Sunday 5 December 2010

**WARNING: MAY NOT TRIGGER**

A large amount of ambivilence comes into writing this blog. It's irrelevent who reads it, why and when, although, it goes with my nature to being a lot more coherent about private ideas when writing, then perhaps if anyone is interested to elucidate further in public. That could be its use. But a blog has no use. A blog is. That is all...

I am hedging slightly, because I am apprehensive about going on about myself, especially, things we all keep very private, we worry about being vulnerable, going on about them. But 3 points in why it's quite nice:

1) I was told that if you are too private - people find this a turn-off, you're called 'hard work', untrustworthy, suspect, and s on....
2) It's a good way of redressing weighty themes - also in activism lending your support through personal experience may serve to demystify said theme.
3) I am getting very bored with my obsessions, anxieties and paradoxical thought problems - in fact I am wholesale abandoning all that grubbish! and setting myself down a new path - to throw myself into the path of new things.

Unfortunately I have an anxious Father, who liked and likes to tell me how dangerous the world is all the time, and for a while I believed him... but perhaps I don't now....

yes, widening life experience is the key.... musical instruments, languages and salsa's need to be learnt, meals varied and scrumful to be cooked, lands to be travelled. Books, films and music of all different varieties need to be devoured....

What it was, that I wanted to share, was of SELF-HARM, in particular my former association in the act of doing it. Now this shant be a woebetold or defense, or even an explanation why, it is more the peculiar stigma it carries.

It seems to those that show the scars or cuts they have about their person may alarm, fascinate or anger the person or persons who see them - some actively seek a response, others forget - but always it is written on the body - and you can quit the addiction of self-injuring and move on, but scars only fade so much, for me they have not.... and even a lingering look can stir a desire to repeat the process - even though I am now a million miles away from the problems theat befell me to carry it out in the first place....

And an endless procession of Long-sleeved shirts.... I don't know where I've really gone with this, I never talk or write on the subject of my self-harm, I, like many other things, feel I should not talk on the subject as I fel I ma not know what I am talking about... and in an odd reverse competitive way, I may not be the uber former-self-harmer....

This serves a little wordy button for friends and acquantances to press - IF ONE IS CURIOUS ABOUT THE SCARS ON MY ARMS, do feel free to question, but the answers shall be brief and uninteresting, as there is little of interest to say on the subject. And I do try to pride myself on saying something vaguely interesting.

Yes, I hope that's afforded you all of a curious nature, to see one can be rather non-descript about it all, but these things need to be dulled and have the shine rubbed off to take them for what they are, that's how I've moved on really. Ditto all the other peculiarities....

1 comment:

  1. I like this. I like the whole point of this post. I have a tendency to go on and on about my issues, in a way one probes a hole in a tooth with one's tongue, or picks at a scab. I suppose it started with trying to analyse and rationalise what was happening to me, something that only helped to a certain limit, but never made it go away. Therapy becomes redundant at some point and one just ends up talking around in circles. My Mum (the adopted nice one) said that one needs to watch not "talking oneself into" mental illness... by focussing too much on it one starts living it. When my dad gave me my first driving lesson, he kept pointing at that pole at the side of the road, asking me not to drive into it. I kept looking at it in order to avoid it but found myself steering towards it. I nearly ended up in a lake that way, too. Then my driving instructor told me the secret is to look where you want to go and keep your eyes there, and I guess that applies to all aspects of life. Your post reminds me of that. I guess I need to adopt that more, or I will be driven mad by thinking every unexplained noise I hear is a sign of me developing mother's schizophrenia.
    I guess it's a fine line between ignoring one's issues and not making them worse than they are.

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