Words.

I find it difficult to write.

In this I am joined by countless others, but I find it frustrating, irritating and it maddens me that it's such a slow process to solidify my thoughts when words have kept me sane at some of my lowest points. I hate that even looking at a blank page immediately gets that old sinking feeling going - and I absolutely love words. All of them, from funny sounding English ones like pugnacious to Tonga words like "mujungwishi". Words have been the background to my life, from the ones that shaped me, to the ones that allowed me an escape, every time the world became hard to live with. I travelled, opened my mind, learnt about the mundane, the fantastic, the extraordinary from the words I read. I could be anyone, become anything, do anything and all before dinner time in the books I read, and yet for all those words floating in me, it's a battle making my own. I envy those people that can make songs from words. Alright, I envy a lot of talents that others have, but this is the only one that I know I have no natural talent for and yet is the one I would like most.

But this isn't supposed to be a self-pitying moan, although I did begin this way. It's supposed to be about letting the other voice(es) speak.I'll say this - to give a voice to my dark half is what this blog is supposed to be for, and yes, I do think of George Stark* when I say this. Would I like a smidgeon of the talent Mr. King has? Yup, but even more I would like to sing my songs the way Pat Conroy does. I remember reading "The Prince of Tides" at 13 (completely inappropriate of course) and raving to my older sister about the book I thought it was so touching. I re-read it in my 20s and was horrified to realise that touching feeling was actually self-recognition in the Wingo children. This was around the time I began to internally voice I had a problem. That I was damaged, broken somehow, and didn't know where, I only knew I was. And yes, others are damaged, others manage to rise, but for me, the realisation that there is this thundercloud, this deep purple, this dark half in me, has taken me almost 10 years to realise. How's that for self awareness?

And every time the clouds close over me, it is a song trying to break free. Some of this music is awful, hateful, and some the sad low notes of loneliness, but each piece sung is one more that I have let free, one more no longer making it's music inside. And if I can capture it, trap it in words physical, then it may still have the power to hurt, but maybe, just maybe, it will be one less bind to that spiralling feeling of helplessness when the storms break.

Has much changed since I started to come to all these self absorbed realisations? And they are, terribly, lamentably self absorbed, but then depression is selfish.....and often self absorbed! So the answer is not really. I live, laugh, wonder at my children, delight in the marvels of science, and make my way, breathing in and out. And through it all the current of dark, a twisting of hate - the purple and I have our show-downs, our ignores, our little victories in this never-ending relationship.

It's a work in progress, but I like to think that it's one that I am slowly mastering, every time I let the words free.



* "The Dark Half" - Stephen King (NEL) 1989

Happy New Year to Me!

I love October.

I'm an October baby, and I haven't looked forward to a birthday since I turned 18. The last time I remember feeling even remotely excited about a birthday was when I turned 8. I kid you not. I have a long memory.

So I turned the decade. Officially one-third through my life (or middle-aged, depending on which life expectancy chart you're looking at) and I made some new year resolutions.

A few weeks in and I am realising that a curious thing has happened to my resolve. It's gone all weird. The time when I would say - righty-ho, going to do a thing and it's done are gone. No questions, want something, get it. I guess there really is something in the "arrogance of youth". I'm no old hen but I am more cautious, less confident in my abilities, but then, I've also become more aware of what I really am good at (and procrastinating doesn't count, I've known that for years).  Now I'm a little more realistic. Will isn't always everything. A darn good amount of luck and the right people in your life have a lot to do with it.

So today being the last day of October, and what I like to think of as my own special time, I decided it's time to recapture some of the magic I had at 15. The kind that said, sod it, I'll do it my way and be darn good at it. So I woke up, ran around after the kids, did what I have to do and opened a small door for myself. I forgot how good being independent makes me feel.

It made me think about the last 20 years - I'm getting better at dealing with who I am, but it made me miss the simplicity of my Octobers as a child.

When I'm in the Southern Hemisphere and it's 34 degrees outside I love nothing better than long hot lazy afternoons, grasshoppers singing outside and the sound of sprinklers on the lawn.

When I'm in the Northern Hemisphere, much as I hate the cold the sight of autumn leaves falling, wind sighing through the trees, lit fires and apples make being away from the heat just that little bit more bearable.
Plus I get to celebrate Halloween.

It's been a gradual build-up my celebrating Samhain. I love that I live in the birthplace of the festival, and the part of me that read stories of druids, banshees, were-wolves and Bram Stoker's Dracula is round eyed with excitement at being near it all. This year my son got to enjoy Halloween fully as he's finally completely aware of the history and significance of the dressing up and better - he got to enjoy it with friends, something we've been working on for a long time.

I don't think I could have asked for a better start to my new year.