A writing or writer's holiday

They say never go back. Nothing is ever as good as we remember. Sometimes they're right. I went to Scotland last year, to a hotel we went to years and years ago and had always wanted to return to and it wasn't the same. Mostly, because there were fewer red squirrels because they had cut down a lot of the trees. I also went back to the Lake of Menteith and Inchmahome Priory a few years ago and it was nowhere near as magical as the first time. But that place had grown to near mythic-like status in my mind, so much so, I constantly wear a ring on my left hand I bought there to remind me of the place and it helps me when I'm anxious; it centres me, grounds me and brings me serenity, taking me back to the first time I went there and luckily the second time hasn't marred the memory of bright sunshine after a rainy morning; the clouds literally parted as we got there; having the island almost to ourselves and the instant peace I felt as soon as I stepped off the boat and onto the island. I never take the ring off, even when I'm having a panic attack and all my jewellery and some clothes have to come off as it all feels constricting, that ring always stays on.

The Lake of Menteith and Inchmahome, so serene

However I'm returning to an area of the world I haven't been to for almost 20 years: Carmarthernshire. I went to Aberystwyth, Machynlleth and Ceredigion as recently as five years ago; Aberystwyth is where I did my library degree; but not further south. I love those three place names, spelling them, without help I might add, and mentally sounding them out. We had a favourite resort we stayed in many times near Laugharne, the home of the poet Dylan Thomas. We're not staying there as that would be a nostalgic step too far, but we will go back to Laugharne. I hope it lives up to the treasured memories. The last time we were there, I didn't have a digital camera, a mobile phone or any technology really other than a Tamagotchi! I'm hoping it will help clear my mind, shake off this fug and blow away this mental fog.

Laugharne beach

Basically I'm hoping this Easter holiday is going to force out this writer's block. Yes, I'm finally admitting I have writer's block. For me, that phrase makes me think about a lack of ideas, fear of the blank page and procrastination. However writer's block is at heart about a loss of confidence, fear of not being good enough and, okay, procrastination. Anyway, I've written about writer's block before and far more eloquently.

Mental veil

It feels like there's a veil between me and the world right now, where I'm existing, not living. I'm not experiencing anything other than on a shallow level, not making enough ties, bonds or relationships. Nothing is reaching me, tugging at my heart, funny bone or tear ducts. Apart from watching Harry Hill and Martin Kemp on Bake Off which did all three. Is it worrying that people I will never meet incite reactions far beyond those from the people I love and care about? It's difficult to explain, but I've felt this way many times during my life, sometimes so much I convince myself I'm an automaton, sometimes its only momentary. But this mental weather has set in. So, onward to Wales and forging deeper connections.

Just write too

Trust

Tells you what you want to hear

Tells you what you don’t want to hear

Doesn’t tell you what you should hear

Need to hear

Anxiety tells you your worst fears

Anxiety makes it so you can’t see the way forward

Anxiety is afraid of the future

Fears uncertainty

Depression tells you your worst thoughts about yourself

Depression makes you feel as nothing is worthwhile

Depression dwells on the past so you can’t live

Only exist

The voice of conscience is a liar

It makes it so all you can see is you

It colours the world so you can’t see through

Can’t see the truth

Everything is all or nothing

Everything is always and never

Everything is black and white

No shades of grey

You can’t trust your mind

You can’t trust your body

You can’t trust yourself

You can’t trust it

Mental health

I Weigh

A wonderful, patient and supportive family

Against a head full of thoughts that weigh me down 

The powerful resilience of half a lifetime living with daily anxiety

With the burden of a chronic illness, dizziness and vertigo

The need to express myself creatively

Alongside the frustration of unrealised potential

An ability to lose myself in books, films and TV

Beside a crippling lack of confidence and doubt

An insatiable curiosity and need to learn

Yet the knowledge it can never be fulfilled

A compassionate and empathetic nature

That comes with the burden of womanhood

Wide and wonderful hips

Together with a skewed self-image

My job, my vocation: a profession and a passion

Unmatched by a wearying personal loneliness

I weigh up a life full of contradictions

Dreamcatcher

We all need someone to catch us when we fall, but for most of us, the only person we can rely on is ourselves. Physical falls can be embarrassing, painful and potentially devastating, but time heals or allows us to become accustomed. Mental falls are hard to see, harder to deal with and can become physical, but they can be managed. Emotional falls are incapacitating, all-consuming and all-encompassing, but usually momentary either in the moment or for a period of time.

There are people to go to for aid: medical professionals, family and friends. However, we let our dreams fall every day. We nurture them, build them up and work towards them. We look for people to help us realise them and some may succeed. Yet, the vast majority simply let them go. They drift unchecked from our lives. They are thrown to the ground in frustration and anger and disgust. They are lain tenderly to rest and then abandoned.

But what if there was someone there to catch them for you, keep them until you have need of them again, care for them while you make yourself ready for them? From the smallest that is barely visible to the human eye, to the biggest that sucks the oxygen out of the room. From the brightest that is full of hope, to the dimmest that is a fleeting thought. From the fullest that has physical presence, to the merest wisp of a thing. All are caught, captured and maintained, waiting for when all promise is lost and they fade away into the void of broken dreams, or they are taken up again, life is brought back into them and they are introduced to the world. What if there were a catcher of dreams?

Just write

In a view to actually writing this story and realising that to be a writer, I have to write, I've been doing some writing. It's mostly poems, free verse and rhyming verse inspired by snow, my first panic attack in months and other things. Let me know what you think!

Snow

Arriving delicately, gently, stealthily

It quietly covers the land, instilling hush

Feet powder through, leaving dark marks

marring the pure white and corrupting the purity

But the snow is relentless, pinpricking skin,

hiding the sins of dirt, rubbish and decay

It allows us a carte blanche we don’t deserve

Snow is the ultimate femme fatale,

all beauty and light yet bringing danger

It departs gradually or suddenly without warning

until not a trace can be found, like it was never there

Away without a backward glance

Caring not for the consequences

Leaving us with the chaos that is left in its wake 

Ice

Snow turns to ice if time is on its side

Where snow is a cool blanket, a white carpet,

Softening and veiling and concealing

Ice is transparent, a see-through wall

blocking you from what it is beneath

Where snow is a femme fatale

Ice is a plain, cold attempted killer

Grey and black and a clear and present danger

Shining with contempt and glittery in the light

It takes away solidity and complacence

Replacing it with pure uncertainty

Wheels slide, feet slip and paws skitter

Causing embarrassment and pain

Or potentially something more permanent

A Light Touch

A brush of the hand

One finger on the pulse

A toe in the water

A step instead of a foot

An inch instead of a mile

A hop instead of a leap

A rock instead of a shoulder

An anchor instead of a weight

A burden instead of a gift

A grip on the arm

A grip on reality

A grip on love

Holding something tangible

Holding on for dear life

Holding on to you

First grey hairs

The metallic sheen of copper tones is now laced with precious silver, in sharp relief against the dark brown. The first may have been cruelly untimely wrenched from their roots, but when they became more of a battalion than lone soldiers, entrenching in enemy territory until they could no longer be avoided, they were embraced like liberators. These grey strands are not a sign of a person on the wane, a gradual downfall, nor an ebbing of the tide, but a symbol of growing proof that anything can be survived with the right support, stubbornness and belief. They are strings of hard won battles and hard time done over many years, earned through pain, determination and resilience. They are a mark that you have lived and continue to live, reaching a time you thought you may not live to see.

Small Victories

When nothing you do seems to matter
When nothing you do seems to stick
When your thoughts scream and scatter
When your life goes by so quick
It is easy to see only the wrong
It is easy to see only the bad
Rather than seeing where you're strong
Rather than seeing what makes you glad

So a drift in focus, a forgotten task
A brief relapse and a bad night
Become something important in which to bask
An excuse to give in and give up the fight
Yes they are awful at the time
Yes they hurt those around you
They make the hill harder to climb
They make the day harder to get through

But each time they happen you learn
But each time they happen others see
You learn who can help, where to turn
Others see a glimpse of you, how to be
One step forward two steps back
Is still a positive, still means hope
So be kind to yourself, give yourself some slack
Because you know you and you know how to cope

You just may not see it right now
You will make it, get through somehow
Small victories are for the best, so take a bow