Where there is no spring and no autumn: the world of rapid cycling


idiosyncratic eye:

What are your own seasons?

Originally posted on purplepersuasion:

Seasons are funny things. If you live in a equatorial region, you may barely experience them at all; if you live in a polar region you probably live part of the year in unremitting darkness which eventually gives way to “white nights”. Living through a heat wave that has gone on for weeks, it can seem impossible that our streets and parks and fields were once covered in snow. Bizarre, even. Yet as we crunch over layers of ice, in that strange silence that comes only after snowfall, it is the sensation of heat and light, of long days and high pressure, that we cannot recapture. No wonder that so many films and novels play with the idea of perpetually cold environments, or create desert planets, or dream up worlds in which the seasons are very different to our own.

I think I’m on pretty safe ground in assuming many…

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It’s two in the morning and all I want to do is get out, go for a walk, find fresh air.  I want to clear my head, try to make sense of what I am feeling.  But I’m not feeling anything;  I am numb and empty.  And my body is too weak to go anywhere.  I just lie here, hoping that this too will pass.  I don’t even have the strength to hope.  I just lie here and wait.  Sometimes tears escape my eyes then they backfill, stinging.  I have no strength for this pain.  I feel nothing; just suspended in time.  Lonely, disconnected from everything around me.  Some things never change.  I am lost.  I am broken.  And too afraid to feel.  I will be ripped open and there’s already nothing left of me as it is.  I am broken.  I cannot be mended.  And my body has given out, given up.  I don’t know which.  The pains, they never leave me alone.  I grieve.  I have my slumps.  But this feels like some deeper monster about to burst forth.  And I’m scared.  I want to be done with all that.  I am broken enough already.  And if I cry, who will stop the tears for me?  I can’t.  I don’t want to be brave and I have to be if I go outside so I will just lie here with my pain and weep.  I don’t have the strength to fight it or to make sense of it or anything.  There are too many exhaustions.  The night is very dark.  But there will be a morning.  One day.

Some Thoughts on BPD


Having a BPD diagnosis – my reality | Mind, the mental health charity – help for mental health problems.

Reality Check



I dream that I am on a train.

At first, the train is just a means to an end – I am stuck on it, I am escaping something else – but then my subconscious realises the glorious potential that being on a train can offer.

No more bad weather, failed connections and terrifyingly dark, mostly subterranean and criminal stations.  (By the way, is it only my subconscious that discusses marmite sandwiches with chess-playing gangsters?)

Suddenly, being on a train is about vistas, landscapes and wide, open spaces; a whole other type of escape.  There is possibility.

I remember how much I used to love to journey.

Today, every leaving of the house is a palaver, a logistical nightmare; is reminiscent of planning an Arctic expedition.

But I still long to travel.

I want to be somewhere, anywhere.

A lot of the time, I crave the excitement, the expectation of going somewhere.  I always love to plan, to research.

Oh, the thrill of being somewhere new.  A freshness to the eyes.

Neuropathy is not the only itch my feet experience.  I am often restless.  But perhaps that restlessness comes from being overwhelmed.  I want to escape the pressures, the burdens, the stresses of the here and now.

It’s easy to believe that the grass is greener just over there.  Keep looking for something better.  Perhaps it’s a useful instinct, sometimes, but, boy, can we go into overdrive on it.  It can be hard to settle, to be satisfied.  Content.

Sometimes I am desperate to get away.  But why?  And to where?  And how?  And then what?

We could always live our lives zooming from one thrill to another, one adrenaline rush to another but I’m not sure that it really does us any good.  Mongrel Beast, especially.  Because after the high?  Is the reality.  And, unfortunately, that’s where we live.

And perhaps ‘unfortunately’ is just further evidence of that attitude problem.  Contentment means peace and that can only be a good thing.

It does mean that I have to accept, make peace with, be at peace with whatever each day’s reality brings.  Is there good in everything?  It sounds very Pollyanna-ish.  Perhaps not in every little thing but perhaps in the bigger picture.  I am resting.  I am looking after myself.  No more adrenaline surges or blood sugar wobblies or constant eating in desperate pursuit of a little energy.  I am managing this disease.  I am alive and sometimes, even living.  There’s a lot to be grateful for, actually.  I need to take a deep breath and forget the lure of the novel, the different, the distant.  I am here, I am now.  I can be content with that.

I Don’t Have a Hat Face Either


Hatter, Mad | Lion Brand Notebook.

What’s Wrong With Me?


What’s Wrong With Me? – The New Yorker.

All the Fun of the Fair


Go To The Fair – Michelle Edwards Visits Rhinebeck | Lion Brand Notebook.