The Old Status Quo

"Legs Moving, Now Please."

The text message pops onto my phone, my mind having every inclination to defy it. All I want to do is to burrow further into my blankets, to find some solace there among the sheets and the promise of more sleep. Noises of running water, plodding footsteps, creaking stairs. The household is awake and functioning, and I feel desolate and alien in my own home.

Somewhere in the depths of my thoughts, I muster the momentum to get up, heading to my wardrobe to select a semblance of an outfit. See, that wasn't so bad. Exiting my room and sauntering down the stairs, I put on a brave face, a hat and coat. Things that seem so easy, so natural on other days, plague me today as I meander through my morning. Dad makes a slew of comments that I interpret derogatorily. I put Hammer on a leash, and we're out the front door. 

 

The sun gleams off the iced-over snow, the dog sliding me across the front lawn in his excitement. The air hits my face, giving me a fresh moment in this somber morning. 

In that instant, I wished he would whisk me away, to walk and walk and walk until my muscles ached and my mouth grew parched. I wanted him to exhaust me, but he's an old pup, and we were back all too soon.

Lovely Boy

I felt accomplished in my little feat, but as we returned to the old house, so too did my yearning for escape. I clung to the little liberties I'd had in my previous years, the ability to visit the beach before classes, the capacity to cycle endlessly on a drizzly day, the fervour for singing and playing into the depths of the night. I realised I hadn't smiled, properly smiled, in two days. I showered, tried to practice singing, then cried. 

Time for another walk with the dog, I suppose.

In these days of desolation, I yearn for the world to ignore my existence, that the house empty out so I can creep from my den into safety, remote from expectation, conversation, interrogation. My time abroad has done far from strengthening me; I am sensitive to every comment, every suggestion, while I slowly become more abhorrent to myself, more aloof to others. 

In the moments when I allow myself out of these four walls, I see that hope is tangible, but very few things compel me outside. I dislike having to borrow a car. I want to care for Dad while also harbouring deep hurt from the things he says. I don't allow myself to hunt for a job (that pays a salary) and am already discrediting my upcoming audition. 

"Go for a walk, Sweetie. Write. Sing. Act. You'll appreciate seeing your friend, even if you have to travel an hour."

As Rick texts me life-lessons surreptitiously from work, I take on board what I can. I hate him for being so involved, but also he's helpful and loving, so blah. Seeing my friend was actually fun. I got a smile out of her, which probably means I smiled too.

She's getting animated, folks.

To my aunties who are reading this in concern (I'm looking at you, Dr. Z), I'm not trying to alarm you. It helps to write this stuff down, to describe the feelings in depth. I know a good amount of my friends can relate to my message. I also know I have the power to dismiss my demons. It's just really, really difficult to do sometimes. 

Pop-date

Thanks to all the friends and family who have sent their prayers and well-wishes this way! Pops is doing fine after the surgery. He's had good feedback from the doctors and came home after only one night in hospital. He refuses to take anything but ibuprofen for the pain, and also gives live feedback about which incision is bleeding. Since he was alone for the afternoon, I sensed he disliked his solitude (just as passionately as I craved it), and he had plenty of things to say to me when I arrived. They say recovery time can take from one month to a year. At the rate Pops is going, I'd say a month. However, he does like to push himself too hard and has instigated bleeding again. Only time will tell.

The weekend is looming in sight; I wonder what is in store for me? Hopefully a daily mouthful of sheets and perhaps a few lie-ins. If anyone wants to visit the den, they must knock upon entry and promise to encourage me out while also promising to leave me alone. No one really wins...

No one, except Hammer.

Hammer Pup Pop