air and love would sustain for her a long and healthy life. As time passed, so did the grief and the panic and I sometimes forgot to even be afraid.

When Michael (the father and active co-parent of my two younger daughters) took his own life six months later, the walls came crashing down again.  It was so difficult to find the space to process my own grief, while still finding space for the processes of my children, and also maintaining the daily necessities of living – preparing food, chopping wood, washing clothes, working, maintaining a home, car and business.

With the passage of time, the girls and I have entered a new phase. This is the first time I have had all three of them, full time, for an extended period of time.  Gone are the halcyon days of shared care, when I was assured of regular and extended periods of time ‘child free’.  As the days turn into weeks, and the weeks into months, I have stopped even wishing for time off.  In the absence of space, we have settled into a new routine. I’ve moved beyond exhaustion into complete acceptance.

When I took XXXXXXXX (henceforth known as ‘The Masochist’) into my life recently, I was hoping for some normalcy.  He offered a vision of the future whereby I didn’t have to sort everything out myself, where broken lights and handlebars got fixed, where dinner was cooked and bedtime stories told, and I didn’t always have to be the one to do it.  I thought I finally had a happy ending to share with the world, instead of the pain and grief which has been mine to share this last year.

When that ended a couple of weeks ago, i felt totally rudderless.  i mourned for my children, who were once again left reliant on me, their flawed and emotionally spent mother.

I was regaining my confidence, getting my balance back, when on Friday I went to see the clairvoyant.

I’ve found myself plunged into a deep and dark depression.  I know this place, I’ve been here before.  There’s very little hope here.  Here dwells defeat and lack of volition.  It’s hard to envisage a future when you spend time down here.  I’ll be honest and admit to thoughts of suicide - despite the consequence of leaving my children orphaned.  However, I know from that reading that I don’t check out now, so I can’t check out now.

Ultimately, it’s not the clairvoyant, or the masochist, or the suicide, or the cancer, or any of the myriad other griefs and heartaches big and small, which has sent me to the depths.  It’s ALL of them.  All of it put together just feels too much for me.  I feel so totally exhausted, so devoid of inspiration or joy.

The overall message from that reading was that ultimately, I do achieve happiness. So, this is my own personal Happiness Project; to chart the steps taken in the pursuit of that goal.  This is my writing therapy, a place to explore the darkness, to plumb it’s depths, to root around in there and find the light.