Reality Bites

New month, time for some changes.


Yesterday was hugely disappointing. The people who care, as always, did their best work. You guys are just so lovely: Brad, Joar, Jesse, Liz, Rev, Drifter, Scarlett… and anybody else who has taken time to read my stuff, acknowledging they were ACTUALLY LISTENING. That’s the thing with social media, how it is supposed to work. If someone is really struggling, assuming they’re simply doing it for attention? Nope.

Did I ever tell you the story about the gaming influencer who DM-d me when I started talking about mental health issues because they didn’t believe me? The assumption was this was just bandwagon jumping. I see they’re still using shortcomings to grow their brand, and it seems to work well… but knowing more and more ‘truth’ over time makes it easier to come to sensible conclusions, and to stop wasting my time on them.

Nobody needs friends like that in their lives ever, yet people still continue to engage regardless.


I thought briefly about a massive unfollow binge to clear everything out of my life that was causing stress, before realising too many people would be missed. Instead, muting certain words and phrases means the conversations still go on, but without me involved. Making things harder is not what is required. However, believe it or not, I’m not here to garner offers of help or support, although they are appreciated greatly.

The straw that broke me yesterday was balanced on a pile of ideas mistakenly labelled by those who think everybody with a mental health issue talking about that in a public space represents some kind of cry for help or reassurance. It’s like getting annoyed when your neighbour bought a better car, or appears to be more popular in the neighbourhood.

Don’t be jealous or annoyed, be grateful it’s not you. This is always been existence: social media simply shows cracks far more obviously than was ever the case.


It becomes really easy to see the people who aren’t being considerate or thoughtful, still trying to shove their agendas through, making it about their needs above all else. When you ask for respect, to be listened to is a perfect reward. Nobody’s gonna ask you to crowdfund me, don’t panic, all of this is under control, but there will be a point where I’ll start making stuff and you can decide whether to buy it or not.

That’s not far off now, and when it does happen you will not be judged on the ability to put hand in pocket. I won’t judge you at all, for what its worth, but if you’ve made me incandescently angry in the last month or so with a singular ability to misjudge what counts as understanding and support, don’t be surprised if we just stop talking after a while. Now is the moment where the best stuff gets carried forward and everything else gets left behind.


So many people looked like they cared. I’m such a fucking idiot, in that regard, only myself to blame. So, now it is time to pick up the pieces, wait for my therapy appointment to roll around and start again. During this reconstruction period I’ll try and keep navel contemplation to a minimum, focusing instead on pouring the surfeit of angst into fiction.

If you’re reading here in 28 days from now, I guarantee that a lot of things will have altered for good.

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