annanotbob2's Diaryland Diary
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Only way
Hello lovely peeps - man, it's been good to hear from you these last few days. I feel I'm crawling back out of the pit and that there are hands reaching down to give me a lift up. It's gonna take a while - this has been worse than for years but I'm on my way up. I still haven't read anyone else - I'm scared - there's been a run of people I care about going through bad shit and I've been beyond overwhelmed with all the suffering. I hope you know I haven't deserted you and sincerely hope you are all having a fine time grooving about like the hip and happening people I know you to be.
So good to go back today to the old hospital where I did that frankly life-changing extended recovery programme a few years ago. Apart from anything else, one of the few nuggets of stone cold factual information I have about my birth mother is that when she and my dad met, she was working as a nurse in this very hospital. I love that. I project her into the very air I breathe up there, watching over me, helping me heal the wounds caused by her untimely death (when she was 22 and I was a mere 15 months old). Massive wounds, on and on, repercussing endlessly about my life like a bunch of nasty fuckers.
The mental health unit has such a nice vibe. Separate entrance, through an ancient garden, the staff are treated well, everything starts from respect - the idea that respect is something you might lose (by being an unmitigated cunt), not something you have to earn. I saw a guy called J, who had a load of notes from the various professionals I encountered on my lost weekend and just asked me to chat about aspects of it all. I was then offered a range of options and chose a group, going over what I did before, the old strategies and - ach I can't even remember what he said, but I know that spending a few weeks being guided through some better ways of living my life, of going about things, is just what I need. I walked home, over three miles, mostly in the sunshine but also in the rain.
Today's letter was G which eventually, after many a boring shot of greengrocers, gates and grey clouds, became G for for graffiti when I remembered this quite famous and always cheering Banksy was only a few hundred yards out of my way:
I stuck my bag in the front because a) it's green with a G and b) I've been in more than one argument with people who don't believe that one is here.
So that's me.
Today I am grateful for: The NHS; you guys; writing again, even if it is with the fags - starting vaporiser tomorrow when all the baccy's gone; haven't cried all evening; and Joni Mtichell
Laters xx
1:02 a.m. - 08.10.14
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