to write about my feelings. I find it hard to express my emotions when there has been so much turmoil of late. One of the beautiful things about blogging is that sometimes someone expresses feelings that you recognise, but couldn't articulate yourself.
Reading your own experiences through the eyes of another creates a connection, recognition and understanding between people who share what can be at times very trying circumstances.
I have, in the past, had problems with letting myself go on this site, allowing misery or sheer exhaustion to invade a space that I have nurtured and tended as if it were one of the flowers I photograph.
This is a healing space. But sometimes it is a hurting space as well.
The thing is, I'm isolated by my ill health and surrounded by people in good health. The pressure to keep up appearances has lessened since the break-up of my relationship. But I still have to be strong for my son. And I still find myself putting on an act on the rare occasions that I am out and about, or have a visitor here.
Oh alas, alack, poor me.
But I can't apologise for feeling the exhaustion and demoralisation that I currently feel. So yes, this is a bit of a miserable post.
I allow it because of the utterly inept and criminally neglectful officialdom I've had to deal with over the past few weeks (and three years) in vain attempts to make progress with health and social services.
My case is 'complex', my needs are 'complicated'. What part of 'struggling, please help' do these cretins not understand?
I try, I flag, I give up. I try harder, I get worried the energy is being diverted from where it really needs to go - my own healing and my son's wellbeing, which are essentially one and the same thing. I give up courting the cretins and do the best I can.
I allow this post because so many of my friends still don't 'get it' or have forgotten in recent months to keep trying to get it because they are 'busy' or just can't handle the fact that I'm now a single disabled mother. Too much reality. Too hard to confront. But let's call a spade a spade.
I allow it because it makes me realise I need to reach out, I need to reach out now but I also probably need to get a friend over for a cup of tea, no matter how exhausted I am. A friend, not a support worker or a home visit from an OT.
Then, perhaps I won't feel quite so miserable. And I may even talk about my feelings. But that would involve crying, quite a lot. And I'm so exhausted I'm scared to cry too much.
How do you allow feelings to happen when your feelings feel so much bigger than you can cope with?
This post came about because Lady Bracknell's editor writes what I can't express here
Next day: I wondered if I should remove this post, as it's so in your face miserable. Then I noticed I'd used the word cretins, twice. The post stays if only to apologise for this unconscious but nevertheless dreadful choice of expression. The irony of potentially offending whilst ranting about my own experience of disablism isn't lost on me. I have made a note to self not to post late at night when overtired and feeling bleak. Bleak is ok sometimes, just not bleak beyond reason.