As a ‘Writer’…

As a ‘writer’, I find inspiration in everyday life. My mind is constantly writing – looking for things I can borrow from. The earth, the universe, strangers, family, friends, loved ones… I find stories in most things, every day. I find myself narrating in my own mind, more times than I can count – most times without even realising. I mentally write stories about things that never even make it onto the page. Every day. Like an addiction. I write without even being conscious of it, it is within me. It is my nature. I observe and I see. I have a mind cramed full of words. But then I don’t. Social situations are not my nature. They are mostly difficult, with rare exceptions. Talking to talk, is not my nature. Talking about myself openly and without prompting is not my nature. But writing. Writing is like a cool breeze on the hottest day of the year. It is a relief. A hope. A wish. Writing is everything. The weights of the world lift off my shoulders as soon as my fingers run across the keyboard. The scratch of a pen against paper fills my soul with such lightness, it makes my breath stop.

The feeling of that last sentence. Of pulling everything together neatly, of feeling that closure… Of getting to have the last word. Just this once… or until the next time that my fingers meet the keyboard.

 

 

I Wished For You, Too

The years have been hard,
A dullness, a dark room without any light.

Hands always stretching out ahead, chasing,
Everything always just out of reach.

I thought of you when I needed some colour in the darkness,
A flash of hope, of what I might one day find.

I always had you in the back of my mind, a faceless silhouette,
An imaginary hand to hold, someone to have my back.

Always a hope, an imaginary person who could never exist,
A mind broken and unrepairable, always wanting the impossible.

A decade later and I found ways to light up my own self,
Ways to heal my own soul.

My imaginary person no longer a hope to be held onto,
A dream lost, acceptance and independence taking its place.

A few more years come to pass,
A complete loss of hope, of self.

A change of scenery,
A new found freedom, new beginnings.

A new person,
Appearing out of nowhere, a shock to the system.

Like a breath of fresh air, a sudden cold shower,
Life was no longer just a dim light, colours were returning.

So many words, positive and freeing,
Butterflies and rainbows and everything else in between.

Nights spent talking, sharing,
Happiness no longer seemingly out of reach.

Fate always finds a way,
Destiny, it seems, cannot be avoided.

Dream Trip

‘By the time I’m 30, I’ll be recovered enough to go to New York.’ 

I lost years of my life to mental illness, with the hope of one day being able to recover – the one consistent thought being ‘by the time I’m 30…’ By the time I’m 30, I’ll have recovered, faced my fear of flying and be taking a trip to New York City.

The trip of a lifetime, that is going to be filled with so many emotions and so much hope. 

I have the motivation and determination to fund this trip myself, however, there are many barriers in front of me. 

Every little helps.

 

Money has never been something that came to me, it is not something I have ever had a lot of access to and I have always been against the idea of doing this – but here we are. I am not expectant this will help or happen, however, with my finances as they are, my reliance is on my overdraft.

Desperate times call for desperate measures…

GoFundMe

…But Not Too Much

I decided I need to treat this place as though it is home because that is exactly what it is now. For the last couple of weeks, I have walked around and ventured to different areas without much thought.

At home, I used to go out for a Pepsi, sit and relax and enjoy the calmness.
At home, I used to go out for a Pepsi and sit and people watch.

This is home for me now and I have settled better than I had ever expected myself to – my first time living away from my family home and my family is not as frightening as expected.

I need to treat this place as though it is home… but not too much. Home is where I got sick, where I failed constantly to try and recover and repair myself. Home is a place where I lost too many things, too many people. Home is full of memories that I cannot escape from – people I cannot escape from.

Now it is time to start living like I want to. In the present.

Time to start living how I always have done. With strength.

Time to start moving.

Time to find Costa…

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Hope

I had a jar of hopes – a literal jar that I would fill with small pieces of paper with my hopes written down.

Today, the wind sent the jar flying and it smashed. All my hopes that I have not read since I wrote them down, scattered all over the floor. I have debated for a long time, ‘when would be the right time to open the jar and rediscover my hopes?’ Maybe fate saved me from coming up with an actual answer.

I hope CBT will be my cure (2011)
I hope we don’t stay long (2011)
I hope Grandad comes home today (2011)
I hope to be brave (2012)
I hope to get on a bus today (2012)
I hope to get my head around maths (2012)
I hope my first day at Franklin goes well (2012)
I hope to know what I want (2015)
I hope to travel (2016)
I hope to make all the changes that I need to make (2016)

And then there is this:
I stopped hoping. For some reason, at some point hoping didn’t seem to be enough. My Grandad is dying, my Nanna is dead. (No date)

Reaching

You came to me as a bairn
I reared you with such joy
You forgave me my mistakes
and loved me through my journey.

By my side, you stayed,
My shadow, gracious and true.

A content gent, you grew to be
As the years came to calm me,
so they calmed you, too.

Bursting to the brim with love,
with despair
My soul carries on reaching
Constantly searching
Hoping reality was not
That you are not really gone;
Just temporarily absent.