The design of the wallpaper above me shifts and swerves, contorting as my tired eyes strain to see through the pitch black. Sleep doth evade me once again.
With Claire De Lune playing softly, I feel a surreal moment of calm drift over me. As if I were no longer frustrated by the sleep deprivation. I’m content at watching the wallpaper dance and the subtle tones of Debussy play away. Am I actually asleep? Is this a dream?
If so, to wake now would be a travesty. To break this feeling of peace would feel wrong. I’m exhausted, yet I’m calm. Not a worry or thought other than what I hear and see.
It’s night’s like this that make me wonder, is sleep that important when I can be at my most comfortable and relaxed while awake?
Sleep will inevitably happen at some point, for an indeterminate amount of time. And it will be highly appreciated. Sleep I must and sleep I will, dreaming of the tranquillity that prevailed before it.
That’s all I have to say, goodnight 😊
So I turned thirty on the 12th of January, and I feel…… exactly the same. Age is simply a number. Some people ask ‘how does it feel?’ and I answer the only way I know how, with minimal wording and minimal thought, ‘exactly the same’.
I often think about what I have to show for thirty years on this earth, the answer being not a lot. But that isn’t entirely true….I’ve only been an adult for just over a third of that….and I’m still striving to be a better me, albeit in a different sense than two and a bit years ago.
The thought process behind an age, a time spent alive, is a sobering thought as well as a reminder that you’re still you, still fighting and still wanting more. Granted, there have been times where I didn’t want more, I wanted an end. I didn’t want a better me, I didn’t even want a me. With times of positivity, age is like time, it continues to roll on but it doesn’t matter how long it takes, perfection isn’t around the corner, nor is it a possibility. So life is a work in progress. Progress to always be better than the day before and if you don’t feel that sense of achievement there’s always tomorrow.
I read back over my ramblings sometimes and wonder why I can write these things yet fail to put them in to practice. Heed your own advice and take each day as it comes, ignore a ‘bad day’ and try again tomorrow. It’s a mind-set that confuses the bejesus out of me yet it makes perfect sense!
So I’m thirty. Thirty years a boy, a man I aim to become, a success story, a person I can be proud of and one day I’ll look in the mirror and be glad that I am me!!
Sweet dreams y’all!
Love Smiley 😊😊
This time of year is a tough one. Not necessarily because of all the booze flying around through adverts and parties on social media etc, but more the memories and possible interaction/visitors. Now don’t get me wrong, it’s lovely to see family and friends over the holidays, but the festivities seem to bring a strange pressure.
As far as visitors go, there are too many fingers on one hand to count them, however, not enough on both to count the memories and bad thoughts that perch themselves on my lap. My life seemed to miss a year, starting around this time two years ago. Shit hit the fan to maximum effect and just kept on spinning. Uncontrollable drinking and thinking, an imploding mind, anger and an emergency visit to the psychiatric hospital after a complete breakdown. These are things I would like to forget but never will.
There was a time I really loved going all out for Christmas, no stress was too much stress and if I wasn’t completely shattered by around 4pm I mustn’t have gone hard enough. I’d play it down, stating I wasn’t a big fan of it, but this wasn’t true. Even in my early twenties I’d wake up Christmas morning….if I’d slept at all through the excitement…giddy as a four year old! It was just a special time!
Being an alcoholic, Christmas has never really been much different to any other time. A drink was a drink, any time……all the time, anywhere as always. So now two years in to recovery, not drinking at Christmas is the same as not drinking throughout the year. But the memories still prod and poke fun at me. The presence of family/friends becomes too much and space, peace and clarity are hard to find even when they’re gone.
Today, however has been wonderful. Flagging towards the end but I made it through with a smile. Our Christmas was a little early due to family travel arrangements so we ate, played board games and ate some more today….well yesterday. No doubt my body will wake tomorrow a few hours before my brain, and the possibility of doing anything constructive is not on the cards. But today was lovely, a reet good time 😊
So 4 hours was all I was allowed….I’ll take it! A successful nights sleep!
I dreamt of cooking. Cooking my food for anyone and everyone, my very own restaurant once again, like the old one. It was nice to dream of cooking again, a welcome blast from the past.
Perhaps today I’ll get in the kitchen. Capitalise on this dream, create some fire……whilst doing my upmost not to burn the house down. It’s a strange one, from loving every aspect of a busy kitchen…the only place anxiety seemed to melt away…to never wanting to cook again. The very thought of picking up a knife or pan was gut wrenching and filled with fear.
Since then I have been able to cook. A breakfast of eggs & oats, the odd fish dish and stew. And now I’m even contemplating ‘just cooking’. Anything, everything. I want to make bread, pasta, pastry. Ooo sauces, dressings and flavoursome stocks. A parfait there, a lobster bisque here. Pickles and chutney. A delicate rose jelly and macerated fruits. An ice cream and a sorbet…….the list of what goes through my mind is endless!
To be back among fresh produce, tasting the fruits of another’s labour. The smells of fruit, herbs and vegetables, a welcoming entrance to the local grocer’s.
I hope this new view and mentality holds on long enough to stick. One day, a return to some form of a chef may still be achievable 😊
I’ve spoken before of the word ‘failure’ and the negative connotations that ruminate around it. I stand by my opinion that failing shouldn’t be deemed a saddening thing.
This is where I find my new challenge. My failure to let myself fail is hindering my progress. Well let’s be honest…it’s grinding it to a halt! Previously I have welcomed failure as a marker for improvement. Now, however, I can’t seem to take the lid off the pen and draw that bloody line! For weeks I have ignored the signs and pushed myself to breaking point. This need to succeed, to hit perfection is a blight on an otherwise successful journey.
With a recent re-visit to the mental health team, my medication will be reviewed, and a visit to the psychologist is just around the corner. I can’t put my finger on this feeling I have. Anxiety leaps from zero to a hundred at the blink of an eye. I feel something I have felt before but it’s under the surface and ever so slightly different. It is this worry, I think, that keeps me gently simmering, never knowing when I might boil over once again.
In Search of the perfect recovery I have inadvertently and ever so gradually made a U-turn. Now that I face the opposite way, directly in front of me lies the starting line. Though it may just be a dot on the horizon, it is signalling for my return.
Have I done this to myself? Or do I need a tweak in the pills department? Have I stopped talking and reverted back to bottling my emotions?
When so much positivity has led me to this point, I don’t want to be the reason it is all wasted and I certainly don’t want to carry on down this road. The steering wheel is under my control so surely I can spin it back around?…..can’t I?
Accepting failure helps level you out, it sets a point in time in which to improve. Whether that take a day, a week or a year, accept it as a positive. I can write this now, but I need to put it back into action for I fear the consequences. Embrace failure and strive for improvement…