death, family, mental health, mindfulness, Uncategorized

Death’s chase

I’ve spent a lot of my time contemplating death.

But I’ve never thought about it in terms of staring it in the face, knowing it was chasing me down, ready to take me captive. It’s been something I think of as a choice.

Someone I love was taken into hospital today. As he looked into the loving faces that came to see him, he lit up and admitted fear. A fear that he might not come out.

He has a degenerative condition. His latest episode left him wondering if this was it. As he struggled to breath but still made jokes with his nurses, I looked within.

How can I possibly take life for granted when others fear loosing it?

It’s a simple and obvious truth but one that’s stayed with me. Maybe because it was someone I loved holding on, scared of dying.

Maybe it was seeing the impact on my family – hurt by seeing him so weak, vulnerable and frightened.

There’s something else though.

In all this, I know he will survive this episode. My fear is what we’re going to see and what he will have to go through as degeneration sets in and he eventually can’t walk or breath unaided. I know this will mentally torment and torture him.

And then another fear raises its head. One day, this could happen to my dad who I don’t speak to anymore. How will I feel then?

All of this is worry about a future that isn’t written

I’m allowing myself to admit these feelings and come to terms with them so I don’t bury them under busy hospital visits between work and pretend they aren’t there.

I’m sure it will help avoid the moment the thoughts are suddenly present and have taken hold of me, debilitating my ability to get on and be positive.

I hope by expressing this here and to some people this will stop me melting and keep me strong for the people I love: My uncle in hospital and my heartbroken family.

I hope watching death chase someone I love, helps me love life and makes me present in the only moment I really have any guarantee of. This moment, right now.

Mojo&Me xx

Advertisements
Balance, career break, travel, Uncategorized, work

The wheel of life

I’m starting my days willing them to end. I don’t choose this.

I want feel light again. When I wake up looking forward to what life could bring – even if I’m spending most of the day at work.

Now though, I have dread in my resting mind. Fear in my waking brain. Can I do it all?

I walked through a busy station yesterday on Valentine’s Day. There were people with flowers and balloons, rushing to get somewhere. I strode slowly through the crowds and wondered if this was it.

Do I wake up each morning and just need to get through the following hours until I get home? The highlights of my day are based on being woken up by my husband as he leaves for work and then getting home where I try not to work.

Escape

I realised as I walked through the station, this is why I ran. Why I would escape. Travel, holidays, the call of packing up and starting again. All of the options came to me in that moment.

And I remember thinking that I wouldn’t let this happen to me again. I went away and traveled for a year and I vowed on my return that I would find more peace in my days. And I have. I truly have.

But when I feel like the wheel of life is turning and I’m stuck on it; when the wheel turns so fast I feel my feet slipping and falling and soon I’m on my back, willing myself to get up because the wheel… it’s the wheel. It’s still moving. I have to keep up.

And then I stop. I want to get out of the cage. I want to be free again. I don’t want to worry about things that make no difference whether the sun rises tomorrow or if the stars shine.

I want to see the sun and stars and feel at peace.

I’ve lost my peace and I don’t know how to get it back.

Today I’ve woken with dread in my tummy and I don’t know what to do.

I’ve woken with fear that I’m looking down a hole I’m about to fall in.

I’ve woken wondering how I can escape.

But before I do, I have work to do. A team to run. A brand to make come alive. I don’t want to be so busy that I can’t keep up with myself or find any space for things I care about. But here I am.

I don’t choose this. I know I have the power to change it. And I must.

Mojo&Me xx

family, Uncategorized

This shouldn’t feel like grief

We haven’t spoken for months.

We haven’t hugged for longer.

I can’t remember our last conversation.

The words you said. The things I said. What I ignored.

I remember tension. Uncomfortable tension. Always a radiating anger at something that would seep through to people close by, crawling on them, making them weary.

And now I sit with emptiness.

With sadness.

Is this what grief feels like? But you’re alive.

I don’t know what to do.

I have the chance to make things up with you. But to what end?

You still won’t ever like me. You’ll still be mean. And angry. And I will still be sad.

I wonder why this hurts so much. I wonder if you ever think about us – me and my brother.

I’m sad to know you’re lonely. But you did this.

I’m sad to know that your place of worship is five minutes from me, but you don’t know where I live.

I’m sad that on the days you pray to god, I don’t believe you will ever pray for us or ever ask for forgiveness.

And yet I cry at the thought of you.

You made me. And everything I am is because of you and in-spite of you all at once.

The beauty spots on my arms – the same places as yours. My height. My weird toes. Your blood runs through me – I look like your sister and have taken traits from your siblings that undeniably make me yours.

At some point in my life you loved me. And I look back at those years and feel lucky that I liked you for so long.

You will always be my dad, in those versions. Even the ones where we were a burden to you – you were there. Angry but there. At those times I knew no better.

The more I understood how we would never be a priority for you, or how your negative attitudes impacted me, or how you lied constantly and manipulatively, I lost more and more hope that I could continue to be your daughter as openly and loving as my nature would normally allow.

I know I’m lucky to have had you.

But I can’t remember the dad you were to me when you loved me, selflessly and would want to protect me. I trust it was there once and hold on to that.

Now though, I don’t feel like I can have you as my dad.

I know you will hurt me. You hurt everything, even those that give you the most. And me? Well, I’m worthless to you, so why would it be any different?

I’m finding my own acceptance and moving on. I don’t doubt you’ll be there in my mind. At times I will miss you. Things will remind me of you. I will no doubt shed more tears. My family will feel hurt when they think of you. But together we will build a life full of a love and energy that will keep us strong. One that isn’t tainted by an unspoken tension tearing us apart.

I just wish you could be part of it.

I hope you build a happy life and think of us lovingly. I hope you miss us now and then. I hope one day you take responsibility and apologise for all the bad things you have said and done.

Until hope becomes reality we will rally our love in our new family bubble and move on.

We will be happy.

Mojo&Me xx

death, emotion, family, fear, mental health, Uncategorized

Death haunts me

I had a bit of a mind fuck moment yesterday. I had fallen into the ibis of darkness where no one could reach me and I wanted to stay, untouched, uninterrupted, unliving until it passed.

In those moments my mind strayed to paths that I knew were unhealthy.

Love me the most, when I deserve it the least

This was a fortune cookie saying I held in my wallet for years in my late teens and early twenties. Somehow, even back then I knew that I faced life with a growl; that to many people, I would seem never to deserve love. If I was upset or frightened, people wouldn’t see this. They would see my wrath, my anger, my fight. My willingness to be anything but vulnerable.

And yesterday, as I cried without reason, and my husband tried to hold my hand, I snatched it away; my instinct to fight is still there. And my poor husband, standing from the sidelines, reaching out to the unreachable, moved from me, knowing that in that moment I will not allow consolation.

In return, I’m thinking, I can’t do this to him anymore. I can’t do this to me. I need to make a will. And I need to prepare him for the moment I find release and disappear so I can’t hurt anymore.

I want to say so much and can only muster: “I don’t see the point.”

He answers, “Aren’t I reason enough?”

My guilt riddles me. I have been him.

Seeing people I love fall apart and leave and me, sitting on the sidelines, always thinking, aren’t I reason enough. Reason enough to fight on, stay on, muster the courage to see another day.

And now I realise. When days are dark in your mind, it’s painful getting through. In those moments, survival is barely an option. My mind had turned to preparing him for what I see as an eventuality in my life: death.

An ever-present state of mind

I have been with some form of mental struggle for all my adult life – and maybe earlier.

I remember feeling so out of sorts at college that I walked out of a class, and tried to seek help from a receptionist who was clearly out of her depths with a saddened teenager.

But earlier than this, death has always been there.

It appeared in stories I wrote as a child. It was in my imagination, when my mum didn’t answer the door and I had walked home from my child minder, thinking she was home.  I very calmly had presumed she’d chosen death. Then as I’ve faced my most depressed states, death has been an option I wanted and had to fight. And even in my most happy phases and moments, it was still there: If I died today, I would die happy.

Death to me isn’t scary. It’s peace.

Reason enough

My dear husband. My nieces. My parents. My friends. I’m sorry if one day this demon takes me. I know you don’t want that. Sometimes though, I do.

But for you I will try and fight another day. For you I will seek help.

You are reason enough.

Especially you, my husband, who has loved me the most, when I have deserved it the least.

Mojo&Me xx

dreams, family, future, mental health, Uncategorized

The uneasy feelings from my dreams

Unease sits in a number of places with me.

It starts with my mind. My sometimes foggy, many times distressed, mind.

It settles in my tummy, knotting it. At its worst, I feel ill from it. My mouth fills with saliva, I want to vomit, I heave.

It rises, stinging my eyes and closing my throat, threatening to come out.

It ends with my hands, as they write.

Why today?

The cause of it is varied, depending (obviously) on what fucked up thing I’m trying to deal with.

Today it’s hard for me to describe without the unease taking over, and stopping me in my tracks.

Today, my unease sits with my father.

Saying it out loud makes this a real thing I need to deal with. I haven’t spoken with him for weeks, since his marriage ended. Selfishly, I was too scared to call him, knowing I’d be the verbal punching bag, hearing his anger and lies and eventually becoming the reason his marriage failed.

My sibling was stronger than me. He called. The on slaughter of abuse he got makes me feel sick.

I cannot see further than that and all the hurt my dad has caused. I can’t see past his lies and remember that one day, at some point in his life, he must have loved us. Then at some point I think he forgot this.

The future

One of the rules for a healthy mind is not to look into a yet unwritten future as you can’t predict or control it.

But as I try to do this consciously, my worries seep into dreams that wake me with a mournful sorrow that I spend my morning trying to shake.

It haunts the back of mind as I brush my teeth.

I try to rinse it off me as I shower, but the remnant of emotion remains with me.

I try to walk it off and find some peace in counting my steps. Keeping me grounded to just what is in front of me.

Then my mind wanders…

It’s my birthday this week. Will he try to contact me?

It’s my brothers 40th soon. He won’t be there to see the milestone.

If I have children, how will I tell him I’m pregnant or that he has a new grand child.

I know I need to keep myself in the present which I can control. But I can’t control my dreams. And it seems they will still hold the worries that I spend my day forgetting and embed an emotion in me that reminds me that I can’t hide from unfinished thoughts.

I know I have to come to terms with some of this. I know one day I might have to speak to him.

But right now, my train is pulling in and I have to to get to work. I have to start a productive day, pretend I don’t feel this and hope that tonight my mind finds some peace.

Wish me luck.

Mojo&Me xxx

family, support, Uncategorized

Beyond an ivory tower life

Is it comfortable up there, in your ivory tower? The one where you damn the world from and protect your kin.

Is it safe, when you shout to protect your loved ones?

Is it warm from where you selfishly tell me what a messed up family I have, and that your family will not be involved?

Is it blinding? Can you not see that we’re stuck in this not so perfect life, trying to make good from gripping hurt. Can you not, for one moment, see outside your tower towards the pain of others?

I’ve never had an ivory tower. My family may have it’s sharp edges, but we have always looked outwards to people who needed us. This may have been to the detriment of keeping our core unit safe, but that’s how it was.

And now, as my own unit crumbles again, all I hear are the voices from your tower, shunning us away and shouting down damnations coveted as advise.

How dare you pretend to love us.

How dare you say you will be there.

How dare you speak words that contradict your action and never see the pain you are inflicting by doing this.

I’m jealous of your tower. The one where you see the world at a distance, never letting the bad bits touch you.

I’m jealous that within it you have never felt the pain I’ve felt or made the sacrifices we have made. You’ve never had to lift a finger too high without an all consuming help from within your walls, you’ve never had to feel alone. I’m happy for you – but please don’t let this make your cruel to when the world outside cries out in pain, wanting help.

Not everyone is as blessed as you. Please, do good with it.

Mojo&Me xx

creativity, travel, Uncategorized, writing

Travel: the inspiration and tormentor of creativity 

It’s all bubbling away inside me. Ideas. Emotions. Unexpressed in a way that conveys really what I’m feeling.

And in these moments I start to think; I have to write. I have to express. I’m not an artist but this must be what it’s like to need to create – where things come from you unexpectedly, raw, needing finesse but pouring with such depths of truth about where they’re from that they can’t hide any longer.

They are seeping into my mind, wanting release in words. Every ounce of my being is trying to capture and repress them at the same time.

I can’t express right now.

I can’t feel right now.

Right now, I have to be here. Where I am. 

Where am I?

I’m currently on an epic trip across Canada, driving through mountainous terrain that have left me speechless, humbled and amazed at the world. It’s a far cry from the urban surroundings I’m used to, where buildings are the tallest things you see.

I want to soak it up and be in the now. A ‘now’ that I will only have in memories and pictures in two weeks time when it’s over and I’m back in my concrete terrain.

A ‘now’ that mindfulness has taught me to be in and that I love. A ‘now’ that usually calms my mind, roots my body and brings peace to my soul and I soak in the place I’m in.

The changing moments of ‘now’

My ‘now’ is morphing into something else. It’s hunting me down. Chasing me. Moving my mind to words that must come out; to surging emotions that run through me till I can’t be in the place my body exists and escapes to a place in my mind.

I must express. I must write. I must be in another ‘now’. Right now.

So here I am, in some of the words that I couldn’t keep in any longer. The words I saw and heard in my mind have formed a narrative that has taken over my present moment.

And now, I look up and experience something else. The mountains. You’re still there. You’re my next moment.

Thank you for waiting for me to see you. I wish life always did that.

Mojo&Me xx