Oops!…Light Again

I’ve been posting stuff on here for some time now; usually with little to no response. So I kind of figured that no one was paying it a lot of attention…..oh dear, how wrong I was.

I now feel the need to apologise to friends who did check in on my last post, and as a result became rather concerned for me. In my defence, given the space my head was in at the time, I was in no fit state to make a rational decision as to whether or not to publish the piece. So I ended up hitting the publish button.

I guess though, the very fact that I hit that button suggests that it was a literal cry for help. I hadn’t been in such a bad place for a long time. I’m still involved with peer to peer counselling, and that very activity can rake up some pretty difficult issues. Part of the task of working through it is a management issue. So I’ve spent some time today researching counsellors registered on the British Association of Counsellors and Psychotherapists website. In the hope of engaging some extra resource and support for where I’m struggling at the moment.

………………..

Update: just come out of a counselling session where I hit a well of grief the like of which I haven’t hit for years. Just the right spot and feeling a little more confident I’m heading in the right direction.

I’m suddenly reminded of two favourite poems that seem very apt for what I’m working through just now. So thought I’d leave them here. The first is by Philip Larkin and the second is by Stevie Smith.

THIS BE THE VERSE

Philip Larkin.

They fuck you up, your mum and dad.   

    They may not mean to, but they do.   

They fill you with the faults they had

    And add some extra, just for you.

But they were fucked up in their turn

    By fools in old-style hats and coats,   

Who half the time were soppy-stern

    And half at one another’s throats.

Man hands on misery to man.

It deepens like a coastal shelf.

Get out as early as you can,

And don’t have any kids yourself.

NOT WAVING BUT DROWNING

Stevie Smith.

Nobody heard him, the dead man,   

But still he lay moaning:

I was much further out than you thought   

And not waving but drowning.

Poor chap, he always loved larking

And now he’s dead

It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way,   

They said.

Oh, no no no, it was too cold always   

(Still the dead one lay moaning)   

I was much too far out all my life   

And not waving but drowning.