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It’s been a fair few weeks since my last journal entry. Ok, months is a little more accurate. Silence can be a powerful thing – and like any void (seems as good a term as any); it tends to be filled up with things that have nothing to do with why such a “void” came to exist in the first place.

My “silence” on here (and in other places) comes down to two things; physical and mental.

The physical is simple; when I was younger my mind/body/hands suffered a lot of abuse, breaks, strains and… Well, life should just about cover it. You name it, I did it, or it was done to me when I was younger. The marks and scars on them are a story unto themselves, (one that I don’t need to dwell on), and there are consequences to that entire story… I’ve ignored them all, foolishly, and nearly crippled myself in the process. I had to stop and get it sorted out, I had to stop ignoring what was going on. Physio, pain medication, splints, surgeries… And of course the nastiest one of all; rest. I’m a writer, so I need to look after my tools better – and that means looking after my hands and not ignoring the problems with them.

And that nicely moves onto the more complicated and hard part of all this; mental.

I think I’ve been very open about the state of my mental health. I have MDD (Manic Depressive Disorder) – aka Bipolar, which I take medication for. There has been years of therapy (some not so good, some very helpful). I’m not crazy. To coin a phrase from a current comedy show “I’ve been tested” – but it’s amazing just how differently people treat/view you for a simple act of honesty. Seriously, if we never talk about these things… Well, I guess we never talk about them, and the mystic, ignorance and misinformation remains about them.

It’s a chemical disorder that affects mood and perception (keeping it simple) – it’s not contagious (although it may well be hereditary – yes mum and dad, I’m looking at you both). With the right help it can be managed – and by that, I mean it’s like any other condition that can be managed with medication and a forms of therapy. It wasn’t caused by anything, it was something I was born with (like my eye colour).

I have good days, I have bad days.

The good days… I imagine are like most other peoples good days, with the exception that I can be very, very, hyper. The bad ones… Decades of therapy and I still find it difficult to explain the darkness, how it haunts me, taunts me, follows me, drowns me at times… And my darkness was fed for a long time by a “monster” (calling them a “person” belittles the rest of humanity, “monster” is a more apt term), who had a hand – pun intended – in what happened to m when I was younger. (And children, I can tell you that story had a happy ending of sorts, because that “monster” is no longer with us).

So dealing with the physical problems my hands have has also meant dealing with (facing?) the mental problems (memories?) – which meant taking a step back from things for a time so I could deal with them and feel…

Well, not so crap about them (again, keeping it simple).

I wasn’t dealing with the problems I had with my hands because I didn’t want to talk about what had caused them… Sounds so ridiculous and simple…

But…

It’s not so simple. It never is. But, I’m getting there.

Things are healing, getting “better,” although to be fare that’s something of a relative term, but maybe I shouldn’t be so hard on myself and should stick with “yes, things are getting better, and I’m getting back into things again. And my hands are doing fine as well ;)”

So yes, I’m back and confessing again… writing as well (the joy!). It’s a good place to be at the moment.

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