It was almost a month ago when she asked me to stop talking about my mental health, which has totally thrown me when I talk about my mental health on my blog a lot.
It’s sort of made me freeze up when it comes to what I am going to talk about here, yes I can talk about other aspects of my life, or what I’ve been through, but I’m still not quite sure what to do.Read More »
I have been rather quiet everywhere recently because I am writing a book, the idea just came to me a few weeks ago and every day I have spent away from here has been a day I have been working on the story.
Yes, my mental health may also be suffering as it does every day, but this novel seems to have just erupted out of me. Will, I get anywhere with the project? Probably not.
I have been staring at a fork in the road for a long time, I am scared to go down any of those roads I have built inside my head, just hoping that one day I will eventually make a decision. I am starting to get tired of all that staring, and I just want to make a decision already.
That, however, is not how recovery works, I could still be at this impasse for a very long time. Instead of forcing myself to make a decision about my life I need to know that it’s ok to stay here, as long as I focus on my recovery.Read More »
She can see the sadness of her new face,
It’s as visible as a tear on newly embroidered lace,
No matter how much she laughs and smiles,
The lady’s face still shows the bitter trials.
Her grief is standing by her side,
Some days she can take it in her stride,
To harness it within her own art,
Before it returns to rip her apart.
She inspired me at a time when I needed her, she felt just as alone as I did growing up, I couldn’t believe a man wrote a book that spoke to my soul at such a young age. Matilda made me want to be a writer, as a child I wanted to connect to other children who felt just as alone as I was, to spread hope that one day it’s going to be ok.
I have created characters in my head as long as I remember, wondering what’s going on inside peoples heads, and making up stories of what their lives could be like. I have been a writer my entire life, that little girl who can’t speak in front of others but leads a rich life inside her own head.
I’d like to start by saying sorry for not being as active, I’ve been rather down about Mothers Day, which has been seriously affecting my mood and almost two weeks later it is now the due date for the child I miscarried back in September.
The darkness has swallowed me up these past few weeks, to a point where I can’t do anything but sit in a darkened room staring into space, I can’t be of any help to anyone right now
I will not get a card from my kids today,
No flowers will be delivered on this Mothering Sunday,
I will not wake up to breakfast in bed,
This day will always be one I completely dread.
I will not receive the customary perfume,
My day will be filled with constant doom and gloom,
I will not hear that I am the best mother in the world,
Choosing to stay on the cold floor broken and curled.
I cannot stop, I feel as if I have been hit by a bus but I cannot stop, because if I stop I’ll think about things and if I think about things I won’t be able to keep going. Is it even worth it? I feel like I am getting nowhere, my mind is in pieces and just when I think I’ve finally cracked the puzzle more pieces get dumped on top of me.
I don’t seem to fit anymore, I can’t find that passion that fuels me, I don’t know where I belong anymore. I wanted to give answers to those people who are going through similar things from my past. But I am not healthy, I don’t have answers, and I definitely do not feel better; pain is all I feel.
On the darkest of nights, I see myself curled up on the floor,
I cry and I plead, “I cannot take it anymore.”
Isolated among some dench and darkened trees,
Grief could forever keep me among the leaves.
The thought of staying enters my mind,
Here I can be left to rot amongst the vine,
But my body wants me to be free,
To vanquish the howling banshee.
Wrapped inside a great cocoon,
With no way to tell the sun from the moon,
Cannot feel the wind on my face,
Or the rain soaking through me as I run with haste.
Stagnant inside with nothing to do,
Cannot escape what I’m going through,
I have to stay still in this place,
The process is not a race.
