I've been toying around with the idea of sharing reflective and creative writing that I used do whilst in my uni free periods (back in 2009-2012) because it's something that helped me through a really tough time, also regrettably it's not something I've found myself particularly capable of now. Back then I was a very angry person struggling to come to terms with having depression and in a sense I'm glad I can't write anymore because surely that means I've developed as a person. But also I can't put pen to paper now because I get RSI flare-ups, I get too stressed out/panicky and I'm too forgetful to get everything written down therefore the process does more damage than good. So sharing what I wrote then can be my way to remember how I used to release my tension and also to remind myself that I've overcome so much; I'm giving myself some credit for getting this far in my constant battle with mental and physical illness and I'm proud.

I like to write, writing for me is cathartic. My own form of meditation. Somehow I always end up analysing myself when I write though. Periods of self reflection that seem to be happening evermore often these days, yet is it really me that requires it? Surely I am surrounded by people who need it more. Who need to take a good hard, long look at themselves and be shocked by the monster they are surprised to find glaring back.

Life is unfair. Claustrophobic. Chaos. If it weren’t then I’m sure it wouldn’t be life at all. Something would be very wrong, cosmically unbalanced. Just mere existence. Not that misfortune and suffering is anywhere near fun, but I guess at least it's far from boring. That’s as far as my optimism stretches. 

Here I am, wondering why when I write ‘far’ my effs are much bigger than in other words I use them. Then again, handwriting never used to be my strong point. It sometimes still slips into illegible scrawl. Especially when my thoughts race. And my hand can’t write fast enough to make sure I get every bit down that I wanted, or else face being left with snippets of random thoughts floating through my head. The feeling of dread at not remembering what I wanted to write down a few seconds ago. Should my feelings be this extreme? Is my memory really that terrible? Or have all these years of willing myself to get up each morning no matter what awfulness lies ahead, trained my mind to automatically forget?

How I love that time flies when I am distracted. An easy feat. Anything, and I’ll have boarded a completely different train of thought, chugging or hurtling its way to a different destination. Like catching the glare of a magpie with the smallest glint of something even remotely shiny. The promise of potential enjoyment from the shimmer in the distance, or maybe disappointment looms at the conclusion you might reach. A smudge on the horizon. A missed opportunity. Take the risk? Play it safe? At least with one of them I might find an answer and there’s only one option left for me. No one got anywhere by pussy footing around. Especially not when happiness is at stake. And not just mine. So I shall fight against the monsters, in my own mirror and in others too. 

How do you like to let go of your anxieties? I'd love to know other techniques!

Stay curious