Amber temptress….

With gardening the cuttings, branches and debris are inevitable….now to the easiest method of disposal….

The fire is catching. A wild and free being, popping and flickering. Roaring and bellowing it’s calming symphony. Behind it’s beauty lies devastation, blackened destruction, a sweet smell of it’s job coming to fruition.

As embers, glowing branches disappear and ashes fall like snow, it’s happy and at peace. Oh what a simple yet terrifying beauty. Scarred surroundings, scorched leaves and grass left in it’s wake. Nothing but satisfaction, do the long gone flames feel. Their job is done, the odd spark holding back to finish what the amber temptress started.

As I sit here staring, hours have gone by. What felt like a lifetime flashed by in a minute. I’d much rather the branches flourish and grow to an untamed wilderness. Though I can’t help admire a flame, that free and unstoppable force. Success in it’s destruction….

From fruitful colour to baron beauty….

Autumn has truly kicked off, marking a time of preparation. The garden in need of taming, frost prevention and bird feeders filled with good fats, mealworms & tasty seeds. Ready for the birds to plump up before the inevitable snow and to keep them going throughout.

This time of year may mark the decline of greenery and blooming flowers, but the auburn shades are atmospheric and delightful. Subtle changes from oranges to browns tower overhead and crinkle underfoot, a simple sensory moment, perfect for painting a smile on your face. And cooler temperatures only make the heart warming food that little more delightful!

Enjoying every element of my surroundings of late, is helping me no end. Watching leaves fall, listening to birds chirp and that special something in the air, just might make this time of year my favourite.

Here’s to savouring the simple things. Seeing the beauty in the things we can’t control. Smiling at a colour, a sound, a smell. Wonderful simplicity….

Teetering on a knife edge….

Hiding away always seems the easiest option. Just when comfort sets in, an overwhelming bout of anxiety and mind mush sinks it’s teeth right in! It was a lovely day, until this point. But to hide is not my best option, even though it feels safe.

When your happiness & freedom from anxiety teeter on a knife edge, I sometimes wonder how anything can be enjoyable. Is it luck that these feelings simmer under the surface? Or am I fully aware of them, knowing in some way I should just make the most of the good times? It’s a quandary, a fleeting thought process that simply wastes my energy.

I do enjoy days, knowing it may just be that one through the week. But I don’t fester in fear of the bad. Once upon a time I wouldn’t have seen the wood for the trees. I wouldn’t have seen a point in enjoyment when misery lay around the corner. This is a triumph. Although I feel like a bag of turd, I see the glitter in which I could roll. The polish set aside, and a spark of positivity flickers.

Tomorrow is always a day away, always a possibility for happy, jolly times. Let’s take a bad day as just that, singular, just one. Tomorrow is just around the corner…

My novel….just a snippet….

I put this out there, with trepidation and an overwhelming feeling of ‘oh shit…what have I done?!’. It’s a snippet from months of writing. When I started this, it was the start of something special, a personal and enlightening experience…where my writing journey began…

…… As I walk through the debris of the street, leaves and litter, life rushes by around me. Bottles, plastic and paper bags, wrappers strewn across the pavement, parting like waves in my path. My destination is unknown to me at the moment, focused on each footstep. To look up would somehow spoil the mystery, the almost secrecy of where I’ll end up. It brings some amusement in an otherwise mundane life, a new street, same litter, unknown destination. The thought of what people must think when looking at this strange man, grinning whilst staring directly in front and down at the ground. Well…I couldn’t care less. Whatever creates an ounce of joy, I’ll hold on to it, no matter how odd.

The intrigue and enigma of this game I play is short lived as I reach a dead end, quite fitting is a dark, cluttered end. It mirrors my fall from grace, instant and in my face. As if to laugh in my face, never a happy ending. Turns out I recognise this area, as I reluctantly look up, I’m directly adjacent to my usual walk home. On joining the main street again, as ever I’m hiding in a trance, avoiding possible interaction, hands in pockets fiddling with keys and coins. Trying to hold on to the excitement of the accepted application to this experiment. Destination is home, or whatever you want to call it.

We’re about 24 hours from the start of S.D.A-1.0, I find myself tidying the shithole I call home. Ignoring the plaster falling from the walls as I place books back on their shelf. Dusting the coffee table even though it has a gaping crack down the middle and evidence of a serious lack of coasters. It came with this dive, along with the sofa, no doubt flea ridden, a murky brown colour, pretty sure it was a cream colour when it began it’s life. Obligatory broken springs trying to force their way through the misshapen and worn seat cushions. I straighten the single ornament I have, a little bird, a robin on a singular branch, delicate petals at the end. A reminder of a great man, my grandfather. Possibly the only thing I hold dear in this life. As I skew my head, pondering whether it looks better on the twisted mantle or perhaps in the middle of the coffee stained table, all seems quiet. Obviously the inevitable silence in the room as I stare at my robin. A quiet mind and a sobering thought of aloneness, yet not lonely. As if every fleeting thought, every unanswered question meant absolutely nothing. A feeling of being free, a quick glance around the dump to quickly realise all I’ll be taking with me is this, an ornament of a bird, a meaning, a sentiment. Knowing whenever this is over, the cracked coffee table, stained sofa, plaster laden floors with flaking craters in the walls will undoubtedly belong to somebody else. Somebody else will stand where I am, whether having the same sobering thoughts or surveying their new home with pride, they will without a doubt be skipping over the shit I now see, just as I did. Independence is one thing, surviving is another. If this is where an independent life begins, I have little hope for humanity, little expectation for a better world, and a sad feeling that others will feel like I do at this moment or worse, alone plus loneliness.

The light outside has faded as I continue to stand in front of the mantle. My gaze ever so slightly blurred, strained focus on the robin, brain feeling tired. I notice my stance has widened as I gently sway, involuntarily, almost a rockabye. As tired and exhausted as my body and mind feel, a saddening prospect of breaking this gaze is overwhelming, bringing a tear to my eye. Knowing that if I do manage to sleep at all, I will have broken this peaceful moment to inevitably fail at getting the rest I cry out for. A broken half an hour, nightmare ridden and exhausting in itself. It is almost pleasing to realise that this decision, attempt to sleep or not, will be taken out of my hands. A prisoner of an experiment, but a free man from the jail of my mind……..

This was hard for me to put out there. But starting and continuing this novel, starting this blog and reading others has been a life changing experience!

How did your writing journey begin?

How has writing helped you?

A beaming light….

Weeks of torment behind me once again. It comes to a point, when I start to wonder what it’s all about? As if it is just the norm, to have good times followed by bad, only to start the cycle over again. When does it all become a tedious process, never to be broken?

A beaming light shining midweek, signalled the end of the downward, sleepless spiral. Granted, sleep isn’t all tikitiboo, but sleep has been had. The shining light, iridescent, marred by cloud, is a thing of beauty yet I’m fearful of what will trigger the next spiral. I feel I’m just playing a waiting game…

I guess I need to enjoy, make the most of, and seize the day at hand. Focus should be on how to exploit these good times and continue the growth I was getting on so well with before the bad times stuck their nose in. As if a blip, or singular scratch on a CD, continuing on with the song and finish what has been started.

So that is what I intend to do. Look at how far I’ve come. A crumpled lump, a mental and physical mess on my brother’s sofa, to where I am now. A gym going, lifestyle changing conqueror. The ‘me’ I almost enjoy looking at in the mirror, the ‘me’ that loves to cook, garden and progress day by day.

Don’t let the down days, or fear of what may happen next, slow you down. Take each day as it comes. Blips happen, shit happens and the fight is what will make you stronger. Enjoy today, tomorrow is a day away and always will be!

Smile, always.

A day….just a day….

A killer gym session was followed by a regression into depression. I can’t quite put my finger on why. I thought my worries from earlier today & last night were gone, a figment of my imagination, filtered out through words on this blog.

It appears I have yet to climb out of this hole, this pit of questions, sleeplessness and agitation. My trip to the gym was a momentary cloud on which I floated, oblivious to the shite that is my head down below.

A day is just a day, whereas my mind is something different. The day continues on by the way it always does, the way it was written. My head took it upon itself to go off script, back on it again and ad-lib once more. Whether the script was written with hatred in mind or the ad-lib is the culprit, I’m unaware.

It’s just the lack of sleep, the deprivation of zZ’s. That and the incessant need to do something, anything with my day. The gym may have felt like a stellar idea at the time, maybe it was. Maybe I would be worse off tonight if I skipped it, who knows, I certainly don’t.

These ramblings create another cloud to float upon. I may talk utter nonsense, I may even repeat myself. I just wish this pleasant, cloud of candy floss would forever guide me over the tough, terrible and down right tedious bumps in the road. Potholes. Cavernous craters!

Daily drivel #7…. evening routine catch-up….

Another night of broken sleep. It’s becoming a bore, a laughable joke….I’m not laughing however.

Getting to bed by 10pm, to sleep at around 1am. To then wake up at 1.30am, uncomfortable and agitated. Sleep evading capture again until the really early hours, lasting only an hour at most once caught. By 10am I couldn’t lie, staring at the ceiling, with this failure to rest anymore.

So I sit here, zombie-like. A catch-up on my evening routine seems unnecessary, an obsolete reference to my current sleep deprived ‘routine’. But let’s get it out there.

I’ve longed for a solution, a regime that encourages and supports my efforts. After weeks of experimenting, I thought I’d found it. A peaceful evening schedule explained in a previous post. I now, however, seemed to have hit a plateau. So do I get back to the drawing board or push on? Perhaps I’m not giving this routine, I’m somewhat comfortable in, a chance.

There’s always tonight, always a chance of success…