Almost time..

Almost time to return to work. Five weeks goes fast when you’re not having fun and whilst the panic attacks have momentarily subsided, the anxiety is as bad as ever.

I don’t want to go back, job changes or not. I don’t want to feel worthless again and helpless and feel I’m letting the side down because I can’t cope but next Monday that frightful cycle begins again.

I’m tired of it all. Tired of not getting my point across and having to work so damn hard just to get simple things done. It’s so exhausting and wears me down before I even start so I always feel as though I’m playing catch up all the time and when you have mental illness on top of the agony of fibromyalgia then every day seems like a battle from the outset and leaves you mentally and physically exhausted.

I’m not a sheep but from Monday I will have to be. My colleagues have amply demonstrated their lack of support or lack of enthusiasm to go along with my ramblings as that’s how they see them, the ramblings of an unhappy soul who some view with utter contempt whilst others are happier to simply dismiss as troubled or odd. It’s a lonely struggle that’s for sure.

And they can’t see that I’m always on their side, fighting for them, looking out for them but it’s no use, they don’t care about me or what I’m trying to achieve.

And that’s just it. I’m achieving nothing, nothing at all but giving myself more heartache by my continued struggle on other people’s behalf.

So I’m back next Monday. Back and dreading it already, dry mouth, sinking feeling in stomach. Tired already, worn thin and worn out. I’m back and I may not survive.

The weight of expectation..

My football team should walk the league.

No doubt about it. Every other team is so inferior that they should just submit and let us win.

That was the attitude of some fans before the season started. Now we are third from bottom with 4 points from 7 games. And the football is..not good.

That’s the weight of expectation playing on the players minds. Half the time they’re paralysed by indecision and afraid to take any risks.

And there’s the rub.

Because the parallels are there with my own life. I’m constantly afraid to make a change or a choice and I’m very reluctant to take any risks. Of course I’m not alone here, I have someone else to think about but I wish I had that clarity, that moment when I could see the future and everything fell into place.

But that moment never comes.

I’m constantly stressed and anxious about work and wish I could just leave but the climate isn’t right to get a new one and my age and health are against me. Plus being Autistic means that the right job is always harder to find.

I feel torn in so many ways. My colleagues with their nice houses and partners in well paid jobs are something I aspire to but down here average house prices are about 10 times the average UK salary and I don’t even earn half of one UK salary..and my partner earns less than half of what I do.

Which brings on moving to an area where property is cheaper. And where I don’t have a job and that brings up stress and anxiety about money and finding work. And that sucks.

It’s also a horrible time to be house hunting anywhere. Viewing is fraught with restrictions and dangers and you can’t really drive up and down the country passing through covid hotspots to look at them. That’s a risk not worth taking at this time.

Do I have unrealistic expectations of myself?

I don’t know because my mind is really unhelpful when it comes to decisions. It hates making them. My Autistic/ADHD brain goes all gooey and soft and it wobbles like a jelly instead of saying “Do this!” and telling me to get on with it.

I had dreams but now they seem to imaginary and faded that it’s no longer wise to have them. Circumstances alter cases and my mind, my partners needs and this sorry world we live in have all contributed to my lack of decision making in recent years. How I hope that changes.

When you’re having fun…

I’ve been away from work for two and a half weeks now. I’m exactly half way through my planned leave and unplanned sick absence.

And I’m no better.

I’m not worse but I’m no better.

I’m tired of trying to explain myself. A 6 page email apparently doesn’t cut it and an offered conference call with management simply fills me with dread. I just can’t face it. I keep repeating myself and I can’t make them see so the thought of doing it again, through a medium that’s failed so often before, just hurts me.

If I was asking for the earth I’d understand it but I’m really not, just proper communication and clarity. Exact details of what I can and cannot do or have in terms of reasonable adjustments, open lines of communication that are simple in terms of the language used and advance notice, where possible, of any proposed changes that will affect me.

I’m so tired of this. I applaud the aims of the charity I work for and the good work that’s done by my colleagues. We do good stuff. The fact is not appreciated by those higher up is a constant source of frustration and disappointment to me. Or if they do appreciate it then they have a strange way of showing it!

I’ve sat and simply dwelled on the past, what I did or didn’t do, said or didn’t say, or even should have said. I’ve had crippling anxiety and panic attacks, my weights ballooned and I’ve been sick with nausea. My sleep is a mess and my diet is horrible. The only good thing about the latter is that at least I am eating. But that’s it.

I can’t settle to anything because I’m restless and worried about the things happening in my absence, the cases I was dealing with, the inevitable build up of work and all I want to do is cry or run away and cry or find a dark hole, curl up and cry or …cry some more.

When you’re having fun you don’t want it to stop. Well I want to stop now, stop here, stop everything. I want the fun to start but I don’t know how to make it start because I’m all out of puff and strength and …those good wholesome qualities we all need.

Two and a half weeks down, two and a half to go.

What fun!

If I leave

If I leave,

Who will miss me,

They give a vacant stare,

A space they’ve never noticed,

As though I wasn’t there,

Invisible to naked eye,

In other dimension dwell,

Would they miss me if I left,

Would they even tell,

The clock is stuck on half past one,

I choose then to depart,

No longer hear the ticking,

Nor the beating of my heart,

Would they frown in wonder,

Would part of them remind,

The boy sat by the window, sad,

The boy they left behind.

Imaginary or quite real,

They shrug for they know not,

If I or he existed then,

It doesn’t matter what,

They feel, they say, they do or think,

It’s too late for it all,

There is nobody now to ask,

There’s no one left to call,

A space, an empty chair perhaps,

Softly turns and spins,

He or I have left you now,

We’ve answered for our sins,

So if I leave,

Don’t blame yourself,

The signs were clear as day,

But now I’ve gone,

My time has come,

I’ve flown, quite flown away.


From an early age I had a large vocabulary. Couldn’t spell it….or vocabulary….but I had one anyway.

My parents read a lot and reading expands the aforementioned vocabulary and I suppose I was lucky in that way as most of the kids I knew didn’t seem to read anywhere near as much as I did.

My mum was a writer. Short stories, lots of poems, some funny, some serious, whatever took her mood. And she was a published author in the sense that a magazine published several of her short stories even if, to her annoyance, they changed her characters names. Apparently the names ‘Dennis’ and ‘Emily’ are offensive! Go figure!.

I never intended to write.

Some years ago I was signed off for several months with an unusual condition and didn’t some of that time writing a supernatural thriller on a word processor. It wasn’t great and even writing 30K words was exhausting and as I recovered the project was abandoned.

Fast forward to travelling and travel blogging as I like to keep a diary of some sorts of my travels and one or two people expressed an interest in reading what I wrote so there was external encouragement to continue and as travel is my great love and passion, it was no hardship.

And now for something completely different.

A germ of an idea that sprouted to 253K words. I like it but don’t love it. I see plot holes so large that if anyone is wondering where Australia is these days, it’s probably in one of the holes I’ve created. It’s poorly planned and needs refinement but it’s not too bad considering every detail of it is in my head.

The next germ, a continuation of germ number one…a seedling…is 73K and has the same characters (unless I’ve already killed them off) and needs a lot of work because I have grand plans and am probably looking at another 150K words all in to finish the whole saga.

My current germ (send disinfectant quickly) is standing at 42K words and I really like it. It’s all in my head as I have no space for whiteboards or half a dozen screens on which to plot.

It’s a violent (very violent) adult (very adult) fantasy. I think this one is definitely mood writing as I’ve been going through some work stuff recently and I feel I’m pouring all my anger and frustration and bitterness onto the pages (okay, screen)…keyboard?..and the end result is flowing.

I’m not saying that it’s good but, as my own worst critic, I’ve written worse.

I have found it harder to write poetry. I’ve had to force myself at times and the end result hasn’t been as profound as I’d have hoped for. Perhaps it’s just one of those things and the mood will come again. I’m not sure my last offering about work has been terribly well received by my colleagues. Oh well!.

So there we are, up to date, making progress, trying to be consistent and set time aside to get some words down be it 200 or 2000, each day or a least 3-4 times a week in between crippling bouts of hopelessness and rubbish like that.

And simple hoping it’ll be all write!.

If my colleagues think I’m shirking…

If my colleagues think I’m shirking,

When I really should be working,

Then I don’t know what to say,

Because on any other day,

I’ve more than done my share,

Not that they really care,

That I’ve done more than I should,

Or that I thought I would and could,

Logged on when not at work,

(Not an ideal way to shirk)

Non working days, weekends,

I’ve been driven round the bends,

Bank holidays (they’re not),

I’ve logged on, have you forgot?

To keep the clients happy,

Want an answer? Make it snappy,

Gone well beyond the call,

Which has resulted in this fall,

Driven to distraction,

By poor planning and inaction,

By strategy befuddled,

My poor head it’s sore and muddled,

Without warning, in my lap,

So many changes made me snap,

Now I’m knackered and down hearted,

Perhaps its time we parted?

Disillusioned, full of panic,

I’ve lost heart, I’m going manic,

I’m anxious and I’m scared,

(Not that anybody cared)

And now I’ve lost my way,

And the strength to meet the day,

I’m tired and need a rest,

Told the doctor, they know best,

So dear colleagues whilst you’re working,

I’m sorry if I’m shirking,

But I’ve lost my strength and hope,

And I’m sure that you will cope!.