I don’t like this inertia which has slowly crept over me in the month since things settled down here. It bothers me, annoys me too. I’ve been there before, but it’s not as simple as that. I just can’t see a way out of it.
I’m starting to understand just how unnaturally stressed out I have been in the run up to moving here. I have NEVER experienced stress like that. I remember just staring blankly into the distance before going to sleep, unable to summon up the strength to switch off the bedside lamp because of the thoughts which charged through my head, taking control and taking me along with them. I was wrapped in stress and worry, bound by it.
Now it has let me go, and I don’t know what to do with myself. I don’t know how to function anymore in anything less than a state of high anxiety, and it’s almost as though that’s what my body has become accustomed to. It’s what I need. The calm, the peace here… It feels alien to me. And perhaps a part of me can’t quite believe in it still, believe that the rows are over, that he can’t make my life miserable anymore.
I think I’ve forgotten how to be properly happy. Not how to experience moments of happiness, but how to be content. I have not been content for a long, long time and it’s not coming easy. How do you re-learn being yourself, pottering about the house attending to things and taking pride in things? The time I used to spend on my OU work – my only free time – I now spend sitting twiddling my thumbs, or on the internet, or in bed napping when he naps. I don’t know how to be good to myself anymore, to do something small and beautiful just for the sake of it. And it’s so immensely frustrating, and I’m SO impatient! Okay, so I’m not the worlds most patient person anyway, but especially with myself, with my healing process, I am wracked with irritation and exasperated grumpiness. Not good *shakes head*
I need someone to slap me round the face with a metaphorical wet fish; I feel anesthetized. And deep within the bundled up layers of numbness and stagnation, there is a tiny spark of anger beginning, at him. That he is still destroying my life covertly, that his shitty, emotionally abusive legacy lives on.
I need… I don’t know. To get a grip, probably. And actually make a start on the massive list that is ironically buried under piles of mess on the kitchen table. And I think, to do that I need a babysitter.
Oh well, a decision. That’s a start I suppose 
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