Well, well, well. It’s Friday evening, and I am listening to the dulcet tones of Bon Jovi, via YouTube, rocking Wembley Stadium in 1995, Live From London. And I’m currently rocking in my mind, and travelling back in time to my younger days, my ears listening in sheer delight to Keep The Faith. Oh my, now it’s Always.
A lot has happened in my life since my last posting, mostly good. I will no doubt come back and talk about this towards the end of the month. But for now, I have some musings to discuss, regarding World Mental Health Day, which falls on Tuesday, 10th October and October being Infant Loss Awareness Month. Taboo subjects, although I’m no stranger to both.
The first piece I have included here, is an insight into my mind, and how it works sometimes. It’s called Feeling Dissonant, and it was written after I returned to work after a short spell in hospital after a Bi-Polar relapse. I remember sitting in work at my desk, and there being a lull in between calls coming through to my headset. It sums up my experience of being in hospital, and then having to re-join society.
Cast back into society having been released from a woven net of thoughts and feelings, flowing as fast as a river, sea or ocean and then crashing against a pile of jagged rocks, and crumbling shingles on a cluttered beach. Released from a room with four walls, a bed, a bedside table. A bed you have to make yourself, although you had been deemed as ‘unwell’. A feeling of resentment building, as they have staff to make the beds, and you’re well and truly not staff at all, despite other patients asking whether you are.
A daily routine of getting up, bathing, getting dressed and eating three square meals a day, a routine that’s drilled into you over three weeks, three months, or even six. Depending on however long they see fit for you. Snacking in between meals from the vending machines, and pacing up and down the wards with boredom, as you are stuck behind a locked door. You have no key of your own and you can’t go out on your own. Still not sure after all these years whether the world and its oyster views you as dangerous to them, or do you see the world, as how shall I put it, completely deadly?
Deadly, death, decay and dying. Snakes and ladders, and games of the mind. Memoirs of a happy childhood stored on a floppy disk, corroded in a house flood long ago, with pictures and memories of happy times, brimming with the promise of a bright future.
The second piece is a poem which conveys the internal struggle I’ve had with myself over my biological clock and not being able to secure IVF funding, regretting past events in my life, and a missed opportunity of being a mother. Again, this poem was written during my return to work, but only saw the light of day when read aloud in a Creative Writing group I attended, for well-being and as part of the Learn To Grow project in my home town.
Tick, tick, tick,
Is the soundtrack
To my biological clock.
Sometimes it’s sweet
Other times it’s sour
All depending on the day
And often the hour
Longing for children of your own
Sometimes regretting times gone past
Ifs, buts and maybes
Of what could have been
If the life inside had a chance to breathe
Twisting, turning paths in the years gone since
Always wondering just what I’ve missed.
I’ve reached a point in my life, where I no longer feel broody when I see new-born babies, or have an overwhelming desire to procreate. That doesn’t mean I’ve ruled out the possibilty of having a life-long companion in the shape of a fur-baby, preferrably a dog as opposed to a cat. Signing off for now cyberspace, and I will no doubt be back in a couple of weeks with another update with life, its ups and its woes.