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HEARTLINES| JOURNAL

It’s not been a great summer, and my normal enthusiasm for Autumn is non-existent.

I’m currently sat on my bed, recovering from a 3 day migraine, which I thought yesterday I was going to die from, feeling very bitter and resentful that my cat is having a shit-ton more fun than me, curled up on a letter from my bank, fast asleep.

I’ve been pretty absent in the blogging scene so far this year and even though no one appears to read my blog, I thought I would document why I have been so MIA, just in case someone drops by.

The start of the year saw me immerse myself fully into a motorhome obsession, which laid me to then buying one. I spent quite a lot of time renovating it and painting bits here and there and actually living in it for a few months. A genuine interest which soon turned to complete disaster and has now resulted in me putting it up for sale. I had planned on blogging the whole journey, but something always stopped me. I realise now it was probably the lack of trust that it was the right thing to do.

I have explained in previous posts the reason behind the motorhome; it wasn’t a purchase-on-a-limb.. It was a well thought out project to enable me to have my own space and live independently but still be close to home. Where I’m needed.

Anyway, complete write off. Moving on…

Spring. My mother’s health starts declining again and she is diagnosed with Osteoperosis. This is an ongoing problem and causes a lot of stress and worry on my part. Something I have experienced my whole life. I cannot remember a time when I have not been worried about her health, and I just pray (in my own little way) that it doesn’t get any worse than this.

Alongside said stress and worry, came the difficulties at work and in my friendship circle. Everything felt so turbulent and for a very long time, I felt as though I didn’t have anyone to turn to. To talk.

And not be judged.

Because that’s something I’ve felt up against so much this year.

Being judged and misunderstood by those I previously thought had my back, in times which have been extremely dark for me.

Spring also saw me go to the doctor and explain said dark feelings and after admitting just how tough everything seemed, she prescribed anti-depressants and told me to self-refer for talking therapy again.

Well, the anti-depressants were a complete and utter shit storm of near death experiences and the realisation that because of my M.E. my intolerance and sensitivity to medication was all too strong to continue.

And as for the talking therapy (which is so what I need), the only day they don’t work is the only day I don’t either.

So I’m back to square one, considering private £50 a session counselling which I can’t afford and wondering what the point is anymore in seeking help.

Off you go with a prescription and a leaflet but there doesn’t seem to be anything beyond that.

If the talking therapy lot don’t work 5 days a week, you’re stuffed.

If prescription meds are too strong, you’re stuffed.

For now its chocolate cake and Bach’s Rescue Remedy. (Not sponsored)

Moving on to end of Summer, beginning of Autumn.

My grandfather has a bout of shingles and is admitted to hospital for 2 months.

At 90 years old, he’s always been a resilient man, but watching his health decline has been a horrible thing.

His mobility, which was not great before the shingles, has worsened and now he is back home with my Granny, things are more stressful than ever.

I just wish I could do more to care for them on a daily basis. And care for my mother too.

If that could become my full time job I’d do it.

Then there is my own physical health.

My M.E. has been worse than ever this year and I guess that’s because of the stress I’ve been under. I find I feel worse when I’m very worried.

Holding down a 36 hour a week job is also getting the better of me.

I’m having more sick days than I would like and although I have an understanding team who can see when I’m struggling, it does make me wonder for how much longer I can really keep it up.

And that freaks me out so much.

I recently flew out to Norway to stay with my very lovely friends again. I was so ill leading up to going and the day before I was bed ridden with a temperature, but something in me rose above it and convinced my poorly state to get a grip and go.

Honestly? It was difficult to go while everyone was so unwell and things seemed so unsettled with the family, but I knew I needed a break from it. Something I very rarely give in to.

The pressure and worry had been eating away at my already prominent depression and to get away would be the calm in among the tornado that I needed to gather stock and come back refreshed and more able to cope.

And while I would have loved blogging to be my saviour through all this chaos of mind and body, I couldn’t bring myself to write. And as an aspiring Journalist, this has worried senseless too.

I think seeing all the glossy blogs out there with their successes and brand triumphs, I feared writing from the heart. Because I don’t know if that’s what people want from a blog anymore.

The raw, unfiltered, un-edited version of someone’s heart.

Their soul.

But here I am. With my heart and my soul.

Risking it.

I am going to blog more, but it will be more this style. Rather than advice and reviews and beauty hauls I can’t afford.

The style I’ve always seen blogging as.

From the heart.

Raw.

And honest.

Amy

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