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I have won numerous awards for my writing in the past, so why now should I doubt in my book? 2. Almost every decision I took for Myself has been THE right one (when others took decisions for me they were never right). 3. I am intelligent (I have an excellent academic record throughout). 4.Continue reading “Note To Self: Ten Reasons I Should Trust Myself (not the thoughts).”

Fridays are always for therapy sessions, even though I really don’t want mine today. I don’t feel ready for it. Moreover, I feel confused. Tired. Alone. Still, I log dutifully on Skype to see my therapist’s face, comforting on the other side of the screen. Although only over screen, still, I feel like she is with me. Even perhaps, beside me…

Some days I don’t want to write, some days it feels like the hardest thing I could ever do IN THIS WORLD. The words don’t come. I don’t feel there. I feel so sad, I feel like my whole body is ripping itself apart inside of me. I can’t read one word of a book without my attention veering off. And yet, when I do WRITE, I feel a little spark of joy flare up inside of Me…

I am sat here typing this, feeling so alone after a morning spent walking in the park (alone), coming home (alone), sitting home (alone, again)…

It’s the weekend again, which makes a change from the week but not really, since we are still in COVID times. I find, however hard I try, that I still get left with the same problems on the weekend as I have during the week. Still, it’s the weekend, so it MUST be different. Quite simply, it HAS to be different. That’s why I’ve arranged to meet a friend…

I had a good night last night. Still, waking up this morning is STILL hard, especially when you feel like everyone in the world around you has their shit together, and yours’ feels, well, like it’s falling all apart. Still, when I open My Eyes this morning, I decide that I will be brave, evenContinue reading ““Show Up””

When I write, I feel Myself, full, all over again… I Take Me Back Home With Me, Thro’ My Words: My “I” Singing Strong, As The Words Spill from the soft saturation of, MY OWN SOUL, LIPS. Without My Words, I am nothing. They are My Self. My Soul. My Voice.

I open My Eyes, first feel Him laying next to Me, still between the soft sheet layers, then – though, as usual, I try to avert Her – feel Myself. “No, not now; I’m not ready to feel yet,” I tell Her. Still, She persists. Even though still, I am resisting…