Dissociation – the gift that keeps on giving. It’s a way of being where I’m either unaware of, or I just don’t care about what I’m missing.
It’s when I come back that I think GOOD LORD!
Suddenly I can think clearly, I can feel emotion, I can read a book – I can read several books – I can experience the world with all the delicious bits and pieces it has to offer.
Flying back to the UK after a jolly to Spain with the lovely Ella and her boys I was struck by the thrill I felt in the pit of my stomach as I watched the English Channel succumb to the coastline of our fair country.
The green patchwork of fields – hamlets, villages and towns absorbed by larger conurbations.
This was my country. These were my people. This was my walk.
Looking down I could almost feel the cool air on my face, filling my lungs; the wind in the trees, birdsong, Goodness – I even found myself looking forward to the hum of the traffic.
I loved Spain – friendly smiling folk – the great human desire to communicate despite the language barrier – the Gaudi museum in Barcelona – I crazy mix of Charlie and the chocolate factory and Hansel and Gretal.
A holiday does a wonderful thing. It clears the mind and, in this case, it showed me what was waiting for me on my return.
I’m enjoying the excitement of having to rein in my wild horses – my explosion of thoughts,of possibilities, of what next?
I need to steady my ambitions too. I’m all too aware that I have limited time to realise my hopes and dreams…
Back in the real world though, I’m just waiting a bit longer to ensure that this particularly insidious bout of barmy has passed.
I need to talk to more people. I’m thinking about accessing schools – sixth forms – in an attempt to get our younger folk to think more about mental health and what that means for them and others….I want to speak to universities – healthcare courses – social work, nursing, medicine, occupational therapy and physiotherapy…
What about the student union bodies?
And, a little hatchling of an idea, a mental health magazine.
With the devil making work for my particular idle hands I watched a docudrama about the Wipers Times – a satirical magazine written by soldiers in Ipres, France while they were on the front line during the First World War.
I began to think – if they could find something funny to write about at the same time getting serious messages across when their backs were to the wall, then why can’t we?
So, walks, talks and a magazine – what’s not to like?
One step at a time, Christopher.
Walking a mile soon.
Walk a mile