Tag Archives: Reflections

Salvaging the sails

Trigger warning: Post contains references to Addiction and Sexual Assault

 

Writing this post has taken me a great deal of courage. However, as does every day require courage, every hour that I continue to walk this path, towards recovery. Thus, if ‘practice makes perfect’, I have reasoned with myself, that it is okay, and probably a good thing, to write with courage, too.

This is a reflective post, speaking of recognition, sadness, determination, and hope. The metaphorical style helped me to communicate something through words, which I still don’t fully understand myself. Hope whispers to me, that someday I will, and therefore will find myself better equipped to win this battle.


There is a ‘demon’ inside my brain, and it has managed to gain near total command. This demon manifests itself as addiction.

It entered my life, disguised in a mask, performing the role of a ‘friend’, and in the beginning, it played the trick of being helpful. This masked stranger quenched my thirst, my aching, for a temporary release, from all the anguish of what was going on around me, to me, and to others as well.

I know that I need to reclaim my own mind, and wrench back control from the demon. Take back the reigns, upon realising they are no longer in my grasp.

Fear and despair warn me, this demon is going to hurt me, particularly as I begin to fight back. It will scream, kick, and shout at me. All of its might will be thrust forward, in the demon’s attempt to survive.

Clenching, tough onto these reigns, desperate to persist in dominating my head space, leaking poison into my mind and my will, the demon is adamant it shall not relinquish, never let go of the throbbing life source which sustains it. That ‘life source’ being the ‘treasure’, which it found, lurking within the deep waters of my psyche.

The Demon’s treasure chest exists not, as one might expect, in the form of a breakable crate, dripping with Gold, jewels, wealth, prize or happiness. Rather, it is the antithesis of such a positive, glowing beacon. There lies no victory to behold, here, for any good willed explorer.

‘Treasure’ for this demon, was/is in fact the lack of it. It emerged as emptiness, a hollowed out crate, where once harboured self-belief, ambition, hope, faith, volition and will.

When the world around me came to blows, seemed to strip away all I knew about myself, all that comprised my identity, almost everything I held so dear and close. Like a tsunami which washed away my happiness, stole the love of my life, swept away my love for life, crippled my career, and bleached out my livelihood, came the breakdown of my mind. In the aftermath, I felt that all I had left was a tired and tested, faltering soul.

When followed, that violent sexual assault, the breaking of a trust I had so desperately believed in, through dark, vulnerable hours, my soul seemed all but smothered, leaving an empty shell of self, all the light flicked out.

That empty shell  is what the demon treasures, the hollow cave, where once sparked my soul- this diminished esteem is what grants the demon it’s dreadful power, power to remain captain of a ghostly vessel. Steering my ship beneath its own sails, towards ever blackening darkness, a watery grave.

And yet my soul remains, as do my sails, and all the fire within me could never be smothered. The demon knows this, and this truth frightens it’s core. Hence it’s rampage. Fearing the fateful inevitable: That once again my soul and my mind will sail the ship. The opportunistc demon shall lie, defeated. Not merely inhibited, completely extinguished.


 

Lost For Words

;

I haven’t written anything for a long time now. Life events have had me lost for words, but i’m making a conscious decision now. It’s time to allow the words to flow.

I cannot keep on ‘hiding’ behind my fear. Fear is a terrible place to hide behind, because fear is extremely obvious!

Note to self- If I want to hide behind something, opt for something a little more discreet, perhaps. Hiding behind courage, might be somewhere for me to start.

So I will start again there…

Courage

Not the absence of fear or despair
But the strength to conquer them.

I have a good friend to thank, for once gifting me with these words. It’s about time that I finally found out how to use them!

rowett and his sunflowers

shape abstraction again


Like I did say, I am lost for words.

Perhaps
All I needed to proclaim, was this   ;


Spring brings colour

I love colour…

Take Cabbage. People tend to associate Cabbage with a ‘boring’ food. Just look at it growing in a new light though, and the rich purple contrasts against green in the most vibrant way.

Thankfully, Spring is here. Admittedly, it’s been a turbulent one so far, with its surprise snow, and determined angstsy rainstorms. But when is life not like that!? Welcome the storms of ice, rain, sunshine, sand and rainbow…

It’s time to see the colour in the so called ‘mundane’, once again!


 

The green mist

Hidden, lie the unseen branches

Vanished, now- unseen green bloom

Deathly claws frosting, winter’s gloom

Tender, stems sleep, beneath chill moon

Fallow, the heart of a breathless Earth

 

Yet still come the brave, to spear through

Ice glazed armour

You will see me though.


balcony view

Awakenings

So, I have realised today, that it’s about time I started digging again. Digging properly, digging for me, and for the sake of future flowers/food.

I also need to begin writing again. Writing properly. Writing for me, and for any others who are interested, or happen to relate to any of the issues I find myself blogging about, over the months.

Months, in the past tense, being felt by their very own- memory hoarding piece of Neurological equipment, if you like- as though having passed, in the way of being ‘lost at sea’, and totally at the mercy of the waves.

See when I try to remember, in any kind of meaningful, contingent or chronological manner, the streetlight like glow, of the traumatic events which turned last year into a living nightmare for me, it isn’t exactly a straightforward process.

Perhaps with more time (admittedly, time truly can prove to be a fairly decent Nurse), those memories will begin to feel less raw. Then, perhaps, they could manage to form some kind of structure. Such as a pattern of rocks, washed up on a beach.

Until then, it would appear, my life and the words which seem to need writing, will have to crack on. In a positive, and productive way. So, let’s begin with the latest Dig for Victory style project!

Over March, and now that the so called ‘beast from the east’ and other snow related weather events, are seemingly hushed for now, I intend to try my luck at creating as much ‘garden’ and growing space, as possible, using only a very limited space, which is technically just a balcony.

I will have to think of inventive ways, to build what should look, feel, and hopefully, function as, a small garden, upon something which feels more like a windowsill, than an allotment, let’s face it.

Watch this space, I therefore add!

For there will be pictures of an on-going process, which hopefully can succeed, in turning a canvas of predominantly, grey emptiness, into a vibrant and green honey bee’s playground (sorry neighbours… Bees were here first, and the honey they make is well worth having to see more of them ‘buzzing around’).


 

 

 

 

Tea and Consent

You Tube video- tea and consent

Someone who has been helping me to recover from a fairly horrendous event, showed me a video, which addresses the issue of ‘Consent’, in the realm of Sex.

It’s important, but not all of us like talking about it. We don’t necessarily mind talking about sex, or tea, for that matter, when it is good. It depends who you’re with, even just when it comes to talking about it, right?

The thing is, it turns out that sadly, there do exist some individuals in the world, who need some assistance with coming to understand, what ‘Consent’ is. What is ‘yes’, what is ‘no’. The person who shared this with me, explained how she felt it was a really important video for younger people to be able to watch, too, for educational purposes. I agree. It doesn’t matter who you are, where you came from, this issue of what constitutes ‘Consent’, matters. Saying this, actually, I will say that the video applies really, to ‘adults’, or legal age of above 16, according to UK law, who are deemed to be capable of making decisions. But I still say the video applies to all, because while legal issues surrounding consent do take on additional force, for those dealing with ‘Consent’ who are under a certain age, the matter at hand- Do you want to engage in this activity with me, or not- remains the same.

This may not be a totally uplifting post, but it is a necessary one, I think!


 

Chronic love pangs

I sometimes wish there was a means of silencing that ‘magical’ human condition which most of us living are subjected to, sometimes with pleasant effects, but so often with bewilderingly painful and complicated ‘symptoms’. Love- what a brutal yet necessary force in our lives.

Don’t get me wrong, love can be beautiful. Love is beautiful. I’m certainly not unique in finding myself having to write about it, and forgive me for submitting to what feels a bit like a cliche. At moments, it can’t be helped though.

For me at the moment (hopefully not forever), love burns badly, in a way which I cannot adequately describe in words. It is burning at my core, in a way which is infringing on my ability to even function normally. Thus, leading to the emergence of an immense desire to ‘switch it off’, not necessarily permanently, but at least for long enough for me to be able to move on.

Loving someone so intensely never goes away, and perhaps i’m simply a slow learner in this subject area. I feel so new to the world of ‘getting over heartbreak’ and love ‘lost’. I don’t have practice… can anyone ever have the required level of ‘practice’ or ‘preparation’ to equip them well in dealing with chronically ‘unmet’ love pangs?

It really is downright difficult to imagine ever being able to find yourself, and your sense of wholeness once again, after you spent so long believing so strongly that you were only ‘complete’, when loved in return by a partner you adored. Adore, still, despite all the pain.

That thing people say, about ‘time being a great healer’… well, so far, it doesn’t feel like it’s nursing the wounds particularly breathtakingly, for me so far. It just seems to be making the hurt fester, and begin to blister. Perhaps this is an initial ‘necessary evil’, before scar tissue can begin to form, before gradually becoming smoother, eventually fading. This is desperate hope talking- I so sincerely long for the day that the scar tissue paves over the gaping hole.

I long to rebel against my ‘addiction’ to the person who can no longer return my love. This has surely got to mean some form of ‘progress’, at least that’s what i’m going to have to keep telling myself, for a very long time.


 

What If?

What if the ‘Internet‘, which we created, as humans, by ourselves…

Is actually a bit of a ‘Mental Illness’?


I’m just saying, what if?

Because, actually, when you really think about it (and yes, I am completely thrilled, to be aware of how Paradoxical an investment upon the mind it is, to deliver the content of this ONLINE blog, to the mind itself, so as to ask ‘you’ all to ‘read’ it….)

Just, have a little think about it maybe?


Lonely Saturday

It’s been a while since I have been able to write on my blog. I’m going to have to give an honest account of this. My ‘spark’ has been snuffed out, over this last year. Particularly over the past three months.

I feel alone. It’s quite sad, and scary to admit this. I feel as though I have isolated myself, far too much.

I love my friends and my family. Of course, i’d like to imagine they love me right back! I just feel sorry that if my own sadness, and mental health ailment- for wont of a better word- has affected and hurt others. Because it must be really, really damn hard, to try and get one’s head around the fact, that I have found myself on occasions, feeling so low, helpless and burdensome to all those around me, that I felt I needed to end my own life, just to put a stop to all the misery, the upset, and the ‘chaos’ I felt I was inflicting on other people.

Just by being me.
Myself.

Ellie.

I feel like a wreck of my former self.  I used to like living.

How bad to myself can I even get?

I seem to be intent on punishing myself  for the hurt people have caused me, and for the hurt …

See now i’m thinking.

I am beginning to recognize that by hurting myself,

by putting myself in situations where I am vulnerable,

I only fulfill a kind of predetermined  death certificate, for which, I sometimes forget my own reason to live.

This will sound ‘crazy’ to readers, i’m imagining. Of course it is completely ridiculous, in terms of logic and common sense, ‘survival of the fittest’ (and all that jazz), but for me, I can confidently suspect that I am not alone in this.

I cannot be alone in all of this turmoil.

In SUM:
I WILL SURVIVE.

I WILL

I WILL

I WILL.

windowsill sunflower

Just like the seed, which perseveres beneath that soil, to eventually sprout and bloom into growth, of a new life, and a new Sunflower (in this particular case of the above seedling photo, anyway!).

Spinning in Spiral

spinningspirals

Spinning in Spiral…

I creep into a tangle

Mildly plucked,

I’ve spun forsooth, a silvered web

Draped in need,

Dressed in lust, and endeavour

Sparkling eyes.

 

Look how she tries, endlessly tries

Let’s douse oneself,

Submerge ourselves

In dancing, we’re disguised from

Expectation’s hollow cries

 

I once hopped here, swirled in spiral

Trickled like a breeze

Upon an Autumn leaf

Where I joined in a dance

Red, yellow, Amber

Swivelling in splendour

Where here we lived within the spirit

Spurred on by the moment

A gust of sweet wind

Broke the grip of our comforts,

To free us, as we danced our way

Into the ground. Slumberbound.

 

We’ll still rise once again,

Like geometric, spiral soup

Nature sets our rhythm, and conducts our pulse

Nothing lasts forever,

Yet somehow the new sing, still

In a musical order, carried on

By the past and the older, time spent

Still timeless.


Written by Ellie Neves

image


 

The truth about the lost car keys, dawns upon me…

The truth about the lost car keys, dawns upon me…In the flowerbed I was trying to uproot a stubborn Dandelion in, back in about June this year. I didn’t have a trowel to hand at the time, and obviously thought I’d improvise… and this is probably why I’ve not seen my car keys since around June!

Note to self- think it through, and next time, take a garden basket for actual garden tools (excluding self).


 

Faded

 

The haunt, which hangs in the air like unspent static, is the fear of time, and purpose wasted. Everyday which goes by, without a routine, can scratch against my ‘ground’ like a hard sweeping brush. It’s etching away at the trial which i’d marked myself, in the vain hope I could ever, if needed, turn to the tattooed ground to remind myself of the way I am headed and the way I have come.

The path upon which I thought I had gained some footing is fading, and i’m not far behind.

It is during these moments, when, locked inside a tightly binding labyrinth of excessive reflection, that I long for the traveller’s Compass, to remind me of which direction to take, in order to step forwards and march on.

Sometimes, the colours on life’s map become faded.

texture-2115747_960_720

This story, of course, I leave to be continued…


 

Inhuman

trip shadow 2 123rf design

What is Human, I begin to ask…

If to be human is to feel loved, then I feel non-human,

If to be human is to procreate, then I feel inhuman.

Even if the human is the gardener, in the kindest, clearest, blue-ish world,

Then I feel inhuman.

If to be human is to loathe, then I feel most certainly incapable of humanity, which is slightly strange and sad. If it is to exist within a group, and submit to a social stacking order, I even then feel not a human, but a near observer. Of a hive that is not quite my own, but is still the most accessible to my body-bound mind.


Birds in flight from paint


Attention diverts to the outside of a mind… 


There is something wrong about the house. I shan’t even call it ‘my house’, as it feels completely not my own. Nor even Rowett’s, or the real landlord’s- perhaps more like the old man’s, who lives next door, and has done for many, many years.

Even then though, I feel he would take ownership of this house from a distance, as if knowing it’s rightful owner needed their claim to the stain of the bricks to be respected and left alone.

It breathes dust, ash, dirt and smog. All contents turn soon to a kind of trash, and clamber over one another in order to reach the little light.
I want to leave this house. It is uncomfortably temporary, and uncomfortably permanent.