Week 9

Failed miserably at week one of allocating distinct time but the good news is that I managed to find some before the end of the week.  While talking to a friend about stuff, it occurred to me that the content of this blog thus far has been focused mainly on negative states.  Not always a good thing but maybe useful in terms of learning to connect to my emotions (currently mostly negative) as I get used to writing about what is going on both internally and externally.  Looking at what I need to support my writing last week was intriguing in terms of also thinking about what I need for living.  A window seat and a pair of headphones to write, a view and music to live, something to look at and something to listen to.  Intriguing too, as my listening skills are actually really shocking.  My lovely hubby, J, has suffered a lot from this and will probably be surprised to know that not only am I aware of this but am actually working really hard at getting better at it.  Music is a key part of my life and is also a key part of my novel.  I’m not sure how it’s going to work but I really want to use music to trigger memories, both good and bad, for my leading lady as well as provide support for progressing.  I found a lot of strength in my early recovery from music and it can really pick me up when I’m down.  I should also add that it can be like magic when I can dance to it too, space allowing.

Exercise – write about being trapped, thinking about how it feels, fictionalise if wanted…

As I looked at the wine bottle I could swear that I saw something move.  Half full of red wine, the bottle had called to me across the kitchen, tempting me to take a sniff, to just have a little sip.  No-one was here to notice, no-one to chastise me, to tell me to stop, to ask what I was doing, what harm could there be in a sip?  If I’m honest, it had been tempting and I found myself moving towards it, my body taking me forward.  But now, just there in the bottom of it, something moved.  It wasn’t an animal or an insect but definitely some kind of creature.  As I peered more closely at it, I began to see a leg and then an arm.  Two tiny feet passed against the glass, almost human but not quite.  The creature’s skin was grey, a dirty grey, and it was worn and wrinkled.  It was moving slowly in the wine, part swimming, part floating, part drowning.   As I watched it, I became aware of how I was feeling.  My skin was prickling, hot on the inside and cold on the outside.  The wine, no longer alluring but reeking of vinegar, was so overpowering that my stomach began to churn, my head to pound.  A face appeared and looked directly at me, its eyes wide and bright, an enticing smile willing me to enter.  Momentarily I moved and then stopped as I saw a glimpse of a gloat.  As I stayed rooted to the spot, its eyes darkened, the brows furrowed, nostrils flared and the smile narrowed to a glare.  The creature let out an almighty howl that I felt roll against my skin but could not hear. It pushed its face against the green glass, snorting through its nostrils, wailing silently, the wine drowning out any trace of a sound before disappearing into the darkness.  The prickles subsided, the sickness settled and my head calmed.  I turned towards the door and turned out the light.

Week 8

What a coincidence that having written about time last week, this week's chapter is about allocating time to writing.  A coincidence? Or maybe I read ahead and have forgotten.  Either way, this week is about working out exactly what (and where, and how) my core writing time is.  And surrounding it with barbed wire.  This is actually much needed and obviously very appropriate for many of us.  Monday started out very well, I could find an hour to hide away, drink coffee and do what was needed.  Which is just what it was, do as was 'needed'.  I don't think that approach will get me very far, certainly hasn't worked successfully in the rest of my life.  Just enough to get by; without breaking a sweat; getting the pass mark; the bare minimum.  Probably all apply just as equally and while I'm doing ok, I think this book deserves better.  Therapy done half-heartedly will not get me better.  However, it is also the hardest thing to do properly.  It will not come without effort and it will not come without pain.  I don't like either.  What I do well at, is avoidance and distraction, in buckets.  So finding my writing time is highly needed, together with the barbed wire.  The weekend would seem the obvious place to start but I have always been uncomfortable eating into 'family time'.  Evenings after work are difficult too as once back in the house I find it difficult to get out again, especially in addition to existing commitments.  But, as I wrote that sentence I had a lightbulb moment.  I could write at work at the beginning of my day.  That would also help out with an additional issue - I need to be able to stay honest at work.  What do I mean by this?  For me and my recovery, I need to accept who I am and that 'am' needs to be the same everywhere.  I have to be comfortable to be my true self and to leave the masks behind.  At the moment, I can only do this when I feel safe, really safe.  But I need to work with my HP to feel safe and to let go of my angst especially at work.  It is amazing how hard it is to leave the masks on the floor, not to take the handles that are presented to me at the drop of a hat, to be myself.  A working wardrobe can start the masking process, full make-up, the drive to work, the steps to the office door, it all adds up and I need to lose this.  Some mornings are ok, I remember to pray for help, I remember to stay in touch and it works.  Other days start off all wrong and it can be a long time before I remember what I need to do.  If, at the start of my working day, I gave myself thirty minutes of writing, that would be a way of reminding myself that no matter what had happened up to this point, it was time to connect.  This could actually work.  A cup of coffee (decaf of course, a topic for another day), a pair of headphones and a window seat would be great.  Whether those three can succeed in the office remains to be seen.  It's definitely worth a try though.
The great news is that I get to start tomorrow on work day 1.  This post will now become the end of my week rather than the beginning.  I wonder what the effect may be........

Week 7

You know how some days don't always have 24 hours in them?  I think yesterday was one of those.  Or maybe I'd just been a tad overenthusiastic with the hours I had.  I'd gone to Bath for the day with some friends to go to a lunchtime meeting and see the Christmas markets.  The meeting was important to me because Bath has been an incredibly significant place in my life and I wanted it to be included in my recovery journey.  Seems I was right too, as no sooner did we enter the room but I was asked to be the share.  No sitting quietly in the corner for me, I had to put my story out there for the rest of the room and really allow myself to connect thoroughly.  It has taken me a while to come back from it but am here now and ready to post!

One of the unforeseen benefits of writing this blog is the need to take myself off every Monday (whoops) and have some 'me-time'.  In the past I have found this extremely difficult to do and not really understood why.  I still don't really know why but am beginning to see many possible reasons for it.  Perhaps by taking this blog on, some of those possibles will become the answers.  These days I really enjoy it and appreciate it, maybe the problem now is that I enjoy it too much.  Swinging from one extreme to the other has always been one of my 'talents', fortunately I have been learning about the beauty of balance and am working hard on finding some.

Exercise 4
Write about about being lost, in the broadest sense of the word.......

For many years I felt I'd been born into a world that was not mine.  Where the language being spoken was not my native tongue.  That the person looking at me from the mirror did not match the way I saw myself.  People around me behaved as if they fitted, as if they knew what was going on whilst I was left pretending that I did.  Only when I couldn't face it anymore, when I had no more ideas, did I finally come to a stop.  And only then, when I had no choice, did I begin to really look at who and what I was.
I don't think it ever occurred to me that I could be lost, that a path did exist for me but that I just wasn't on it.  Maybe it didn't occur to me because deep inside I knew I wasn't the only one that was lost.  That the people around me also had no idea what was going on.  That I thought they were ok with it because no-one suggested otherwise.  Whilst for me, it was definitely all wrong.  How wrong it was is difficult to say now, because hindsight changes everything.  I can no longer look at my past without assessing it against what I know now.  And now that I have found the path, it would be easy to forget the isolation and fear that came with being lost.  Fortunately I have a lot of work to do that will help me stay on my path, work that will aid me in ensuring that each of my steps lands firmly on the pavement.  Today, I am now comfortable on my journey, I have remembered to pack what I need for it and to trust that I will be safe.  I can go forward knowing that with the help of my Higher Power I can face the challenges sent my way and that I don't ever have to be lost again.  The world has become a wonderful place to be.  Yes there are those days and times when I don't tread firmly on the path, when I find myself in the mud, trudging.  But, as many of my friends know, trudging can be a good thing.  I will get to take it slowly, see the sights and not be in so much of a hurry.  Finding my way, one day at a time.

Thank you for reading, love to all of you, xxx

Week 6

'Writing is an active occupation, not a passive one....waiting for inspiration is like waiting for friends.  If you sit around the house and don't go out and meet them, they will never come. You have to make things happen.'

I'd completely forgotten to write today.  Life happening everywhere around me, birthdays, Christmas, children, the dog and now a hamster!  Chapter for week 6 suggests using ourselves as a starting point for writing and how our stories can be applied in many ways.  Feels reassuring to know that writing this blog is helping my progress especially when it doesn't look that way to the outsider.  I know that my novel in waiting will walk a fine autobiographical line and am really intrigued as to just how deep it will go.  It definitely feels that the writing of it will be the best therapy I can get and actually the therapy I need with no walking away saying that I'm fine now, thank you!  

I've spent many years looking at myself in the mirror, wanting to know what was going on inside and wondering why it wasn't working for me.  Many hours spent trawling the self-help shelves in any shop with a book section, searching for the book with my name on it and all the answers.  Sessions with psychiatrists, counsellors, friends. Training courses in neuro-linguistic programming, cognitive behaviour therapy, to name a few.  All in vain.  It feels that here, with this story, I will begin to understand; understand and accept.  Accept myself for who I am, what I am and why I am here.  That I will be able to become a human being and not a human doing. And that gradually, I will be able to look at myself in the mirror and just smile back, knowing that I am ok and that I don't need to know the answers.

Week 5

Not so good this week.  Yesterday was the anniversary of my becoming a mother.  More commonly  known as D's birthday.  I have no idea what is going on but it knocks me for six every time.  This year was better but today was too much for me and I have spent most of it hitting my head, literally and otherwise.  I am much relieved that it is an exercise week and that I don't have to share anymore of it.

Exercise 3
Think about a time in your life when you had an accident, a physical accident, and write a simple and straightforward account of it.

I cut my toe, my big toe, on a light bulb.  No, I wasn't walking across the ceiling, just tidying my room.  Tidying is possibly an understatement.  I was moving everything in my room, everything that I could physically move.  Which included my desk and my lamp, hence the bulb.  Walking across my room, with stuff scattered everywhere, I cut my big toe on a light bulb.  And boy, did it bleed.  I think it was the blood that caused me to scream, closely followed by my dad leaping up the stairs to my aid.  It became clear, quite quickly, that this was not going to be a sticking plaster moment and off to A&E we went.   I don't remember being in A&E that first time.  But I do remember going back when it became apparent that there was still a piece of glass left in.  One X-ray later and back into minor surgery we went, me and my toe.  The second set of stitches felt pain free in comparison to the previous ones and much to my relief it healed very quickly.

Week 4

It turns out that exercises are only set on alternate weeks, I guess this means there may be more of my ramblings than I had expected.  This has made me feel rather uncomfortable even though each week I have written more than the exercise itself.  I had assumed (great word) that every chapter would include an exercise for the week and I would be able to focus purely on that but it seems not.  What I have also been doing, alongside my assuming, is only reading the book on Mondays which are blog days. This is working at the moment but may need changing, only 'may' so I will think about it.  With no exercise to do I am left to write about where I am now, which is not so good at this point in time.
This afternoon, I thought I'd killed the dog.  Not killed her myself but that she'd been killed whilst under my care.  'The' dog makes it sound like a very disconnected relationship which isn't what it's like at all.  E is 11 months old and has been with us since the middle of February.  She had the challenge of coming into a household that had been dog-less for just over a year.  A difficult one given that her predecessor P was the most perfect dog and had left a hole that none of us thought could ever be filled.  While she hasn't replaced P, it became very clear, very quickly, that we had really needed her and that our family unit had been missing a limb.  Now, with our 5th leg, we are on an even keel (very mixed metaphors there but hey ho!), dealing with the storms that blow our way and moving forward again.  So, when I lost her this afternoon, it wasn't good.  Then, having driven around the block looking for her and seeing two men leaning over something next to their car at the side of the road, it did all crash down around me.  In the minute it took me to get them, I heard the screams of my children, saw her still and lifeless body and felt my heart cave in.   To find them leaning over a remote control car sent relief rushing through my entire body.  I'm not sure how it must be to have someone drive up to you to tell you how she thought you'd killed her dog, so I won't make any assumptions, but suffice to say they weren't there for long.  Having then spotted said dog, I eventually managed to tempt her back into the command of the fold and return safely home.   She didn't die.  There were no screams, no body, and life this evening is back on its even keel.  I went on an emotional roller-coaster for a couple of minutes this afternoon.  It had quite an impact on my day and I'd like to get off now please.

Week 3

Feeling very emotional today.

My daughter, S, has gone on a school trip for a week leaving me with a huge hole in my heart and a sinking feeling in my stomach.  Feelings and emotions, in particular my reaction to them, have become fundamental to my well being.  This may make perfect sense to many of you, in fact may not even need stating, however for me, it's a very different case.  I spent many years (more than 40) in complete ignorance of my lack of emotional understanding and only during my last few years in recovery has it become clear to me the importance of my emotional health.  From years of aimless desert wandering, I now find myself on a beach.  No longer does the sun bear down on me, wearing me out with its endless glare, my feet burning on the hot sand.   Nowhere to find shade or respite from the desperate thirst that will not leave me.  Today I can curl my toes into the sand, let the waves gently lap over me as I lie calmly on the shore.   The sun is my friend, it warms me and welcomes me to the day.  There maybe clouds but they provide moments of shelter and coolness.  It has taken a lot of work to get to this place and it will take more to stay here.  Now that I have rested, onto the job in hand.

Exercise 2

I want to write a novel because.....
.......carrying it about in my head is beginning to hurt.  It started as a small seed, a description of a moment in time, just one evening of a woman's life.  Over the past few years, it has slowly taken root, and as those roots have delved deeper into my head, so has the story gone further and deeper into my soul.  It has grown into a story of her past, from the fairy-tale romance to the developing of the darker days that led her to the present.  Then, much as a tree begins to bud, so does the story too, leading her from despair to hope, slowly and patiently with love and kindness.

Thank you for reading.