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.
Huna Blentyn Yn Fy Mynwes, Clyd A Chynnes Ydyw Hon
I went to a charity auction night tonight for The Charlie Jones Foundation which was set up by a very brave friend of mine following the tragic death of her baby at just 4 months old. Charlie had hypoplastic left heart syndrome (HLHS), which I don't profess to understand the details of. What it did mean was that Charlie fought an incredibly hard battle from the moment he was born, and spent a large part of his short life in the PICU at Southampton General Hospital. His death came as a shock as he was out of hospital and during his check up just days before he died his parents were told he was doing very well.
So to make sense of losing their baby, Donna and Dean and a couple of their very good friends set up the foundation in Charlie's honour to raise money for the PICU and for research into HLHS. To date on the donations website they've raised just shy of £2500 and tonight they raised over £2500.
I can't begin to understand the pain of losing a baby. I've never particularly wanted to have kids, never felt that 'thing' that other women feel when they hold a tiny baby in their arms or watched a toddler in the park. But the thought of having a baby, a life that you've created, and to have to carry that baby to their grave at such a tiny age is possibly the cruelest thing I can think of having to live through.
I have nothing but admiration for Donna and Dean, for even being able to think about putting one foot in front of another each day, let alone doing something as incredible as raising all that money in hopes of saving another mother and father from the heart break they have to live with for the rest of their lives.
So to make sense of losing their baby, Donna and Dean and a couple of their very good friends set up the foundation in Charlie's honour to raise money for the PICU and for research into HLHS. To date on the donations website they've raised just shy of £2500 and tonight they raised over £2500.
I can't begin to understand the pain of losing a baby. I've never particularly wanted to have kids, never felt that 'thing' that other women feel when they hold a tiny baby in their arms or watched a toddler in the park. But the thought of having a baby, a life that you've created, and to have to carry that baby to their grave at such a tiny age is possibly the cruelest thing I can think of having to live through.
I have nothing but admiration for Donna and Dean, for even being able to think about putting one foot in front of another each day, let alone doing something as incredible as raising all that money in hopes of saving another mother and father from the heart break they have to live with for the rest of their lives.
Marry Me Girl Be My Fairy To The World
Question: If you like someone, but they think you're "great as a friend" (the words 'salt water' and 'open wound' ring a bell right now), how do you go about getting over them?
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