Which Me?

If we asked our best friends to describe us would the traits match those we ascribe to ourselves or portray a different individual entirely? Who am I anyway? Am I the person I want to be? Try to be. Strive to be, wish to be...or that which I run away from and deny?

Who is right - you or me? If we could truly see ourselves as others see us would it inspire us to change, to be someone different? Or more determined to stay the same?

Waiting

I'm due to have an operation in a couple of days. Its not really a particularly dangerous operation per se, but it is pretty serious. And its on my head which makes it seem more scary. And in general I'm not all that over-awed with the idea of being operated on. Of being knocked out. Of losing control and having no say in what happens to me. At the possibility of things going wrong. At the form I've signed allowing them to do whatever they need to once they start. Its explorative surgery. The boundaries arn't really defined. They'll decide what needs doing once they get in. But I don't have a choice. I have to go through with it because its too risky not to. Because the dangers associated with NOT having the surgery are life-threatening. Its the surgery or nothing. There's no drugs that could fix things. No other option.

But my husband dreamt I was going to die. He has whole churches in Nigeria praying to god to save me. He tried to talk the surgeon into operating with me awake. He's spent a year trying to convince me not to have the operation. My dad agrees. He doesn't think my disease exists because he can't find it on the internet. That the doctors are making it up. My mum thinks I should have the operation but can't sleep at night because they've freaked her out. She has churches in England and Ireland praying for me.

I know too much. I'm a biochemist. I've done research. I know what the doctors arn't telling me. I know why the five doctors I've seen over the past 18 months are all telling me to have the surgery as soon as possible. So I agreed. Signed the forms. It going ahead. But I'm scared. The logical sciency bit of me is saying that its the right choice. That the surgery is low risk. That I'll be fine. The remaining overdramatic, overimaginative majority of me is terrified. I want to run and hide. Stick my head in the sand and wait for it all to go away. Pretend that everything is fine. Pretend that its happening to someone else. Think happy thoughts and wish it away. I'm not the type of person that can shrug off someone telling me they think I'm going to die. I'm too superstitious. I think too much. I'm caught halfway between attempting complete denial (don't think/talk about it and everything'll be fine) and lying awake all night because its the only thing on my mind. I want to talk to all the people that I care about. Resolve outstanding issues just in case I don't get another chance. To write letters for my children to say the things I'd like to say to them as grown-ups. But I can't. That feels like a self-fulfilling prophecy. That if I allow myself to act as though it might go wrong then its more likely to. Not very scientific thinking, but then I've never been good at molding myself to fit other peoples labels and beliefs. So I wait. Permanently conscious of the slow ticking of seconds. Only two more days to go.

Fear

I used to have panic attacks. I say used to because for the past ten years or so I've pretty much had them under control, but the panic is still there, simmering under the surface, waiting to grab a hold of me. And I'm scared of things. I'm scared of a lot of things. Spiders. The dark. Chicken bones. Driving to places when I don't know where I'm going. Being late. The unknown. Flying.

But mostly I'm scared of fear itself. That if I'm scared it'll turn to panic and I'll lose control. And control is important. Its what makes me feel safe. The coping mechanism that enables me to over-rule the irrational thoughts and calm the physical symptoms that are so overwhelmingly unpleasant.

So I have an instinct to stay within my comfort zone. To avoid doing anything that may cause me to panic. To limit myself to the familiar, to the day-to-day activities that I can cope with without fear. But I have to fight it. The problem with a panic-preventative safety zone is that it continually shrinks. An unexpected twist to a routine activity on any given day can relocate that activity out of bounds. I can't live that way. In ever decreasing circles. I need my life. So I push through it. I chose the things I'm not willing to give up and force myself to do them. To face the fear. To control it. Repeat the activity over and over again until it becomes routine and easy.

Its a battle I have to fight in waves. I have long periods when its really not an issue at all. Other times like now, where its almost a daily battle to work through. I'm pretty self aware. I know that its a symptom of stress caused by a combination of factors. But I'm unwilling or unable to give up those things that are causing the stress.

We.

I feel the distance between us and it tears me apart. I remember how it used to be, the easy closeness I long to regain. I think of all the things I want to say to you, explain to you, wish that I could say to you, but don't know where to start. The mistakes I've made. Destruction I've caused. The power I hold in my hands, the potential to fix, cure, heal, wantonly disregarded throughout the course of an inexplicable mission of self-unfulfilment.

I cling to the oh-so-slightly uneasy truce we've arrived at. My flicker of hope reflected by you. It'll be OK, we're telling ourselves. I can reach you. Touch the depths of your soul without shock when I find what it contains. I try to open up myself to you. Dare you to remember how to love me. To still like me whatever it is that I am inside.

I wish you could know how much I need you. Love you. Miss you. The strength you impart to make me more than I am alone. How lost and confused I'm feeling inside. Scrabbling for answers. Desperate for resolution. Fearful of what lies ahead. My coldness a mask of self-preservation. Locking you out. Denial of the turbulence buried inside.

Before the crash

Soul destroying. So destructive. No matter how hard I try I do everything wrong. Even when I think I've fixed it I haven't. Pointless. Hopeless. Worthless. Doomed to failure. Try harder. Do better. Super-critical, iron-willed, unforgiving. I shatter and break under your ruthless scrutiny. My failures obvious and otherwise are aired and used against me. Evidence produced of the wrongs I have wrought. Each action examined, found wanting. Destined to fail at every turn.

How can you expect me to love you when you cause me to loathe myself so? I need help. To escape from the pain eating me from the inside out. The desire to hurt myself growing, strengthening with every week that passes. I feel pain coursing through my veins and want to slice them open to allow its release. Shadowy darkness lurking behind me. I can resist, but for just how long? Its waiting, watching, ready to absorb me. To suck me in. Drain me, smother me, surround me. I stand at the edge of a precipice waiting to fall. Each push nudges me closer. How much longer, further can I hold out? Destroy me. Reduce me. The more I hate myself the less I can feel for you.

New Beginnings

I'm finding it a little difficult to start. Lots of drafts. Nothing concrete. Its hard to know quite where to begin. At the beginning? I was born. My story or stories began. Some good, some bad. Many forgotten, some waiting to be shared. Well, that's that out of the way. Maybe now we can jump to the middle. I'll fill in the gaps along the way...

Today. Today I've been visiting friends. Old friends. Good friends. The sort you don't really need to explain anything to. Even if you haven't seen them for a year. You just pick up where you left off and they understand. We were catching up. Touching base. What used to be daily or at least several-times-a-week fill you in on every detail has been diluted by time and real life. But the ties remain. These are the people you turn to when things turn sour. And they have been. For me. Recently. But I don't really want to dwell on whats gone wrong. Not right at this moment anyway. Today I've been thinking about the things that pull people together, the things that make bonds strong.

A week ago my husband was driving myself and my children to a party when we arrived at the scene of a major motorway accident just moments after the crash. I have a little first aid knowledge. Not vast amounts, but some. Without really thinking of the consequences I jumped out of the car to see what I could do to help. I did what I could (not enough) and some time later returned to my car. The emergency services were yet to arrive but my husband was concerned that the position of the car in the middle of the road was a little precarious and felt it was time to move on, so we left. One car out of the several involved was particularly badly affected. Back, front, left, right. It was completely destroyed. It appeared unthinkable that anyone could possibly have survived. As I tended to a man on the side of the road, my husband had watched a young child being pulled from the wreckage. Distraught, but apparently not too badly hurt.

I don't really believe in god. I don't really know what I believe in. I believe in something intangible, I can't really define what it is. If anything I would describe myself as a "militant agnostic" as in - I don't know, but you don't either...I think that faith and beliefs can be a good thing, but in general am fairly anti-religion. In contrast my husband is very religious. Catholic with strongly held beliefs. A regular church-goer. A believer. As is my 7-year-old daughter. I don't pray. It doesn't fit with my unformulated beliefs. Who am I praying to? I send good vibes out when required into the ether, but it can feel a little uncertain, somewhat hit or miss. I hedge my bets. The things that seem most important to me I get my daughter to pray for. Who better than a child who is unwavering and dedicated in her beliefs? If there is a god surely he is more likely to listen to her than to me. Kind of like if there really was a Santa Claus he would be most certain to give presents to the child who had been kind and good the whole year round. One who truely believed with all their heart. Or Pratchets "small gods" - who grow stronger with each believer and are most likely to reward those who give them their strength.

I tell her to pray. Pray that the boy we see screaming at the roadside still has a parent. Pray that at least one of them wasn't in the car. That somehow, miraculously someone else survived. She says she's already said three prayers. But she'll say some more.

We drive on. Each of us more deeply affected than we are able to express. Its touched a chord. Several chords. We we so close. It could have been us. There are other parallels. The child was mixed race, like my own children. It feels like a wake-up call. Look what you have. Look how fragile life is. Enjoy every day. Appreciate each other. Take pleasure in what's good. Don't dwell on what's bad.

I follow the outcome of the crash on the news. Both of his parents were in the car, seriously injured but somehow they survived. His two-year old sister died at the scene. Its not the best outcome. Its not the worst.

We continue to think of this nameless family that we don't know. My husband and daugher pray for them. I send out my positive thoughts. All of us are haunted by what we saw. By how close we came. But it's pulled us together. United us in our sadness for a broken family and gratitude that it wasn't us. And its made us closer, because we realise that our bad stuff really isn't so bad after all.

Random utterings from a moody Becca...

Its late.

I can't sleep.

It was warm today, but the house is cold. I sit crossed legged, huddled up in a big jumper belonging to my husband. He's big - slim, but tall and broad. I like wearing his clothes. It makes me feel small, almost childlike as I push the sleeves up and they fall back to cover my hands.

It's quiet.

Both inside and out. No cars passing on the road outside. No TV. No children talking in their sleep.

I contemplate today. I contemplate everyday.

Tomorrow.

I think of the future and the past.

I don't really like to think. I like to crowd out my head with so much information that there's no space for actual thoughts. Facts and figures. Concepts. Ideals. Random stuff. Big stuff. Small stuff.

Anything to block out me.

I like to fall into bed so tired from the day that I'm asleep in moments.

I like to fill my days with people and conversation. To share, discuss. Laugh.

To be the person that they see.

If enough people believe it, maybe it becomes the truth.

I want to go outside and smoke.

I don't do that anymore. I haven't for a long time.

Except recently.

Occasionally.

I want to sit outside in the sun. At a festival. Listening to music. Wasted. Watching the world go by.

I don't do that anymore.

I want to disappear. Go away. For a day, a week, a year. To go where the mood takes me. To bask in the knowledge that everyone thinks I'm somewhere else. But I'm in none of the places where they think I am.

I don't do that anymore.

I want to talk to random strangers. Search until I find the link to someone I know or have been. There's always a connection. You just have to look hard enough. Talk for long enough.

I want to play. Skip. Dance. Laugh. Jump in fountains or lakes. Off the end of a pier. Or a plane.

I want to sleep without dreams. Wake feeling rested.

I want to be somewhere else.