Hi guys,
Welp, it’s been a looooooong while since my last post - around that deathy and rebirthy time - and, while I entertained a post back
in May, I never felt right about it, and never got the mood to proceed with
anything.
It’s like my writing, it’s taking forever, motivation is low. Just
depression talking? I don’t know, I am flustered, trying to dodge flatmates in
the morning and still feeling prefigured when they’re in the bathroom or
kitchen when I get up – I love a quiet morning, no noise, often no lights, its
great when I have early starts.
The psych suggested a paradigm shift. Get up early on first alarm, have
cold coffee, go for a walk. So far, I managed a walk once. I’m still sleeping
in half an hour, having shower first, but I’ve changed my rhythm. And just as I
got into one… My weekend got stuffed around thanks to training, shifts got
swapped (I still hope it was because of a reasonable reason, not party time),
and wasted a day for a three-hour shift (long story). And yeah, back to square
one.
I feel this happens a lot, whenever I get the motivation to start
something new, things come along that week and derail it. Want to go for
morning walks? It rains. Want to start this early stuff? Flatmates, work in
way. Have a go to church Thursday and Sunday? Late finish thrown my way. I hate
it, the idea of a great life conspiracy. It hits the depression up, cues the
“Why bother?” Meanwhile I’m steadily putting on weight, spending is, well,
happy, faith is getting left in the wayside – so much for calling on help from
above.
I’m a giver-upper. I’m also a rut-runner. I really need scheduling in
life, a rhythm, and if I’m knocked out of it, it’s off into the wallows. I hate
the pick back up, get going again. I know it’s part of life, so being bipolar,
possibly schizoaffective, certainly doesn’t help. But here I go, back into the
breach, try again, again, and again, trudge, trudge, trudge. No, I’m not
looking forward to it, going cap in hand back to confession, but, well,
unlimited forgiveness, and I’m sure the guy upstairs knows how messed my life
is, has been, and will be. Looks down, but, well…
I was told I needed a better God because I went through hell and nothing
was done, “What good is a God that won’t protect you?” It bemused me more than
anything, I’m on the other end of the skateboarding kid analogy from Angels and
Demons – you want your kid to live, even if he wants to Tony Hawk off gutters
with its mad risk of ouchies. But it came on the back of an example of God’s
plan relating to a child’s death.
How do you fit into a plan that allows this pain? Put simply, the
example in question held a faithful position and kept things in perspective,
what you’d expect to be a harrowing time. Chances are it was a harrowing time,
and still will be, but the faith was kept, though the non-faithful person
observing it found it callous. Then there was my turn, the observer going on to
tell me what I needed from those times when I was abused.
Put simply, I got that intervention the night I wanted to end my life –
something I could not explain at the time, but a voice I knew I could trust.
That, too, has put me at odds – why was I so lucky, when so many torn apart
don’t? Is it because I can write about it, have that empathy for them? Is there
a whole Catcher in the Rye deal for those who pass? (This is what I believe).
That moment put God on the backburner for me; 18 years later, here am I,
ex-atheist, getting God in my life, though it’s a patchy thing. Yes, I get my
doses of Church, pop of to adoration at Saint Jockas, Mares’ dad (that’s Saint
Joachim, father of St Mary), love that bite of Jesus. But prayer? Yeah, slack
at it, but always wanting to improve. Maybe its best as a morning thing, rather
than an end of night deal (which I’m failing at).
But even with the downs, the stumbles, the sight at the end, I’m succeeding.
In two months, I’ll be able to move out again on my own, hopefully somewhere
closer to work, and prepare for life ahead, the GF and I, well, there’s plans
afoot. And after two months of dragging-out, I finished another chapter of TWO
– the GF was very happy.
And if I call upon them, I’ve got 18 Simons of Cyrene to trudge along
with me – yep, that’s a footy team with an exchange bench. That makes me smile,
a little shyly, but hope is hope, it’s good, and can help me through to the
plan when life sometimes throws you to the mud.
Still, my woes are small compared to others, and my hopes aren’t
everybody’s. Before I go, a shoutout to those doing it tough, tougher,
toughest. Have a think about them, not to consider how lucky you are – that, to
me, is the wrong way to look at life – but to consider their wants, needs,
dreams. While you’re there, consider a charity serving those wants, needs,
dreams, so it’s more than thoughts and prayers – could be once a year, or a
monthly contribution.
And when you’re there, consider voting and agitating for them. I don’t
know if it will help, but it’s back in that try again, and again, and again,
trudge, trudge, trudge.
And… Yep, that’s all I got. Okay, it’s Corona Cave time with lockdown,
room for a bit more gaming and writing, but missing of the GF and Jesus – but
there’s livestream mass. Hopefully I’ll get back to a three-week blog cycle,
and hopefully, it’ll be out the Corona Cave by then, so, until then, or
whenever,
Have a good one!
T. M.
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