I was going to write something profound for my hundredth blog entry. But this is 101 so clearly I missed that. Perhaps that's profound in itself..... Anyway.... When I started this blog on 15 November 2007 I didn't know what to put in a blog, how to write it, how often to write it, or the point in writing it. Two years and four months on I've found my answers: I write what I want, however I want, whenever I want and the point of it being because I want or need to write things down. Writing has always been an incredibly cathartic process for me - poetry, diary entries, short stories, letters that I have no intention of sending - and blog entries can now be added to that list. It's a different style of writing, a different style of being honest to the world and to explore my head and my heart. On some occasions I've been able to be more open and honest on here than I have face-to-face with people. And maybe that's because some things are too hard to say to people. Or because I literally can't say it to people - those who are no longer part of my life, or part of this world.
In some ways I made a rod for my own back with this blog by calling it 'telling the truth'. I guess I felt it was time to face myself and my life and figure out what my truth actually is. Little did I know where that journey would take me. Little do I know where that journey will continue to take me.
One thing continues to puzzle me though with my blog. And that is that people who don't know me from Adam 'follow' it. I don't understand why really. That's probably part of my not understanding why people would want to be my friends thing coming through. But really though? What's so interesting about what I have to say that people actually want to read it?
So to update entry number one from 15 November 2007, I still work a generic job surrounded by a suffocating abyss of polyester nothingness. But I only work that job 2 days a week. The other 3 days I get to do what makes me feel alive. It makes me feel like I'm finally making a difference to this world, that my life has a meaning and that I won't leave this world without having made an impression on it. Okay so it's not an impression that is going to be on history curriculums in a hundred or two hundred or three hundred years time. And that's okay with me, because I know that thanks to me in my role as Youth Worker there is a young person alive in this world that wouldn't be without the help and support I gave them. Pretty humbling really, knowing that.
So two years and four months on am I happy? Is life still tough? I could go with my default depressive stance and say the answers are 'no' and 'yes'. That wouldn't be true though. Am I happy? Not all the time, probably not even most of the time. But yes, I do have moments when I can put my hand on my heart and say I'm truly happy. And that feeling takes my breath away. Is life still tough? Sure, but I think it always will be. I'm okay with that though, because like the happiness thing fluctuates, so does the toughness. It's getting easier, or maybe it's just getting easier to handle. Either way, life doesn't seem quite so much the effort it was 100 blog entries ago.
The Ghost Of A Steam Train - Echoes Down My Track
This reminded me of Him. And since I can't tell him, I'm blogging it instead...
Shine On You Crazy Diamond
I went to see Perfect Alibi at The Brook last night. They are a pretty well respected Pink Floyd tribute band, and was the last night that their current front man would be playing with them. I like Pink Floyd; with a best friend for whom to recite their lyrics is as natural as breathing, and a father obsessed with all things prog-rock, there was not much chance of me ever NOT liking them really. Having said that, my knowledge of them is not extensive, I have a few of their albums but it tends to be that I hear them more because of shuffle on my ipod than through picking them to listen to. It is always a lovely treat when one of their tracks comes on - there's a theatrical nature and a feeling of immensity (I'm not sure that's a word...) with pretty much every song they created.
So I was a bit sceptical about how good Perfect Alibi would be, as I tend to be generally a bit dimissive about tribute bands, although I'm trying to let that go! Having spent many drunken and very fun evenings in The Brook though, I jumped at the invite to go see them play there. From the outside it was the same as it always was, but walking in I was totally thrown. It's been refurbished and is light and could almost be described as 'airy'. For anyone who knew it ten years ago, that's really not how you'd describe the entrance way! Walking into the bar area though was like putting on a pair of old jeans: comfy, relaxed, a little worn and loved all the more for that. I won't add here that it was full of middle aged, slightly sweaty men with a lot of hair, because that isn't generally what I associate with my old jeans!
The place was packed and the band played for three hours non-stop. They were brilliant - they've made their careers about paying tribute to one of the most influential, ground-breaking bands ever to grace this earth - and they do so with style, grace, passion and buckets of ability. Watching them play, it was clear how much they love Pink Floyd. There were a few times when it was almost like we were trespassing on a private transcendental moment, they became totally at one with their beloved music.
Perfect Alibi have certainly helped in my journey to stop that voice in my head that mocks tribute bands. And I want to thank them for reminding me how much fun a night out in The Brook is. To The Brook I want to say this: I will be back soon, I've missed my comfy jeans.
So I was a bit sceptical about how good Perfect Alibi would be, as I tend to be generally a bit dimissive about tribute bands, although I'm trying to let that go! Having spent many drunken and very fun evenings in The Brook though, I jumped at the invite to go see them play there. From the outside it was the same as it always was, but walking in I was totally thrown. It's been refurbished and is light and could almost be described as 'airy'. For anyone who knew it ten years ago, that's really not how you'd describe the entrance way! Walking into the bar area though was like putting on a pair of old jeans: comfy, relaxed, a little worn and loved all the more for that. I won't add here that it was full of middle aged, slightly sweaty men with a lot of hair, because that isn't generally what I associate with my old jeans!
The place was packed and the band played for three hours non-stop. They were brilliant - they've made their careers about paying tribute to one of the most influential, ground-breaking bands ever to grace this earth - and they do so with style, grace, passion and buckets of ability. Watching them play, it was clear how much they love Pink Floyd. There were a few times when it was almost like we were trespassing on a private transcendental moment, they became totally at one with their beloved music.
Perfect Alibi have certainly helped in my journey to stop that voice in my head that mocks tribute bands. And I want to thank them for reminding me how much fun a night out in The Brook is. To The Brook I want to say this: I will be back soon, I've missed my comfy jeans.
Running Up That Hill
I've made a decision. It is a decision that hundreds of people make every day, and something I've wanted to do for a long time, but never had the courage to do. I'm going to join a gym. The reason I've been too scared to join one is because of the judgement and disgust I imagine the instructors would have about me. I've spent so long being ashamed, but the idea of seeing that judgement I have of myself reflected in someone elses eyes has been too much for me to face. Only now things are beginning to change. I still have a long way to go, but the five stone I've lost so far is beginning the stirrings of confidence somewhere within. I feel like if I do see that judgement I'm expecting in their eyes, then I can counter it with 'fuck off, I'm doing really well' - even if I just say it in my head. I'm getting my life back, as I've said before, and this is my next step. Only this time, it's a really big, and pretty scary step.
Friends Will Be Friends, Until The End
This is likely to be the first time, and quite possibly the last time that I'll say something good about myself on here. I generally think that I am a reasonable friend (that's as positive a comment about myself as you're likely to get I'm afraid!). If a friend is in pain or despair or is after advice or just in need of a lift or something, then if it's within my power to help I absolutely will. This weekend I was faced with a dilemma. I had a friend who I've known for 17 years in a lot of pain and asking for my help. The problem was the help was in the form of counselling support for their fiance. Part of me just wanted to say 'of course' because I wanted to make what they were both going through more bearable. Then the professional side of me knew that my answer had to be 'no'. I can't ethically give counselling to someone who is connected to me. My desire to help was conflicting with my professional sensibilities. I could give them information on where they could get the help they needed, but I couldn't (can't) provide it myself. So in a moment very foreign to me, I had to say to my friend I couldn't do what they wanted me to do. I felt awful. I felt like I'd betrayed a long friendship by saying I wouldn't help when they reached out to me.
This desire to help people whenever I possibly can comes from two places. The first is that I genuinely care if people are in pain and I want to make their lives easier and happier places to be. The other is less true now than it has been, but still has a hangover into today so warrants mentioning. That is that if I make myself useful to people they'll continue to be my friend because I'm useful to have around. In short I would be buying my place in their circle because I didn't believe they really wanted to be my friend. I'm not writing this because I want people to contradict it or because I want people's pity. I'm writing it because hearing it and continuing to work on it post therapy helps me to let it go.
In a very rare moment this weekend I put myself first. I said no to helping a friend (well, I did help because I told them they could talk to me as a good listener etc., and found out information on where they could get counselling support from). Quelle surprise, they were fine with that and we're still friends! I think they call it growth!
This desire to help people whenever I possibly can comes from two places. The first is that I genuinely care if people are in pain and I want to make their lives easier and happier places to be. The other is less true now than it has been, but still has a hangover into today so warrants mentioning. That is that if I make myself useful to people they'll continue to be my friend because I'm useful to have around. In short I would be buying my place in their circle because I didn't believe they really wanted to be my friend. I'm not writing this because I want people to contradict it or because I want people's pity. I'm writing it because hearing it and continuing to work on it post therapy helps me to let it go.
In a very rare moment this weekend I put myself first. I said no to helping a friend (well, I did help because I told them they could talk to me as a good listener etc., and found out information on where they could get counselling support from). Quelle surprise, they were fine with that and we're still friends! I think they call it growth!
And When I'm Lost And Torn, A Soldier Of Orange, I.
Today is National Self Injury Awareness Day. Apparently. According to the facebook page you can become a 'fan' of (seriously, wtf, become a fan of being aware that people intentionally injure themselves??), you're meant to wear a different colour according to your involvement with all things self-injury related. It says you have to wear orange (only on 1st March, I don't mean everyday here) if you do cut or burn (etc etc) yourself, orange and white if you have but you're in 'recovery' and just white if you're supportive of people who do self injure. So my question is, when you do you go from orange to orange and white?
It's been a while since I last cut. I can't tell you exactly when the last time was. Which probably means something, because I used to be able to tell you in days when it was. I'm now trying to do the maths. I can remember recent times I've wanted to. In the spirit of honesty, the most recent thought was this afternoon, the most time I had an argument with myself about it was last night. The last time the pain within was so bad I had to reach out to a good friend with the tears rolling as I text them was several months ago.
So does that make me orange because I wanted to do it, or orange and white because I wanted to but didn't? When does an SI-er become a recovering SI-er? For me these labels aren't a good idea. If I say I'm orange, then I feel like I'm giving in to it, and making it more of a part of my life than it is or needs to be. If I say I'm orange and white, then the pressure to stay there is immense, and the more the pressure to not do it, the more an issue it becomes.
I'm not going to make a conscious effort to wear orange or orange and white or white on 1st March. It's something I'm painfully aware of every time I look at my arms, or my belly or my chest or my ankle or my hand. It's not something I am only aware of one day a year. I wish it were, it would make life much easier!
If it brings comfort or help or support to other people. Or perhaps more importantly understanding to people who think it's some stupid thing teenagers do when playing up, then great. But it's not for me.
It's been a while since I last cut. I can't tell you exactly when the last time was. Which probably means something, because I used to be able to tell you in days when it was. I'm now trying to do the maths. I can remember recent times I've wanted to. In the spirit of honesty, the most recent thought was this afternoon, the most time I had an argument with myself about it was last night. The last time the pain within was so bad I had to reach out to a good friend with the tears rolling as I text them was several months ago.
So does that make me orange because I wanted to do it, or orange and white because I wanted to but didn't? When does an SI-er become a recovering SI-er? For me these labels aren't a good idea. If I say I'm orange, then I feel like I'm giving in to it, and making it more of a part of my life than it is or needs to be. If I say I'm orange and white, then the pressure to stay there is immense, and the more the pressure to not do it, the more an issue it becomes.
I'm not going to make a conscious effort to wear orange or orange and white or white on 1st March. It's something I'm painfully aware of every time I look at my arms, or my belly or my chest or my ankle or my hand. It's not something I am only aware of one day a year. I wish it were, it would make life much easier!
If it brings comfort or help or support to other people. Or perhaps more importantly understanding to people who think it's some stupid thing teenagers do when playing up, then great. But it's not for me.
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