There, I’ve written a poem. Will that do for today?
I seem to have run out of steam, at any rate.
Yesterday, talking to my therapist in our weekly Skype session, I told her about the bookshelves, and moved the laptop round a bit so she could see them. She was impressed, more impressed than I thought was necessary. It’s that thing I always have: I did it, not very well, and it took me a long time, but if I did it, it can’t be that hard, anybody could do it, and probably make a better job of it, in less time.
I told her how I’d been worrying about what books and knick-knacks to put on them, what impression would they give of me, how would people judge me, and drew attention to the fact that two of the shelves were already full of chaotic clutter.
‘What people?’ she asked.
‘Well, you I suppose’ given that no one else will be coming round any time soon.
‘What does it matter? They’re your shelves; you choose what you want to put on them.’
Put like that, it does sound a bit ridiculous that I’ve been worrying about this all week. As soon as I put something on there, I worry about what it says about me – that I have no aesthetic sense, that I can’t see what should go where, like the cross stitch and needlepoint pictures and weavings that I’ve made but never put on display, or the clothes I’ve knitted or crocheted and never wear in public.
‘And yet you write about your feelings and put them out there where anyone can read them.’
‘Well’ I said defensively, ‘I’m pretty safe in knowing that hardly anybody does’.
It’s the paradox of my life. I hide away from people because I’m afraid of being judged and laughed at or despised, and yet I put my feelings in words like this, and share them where they can (theoretically) be read by anyone. And I’m just as uncomfortable with being judged by others more positively than I judge myself as I am with those who find me wanting.
I want others to see me as I see myself – and yet still love me, when I can’t.
But in all this chaos I can still open my door – and my heart – to a new morning and think: ‘something good may happen today’ and write a little poem about it – and share that with the world.