View in the Mirror

After finishing yesterday's blog I felt great - as if I had achieved something and yet I really hadn't done anything different. So, being a little self analytical, I had a think about it and realised it marked a change. We see ourselves, to a greater or lesser extent , mirrored in the eyes of others. I f you have been a beloved top brick, as I was, then the lack of a loving reflection can cause a form of psychosis: a breakdown of the self image.

What yesterday's blog taught me was that for every one person that sees me a waste of space, shot away or just a whining pain, there is someone who sees me - the me I used to know. Gregg has messaged me and made me laugh and been so incredibly  thoughtful to someone he hasn't seen for  over thirty years that his constant positive take on things has begun to rub off a bit. Another old friend, who only has a distant memory of a female he used to try and teach Karom to, sends me articles and videos and talks of good things always.


All of my friends have lined up over the last year and provided such support and love. Not just the ones who I have stayed in touch with but those I have been able to find using this interweb thing. It is amazing to me that so many of you keep reminding me that I am loved - that you care enough to do it. I love all of you too and don't say it nearly enough.

I wish I could say that the worst is over - that this disease, mental health issue, whatever has gone. I don't think it has and I don't think it ever will.  That seems to be my journey now - to deal with it and, hardest of all, to live with it. So many of you who have written to me and told me of your journeys speak of learning to accept what we have and deal with it as best we can. You humble me because all I do is howl at the moon and thrash about in an orgy of self pity.


Those of you who don't know what this is like find it uncomfortable when I am too frank but those of you who do recognise the need to try and make people understand. The self harming thing is a physical manifestation of how awful we feel. The worse the cuts and bruises and burns the calmer we become because there is something concrete to show - look I bleed, I bruise, I hurt. Those who don't feel this are appalled - how can you slice your arms with a knife - you can, I can, we can, because in that moment the pain is real and visible and tangible and no longer needs to be explained by the euphemistic, ' bit down' or 'black dog'.

I suppose I am trying to say that I would like you to continue to be understanding or try to and bear with me. It is one hell of a battle and how it ends I don't know  but with your help and love I must stand a better chance than I would alone. If I can continue to see the image that so many of you reflect back at me, if I can try and believe that woman does still exist, then I have a chance.


And those of us who talk of these things in long emails to each other and are afraid to say out loud and in the open how shit it can be - we have each other to reflect in - and we are all worthy of loving and being loved. I can say this because I am in an'up' phase- lets all try and remember it when we are 'down'.

And finally - sorry, it's not a small baba day -  to those of you who say it is all in the mind -yeah we know that thanks - and go for a walk - you go for a bloody walk - and pull yourself together - do you know what? You do not reflect me. You reflect your own issues and they are not mine/ours. Those people who offer kindness and love reflect me because that is what I would offer back.

Love's Alchemy

So - love. Here's the thing, we feel love in so many ways, for our parents, our siblings, our friends and then the 'real' one - our lovers. And yet is that true? Are they all really different, some more worthy than others, some more deeply felt. I would argue - no. Love seems to me to be felt as deeply for mother as a lover or a friend if the love is real.


It is a strange part of our humanity, to love. And yet, animals love, grieve, mate for life. So maybe not a human-specific trait. It's hard to tell because poets write of it to try and understand what this emotion is; philosophers (whose very name means lovers of truth) endlessly analyse love as a weakness or try separate carnal  love from the more acceptable spiritual. It is alright to love if you don't make the beast with two backs in the process. But how can that be right - if you have loved and completed that love in bed - it is pretty special. A lot better than a one night stand.


And yet, and yet my first true love was dead some three hundred years before I was born. John Donne the poet. When I was young I loved his poetry of seduction and wit: as I grew older I loved his poetry of religion and seduction, of God, and wit. No man has ever or ever will have the glamour or mind to match the one I met in Donne's poetry. I remember at university in America the professor asking us of "The Flea", "Would it have worked with you?"and me saying,"My clothes would have been off before the second stanza." http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3yrSGRWTOzQ


Now, you see it returns to sex - yes I would have gladly slept with Donne. He would have charmed me into bed and charmed me out of it again. But, now that I am past all thatI find his arguments with God, his wit and fear as he grows older make meI love him more for his self doubt and frailty of faith because I share that with him. I want to love God and trust him and have blind faith, but I question and reason and then return to Donne and find the answer again. 



HOLY SONNETS.

XIV.

Batter my heart, three-person'd God ; for you

As yet but knock ; breathe, shine, and seek to mend ;

That I may rise, and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend

Your force, to break, blow, burn, and make me new.

I, like an usurp'd town, to another due,

Labour to admit you, but O, to no end.

Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,

But is captived, and proves weak or untrue.

Yet dearly I love you, and would be loved fain,

But am betroth'd unto your enemy ;

Divorce me, untie, or break that knot again,

Take me to you, imprison me, for I,

Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,

Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me. 

---

Source:

Donne, John. Poems of John Donne. vol I.

E. K. Chambers, ed.

London: Lawrence & Bullen, 1896. 165.

---

So, this is my declaration of love for Donne. Other times, other lovers, but the first was the man who taught me to "go and catch a falling star..."

So - all this talk of angels and depression-bit of a downer really?

How about love-not the mushy kind though I have occasionally found that quite pleasant. No, I mean the other kind. The kind of love that is given without thought of reward, makes no judgements and is not withheld when the going gets rough.

In our lives if we are lucky we get that love from our parents and those closest to us, friends and family and sometimes lovers. But, when they leave us, as they must, who do we turn to find that love? Perhaps more importantly, have we learned to give to others ourselves.

I was a teacher (yes, that's why the quotations) and I remember my first tutor group-facing their faces, knowing for the next year I was 'mum' at school. I remember telling them that I would love them even if they did something bad. I wouldn't condone and I would give them hell if they let me down, but the love was unconditional and forever. Of those kids nearly fifteen years ago over half are my friends on Facebook.

And the love survives on both sides.

I was told that my teaching was "crap," I cared too much for the individual and not enough for the many. Mother Theresa when asked how she could possibly help the starving and dying in Calcutta said, "One at a time." The DFE may not accept this but they are wrong. For every one child I loved many more wanted to feel that and would seek it out. And I'm not talking some kinky child abusing creepy thing-I'm talking about care, the knowing that even it something goes horribly wrong someone, somewhere loves you.

Was this a rant? Possibly, but I think more of lament for the days of poetry and music and sitting under trees reading books in the sun and for being able to be not just the dust distributor at the chalkface but the miner of the bright sparks before me.

xxx