Cognition, Mindfulness, focus

I retrain my mind incrementally daily.

Teaching is at times painful, embarrassing and requires looks so close I wince with each internal glance.

Creating and maintaining awareness has been possibly the most useful and important tool I’ve developed over the last 7 years.   Yet it is not something I could begin to teach someone else.  I have enough of a struggle with my own learning.

Today is not too bad.  I am a little low, or perhaps I am simply not manic and this ‘normalcy’ feels low in comparison.



Starting new conversations

The Spark – Fight the stigma of mental illness

This is a link to a Facebook page I’ve recently become involved with.  A friend of mine is looking to create a movie about defeating the stigma surrounding mental conditions.

Please come and check it out if only to see the start of a new conversation.

The List of Inner Hate

I have decided to compile a list of the terrible thoughts I combat, quite often, on a daily basis.

I know these are irrational and for the most part, untrue. But the doubtful hateful voice pushes them into the tender curves of my brain again, again, again

and every now and then, in moments of fear, uncertainty, and weakness; I believe them.

  1. You are not good enough
  2. You will never be good enough
  3. You are a constant disappointment
  4. You have no say, no voice
  5. No one wants your opinion
  6. You are not entitled to the way you feel
  7. You are not allowed to say ….
  8. No one loves you
  9. You do not deserve to be loved
  10. You will always be alone
  11. You should be alone
  12. You do not deserve happiness
  13. You are ugly
  14. You are bad
  15. You are unworthy of love
  16. You do not belong here
  17. You don’t belong anywhere
  18. You don’t fit in
  19. You will never fit in
  20. No one really likes you
  21. You are unlikable
  22. You don’t deserve to be alive
  23. You are useless
  24. You are a failure

Living with this inner hate is not something I can change.  All I can change is how I deal with it when it happens.

This is simply an ugly truth about my life.

A hinged heart

falls open in your hand.  It reveals within it’s secret core a spiral staircase dropping down into dizzying depths. Within this tarnished, scuffed and battered heart is a coiling space defying set of stone steps bordered cozily by a snug twining guard rail.

It is far too small cupped within your palm. Yet it grows far to heavy to hold and as you set it down the opening grows.   Larger and larger expanding until you unconsciously step inside placing your foot upon that beckoning first step.

In and down you go, the hinges creaking as the heavy leaden lid drops closed taking the light with it; followed by a numbing silence. A dim glow begins to flicker down, down, down the spiral.

Only one way to go from here.

In the middle

Things have hit a plateau, equilibrium, it’s nice but I have this niggling in the back of my head that it won’t last.  Focus on the moment, I say to self.  Easier said than accomplished unfortunately.

I’m working on several interesting projects.  Some at art concepts transferred into digital format for a potential video game.  I am also taking part for another two months for sure, in a semi scripted improv performance.  Which has been a lot of fun and a good way to spend time with one of my best friends.

It feels good to be engaged in such diverse creativity.

7/29 – Midnight – Detonation


In an attempt to banish demons, I am going to put this here.

Clumsy, my words, an admission of shameful insecurity born of the usual blur of misplaced paranoia. “I don’t fit in. I don’t belong. I shouldn’t be here.”  Who would understand such ridiculousness?  Unless they themselves had a similar conceit. Which in this instance is not the case. In the turmoil of my head the voice of reason begs to be reassured of it’s knowledge that these thoughts are unreasonable.  The sanity hoping for a touchstone to ground it and banish these plaguing insecurities.



The unforeseen explosion, a Molotov cocktail shattering of jagged words that cut like shards of glass; flying into my face.  Rage. Resentment. Disappointment. A bombardment of fury accusing me of ingratitude, of selfish gracelessness, of an assortment of ugliness and more.  Slashing the rational, stomping the sanity inside me until it huddles deep beneath the already suffocating layers of fear, pain, paranoia, insecurity and feelings of utter uselessness and failure. Deep down, the knowledge that my insecurity is unfounded and paranoia unwarranted is pushed until I am sure that I deserved this explosion, sure that I deserved this broken reservoir of hateful resentment that floods over me. I am sure that I am this terrible, ungrateful, ugly, shameful little twat that this tirade in the street is assuring me that I am.

I am terrified. The fear rising is enough to make me puke, I don’t.  I manage to choke it down. I speak of being scared, of being scared of him.


A secondary explosion

He is yelling his outrage, his gall at my being frightened, by him of all people.  So I am awash with fresh fright, pain, despair.  (How could I be so awful, so stupid? Inside I ask myself. For a moment I consider hurling myself in front of a passing car, but I can’t do that to another person)  I am huddling like a child;  like I did as a child when the parents would scream and yell at one another.  Or when they would scream and yell at me. I clutch my stomach, a curled snail shell of a girl there on the sidewalk in the bedraggled wee hours of the next days morning. Splinters of my trust flying off in every direction, shrapnel from the successful hits of his words.

People passing tell him to calm down or he may end up in jail. He breaths a moment, saying to me this is not the place for this ‘conversation’.  I have barely said a thing, I am shaking; fragments of my trust shedding from me like water. Everything slows and he suppresses. I shut myself down,  the robot rising to the surface to walk my legs back to the hotel. Automaton’s can not feel.

A valiant stranger stops me to ask if I want to remain with this person, if I want to return to the hotel with this man who has just spent some indeterminable amount of time angrily berating me. All I can say is it’s fine and that the angry man is not entirely wrong. I am cut up inside, bleeding from a thousand wounds, but clamp down the vice of composure. The stranger says he understands as he is going through fights with his wife over her depression. This cracks my fake face, I can feel the tears again, welling.  I reassure the stranger I am fine.  We walk on, I am barely aware of the world around me at all. One foot in front of the other, walk, walk, walk.

We return to our hotel. I am in tatters, scrambling to quick stitch myself back together.  He continues to talk. I don’t remember if I said much, I don’t think so. I mostly just focused on the mundane tasks of straightening my things and setting out items that will be used over the course of the next few days.

There are his tears, alien and almost as unexpected as the explosions.  He does not cry; he rarely shows any strong emotions at all.  He is sorry.  There are apologies and more tears. I refuse to cry anymore, striking my leg with punishing force every time it feels like I might.  I will not allow myself to slip into the useless state of crying.  I fight it and do my best to let it all go, to forgive.

A level of trust that took me years to acquire; years to build into this safe, strong carapace and now it is broken. There is a terrible hole in my shell, the razor sharp edges quick to cut if I am not careful. I have no idea how long it will take to mend this and it fills me with mind numbing sorrow to see it in such disrepair.

And it all comes down to this small thing;

I just wanted to be told I was being silly.  That my worries were unfounded.  That my paranoia was just that and nothing more.  I needed someone to help the rational me fight back the doubt; to help the sane me put her foot down.

Sometimes I am not strong and I don’t know how to ask the right way.