40/365

If you don’t post it on social media – did it even happen?

I have had a long, tiring, yet tremendous day. Seen some unique items and iconic cars. Casually strolled past historic landmarks and explored hidden spaces.

I have taken so many photos, walked 18,000 steps, travelled to the capital and back…

…yet the only image that graced any social media platform was a stunning piece of street art. So, is it ironic that I choose to write about my adventure, without actually, technically, writing about my adventure?

I put my phone away today, turned it off and slipped it to the bottom of my bag. I wanted to walk with my hands free, I wanted to admire the towering skyline, the architecture, the world above and free from a small glowing screen. I wanted to absorb my surroundings, not fight with constant distractions.

However, during my technology free time, I couldn’t fail to notice just how many people are glued to their phones. Neck bowed in what really looks like a painful position, grinning taking selfies, or ranting loudly to someone else.

The air is a buzz with hashtags and likes or 26 photos uploaded of the same meal. Check in at each location…. Got to let the world know, got to fish for those 💖 😊👍

I think I enjoyed my day more without needing to document every detail, taking the time to put my phone away, that’s like committing the highest form of rebellion and I enjoyed rebelling!

Anne 09.09.18

Note to Self

I broke my own rules and let my emotions spill out onto Facebook.  I know, I see people every day do exactly this and each time I witness the support of their friends.

I try to refrain from doing so,  because of my own bloody stubborn mindedness.

Yesterday I might have broke my own rules,  but I also discovered the reality that people not only care,  but they also understand where I am coming from.

I’m not alone,  we do indeed all fight our own battles…  However it also helps to be kinder to myself too xx

 

Anne Harrison 20.07.17

Unleashing caged up words

*Personal*

^this little word is important… it means this is a diary entry, it is not fiction^

I write a little personal shit at times because I follow an interesting theory that ‘Writing about emotions may ease stress and trauma’ it means, when I have a bad day (which are thankfully few and far between) I write. I pour my heart, my emotions and my pain down upon *my* page.

I don’t even go into detail, I skirt around subjects which haunt me. I use words to free my mind without having to trouble anyone. I like this freedom, I value this ability to have this page for self expression.

I have chosen to focus on my Poetry lately, this was a proud moment in my life and because I feared being seen as big-headed, it took months to choose to share the whole assignment. This also gave me a short break from my fiction and gave me a little time to reflect upon how I use this blog for my scattering of ‘diary’ entries.

Feeling unable to express yourself, when you have already established a good mental outlet for bad days, is utterly crippling. Like feeling caged up inside your mind, because my thoughts torture me with guilt about letting free emotions upon my page…
… why should I feel guilty? 
Why should I give up something which helps lifts the lid on painful memories, it’s unhealthy to cage words, it’s such a relief at times to pour my heart out into words…

This is my freedom, this is my self expression, this is not a ‘woe-is-me’ this is where I put my hurt, so it can’t hurt me.

Through my words, through my blog, I am free!

If you see any blog marked *Personal* you are hereby also free to choose to read my words or not, but I won’t give up using a tool which is of benefit to my mental health.

Family

I’m just Me

Thanks,
Anne Harrison  17.07.17

Dreams, Reflections and Clarity…

*Personal Blog*

 

Last night I had a dream, I don’t usually recall my dreams, but this was vivid and frightening. In my dream I had a total breakdown, as I write the details are swiftly scattering from my thoughts. Yet my Mother was still alive in the dream, she was harsh and unsympathetic, disregarding my breakdown and walking away. I was a wreck, utterly immobile, my physical form trapped by my raging mind. Blocked from activity, screaming silently… Always screaming in my thoughts…

I sought help, walking down the yellow lines in the road until I found a house that would give me shelter and hope… Yet I was early, I was sent away while they took someone else into the property, escorted them to the guest room where they would be staying, I walked away towards a park, which was part of a park from my youth.

Upon awakening, I could hear the rain on my roof, that was soothing. Cats wanted feeding and the morning gave me little time for reflection.

***

It is no lie that I have been battling my own little mental monsters recently, a lot of this has to do with some painful truths which have emerged after my Mother’s death… The prominent pondering is whether or not she really loved me at all?

Six months on, I’m still awaiting grief counselling, initially this is something I snubbed and rejected but as the year dwindles by I am left considering that this maybe a good idea… Especially when dreams like this haunt my mind.

I am grateful that I have this blog, besides my silly little tale, I can freely express myself and pour all my thoughts onto the screen. Which I have done over and over again throughout 2017. I keep returning to this theme, I keep finding myself so close to breaking point and each time I turn to writing. I write until my demons subside and I can regain clarity.

I am calm as I write this morning, despite my lingering nightmare, despite feeling like I’ve failed in life throughout the first half of the year… I wonder if it is too easy to blame my failings on having to deal with Mum’s loss… I wonder if it is other little niggling facts that are a painful reality I have to deal with – externally I am almost dismissive in regards to some details (forgive me if I can not explain) Internally, I know that if I dwell, I will snap.

This I can not afford to allow, in my dreams maybe I crack, broken, rejected and cast aside. In reality, I write.

Writing gives me focus, even if it makes for dreadful blog reading… I would apologise, but why beg forgiveness for something which ultimately helps. I feel like I freedom, my mind is clear, I feel lighter, more focused. Like blogging gives me the ability to unravel my tangled thoughts and find direction.

I can face my day with a clear head and let the dream fade from my thoughts… One day, maybe I will find the words to go into the detail I need to cry.

Today is not that day.

Thank you for being there for me x

 

Love, Anne Harrison 27.06.17

Questioning my Confidence

I am feeling lost a little unfocused. 

I see all that accumulates upon my ever growing to-do list 📃 and bury my head.  

I know exactly what I want to do in order to do what I want to do 

But I’m frozen from action 

I sit… Lost… 

I bury myself in chores 

I invent excuses 

I know I can do this,  so why can’t I start?  

I’m frustrated,  sat in class I’ve not studied. It’s always one day,  next day, next week,  month… Year… Never… 

How can I let myself down? How can I discard my dreams?  Lost in an endless circle of scrolling,  getting annoyed at myself for being frozen. 

The inability to start is clouded by a fog of insecurity.  

And I end up questioning my Confidence 
Anne Harrison 30.05.17

Forgotten Poetry

 

Anne Harrison

Posted – 26.05.17

Written – Date Unknown…

Wednesday Wonderings

 

This is me Today

Compliments are a pleasant surprise, I am humbled when I get a lovely message from someone saying how much they have enjoyed reading my work. It doesn’t happen very often and I don’t fish for comments. I just write because I love to write. I already know that it is far from perfect and it’s not destined to be anything more than scribbles on a blog. Because I write for fun, not for fortune, not for fame.

I have a little following here, which is very comfortable, these are my invisible audience, my friends, those I address freely without fear of judgement, for this is my safe haven, my corner of the internet where I can discuss personal thoughts along side fiction and if you’re really unlucky, my dreadful poetry.

Thankfully I have had some lovely comments from friends and strangers alike, which encourage my words, I’m inspired to write and my silly little story flows freely from my mind to the screen, my fingers carefully finding the right letters on the keyboard to create the words I’m thinking… It’s all a weird kinda magic if you think about it…

I wonder how far my words travel, I wonder what inspired people to follow my blog, I wonder a lot… I know that there are countless other writers out there in cyberspace, all seeking an audience, most far superior to my own humble attempts. I read plenty of other blogs with sincere admiration this casts doubt upon my own wild hieroglyphics. I badly need to edit, yet because I write straight from my thoughts, the whole editing process kinda gets sorely neglected. I am wordy, overly wordy, but inspired by Lovecraft (among others) I adore collecting beautiful rolling words and long expressive sentences. The words are there to be used after all..

My Self Doubt is born from a fear of judgement, it follows me throughout various aspects of my life (a significant example is my weight) my self doubt craves approval and security, pacified self doubt is transformed into peace of mind and all this can be turned around by a few kind words… there is so much power in words, they can destroy or they can elate.

I think it’s important to be kind with words to others, for you never know what is hidden under the surface and how the right words might just clear their own clouds of self doubt and ignite smiles…

Maybe one day I’ll face the dreaded editing? There again, maybe that’s not my ultimate goal and I shouldn’t worry so much over what I wonder?

A few ponderings over my lunch-break today to share with you.

 

Love Anne 17.05.17

There’s nothing so cruel as memory

*Person Musings*

 

As a child, my first experience of being humiliated and disillusioned was a painful experience at Sir Jonathan North. I was deeply passionate about history, I wanted to study history and either be a historian, librarian or work in a museum. That was my goal, my fascination with ancient cultures… Especially the Romans, meant that I had collected a fine display of Roman pottery and coins. When we covered this era in history class, I was beyond excited and chose to take my collection to class to share in a ‘show and tell’…

Well that was a disaster, my class ‘friends’ mocked my collection… Calling the whole thing a waste of time and boring etc…
My bubble was burst, I was disheartened and at that point neglected my life goals, feeling humiliation and bullied…

My passion became a dirty secret, I lost a lot of the pottery (because it reminded me of being bullied) but somewhere in my heart the ancient Romans refused to let go of my interest…

So when the chance arose to visit the dig site in Leicester last weekend, I couldn’t resist, waiting an hour in drizzle and cold with hundreds of others, for a glimpse of Roman Leicester awoken some of my passion, but also a fair deal of humiliation.

However it has thrown into light an interesting concept in my mind, how one painful experience changed the whole direction of my life, because I was bullied for something I loved… Had I not took comments so personally, had I shrugged off such negative attitudes, would I have never been bullied for so long?

Had I just ignored them, would I have followed my dream, fulfilled my goals and become an academic? How different could my life had been had I reacted differently to one singular event?

 

Anne Harrison 15.05.17

A whole lotta words

On 26.09.16 I reposted a short story on my blog, on Friday  I wrote part 75, bringing current events to a comfortable  (current) conclusion… With each post being between 300 – 500+ words… that’s a whole lotta words in 9 months… I fell in love with writing at university, yet at the same time the course also shifted my perspective on publishing. I decided that there was no way I could ever be a published author. So I decided a blog was the perfect outlet for my silly little tale, my outrageously terrible poetry and most of all, my blog became my safe haven, to express myself on matters such as overcoming depression to coping with watching my Mother slowly die… Here was my freedom of expression,  where I didn’t need to delete posts because of trolls. My story is fantasy based, has Dragons… nope it’s not influenced by GoT (even if there is an eyeball scene) instead I’m heavily inspired my Michael Moorcock/Anne Rice… I don’t have a hero, my main protagonists were killed really early… oops… My next stage is to jump 14 years ahead… with possibly a few significant scenes before then to include… Ironically, I still personally prefer poetry, but I follow so many wonderful poetry blogs, my words are dumbed into silence. I think, I would like to use the space to explore my adventures, to put my experiences into words, but my characters won’t shut up and demand my attention. I’m taking a little rest from writing, I’m still staggered I’ve wrote so much in just 9 months… maybe this year I’ll actually achieve http://nanowrimo.org 

 

The magic of the Mundane

…Is that even possible?

 

To embrace normality, to enjoy every day tasks, to look forward and have fun at work… That might sound potty, to find comfort in all things dull and boring. However, as I can now reflect without anxiety upon events of last Wednesday, here I am one week later, finding joy in sitting at my desk. Please forgive me if I can not explain in details the circumstances which have caused so much distress. I fear that I do not know who is reading my work and although my blog posts are shared on Twitter and Tumblr only and not Facebook (where I know some trolls live) I am still reluctant to talk freely for fear of any further explosive outbursts.

In other words, I am far too intimidated to complain.

So I have been cryptic, I am vague, but even these few words are all aid in my processing events and regaining some measure of myself once again.

This I have found in embracing all the normal every day shite which is usually mindbogglingly boring. I am fortunate that I really love my job, so being back at work is refreshing. I’m back at University class, surrounded by good friends and immersing myself in a language from a culture I adore. Even my daily bus route feels comfortable. Slowly I am becoming more of my old self again.

This shock has also ignited something else I feel I have neglected in my life. My grief. Instead of refusing to accept this emotion, I’m actually starting to accept the fact that I do miss my Mum and I need to allow myself to grieve, that it’s alright, it’s not something to be ashamed of.

Maybe sometimes a unpleasant situation might awaken deeply buried feelings? I don’t know, I’m not an expert on such circumstances, I’m just plodding along at my own pace, finding my feet again, putting life back together in my own way and accepting new emotions that have arisen. Writing helps me put all these cryptic clues into perspective and although it might not be interesting reading for you, you beautiful cupcakes that read my mad scribblings, please trust me, this, along with my mundane tasks, it all helps me to shine once more.

… And a shiny Anne means more stories…

Thank you for being there, where ever you are, whoever you are, just thank you for being you  x

 

Love Anne Harrison

03.05.17