Rain, rain go away

Look there’s the sun! No, it’s gone again. Now it’s raining but there’s a teeny patch of blue sky up above Hay Bluff, no, to the far left, that fingernail of God in a good mood… there comes tha rain again and here are clouds massing from the north. How the plants are thriving, green and lush. Except for all those silly sunloving plants going yellow from sodden roots. Quick, there’s sunshine out in the back garden — no, I was wrong, it was a marmelade cat.

 

Sat up in bed this morning, watching  the fine slanting lines of rain from a my bedroom window. Overwrought with anxiety about work not going well enough, not earning enough, feeling heavy and demoralised in menopause, so far away from friends and a life of my own in a hot climate. Self-pity with fear lurking around the corner. Then talked with S at breakfast and suddenly it was better, the connection so warm and loving, the reassurance that I am wanted here and loved. Came back to the study singing.

 

I have spent so many years trapped in my own thoughts, self-absorbed and lonely and afraid of others. Dreading rejection and abandonment and criticism.  It amazes me now that I am able to come out of a dark mood as I would walk out of a windowless room and be with others, get a new perspective on the world.

 

Saying to S that I might go to yoga lessons, get more exercise, try herbal remedies and perhaps evening prrimrose oil to help with the symptoms of menopause. Moving away from that locked ward within me, the place of failure and stasis, huddled in depression and hoping to go unnoticed. Such dark places in me and others do not suspect, cannot offer support unless I talk about it.

 

Later there will be a trip into the market town for coffee and a ramble around bookshops, then lunch and a drive down through the Golden Valley to Usk and dinner with friends. And, as if on cue, the sun has come out, blazing in through the open windows like a smiling reproach.

Sun shining through rain

Woke up this morning and saw that the sun was shining through the falling rain, long silvery pencil strokes of rain and the sun bright as a coin. A gleaming wet morning in the hills.

 

Last night to a meeting in the town, upstairs with the lattice windows open because the study room gets musty. A newcomer, disruptive and clueless (as we all were once), so we talked about the primary purpose, ‘to stay sober and help other alcoholics achieve sobriety’. The importance of simply sharing truthfully and in depth what it has been like for us. No catch-phrases, no melodrama, no self-centred drunkalogues. The interface of a meeting, narratives of powerlessness and recovery. That is how we encourage one another, by staying sober and showing that it is possible. That addiction is not the last word.

 

And it was a light-hearted time, eating chocolate biscuits, sprawling on the sofas and stretched out in armchairs, laughing at our own worst times and ongoing foibles, the evening sunshine coming in low in panels of brightness. Talking about how we reached for, grabbed at sobriety like a drowning man clutching his lifejacket, when we realised we did not have to drink any longer. That it would be possible to live without anaesthetics or sedatives or avoidance. We couldn’t do it alone but together anything was possible.

 

‘I had this fantasy,’ said B. ‘Myself crawling into a badgers’ den with a large bottle full of gin. Why gin? I hated the stuff. But there I would be, curled up at the bottom of this hole in the ground, all safe and alone with my bottle. Able to just die in peace. Poor fucking badgers, but I didn’t care about them. I wanted to get down into the heart of darkness, me, my self-pity and the gin.’

 

Today I sit here looking out on what we as children called a ‘monkey’s wedding’, the sun and rain all mixed up together, hot and wet and full of contradiction, light gleaming through rain, the trees shining and green in the garden and out there on the hill. Feeling grateful for the power of community and witness and authenticity. There are difficult days and ups and downs and moments of terror and uncertainty, but there is no longer the horror of a living death, drinking every day and lost in alcoholism, a stranger and menace to myself and others. Instead I am able to sit and watch the rain and think about encouraging others, learning from others, growing into an undreamt of life full of being human.

 

Now I must go down and have yoghurt, pale Welsh honey and muesli in a small green bowl before geting ready to leave for Heresford. My hair wet and dripping, barefoot, relaxed and alive. Ready for whatever this new day has to offer. Determined that I shall never again let the deeper things escape.