So, as I mentioned in my last post (which I published like three seconds ago (I’m away for ages and then I publish two posts in one go, what am I like!)), I might want to self-publish my memoir from my time in hospital last year, and I thought that I would start with putting the prologue out here, to see if anyone would like to read on. So here we are, here is the prologue to my memoir, do please let me know if you would like to read more, if you do it would mean the world.
Thanks and all my best,
at a Mental Health Ward
with the NHS in late 2016
I can’t tell you where this story ends, because I don’t know. But I can tell you where it begins, which is at the incredibly dramatic end of another, far more beautiful yet horrific story. That story was a love story, the past tense being of prominence, as it turned out that in the end I was not very loved at all. After it stopped being a love story I don’t know what it became, but I had to follow along with it anyway, as that is what one does with ones life.
I began writing the story of where I went from there at the point at which I was admitted to hospital under a mental health act which I will probably never quite understand the minutiae of (absolutely for a lack of trying. I haven’t tried to understand it at all, I just go along with what they say. Don’t look to me for enlightenment on the mental health act, I didn’t even know it existed until recently). That was about three months after the perceived love story ended, and my head had had plenty of time to mix things up in there while I was looking the other way. I am not yet sure where I was looking, or what I was thinking, but I know I was an idiot on both counts, and that I need to sort myself out and pull my shit together like any sensible woman should. Or else I will stay both a shadow of myself, and a also a literal skeleton.
I am currently in a bad place, with hopes of reaching a good place. I hope to find the spirit of my feminism, which I seem to have lost a little along the way, and I hope to soon be able to do the things I love again, while actually enjoying doing so. I want to go to the pub with friends, eat chips and drink beer and think nothing of the calories. I want to feel brave in the workplace, I want to be hungry for more instead of terrified of new challenges. I want to care about others like I used to, I want to shake this dusty feeling off me and be alive with love for all of those who love me in return, and all the rest as well.