Empty Headed Days

There are some days, when you feel as if all of the wires in your head have been unplugged and reconnected back, in a completely random order. Your Numbskulls* must have been startled awake in the middle of the night and panicked into action. They’ve done their best to set you up for the day, but got everything completely out of place in a chaotic “To me, to you!” Chuckle Brothers kind of way.

These are days like no other. They’re not the “Oh you’re getting older and you have to expect that.” kind of day. You know all too well what those feel like. Empty Headed Days bring with them an unmistakable haze of unreality and a disassociation from the world that’s going on around you.

It’s as if a thin, white mist has been pumped onto your theatre stage. Everything takes on a mysterious, etherial feel and stillness. Edges are less sharp. Noises rather blurred. Concentration impossible to grasp, without wilful effort.

I’m having one of those today, which is making the writing of this page a particular challenge. In order to capture my feelings, I’m having to work hard to force myself to oscillate between the two realms. Coffee and cake in the incredibly friendly Deo Gloria coffee shop, with quite jazz music in the background, providing the safe haven I need to be able to do that. 

I couldn’t be writing this, if I was still at the house. And if I’d stayed there, I wouldn’t be experiencing these feelings, the way I am. Today I needed to be out. If you too are grieving, this will be making perfect sense to you.

Over the past few days, I’ve known that something’s been trying to surface. And over the past three years, I’ve learned to pay very close attention when I have that feeling. Making sure that I tune in more and more, so that I can truly understand what I need to hear. To surrender into what I may want to, but can’t avoid.

That may simply mean sitting with the knowledge that today is a write off, when it comes to concentrating, planning, or doing something that demands fine skills and patience. It may be a day when it’s best I don’t drive. It’s definitely a day when my feelings need to come out.

Hazy concentration days offer a fuzzy doorway to grief. When I’m feeling grounded, I can sit quietly, breathe and feel the pain. When I’m not centred, they go like this. I convince myself I’m OK and that I can do a certain job. However, because I’m not really present, it goes wrong. Helpfully, or sadly, I can then find myself angry, or tearful with frustration, or berate myself for being so crap and useless. The very same feelings of grief that I’m trying to avoid, which I’ve now misplaced and used as a weapon to beat myself up with, because I’m feeling crap that I wasn’t able to do more to prevent my son from killing himself. 

There’s no escape. Grief will make it’s way to the surface, in whatever way it can. We might believe we’re holding it together and ‘being strong’. Imagining that, if we can convince others that we’re ‘fine’, then that must really be the case. When we’re stepped back,  watching someone else go through all of this, we can see, as clear as day, what’s going on for them. When we’re in the midst of our own grief, its not so easy.

Certain stages of my grief have reminded me of taking my cat to the vet. It was a thing I had to go through and it wasn’t going to be easy. At first, there’d be some cagey walking around each other, like fighters in the ring, some denial and eventually a struggle that usually resulted in painful scratches, as she tried to break free. 

So when an empty headed day comes to visit, please be gentle with yourself. Realise what it is, listen to your soul, be kind to yourself, go for a walk, or meditate and allow you feelings to come as gently and compassionately to the surface as possible. It’s definitely not going to be a day to taking your cat to the vet.

*(from The Beezer comic)