Life Is Sacred

13 May

This won’t be a very good introduction.  This is a bad day for me, and so i doubt this post will be very engaging; a shame since it’s the first one. First impressions and all that.

I’ve been meaning to keep a blog (or at least, a consistent-ish online one, as opposed to random scribblings in a notebook) for a good while now.  Now i have an internet connection and a computer decent enough to do it, today’s the day. I have some rough pieces of writing on this PC, which I’ll find and post in a moment, and hopefully complete in the not-so-distant-future.

A book should tell a story, or be factual or funny or portray a journey. If this turns out to be a book, it will have a story, a beginning, a middle, and an end, I’ll get somewhere, be successful in some of my aims, or I’ll learn something about myself, or the world, that those ambitions I began with become meaningless. It won’t be a fantastic story, but a personal and honest account of how this life is, for me, for others? If it’s not those things, then it’ll be a diary: interesting and embarrassing and sentimental to me in years to come, and therapeutic now, at least.

It’ll be sporadic, cos I only write when I feel like it, and only about what I feel like writing, so maybe it’ll be difficult understand, but life’s like that, people are like that, I’m like that. Writing something like this in any other way would be a misrepresentation of something that’s supposed to be true, or true to me.

Try and channel it. Write it down. Try to understand it, manage it, make sense of it, identify it. Remember it? If you have to live with it, at least try to get something positive from it.

The thought troubling me today is: where does ‘it’ and ‘i’ begin? What’s really me and what isn’t, and how do I know the difference? I haven’t taken my tablets for a while. The difference is significant, and it has taken me a bit by surprise. The well of sadness is palpable again. I am very emotional, my eyes want to cry, it’s all lurking just below the surface. It’s shocking how quickly you forget how harrowing it is when you snuggled safely in a chemical bubble. I don’t feel too bad in this moment, or at least, it’s not in the centre, but I am smoking a spliff. Earlier, I felt very anxious/worried (no reason to be) This is not unusual…but not usual either. Not nice. I know the alone-ness would be acute if smoking wasn’t taking the edge off.

I am surprised because, having resisted medication for years (not because I didn’t think it could work, but because I couldn’t (wouldn’t?) acknowledge I was ill), the evidence that medication was at least helping to a point ( and therefore, the realisation that this IS a sickness, and not just me) is undeniable. But if that is true, and most of my life I have thought it was just me, normal to feel and behave that way, how do I know what is reality? What is me, and not me? Me and illness? I was strange and unfamiliar before, now I am a bigger question mark and that makes me afraid.

People are just a series of chemical reactions and electrical impulses? That’s it?

I stopped taking them because it is a false door, an illusion, just like the smoking. It doesn’t really help me get better, it just stops me feeling so bad in the interim. It just postpones the reality, but it’s still there, in the post. So what’s the point in relying on yet another chemical to be able to cope, to function? I need to be getting off this shit, not on more.

I’m doing ok. I mean, I would like to not be reliant on anything, to be able to cope on my own, but Rome wasn’t built in a day, and i don’t feel very strong or very capable at all at the moment. I get by on a day-to-day, sometimes moment-to-moment basis. But i AM getting by, and that’s what counts.

It is a beautiful sunny day and i don’t have anything to do except enjoy it, my jobs are done and my boy is with his dad today. The lawn here has just been cut and smells delicious. It’s bright green and the sky is azure blue. The apple tree is in blossom. The world is beautiful in it’s springtime promise.


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