Everyone’s a Winner

Sunday. Ah yes, time for getting next week ready and if that’s done well enough, maybe there’ll be a moment left over to fuck about with something for myself. Next year WILL BE THE ONE where I start doing art and shit for relaxation: having accepted my drawing is restricted to high-quality doodling and not much else, alternatives have been sought. There is an answer. I’ll be gathering materials starting next month.

That bookbinding box of materials will be pulled out over the Christmas break.

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I’ve actually cut back on exercise this month from last: Exercising four days with three days off is beginning to allow more writing time. During the winter months this is not likely to change, but I could certainly shove some more walking into the equation going forward. As the days get warmer next year, I might also drive daughter to school, leave the car parked close and abandon it some days to get extra steps in.

This was part of my fitness plan when I first picked a PT: run the youngest in, find a car park close to the school, pay for a day’s parking and then walk home. That, plus the walk back to pick up the car was a guaranteed six miles every day. The photographer in me could make a lot of use of that time to boot, there’s so much in my town worth preserving for posterity. Perhaps, if the weather’s good starting in the New Year… ^^

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Saturdays will become the rest day in the New Year too, because I’ll be doing my Mental Health Champion training on those days in January, and therefore need to be free. I can also guarantee that there’ll be little or no desire to do anything else after these sessions are done: I was mentally exhausted after the introductory one. There’s some other exercise-related things I gotta sort out as well… all this to look forward to.

Planning is becoming one of my favourite tasks.

One Better Day

Number of Days Since a Debilitating Mental Episode : TWO


The menopause has thrown up an interesting development in terms of mental faculties: the distance down holes has increased in the last few months. To place this in the simplest terms possible, this translates to panic, anxiety and mental shutdown on a scale I have not previously experienced, enough to often bring me to my knees. The last couple of weeks since the holiday have then involved me attempting to not only adjust to this shift, but drag up a lot of pretty painful and emotionally difficult emotions to put into poetry.

This has been a pretty perfect shit-storm of my own creation, but is now beginning to offer some interesting new directions forward. It’s the mental equivalent of taking years of carefully organised notes and references to everything and setting fire to them, before flooding the entire storage area, then expecting to carry on with recall as if nothing happened. There are going to be consequences to all of this, and this will be me, trying to reintroduce order into what was, for a while, total chaos.

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I’m telling you this now for several reasons. The main one is that, in the weeks that follow, there will be a palpable effort to translate into words what it is like inside my head, in the vain hope that a) people might read it and b) then understand what its like to have to deal with this kind of shit on a daily basis. No, it’s not going to be used as an excuse, or a ‘you have to be nice, I’m broken’ stick for me to poke you with. I’m not expecting sympathy, but understanding would be helpful.

If there’s a lack of that, then there needs to be work on my explanation skills.

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I am immensely lost, and quite lonely right now. This is, it is now apparent, not going to be fixed by following more people on Social media or finding new hobbies or things to do. The loneliness is undoubtedly a result of being unable to communicate in a manner that allows brain to feel wanted. Having grasped that revelation over a period of several weeks, dealing with it is not an overnight task. It has to involve a reassessment of how life gets done, and what is written. That starts today.

There will still be observations and ruminations, but no longer will there be the belief that lying to myself is acceptable. Accepting someone for what they are, good and bad, is a tough ask. The new wave of honesty that’s been employed in certain spaces has already had an effect, and knowing that is where all of this deconstruction began. I am, literally and metaphorically relearning some pretty basic stuff, and the consequences are quite staggering. You’re never too old to readjust existence, just too scared.

Sometimes, you just have to do the hard shit and hurt.