I awoke in a particularly revolting mood; grumpy, snappy and not particularly nice to be around.
I griped and grumbled, snarked and snapped, lost my temper far too easily and coffee didn’t seem to be of any use whatsoever.
Then, overcome by sadness, the self deprecation started in; and it was vicious.
There is little anyone can say to me that is worse that what I can say to myself in these moments.
Frustratingly, I have had these voices, these words, well under control for quite some time now. Sure, they pop up every now and again, but I can happily tell them to go and fuck themselves and they retreat back into the depths of my mind, until they can no longer hold their tongues or something triggers them to speak up.
Today, however, they were unrelenting. Sadness infiltrated every thought and I had no idea why or where it had come from.
The meerest slight, or perceived slight, caused the tears to overflow.
Yesterday, I had been okay. Fine. Mostly positive, productive, despite a few hurdles and glitches in my path. If I’m going to slide into a hole again, there’s usually some warning; a slow descent into Darkness, which, again, I’ve had under control for quite a decent length of time.
This was inexplicable.
Until, later that day it occurred to me … a number of occurrences had succinctly and forcefully reminded me of my friend whom I lost to suicide last year. Of course, he enters my thoughts at least once a day, if not more. But it has never had this effect on me. previously.
I think it was grief. My thing with grief is that I don’t think I’ve ever really experienced it at this level before. Or, maybe, I’ve just been really good at keeping it stuffed down in the recesses I don’t like to visit, so I’m able to manage it. I pretend I am strong and get all logical about it all.
I never really even grieved when it happened. There was so much happening, and so many others going through tough times, too. I think I just told myself that “things could be worse” and that other people had things worse, so who was I to be sad?
A strong message that has been fed to me my entire life. It’s a hard one to overcome, at times, despite my reinforcing to everyone around me that your issues are real to you, and it’s okay to be sad, to cry, to wallow for a bit, to be down and feel these things.
I hadn’t even realised I was doing that; not addressing it and pretending I was okayer than I clearly was.
Funny. In the peculiar kind of way, not the actual humorous kind of way.
Being the logical, analytical person I have the propensity to be at times, especially times like this, I actually had no idea what to do with the tears that insisted on flowing. I could find no reason, at first, for their even being there, yet I also know they were there because they needed to be. So why not let them just be until they’d run their course?
I had to suck them up and look somewhat respectable at some point, anyway. Well earlier than the usual school pickup time, as I had Parent-Teacher interviews at the highschool, for Monkey Boy.
This is a phenomena where you are required to make appointments with various teachers, who are scattered around the entire floor of the school, and you are allocated 5 minutes per teacher.
I had booked my time slots, and made it to the school on time, and hopefully not looking too red and blotchy and teary. I also hoped that I would not spontaneously burst into tears during some discussion or other.
Of course, five minutes per teacher is never enough, and some teachers were highly incapable of sticking to said five minutes.
Having very few concerns with Monkey Boy, other than the usual, persisting ones along the lines of him not actually showing his teachers his level of intelligence (relatively high – and I’m not just saying that, I had him tested) and his incredible ability to talk in class, I didn’t really have much.
The talking in class has been going since prep, although the co-talker, the one whom came up in every ‘talking in class’ discussion with every teacher he has ever had, has gone to another school. Thus, I was pleased to hear fewer teachers mention this talking in class, and those who did mention it said it wasn’t generally a problem, just mildly distracting for the three of them who partook in such activities.
As for the rest of it, the usual “apply himself” and “has talent/has an aptitude for, just needs to demonstrate it more” well, that was all pretty standard.
Essentially, he’s a lovely kid to have in class, really nice and polite, and he is doing well.
Then came the shock … I sat opposite his Drama teacher who quite seriously stated “he needs to talk more in class.”
I picked myself up off the floor, and triple checked that we were both talking about the same child. We even took out photos.
Yup. He had the right kid.
I basically had to state “Um, I’m really not sure how to handle that. I’ve never come across this before.”
I left, in what could be adequately described as “a daze” and snuck in to chat with the English teacher, whom I was scheduled to chat to some half an hour earlier, only he wasn’t where he should have been and I quite accidentally found him in a completely different room.
He said lots of things I was pleased to hear, especially given Monkey Boy’s verbal and word skills. Scarily advanced, they are.
Then he repeated the same words the Drama teacher did.
I left the interviews in shock.
Also, I wasn’t quite sure how much more of the unexpected and highly emotive my mind could take for today.