RSS Feed

Category Archives: Depression

Reflections 2019 w25

The wind blew at my strapped down Tilly hat as I crested the hill that was once a fort at Dinas Dinlle, sea spray travelling over the land in a fine mist, leaving the taste of salt with each heavy breath.

I love these dog walks with Spot.

My heart pounds with the exertion my body has with the short but sudden climb, lungs filling with fresh, clean air; Welsh air. I hear only the sound of the wind and crashing waves, glad I am not trying to fight the sea to catch a fish or two, not even the bleating of the sheep can be heard. I know not if they are hiding in a far off field or just behind the wall, silently waiting for the wind to die down. Even the seagulls hang in the air as though they are in a painted seaside scene.

The only other people I can see in this quiet place are other dog walkers, some are clearly taking pleasure in the weather, others look like they wish they had cats. It’s not cold, but some are dressed like it was the middle of winter, accompanied by a bloke in shorts. My smile as we pass seems to convey my humour at the sight, much to the annoyance of the person wrapped up, which in turn makes me smile more. Not in a mean way…OK it might be a little mean.

I never get bored of doing the same walks over and over again at the coast, or in the countryside. I find a peace with the empty space, a quiet in the natural sounds, the voice in my head has nothing to find fault with that cannot be easily forgotten by something to see. Yes I may just sit and cry, emotionless, yet calm. Not knowing why, but accepting the release of pressure.

These are the times I know there is hope, because these are the times I do not need to lean on the medication.

They just do not happen often enough. But I am Grateful that they do at least happen.


Reflections 2019 w12

Well another day of making my disc bulges suffer, but another part of the allotment altered. This now makes 2/3’s of it done. At the weekend the shed will have a new home, floor and roofing felt. This will then allow me to get its current site level for the greenhouse to move location.

I am moving away from two greenhouses and going for one sidewards and a large cold frame, that is in itself 3/4 of the floorspace of the green house it will replace. This will, on bricks, be plenty tall enough for the pepper plants, to give some sort of scale. The roof can however be easily removed to allot plants to grow upwards as though they were on a plot, theoretically it should be a little more versatile than the greenhouse, and the benefit of having one greenhouse is having it side on for the winter sun, expanding the season.

So, 3 more maul jobs to go, and then a visit to the chiropractor.

I was asked by the psychologist last week if one enjoys the allotment, and the confusion was evident when I said no. It’s just one maul job less than last time, there is no sense of achievement because it has not been completed, and one does not know how long my body will keep taking the punishment, the Tramadol has increased on some days.

But that is what you get for wanting to completely alter the plot, the only things that have not moved are two apple trees, a crappy plum has gone and a pear has been transplanted, they were 10yrs old and a half day maul, armed only with a shovel, foul language and my weight. The pear is showing signs of life thankfully.

A huge amount of work at the beginning of my first year to make life easier in the long term, and standardising lengths of cages, fleece and netting.

Does my plot look like anyone else? No, it looks like I copied and pasted a design on a computer and then translated that onto the ground. That was the concept, to know exactly how many plants can be planted in each one for differing sizes. Therefore planting catch crops can also be calculated.

I sow in modules/ paper pots to give the plants extra time away from the slugs, and knowing the number has made this a doddle for the planning.

As for the slugs, it was my sons weekend to visit this week, and we completed the hedgehog house for the allotment, should one drop by and decide to have a banquet, a B&B if you will.

Reflections 2019 w10

Less of a reflection and more of a pondering.

If it takes more effort to be negative than to be positive, why are so many of us wired to the negative?

If it takes less effort to be positive, why is this not the first option? We will, unless a challenge is the goal, nearly always take the path of least resistance, and the path that gives a reward is alluring.

So it would make sense that all of humankind would be trying to attain a constant state of positivity.

But we don’t. Why?

Instinct would have us securing water, food, and shelter; a moral boost comes with fire. But positivity? Have we in the ‘civilised world’ become complacent about our lot?

It takes time and effort to stay in a negative state of mind, to focus on the negative and block out the memories of the positive. To churn over the thoughts of someone who has done you wrong, rather than focus on those in your life that have brought light into it.

When do you have time for that when you have so and so to think about, the revenge or the next meeting you will have , where you will prove you are better than them. That all takes time; and ones complete focus.

What benefit does it give us?

Think a sad, unhappy, angry, sceptical, bitchy thought. And you will be in a mood that brings you down. Stay in that mood and it make you unwell. It can physically make us ill.

What is the reason for it?

Is it natural?

Or is it man made?


What side of the see-saw have you placed your thoughts?

Reflections 2019 w03

Some people have a natural ability to tune emotions out, it’s a defence mechanism to prevent emotional pain. Some tune out the good emotions, also as a defence mechanism against pain. ‘Staying’ with the darkness seems less dark if the light is not allowed to shine in to illuminate the shadows edge.

Especially if the light shows us we are much deeper in the shadows chill than we thought.

Even if the choice was to hide in the shadows, away from sight, it does not guarantee that we won’t stumble in the darkness ever deeper, unknowing, until it is to late.

And when the mind is in wracked in pain, there is no positive.

The rapids have just got to be rode out, hoping that the rocks do not cause too much damage before the water calms and a chance to get out appears.

But sometimes those rapids just seem to keep on going, knock after knock, after knock.

I have a friend that is in the rapids at the moment, in the pain; hiding in the shadows. But she is with help. That is going to be the the difference between scrambling to shore, and not having enough strength, slipping back into the water to travel the rapids some more.

The journey is going to be hard and the trek up the bank steep and long, but, we, her friends believe she has the strength left to do it. And we will lend her our strength when we can.


Oh Christmas Time…#Poem#Poetry#Prose

Oh Christmas Time


Oh Christmas time,

what joy be had.

When places known,

in plastic clad.


Arrows are placed,

as Santa’s lure,

Blinking, pointing,

to darkened door.


Corner turned,

I’m face to face.

In grinning Santa’s,

dead eyed space.


Rudolph floats

with ethereal look.

Thought Halloween,

was fears right hook.


They should not be,

we’ve had no snow.

But snowmen move,

and snowmen glow.


We happy told,

this season be.

So fake emotions,

as we fake tree.


And remember,

right present get.

Got no money?

Then he’s some debt.


Oh Christmas time,

for some a struggle.

It’s all too much,

it’s all a muddle.


So feeling anxious?

or feeling Low?

Don’t grip at mask,

just let it go.


Seek some help,

with someone talk.

Before you take,

the sombre walk.


Past light that flash,

from all things drape.

This winter,







Thank You

Over the last week I have passed the 100 mark for followers, something one would not have imagined at the start.

That sounds almost clichéd, and it appears almost everyone who puts work out onto the internet has the same self doubts, but I did this for me. It was my therapy. My work was even hidden from friends and family at the beginning.

And likes – everybody loves likes…

Well I’m – not sure, because the likes usually come with a connection. Something I have written has struck a chord with someone else, and from the comments I have had, sadly not for the better.

My work has found people that also struggle, that also find help; lacking.

I can only hope, and one does not use this word lightly, hope, that at least a sense of not being alone has helped at least one person to trudge on a little further, when your dragging a black dog behind you, one can only trudge. Or at least put into words what is felt so that it can be read by someone who does not know.

It is sad when kinship can be formed more easily after suffering, when a group of others suffering have found the place and security to drop their masks and be. But get the right group…And we can not only heal, but also grow.

One thing is for sure – without looking we will not find.

So please keep looking, and thank you for reading.


Reflections 2018 w50

It’s been puppet time again this week, things didn’t go as planed, so the sowing machine, pins and needles came out. I’m not entirely sure if it’s not a form of self harm, I can probably play catch with a cactus and have less holes in my hands.

But the puppet has now got its character starting to show, those that follow my Facebook page will have seen the photos, and I now have to go shopping for an outfit to match.

With this being my second puppet, and of a different design, mistakes are present. However, he is turning out alright, next time it will be worth travelling out further afield to get supplies. As there will be more made. Puppets are escaping my subconscious, vying for my attention, one in particular would not let me see her face for hours after staring at the materials I had bought to build her, I just knew the parts had to be got at the time.

But I know why I have an affinity with them.

It’s not due to a love of Sesamea st, the Muppets, or even Finger mouse, and even though I was a fan of Basil Brush and Hartley’s house none are connected.

It was a glove puppet named pipa, named after a polar bear named Pipaluk who was the second successfully reared polar bear at London zoo at that time (1969).

My pipa was brown not white, and the material in the head was rather hard and scratchy, not a plush toy by any means. And it was not because it was made by Mum that made it special.

No, it was that no matter how bad the bullying was, in school or out, no matter how much hurt was inflicted from the taunts, the rejection, not fitting in, or not being myself – trying to fit in, the shame of being singled out in class by teachers, no matter how crummy the day. I could go back home and pipa would be there to listen.

If the feelings we’re overpoweing, we would hide under the bed covers as we whispered, fearing the power the words could have if they were picked up by the wrong person. Hiding in the makeshift cave, not daring to breath, lest the monster on the outside would hear, and we would have no escape, nowhere to run. Pipa all too often went to sleep wet with tears.

So no, I am hypnotic surprised they are “talking” to me now.