Once upon a time I was a party girl. For all the reasons anyone ever is, lots of fun and a whole lot of numbness. I even remember one long summer in my teens being absolutely determined to go out every single night, accepting dates I would have otherwise have rejected, just to be out.
With the parties came alcohol and drugs, a sure fire way to numbness and oblivion until the morning at least. I can’t say it was a particularly happy time but it certainly enabled me to get by without having to face any of the darkness that I held, any of those feelings that are just too strong, too hard, too scary.
Years have passed and so have some truly special healing moments, releases and understandings that have forged me into a saner individual, one that can function emotionally and settle into the normality of society (just about!).
And yet I find myself here, mother of two, wife, writer, home maker and cook; I find myself remembering fondly those moments of oblivion. I find myself feeling nostalgic about crazy amounts of alcohol and surreal nights with strangers, with people who don’t know me at all. I find myself thinking, that would be nice right now, that would be a little bit easier than this.
Because parenting, relationships, even just being a good friend, can feel so damn difficult at times. All these mirrors to me, all these dynamics that open up my awareness to the unhealed, to my shadows, to the parts of me that I would like to ignore, are standing firm with solid reflection.
And I don’t want to look.
I don’t want to see that I’ve been a grumpy mummy for a whole week and actually it’s nothing to do with my kids; I don’t want to see that I can feel so jealous of my friends’ other friendships that I twist with discomfort; I don’t want to see the broken relationship with my mother; or the moments with my husband where I lack the most basic elements of compassion. I don’t want to face any of that. Oblivion sounds so much easier.
But I do remember that it isn’t. That is has its own empty, heartbreaking breath, jagged and lonely. I do remember that I was always teetering on the edge of life, wondering what lay beyond, yearning for a little flash of contented happiness.
So in these moments of nostalgia, I sit and remember the wild giggles and raucous skirmishes and know that I still choose ‘now’ because I finally do have a hold on my own reality, a tie to each day that draws me back and settles me into those minutes of blissful content in between the ache for oblivion.