Back down to the writing then…

29th April 2018

 

Today is my mum’s birthday. She would have been 87-years-old today. I sang Happy Birthday to her as I walked along a road in Magor, South Wales. I did so with a smile on my face. I’d like to think that she heard me. I don’t know, and I’m not convinced about such things, but I hold an open mind. It’s the first birthday of hers (since I was born, of course) when I have not been able to celebrate with her in person, as she passed away on the 12th December last year. But I’m not reaching out for help. She passed away beautifully and in style, surrounded by love – a death that she deserved, as she was a beautiful person. Had she not died when she did, her quality of life would have taken a cruel downturn for the worse. I bear no scars over her death. She died at the right time.

Nothing, for anyone, could be better.

For me, it has been a cruel winter. Only two days after Mum’s death, I left my wife. Yes – you read that correctly… I left my wife. I slept in a flat (my home before we married that we had, until recently, been renting out), on a borrowed airbed, in a sleeping bag and wearing a woolly hat, in temperatures of around zero Celsius while the central heating wasn’t working. These are the circumstances in which I was effectively forced to live, just two days after losing Mum. I’m not going to go into details of why I was forced to do this, but let’s just say that my position was untenable.

I had no option.

There was talk about my mental health:

He’s grieving over his mother…

He’s had a brain haemorrhage so there must be some issues…

He’s walked out on her before…

He’s been on anti-depressants, you know…

But they’re such a lovely, inspirational couple…

He must be ill…

 

 

My mum’s first birthday since she passed away so peacefully during the first snowfall of 2017.

What a wonderful occasion to begin writing my next book…

 

My tortuous winter is over now. The blossoming trees have brought with them a new optimism and have rekindled my innate sense of adventure. There never were mental health issues, but not many people know the real reasons for my departure, and therefore people draw their own conclusions based on whatever other information they have been given, and by whom. I’ve had to distance myself from those who have, with the best of intentions, encouraged me to go back. Despite their kindness and well intentions, I regard people who encourage me to go back as a threat to my wellbeing. But if they knew the real facts, they wouldn’t be doing this.  The mental health rumours are a wicked and devious smokescreen to hide the facts. The truth of the matter is that my anxiety levels are now at an all-time low. I don’t ever remember feeling so calm. I have many plans and goals. I’m so eager to touch them, but I know that there is a lot of work to do in order for me to be able to reach them. I’m now taking my first steps. Every journey begins with just one step.

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