Why do we all write?

I remember the day I learned to read.

You know that sudden click when the penny drops.

Books have always been by very best friend.

The magic of being in the story.

Knowing the characters.

The sadness of finishing a book.

Writing was much the same.

My father wasn’t the best.

But I’m thankful he taught me to write.

He gave me an old jotter.

A thick pencil.

Wrote my name at the top of the page .

I copied it and copied it.

Then my address

My dog’s name.

Then a sentence I’d ask him to write.

This was before I started school.

It was magic

I could write,and I did.

I have never stopped.

English was my favourite subject at junior school.

I remember the teacher giving us a subject in creative writing and within minutes I’d be lost in the story that had began to bake in my head.

I’d write about anything and everything.

I remember writing about the starlings.

I lived backing onto the woods on a huge council estate

There were always hundreds of starlings they would swarm all flying together in a squarking fluid like black cloud.

I’d stand on the shed roof to watch.

Hundreds of birds together.

Almost moving as one huge cloud.

How did they do it.

I imagined their leader calling out to his tribe their were ranks.

Everyone of them had a job.

A community.

All looking after each other.

They weren’t the prettiest of birds or the biggest but I loved them.

The teacher loved it she asked if she could keep it.

I was a shy eleven year old.

Blushed and nodded.

Mrs Moore I was so happy.

She was a wonderful teacher who inspired me throughout my school years.

Diary’s note pads, poems.

Lists I wrote everything down.

I wrote when I was happy, sad, mad, upset or lost.

I think it’s because writing gives me a way to work things out?

Does that make sense?

Words are easier for me when they fall out of a pen or a key board.

Although since loosing my best friend nursing her through cancer.

Ive written about my journey through bereavement hoping it will help others.

I’ve also discovered voice note.

I talk to her and record it.

I need to find a way to add it t o my blog.

So where and why did you start your blogging journey?

Could you live without writing.

I definitely couldn’t.

Pen paper and blogs are my friend, counselor and confidant.

Counseling. Balls of string and windowless cupboards and musty fish fingers

Yesterday was my last counseling session! I’m so proud of myself.

I remember on first appointment I almost didn’t attend.

Panic in the car and a list of very good reasons of why not to go.

I’m so glad I did.

What is it with mental health staff and counsellors not accepting help?

We have apaling self care.

Anyway it came at just the right time I was hanging on by my finger nails.

I also have to say that it helps if you get a counselor that you are comfortable with. You know someone that gets you.

I was extremely lucky.

So for a hour every few weeks I would turn up to one of two hospitals.

The first one has a very modern unit lovely seating area water tower and a large T.V

The second one has a cupboard no windows heating on warp 100° and a distinct smell of musty fish fingers.

My first appointment was in the windowless fish ginger room.

I had resolved to be totally honest about everything whilst sitting in the waiting room.

He would either recommended I need sectioning or be able to help me unravel the tight ball of elastic that was sitting in the pit of my stomach.

And so it began

I told him everything.

Everything that mattered.

Everything that hurt.

I told him about the flash backs

Everything all the things that Donna knew about me that no one else did.

I could feel her beside me willing me to talk.

I did.

And it was okay.

I knew I had a connection.

I’m sure Donna chose a person that would understand.

The second session then a third I no longer doubted I could fix this

It was like sitting with someone and letting them help untangle a huge knotted ball of string.

When you arrive you have no idea where the end is .

But gradually after putting it down

Resting then untangling a bit more you see easier ways of doing it.

Then yesterday as I sat in the fish finger room for the last time I reflected on how different I felt from the first time.

Im still working on a few things but I can see again. And I know I can do this

Im so very grateful for the man who sits and listens in the very hot window less room

I believe he was the right person to help at the exact right time.

And for that I thank the universe. 🙂

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Flashback letter..

I know what the books and therapists say about flashbacks

I don’t disagree.

Every theory is valid in its own way.

But spiritually I look for lessons in everything.

So I try to make some sort of sense of everything.

The flash backs started Donna when you left.

Trauma they say .

I know that and I can hear you singing beautiful Trauma by Pink to me.

Typical.

So I decided to ask for help.

Nhs Oçcy health was my starting point.

It couldn’t hurt could it?

Making an appointment to see a counselor?

I could always change my mind.

I almost did first appointment as I drove up to Singleton hospital I was tempted to drive past keep going to the mumbles to sit on that rock you liked by the sea.

I could people watch maybe?

I was too early sat in the car.

What are you doing I asked myself get a grip I need coffee.

I walked up stairs thinking about the last time I was here in that corridor was with you

Going for a scan 7.30pm

You laughed as you sat in hospital gown it was on back to front bloody exhibitionist 🤣

Should be in the cross keys not sat here it’s 2 for 1 cocktails

Nutty Russian I could just drink one now if my liver wasn’t fucked you laughed just as they shouted your name.

I squeezed your hand three times .

Me to you said.

I smile at the woman now typing I’m here to.see Adrian I say

Take a seat I pour myself a water wishing it was a large gin and t and look at the door.

A smiley man steps out of the office and before I know it I’m sat in a tiny room that really could be a large cupboard

It smells like burnt fish fingers it’s really hot and I’m menopausal. The fan is crap

I’m babbling and apologizing.

He asks be the standard how do you feel questions on scale of 1-5. There isn’t a question that asks where are you at moment if there were I’d tell him im completely lost.

He’s a nice guy. Genuine I hear you beside me.

Tell him . It’s okay.

And so I do.

I tell him everything I think if I say it all at once it’s out there.

Floating about the universe.

Real.

He can start to help me pick up the pieces

Or section me 🤣

Mental health workers are shit at talking about their own shit. Or is that just me.?

He listens and we agree on a plan

You’d like him Donna

I’ve seen him three times now.

Its helping I feel safe

He asked me today what would I say to my father’s voice

I didn’t really know.

But it’s given me something to think.about

I’d tell him that nothing he has ever said will break me.

That everything that Donna held for me hadn’t died with her I have trusted someone else.

I don’t have secrets.

I’d tell him im sometimes sad that he didn’t get to know me.

That I accept all the things I wanted he wasn’t capable of giving me.

He didn’t know how

I’d tell him that’s okay.

I’d ask him to stop shouting

Stop being angry

That I hope next time around he has a better life.

That I send him healing.

That I remember good things like him holding the back of the old blue bike saddle teaching me to ride a bike .

I remember crying because a black bird was stuck in a bramble bush and begging him to save it.

Watching him push his arm in holding the frightened bird then letting it go

Scratches and blood

As we walked home he told me that the bird had gone to tell.all it’s friends it had been saved because of me.

I’d tell him that no matter how hard life is it is always beautiful.

That I wouldn’t change a day.

That I’m so blessed in my little cottage by the water in Wales kids geese ducks dog cat and a man I love.

This is my paradise.

I’d ask him if he remembered me saying I’d live in Wales one day when I was a kid.

He would call me Gunner…

Because I was always Gunner do this or that.

Power of positive thought.

The universe listens

Expect amazing and get amazing.

Dad that’s what I’d tell you

So I can’t listen to your negativity.

It no longer serves me.

I’ve been so very tiered

Lost

But I’m.getting there

Yes Donna as bloody usual.you were right I needed someone in my corner someone with the right words

I’ll get there . I’m too bloody stubborn not too.

I’d sign my letter wishing you love healing and light.

Because you taught me Donna that’s all there is.

There is nothing else

Only love ❤️