2006 was a long time ago- nearly ten years- but was clearly hauntingly significant and I was being forced to take a closer look. And before breakfast. This must be important. Just as I was starting to find my new voice, to feel the highs and lows of long-suppressed emotions, see the world in colour, hear the noises in the background and feel life flooding back, here came my unruly memory bubbling and effervescing to the surface like witch water summoned by divining rods. Something was freeing itself up inside my mind, there was suddenly more space, more acceptance and more room for the past to present itself to me, shake itself off, dust itself down and settle itself back to sleep. My memories were picking themselves up off the floor where that messy filing cabinet had strewn them and were floating back up past me for a nod of acceptance before picking up a meaningful category, a label and a translucent folder on the way back down to their rightful place where they had like-minded friends, where they had context.
As I felt a little braver, I started to look a little closer at just who exactly had come to breakfast that morning. There was Random Nose Job, Iraq, Stonehenge and Social Chlaustrophobia all looking at me expectantly from the end of my bed. There was nothing for it - I followed them into the kitchen, put the kettle on and once they were all sat comfortably round my big, wobbly, wooden table I took a deep breath and faced them all.
Random Nose Job had been a somewhat impulsive decision at the start of 2006 following the break-up of a reasonably significant yet limping 3-year relationship. Most women would probably have settled for a hair cut and a makeover on reflection, but a nose job seemed to hit the spot for me. So one quick Harley Street detour and credit card flash later, I had a less bumpy, slightly shorter schnoz and complete closure on my relationship. No regrets, still happy with the nose. Drastic, but worthwhile. Filed.
Iraq was an attention seeker. He captivated me for six months in 2003 and then wanted me back again not for 6 but for 12 months in 2006. A whole year. Two back-to back tours. Partly my fault as I volunteered for the first one, but still. Long. The first six months was dominated by tense helicopter flights and travelling in the back of armoured vehicles while chaperoning the Press across both Basra and Baghdad. Being on edge was normal, getting to the end of every journey lucky. Six people I knew and worked with directly lost their lives that tour. But for the grace of God. (Except now I don't much believe in Him). The second half of the year was mentally intense- running an Ops Room 24/7, executing the logistic drawdown of some of the most significant bases in Iraq, sleeping behind my desk on the floor, supporting convoys that had split and been attacked out on the ground, running a half-marathon in the desert with no training (because that was what we did). Brilliant, all of it. No regrets but the intensity had fried my mind. Filed. (With the caveat that I stop pushing myself to extremes and listen to the warning signs of Social Chlaustrophobia).
Stonehenge was one of the most ridiculous moments of my life and that must be saying something. I was home on R&R for two weeks between Iraq tours and met up with some friends in London. We were planning to head down to Stonehenge for the Summer Solstice. Except, for some inexplicable reason, I suddenly needed to travel on my own, to drive myself- so I travelled all the way down there in the Audi A4 I never did like, on my own, driving behind the car with everyone else in. I must have needed the separation. I drove into the carpark. And I panicked. I couldn't do this. I didn't stop. I kept on driving, out the other side of the carpark, back onto the A303 and headed for the M3, M25 and Essex. Straight home. That was the first sign that something was wrong. Except I chose not to acknowledge it, slept it off, and went back to Iraq the following week, got shot at on landing in Basra and slipped back into 'normality'. Only recently, a friend who was there told me that I had been completely paranoid in London that day- uneasy about being on a leafy Leytonestone suburbia street unarmed. Hmmmmm. Filed in the warning-signs-not-to-ignore bucket for easy access in the future; remember to get a second opinion on what I consider 'normal'.
Social Chlaustrophobia. I can see now that it was having an intimate affair with Stonehenge and maybe even a threesome with Iraq as well but I just didn't quite recognise this at the time. I met Social Chlaustrophobia full-on at the end of 2006 when I returned from Iraq for good. Supermarkets were too much, too busy, too overwhelming and I would abandon my basket and leave. Parties and gatherings were generally short-lived because I would either drink too much too fast and spend the night with the bathroom floor and the toilet bowl, or I would just decide to exit. I would stop talking, put my glass down and just extract. Walk out the door, on my own, self-sufficient, heading home. Alone. Even if I did manage to stay over at friends' houses, I couldn't make it past dawn. I would wake early, get up and slip out of the house, leaving a note and an excuse of having to be somewhere else. I couldn't be anywhere without Social Chlaustrophobia wanting more.
I know now that I have choices and I know now that I need boundaries, I also know that I need to feel safe at all times or I panic and run. I know that I am more self-aware and more in control. I can file Social Chlaustrophobia but knowing that he will always try it on. We can have coffee but nothing more.
I was expecting 2007 to come to lunch and then maybe 2008 to dinner. But just letting 2006 in for breakfast seemed to have been enough. My mind knew what it needed to do and just did it, because I let it. Let the past in before breakfast and maybe, just maybe, it won't ruin your day, and will open up your future.
No comments:
Post a Comment