Better times

Better times

Oh how I dream of better times,

Soft white sand,

Palm trees playfully dancing in the breeze,

That sense of freedom,

That all is somehow right with the world,

An escape from the darkness,

Those drab days of home,

Grey mood matching grey skies,

That feeling of abandonment,

Solitary confinement,

Both within and without,

An escape,

Golden light at end of darkest tunnel,

Sunlight, refreshing sea air,

Exotic scent of the orient,

The mysterious East,

Far from the conflicted West,

A place of hope,

A place I can be me again,

Better times,

May they come soon.

For all of us.


At the end

I’m tired.

Just been one of those weeks.

One of those weeks where you have to stop, albeit briefly and say enough enough.

I don’t like being ill, never have and never will. It’s frustrating and annoying and scary and when you’re Autistic it’s really disconcerting to be ill with something that you can’t quite identify.

I think, in my case, I’m just run down. I’ve just logged into work for the…I’ve lost count…63rd successive day?. They all blur into one if I’m honest.

I’m very tired. Physically because Fibromyalgia is such an insufferable illness to have, very wearing, very painful, very frustrating. I’m not sleeping apart from the odd couple of hours here and there. I’m worrying constantly about work and keeping up with things and my diets truly dreadful. I’m diabetic yet can’t eat healthily because my body simply won’t tolerate the kinds of foods I should be eating.

The idea of eating certain veg and fruit and not having carbs or sweet things throws me into a panic.

I feel trapped. Stifled, suffocated. Unable to move on, to plan, to look forward. I’m uncertain, anxious and nervous and I can barely look after myself these days.

I just survive.

I hope next week will be better. I hope for something good.

But I’ll still be tired.

So we’re ‘open’ again

4th July.

Some hairdressers have been open since midnight and I’ve already seen the pictures of long queues outside barber shops.


I despair of humanity. I despair because we lack common sense. The sun comes out and we dash to our cars and drive hundreds of miles so we can pile in with everyone else on a stretch of beach, frustrated that thousands have had the same idea as us and too lazy to take our rubbish home.

We add insult to injury because, rather than turn around and head home realising it was a darn fool idea in the first place, we just add to a bad situation whilst berating others for doing the same thing that we have.

Sure my hairs a bit longer but I can last a few more weeks. Yeah my eyes need testing but that’s in August as I’m not rushing to do that either.

I don’t drink so pubs hold zero appeal but people’s thirst for alcohol, which has been available in the shops during lock down, must be down to an attraction for a locally brewed cask ale, hitherto unavailable in said shops.

I just don’t get people. This selfish attitude that seems to be in complete contrast to our generosity when times are bad. This ‘me’ attitude that the world revolves around me and woe betide anyone who has the same idea.

I dread the fact we’re open again. Dread it. Just the sheer prospect of people, more people, being out and about.

I’d ask for restraint but, a bit like Black Friday, desperation has set in and what Jim wants, Jim will get and darn the next man!.

I’d ask people to be sensible but, I have my doubts they will be. I fear for overworked NHS and emergency services staff who have to deal with the drunks and the disorder that almost inevitably will follow.

Yes we are open again.

But I wish the door was ajar. Just enough for a glimpse, a controlled view, a sensible and reasoned approach.

But people need a haircut at midnight. And people need alcohol at 6.00am.


I don’t get it, never will.

Not even you

The clocks a ticking on the wall,

Counting down my life,

Witness to unhappiness,

Onlooker at strife.

The walls, I feel them closing in,

A solid, concrete vice,

How far I now have fallen,

From the days of Sugar Mice.

Confusion is at times the best,

My life has got to offer,

Devoid of gold and treasure,

I view the empty coffer.

My mind it fights a silent war,

Externally no sound,

No escape from inner hate,

For to it, I’m bound.

None can see the turmoil,

Fewer still would care,

For it would remind them,

Of a place they would not dare,

To go, for similarity,

Brings only further pain,

Sharing all afflictions,

Lessens, brings no gain.

My silent watcher taunts me,

It’s face, two handed sneer,

It cares not for my fate,

Or if my end be near.

I beat myself, I hurt myself,

It’s all I do deserve,

My strength in fighting back is gone,

In truth, I’ve lost my nerve.

I’m slipping slowly through the cracks,

To disappear from view,

And nobody could save me,

My love, not even you.

Just another day

They start early these days.

Sleep seems a mysterious thing, brief snatches of it caught between painful reminders that I’m still alive and painful reminders that I’m in pain. The snatches illuminated by strange dreams, memorable only in my waking hour.

Cats up. One of them wants to go out, pleads and then screams at me to go down an open the front door. It’s just after 4.00am, or is that 2.00am, although really there’s no difference.

Stumble into kitchen being careful not to wake partner. Light on, fumble for kettle whilst dismally surveying that pile of dishes she didn’t do before bed. Already fed up.

Coffee made, I open up my iPad and catch up on the news. The worlds in a mess. Cast antagonistic look in the direction of the table where my work laptop sits, daring it to open by itself and plunge me back into hell.

Flick aimlessly through websites. See things I’d like but then dismiss them as frivolous. Look at the mess I live in and despair again at the chaos, this turmoil I exist in. No order, nowhere to put stuff…my stuff, a stark reminder that my stuff is upstairs, hidden away like an embarrassment.

Cat screams outside. Let her in and then back to the aimless fretting. Take my meds. Or forget to take them. Forget my coffee. Just forget.

Ritual. We have a dartboard in our kitchen and I spend 15 minutes aimlessly chucking darts at it. Occasionally I surprise myself and hit it. Pick up dumbbells and spend ten minutes doing some gentle exercise. Put kettle on, forget to make coffee!.

8.30. Sit at laptop. Log in. Always first one, always 30 minutes early. Scroll unenthusiastically through emails, sorting the dross and stuff I needn’t know about from the urgent.

9.00 phone rings, first call of the day!. Angry, upset, frustrated, recent widow, furious, believes I work for HMRC and am therefore the rightful target of abuse (I don’t and I’m not)- you just never know what you’ll get.

More coffee. Drink half. Morning chaotic. So many demands, constantly buffeted by someone wanting a piece of me. Close to tears, close to meltdown, barely time to breathe. Realise I’ve not take a day this year and despite only working four days a week this is the 52nd consecutive day I’m logged on and working.

Everyday is the same. They blur into a single entity interspersed with strange periods where I seem to move from room to room and sofa to bed. I say interspersed but there’s none of that, not really, just patches of grey amidst dark days.

And those are my days. I think they’re days. Is it just a single day, drawn out, stretched thin until it’s fragile and easily broken?. A bit like me I suppose.

Just another day. After day. After day.

When will it end?. Will it end?. It will…

Won’t it?.

I’m not rain man

I’m not rain man

Drop matchsticks

Watch me count them one by one

Clumsily dropping them as I go

I’m not rain man

I can’t tell whether your birth day

Was a Tuesday

Or a Friday

I’m not rain man

I can’t draw an image of vivid detail

Drawn from a single look

I’m not rain man

I can’t recite pi to a million places

Or do fancy equations in my head

I’m not rain man

I’m not the Autistic person

You are looking for

I’m not rain man

I’m not the genius

That you expected

I’m not rain man

I’m not the answer to all the worlds problems

I’m just


Does that disappoint you?

Because of what you’d heard

Because of what you’d read and seen?

Then I’m sorry

For your unrealistic expectations

Of me.

I’m not rain man.

I’m Autistic.

And that’s all.

Worn out!


Too small.


Too many pieces.


Too futile.

Beyond those.

Beyond everything.

Limbs move.

Achingly slowly.

Just aching.

Bruised internally.

Externally virginal.

Masks pain.


Too small.

Close eyes.

Haunted dreams.

Strange visions.

I wake.

Yet did not.


Too tired.

So long now.

Can’t recall.

The days.

Of rest.


Like my life.

An illusion.


What is real.


Too tired.

Worn out.

Lockdown misery continues

I tried to blog today.

Aha, but you are blogging!. Well, I am…but it’s pretty random.

I tried to find a picture to talk about but realised my heart wasn’t in it. You’ve seen them all by now and since my blog just gets lost in Twitter, very few people actually see them anyway.

And perhaps that’s it. People’s lack of interest has made me lose interest. There’s no enthusiasm anymore.

It’s the same with my other writing. My novels ground to a virtual halt, my poetry’s dried up. I just can’t get excited or inspired by it.

All this time off and nothing achieved.

No new hobbies, no old hobbies, no hobbies.

I’ve read books but barely scraped through them because I’ve found other people’s writing annoying or frustratingly so much better than mine. I purchased two new books I should have enjoyed but found one of them truly dire and, if I’m honest, completely unbelievable..when it’s supposed to be true.

It annoyed me because it seemed so…contrived, so unrealistic. And that hurt. I wanted it to be funny, uplifting and inspiring but felt quite the opposite as I read it. It dragged me down and is now on the charity pile…if they’re ever able to accept donations again.

I can’t sit through a film and find most Tv off putting apart from the odd hour that reveals a little gem (not the lettuce variety).

My self care is shocking now. Rarely clean my teeth, shower irregularly, change clothes infrequently. I’m diabetic so that means I eat loads of sweets and cakes because I’m down. Planned more exercise but the restrictive and repetitive nature of that has meant I can barely face getting out anymore.

I think today is the 50th successive day I’ve logged on for work. In normal times I’d work 4 days a week but in these abnormal times I’ve become a slave to my job, going above and beyond for nothing. Ambition shall not be rewarded but this sense of….not letting others down and knowing that, if I don’t do it, it won’t get done, drives me on to exhaustion and burn out.

I’ve cut myself, almost taken an overdose to the extent I’ve had all my pills out ready to take and not had a happy ‘time’ in so long I genuinely can’t recall the last one.

So that’s it, lockdown misery now at week..11? 12?… I’ve lost track of so much..

Where will it end?.


I held out my hand to the rain,

Saw the drop land,

Like a marble,

Glass, reflecting visions,

An eye in miniature,

Seeing the world,

Through a glistening lens,

A world caught in pause,

A second, maybe less,

Encapsulated in liquid form,

A teardrop on the face of time.

More rain now,

Washing away a memory,

Moment is lost,

Drowned by the monsoon,

Yet to a single drop,

How is that calculated,

My hand, wet,

I turn it over,

Seeing not rain but tears,

The world cries,

And I cry with it,

I raise wet hands,

To wet face,

Tears flow and mingle,

With those of a greater soul,

The world cries,

And no one is there,

To dry it’s tears.

Washed away by the tide.

Things are not going well.

Understatement. This week I’ve reached out for support to someone who should be on my side where work is concerned, someone who should look at what I have to say and be supportive.

Well I’m sure you can guess how that’s ended.

I’ve been told I’m wrong. Basically told that I don’t see what goes on and that therefore my …..concerns…are wrong.

Of course that ignores the fact that some transparency…some…communication might be useful…so I wouldn’t misinterpret in the future?. But that doesn’t seem to occur to them.

The fact I’m Autistic also seems to be ignored. Probably brushed under the carpet with the rest of my concerns. I’m not asking for special treatment but I am asking to be treated as an individual. Sadly I think that’s too much for them.

I’m frustrated. Frustrated that the points I make are ignored. Of course I expected it so I guess I shouldn’t torture myself by doing it again but I can’t help it, I find it so hard to let things go.

And I’m sad. I’m sad that the person just toed the party line, unwilling to deviate from it, unwilling to admit that any mistakes were made.

I came away from reading his email, believing that I’ve done something wrong. I haven’t but that’s how it feels, the lone voice in the wilderness, the odd one out, the black sheep of the family.

And that’s how it always ends. Me, on my own, wanting support, wanting to make things better for others but being the only one who seems to care.

And being washed away by the tide.