Monday thoughts, wonderful sayings and a bit about mushrooms

Tis Monday night, the wind is blowing a hooley, and I am full of caffeine yet again.

I really need to cut down my coffee intake, it is obscene. I sometimes drink more coffee than water in a day which isn’t great. If you were to cut or stab me, I would literally bleed blood, possibly into my latte.

My dog walk turned into a 5 mile wander this evening, so I am both shattered and buzzing.

Today I had the pleasure of reading a phrase I had been completely unaware of that made me smile. The phrase was part of an email from a dissatisfied customer during work today. They were unhappy with the return they were getting from a product and said it was “like giving a donkey strawberries”. I don’t wish to go into much detail surrounding my employment however, I can confirm I have little involvement in the fruit consumption of the noble equus asinus.

I bloody love a nice phrase. I can’t think of my dad without hearing him say “he’s as daft as a ships cat”.

If you were to spend any amount of time with my nana, you would likely here her proclaim that ” many a mickle macks a muckle”. I think she enjoys the rhythm of it rather than the meaning. I don’t think she has ever used it correctly.

A mickle is a ye olde word meaning a small amount. A muckle is a large amount. To mack, is local slang for to make. Basically I think it means the small things add up.

Isn’t language git canny. Today I also learned that a bird of prey that scavenges can also be known as a shite-hawk.

This all went off track a bit. The wind is whistling currently. It is my least favourite of the weathers.

I ate mushrooms for tea. Dinner to some. I still can’t decide if they are a delight, or vile. Only time will tell.

I wonder if turns of phrase are still created, or if they have just stopped. You never hear any new ones do you? Maybe it’s not cool.

There’s more bits to say, but I think I might just try and sleep. I’m enjoying typing nothing. Yeah, that’s it I’m done

A dazzling tale of nothing: waffle, ramble and fluff

“I did not get my Spaghetti-O’s; I got spaghetti. I want the press to know this.” – final words of Thomas J Grasso

It would appear I have started writing another post apropos of nothing.

First and foremost, apropos sounds like a brand of yoghurt, possibly with a small additional container of sunflower seeds.

I have no idea why I’ve decided to type, but here we are. I’m in bed early tonight and know I won’t be tired for a good few hours so might as well waffle. Our bedroom is in the attic and currently we have the soothing sounds of a storm battering the roof. Angry rain and wind are the opposite of what I want to listen to. This is like anti meditation music. I’m waiting for something to break from the weather. The conservatory is weighing up whether it wants to remain as an unusable void of uncontrollable temperature, or if it wants to introduce water into the situation. Little does the conservatory know, we are going to tear it down and get a proper extension. I’ve not told it yet, and we generally talk about this behind the conservatories back.

To jump back a bit… Are fruit corners a yoghurt enjoyed around the globe, or are they exclusively British? This may be a bold statement, but fruit corners are one of the worst food concepts ever conceived. They present false choice.. you are deceived into thinking you have control, but the yoghurt is one step ahead. If you think about it, and I have quite a bit… There are no benefits to any of it. The options are either a) tip in the fruit and have it combined, b) eat just the yoghurt and leave the fruit and waste 25 percent of your snack, c) put small bits of jam on your spoon and dip it in the yoghurt like a serial killer, or d) only eat the jam like a psycho. Pointless.

I have strong feelings about several foods, but my heart rate needs to drop a bit. The rain has stopped. We now have beautiful silence, broken by the occasional car passing by.

You know when it’s so quiet all you can hear is a slight high pitched ringing? I’ve often wondered what note that is, or if it is a combination of notes. I’ve lay listening and tried to figure it out. I assume everyone has the ringing. I might have tinnitus.

I planned on reading back over these posts in the future, but I think it might just be baffling. I hope I say something profound at some point you know, something to be remembered by. I love reading famous last words of people that have passed, and wonder what their actual last words were. My mother in law had hers prepared. She knew she didn’t have long and tried to come up with something that summed it all up then told her daughter’s what her last words were going to be. They weren’t her last words, but became a nice little funny story the family share, so it’s still nice. I think we all hope to leave a mark; to say something wise, or create something that matters and stands the test of time.

Einstein’s last words were uttered to a nurse caring for him. He spoke them in German, a language she didn’t understand so the words were lost forever. I wonder what one of the greatest minds had to say before passing away, I wonder if it was something like “did I turn the stove off”, or “why present the option of pouring the fruit compote into the larger yogurt filled tray at all, just sell it pre mixed”

That went full circle kinda so I’m done. Apparently space smells a bit like burned steak. I heard an astronaut say this on TV. It could be total rubbish really, no one will be checking. A classic sign that you are having a stroke is the smell of burned toast. You can tell of a plug has dodgy wiring because it will smell like fish. I’m basically listing smells associated with things. I can’t think of anymore.

Oh, I’m rapidly approaching 1 year sober and I am terrified. I’ll pick that one up Wednesday or something.

I’m going to find a good “famous last words” quote to put at the top of this with a picture of yoghurt then go on Twitter. Night night.

Catching up: plodding forward, taxidermy, and looking for a point.

Deja vu. Again. Deja vu squared.

It’s been a while (again (again)), but here we are.

since the last time I’ve done a pretty bad job of taking my tablets. If you ever feel like anti depressants do nothing, forget to take them for a couple of days and you will realise how responsible they are for your daily function. I’m back to it now, and finally feeling human(ish) again, but there was a dip into the bleak for a short bit. It was less than fun, an I was a massive walking arse to my kids and wifery, but we’re all good now.

We went out to the Hancock museum recently, to spend time looking at stuff. The kids LOVE animals and farms/zoo situations so they were thrilled when they saw large glass cabinets displaying a vast array of animals, insects, and things that I’m going to file in the misc section of zoology (what the fuck even are you sea lemon!?!?!)

Our 5 year old asked how they trained the animals to stand so still, at which point, we had to have a chat about the world of taxidermy. MY GOD. Questions fired at me in rapid succession include:

Why are they dead?

How did they die?

Did they catch them alive and make them dead or were they dead anyway?

Why did they die?

Why are they in a museum?

And my favourite, will they stay dead?

Explaining the purpose of it all kinda highlighted how grim it is. The kids were confused, but still enjoyed it all. The kids love a zoo, but the moral and ethical grounds on that whole thing are shakier than something really shaky. I’ll be honest, I felt a simile coming on, but it washed away, like bean juice from a plate.

Is a zoo worse than taxidermy? Is it possible that the zoo donate the dead animals to be filled with what I presume is high tog quilting? Is the dead Egyptian also in the museum, unwrapped from its bandages and exhumed from its sarcophagus as bad/worse/not so bad ? I have no idea where I’m going with this at all.

A man working in the museum came to talk to us, and guided us to the library to show us some really really old books. The library was closed. The man that took us there informed us of this as he took us. He let us in, told us it was currently closed, said we should return when it is open, then led us out. It was bewildering.

I’ve been thinking a bit about how I’m a bit shit at writing stuff, and eating well and keeping fit. It’s easy to get started, but maintaining the forward motion takes a great deal of work. Unfortunately you cant just push off from the side, you need to paddle to keep going and find direction. Did I just drift into some sort of kayaking metaphor? You better believe it. Did I write the word drift in the last sentence and think haha its water related? You betcha.

I’m going to try and paddle forward and keep momentum this time, even if it sometimes feels like an impossible task. If maintaining good mental health is like paddling forward, working against the tide and using the currant (current? The non grape one), then forgetting to take my pills, and eating terrible food and not exercising is very much like trying to swim in the bath.


Dancing with children, various puddings, and Scottish hospital.

If great granny dies, I’ll be sad.

We were on our way across the boarder into bonny Scotland to visit great granny in hospital. Google determined the shortest route to our location should navigated via a series of badly maintained roads and through a series of villages with a population of roughly 10.75 people. I will allow you to decide how .25 of a person is missing. I would have been annoyed at my virtual navigator, but the drive was beautiful. We travelled through forestry, over mountainous chunks, and spotted a whole host of farm based mammals.

Apropos of nothing, our 5 year old exclaimed “if great granny dies, I’ll be sad”. Both of the kids have had more than their fair share of exposure to death and illness in their short lives , and have asked me to answer some of the greatest philosophical conundrums conceived. I should point out that there was a follow up to what my daughter said, and it totally removes any poignancy;

If great granny dies, I’ll be sad. I won’t be able to play with the toy cars at her house anymore.

At great grannies house there are micromachines and a super van city.

To be honest, when she dies, I’m sure we will all feel the loss of access to what were fantastic toys that fully deserve a comeback.

It’s strange the things that are important. Before my grandad died, I took the same child with me to visit him. Bob told me that he had declined a course of treatment that would buy him additional weeks of life at best, and he had came to terms with his fate and had no fight left. I was the first person he told. I think he was running it by me to guage the reaction. It was a really important moment that I shared with him and it will stay with me forever. Our 5 year old remembers only that Bob had a white and a red fidget spinner and that they played with them together.

It’s sweet that both of the kids are so young that the sadness and sorrow won’t hold as much as the fun things they associated with people or a fun feeling. They remember happiness and love, rather than the shitty parts.

I attended a birthday party with child #2 and it was just awful. We arrived early and I picked a place to sit. There were 4 small round tables in a line, so I chose the very end seat. I went and danced with my littlun, and we won a flashing toy as a prize for our dazzling moves. I went to sit back down, and a family of people had sat on the row of tables, and moved my seat off to the side. My seat had a small pair of glittery shoes on it and a small faux fur coat on the back of it (my kids dress in an interesting manner) so it was clear that someone had been there. I decided that rather than feel forced to move, I would sit where I had been, assuming that my new circle of compatriots would just chat politely with me. Instead, the 3 men and 4 women opted to talk about me in hushed tones, and passively aggressively talk about how when another of their group arrived, they would be one seat short.

I could have moved, but felt that I shouldn’t have to, just because of back handed pressure. I stayed in that seat for 2 hours, and it was awkward. They never spoke to me, even after I offered a polite smile, which to be fair, may have looked like wind. We all died together, and it was beautiful. I felt pride in my stubborn and rather dickish behaviour. Also, I got cake.

Good god this is going on a bit. I need to got to bed really. I feel like there was more of a point I was aiming for, but as per usual, I’ve forgotten.

I hope I’m really old when I die. I hope that my children are still my best friends and that we still love eachother a huge amount. I hope that when I do pass, at least one child will remember me for a fidget spinner or small toy cars.

It’s been a while

Hello me, and also anyone else that might read this sometime.

I’m planning on writing a bit tonight after a trip up to Scotland and back. This weekend, I’ve had a passive aggressive encounter at a kids birthday party, somehow hurt the back of my knee while sitting still, and heard a man yell “up your game, that was weak like piss”. The yell has so much that could be analysed. I shall return later.

Back to work, dead rabbit, feeling canny.

Driving home, I saw a seagull dancing on the grass. A small collection of seagulls were stood off to the side, just watching, potentially judging.

The dancing gull, who we shall name Clive (names have been changed to protect the identity of the real gulls) was slapping his feet rapidly on the grass, while keeping his upper body perfectly still. Had his wings been straight down to the floor, Michael Flatley would have recruited this very bird.

The other gulls that stood by idly, seemed unimpressed by Clives dedication, but this did not deter him.

Sub waffle…. the collective term “flock” is too good for this bird, and we need something better, I await any suggestions.

Clive looked perplexed to his river dancing, as if he couldn’t understand his sudden need for rhythm, and this got me thinking about instinct and whatnot. Nobody teaches the seagull to stamp its feet like a daft bastard until worms rise from the earth to see what the fuck is going on, yet they do it. I wonder if they instinctively know that this act yields food, or if they just go with their desire to dance, and the resulting snacks are a bonus.

This weeks return to work has been brilliant. Ive really missed people from the office, and its just nice to have a bit of the mundane back, rather than a life not too dissimilar to a Eastenders omnibus. Next week I will be back full time, and the only thing bothering me, is dealing with the large pile of stuff that I need to catch up on. The temptation to select all, then delete is over whelming.

I am a big fan of wordplay. To the point that I would like to tell you one of the many fun (debatable) games I play in my head from time to time. I can’t even recall the title of this post anymore, but I’m sure it will all tie together at some point.

Update I got distracted and went for snacks. I am now in bed finishing this. I honestly can’t recall the game I was going to say, but a fun game is to think of celebrity names that function as 2 word sentences, here are a few;

Brian may

Britney spears

Ronny wood (would)

Jeremy irons

There are more, bit they escape me.

That might be the end of this.

Dog walking, police statements, and the return to normality

Since the last waffle, things have happened.

The biggest of the things when arranged by non physical height would be the ongoing thing I will refer to as “making a police statement to ensure my cousin faces the consequences of his irresponsible and unforgivable actions”. I shall call it this for ease, and basically because it is that. Snappy titles are not my thing.

On my list of things to do in 2020, I have more exercise and whatnot like most people. i did not have spend time with the police on that list but it has been crossed off now. I’m not sure this is on anyone’s list, barring sting.

At the station, I ran through everything needed regarding him, and have been told it will be taken further. Although it was awful and I initially felt amazingly shart, I now feel calm and relief. I’ve lost family, and it will no doubt be the beginning of more stress, but I know I’ve done the right thing.

I’m back to work tomorrow, and finally feel that everything is heading back to where it needs to be. I’m enjoying food, playing music again and generally feel warmly optimistic. It’s hard to believe that 7ish weeks ago I was lower than I have ever been and had started hurting myself and taking steps to no longer exist. I’m not looking forward to questions about where I’ve been, but I’m sure it’ll be grand. I may even start a rumour about it, who knows.

That is about it for now I think.i had nothing to say, bit need to get into the habit of regularly wasting internet to say nothing on this blog.

I just thought about if the internet could ever run out of space, but then quickly remembered my fear of anything with none moving parts. Basically this started with the move from mini disc to MP3 players (hold on to your hats, this is such a wild story). Basically with a disc, or a video, or anything like that, it has moving parts, and I can handle thinking about how the music was recorded and how it is played back to an extent. The thought of devices with no physical moving bits, playing music from data makes me feel unwell. I don’t know why. Even mobile phones put me on edge. Well slightly uneasy, bit not to the point of not using one.

I hate new things and don’t understand them. I believe I am at an age where I’ve started to hate young people. One of my friends is so young she doesn’t remember half of the jingles from adverts required to function.

I’m now eating ice-cream and my interest here has wained. I’m not even sure on the spelling of wained.


Last day of the year and decade (depending on who you ask and how pendantic they are)

It is five minutes into new years eve, and I’m typing this in a reclined, but suitably propped up position in bed. The angle at which I am sat is almost as obtuse as my attitude. I am happy with that angle based joke even if you are not.

An aspect of my job involves reviewing user accounts for a company (I bet you felt a surge of adrenaline reading that). It is heartwarming thinking about the number of usernames that have been created with the word angle included, when the word angel was intended. Just two letters typed in the wrong order and the meaning is lost. The username “imlovinganglesinstead” doesn’t reflect your passion for the music of Robbie Williams, but comes over as a passion for shapes.

This rather dull waffle was brought to you by mention of the word angle.

I popped back on to social media briefly today and can see that the “10 year challenge” is sweeping the nation by storm… Well… The northeast of England if no where else.

The word “challenge” really bugs me. It’s 2 photographs on a post, challenge is not the right word at all (unless of course 10 years ago you were really into using your SLR camera and you have had to create a makeshift darkroom in the cupboard under the sink. If that is the case, fair enough).

The nice thing about this sort of palava is realising that everyone has their fair share of good times, but also not so good. I’m not basking in the upset of others, but knowing that I’m very much not the only person struggling is weirdly comforting.

It has been 20 years since the millennium.


Time stands still for no man etc. I remember the turn of the millennium, I was 14. Too young to be out on the tiles, I stayed at home with my parents. Just before the bells, they decided to take a walk, so I joined them. When my dad pointed out that there was only one minute left I recall feeling excited at what might happen. The millennium bug would potentially cause planes to drop from the sky momentarily, or the machines would rise up. Jesus could potentially pop up for a bit.

The end of a year, decade, century and millennia happened and I was stood at the side of a road on a bit of a hill, next to a bowling alley that has since been replaced with a supermarket. Fireworks went bang, I heard the feint sounds of people cheering in houses over the road, and that was that.

I know that went nowhere really, but I enjoyed typing it out. I do really enjoy writing once I get going. I’ve just read back over this and it’s very jarring and has a bad flow. I hope that continued writing will transform my flow to that of a beautiful river, and less like a sputtering and chaotic wee being pushed out forcibly by a man with kidney stones and an ear infection.

I might do a nice little round up of the last 10 years for myself in the new year. I might not.

If anyone stumbles upon this guff, I hope that as you shuffle toward the bit where the dying happens, you eat some great food, you laugh uncontrollably now and then, and you do some really good hugging with people you love. The past is gone, the future doesn’t exist, right now is the bit that matters most.


Christmas Eve, sensory deprivation, and metaphorical death

I’m going to blog daily, it’s really good and so cathartic

– me, usually before becoming lazy again

It’s been a while. Weeks have passed since the last one, and we are now at the night before Christmas.

I’ve not done this in a while partially due to laziness and being very inconsistent, but partially due to a big awful mess that has left me with little faith in the human race (more on that later).

Prior to last Wednesday, the day that everything changed, I was doing really well. I had been exercising, drinking water, doing all the right things and actually felt my new medication being of benefit. I even spent 90 minutes in a sensory deprivation tank and it was just beautiful.

Part of the appeal of not being alive is the thought of absolute nothingness. No sounds visuals or feels.just nothing, gorgeous nothing. Getting into a big tank in totally naked and sealing it shut was at first alarming. It takes a short while to stop thinking you will either get stuck,or find out it is all a ruse and your kidneys are about to be sent to the highest bidder.

It also takes a while to trust that the stupendous amount of Epsom salt will allow you to flit, but once you get in the find set, it is just fantastic. The water is at body temp and after a while you can’t really feel it, you just feel weightless and suspended in darkness. Keeping my eyes open in the pure blackness brought a few purple waves of colour, trippy but beautiful. Having no sound at all added to this and for about 1 hour I thought and felt nothing. It. Was. Spectacular.

I haven’t felt so centered in such a long time, and I will he going back in the new year. Then everything went tits up.

I’m not quite ready to write this again (I’ve written a time line for when the police get further involved), but I may revisit along the line. A brief summary would be that a person I trusted more than most, a person I have known since their birth, admitted a secret they had kept from me. It turns out that they have a conviction they have kept secret from the family for 2 years and as such have put me and my family in a very uncomfortable position. They have a conviction that should prevent their contact with children, but have kept this secret and continued to visit and spend time with me, my children and other family.

I can’t begin to think of a way to express how this has impacted my life. The authorities have been informed of this, and I am taking further action to make sure that this person faces the music for breaching the very terms they agreed to. They will likely go to prison, but the deception and lies will take time to heal. I feel bummed out now so I’m going to leave this. Christmas tomorrow with the kids and wifery

Peace and suchforth

Almost a week without writing: not taking care, slumping, and things to come.

As per usual, I’ve struggled to keep on top of all of the improvements and changes I put in place, that stinks of deja vu.

Can déjà vu be smell related? Just to put that distraction to bed, I will say imperatively and without question that the answer to this is yes.

Moving on, I’ve done a pretty shit job of staying on top of things again (go team). You know how in a sitcom you get the “will they or won’t they” theme that runs throughout the whole show, and inevitably they will? My approach to self care and looking after myself runs in a similar manner.

As the year rolls on, I think that I might be able to move away from the depression stuff but by the finale, I always end up getting back together with it. Depression and suicidal ideation are the equivalent of Rachel from friends in my life. This would make me Ross, either way, if temporary ownership of a monkey is possible, I’m into it.

Today sucked loads. My wife had gone to collect the kids and I went for a shower. Without thought, I locked the door, and my family out of the house. I also pushed the key in the lock so even if my wife had taken a key (she hadn’t), she still wouldn’t have been able to get back in. I heard knocking and doorbell ringing repeatedly but assumed it was the kids being wallies as per usual. After 5 mins I was dressed so I went to get the door and realised the problem. When I let my wife in, she cried. She thought I had either a) collapsed (this happened earlier in the year apropos of nothing) or b) “done something stupid”.

It really hurts knowing that my significant other is unsure of my abilities to remain conscious or living if left for 10 minutes. I don’t have anything to say really about this, just wanted to jot it down for the sake of getting it off my chest.

Tomorrow I have a meeting with someone from a UK charity called able futures. They offer monthly support in the form of a casual meeting. Tomorrow is my first one and I’m not sure how I feel about talking about feelings with someone I don’t know, but I’m willing to have a try. I’ve had loads of not so great thoughts again so getting back on the horse, or other animal based transport is a must.

I’ve changed my mind, fragrance based déjà vu isn’t a thing, however, I am very fond of smells.

Top 5 smells that make me happy

Soily potatoes

New shed smell

Fresh cut lemon

Cold air when it is snowing, it’s not really a smell but it’s good

Fresh bread.

I wonder if I’ll get any new favourite things, or of the list is done and locked in place by your brain by 20.


The walk I had on Monday, and other riveting tales.

It’s been a few days since the last time I typed, and that one went a bit all over the place due to a rather nice bit of clip art. This is me getting back up to speed.

So on Monday I got up really early and actually managed to drag myself out of bed without too much of an internal fight. I felt great for getting myself up and performing the everyday tasks I’ve been neglecting; I washed my face, brushed teeth, and felt quite good about the day ahead. In the time it took to get downstairs this changed and I wanted to give up and quit life yet again.

I keep getting that strange feeling of complete emptiness, where I’m not sad, I’m not unhappy, I’m just nothing. Sometimes I love this feeling of depression (I’m sure this probably isn’t a good thing), but today, it sucked.

As part of my “get fit mentally and get back to work and stop thinking about doing silly things” (snappy name), I’m trying to walk more often and this presented a chance for me and the dogs to get out and about.

I don’t know why, but I kept walking without the intention of returning home, but without a desired end location. My usual 3ish mile walk turned into 13 miles. I didn’t get that amazing rush of endorphins or find any clarity, but I did learn that it is possible for the gooch to get sore from walking.

I kinda hoped that walking without music for such a distance along the coast and through a woodland sort of place would result in the universe bestowing some deep lesson on me. I didn’t Learn a single thing about myself, my feelings, or anything. It wasn’t the introspective trip I hoped it would be and it didn’t make me feel much other than hot and tired. I felt as lost and empty as before starting. This was a bummer.

My daughter is colouring in and asked who draws the pictures. This is a good question and has the potential for a huge tangent.

Ive been reading a book about a man that not only survived living in a concentration camp, but also how he kept hope and found meaning in his existence. The book is breath taking and profoundly sad, but also has great insight into the importance of searching for and finding meaning in life.

Sure, the universe is ambivalent and nothing about you or your existence has any sort of great logic or purpose, but does that mean we shouldn’t search for a personal reason to hang on in?

I don’t know. Maybe.

When walking gets out of hand: the search for meaning

Firstly, this is a lovely picture.

Of all of the free stock images in all of the world wide web, this one stood out. I wonder if the person that took the picture is a professional stock photo photographer.

I wonder if those types of photographer take images for the joy of the art, or if they are constantly thinking about the next big hit. Was thw photo above a creative image captured while living in the moment, then shared with the world, or was it all about money?

What if the photographer is obsessed with the person in the distance and has dressed in foliage as part of a disguise to help satisfy their voyeuristic cravings. What happened after the shot? Is this image a vital clue in discovering what happened to the orange coated jogger? Was this the calling card of the pine tree peeper and just one of many visual clues about their victims, hidden in plain sight….

Some cultures (please excuse my terrible memory for specifics) believe that a photograph takes part of the subjects soul, never to return. How many pictures can be taken of a person before their soul is gone? Do filters and resolution settings make a difference?

I really like photographs that catch people off guard. None posed photography is the best kind. A picture that catches you off guard is more likely to reveal something subtle than a staged picture. You may be smiling, but your eyes are not.

A relative once told me about an old photo of his grandad. In this picture, he was standing outside with his mother and some other person (again details don’t stick for me). The picture also apparently had evidence of a ghost, and not just any old ghost, but the ghost of a family pet dog. I remember thinking it was such a stupid thing, and couldn’t be true, until I finally saw the photograph…

In the picture, the ghost of the dead dog was leaning against the legs of one of the chaps and I was told that this could be seen. All I saw was a man with slightly crumpled trousers. That’s the end of that story. Was it a ghost, was it a result of poor ironing, who knows. The belief brought comfort to someone and became an interesting tale,so maybe that’s all that matters.

This was going to be all about my day, but has gone in a different direction. All because of some nice stock imagery. Maybe this is the true role of the stock artist. Not financial gain, but generating a one person waffle, taking place on their personal blog. The artist has infiltrated my life and will be preserved for however long this non physical document remains.

I should have went with the other picture of leaves.

I forget the point I came here to discuss but will pict this up tomorrow morning.


Once more from the top.

Today has been awful.

I physically couldn’t get out of bed this morning and my brain has started whispering at me again.

Even though I’ve managed to recognise when I’m wandering down through the “what if’s” of self damage, I struggle not to go with it rather than try and stop it. I’ve imagined some rather specific methods of damage, which I won’t be going into, but needless to say it wasn’t good.

Yesterday I hurt myself too, and in hindsight, should have processed this at the time. I like to punch things, this is my go to. Walls, poles, myself, pretty much anything. I’m not sure why this is the main choice I make.

I contacted work and told them I can’t come in yet. I’m not ready, and don’t think I’m in a frame of mind that would be good enough while in the 9 to 5.

I’m giving myself this week to really dove head first into the “new me”. I will live my best life, live, laugh love, slay, and other phrases that irk me.

I’ve got a dog walk later, and plan on avoiding triggers for harm, and will be meditating tonight rather than on my phone.

Or I won’t. There’s a high chance that I won’t.


Rain, rain, apathy and meh.

It’s been a few days since my last daily post.

I had my big crisis and reached a point where I needed to ask for help just 9ish days ago, and already I am falling back towards laziness and whatnot. Whatnot. I couldn’t even be arsed to find another word…didn’t even check down the side of the sofa.

Today sucked for roughly 80% of the time I’ve been awake, but I’ve had a few nice zen-esque bits here and there. I spent the majority of the day not drinking water, not exercising, and not taking time to concentrate on my breathing. I also didn’t take time to reflect, or do any of the other daily tasks I’ve set myself to keep the weird thoughts and fantasies away. I’m not sure fantasy is the right word… I mean the non sexy type unfortunately.

Tomorrow is my last day off before returning to work, and I’m starting to worry that things will be weird. I’m hoping that no one is tiptoeing about, or walking on eggs shells or other texture that crush audibly beneath footwear. If I wasn’t lazy, I’d look at where the phrase to walk on eggshells came from.

The positive bits of the day were odd. It’s been raining none stop all day, but I really loved walking the dogs and getting soaked. There’s something lovely about being stuck outside on a miserable evening. I took the picture at the top of the page on my wander.

I’m out of things for now. Structure will resume tomorrow potentially.


Daily waffle

This Wednesday life has been a bag of revels. I’ve had a few really nice nuggets of happy, but ultimately they were surrounded by chunks of upset that made me question why I bother.

Waking up this morning was the emotional equivalent of a chocolate coated raisin. I’ve struggled with getting up in the morning for ages, but today I had the worst case of the fuck its I’ve ever felt.

I physically could not move from bed and the thought of anything but lying perfectly still until the universe collapsed was terrifying. I didn’t want to be in bed, nor out of bed, and I felt a whole new level of nothingness. Eventually my wife lovingly pressured me into life, and we took the dogs for a walk. I have no idea why she sticks with me at all, she’s so patient and understanding. I might talk about her more in the future and such, but feel uncomfortable right this second.

Today I partook in some meditation and didn’t feel like a total arsehole even once. I found listening to the traffic and really savouring each few seconds between inhaling and exhaling almost intoxicating.

Small moments like this are keeping me pushing forward. I’ve only had one, maybe two questionable thoughts today which is a massive improvement.

I honestly feel like this current wave of empty “meh” is braking but I don’t want to count my chickens before they hatch, or a slightly more up to date phrase.

Side note

I find that my medication mixed with lack of sleep throw my concentration off in odd directions and the phrase about counting chickens took me away for a good 5 mins.

Do you think anyone is currently trying to get a modern collection of helpful adages into the public sphere? Something that relates to modern life and not farmers or sailors?

I tried to think of some and got nothing. Hmm.

Think that’s it. Im off to look for tips and tricks to help reduce the feelings of dread at living

The egg picture has no real relevance and should not be counted just yet.

Tiger cake, coping mechanisms, and my love of having three items in a title.

Something inspirational should go here… How do people encapsulate a thought on the human condition?

-me, in my head just now

Today was my daughter’s 5th birthday. For most of the day, she has flitted (flot? flit?) From happiness, to confused sadness, to elation then disappointment.

Birthdays can be confusing for a kid, and our 2nd kinder likes to make a decision, confirm that she doesn’t want to change her mind and that she is certain, then once the decision blossoms into a thing that is happening, she will request we did the choice she had not requested. I can relate to this behaviour and can confirm that I did not want to trampoline, then once trampolining began, I wished I had picked to do it and had a small crisis.

Thankfully for everyone, we had cake and cake makes everything in the universe feel right. Today I have thought about sticking part of a broken bottle in my face (cheery), and have debated the old classic walk Infront of a car. If my brain had taken the chance, I would have missed out on cake. It’s interesting that I have just felt happy to remain among the living because cake was great, rather than think about how I didn’t totally duck up my family and everything between. To be fair, the cake was really good.

I read that having plans is a great way to keep the old voices at bay, and can also help with the creeping feelings of total apathy and nothingness that swarm my mind. I tend to have ideas, take part and love the routine for a day or two, then quit with vigor and remenice about the glory days I was at my best. blogging is a brilliant example. Even thought this is for my sanity rather than a targeted audience, I get bored quickly of me, and quit this sort of thing biannually.

How will this time be different Chris?

Good question me. I read that rather than just having plans, but proactively write a schedule for the thing to happen, along with an ongoing set of goals is the best action. I also read that doing tasks right away rather than putting them off is really healthy. This will no doubt be hard and may collapse like a badly stacked Jenga tower, but it’s better to try and fail than to remain stationary on my arse.

If all else fails, we still have cake.

Footnote, I might actively seek help and advice through Reddit

Here is how Cujo is sleeping

The day after the other day – I can’t write snappy titles

Here we are again.

If future me is looking back over this, I’ve copied the 4 posts I wrote while using Blogger, so although it looks like I’ve been amazingly prolific, this is not the case.

Last night was the last one on the old tablets, toddle pip Citalopram, it has been less than a blast. Citalopram always feels like a waste of time, like it is doing nothing at all for me, until I am weaning off of it, or abandoning it in a care free manner then subsequently regretting it. At this very moment, I am twitchy, on edge, happy, want to cry, feel a bit confused, and I am very aware of the weird noises my innards are making. We will see how the new pills go from here.

I contacted work again and they have been really supportive yet again. If they just sacked me I would fully understand, I’m nothing but a pain in the arse. I just backspaced the word “Massive” after noticing I say it far too often. My mind is all over the place, but I know this will settle.

I am going to see how I feel for returning to work next week, my boss doesn’t want me to drive to and from until she knows I have spoken to someone about myself. I did tell her that one of the big urges was to crash the car, so this makes total sense really.

I have registered for “able futures”, a free service for those that need support. As long as you are working and resident in the UK, you can get monthly meetings with a professional in a nice public space to have a chat. I’m actually looking forward to the idea of this at this very second.

I have nothing to say really. I plan on waffling on this each and every day, even if I have literally nothing to say. I’m still unsure who I am writing this for. I don’t like the idea of people I know reading this, and I’m not the sort of person to self promote.

If you have found this, hello. Welcome to less than regular nonsense. Even if you find nothing of use, the calories you burn while here may at least be of value.

Im taking the kids to school right now so that’s a good excuse to bail on this. Im still sober

Everything went to fuck; new pills, confusion and wanting to die

This is going to be a daily thing. It needs to be. My last post covered throwing a watch off a bridge and self harm. it would have been great to have discovered something profound since then, a life hack or coping strategy, but that hasn’t been the case.

Each day, thoughts about hurting myself have slowly increased to the point of being almost constant. I’ve slumped back into that old jumb feeling; not wanting to talk, wanting perfect silence, craving a feeling of absolute nothing, but this time round my mind has been pushing me in a frightening direction.

While driving home from work, I had a rather normal intrusive thought about crashing the car into lamppost. As I continued around the corner, the urge to close my eyes and not open them again grew and grew until I did close them. Driving to an end was really soothing. It’s hard to describe. Like a mental deep sigh, a wave of calm washed over me. I don’t know why, but a sharp shock of fear hit me and I opened my eyes. The calm was replaced with a feeling of nausea and sharp fear.
I went to the doctor’s to discuss this and he called “crisis” on my behalf. He made me call my wife and this made me feel really uncomfortable. Normally I would either a) not mention it ever, or b) downplay the whole thing. I’m embarrassed and feel like I’ve failed at something but suppose it’s better for her to know, as a push for me to chat.
I have new medication and have been enrolled on cbd therapy so we will see how that goes. I’ve self harmed 3 times and had constant thoughts of self harm and suicide since. I’m trying to take time to think about how I feel and communicate this.
I haven’t mentioned punching a brick wall to make my knuckle bleed, or burning myself with a match, and played down the marks on my hand as dog votes from them playing, when this was me sticking scissors into my skin.
I honestly don’t see the point of writing or reading about this, but I’m giving it a go. It feels odd having a blog for no one, but nice at the same time. I don’t think I will ever look back over this.
That’s about it for now. I plan on daily writing but kinda know that won’t last.

Dropping from a bridge, self harm and other stories

Recently I’ve started hurting myself again. I’m not sure why, but I don’t class it as self harming, because it isn’t cutting. Boy this is a light read isn’t it…
In the past, I’ve burned myself and cut slightly but neither were for Me, who knew preference was a thing. I find that punching myself in the arms works for me, and I can say I bumped my arm etc or just don’t know how it ended up black. I’ve also scraped myself to the point of scabs and blood. I dunno why or what the point is. It hurts, and isn’t healthy but it’s a thing I do.

Speaking of well balanced and mentally stable, I tested something that has bugged me for years involving bridges and falling.
I’ve always thought about jumping off bridges while walking over them, wondering if I’d prefer to hit floor or water, wondering how the fall would feel. I’ve also always had the urge to throw my belongings over, just because you could and no one could stop you. It’s such an odd thought and one I constantly have, wanting to throw wallet or keys, maybe my phone. Today I took the dogs for a walk and cane back without my watch.

I had the usual thoughts of jumping, the inconvenience it would cause others, how it would be the end and nothing would matter, and this changed to wanting to throw my belongings. I loosened off my watch and held it over a small drainage hole. Through the hole I could see a long drop and the river. I felt relief letting go of my watch, seeing it fall through the hole from safety, then spin and flutter out of view. I felt a sense of control briefly, like I was in charge and regardless of action, the consequences just don’t matter over a long enough period of time.
Roughly a minute later i felt empty again, and went back to debating concrete or water for my imagined death. I wondered what time it was, and didn’t know.

I’ve decided to skip sleep tonight. This is directly linked to my watch incident. I have no plans for tomorrow and why should I sleep? I am the master of my own pathetic universe. I already know this won’t be enlightening but hey ho. Such is life.

Jehovah, massage and flatpack

In the last 7 days, I have been to IKEA 3 times. I have had to weave through small groups debating which bedside table would best meet thier lifestyle needs. I thoroughly enjoy the place, the awful layout, the arguments that are slowly bubbling to a boil, scented candles and sweaty underarms.
We had a Jehovah’s witness and his son in law pop to the door to sell some good old religion. The leader held up a mobile phone and made me watch a 30 second intro which was nice. They then discussed the evils of life, and the dangers of the internet before reminding me to check their website. They are coming back in a few weeks. I am almost certain I won’t answer the door.
I’ve got a week off work so intend to meditate, eat well, hydrate and be merry.
I’ll be doing this daily too for myself and my well being.
I thought about drinking rum today for a while. Even after 6 months dry I’ve not been able to stop fantacise about booze.

Humble beginnings or some other bollocks

Copied from blogger
August 13, 2019

ive no idea how any of this works to be honest.

Typing on a touch screen thingy and trying to get a feel for this. I feel so old. Young people are the worst. I remember being young and laughing at my dad not being able to play sonic the hedgehog. I am my dad.

There is a picture of a cat at the top of the page, I don’t know who it belongs to or how to get rid of it, so I guess it can stay. There is a chance that the cat is dead. It could be fine and alive, unaware that its image was used on a blog. His/her soul stolen and placed online for ever.

This is an attempt at staying active mentally. A daily ramble to help clear my cogs. If there is anyone reading this, hello. Please take a moment to think about how fleeting life is and how you are choosing to spend it here. I can hear a lawnmower, a passing cars, and my daughters playing. I have flu, and can smell snot in my nose. My skin is crawling and sensitive.

I am 33 years old, or will be in September. I honestly don’t know. Yesterday I was 182 days sober from drink and drugs. Today I have though briefly about hurting myself, and imagined fighting a person I am close to. Coffee has gone cold.

The cat at the top of the page might be alive, it might be dead, it might be both. I have no idea what I’m on about. I’m hoping this becomes useful or something as time goes on.

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