Living in the Ruins

I’ve thought a lot lately about pain, depression and my health challenges. I’ve opened myself up and laid myself bare. In the process, I’ve learned a great deal about myself, my life and my beliefs as I’ve journeyed through the up’s and down’s. I’ve tried to share my insights and experiences to help and inspire others, as well as a cathartic way to release the turmoil I often find in my mind, heart and soul. Yet, it’s important for me to acknowledge that I’m not ‘fixed’ as I’m still living in the ruins of a transitional phase between ‘what was’

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Dancing on my Own

Sometimes I have brief moments of carefree abandon when I feel uninhibited by the shackles of being human and I touch on something so exquisite and so precious it takes my breath away. These fleeting moments instil a sense of hope and passion in me, an awareness of the magic that’s inherent within the universe. It’s easy to get lost in the humdrum of the day-to-day as it’s a hard slog and, once we get sucked in, we can find it hard to navigate our way out. Most don’t notice these moments of abandon as the distractions of life cloud

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A Flicker in the Darkness

I just can’t do it anymore; the shutters have fallen and there’s nothing left. My will to push on is ebbing and waning. I’ve felt out of control; a silent witness. I struggle to engage in the intimacies of conversation or everyday life, and I’ve anaesthetised myself and built giant prison walls around my heart and soul, trying to present a façade of happiness by creating a sterile, indifferent landscape to the world but feeling a kaleidoscope of pain inside. Although I have days when I long for death to come and greet me, deep down, I still want to

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Broken Biscuits

In many ways, I’ve always felt like the broken biscuit in the box, the one that languishes in the bottom until there’s nothing else left and, even then, it doesn’t look like a very tempting treat. After all, who wants a broken biscuit when there are lots of other perfectly formed, whole biscuits gleaming and longing to be eaten, tantalising the taste buds? Of course, the broken biscuit doesn’t taste any different, but, with its imperfections on full display, it’s easy to feel ‘less than’, (not that, to the best of my knowledge, biscuits develop complexes). Perhaps it’s genetic, coming

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Doesn’t Matter

It’s hard not to notice a growing restlessness and deepening sense of despondency rising up within our hearts and souls. As someone with significant long-term health problems, in need of social care, social housing and welfare benefits, I’ve felt the divide between the have’s and the have-not’s grow to exponential proportions. I’ve heard the term ‘the just about managing’ to refer to the groups of society just about holding things together but no reference to the massive group of souls in the bracket beyond this, the untouchables in society that no one really likes to talk about. It’s this group

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Falling off the Edge

At the end of 2015, I wrote about ‘the year I broke’, an intense and challenging year of my life where I felt as though my heart and soul had been ripped out from the fabric of my being, then torn to shreds and trampled upon. I fell apart, broke, disintegrated and found myself laying naked and cold on the harsh floor of reality. When I posted that article, I was, I believed, over the worst. How wrong was I?! 2016 took me to some new depths as the challenges intensified and came flooding into my life with such ferocity,

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A New Foundation…

Over the last couple of years, I’ve had a much more conscious and awakened relationship with myself. In many ways, it wasn’t a choice as, due to my spiralling ill-health, I shattered and fell apart on every level of my being. In truth it was an inevitable conclusion to reach as I’ve resisted aspects of myself for most of my life; they are parts of me I don’t like that much (we all have at least some of those!), but as I’ve got older, my resistance waned as the pressure within built up and started to crush my spirit from

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Building My Own House

I have always been blessed with a bright, colourful and vivid imagination. When I closed my eyes, a new world would come to life that was rich and diverse, fragrant and vibrant. I took my imagination for granted until the day I couldn’t anymore. These days my inner world is considerably starker as I have lost my ability to visually recall images. I can see a tree for example but when I close my eyes there is no tree present. I can look at my hand but when I close my eyes I see nothing. Although my imagination struggles to

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Courage

Sometimes we have to listen to the voice within and let it be heard; it’s a part of us after all. I did that last night, I was the lowest I’ve been in many many months and I felt myself slip into the gap between here and there, feeling no life within me and questioning my desire to carry on breathing. For a fleeting moment – that felt like an eternity – I didn’t want to be here anymore; I had nothing left. Writing about pain is unquestionably easier than swirling uncontrollably in a deep pit of it. Admitting one’s

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The Good Old Positive Mental Attitude

I’m not sure if I’m the only one with a long-term chronic condition that feels the way I do. Am I the only one feeling rather fed up with the PMA (Positive Mental Attitude) brigade? Feeling exasperated at the suggestion I should just smile, suck it up and think positive. Am I alone in having days where I want nothing more than to punch the PMA Fairy in the face? Okay, I don’t do violence, but you get the drift… To me, having a ‘PMA” is the willingness to push through the pain and malfunction in order to get up,

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