This has been going on most of my life. Sometimes I just want to be normal, to enjoy the simple things in life without worrying, panicking, stressing or needing to hide under a rock when it all just gets too much for me.
But then someone comes along and saves me, for a short time, from my illness. Makes me feel safe in a new place and with strangers all around, somewhere away from home where my safety zone is 2 hours away by car.
So this weekend I got taken away from it all, had a wonderful day in Whitby, bimbling around the town and feeling near normal for a short time. I slept in a tent on a faulty airbed for 2 nights. I drank beer, which made me immediately sleepy. I ate fish and chips and scrambled eggs and perfectly cooked vegetables and new potatoes. I drank tea. By the gallon. By the galleon! I was tea'd out.
I took photos. I sketched. I slept. I relaxed. I laughed. I snoozed. I met a hundred dogs and played with a particularly lovely Labrador and a shy but warmly enthusiastic collie. I chased a chicken, fed it a biscuit and offended it's ladylike sensibilities when I tried to stroke the fine golden brown feathers on her back. I watched doves canoodling and saw a baby dove shuffling to the edge of the nest to extrude green and white poo into the foliage below.
I marvelled at a shining sunset. I laughed hysterically but quietly at the couple connecting noisily 3 times in one night. I laughed even longer and louder when I saw them the next morning and realised they weren't teenagers. Who knew accountants could be so rampant?
I ignored the things that frightened me, put my head in my reading book and my sketchbook. I looked at the detail of the architecture and forgot about the strangeness of strangers.
I had a wonderful time and felt revived and exhausted by the new experiences I had in Whitby.
Thanks you Michelle for a wonderful weekend. Sorry I can't always tell you how I'm feeling.