I’m bored of myself. Bored of my [empty] self. Bored of what I write.

I am really sorry my blog posts lately have been so uninspiring in tone. I feel actively and most passionately mundane, supressed, deflated, dull, pedestrian and un-shining.

The last time I was inspired was yesterday, which seems both not long ago while simultaneously VERY fucking long ago.

On Tuesday I wrote my piece for the local paper about mental health. I felt inspired then. I also felt proud yesterday when the charity CEO asked for my permission to share what I’d written with the team and when my social media idea was launched on world mental health day. But today, all that pride and gratefulness and positive feeling has drained away, and this is sadly the way it seems to go.

I cannot grasp hold of those amazing euphoric warm fuzzy feelings that I get and keep them.

They slip like sand through the hourglass with the passage of time…and not very much time elapses, usually.


Emptiness is my ‘usual’.

I am feeling acutely aware of my unmet emotional needs just lately. I know why this is. It’s since the whole Facebook saga where I caught a glimpse of photos of a family wedding that I remained uninvited to and left out of.


I saw evidence of their life going on, and I wondered why mine was not. That has made the inner emotional emptiness absolutely un-ignorable (I’m hoping that’s an actual word?!).


Long-term therapy is what I need to get anything close to “well”, but as I can’t afford to pay for a therapist privately, I am reliant on my NHS psychologist not dropping me off her caseload too soon.

I said to her that therapy is okay and great and all that, but it is nothing like as nice as the warm fuzzy feeing that comes from having an attentive family; people who are there to stay and to love and support you as long as you need them. My therapist cannot maintain what she does for the rest of my life. She is here for a period of time that she will never ever tell me the proposed length of. I cannot know that I have a few more months, or a few more years or any kind of estimate. She simply refuses to do this.

She claims that I will not always need her, and I will naturally want to break away from her when the time comes. I tell her that is BOLLOCKS and will surely NEVER happen! I just can’t see it. I can’t envisage EVER feeling that her addition in my life is unnecessary or counterproductive or counter-therapeutic.

I am uncomfortably attached to a pretend mother figure who isn’t really my mum and never will be! and I know she isn’t really my mum, and she knows she isn’t really my mum, and we just basically play a weird dance of pretending that she is re-parenting me and teaching me psychological life lesson stuffs, and I go to the office weekly and have a good old cathartic cry, and then miss her inbetween so email her as I want to tell her psychologically relevant stuff that she MUST know that second, and then she finds me bloody intrusive and annoying (I would imagine) as I am eating into her time, and I know I’m eating into her time so feel awful and stupid and pathetic and demanding and fucking guilty, and then she knows and I know that the whole fucking shambolic mess of pretences and client-therapist exchanges would never be happening if I’d have had a less shit childhood, and at the end of the day it is all BOLLOCKS, but bollocks that if I didn’t have would cause me to become very fucking unwell, which is hard to imagine really isn’t it? as even with therapy and shit I am still fucking miserable and recurrently suicidal and fighting off impulses to do totes dangerous things like jump out of windows and carve into my skin with blades and swallow more tablets than I should be swallowing….and I really should be stopping this grammatically poor and overly LONG sentence NOW.

And breathe.


I’m sick of having a empty space in my empty self.

I want to feel full.

Food doesn’t do it.

Booze doesn’t either.

Or sex.

Or Netflix on demand.

Or beach walks.

Or candle lit evenings with hubby.

Or meditation.

Or shopping.

Or writing.

Or drawing.

Or cleaning.

Or bleeding.

Or talking therapy.

Or coffee with good friends.

Or reading.

Or learning.

Or music.

Or nature.

Or hugs.


Or praise.

Or reassurance.

Or expressions of love.

The only thing I’m full up with, is my own inner emptiness.

I am crammed full with emptiness, and weighed down by the weight of my (empty) self.






Anniversary is a word that can have positive or negative connotations when we hear it, dependent on how anniversaries generally are experienced for you, with your personal/life history and how anniversaries have worked out. 

Anniversaries (of the marital kind) can be joyful affairs  (if it’s your first one and you’re still enthusiastic about the state of your marriage, and neither of you have had an affair ūüėõ), or they can be joyless, or even worse than that- joy sucking or joy diminishing. 

The joy diminishing anniversary may be experienced if you are newly divorced (or not newly, but very unhappily) divorced, OR, if you HATE your spouse and are no longer together, your wedding anniversary might morph into joyful once more! simply because you’re so relieved not to be with each other anymore!

Today is a significant anniversary for me. I am not divorced (happily or otherwise), and equally I don’t hate my husband. In actual fact I love him deeply and he loves me, and together we share a bond very meaningful and very special and close, so surely today is a happy day, yes?

Well… Sadly it isn’t.

Anniversaries of any description can be incredibly sad days. They can be very much about what you’ve lost, just as much as what you still have. Anniversaries can be vacant emotional black holes. We can soar down in mood as well as up. Or feelings can be entirely mixed and confused and jumbled up.

But that’s enough abstract generalising, this is what I’m feeling today, on my wedding anniversary…..

In short, I’m feeling very very sad and very very ill.
But it has absolutely nothing to do with my husband or marriage. That is good. That is happy. That is worthy of feeling many good things about. But I can’t access all that stuff which is usually there and all about him, because I’m busy processing my losses.

***This is where yesterday’s post writing stopped dead. Why?

I became dissociative. The switch happened inside my brain and I became a different younger part of me, because adult me couldn’t handle reality. Eventually I regained contact with me again and my usual adult identity, before getting knocked sideways again, noticing a surname change on a blocked list of people on Facebook I’d rather pretend didn’t exist.

A very close relative of mine got married. I wasn’t invited. This was someone I held in my arms when she was a newborn baby. I temporarily unblocked and saw a profile bride/groom photo of them. Their lives go on without my involvement or awareness of me. Just as I blog on here and do all my media stuff and writing and being mentally ill without them (to my knowledge) knowing this is what I spend my days doing and being. 

I thought of my parents….imagining they would look quite elderly now….wondering about all sorts of things….and crying quite a bit too, in the arms of my two gorgeous children. I explained why I was crying and they sympathised with the unfairness of my situation with my ex-family. They were lovely. Then after crying and more cuddles we watched telly together to distract. 

What an anniversary that was. Even worse by the end than when it started! It started off awful then, amazingly, got even worse!  

I have no joy, and finding out about the wedding stamped out any chance I have of being reacquainted with any joy soon. 

I have a warm glow knowing I am loved by my husband and children, but a deep aching sadness that I am not loved anymore by people who I thought used to love me and I loved myself. 

I think my love for them was far purer and truer than their love for me, otherwise they wouldn’t have done what they did, so it is my heart aching seeing that wedding photo on Facebook, not theirs.

Happy?? anniversary.



What to do when you are the darkness? 

Do you rid the world of your darkness…..

By removing yourself?

Separation of the bond between person and the glue of society.

Stickiness un-peeled.

Strings in the orchestra reveal the emotion of the composer.

Do you hear the sad song I play and wrote? That’s my music.

Do the haunting strains of my music move you as much as they move me?

Are you in tears as I am?

Whose tears will dry first?

Yours or mine?

Funeral bells on a rainy day.

Hells bells. (Not a figure of speech, my ears have already heard them.)

A little girl.

Threaded pieces of purity pierced by the harsh end point of the wiriest wire.

Her poetry is sure dark.

Only I know what this means.

That’s the beauty of poetry.

The bloggers right to sound her voice.

I can cry over these cyber pages if I want to.

If it’s too much for you, look away now.

I knew this was too much for you.

I knew I am too much to stomach.

Indigest me.

Rejection. Despair. Tears.

Heart aches.

Soul shakes and shivers.

Bones barely formed.

Born to be delivered..……into this?

Are you kidding me?

I’d rather be the one in pieces threaded on the pointed end of the wire.

What if you’re the darkness and you lose your lighthouses?

What if everyone of those light houses switches off in unison?


Once again in the dark.

Always that way.

For the darkness is you.



A brief meander through my thoughts…….

Heavy fur coats in a wooden wardrobe part left, right and above, and I’m met with the chilly air of Narnia inhaled¬†up my shocked nostrils. I need mind clearing via writing.

The run today and the constant socialising of the last 24 hours¬†has overloaded me, in the very wonderful-est of ways. Time spent with nice humans….not terrorist suicide bomber ones…nice ones….the types of humans¬†that¬†have thoughtfully been¬†left¬†on this planet by whoever decides what happens to remind me it is not the whole world that’s turned rotten.

Emotionally I’m in chaos….For heaven sakes tell me something¬†new summerSHINES!? I am dumbfounded at this startling revelation that all is not as it should be in this little psychologically distorted brain box of mine.

My heart feels all kinds of you should be noticing this because it’s important for your emotional survival type things, but for once, they are not mainly bad things. They are instead, mainly good things.

So much goodness flies, like arrows direct at me…..Good wishes, friends who genuinely and sincerely care and actually want me to survive and thrive and prosper and be spared some of the negative crap I feel mostly every¬†day.

‘I love you, you make me smile, thanks for¬†what you¬†write, you’re a brilliant friend,¬†you’re amazing, you’re so strong, don’t know what I’d do without you’, they say in separate messages to me, independent of other people also doing that same thing at different times.

I’m not the subject of some bizarre conspiracy of niceness that is all an illusion. I do matter to my friends, and I hope also to some people who read my blog privately too.

I often forget that people read summerSHINES, yet don’t explicitly tell me “I read summerSHINES”.

So much of the effect of what I put out on this blog is hidden from me. All I can rely on as a gauge of how this blog and my writing and charity volunteering¬†affects or helps anyone and goes down is based on what people directly¬†tell me. I am still always shocked when I hear of people reading my blog who I didn’t know actually read my blog, or how they might have read a post written way back by me, and it actually ‘speak to them’ and assist them in some way¬†today.

I am utterly blinkered and protected and cushioned and bubble-wrapped. I’m a person who raises kids by day/evening and types stuff about what I think and feel…what I worry about, what I’m proud of, what makes me sad, what things I’m wising up to, what mistakes I’m making, how I can’t for the life of me fathom myself and my personality and the personalities of others (both as individuals and social groups) and all the things I find funny, difficult or annoying. I totally forgot it’s read by strangers across the world!

I know my loyal commenters and likers obviously….but the rest of you who come across this blog and don’t say anything and just read quietly, I just don’t know you and who you are! I don’t know what effects- either positive, negative or indifferent, I have on you.

Today I ran my 10k charity run with a blogger friend (amongst a group of others), and she is new to blogging but really brilliant at it; fresh and funny and brutally honest and uniquely herself with no bullshit or pretences. We ran together and we chatted about the power we have as people in doing what we do. Her and I don’t exactly do our blogging thing in the exact same way, but there is enough commonality to make me view her as a highly compatible¬†soul twin. She is meandering her way forward into recovery, and it’s far better we explore and meander through the snowy wilderness together rather than apart. Two become one, [just without the spice girls soundtrack and sex part] :P

Meandering involves being lost and being confused and sometimes being very single-minded and determined and clear about heading in totally the wrong direction, doesn’t it? To meander anywhere involves periods of compass pin pointed accuracy, and also a lot of lost wandering and wrong turns and slow paced floating, doesn’t it?

Right now I’m a lost wanderer who is floating and trying to ground and anchor myself.

I had my crisis last week and feared I might be heading straight into a double dip second crisis, yesterday morning (as if the first one hadn’t been enough), but my friends arriving yesterday rescued me.

Lately I’ve needed a lot of rescuing from lots of people.

I’m not liking my birthday and the NHS complaint and the whole full moon and upcoming summer solstice situation. Nope.

What I need to do I think is meditate LOTS and run lots and be creative and indulge in music and nature. I also need to back off socially a bit and decide where to prioritise my focus and what exactly my goals are.

I’m basically walking on the decks of a ship in stormy seas and need to make sure I have a rain mac and wellies to keep me dry. I need to beef up my distress tolerance and emotional regulation skills and remember all the DBT therapy skills I learned and have since forgotten.

I’m meandering and¬†I’m lost, but at least I have an awareness¬†I’m lost.

Narnia is ok if you have friends exploring the wilderness with you. Easier anyway.

Once I get on my wellies and mac, the ship on the stormy sea should be no problem. What harm can a little weather do?!

But for tonight, this meandering mental health blogger needs her sleep after a couple of days, weeks, months, years, decades of emotional baggage excess.

#shouldhaveflownRyanAirtomotivatemetoridmyselfofexcessbaggage ;)

summerSHINES ©

Ps. To finish, below is the best compliment I got today from one of my kids….that makes this meanderer smile before I doze off to sleep ūüėä







Life is currently uncomfortable. It always is, to some degree, at least some of the time. Sometimes it is really uncomfortable all of the time, and other times it is mildly uncomfortable, bits of the time.

Happiness is nothing else but a temporary escape from the discomfort of life and living. Suicide is something contemplated by people when life is too hard for too long.

I am someone who experiences a wide range of moods and emotions in their rawest acutest purest undiluted and strongest form, and they change almost all the time, or sometimes they resistantly stay in a particular groove, not of my choosing. That isn’t just a blogger’s claim. It is true. Hence my official psychiatric diagnosis of ’emotionally unstable PD’.

I am a human spirit in it’s purest form.

There is no tonic to water down my personality. I am just gin.

There is no coke; I am just neat vodka amidst a national shortage of ice cubes.


There is no watering down. No mixers. No ice. But life sure gives lots of lemons.

I am citrus splashes. I am eye wateringly fruit-infused and carry an acidic punch.


I am as sour as I am sweet.

I am bitter, yep. But not in a cloudy bitter lemon, lemonade mixer way, but in an angry way. There is no disguising my true feelings on metaphors.

I am crystal clear and say what I feel and voice my thoughts.

My thoughts right now are that life is horrible. Life is hard. Life really HURTS….a lot.¬†I am weary of this thing¬†called life, that I am ‘supposed’ to be grateful for.

I was not caught up in the Manchester terror attacks.¬†That meant I felt grateful initially. But a few days on, I feel trapped by life yet again. I feel clamped into an uncomfortable position.¬†Life is so bloody difficult. Yet I’m aware I am supposedly lucky to be alive.

I am lucky I am here to raise my children. They need me and I need them. I am lucky to share my life with my soulmate, confidante and best friend, my husband.

The challenges don’t let up though. My pain does NOT lessen. It just fades a little, sometimes, usually when I am immersed in something with my whole mind, body, and soul.

Lately I have escaped from the difficult thoughts I want to escape from via excessive busy-ness. I have made sure I have been incredibly productive and incredibly caught up in focussed tasks that require¬† lot of physical effort and mental concentration, also creativity and problem solving. I have basically spent THREE whole days dismantling everything in the house in terms of possessions, and decluttering¬†and reorganising and shifting and blitzing and¬†cleaning. This is what I tend to¬†do when I have troublesome thoughts that just sit there and refuse to budge.¬†I still haven’t finished these tasks where my ultimate aim is perfection and nothing less, but I am taking a mini break today, as my exhaustion has¬†be¬†listened to, I guess.

The depression sets in as soon as my activity stops though.

I am trying to push bad¬†feelings away. I know what they are,¬†but I am not especially keen on acknowledging them or writing about them or talking about them, because they are feelings I am not happy to admit to. I know that’s ‘wrong’ and it is out of character for me, but sometimes¬†(especially when the kids are off on half-term holidays from school), I¬†HAVE to put my difficult feelings on a mental shelf to be dealt with. that shelf¬†is labelled¬†“some other time”.

These feeling are for the “some other time” shelf.

The “some other time” is going to arrive tomorrow and the day after.

Tomorrow is therapy, and the day after that is the last time probably ever that I’ll see my psychiatrist.¬†Two emotionally intense experiences coming up that¬†are going to be testing emotionally,¬†given how I’m feeling. I want to cry at the mere thought of them to be honest. But I will attend and I will cry, and maybe/hopefully talk a bit of sense inbetween the tears.

I’m just not in a good place. But I say that so often, that I wonder whether the good place¬†I’m searching for¬†exists? I know I have two main¬†modes in life, “in a good place”, and “not in a good place” because I have described myself at being¬†‘at them’ at various points throughout my life.

Maybe the good place is to do with the relative¬†ratio of lemons to my human spirit. My human spirit is contaminated by too many biting lemons¬†inviting my attention¬†all at once, at times when I’m not in a good place, and the ‘in a good place’ ratio is minimal lemons, and the only ones being present, being the old mellow ones, not new fresh life lemons of acute sourness.

Right now, there are lots of lemons, and my lemonade production line is functioning a bit awry.

Hopefully the therapy and psychiatrist double bill will help fix the current malfunctioning on the factory floor of my lemonade-producing production line and I’ll soon be making lemonade to rival Britvik’s finest. But tonight, I have a notable¬†excess of lemons.