Sleeping Angels

When my kids were babies, I did co-sleeping with them off and on as screaming dictated. I have such a clear memory of holding a tiny Felix, marveling at the smallness of his hands and wondering what those hands would grow up to do. I loved those co-sleeping moments.  I loved the mornings later on when they would be brought into bed first thing in the morning and we would breast feed.  Later on I loved it when they would wake up at sparrow fart and make their way groggily around to my side of the bed and climb in to finish their sleep off with the comfort of a mamma cuddle.

These days they dont do that. I think the days of the Seraquel Coma, of mamma being out of it until 10am, have meant they dont even think to do it anymore. In their minds, mamma just isn't available to them first thing in the morning. That we have lost that makes me sad.

I miss their bedtime cuddles so much. I want to kick the husband out of the bed and sleep with a kid either side of me. I want to revel in the smell of their hair, the softness of their skin and the complete openness and joy with which they snuggle up, tangling their limbs with mine so I no longer know where I stop and they start.  They are the reason I fight this damned illness every day, fight the desire to drink, find the will to eat and why I fight to stay alive. I need the close reassurance that comes from their peaceful breathing and an arm draped casually across my face to remind myself that I am needed here, and that by these two sleeping angels at least, I am loved.

Forty-two

• Its statistically half way through my life.¹
• It is the angle in degrees for which a rainbow appears.²
• It is the height in inches of unicorns.³
• It is the answer to life, the universe and everything.⁴ 

 

Image credit

 

It is also the birthday I celebrate today.

I'm disgusted to discover I am now officially middle-aged. When the fuck did that happen? Its amazing how much I don't want to bound out of bed and greet the world after having that particular thought.  I suppose I could celebrate being 21 again. The first time round it involved the biggest joint I've ever seen as my birthday present. Perfectly sound idea! Yes!

All told, its a Significant Birthday. When you add in recent events - giving up alcohol, getting a diagnosis - then it is even more significant. Today marks the start of the transition from the first half of my life to the second, and - I think, I hope - the transition from traumatised, non-functional Sharon to self-aware, happy and emotionally stable Sharon.  I am only 3 years away from the age both my brothers were when they committed suicide and I feel that acutely. I don't want to still be struggling with my mental health to that extent in three years. There will be struggles, that is a given: Bipolar is a lifelong condition, and there will be lifelong struggles. But what I hope to do in this second phase of my life, is to discover what it is that gives my life meaning.

When I was in second year Philosophy at university, I wrote a paper which stated categorically that the meaning of life for humans is to ask what the meaning of life is. To some extent, I still stand by what I said then, but I have learned enough now to know that we humans can find meaning for our lives in the pursuit of what makes us happy. Happy...happiness. It's a concept foreign to me, that's for sure, but  armed with the right medications, the right diagnosis and the right choices I might just be able to find that spark of happiness. 

It is immeasurably sad that at 42 I don't know what true happiness is. 

What I do know is that now I have a chance to finally figure it out. 

That almost makes up for the "middle-aged" tag.




1. a bunch of statisticians
2. some maths nerds and god
3. me. probably not true
4. bow down and worship Douglas Adams