Wednesday, 24 June 2015

From My Notebook

I feel this to be a necessity. It's necessary to help my brain compute what's happening. To help me understand then and now. And that both are okay.

If this is what's right for you then I support it.


All I ask is that you recognise this will reshuffle my life and understanding.

Having two beds to sleep in isn't something I'd ever considered until now.
What if one is softer than the other? What if one gives me nightmares and I can't sleep?

Please don't consider it favouritism if one suits me better.

When I started this notebook, in June last year, I never imagined the last few pages would harbour such great change.
But it mirrors my journey. How we've all changed. How you've helped me grow and how I've grown myself.


I'm not angry. I'm yet to feel anything, if truth be told. That evening of change brought only numbness.  

So please, I haven't abandoned all feeling and I don't despise.
I ask that you give me time to absorb this new chapter.

Recently, when speaking to a friend, they asked me to see this as a new chapter. And I hope to.
That's what this will be. Something new.
I'll do things I may not have done otherwise.

I'm yet to need a helping hand. I'm yet to crave a firm hug when it all feels too much - though many have already been offered.
Nothing feels to be crashing around me, yet. But if it does, I'll call for you.

And when I do, please still be there. As a team. As one unit.
As one unit of support. As the one cohesive 'thing' I've grown up with.

Wednesday, 17 June 2015


They say patience is a virtue. I have a little patience. Not an abundance. But a little.

Waiting makes me fidget and itch. Wait, wait wait - keep waiting. 
It's like being ill and waiting to feel okay again. It's like letting the waves calm before you swim.

It makes my skin crawl.
Wait. Wait. Wait.

It's a slap in the face to change. It's a "No, I need it now. I have to do it now. Let's go."
Keep waiting.

And yet, there are big waves and calmer shores. There and ill days, and I must ride them out.

I must wait.

Wait isn’t really "No". It’s "Not yet."

Sunday, 14 June 2015

A Poem For Today | 15

Men ask the way to the Cold Mountain
Cold Mountain: there's no through trail.
In summer, ice doesn't melt
The rising sun blurs in swirling fog.
How did I make it?
My heart's not the same as yours.
If your heart was like mine
You'd get it and be right here.

- Gary Snyder.

Monday, 8 June 2015

Absence, Explained

It's been a while since I've sat down and written freely. There's been a few constraints recently and I'm still getting my head around the change.

About three weeks in to 'little writing, little photo taking' I became disgruntled.
"If I'm not writing, what's my thing?"
"How can I keep on top of it all?"

But it's okay. It's okay to have a break. It's okay to take one day off in the week if it sets you up for the other six.

It's okay.

Somewhere between tired and optimistic I found a little sense.

I am every story I play a part in, every story I've read and written too. I consume every ten mile drive in silence. Every song that makes me dance and every song that makes me cry. Every frustrating, inpatient moment. Every loud and laughing moment. I am all of these things.

And even if I can't write about it now or take photos of it now, I'll be able to soon. At some point soon. When I stop and feel calm. When I'm ready. When my fingers can't help but type rapidly. That's when I'll be ready.

For now, I will make the most of it.

Monday, 1 June 2015

Dear June...

I'm making you a promise. A vow I will do my best not to break. 

I promise to write, often. To use my camera, often.

I vow to appreciate and absorb the now and everything that comes with it - good and bad.

June, I promise to be fearless and patient.

I'm ready. Ready and waiting.