Spinning in circles, wading through mud

Sometimes it feels like I go far from myself. Or that a part of me fades away. I'm not quite sure how to describe it. I'm not sure the right words exist.

It leaves the remaining part of me feeling as if it's wading through mud. Or that it would be, if it had the energy to wade. And my diminished mind spins in circles trying to work out what to do, where to start, how to finish, what to do, and I circle in smaller and smaller circles until I stop.

I think it's episodes like that that led to a diagnosis of anxiety and depression years ago. Except I don't think that that is quite what is going on. It's more a decision paralysis, or using up what energy I have to be externally like other people.

This morning I used up myself throwing out mugs.

I know, that sounds ridiculous. But I struggle massively to dispose of things. Given that the house doesn't grow, and the people within it do, that leads fairly rapidly and obviously to problems.

This weekend, I read a rather wonderful book, A 100 pieces of me, which I will review shortly over on my other blog. During the book, the narrator downsizes her life, and one of the things she does, is get rid of mugs. We have lots of mugs, acquired over our joint lifetimes, more than we ever use. And so I decided to get rid of some. I got them all out, and sorted them into precious to keep, every day to keep, and disposable. 12 went into the leaving pile, which meant I could reorganise the mug cupboard, get everything back in, as well as the Kentwell pottery off the side where it's been living, *and* I could get the assorted tea and coffee pots into a second cupboard, *and* have spaces on a shelf in a third.

All excellent. Except that was it, me worn out for the day. I did some emails, tweeted half heartedly, and completely failed to keep up with a discussion on the changes in the facebook page algorithms.

I rather wish I did have the energy to spin in circles physically, it would be a lot less emotionally wearing than doing it internally. Sometimes I feel like I might just vanish under the decision trees in my mind.

I'm not sure I've explained any of that. It will have to do.

Choosing me.

I have struggled with who and what I am for many years. Throughout my childhood my mother would ask me why I was trying to be different, and I would say that I wasn't, I was just trying to be me.

But as I grew older, I tried more and more to fit in, no more sitting on top of the shelves in the room. Sensible jeans and shirts, no more cowboy boots. Sitting quietly in groups instead of asking the questions I want to ask, making the points I want to make, saying the things I want to say.

And it's worked. People don't realise how incredibly difficult I find group situations. They don't notice that they spend a week with me and somehow we don't actually talk. And I come home ready to explode with the tension of the situation, bubbling over with all the things I haven't said or done or been.

It's probably time to change. Time to work out how to find the space to be me. Time to squeeze back a little so that people realise how much I'm being squashed.

Why should I bother, now, so many years into my life?

Because if I don't push back, I won't make room for the next generation to be themselves. They will be just as squashed, and unheard, and unhappy. And that just isn't fair.