I’ve been intending to write this for about two weeks, but simply couldn’t be arsed. Truthfully, I’m probably only being arsed today as I’m procrastinating – this, whilst an intended exercise, is in many ways an attempt at avoidance of putting a pitch together. Ideas surge through my brain cells like a bullets through air, but unfortunately those brain cells don’t send those same neural signals to my fingertips.
To be frank, money issues aside, I don’t care that much at the minute. Insofar as I believe in the concept – which is actually not very, but whatever – I’m quite happy at the minute. Such an admission must come as an utter shock to those of you that have known me in the long-term, particularly in the days before I started writing here and was blathering a constant stream of negativity via a typographical fog horn elsewhere. It comes as a shock to me, probably most of all. My absence from this blog is symptomatic of not being at the soul-suckingly low points of the past – it was rare for me to not blog for more than a few days back then. Now though, rather than writing about life…well, I am living it.
Jane didn’t come to the session tonight. Apparently she phoned Robert’s boss during the week to complain, though she hasn’t spoke to him nor Ellie about what happened last week. The group has made it clear that if she doesn’t return, we’ll miss her – however, I think the cohesiveness and support present in tonight’s session made it clear that if she doesn’t, we’ll still do good work without her.
It may simply be that after last week’s nastiness, she simply needs a break, or it may be that she was so offended by things that she can never face any of us ever again. I hope it’s the former, but if the latter, I still believe that this group has, and will continue to have, a positive impact upon my life.
We’re nearly half way through the planned sessions of group therapy; last night was eight of the 20 we have allocated. It was also the first where there was something of a confrontation. Interestingly, it was the therapists that precipitated it.
It went something like this. There is one woman, let’s call her Jane, that has often done most of the talking, usually about one specific relationship that she’s been struggling with. This has frequently served as the basis for the other three of us to talk; perhaps we see in Jane’s relationship what we’ve seen in some of our own, perhaps we understand why she struggles as she does. Whatever, it doesn’t really matter – the main point is that she’s brought it up a lot, and that to use the parlance of the one bloke in the group (John, let’s say), the other three “bat off her.”
Greetings, strangers, and welcome. Please beware that because I’ve been too crap to update this blog properly for ages that this post is frustratingly long.
This is sort of continued from here. I considered splitting this into two posts but since when I write entries called ‘Blah Yakka Meh – Part One’ a ‘Blah Yakka Meh – Part Two’ doesn’t often seem to transpire, I decided against it.
I am indeed still in the land of the living, not that anything about the pursuit of living my life is particularly interesting. Which is partly why I haven’t written anything substantive in forever – though most of it is down to anhedonia. Or laziness. Whatever. I don’t feel especially depressed as of this writing, but the weird thing about depression, as I’ve found it at least, is that you can be in an episode without realising it. In fact, I’m going to (sort of) empirically test that contention…
Sorry to those of you who commented on the last post that I haven’t yet responded to. When I started my ex-blog, I felt compelled to reply to every comment that was left for me, and that continued for a while. When it waned, I vowed that any new blog would not fall fowl to the same affliction – and yet it has. In my defence, my mental health isn’t great at the minute and I’ve always been a terrible correspondent, but I’m sorry. I’ll try to do better.
Anyway, for those of you that follow me on Twitter or Facebook – my real life Twitter or Facebook accounts, that is, for I have not been following the ones allied to this blog for several weeks – you’ll know that further to my dilemminating last entry, I did in fact go to Edinburgh with my mother. I emailed the letter I’d composed to my therapy centre and they were gracious enough to accept it, instructing me to simply turn up at the next week’s meeting. As it turned out, I wasn’t the only person to miss the first week, but I’ll come to that.