Just four sessions of my latest mental health therapies to go and I have to say that it appears to be doing me good. The days following therapy are always a bit of a write off because I am so brain dead and my never good sleep patterns are a shambles right now. But it appears to be progress and I’ll take that.
Digressing a little, but not for long, I’m sorry to report that I have not yet made it as a writer. Since this site was created in 2014 by the genius at godjira.com, I have posted nearly 3000 blogs which only goes to prove that quantity does not win out over quality and that perhaps I have had too much time on my hands. There are a number of reasons I have posted so much. Here are some of them:
– I love to write
– It does me good to write
– I try to write every day because I find it a useful discipline
– I try and improve every day
– I love it when I use a word I have never used before
– I hope, in a rather sad, forlorn way that I will get ‘spotted’
Which leads me back to my mental health. My therapist has cajoled me into getting my act together and to think beyond just today. I wrote one book to mixed reviews (it could have been better, I know) and I need to write another one. I am resigned to the likelihood that I will never be able to call myself a professional writer, yet as I tumble through middle age into near old age, it doesn’t seem to matter so much. Although my brain is ageing, I feel more creative than ever.
It is the small matter of knowing what to write about that is the issue with me. I am not sure if I should write another travel book (I have a working title for this one), a kind of memoir (I have a working title for this one, too) or perhaps I should try my hand at fiction? Two of my friends have written in this genre and, I have to say, both produced wonderful reads. I am not sure if I am technically good enough to write fiction. I’ll think about this when I am on holiday in a week or so.
I am quite sure that the whole depression/anxiety malarkey will never disappear. In the back of my mind, I am terrified that my GP will one day refuse to write another prescription for medication. I cannot envisage life without my current industrial levels of medication and I don’t want to try. It keeps me normal in the most general sense of the word. And in a way, the depression is almost an old friend. Whilst I might not exactly enjoy the world of mental illness, at least I know where I stand. Only a fellow nutter would understand that one.
Writing means I am not giving up on life and I am still reaching out to new horizons. That’s as positive as things have been for a long while.