For a long time – a very long time indeed – I haven’t been able to write. I mean, properly write. I’m talking about the writing-from-my-heart kind of writing. The cathartic type. The sort that helps you work out the jumble of words and feelings that whirl around in your head. You know the one.
For a long time – a very long time indeed – things have not been great here. This year in particular has seen it all coming to a head. And here’s something I thought I would never be able to publicly share and admit to:
A few months ago I felt suicidal.
Who knew, right?
I am not talking about a fed-up-just-pissed-off-kind-of-down-feeling.
I’m talking a very-real-wanting-to-die-and-believing-my-kids-would-be-far-better-off -without-me-kind-of-feeling.
The last few years have been a long, hard road and it finally took its toll. The toll meant facing up to reality and the truth that a lot that should have been right, wasn’t, and the life I had so desperately wanted, wasn’t.
Writing about the stuff I wanted to but couldn’t, a.k.a, the truth, meant that I couldn’t write at all.
So yeah, it’s been a battle.
But it’s coming to an end.
I eventually sought help (because I felt I had nowhere further to sink).
I underwent a lot of counselling.
I finally undid the mental knots that were stifling my head, understanding my own worth.
I have begun divorce proceedings.
I am getting my shit sorted.
I am rebooting my life.
It is me and the kids and that is a very good thing.
2019 will be me making my way onwards, upwards and rising like a phoenix to a new, happier life.
And writing about it.