A Decisiveness - An Acceptance ... sort of ...

Last night Hubby and I had a talk, a genuine talk that I didn't let escalate into an argument. It was hard listening to some of the things he had to say. All of it was important, but two things really stick out - they made me wince with pain and a strange sort of acceptance.

1) I can't take silence any more. Silence drives me insane any more. If the radio, TV, or music in general isn't playing to fill up the silence, then I'm agitated and aggravated.

I used to love the stillness of the house, though. I used to love the most quiet places in the libraries and bookstores where I could just simply get lost in the story I was reading at the time, or, if I was home, probably writing too.

I have sat for hours just reading and being quiet, marking time with the passing of the sun or the ticking of a clock when it would enter into my consciousness. Now something like that is enough to make me go bonkers.

It has been well over a year since I've been able to handle the silence.

Mommy died in silence. We all were so quiet beforehand as not to disturb her, because the event was such a strange thing for us to have to face, go through.

Since then I haven't been able to take the silence of any place, really. There just seems too much of it.

2) I don't have a certain sense of determination I used to have, a certain fire. That one really hurt. Not because he said it, but because it's true. There was a time when I absolutely couldn't fathom letting anyone or any thing winning over me, making me defeated. Now I just move along quietly and hope the wagon doesn't get over-turned instead of trying to find a way of getting down the slope, or collecting what I need to survive. I was determined to succeed at everything I undertook, and now, I just really look to surviving.

What does all of this mean? I'm not really sure, except, I know it needs to change. Hubby was right - if I don't do something with all of my writing I have nothing more than a very expensive hobby. One that is partially tearing me apart and yet helping me to possibly re-create myself.

I'm not at all sure how to get the old fire back. Maybe it isn't something I should get back, maybe it should metamorphose into something different, something stronger and more mature than what it has been in the past.

I know I want peace in my life, but, I am not peaceful. I have never been a "peaceful" person, but I have been a "happy" person milking joy out of every moment. I want that again. Sometimes I think I almost have it, but it slips away into so much smoke after a day or so.

It is time to figure out how to begin again, not just begin the writing again, but begin everything again. Begin looking at myself with joy, at my home.

For the first time I really want a pretty house and I want it to happen as much as possible through my hand. There is a part of me terrified at the enthusiasm of it all I genuinely feel. This is a different thing, totally alien to my usual nature.

I've started working toward changing it, though. I got up today and went straight away and washed my face and brushed my teeth. Usually I wait an hour or so, but not today. Why? Because Hubby asked me when was I my most happiest. There were several things that have now popped into my head, and one of them was just meeting him, getting to know him, and wanting him to see me as beautiful. Another was a time before I decided to go to college. Another time was when I was learning in college and I had a regimen in all times of doing that - getting up and immediately washing my face and brushing my teeth, even if it was before eating, and I would brush them again.

I have to fully accept the changes in my life and figure out how to keep going. Grieving does not mean the end of my life - I suppose now begins the hardest chore of re-building my life.