Resume (v.) to begin again, or continue after a pause or interruption.
I am aware that I was meant to return in due course with either pugs, or a psychological analysis on the overwhelming feeling of chronic emptiness. I regret to inform you that I have returned with neither of these things, but I am hoping you will forgive me.
It has been a particularly difficult week for an assortment of reasons. In addition to this, I feel as though my thinly-constructed safety net is being pulled out from underneath my feet. All manner of healthy coping mechanisms that I’ve learned over the last few weeks seem to have flown out of the window into an oncoming truck. The pile of papers given to me on breathing techniques and other mindfulness tripe have vanished into thin air. And my mind draws a blank when trying to remind myself of the alternatives to bringing oneself to harm as a way of managing desperate, unflinching emotion. Which is all very upsetting, of course, as I am not proud of the mechanisms I have utilised. My life at the moment reminds me of a film I last watched a few years ago called Girl, Interrupted (1999) which tells the story of an 18-year-old who finds herself at a renowned mental institution for troubled young women. It touches on the reality of feeling a sense of community and comfort among the world of people who are said to ‘belong’ on the inside, in comparison to the often difficult world of reality on the outside. The film was loosely based on the 1993 memoir of the same name by Susanna Kaysen, which in turn took its name from the painting above, Girl Interrupted at her Music, by the Dutch artist Johannes Vermeer.
I do not feel particularly good at the moment, that much I am sure. I am so very, very tired of trying. No matter how much I attempt to distract myself that reality doesn’t seem to change. But I do plan on writing up that psychological analysis eventually, as I enjoy researching for the most part and think reading through my old university notes and lectures might be quite comforting. Promises are easily broken, so instead of choosing a date I likely won’t stick too, I will just say that I will try to come back sometime soon.
For now I will leave you with a poem by American poet and short story writer Dorothy Parker, which was also quoted by a character in the film. Irrespective of its sharp-witted tone, I believe its darker, underlying message is a fairly adequate summary of my current thought process.
Razors pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren’t lawful;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live.
– ‘Resume’ by Dorothy Parker. 1926.