Putting back the pieces of that jigsaw

Tuesday 1st August is today…

I’m finally beginning to return to a mental state I truly couldn’t even remember, or imagine, feeling again, only a few days ago. With it, I am beginning to find I can manage to stomach the necessary step forward towards my goal of advancing further along the ‘road to recovery’- flicking through and reading of 2017’s notebooks. I keep notebooks for many reasons- mainly, to use as a point of reference for remembering the little details of work, life reflections, little doodles, list making… You get my point.


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Abstractions

 


 

The point being:

That when it comes to needing to reflect on decisions made, money spent, quotes overheard, study notes taken throughout the process of developing into final ‘version’ of each 365 days’ worth of person, you become, to take forth into the year to follow.

It builds you up, does a year. But all too easily, we can become so entwined within the ‘devil’s details’, of the many events and happenings of the world around us, as it smuggles us through the belly, as a meal, which ‘time’ digests.

So it is understandable that sometimes, life’s stresses, it’s losses, gains, ailments and tragedies- inflict considerable indigestion for us, as we try to reap the optimal ‘nutritional value’ to be gained, for our bodies, out of the quagmire rendered for us by the swallowing of too many ‘life details’ in one gulp. It mists our vision, and our clarity over what we see, feel, remember, and absorb, from just one fraction of a full year’s worth of life lessons to be learned.


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Opening thoughts, extracted from January’s notebook:

 

“Who do I go to for help? I could say I should have noticed the signs sooner, I should have spoken out more desperately.

 

But the problem is, I did speak out. I did tell people that I was worried about going beneath the ‘dip’ line.

Once beneath said ‘dip line’, you begin entering the stomach of Depression, from where it is so much harder to climb back out.

Because, once you’re ‘ingested’, and the gullet has swallowed you down the tract, you become your own ‘prey’, heading to digestion and break-down.

Here, in the stomach of Depression, you are torn apart from your once ‘whole’ being, and separated, categorised and ‘filed away’- ready for the enzymes of your own breaking mind, to begin their work in the assimilation of your soul.


 

So, perhaps I wasn’t so blind from the very beginning, after all. In fact, I maybe even had all the insight and foresight iv’e needed all along…

 

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