Me back then…
Readafterburnout.com came about as a result of me losing my marbles. I had lost a whole collection of them when I was a child, but this time it was serious. The childhood misadventure meant that my mum went around to my erstwhile friend’s family home and explained that I was a little odd; I was prone to losing my marbles.
When I got older, I got a wife. It wasn’t like picking one up from the supermarket or ordering her on line, no this was love. The big LOVE.
I LOVED her the moment that I saw her and that was from my position sitting in a parked car and hers from a car that was passing mine in the opposite direction. One must remember that this was a man who had lost his marbles as a small child. When I lost them again as an older man, I was lucky to have married my wife. She didn’t go around to the place of habitation of the people who had won my marbles, fair and square, but she did suggest that maybe marbles wasn’t my game.
I had been put on a peculiar journey that meant that I had to go on a ride called HELL. This I did. I held on tight, covered my eyes, avoided any personal incontinence brought about by fear or shock and slowly, very, very slowly, pulled through the holiday from Hades. Oh, and then I decided to write about the stuff I was going through in the vain hope that somebody may be interested in reading it.
In reality, I was writing it for myself. I wanted to recover and wished to document my recovery. What I did not envisage was that my writing would sit at the helm of this personal therapy.
So, my recovery book became something of substance. It followed me to different places where I taught, endured the anxiety attacks that came fast and frequently, and helped me compartmentalise a particular part of my life that had threatened complete and utter world domination. There were times, dark times, when I never thought that I would get here.
In a universe of fuck-ups, I believed that I was the ultimate participant, an A star asshole of a fuck-up.
I was wrong, there are lots of us.
Fuck me, even in a fuck-up competition I had to compete with some worthy rivals!
My pilgrimage took me through schools and institutions, through ancient shires, forgotten and neglected coastal towns, and then on into the continent on a dream isle that reminded me, at times, of a colony. I loved it, but was never certain if I was alive or in the world of the recently deceased.
Throughout all of my travels, I had the chance to find lost pieces of me, pieces that I had forgotten, even those that I had not realised had been lost.
My blog became a conduit for for a conversation I was having having with myself. It was a chance to write and to think. It was a regime that I imposed upon myself. It became an obsession, but for all the right reasons. I was writing and quite a lot of you were reading.
And I have loved your responses.
I like a like and I like a comment. And I like a person who appears out of the digital ether and becomes tangible. And I like the fact that I can let my writing do the walking and the talking. It has become more than me and pushes me forward everyday in search of things to write about. When I am stuck, it takes over and writes its own nonsense, but that’s okay because it is only young and needs to venture.
It’s that thing, CREATIVITY, which is pushing me. We have formed a friendship and we are about our work and play.
Those people who have stayed with me, the very best of times, the very best of luck, the very most of your lives.