Here I am, yet again. In front of a screen, trying to self-motivate about an essay I am struggling with. An essay that seemed like a good idea at the time, but has kind of gone down a dead end road. The research has come up with a million ways to go, but none of them seem to be heading where I need to go to answer the question. I’m so tangled in it that I can’t even see what the question is anymore. I know what the paper is, but I’m not sure what the lecturer was after when she wrote the question, I thought I did, in the beginning, but the further I dive into the essay, the more murky the question has become, not less. I guess this is learning, this happens. Usually, since I have been back at uni in this incarnation, I have found these start to flow quite well once I have written a plan, made some notes, including a few key quotations from the research. This time, I have found myself floating further and further away from the topic. I keep trying to steer it back in the direction I was originally heading, but it seems to have a faulty rudder.
So, I take breaks, re-gather. Part of the problem is that I have chosen a topic that has a bit of a dearth of written work on it really. I have taken the least number of books home from the library, and found little electronically, other than anecdotal pieces that I am trying to tie into the content in a seamless manner, with an academic slant. It is not so seamless yet! I guess that is what editing looks like! First draft only, and still not complete, so chill out, dude. But it is messy, and I see it and it is not coming together at all well. Normally this close to a deadline, I am well into the editing stage, and I have another big one lined up with a deadline just days later, and life keeps getting in the way.
Kinda like my recovery. I never expected it to be easy, or smooth, or even brief. But I don’t think I expected quite so many loose ends, or quite so much pain to still be a daily part of my life after I worked so hard. I knew it would never be a smooth, scarless wound, but I probably expected it to have started to silver up some more than five years out, instead of the craggy, red, raised mess that it still is. Then I wonder if this is why I am so lost on my academic path, also. Is it just a cluttered mind. Or is this who I am? I think it is partly who I am, I have never been a neat freak, or one to walk from A to B without zigzagging all over the place, like a dog, smelling all the new smells, wriggling along the route, distracted by that pretty flower, that particularly stinky poo. But I always had my eye on the prize. Now I am so unsure of what the prize is, is it there, or is it all a ruse, is it actually over there, or is there a prize at all? Just. Stop. Overthinking it all!
Had a really great chat with Rog this morning, before he headed out, before I opened my laptop to ostensibly give the old essay a kick in the guts. About loss, mostly loss of direction. We chatted about our – particularly my – loss of where I am heading, heck, it isn’t like I was the girl with the list of goals stuck to my fridge, ticking them off as I nailed them, not at all. But there was a certain amount of joint comfort in knowing we were heading down the same path together, even if the destination was a mystery, now we walk far apart, sometimes heading down side roads, alone, in the dark. The safety of having the guy (or girl) that ALWAYS had your back, that you TRUSTED completely, no matter how awful the monster was going to be that popped out and chased you. That has gone. I feel alone all the time now. I know he keeps reaching out for my hand, to try to comfort me, and sometimes to receive the comfort I always had on hand, without fail, before D-day. I seem to refuse to take his hand, both literally and figuratively. Even at the funeral on Friday, he tried to clasp my hand as I fought sobs, the silent tears tumbling down my cheeks, and I just felt alone. And cold. And angry. At the world, but at myself for not being able to let my guard down, to be comforted by the man who loves me and wants to make it all better for me, and for him. I constantly ask why. Why can’t I drop the walls. He has done nothing but try to show me how totally gutted he is at what he did, how truly disgusted he is, how truly understanding of my pain, my loss, my deep sorrow he is. He is one of those who gets it. He got it early on. I think the fact that he looked at what he was doing, and deliberately put an end to it, for reasons that make a whole lot of sense (saw his mental breakdown as that, and realised he had totally screwed up, and could well have ruined his own happiness in the process) to us all, BEFORE I ever latched on to any clues that he might be having an affair (I really never did, not until SHE told me, months after it was over, and only then did I look back and connect the dots) made it easy for him to want to make it right, to come back to me fully and with huge remorse and regret. I can’t see why I can’t accept that what he did was a “blip” and normal transmission has resumed, actually, it could actually be in HD now – better in that we are so much more conscious and aware of …… well, everything really.
Mmmmm, in my next post, I will address what I have been meaning to for a while, the equation he had to solve, should I stay with Paula, or start over with Leanne. The question he asked himself at about the six month mark of his affair, and the process he used to quickly answer it, and how it took him quite some time to extricate himself from her web, the one he so kindly helped her spin.