Arya: Mummy, I don’t want to watch this pwogwamme
Me: What do you want to watch then
Arya: I want to watch a pwogwamme about me.
Sanj to Arya: I’ve got two sweeties in my pocket and mummy gives me two sweeties. How many sweeties do I have now?
Arya to Sanj: Show me your pocket, dad.
Why strain your brain if you can gain
Face painting lady: Do you want to be a princess?
Arya: I want to be a bat.
My daughter… real bat-ass!
A few months ago I googled “funny books” because I felt a need for a laugh. I came across “Furiously Funny” and I decided to give it a go especially because it tackled depression. Having gone though it myself I thought it would be a great experience to see how the author managed to use humour through this gloomy emotional state.
And it was hilarious. I must say. I even recommended it to my friends who I knew also had gone through depression.
But then I got into a rather boycotting mode. Angry even. No, why on earth should I try to take distance to my own mental illness, find something funny in it as a sort of coping mechanism or to pretend that I am coping.
Then I googled “funny books about depression” and all the searches showed lists of titles whose authors were mostly women (Goodreads).
We really try our best to put our best face forward, we women, aren’t we…
I became very negative about this phenomenon. It is a problem that one laughs at their own mental disorder. What has it come to? Because it’s still so unknown, untouched, misunderstood, we try to grab any safety wheel to swim on the surface and being funny about it became a trend a sort of dilusionist gimmick that is supposed to help us survive.
Laugh is the best medicine (I realised it helps with migraines) but ridiculing your own illness is not. What’s needed is a fully fledged support mechanism, science,
I say NO.
Arya going out to the garden:
-Mum, I’m scared there’s a spider in the garden.
Me, after analysing the situation and concluding, pointing at a little squiggle hanging off the invisible thread stuck somewhere to a tree: This is not a spider Arya, I think, it’s a wriggly worm.
Arya: Mum, can you take it away? I don’t need wriggly worms in my life.
For the past few months, for a reason I can’t reveal yet I have switched myself of social media life. After a long period of constant posting, instagraming, commenting and promoting I suddenly became inexistent. My mind, in its own world, hasn’t been craving the pleasure from being seen, liked, or shared. And it felt good in a sense because I know deep down that I will return to this reality at some point soon. I will return but changed, somehow social media evolved. When you stand by as an observer you learn a lot and the point of view transforms. So let’s just wait and see how. And comment then.
However, while I existed not on the virtual platform I also disappeared from interpersonal social life. And that my readers, although fully and entirely my choice (mostly due to the reason I adore mentioned and which I can not yet mention) – has felt lonely. Loneliness that’s what I have been surrounded with. Cold, isolated, scary existence, without myself or people around.
I truly hope this will end shortly because I can’t live without people.
The other day, when I had a chat with my work colleague about children she announced: “I do want to have children but not yet because I don’t want to be boring”.
I laughed with endearment and thought at th first split of the second that I should feel offended or at least defensive. But I didn’t.
I certainly didn’t consider this an insult but this one little innocent statement definitely made me think.
Now, that I am a mother, am I boring? Am I really boring? And I can answer this with absolutely no hesitation. Yes I am. I am perceived as boring. My days of partying are over, I go to sleep at the same time as my daughter, I skip company’s drinks because I rush to my daughter, I don’t remember when I last went to the cinema with my husband, let alone friends. What friends? I already have had a handful and now I don’t even make an effort to go for an occasional girls night out.
Socially I am dead! I also lost my mojo one could think. I would rather say on the other hand – my mojo transformed. Yes, it transformed. Now I have a mummy mojo and although there’s still a hole in my soul unfulfilled wig the things that I love and either sacrificed or lost energy to re- take up, I devote myself to my long awaited mother persona.
And I am the least fun human on the planet at the moment but it is so worth it…
I haven’t been writing. I’ve been tired. More emotionally and mentally than physically.
I’m tired and apart from that – almost no access to my phone or a computer apart from work and when Arya falls asleep so not really able to keep the update. I fall asleep right after her. I love my baby with all my heart and I can’t bear being away from her just for my own pleasure or leasure although I so badly need it.
I haven’t been here for a while also because otherwise I would complain or ask for her and I don’t do that. I wish I did but I don’t want to sound like a whining woman (who my husband surely thinks I am)
Arya’s the only one I’ve got. She has been since she was born but with time more and more.
I can’t bear weekends because I feel so lonely. I can’t sit down with Arya at the table with a cup of tea and chat? I can’t have a man and woman nice evening together with a man telling me that I’m still pretty and that he would like to take me somewhere nice and then follow through. I can’t even speak about it to any of my very few friends because they’ve got their lives and I’m the strong one who can always cope and my life is not that bad afterwards. In fact it’s pretty good. I finally have my perfect family…
I can’t count on my family either. And in the moments like this I want to hide my face in my hands and burst out crying spasmatically.
Arya is my life. And I say it with tears of bliss; if not her I don’t know if I would be in flesh here and now. But I also am a woman, just a human. It’s all about balance but it never is.
Normally you don’t read posts like that in blogs which you expect to tackle only the essence of awesomeness. These are posts in those self-deprecating, pessimistic holes of the Internet. Well life is not an Instagram Profile. Definitely not mine.
I have no one. Literally no one around.
Me to Sanj: “Do you know what Pret calls Americano?”
I’m upset because recently whatever I start with “Do you know.. ” he knows all ready.
So I say: “I can’t even have a conversation with you because you know everything”
Sanj: “No, Agusia you can tell me stuff about SQL but I know about coffee because I was a coffeetician”
I can’t even (and if you know me, you know that I have a face for it). Sanj knows this face so he develops confidently: “Yes. Coffeetician. It might not be a word yet but it will catch on”.
Does whatever people observe relates to us:
• follow us like a curse or a magic spell once spoken and
– although we realise it has been true we will never be able to turn it around because it’s inflicted upon us with the power of always powerful words
– Or, brought up in a “don’t say it or you jinx it” culture we think we are doomed and we “decide” that from now on we will be what we were “doomed ” to be, JUST TO FOLLOW
• is just a reinforcement of who we are and what happens around us happens irrespective of what they say because they just observe a fact about us
• gets imprinted in our minds and from the moment the spell was cast on we are programmed to do as it was said.
Irrespective of how many algorithms your mind create you must realise that
life is what happens in your mind and soul it is…
Life is not what you see and since it’s not, and I’m a very visual person and take pleasure from what I see, I therefore dream and it’s amazing…