Thursday, June 27, 2019


I am not sure how this teetering feeling occurs. One day all is well and harmonious and in sync, and the next, despite sunshine and fields of palest mauve poppies, and singing summer birds, the meaning has been catapulted out everything and into outer space. Two in the morning is no longer a time, but a punishment. How did I get here? Into this menopausal underworld where suddenly your bones ache and your calcium intake needs to be upped, and the terra is no longer firma, but brittle and parched and thirsty. If this is how it's going to be, I am not signing up. 

I do not know anything anymore. I am rudderless, soft-bellied, suspended. I long to be pulled back in, have cold water thrown in my face, bathed in the sound of a gong that rattles every cell back to connectedness. 

Please do not try to save me. Allow me a place to vent that is mine. 

I long for a cool, pine-filled forest, where the light cracks through the trees in shafts, away from the pings of technology, where we can be wrapped in imaginary swaddling, calm, sweet, protected, hundreds of miles away from doubt. 



Julie Klam said...

Oh, I relate to this so much! And it's said so beautifully! xxxx

LPC said...

I don't know when exactly it dawned on me that human life isn't engineered to be easy, and I can't say that the idea has fixed much, but at least I've stopped adding despair about feeling anxiety to the anxiety itself. Also just getting older calms down the pangs a bit eventually.

Also some people just feel stuff more exquisitely I imagine.

Have a wonderful time in Norway. <3 said...

I just found your blog and I love it! I can so relate to the menopausal middle-of-the night madness. Thanks for your beautiful writing.