My grandmother used to say that I was born 35. I was often disinterested in the wild little-kid shenanigans that my siblings favored, instead preferring the company of adults. Being forced to sit at the kid’s table during holiday meals, I felt, was one of the greatest injustices I had to endure. And I grew up preferring VH1 over MTV, which I felt I had outgrown, even as a thirteen year old (The Real World being an exception, of course). In fact, it was on VH1 when I first saw the video for Walking on Broken Glass, which features Annie Lennox sneering and huffily stomping around a palace with a red velvet towel on her head while wearing a matching guardainfante. I was blown away. Not only was it the first time I’d heard the song – which remains in my Top 10 to this day – but I was enamored with the production, the drama, and quite frankly – the weirdness of Ms. Lennox.
But this isn’t a post about how I identify most with the women who were side-eyed during their adolescence for having off-beat observations. You know, those of us who had spastic movements like Ms. Lennox in that video; those of us who spent time perfecting our Hannibal Lecter impressions and practicing sweet moves from Cocktail with empty wine bottles swiped from restaurants.
You see, these past couple of weeks weren’t best for me inside my head.
And I don’t really know why.
I have the luxury of reflection because over the past few days, I feel like I’ve emerged from this so-called fog. I was not unhappy. I was not sad. But I was something. When I get like this, I wish to be left with my own thoughts. I become pensive and shun a lot of my more outgoing traits. And I couldn’t bring myself to do what I loved and getting from morning to night was exhausting – especially because Clay was gone for a lot that time. For lack of a better phrase, I felt like I was walking on broken glass. Even worse – I felt like I had no control to stop myself from doing so. Until I did.
I spent yesterday crossing almost everything on my to-do list that had grown quite long during the two-week absence from myself. I was productive. I was a present mother. I cooked a hearty meal from scratch, I scrubbed toilets, and I even rearranged our bedroom. I felt energized by the promise of the future instead of being crushed by its weight and I felt in control. I haven’t felt that way in awhile. To be honest, it’s hard to feel in control when the Army is involved.
I’ve written before about what is going on inside my head. There are still times when I feel like pieces of me are breaking off and floating away into oblivion, but today is not one of those days. I’m not sure if I stopped walking on broken glass or if I just managed to put on shoes but either way – I’m no longer hiding within myself.
It’s a good feeling.