Write, delete, write, delete. Edit, edit, edit.
What am I wanting to write? So many thoughts racing through my mind. The ones that say that I can’t write what is in my mind because they are too negative…that I should be writing positively. Should…The word pokes at my anxiety. The pressure cloud.
Love and acceptance. It’s what I crave the most. Tear after tear pour down my cheek on the bus. A deep sadness. Where it came from, I don’t know and I don’t want to. I can feel it and that’s enough. It’s pure.
Thoughts jumbled. Mind races. Paper-cutting, toy-sewing, meditating, cake recipe finding, job hunting, thinking…thinking…so much thinking.
Is this ok to do? To take time off and let my mental health be looked after and just take time for myself. To recover. Is it me just being lazy, not wanting to work? What if I’m not ready to go out or am I ready and just too afraid? When I look at my emotionality, it’s no wonder…I’ve had to grow up alone and survive. Surviving the only way I knew how which eventually lead to extensive burn-out. My inner bucket had no bottom. I needed that bottom. I was living my life without it. Nothing would stay in my bucket. A continuous flow of emptiness and meaningless. Hiding was my survival.
I remember my 2nd first year at uni. My hearing had gone and I had developed a stutter. I think I was a few months in and I had barely slept in a week. I remember thinking about my Gran and my family and I thought to myself ‘It would be better if I wasn’t here. It would be less stress and upset on everyone if I died.’ This thought made perfect sense. Somehow, I had made it to the counselling service and filled out the questionnaire. I recall the receptionist or the forms saying it could take weeks to get an appointment. I think I got a call a few days later asking me to go in and the initial counsellor said he wanted to see me as soon as possible because I said that I was suicidal. I didn’t see it as a big deal-I had lived with it for years…it was ‘normal’.
I’m tired of feeling suicidal. I’m tired of the voices putting me down, telling me I’m pathetic for not making it far in life. Pathetic for not having a go at life and fighting against it. How do I do it? I don’t think that I can do it alone. I need help. Support. To work through whatever my ‘stuff’ is with other people. Maybe that is what I’m doing just now…going to the Doctor, going to the shaman, referring myself to the horticulture project for mental health. I just want to get better and I need help with that.
2 hours later…
I listened to a podcast about self-awareness on a website called Pathway to Happiness and downloaded one about gratitude.
It was easy enough to understand the gratitude when he was saying the things to be grateful, like having legs that not everyone has. Legs that work well to walk through town and get to where I need to be. It helped me realise that we take so much for granted. Being grateful for the courgette in my fridge that was scanned on a machine that was built to make queues smaller, that was stocked by supermarket workers, that was delivered by a man/woman who drove from some part of the country, that was picked by farm workers, that was planted and nourished by farmers, the knowledge that was passed down the ages, the European’s bringing them over from The Americas and cultivating them in Italy. The gratitude is endless. From one little seemingly insignificant “thing”, history slows down and the universe expands.
There’s some roadworks happening on the main street up the road from me and the pavement on the corner is blocked off (even though there is a sign pointing to a diversion) and people keep walking down it and awkwardly stopping and doing a U-turn. I was talking with a friend and we were joking that there should be something at the end, like some kind of activity and I thought that it would be cool to have little notes up with random questions on them for people to answer. Then…I thought of putting notes up asking what people were grateful for and made 48 of them. Let’s see if people write on them…