Friday, 23 December 2016
Wednesday, 7 September 2016
He has been gone now for one month and one week, 38 days.
Tomorrow is my parents wedding anniversay. Would have been.
There is a lake of sadness inside of me that is just sat there. It flooded in and I don't know how to remove it.
I can go down to the shore of it and try to let some of it evaporate, but mostly right now I'm just leaving to do what water does. It's seeping into the cracks of my life finding edges it can smooth away, finding parts that seem solid until they're cracked open and fall apart to reveal a whole new cliff face.
Sometimes something happens and a wave crashes over me, I end up sobbing in a coffee shop . That's okay. These things happen. I wish I had some tissues though.
I've never lost a parent before so this is a new learning curve for me, it's going to take as long as it takes. There is no deadline and no bonus points for getting over it first.
I really miss you Dad.
Saturday, 9 January 2016
I love the theory of New Years resloutions, the idea of self improvement and completing a self set goal should be encouraged, but I'm rubbish at sticking to them. So I'm not going to make a resloution this year, but I am going to give myself a mission statement. Which is totally differnet and not just semantics.
Not the snappiest of statements, but it's what I want to do. I don't want another week to go by this year where I look back and ask myself what I've done. I want something to show for every week: another page of my book, a photograph I'm proud of, to improve a skill. Hell, I'll be happy if I can put together a new blog post every week.
This is a nice and vague one, so I'm not going to feel like a failure if I don't hit a number on the scale. I want to stop wasting so much time, getting sucked into the tumblr vortex or scrolling through Twitter. I want to put my ideas into practise, not just get addicted to the brain crack I have things that I thought of years ago that I haven't really done anything with because I'm not sure I can do them as well as I'd want to. Which isn't really the point.
This time next year I'd like to have less ideas and more things to show for them, talk less do more.
I own hundreds of pounds worth of excellent photography equipment, if we take into account my computer and software, and the fact I can borrow my dad's stuff with relative ease, then we're probably talking about thousands of pounds of awesome technology I have access to and don't utilise to it's full extent.
I have a job that is really stressful when it's intense but also allows for a lot of downtime, and occassionally the fates align so that my down time is in new and interesting places. Working with an older generation and living with the fact my dad has cancer is making really aware of the fact life is too damn short.
It's too short to waste missing the people you love, it's too short to not try every new thing that comes up, it's too short to not grab opportunities or make them. People become bitter and twisted so quickly, I don't want to be blowing out 40 candles and wondering where my life went. I want to know that the next 40 years will be just as full as the first.
Friday, 7 August 2015
I wish anxiety was more like asthma.
Or I wish anxiety could be treated as easily as asthma. Or maybe I don't know what I'm wishing for and ought to be more careful, I'm not asthmatic, the closest I've had to a chest problem was a nasty of bout fresher's flu that made me wheeze if I went outside and tried to something silly like walk up a slight hill.
But from what I've heard they're sort of similar. Tight chest, no air, a rising sense of panic, brought on by something or nothing.
Asthmatics grab their inhaler, breath a puff of magical steroid filled air and the tightness lifts, they lose the feeling of their chest imploding and exploding all at once.
I know it's probably not that easy, I know asthma kills people. But so does depression and anxiety.
I read somewhere that in the first place cigarettes don't really give you a buzz because of the nicotine, that it's just the slow act of dragging on a cigarette that gives you that feeling of calm and quiet. The nicotine takes ages to build to the point of addiction, you don't start smoking because of nicotine, you start because you're addicted to oxygen and taking five minutes to savour it.
The idea of it though, a cigarette I mean, becomes almost an appealing medication. I don't have an inhaler but maybe the little death stick would have a similar effect? I cloud of mild drugs that push out the anxiety.
I expect what would really help is a decent spliff, but that's a little less socially acceptable during the work day.
So I don't smoke, because I know that's not what I really want. I want some magical cure that I inhale like Inner Peace and when I exhale it drags all the bad thoughts with it. If it exists it's probably just called Deep Breathing Exercises which is far to uninvolved and hippy-esque to feel like a proper help.
I don't drink either, because I trained myself to revere expensive single malt whisky and I figure I should save my money to drink something I really can appreciate rather than waste all my money on alcopops that just get me wasted. It doesn't really help with the anxiety but it does give a totally legitimate excuse not to wonder if the alcohol would help and thus reduces the risks of becoming an alcoholic. When I become a wildly successful something and have money to burn on enough Scotch to get throughly rat arsed regularly at least I'll be able to afford rehab.
I do find melocholia helps in small doses, allowing yourself to wallow and contemplate a variety of self destructive responses gives you at least something close to an aim.
Mostly though I've started just trying accept my anxiety, like a twisted sort of hayfever it's annoying when it strikes but I just have to let it wash over me and hope this wave isn't the one that drowns me.