…or lack thereof…
So, I haven’t blogged for a while. The truth about any period of reduced mental health, or, ‘being mental as fuck,’ as I call it in my seriously un PC head, is a rather more prosaic state than it can sometimes sound.
When the demons come to vacation, perspective pisses off to god knows where. At least with me, practiced these days in the art of being functional during such periods, this is a time to restrict one’s perimeter, psychologically hunker down with those most close, and do what needs doing till light creeps in once more.
We know, my soul partner and I, that family and friends, of which we are blessed to enjoy in some quality, are there, always ready to support and help when ever such intervention is required. We are blessed in that regard. When one feels unwilling, or feels unable to talk to anyone, it is awesome to know that folk are there, simply waiting for any call, should they be needed.
It is a spectrum thing, some folk, way out there with difficulties so awful it breaks one’s heart. All the way back to those able to smile in public whilst wilting in private. There are common features to these kinds of conditions, including but not by any means an exhaustive list: cold sweats, anxiety dreams, as previously mentioned, loss of perspective to varying degrees, and often, a seemingly paralysing inability to carry on so called normal activities, out there in the not so great ‘out there.’ From light discomfort, through life limiting effect, to full blown bat shit serious, as an ex-Prime Minister, of deceased porcine bothering infamy, once said, meaningless platitude style, correctly but without any real sense of conviction, ‘We are all in this together.’
…forced, all in, unbounded…
So, the fag end of 2017 saw our lives change. That is, my soul partner’s life and mine. A deeply, all encompassing challenge period began. My wife and I sat in silence, in solitude, in fear, inside an ancient three spired cathedral. There was one thing we craved and one single thing we needed. All, suddenly, was thrown into sharp relief. Nothing had ever felt so elemental. My soul partner’s health was our only prayer.
…persisting in time…
Last weekend, my wife and I once more sat in the very same cathedral. In the same chapel, in contemplation again, this time, offering silent thank yous for prayers answered. Lichfield cathedral has survived a reformation, a civil war, two world wars, and of course, countless personal dramas, all of which were/are elemental in their intensity for the individuals involved. Lichfield cathedral, sanctuary space, has persisted in time despite the cruel fate of circumstance. For a human moment, Maggie and I are emulating the defiance of our favourite ecclesiastical architecture. For all the recent, and past, crazy, mental carnage of catastrophising thoughts, and for all the slings and arrows of a physical nature, we seem to be standing still… How on earth did that happen? However it happened, it is my belief that love made the difference. Love, faith (in something, anything – perhaps, each other – certainly…), and a good dollop of healing thoughts from friends and family alike, and hey presto, here we still are.
Here and now
…right here, right now…
There are some in our circle of friends and family we would like to mention. As above, this is not an exhaustive list, but a few names come to mind right here, right now. So, stay strong, Our Christine, Our Michael, Our Adele, Our Sue. And, great news, stay strong, Our Kirsty.
One last thing, before you comment, follow so you never miss a post, like, think bad of me… as you see fit, ideas on a postcard what the following formula, found chalked on a door outside the cathedral means?