Patchwork

 The name Patchwork came to me while I was shelling peas for a Jamie Oliver recipe. If you have shelled peas you will know that it is task that allows for much wondering of the mind. So my mind touched upon Patchwork. Immediately after Patchwork came “quilt” in my mind. Of course, patchwork quilts, nothing so extraordinary about the word association.

But for me the significance of cognitive word association was a sign that I was ready to live again. For two years I had hidden from everyone. I literally saw only ONE person from my previous life and after a lunch in which she intimated that my not drinking was boring, I steered clear of meeting up with her as well.

I chatted to people online and updated mostly my Facebook status just to keep myself in touch with a world I no longer belonged to. Some might say this is a trifle hyperbole but those were my feelings and I welcome few judgments on them.

For nearly a year my mind had been a mess. It seemed that I couldn’t marshal my mind to focus on anything beyond my misery. I hid it well, I guess the one thing I was more intent upon than wallowing in my own misery was making sure nobody knew. The mask of my super-efficient, strong and “OUT THERE” self would remain intact.

Last year, as I shelled the peas I realized that the previous year of my life had been like a badly frayed quilt. There were holes that needed darning and there were whole pieces missing, which needed replacing. I started Patchwork as a way to work towards my new chapter in life. I have written for others, but I have never finished my own book and this blog is my journey towards something.

For the first time I’m not afraid to admit “I don’t know” and I am perfectly content to be left alone to figure it out. When I began to actively participate in life again I knew I could not expect many of those I had left behind to understand or even accept that I am simply no longer that same person they knew.

I was fragile, sad, uncertain, hopeful, scared, vulnerable, softer, and loving, mostly, I was no longer available. I wasn’t available to help, to listen, to talk to, and to cry with. I had retreated into myself and only two people were allowed behind my NO ENTRY line. Those people have struggled with me in the past two years and they have triumphed over my loss of faith in love, friendship and bonds that defy many human tests.

In the time I have stopped being angry and confused I have been writing this blog and for the first time I am writing just for me. And because I am writing just for myself I think this is one of the most honest places you will find me. Where I shed my Drama Queen persona and just open up in varying forms; sometimes it will make sense and other times it won’t. And I am just fine with that.

When you read, and when you take the time to comment, you’re giving me a piece of cloth for my quilt. I feel it in my hands and gently place it on a hole. While I sew, each stitch is a balm and for that I am grateful.

Xox

B